Guy thanked them and conceded to return to the castle in their company. He asked them about their families, and tried to give minor memorable bits of advice. He had every reason to expect it would be the last time he would interact with them as their captain.

BARON ROGER DE LACY was dining in the high keep, because of course he was. While the Nottingham Guard had orchestrated one of the strongest raids against crime in their city’s history, the man who sat in the sheriff’s seat ate honeyed bread. The hypocrisy was too obvious for mockery.

The baron was speaking with the visiting Earl of Warwick and the kingsman William de Wendenal, who had apparently become a regular participant at the sheriff’s table. Guy cared little for those who would whisper private advice into the baron’s ears, especially those who did not call Nottingham home. Wendenal’s presence in particular was mystifying—rather than return to the war, he was offering de Lacy counsel on matters he should not even be privy to. It was the sort of closeness Guy had shared with Ralph Murdac, the tightness that should be natural between a sheriff and his captain.

Roger de Lacy lifted a finger to silence their conversation upon seeing Guy. “You’ll excuse me, but discipline, by its very nature, cannot be suffered to wait.”

Guy held his chin high. “Baron, I’m told you summoned me.”

“By numerous men, and frequently. Sit.”

Guy hesitated, then threw his leg over a chair and lowered himself into it.

“Not you,” de Lacy growled, looking sharply at Morg—who had claimed a chair as well. The man flinched and stood upright, very likely shitting every inch of his considerably sized pants.

Guy dismissed his men and waited to speak until they were gone. “Baron, have you not received my reports from the field?”

“From the field? Did you make it all the way to Jerusalem? Yes, I received many men who reported your circumstances, and I asked the same question to each one. Why was I speaking with him instead of you?” De Lacy aggrandized with his hands and lilted through his sentences the way a bad storyteller tells a joke. “Each one had the same answer, that they were only doing as they were told. Obedience. A curious trend amongst your men, from the lowest guard and up, but mysteriously stops just shy of captain.”

If the baron meant to take his station from him, Guy would much prefer it happen without a performance. He had no problem admitting his faults, but disloyalty was not one of them. “If they reported properly,” he said, “then you understand the reason for my absence.”

“Indeed, you misplaced one of your men,” de Lacy answered coldly. “You must have left him next to your common sense. I understand you spent a week searching the Sherwood for both of them.”