Denial, ch. 22: The Enemy Within
Title: Denial, Ch. 22: The Enemy Within
Author: robinfanatic
Characters/Pairings: Much/Carter, King Richard, James
Rating: PG-13
Genre: slash
Words: 3083
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; I just want to play in their universe.
Notes: This continues the 'Round-Robin' fic 'Denial' and takes place during events of 2x10, "Walkabout." Thanks to my lovely betas: darkentwisted and wastingyourgum
Summary: Carter and Much arrive at the King’s camp south of Acre as Saracens sweep down for an attack.
Want to play? Come join us! Check out the Rules and join in the Round Robin fun!
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21,
>>>---------------->
The Enemy Within
by robinfanatic
The two soldiers set out on their journey as the sun peeked its fiery head in the east. Acre stood miles behind them now and they expected to see signs of the Lionheart's army before the end of the day. The realities of war were sinking in. It was hard to ignore when buzzards soared overhead, when carcasses littered the roads... when crosses were planted on a hillside where comrades had fallen.
After hours on the road there was something in the air--distant sounds and smells that grew stronger as they trekked south. Cresting a hill, they caught their first glimpse of King Richard's camp. Shivers ran up Much's spine, yet, like Carter, he felt proud as they eyed the landscape. The Greek Sea to the west, mountains to the east, and in the land that stretched between colourful banners flapped in the late winter wind. Emblazoned with dragons or crosses, the flags signaled they were home. The afternoon sun glinted off shields and armour, pack mules brayed, knights on horseback patrolled the eastern flank, and a thousand or more tents created an impressive city on the plain. A banner with a bold lion--the king's--waved high above the others.
Carter and Much urged their horses down the hill. Templars at the rear guard suddenly began shouting and Carter reined in their mounts, pointing toward Saracen raiders coming down one of the eastern slopes. A magnificent rider on a dark stallion charged toward the Saracen line. There was no mistaking the king. Much, and likely every Saracen in Palestine, easily recognized him by the way he held himself and the boldness and prowess he displayed. This Lionheart hid from no one.
There was no time to think, only to act. Carter raced toward the fray with Much riding at his back. Bolts sizzled through the air like a driving rain as the king's cavalrymen met the enemy. Swords were crossed and clanked and spears found their marks, the noise... the screams... so deafening that Much could not hear his own breath. His sword met a blade smeared with blood but its blows were no match for his.
Three lengths ahead, one of the Templars fell. The knight's killer whipped toward Much. He slashed his blade downward and to the side and the Saracen toppled to the ground. He stood quickly waving his sword but one of the King's guards hurtled past Much, swinging his weapon and rending the man's head from his body.
Much brought his mount around for another pass at the raiders. His sword collided with another, the force so strong that he nearly lost his seating. Arrows shot past too close for comfort. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Carter's horse stumble, throwing the knight to the ground. Saracens beat a path toward his master. Much screamed a warning though above the din of battle it fell on his ears only. He lost sight of Carter amidst a sea of men and horses but he tore a hole through the attacking Turks to the place he'd last seen him.
Much's heart pounded. He spurred his horse forward. Bodies... and pieces of bodies... littered the desert sands. Saracen bodies. A knight here. A squire there by his side as if he'd died protecting his master.
His stomach churning, Much let fear, desire, and rage keep him focused. A commotion off to his side caught his eye and he pulled his horse toward it. Carter was surrounded, deflecting enemy blows from the cavalrymen who bore down on him. Much pulled his long knife and loosed it with deadly accuracy. One Saracen collapsed to the desert sand as Much whisked past him, charged toward a second man, and sliced his sword through the thick desert air catching his enemy across the shoulder.
Circling back, Much galloped toward Carter. His master grabbed his outstretched arm and pulled himself onto the horse's back behind Much. Both men raised their swords and sent more of their adversaries to Allah. Another Templar also met their God. Carter directed Much toward the knight's riderless horse. He reached for the animal's reins and Much slowed just enough for Carter to jump into its saddle as the skirmish continued around them. Much's heart sank. He dreaded to think how close he'd come to losing Carter, didn't want to watch his lover ride into the thick of battle again. Shouting brought him back, and he saw two Saracens on King Richard's tail. Much charged toward them, catching one of the Saracens across the back with his sword while the other cut a path away from the king.
Someone else shouted to hold back--the Saracens were retreating into the hills, scattering like the desert sands. The king circled round, brandishing his sword above his head in victory. Much searched the faces of the knights, finally spotting Carter coming up beside him. Carter's brilliant blue eyes met his. Joy, relief, and sadness nearly made him swell with tears. He knew this wouldn't be the last battle they fought in the coming days.
The king goaded his horse toward them. "Carter!" he exclaimed.
"Your Majesty."
"You are a lifesaver, my friend!"
"'Not me, Your Majesty. Thank Lord Much."
"Lord--" The king eyed the squire, a hint of recognition on his furrowed brow. "Aren't you Robin's man?" he asked. But before Much could reply, he said, "Where is Robin? I did not expect to see help from Nottingham after receiving his note from La Denair."
"A note? From Robin?" Much blurted out, forgetting his place. "How--"
"Majesty," Carter interrupted his lover's excited outburst though he was just as curious, "Much is my squire now, knighted by the Queen Mother. We bring news--from Robin and her majesty. But perhaps our news is not so new as Robin's."
"Squire Much." The king sized up the former outlaw and winked his approval. "Both of you fools return to this land, but I am grateful. Your bravery, sir," he told Much, "will not go unrewarded."
"Serving you again is enough thanks for me, Your Majesty," Much replied.
"Let us talk, my friends. I must hear this news you bring!" The king spurred his horse, kicking up the sand as he turned back toward the main part of camp.
Carter and Much galloped after their king. Life in the Holy Land hit Much hard again as the adrenaline rushed from his face. What had he expected as squire to a knight during wartime? He hadn't walked into this blindly but he still let his thoughts stray to Sherwood, to Robin and the gang. He dreamed of forested hillsides and green pastures... not desert sands. He'd keep dreaming, too, until he saw England again.
>>>----------------->
Slowing their horses to a walk, Carter and Much approached the king's tent. Dozens of unfamiliar faces--men-at-arms, squires, servants, and knights--looked up at them, their weary faces brightening a bit to see the two Englishmen. New arrivals often meant news from home and Much knew that they'd have little time for themselves as the sun began to dip lower over the sea.
Three men emerged from the pavilion as they reined in their mounts. Wilfred of Surrey, Roger of Hereford, and James of Essex were knights whom Much recognized as those closest to King Richard, his advisors and confidants.
"Find these knights proper mantles, James," the king ordered enthusiastically as he dismounted his steed and a sergeant grasped its bridle. "They are part of my private guard." Richard turned around and smiled. "You had intended to stay, of course."
"At the King's pleasure, Your Majesty," Carter replied. He acknowledged Wilfred and Roger then nodded at James. "Good to see you again, my lord."
"And you." James' dark eyes frowned. It was obvious he was trying to place Much as the knight and squire alighted their horses.
Turning over their mounts' reins to another sergeant, Much tried to ignore the older knight's piercing scrutiny. There was something odd about it--an almost accusatory glance that made the former outlaw shudder.
"I do apologize," James said, looking directly at Much. "You are familiar--"
"My squire, Lord Much," Carter said.
"Much? You were Robin--"
"No more, My Lord," Carter told the knight. "Much is a free man, and recently knighted by Queen Eleanor."
"Indeed?" James dipped his head. "And squire to Sir Carter. I shall be interested to hear how this has come to pass, My Lords. However, the king awaits you."
Two servants were dismantling the king's armour as Carter and Much followed James into the pavilion. Richard seemed annoyed by their attention. Much knew better than to show his amusement at the king's impatience but wondered if someone not of noble birth could become accustomed to regal treatment. He remembered feeling... embarrassed... yes, embarrassed... though for only a short time... by all the attention he received when he was lord of the manor at Bonchurch. He sighed, thinking he would be willing to become more familiar with that way of life.
"You bring news of my brother's treachery?" the king asked.
"If I may ask, Sire, how is it that a note has reached you from Lord Locksley?" Carter asked. "Who is this La Denair?"
"We shall have to introduce you, won't we, James?" Richard replied, nodding toward a half dozen cages on the far side of the tent. "Pigeons, my friends."
"Pig--" Much stopped himself knowing it was out of turn to speak without being addressed by his master or the king. He didn't miss the scornful look Sir James sent his way but felt relieved when neither the king nor Carter took any notice.
Richard pulled away from his servants and strode to a table littered with maps. He picked up the smallest of parchments and handed it to Carter. Carter passed it to Much, anxious to have his squire show off his reading skills.
Much unfurled the paper and read the note aloud. "Your Majesty. No reinforcements. John plots to steal your throne. Come home now. Make peace." Hm... Much thought... Come home now? I would have said 'immediately' -- it's a bit longer but more forceful, more urgent. I do like that word. Immediately.
"It would've taken only a week, no more, to travel from England. When did you depart?"
Much's eyes widened in disbelief but when he noticed that Carter did not question the king, he decided he'd learn more about these pigeons from his master later.
"In October, just after St. Luke's day, Your Majesty," Carter replied. "Rough seas and storms delayed our journey from several ports."
"Winter travel is for the birds. Or rather, for pigeons?" Richard laughed at his own joke and the knights laughed with him. "La Denair's message was brief. What more can you tell me?"
"It is true, Sire. Your enemies have gathered into a brotherhood of Black Knights to serve Prince John, seeking to overthrow you. Your taxes are subverted to his pockets and the people suffer under the oppressive rule of men like the Sheriff of Nottingham. The queen mother told us there are rumors that mercenaries are being hired to fight those still loyal to Your Majesty. She urged us to encourage you to return to England right away."
Richard looked at James, his face filled with frustration. "I have held council with the nobles and my knights, Carter," he scowled, turning back to meet the young knight's eyes. "To return home before we enter Jerusalem would be unwise." He shot toward the new arrivals under Much's nervous gaze. "We risk losing everything that we have gained--Acre, Jaffa, Tyre--all could fall back into Turk hands."
"You must make peace, Your Majesty," Carter urged. "A truce--"
"You speak out of turn, Carter," James snapped. "Do not presume to give orders to his majesty."
Carter bowed averting his eyes. "Apologies, Majesty."
Richard lifted Carter's chin. "You speak on behalf of Robin who is my trusted friend. You've witnessed my brother's plot firsthand. But John is a weak fool. He doesn't know how to inspire men. He will fail."
James nodded in agreement. Much's eyes shifted restlessly from his king to the knights. He knew Carter could say nothing more. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pursed his mouth unable to believe they might have come all this way to have their plea fall on deaf ears. Politics. How he hated politics.
"My friends," Richard said, "we shall speak later of England, of Aquitaine, and of my mother." He looked at James. "Find a billet for our brothers."
"Robert of Kent was killed in skirmishes yesterday, your majesty, may God rest his soul," James replied.
"A brave, true knight," Richard agreed. "Sir Robert would be pleased to know that Carter will have his quarters."
"It would be my honour, Your Majesty," Carter replied with a bow.
"Until later, My Lords."
Carter and Much took their leave of the king and followed James from the tent. "Horses," James shouted at the sergeant.
Much clenched his fist, so tempted to speak out despite James' presence. As he took the reins from the sergeant and led the animals a few paces behind, Carter noticed his fidgeting. He knew disgust, perhaps outrage, bubbled beneath his squire's otherwise calm expression so he turned and threw him a wink. Much did not notice that his master reached for something in his tunic until he saw a familiar stem. Carter clasped his hands behind his back and twisted the lavender frond in his fingers. He glanced back again and Much gave him that little sideways nod that Carter knew well.
"Carter?"
"Yes, My Lord?"
"You've been absent a long while," James said.
"Not so long that I've forgotten," Carter replied.
James studied the younger man. "I'm not so sure of that," he said glancing back towards Much. "I would advise you to watch your tongue and be mindful of your squire."
Carter frowned. "The king needs counsel from all his knights, My Lord," he insisted, aware of a vague threat behind James' words. "I fear he might lose his kingdom should he tarry too long--"
"Tarry?" James exclaimed. "He is doing God's work here. There is much at stake."
"I would not disagree, My Lord," Carter said.
"The Turks must be defeated. Jerusalem will be ours."
Carter stopped and looked at the knight. "Hasn't there been enough killing?"
"Your time in England has softened you, Carter."
"No, my lord. It has shown me that our friends at home are suffering, and the longer we stay in Palestine, the more their hearts ache," he said. James dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand and resumed his walk. Carter stared after him a moment, looked at Much, then followed him. "They need us home. They need their king."
"They are filled with pride when they hear of his majesty's victories here," James gushed. "They gratefully sacrifice--"
"No, My Lord. The poor care nothing for this holy war. Others line their pockets at their expense--"
"For the king," James insisted. "For the army."
"For their own greed," Carter hissed. "If you think that the Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John send all taxes to the king then you are gravely mistaken. We have seen it with our own eyes. The Black Knights have nothing but their own power and position in mind."
"The king has his sights set on Jerusalem. You would be wise not to forget that." James stopped and pointed to a tent. "Welcome back, My Lord."
>>>----------------->
"I do not trust him, Carter," Much said as he stored the provisions in their new home. The tent held two cots and a chest and had just enough headroom for them to stand.
"I know," Carter replied as he sat on one of the cots. "And that is a good thing."
"What?" Much looked back at his lover.
"It means you'll be watching your back," Carter said. "And mine."
"Is there nothing else we can say?"
Carter threw his arms over Much's shoulders. "I'm afraid not, Much. I'm sorry. I know you wanted the king to say 'let's go back to England' but war... politics... it's all so complicated. Robin was close to him, and if his words cannot persuade the king, what chance do we have?"
Much turned in Carter's arms. "Wishful thinking I suppose." He rested his head on Carter's shoulder. "I hate politics."
Carter chuckled. "So do I." He ran his hand through Much's soft curls, tilted his chin up, and kissed him gently. "We won't stop talking with the king, Much."
"Is that all you'll be doing?" Much frowned. "Just talking?"
"Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Well, we're back here. In Palestine. With the king. And there was Brooks."
"And others, too, Much, but that was different. Do you understand?"
"They mean nothing to you?"
"How many times must I tell you?" Carter sighed, exploring his lover's face with his eyes.
Much smiled and teasingly pondered Carter's question. "How many stars did you say there are in the heavens?"
Carter answered his lover with a kiss.
"How about that," Much said when Carter broke their kiss.
"What?"
"A pigeon." Much's eyes filled with wonder. "That is hard to believe. A bird carrying a note all the way from England. How can that be? How would it find its way back here?"
Carter nuzzled Much's neck. "I've heard it's not looking for its home."
"Then what?" Much asked.
"It's looking for its mate. A pigeon will travel to the ends of the earth to get to the one it loves."
"Really? That's incredible."
Carter trailed kisses up Much's neck, over his stubbled jaw, and up to his temple. "I don't think so. I know I'd travel miles over mountains, stormy seas, and deserts to find you."
Much smiled at his lover. "I knew that." He ran a finger along Carter's brow, down his nose, and traced his lips. He cupped Carter's face in his hands and kissed him, shutting out all thoughts of politics and war and what the king might have in store. No matter those things, he knew how deep Carter's love ran. He cradled Carter's head against his shoulder. In their tent they would shield themselves from the outside world and hold every touch, every look, and every thought for each other.
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It's back to Sherwood for chapter 23... someone is spying on the gang when they attack a supply convoy! This way....>>>---------------->
Come to Denial... the endings are better there!
Author: robinfanatic
Characters/Pairings: Much/Carter, King Richard, James
Rating: PG-13
Genre: slash
Words: 3083
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; I just want to play in their universe.
Notes: This continues the 'Round-Robin' fic 'Denial' and takes place during events of 2x10, "Walkabout." Thanks to my lovely betas: darkentwisted and wastingyourgum
Summary: Carter and Much arrive at the King’s camp south of Acre as Saracens sweep down for an attack.
Want to play? Come join us! Check out the Rules and join in the Round Robin fun!
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21,
>>>---------------->
The Enemy Within
by robinfanatic
The two soldiers set out on their journey as the sun peeked its fiery head in the east. Acre stood miles behind them now and they expected to see signs of the Lionheart's army before the end of the day. The realities of war were sinking in. It was hard to ignore when buzzards soared overhead, when carcasses littered the roads... when crosses were planted on a hillside where comrades had fallen.
After hours on the road there was something in the air--distant sounds and smells that grew stronger as they trekked south. Cresting a hill, they caught their first glimpse of King Richard's camp. Shivers ran up Much's spine, yet, like Carter, he felt proud as they eyed the landscape. The Greek Sea to the west, mountains to the east, and in the land that stretched between colourful banners flapped in the late winter wind. Emblazoned with dragons or crosses, the flags signaled they were home. The afternoon sun glinted off shields and armour, pack mules brayed, knights on horseback patrolled the eastern flank, and a thousand or more tents created an impressive city on the plain. A banner with a bold lion--the king's--waved high above the others.
Carter and Much urged their horses down the hill. Templars at the rear guard suddenly began shouting and Carter reined in their mounts, pointing toward Saracen raiders coming down one of the eastern slopes. A magnificent rider on a dark stallion charged toward the Saracen line. There was no mistaking the king. Much, and likely every Saracen in Palestine, easily recognized him by the way he held himself and the boldness and prowess he displayed. This Lionheart hid from no one.
There was no time to think, only to act. Carter raced toward the fray with Much riding at his back. Bolts sizzled through the air like a driving rain as the king's cavalrymen met the enemy. Swords were crossed and clanked and spears found their marks, the noise... the screams... so deafening that Much could not hear his own breath. His sword met a blade smeared with blood but its blows were no match for his.
Three lengths ahead, one of the Templars fell. The knight's killer whipped toward Much. He slashed his blade downward and to the side and the Saracen toppled to the ground. He stood quickly waving his sword but one of the King's guards hurtled past Much, swinging his weapon and rending the man's head from his body.
Much brought his mount around for another pass at the raiders. His sword collided with another, the force so strong that he nearly lost his seating. Arrows shot past too close for comfort. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Carter's horse stumble, throwing the knight to the ground. Saracens beat a path toward his master. Much screamed a warning though above the din of battle it fell on his ears only. He lost sight of Carter amidst a sea of men and horses but he tore a hole through the attacking Turks to the place he'd last seen him.
Much's heart pounded. He spurred his horse forward. Bodies... and pieces of bodies... littered the desert sands. Saracen bodies. A knight here. A squire there by his side as if he'd died protecting his master.
His stomach churning, Much let fear, desire, and rage keep him focused. A commotion off to his side caught his eye and he pulled his horse toward it. Carter was surrounded, deflecting enemy blows from the cavalrymen who bore down on him. Much pulled his long knife and loosed it with deadly accuracy. One Saracen collapsed to the desert sand as Much whisked past him, charged toward a second man, and sliced his sword through the thick desert air catching his enemy across the shoulder.
Circling back, Much galloped toward Carter. His master grabbed his outstretched arm and pulled himself onto the horse's back behind Much. Both men raised their swords and sent more of their adversaries to Allah. Another Templar also met their God. Carter directed Much toward the knight's riderless horse. He reached for the animal's reins and Much slowed just enough for Carter to jump into its saddle as the skirmish continued around them. Much's heart sank. He dreaded to think how close he'd come to losing Carter, didn't want to watch his lover ride into the thick of battle again. Shouting brought him back, and he saw two Saracens on King Richard's tail. Much charged toward them, catching one of the Saracens across the back with his sword while the other cut a path away from the king.
Someone else shouted to hold back--the Saracens were retreating into the hills, scattering like the desert sands. The king circled round, brandishing his sword above his head in victory. Much searched the faces of the knights, finally spotting Carter coming up beside him. Carter's brilliant blue eyes met his. Joy, relief, and sadness nearly made him swell with tears. He knew this wouldn't be the last battle they fought in the coming days.
The king goaded his horse toward them. "Carter!" he exclaimed.
"Your Majesty."
"You are a lifesaver, my friend!"
"'Not me, Your Majesty. Thank Lord Much."
"Lord--" The king eyed the squire, a hint of recognition on his furrowed brow. "Aren't you Robin's man?" he asked. But before Much could reply, he said, "Where is Robin? I did not expect to see help from Nottingham after receiving his note from La Denair."
"A note? From Robin?" Much blurted out, forgetting his place. "How--"
"Majesty," Carter interrupted his lover's excited outburst though he was just as curious, "Much is my squire now, knighted by the Queen Mother. We bring news--from Robin and her majesty. But perhaps our news is not so new as Robin's."
"Squire Much." The king sized up the former outlaw and winked his approval. "Both of you fools return to this land, but I am grateful. Your bravery, sir," he told Much, "will not go unrewarded."
"Serving you again is enough thanks for me, Your Majesty," Much replied.
"Let us talk, my friends. I must hear this news you bring!" The king spurred his horse, kicking up the sand as he turned back toward the main part of camp.
Carter and Much galloped after their king. Life in the Holy Land hit Much hard again as the adrenaline rushed from his face. What had he expected as squire to a knight during wartime? He hadn't walked into this blindly but he still let his thoughts stray to Sherwood, to Robin and the gang. He dreamed of forested hillsides and green pastures... not desert sands. He'd keep dreaming, too, until he saw England again.
>>>----------------->
Slowing their horses to a walk, Carter and Much approached the king's tent. Dozens of unfamiliar faces--men-at-arms, squires, servants, and knights--looked up at them, their weary faces brightening a bit to see the two Englishmen. New arrivals often meant news from home and Much knew that they'd have little time for themselves as the sun began to dip lower over the sea.
Three men emerged from the pavilion as they reined in their mounts. Wilfred of Surrey, Roger of Hereford, and James of Essex were knights whom Much recognized as those closest to King Richard, his advisors and confidants.
"Find these knights proper mantles, James," the king ordered enthusiastically as he dismounted his steed and a sergeant grasped its bridle. "They are part of my private guard." Richard turned around and smiled. "You had intended to stay, of course."
"At the King's pleasure, Your Majesty," Carter replied. He acknowledged Wilfred and Roger then nodded at James. "Good to see you again, my lord."
"And you." James' dark eyes frowned. It was obvious he was trying to place Much as the knight and squire alighted their horses.
Turning over their mounts' reins to another sergeant, Much tried to ignore the older knight's piercing scrutiny. There was something odd about it--an almost accusatory glance that made the former outlaw shudder.
"I do apologize," James said, looking directly at Much. "You are familiar--"
"My squire, Lord Much," Carter said.
"Much? You were Robin--"
"No more, My Lord," Carter told the knight. "Much is a free man, and recently knighted by Queen Eleanor."
"Indeed?" James dipped his head. "And squire to Sir Carter. I shall be interested to hear how this has come to pass, My Lords. However, the king awaits you."
Two servants were dismantling the king's armour as Carter and Much followed James into the pavilion. Richard seemed annoyed by their attention. Much knew better than to show his amusement at the king's impatience but wondered if someone not of noble birth could become accustomed to regal treatment. He remembered feeling... embarrassed... yes, embarrassed... though for only a short time... by all the attention he received when he was lord of the manor at Bonchurch. He sighed, thinking he would be willing to become more familiar with that way of life.
"You bring news of my brother's treachery?" the king asked.
"If I may ask, Sire, how is it that a note has reached you from Lord Locksley?" Carter asked. "Who is this La Denair?"
"We shall have to introduce you, won't we, James?" Richard replied, nodding toward a half dozen cages on the far side of the tent. "Pigeons, my friends."
"Pig--" Much stopped himself knowing it was out of turn to speak without being addressed by his master or the king. He didn't miss the scornful look Sir James sent his way but felt relieved when neither the king nor Carter took any notice.
Richard pulled away from his servants and strode to a table littered with maps. He picked up the smallest of parchments and handed it to Carter. Carter passed it to Much, anxious to have his squire show off his reading skills.
Much unfurled the paper and read the note aloud. "Your Majesty. No reinforcements. John plots to steal your throne. Come home now. Make peace." Hm... Much thought... Come home now? I would have said 'immediately' -- it's a bit longer but more forceful, more urgent. I do like that word. Immediately.
"It would've taken only a week, no more, to travel from England. When did you depart?"
Much's eyes widened in disbelief but when he noticed that Carter did not question the king, he decided he'd learn more about these pigeons from his master later.
"In October, just after St. Luke's day, Your Majesty," Carter replied. "Rough seas and storms delayed our journey from several ports."
"Winter travel is for the birds. Or rather, for pigeons?" Richard laughed at his own joke and the knights laughed with him. "La Denair's message was brief. What more can you tell me?"
"It is true, Sire. Your enemies have gathered into a brotherhood of Black Knights to serve Prince John, seeking to overthrow you. Your taxes are subverted to his pockets and the people suffer under the oppressive rule of men like the Sheriff of Nottingham. The queen mother told us there are rumors that mercenaries are being hired to fight those still loyal to Your Majesty. She urged us to encourage you to return to England right away."
Richard looked at James, his face filled with frustration. "I have held council with the nobles and my knights, Carter," he scowled, turning back to meet the young knight's eyes. "To return home before we enter Jerusalem would be unwise." He shot toward the new arrivals under Much's nervous gaze. "We risk losing everything that we have gained--Acre, Jaffa, Tyre--all could fall back into Turk hands."
"You must make peace, Your Majesty," Carter urged. "A truce--"
"You speak out of turn, Carter," James snapped. "Do not presume to give orders to his majesty."
Carter bowed averting his eyes. "Apologies, Majesty."
Richard lifted Carter's chin. "You speak on behalf of Robin who is my trusted friend. You've witnessed my brother's plot firsthand. But John is a weak fool. He doesn't know how to inspire men. He will fail."
James nodded in agreement. Much's eyes shifted restlessly from his king to the knights. He knew Carter could say nothing more. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pursed his mouth unable to believe they might have come all this way to have their plea fall on deaf ears. Politics. How he hated politics.
"My friends," Richard said, "we shall speak later of England, of Aquitaine, and of my mother." He looked at James. "Find a billet for our brothers."
"Robert of Kent was killed in skirmishes yesterday, your majesty, may God rest his soul," James replied.
"A brave, true knight," Richard agreed. "Sir Robert would be pleased to know that Carter will have his quarters."
"It would be my honour, Your Majesty," Carter replied with a bow.
"Until later, My Lords."
Carter and Much took their leave of the king and followed James from the tent. "Horses," James shouted at the sergeant.
Much clenched his fist, so tempted to speak out despite James' presence. As he took the reins from the sergeant and led the animals a few paces behind, Carter noticed his fidgeting. He knew disgust, perhaps outrage, bubbled beneath his squire's otherwise calm expression so he turned and threw him a wink. Much did not notice that his master reached for something in his tunic until he saw a familiar stem. Carter clasped his hands behind his back and twisted the lavender frond in his fingers. He glanced back again and Much gave him that little sideways nod that Carter knew well.
"Carter?"
"Yes, My Lord?"
"You've been absent a long while," James said.
"Not so long that I've forgotten," Carter replied.
James studied the younger man. "I'm not so sure of that," he said glancing back towards Much. "I would advise you to watch your tongue and be mindful of your squire."
Carter frowned. "The king needs counsel from all his knights, My Lord," he insisted, aware of a vague threat behind James' words. "I fear he might lose his kingdom should he tarry too long--"
"Tarry?" James exclaimed. "He is doing God's work here. There is much at stake."
"I would not disagree, My Lord," Carter said.
"The Turks must be defeated. Jerusalem will be ours."
Carter stopped and looked at the knight. "Hasn't there been enough killing?"
"Your time in England has softened you, Carter."
"No, my lord. It has shown me that our friends at home are suffering, and the longer we stay in Palestine, the more their hearts ache," he said. James dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand and resumed his walk. Carter stared after him a moment, looked at Much, then followed him. "They need us home. They need their king."
"They are filled with pride when they hear of his majesty's victories here," James gushed. "They gratefully sacrifice--"
"No, My Lord. The poor care nothing for this holy war. Others line their pockets at their expense--"
"For the king," James insisted. "For the army."
"For their own greed," Carter hissed. "If you think that the Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John send all taxes to the king then you are gravely mistaken. We have seen it with our own eyes. The Black Knights have nothing but their own power and position in mind."
"The king has his sights set on Jerusalem. You would be wise not to forget that." James stopped and pointed to a tent. "Welcome back, My Lord."
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"I do not trust him, Carter," Much said as he stored the provisions in their new home. The tent held two cots and a chest and had just enough headroom for them to stand.
"I know," Carter replied as he sat on one of the cots. "And that is a good thing."
"What?" Much looked back at his lover.
"It means you'll be watching your back," Carter said. "And mine."
"Is there nothing else we can say?"
Carter threw his arms over Much's shoulders. "I'm afraid not, Much. I'm sorry. I know you wanted the king to say 'let's go back to England' but war... politics... it's all so complicated. Robin was close to him, and if his words cannot persuade the king, what chance do we have?"
Much turned in Carter's arms. "Wishful thinking I suppose." He rested his head on Carter's shoulder. "I hate politics."
Carter chuckled. "So do I." He ran his hand through Much's soft curls, tilted his chin up, and kissed him gently. "We won't stop talking with the king, Much."
"Is that all you'll be doing?" Much frowned. "Just talking?"
"Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Well, we're back here. In Palestine. With the king. And there was Brooks."
"And others, too, Much, but that was different. Do you understand?"
"They mean nothing to you?"
"How many times must I tell you?" Carter sighed, exploring his lover's face with his eyes.
Much smiled and teasingly pondered Carter's question. "How many stars did you say there are in the heavens?"
Carter answered his lover with a kiss.
"How about that," Much said when Carter broke their kiss.
"What?"
"A pigeon." Much's eyes filled with wonder. "That is hard to believe. A bird carrying a note all the way from England. How can that be? How would it find its way back here?"
Carter nuzzled Much's neck. "I've heard it's not looking for its home."
"Then what?" Much asked.
"It's looking for its mate. A pigeon will travel to the ends of the earth to get to the one it loves."
"Really? That's incredible."
Carter trailed kisses up Much's neck, over his stubbled jaw, and up to his temple. "I don't think so. I know I'd travel miles over mountains, stormy seas, and deserts to find you."
Much smiled at his lover. "I knew that." He ran a finger along Carter's brow, down his nose, and traced his lips. He cupped Carter's face in his hands and kissed him, shutting out all thoughts of politics and war and what the king might have in store. No matter those things, he knew how deep Carter's love ran. He cradled Carter's head against his shoulder. In their tent they would shield themselves from the outside world and hold every touch, every look, and every thought for each other.
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It's back to Sherwood for chapter 23... someone is spying on the gang when they attack a supply convoy! This way....>>>---------------->
Come to Denial... the endings are better there!