“I suppose so. But this man would have died if you had done nothing. Some things do not take care of themselves.”
“There they are!” a voice called from behind him.
They could not keep running.
Eleanor took hold of Mary’s arm and pointed to a camp with lit torches and restless horses. Men still worked setting up tents, as if the company had just arrived.
“Why there?” Mary asked, and Eleanor laid her hand on the bow. “The camp where you got the bow from? Well, we’ll have to return it in any case. The folk there seemed friendly to you?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Do we risk it?” John asked.
“We can’t keep on like this. We must hide, I think,” Mary said, and they ducked off the path, into the edge of the camp.
The missing bow had been noticed. Near the largest of the pavilions, a man was studying a rack, where swords, spears, and bows rested. He counted, counted again, looked around quizzically. Hard to get a good look at him in the near-dark. He seemed young, not much taller than Mary herself but powerfully built.
He noticed the odd company straight off, and his hand went to the sword on his belt. Fortunately, it stayed there. He stood with a bearing that suggested he was used to being listened to. Well born—a knight, even, given the sword. Not used to having weapons stolen from his camp.
She held up the bow and quiver. “I’m very sorry to bother you, sir. I’ve come to return this. And to ask for help. We’re in a bit of trouble.” All of them were breathing hard from the running, and Walter was clearly injured. She tried to seem harmless and contrite but was afraid she merely looked crazed. “We just need a place to hide for a bit.”
He glanced down the path where they’d come. Their pursuers had split up, and a pair of them approached, on the hunt.
“My lady, of course. This way.” He gathered the weapons from her and herded them around to the back of the tent. Once hidden, they stood still, breaths held. Mary’s chest hurt from holding it. She touched Eleanor’s shoulder, made sure Walter stayed upright, and didn’t have a hand left for anything else. The young knight kept watch.
Voices approached.
“They’ve gone this way!” one of the men called.
“I don’t see them anymore.”
“We must find that wretched boy—”
They carried on, out of hearing.
The young man nodded, satisfied. “I think they’ve gone for now.”
They all sighed. Mary rubbed her face and muttered, “God.”
“Now, please, tell me what’s happened—Your Grace!” He noticed Henry and bowed low.
Everyone had that exact same reaction. It was almost laughable, this man deferring to the lanky boy.
“Thank you for your help, sir,” Henry said solemnly.
“Then you all aren’t kidnapping the king?” the man asked.
“No!” Mary said, horrified, with more vehemence than was probably necessary.
John said, “We think those men are mounting some conspiracy against the Bishop of Winchester. They meant to drown Walter, and if they placed some incriminating evidence with him—”
“He would seem to be a spy,” the young man added, nodding with understanding.
Henry’s gaze narrowed. “If the blame fell on Lord Peter, it might be enough to throw him out of power.”
“And who are all of you?”
Mary had been about to answer when Henry said, “They are our friends.” Which kept their names out of it, which might have been for the best. She pressed her lips together, quiet as Eleanor. The king added, “We need to return to the palace without being seen. Can you help us?”