BooksBarbecue
Back Nottingham Save as PDF
Chapters (76)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. PART II
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. PART III
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. INTERLUDE
  35. PART IV
  36. TWENTY-SEVEN
  37. TWENTY-EIGHT
  38. TWENTY-NINE
  39. THIRTY
  40. THIRTY-ONE
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. INTERLUDE
  45. PART V
  46. THIRTY-FIVE
  47. THIRTY-SIX
  48. THIRTY-SEVEN
  49. THIRTY-EIGHT
  50. PART VI
  51. THIRTY-NINE
  52. FORTY
  53. FORTY-ONE
  54. FORTY-TWO
  55. FORTY-THREE
  56. FORTY-FOUR
  57. FORTY-FIVE
  58. INTERLUDE
  59. PART VII
  60. FORTY-SIX
  61. FORTY-SEVEN
  62. FORTY-EIGHT
  63. FORTY-NINE
  64. FIFTY
  65. FIFTY-ONE
  66. FIFTY-TWO
  67. PART VIII
  68. FIFTY-THREE
  69. FIFTY-FOUR
  70. FIFTY-FIVE
  71. FIFTY-SIX
  72. EPILOGUE
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  75. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  76. Newsletter Sign-up

They didn’t need to claim his uniform. Morg pulled his tabard over his head and threw it to the ground. He went willingly. If he had chosen to fight, the barracks could have ripped itself to pieces. Guy noticed more than a few hands moving to their hilts, uneasy glances shared amongst those that did not know if they should act. But Morg was escorted out of the hall without incident, over the blood on the stone, out into the blackness where he would return to the prisons in a very different manner.

Marshall Sutton made a show of his anger, staring wildly at anyone nearby, perhaps daring everyone into a fight. He was joined by Silas from the Yorkshire Guard, and a few others who seemed eager to object. Guy noted their faces.

He would offer each of them positions in the Black Guard by sunrise.

As the hall emptied, a young woman in a blood-soaked white tunic hustled in from the east wing and approached Wendenal. Neither said a word. The visitor simply shook her head sadly and retreated. Dale Hawkins was dead.

FORTY-THREE

ROBIN OF LOCKSLEY

THE OAK CAMP

“A SWORD ISN’T A club,” Robin bellowed, repositioning Alan-a-Dale’s arms so that he did not look quite so clueless. “It’s supposed to be an extension of your arm.”

“You mean a hand?” Alan’s joke turned glum as he grimaced against the new muscles involved in holding a sword properly.

They gathered in the field under the central oak tree, as before. They paired off against each other in pairs, as before. They breathed air, as before. Everything else was different.

When last Robin had trained them at swordplay, he cared more about keeping them from hurting themselves than about hurting someone else. They had been children in the woods staring down coachmen, and needed to know little more than which end of the sword was which. Now, they would almost certainly draw steel against the Nottingham Guard. If they could not do so confidently, they would only ever do so once.