That was enough. The two young men were looking for coin, and a little bit of it might easily send them on their way. But William barely moved toward his bag before Alan’s sword was suddenly close, its point kissing William’s chest. He nearly reacted on instinct—he could have disarmed the young man in any of four ways without even thinking about it—but that was a line best not crossed. Whoever John was, he’d be on them soon, and he might have friends. There’s a peaceful way out of this, William reminded himself, easing away from the steel.

“Maybe you ought to sit down with your friend.” Alan’s whine was not a suggestion. “After all, there’s no need to stand for John. He’s not royalty.”

“As we are,” reminded Will from behind the trees.

“As we are.”

William eased down next to Robin, exchanging a quick but knowing glance. “That’s an interesting make of blade you have there,” Robin said, though it was clearly for William’s ears.

William noticed it now, too. Alan held the sword too far away from his own body, he had no leverage to make a thrust if he wanted to attack. His hands were clasped over each other on the hilt, betraying his poor form as well as the signature flared cross pounded into the pommel of the weapon, a design reserved for a Crusader.

Alan smiled. “Family heirloom.”

“That blade, along with many just like it, was due to be delivered to King Richard’s army not so long ago.”

Alan nodded smugly. “I’ve a large family.”

His boots were new, not the beaten footwear of a thief. The white smock underneath the brown surcoat bore the red tips of a Templar cross peeking from its edges. How bizarrely convenient. William wondered how many shipments of missing supplies might lie just beyond the treeline.

“Here’s my friend now,” Will returned, flicking his tongue about needlessly. “Goes by the name of John Little. Don’t let his name fool you.”

There was indeed no fooling when it came to the size of the man who lumbered out of the woods. He had clearly been left for last intentionally. He stood two full heads taller than little Will, though that wasn’t saying much. A pair of great trunks of legs carried him closer, and his heavy barrel of a chest heaved from side to side with each step. Grey fleeced the slope from his chest to chin. In his hands he carried a quarterstaff as impressive in size as he was, more of a small tree than a staff at all, wrapped in dark leather and studded with knobs and cracks.