Marian searched for Will among the peasant ranks, but amidst the confusion and throngs of people, she couldn’t spot Will’s dark, foreboding form. It wasn’t until their captors pushed them forward to the front of the crowd that Marian realized what was happening—the leaders of the rebels were meeting with the king.
A distance away in an open grassy expanse, bright blue and red hues of clothing and standards marked the presence of nobility and royalty. The knights were decked from head to foot in plate armor and were heavily armed with swords and sharp pikes that would easily decimate the peasants. Their warhorses, too, were intimidating, massive beasts that stood at least fifteen hands high, fitted with armor like the warriors astride them.
She could easily picture Will as one such warrior, her mind spinning back to the tale he’d shared of his time in France, of losing Thomas. Will was a man who loved deeply and who also felt the pain of loss deeply. Even though he hadn’t declared his love in response to hers, she’d felt his passion and knew he cared for her.
Marian glanced to the sun overhead to gauge the time. It was past noon by now. Without a cloud in the sky or a tree to offer shade, the heat had begun to bake through Marian’s gown, plastering it to her sweat-slickened skin. After walking several miles, her mouth was parched.
As though sensing her discomfort, Phillip held out the leather jug he’d slung over his shoulder, the only one with any water left.
“You and Robert drink first.” She combed damp strands from Robert’s flushed face.
“No, lady.” Phillip pushed the jug into her hands. “’Tis for you.”
Before she could argue, several riders broke away from the peasant ranks and began to make their way across the grassy knoll toward the king’s men. Her heart leapt at the sight of Will among them in his plate armor but holding his bascinet. Astride his horse, his presence was fierce and imposing, especially next to Wat Tyler, who appeared frail on a little horse. Several other armored knights accompanied the rebel leader, including Sir John from Rochester.
When the peasants behind her roughly pushed her and the children further to the front of the ranks along with Sir John’s wife and children, she understood that once again they were pawns in a dangerous game. These men would slit their throats if Will and Sir John and the other captive knights failed to cooperate.
Upon reaching the king, Wat and his band of men dismounted. A dagger in hand, Wat only half bent his knee in front of the king. Then, as though equals, Wat took the king’s hand and shook it forcibly. Marian wasn’t versed in the etiquette reserved for royalty, but even she realized Wat’s familiarity with the king was disrespectful and excessive.
Although a strange hush fell over the crowd around her, they were too distant to hear the conversation going on between Wat Tyler and a distinguished gentleman that several peasants around her whispered to be Walworth, the mayor of London.
After some discourse, a flask was brought forward and handed to Wat Tyler. He drank for several moments, reminding Marian of how thirsty she was. She swayed slightly, and Phillip caught her arm.
“Please, lady.” He offered the jug to her again. When he uncorked it and pressed it to her lips, she couldn’t refuse.
The liquid was tepid and tasted of leather, but it quenched the burning in her throat. As she lowered the container and started to thank Phillip, the surrounding crowd began to clamor and draw their weapons.
Marian glanced again to where Wat Tyler stood with Will and the others in front of the king. But instead of the peaceful meeting, Wat was lunging at the mayor with his dagger, stabbing him in the stomach. The blow knocked the mayor backward.
Marian drew in a startled breath, expecting that the mayor would crumple. But he quickly recovered, throwing aside his cloak to reveal a hauberk of chainmail, apparently prepared for the attack. The other men on both sides drew their weapons, and in an instant they were engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Amidst the swinging swords, Marian sought Will, her heart thudding with fresh dread.
Instead of fighting against the king’s men, Will spun and struck Wat in the side. The peasant leader staggered. One of King Richard’s royal knights took advantage of the weakness and thrust his dirk into Wat’s chest and side with a burst of rapid jabs.
Crimson rapidly seeped through Wat’s garments. He staggered and then dropped to his knees. For a moment Marian couldn’t believe what she was witnessing, that this battle was unfolding before her.
This was no Hollywood movie or History Channel documentary. This was reality. The peasant leader was bleeding, and the men were killing one another.
The awful truth was that Will had just placed himself in mortal danger. Now that he’d taken a stand with the king, the entire peasant army would turn on him, especially once they realized he was responsible for attacking Wat first. Already the men around her were shouting, raising their weapons, and leaving her and the boys behind in their impatience to join the conflict.
A hand enclosed about her upper arm and yanked her backward. She started to struggle but then realized it was Thad. “Come quickly.” His voice was low and urgent.
Grabbing both Robert and Phillip, she followed Thad as they fought their way through the surging, angry crowd. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to them. She suspected that had been Will’s plan all along, to have Thad usher her and the boys away the moment the peasants were distracted by the fighting. Maybe he’d even designed his attack to be a diversion so she and the boys could escape undetected.
Although part of her longed to stay and discover Will’s fate, she had to do whatever she could to keep his sons safe from any vengeance the peasants might seek for his role in the fight.
Marian waited for someone to recognize her as Will’s wife and to force her back to the battle. But others were attempting to leave too, perhaps some, like them, who’d been coerced into coming and now hoped to make a getaway.
By the time they reached the edge of the crowd, she was breathing hard and shaking. She bent over at the waist to suck in deep breaths, but Thad dragged her along, forcing her to keep moving.
When they came to a secluded knoll, Thad dropped a coin into the hand of a dirty urchin who’d been holding the reins of two horses. The boy scampered toward the gathering, clearly eager to discover what was going on. Marian wanted to shout after the child to return with news, but he was gone before she could formulate the words.
Thad hoisted her into the saddle behind Phillip, and she barely had time to grab on to the boy to keep herself aloft before he kicked the horse in the ribs and raced away.
Thad followed close behind with Robert, the pounding hooves as wild as her heartbeat. They pushed the horses continually harder until they were riding at a frightening speed. All she could do was shut her eyes and pray—not only for them, but for Will.
~ 24 ~
MARIAN COULDN’T RISE from the bench to help the servants with the packing. After the hours of fleeing from London, she was desperate to know what had happened to Will and wasn’t sure whether her legs were trembling out of worry or exhaustion.
Never again would she complain about how texting and social media were taking the place of real conversations. If she’d had the capability to text, she could have discovered how he was doing right away instead of going endless hours with no idea.