Holy Warrior Read Online Free PDF Page A

creaked slightly in the centre under a person’s weight and was partially covered by a large wolfskin rug. The great oak bed was at one end of the room against the wall, perhaps three paces in from the door. Beside the bed was a large window with a stout wooden shutter, bolted from the inside, which opened out on to the castle courtyard. At the far end of the room were two clothes chests, one each for Robin and Marie-Anne, and a washbasin on a thin iron stand with a jug of water beside it. A large dresser, on the wall opposite the door, held feminine items such as jewellery, hair pins, face powder, perfume and a large silver mirror. From my seat on the bed, I could just see my reflection in the mirror: a big lad looked back at me, taller than average, and with the broad shoulders and thick arms of a swordsman. My oval face and regular features seemed entirely unremarkable to me, save for the mop of bright blond hair on top. The merest fluff of a beard showed on my cheeks and I remembered that I had not shaved for several days. I ran a hand over my face, and looked away at the rest of the room, noting an antler rack that held cloaks and hats, a crucifix hanging on the wall - which must belong to Marie-Anne — and a large throne-like oak chair.
    Considering the power that Robin now wielded in England, his private chamber was rather austere, but then he had never been a man overly concerned with comfort. Years of living wild as an outlaw had given him the ability to travel light, and apparently Marie-Anne was content with only the bare necessities of feminine life.
    As I sat on the silk bedcover, I could feel the effects of the long day’s travel. I was exhausted; for weeks I had been galloping about England delivering messages for Robin - and paying for my board and lodging by entertaining unfamiliar nobles in strange castles with my music - and now, warm, well-fed and safe, I could feel my eyelids turning to lead. Surely Robin could not be long. It was perhaps two hours after sunset and he would not like to have Marie-Anne out late at night in her condition. My head was nodding, and I had an overwhelming urge to lie down. I was sure that my master would not mind if I slept for a few minutes, just to be fresh for our discussion. So I kicked off my soft leather shoes and stretched out full length on the comfortable bed. I just managed to lift my head from the soft goose-feather pillow and blow out the candle before I was drowned in sleep.
     
    I came from deep sleep to fully awake very swiftly, like a man rising up fast from a deep pool and breaking the surface to gulp down clean air. But some devious instinct made me remain absolutely still and silent. There was someone coming into the room. I caught a glimpse of his shape, silhouetted in the doorway, back-lit by the dull glow of the banked hall fire. He was short, shorter than Robin, and much broader in the shoulder, too. And in his hand, just glimpsed, was a sword.
    The man closed the door behind him, the wooden latch closing with a click, and the room was once again pitch dark. All the hair on my neck stood to attention; goose bumps rose on my forearms. I lay still for one more moment and then, the knowledge hitting me like a bucket of icy water in the face, I rolled. And only just in time. There was a whist of sharp metal passing swiftly through the air, and then a thump as the edge of the man’s sword plunged into the bed where I had been lying just a heartbeat before.
    I scrambled to my feet, knocking over the night table with a deafening clatter of wood, silver and steel. Like a fool, I bent down to pick up the scattered food and utensils, hearing a patter of soft-shod feet running towards me and a hiss above my head as the sword swept over my stooping form in the black of the room. I found the fruit knife in my hand and dived under the bed and squirmed through the dust and cobwebs and out of the other side. But the swordsman anticipated my move, leaping round from