Page 53 of An Earl for the Archeress

A common man might have a weapon or two, but swords and metal were expensive. Only the wealthy had those, and Nottingham was using his might to terrorize others. It would take either the wealthy purse of a noble to outfit a force against tyranny, or it would take the wealthy man himself to face down the tyrant with power of his own. ’Twas obvious that Robert was taking matters into his own hands in the only way he could, while preserving his own estates and position, by hiding his identity as the thief of the forest and assailing Nottingham with his infectious and merry smile.

Except, she counted at least five and ten men donning the Nottingham and Ayr colors. Robert was mad. Completely and utterly mad. He had four other men beside himself, and though they were prepared with their quarterstaffs, swords, and bows, they wore no jingling armor. Certainly, she was about to watch him commit suicide against such odds.

“These beggars, my friend, are what’s the trouble with England,” Nottingham drawled. “They’ve subsisted off King Richard’s generosity, hunting our lawful game, and have nothing to show for it. This dilapidated pile of wood and daub is on the king’s rented land, and their obligation is to pay rent and keep it in good repair.”

“Obviously, they can nay do even that. I’ve the same trouble in the north,” agreed the Beast of Ayr in his Scottish brogue.

Mariel’s gut churned with disgust. The aging woodsman had no coin to purchase repairs. He had hardly any food. Hay would need to be purchased for rethatching and it would cost any man dearly. A woodsman would rely on fur trades, lumber, and crafted woodworks to acquire what he needed, and at eighty-eight years, he wasn’t capable of labor anymore.

The door opened and the old man hobbled out. His eyes widened as he gazed up at William de Wendenal perched atop his destrier. “M’lord Nottingham. A pleasure to see you.” He bowed, though the nervous tremor to his voice gave away his fear.

Mariel watched, knowing her heart was about to break.

“To what do I owe this honor?” the man continued. “I’m afraid the pantry is thin and I haven’t any ale to speak of, but you’re welcome to a drink of cold water.”

“No water,” Nottingham replied with a curl of the nose, as if the poor man’s water was inferior. All knew that many of the nobles relied on private wells. “I’ve come for the rent.”

The man bowed his head again and again. “Begging your pardon, m’lord—”

Nottingham gave Crawford a knowing rise of the eyebrows, to which Crawford harrumphed and nodded.

“—but I’ve been unable to hunt. Bad leg and bad back.”

“Why have you not sold those pelts to purchase repairs to the cottage?” demanded Nottingham.

The man’s voice shook noticeably. “There were no buyers for them at the time, and since I sold my dray horse last month to cover the rents, I’ve no way to get them back to market.”

“You could carry them,” replied Nottingham.

“I’ll try to do just that, if you give me the chance. ’Twill take me sennights, but I’m sure I can manage.”

“Too late. ’Twould be cheaper to tear the cottage down and build anew rather than fix this mess. And if you cannot pay your rent, you cannot reside here any longer. Men?”

“What…what are you doing?” the old man cried, as Nottingham’s men dismounted. “Wait…wait!”

He tried to stop them, but the guards pushed him aside and marched over the threshold, sending the old man off balance and tumbling to the earth.

“Confiscate anything of value!” bellowed Nottingham. “The rest? Pile it out here and burn the place!”

“Stop!” begged the woodsman. “I beg you! Give me some time and I’ll find the money, I swear it!”

No one listened. The old man tried to get to his feet, but without a crutch or a ledge to pull up on, he could do little more than sit there. Mariel covered her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. She hadn’t seen the peasant and his pregnant wife get ousted, and watching it happen to the old man caused pain to squeeze her heart.

The soldiers ignored the old man, trailing out of the house with his scant possessions, dumping a sewing basket that had no doubt been his wife’s into the pile, and taking the man’s only cooking pot and his hunting weapons.

“The only things of value, my lord,” said a soldier. “The rest, just this old table, roughly hewn, some rags, no doubt belonging to his woman. The bed won’t fit through the door, but looks to be in disrepair. Surely it is riddled with nits.”

Nottingham nodded once, his black gaze emotionless as the old man fell into tears. “Please…” he begged. “Please…”

“Set it aflame, men, and let’s move on!”

The old man found the strength to rise when he saw the oil flagons come out and the soldiers begin to douse the thatching with it.

“Stop!” he wailed, running up to a soldier and grabbing his arm. The soldier shoved him away once more. The old man staggered backward, hobbling to stand beneath Nottingham’s horse. “I’ve never known another home! Stop, I beg you! Where will I go?”

“This land is now in my stewardship until King Richard returns! Where you go is not my concern, but you’ll freeload no more on the king’s benevolence!” roared Nottingham, erupting into a rage. “Collect your meager things and be gone!”

The poor man cringed, watching helplessly as a soldier cracked a flint and a spark ignited the thatching. Tears streamed down his face. Tears streamed down Mariel’s face. Rage hardened her brow. She had seen her father employ such tactics of intimidation time and again and had certainly felt his wrath more times than she cared to remember. But watching him sitting beside Nottingham, as if they were old chums, and look down his nose at the old man, made her blood boil. It was all she could do not to whip loose a fistful of arrows and dispatch both men.