Of Horses and Churches

Several weeks later, outside Dijon, France

Djaq watched as Allan tore through the small copse of trees where the rest of them waited and fell to his knees, panting.

He spoke between huge gasps of breath. "No time. Have to get out of here. Now!"

The others merely looked at him in confusion. It had been weeks since Allan had come up with the plan to steal horses, and they had repeated it with varying degrees of success every time they had needed fresh mounts. This was, however, the first time they had any trouble with it.

"What happened?" Robin looked more annoyed than concerned.

"These two goons, yeah?" Allan stood up, still a bit winded. "They saw me nick the merchant's purse. Tried to follow me, but I lost them." He shrugged. "Don't know for how much longer though."

That was when Djaq noticed the dark stain slowly starting to spread on the side of Allan's shirt.

"Allan! You are hurt!" She ran over to him and touched his side, trying to inspect the wound, but he leapt back at her touch.

Much seemed shocked. "You're bleeding! You killed the horse merchant!"

"What? No! I didn't kill anybody! Besides…it's not my blood. See?" He lifted up the hem of his shirt so Djaq could see that his skin was unmarked.

"I told you this was a bad idea the first time." Much turned on Robin, directing his anger at someone other than Allan for a change. "And somehow, we're doing it again and again! And now we're getting caught too!"

"Oi! Nobody's been caught yet! And you have the horses, don't you?"

Much's response was indistinct as he walked away, muttering to himself. Djaq found herself vaguely amused by the whole situation. It was so much like the scrapes they used to get into before that it was tempting to think of everything that had happened in the last few weeks as nothing more than a dream. But she was not a dreamer, and that was not a luxury she could afford, so she shook the emotion off as wishful thinking. She started to walk off in the direction of the clearing where they had tied up the horses, when Allan's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Hold on a minute. Where's Will?"

--

She walked towards the town of Dijon, Little John at her side. She was pleased that it was him and not Allan who had offered to accompany her to find Will, although it irked her a little that everyone had expected her to just know where he was. It was almost as if they were so caught up in Robin's mission to save Marian (and the king, of course) that they had paid no attention to what was really going on with the rest of their lives. Still, she supposed that it was better than having them be too curious about her affairs. And if she were honest, their inattention bothered her far less than the fact that Will was missing, and that she had not noticed his absence for the past few hours.

That was a surprise in itself, because if there was one thing she had been doing for the past few weeks, it was noticing Will Scarlett. The irony of paying so much attention to a man she desperately wanted off her mind was not lost on Djaq, and it disturbed her that she could not find some rational explanation for her behavior.

On the ferry to France, she had spent hours pondering the problem of Will and Allan and how to get them to somehow reconcile while also removing herself from the equation. No concrete idea had come to her, and ultimately she decided that the simplest course of action was also the best. She would simply stop talking to both men. Eventually, their confusion over her actions and their loneliness would push them together. Once they had only each other to rely on, they would no longer need her, and she would be free, finally, of all the emotional burdens of the past few weeks.

So far, all signs suggested that her plan had failed utterly, as Will and Allan had not said a word to each other since their brawl. But she told herself this was one of those things that required patience and she was willing to wait. After all, their journey was far from over. As for the plan to extricate herself, she was far less certain of the outcome there.

She had been concerned at first that the two men would react badly to the cold shoulder she was giving them, and she had been fully prepared to explain her position to both of them and make them see the light. What she had not expected was that Will and Allan would also resolutely keep their distance from her. Allan's reaction was at least somewhat predictable. He was complicated, and he had a lot of pride. He would almost certainly want to figure things out himself before confronting her. But Will's behavior had left her confused and uncertain. She had been expecting him to feel hurt, to be angry and lash out at her. Instead, he had kept his distance, and except for the few times she caught him watching her, concern and confusion written on his face, he had seemed unmoved by her actions.

Oddly, this had only made her desire his company more. She had spent countless hours simply watching him, wishing she could touch him. The fact that she was acting like some pathetically besotted girl did not surprise her that much. Physical desire was something she could understand. After all, was not all of mankind dependent on it? It was the other part of her desire, the need to speak to Will, to know what he was thinking, to share with him her own thoughts, that troubled her. Why did she wish for all that, when there were others in the gang she could speak to just as easily? What was it about Will that made her heart yearn for things she could not even put it into words? Was this what it was to love someone? She was painfully aware now that her words in Nettlestone had been spoken too soon, with the confidence that there would be no consequences worth worrying about. She had said the words without understanding their true import, even as she was convinced they had been the truest words she had spoken in a very long time.

These questions fled through her mind at a dizzying pace, making it almost impossible for her to concentrate on the task at hand. Fortunately, Little John was much more steady right now than she was, and it was not long before his voice interrupted her thoughts.

"So. Where are we going?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't even know where to look for Will."

Little John smiled in his all-too-knowing sort of way. "That's all right. Because I know where he is."

"What? Why did you not say so before?"

He shrugged. "I thought maybe you'd want to find him yourself instead."

She frowned, not liking where he was taking their conversation.

"So where is he, then?"

"At church."

"Church?"

He nodded again. "It's where he's been going the past few weeks. Every time we go through a big town, he goes to church."

Will was going to church? It was something Djaq could simply not fathom. Granted, Will was as Christian as any of the others in Robin's gang. But he had never seemed to be infected with that curious mixture of superstition and fear that marked the Christian faith. Certainly, he had never seemed as hindered by his beliefs as John, Much, or even sometimes Allan. She had never before seen him show any interest in religion, and indeed, she could not remember if Will had ever ventured near a church in England.

So why was he going now? And so often, at that? She balked at the idea that she was somehow responsible. It could not be that he was driven to religion because of her rebuff. But if she were honest, she could not deny that it was possible. Her own feelings were so scattered and uncertain, and if Will was experiencing even half of her own consternation, then surely, he would be looking for answers. And what better place to find them than in a house of God?

She shivered suddenly, realizing for the first time that she loved not just Will, not just a man, but a Christian man. Confronted now with a truth she had never even considered before, Djaq cringed. Visions of the gruesome deaths of her father and brother came back to her with great force, and she fought to suppress the bitterness that rose up in her heart. Oh, Allah! What a cruel joke you have played on me! She felt her knees buckle with the force of her thoughts, but John's strong arm caught her under the elbow, and she righted herself.

"Are you all right?"

She shook her head, trying to restore some order to her thoughts. "No. I mean…yes, I'm all right. Or I will be soon."

John gave her a look of grave concern, but she quieted him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Truly, I am all right. It's just too much sun…or something like that."

He nodded and they went on their way. They did not speak, and the silence would have been companionable if not for the frequent and furtive glances of worry that John threw in her direction. She rolled her eyes at him, and eventually, he shrugged and gave her a chuckle, letting her know that he had set the matter aside, at least for now.

They walked the rest of the way in peace, Djaq allowing her thoughts to turn once more to Will and her newfound worries over his Christian-ness. She was uncertain of how much distance they had covered, or indeed of exactly where they were, but just as Dijon's massive cathedral came into view, the solution to her problems suddenly came to Djaq. Will's sudden discovery of religion was her salvation, in a way. It was the sign she'd been waiting for, the one indication that her brain had been right all along, and her heart, for all its desperate craving, was wrong. It would make it easier to explain her decision to Will, because even he could have no argument against Allah, or his own God, for that matter.

Little John cleared his throat, and pointed in the direction of the town square, dominated by the church. "That's it, that church. It's where you'll find him."

Djaq nodded, but then looked at him doubtfully, something about the tone of John's voice giving her pause. "You are not coming with me?"

John looked down, suddenly interested in the tops of his own boots. "No. I'll just wait right here. You go fetch him." He nodded then, as if to reassure her that it would be all right.

She hesitated, and then, thinking that it was better to be done with all this love business sooner rather than later, she set off in the direction of the church.

--

Will ran a hand along a line that had formed in the stone of one of the church's arches. The stone below the line was marred, apparently scorched in a fire from decades before, and it made an impressive contrast with the new, almost pristine stone that had been used to rebuild the rest of the arch. This one was an abbey of some sort, and one of the brothers had explained, in a halting mixture of English and French, but with obvious pride, that it was dedicated to St. Benignus. Will had no idea who the saint was, but he could at least agree with the man's appreciation of the place. It was spectacular.

It was when they first arrived in France that he had begun to notice the churches. When he was younger, a friend of his father's, an itinerant stonemason, had told him about the great churches that were being built all over Christendom, and Will had once imagined that he would be one of the great craftsmen invited to work on such a church. But fate had intervened. His father had lost a hand, his mother had lost her life, and Will had had to bury his dreams right then and there.

But they were here in France, and he could actually see these magnificent places in all their glory. Every time they had stopped in a large town or village, he had taken the opportunity to leave the gang and visit the local church, even if only for a few minutes. He considered it would probably be his only chance to see such places, so there was no sense in wasting it. What he had seen had taken his breath away. The stonework was impressive, like nothing he had seen before in Nottinghamshire, but even more fascinating was the woodwork. There had been carved choirstalls with intricate patterns carved into the misericords, paneling that told stories from the Bible, altars with woodwork so detailed he had ached to hack off a piece and take it with him just to show the others. Whenever he left a church, he felt rewarded somehow for all the tribulations of his life.

That was not the only reason for his temporary escape from the gang, of course. The churches were magnificent and fascinating, but it was also a huge relief to be away from Djaq every now and then. He was no closer to understanding what was happening with her, save that he knew she was scared of being with him. This he could sort of understand, since the idea of being with her frightened him as well, but his own fear brought him no closer to a solution to her problem, their problem. He wanted desperately to be able to tell her he understood, that he had no expectations of her, that he needed nothing from her, but he had no idea how to put these thoughts into words that would make sense to her and not frighten her away at the same time. So he had done the only thing he could have done. He had left her alone, hoping that having some distance between them would give her a chance to think and to work through her fear. Then maybe she would come to him, and they would finally be able to speak to each other.

He shook his head. It was all more than he wanted to think about just now. He turned away from the arch and made his way to the choirstalls with an eye to figuring out how the fantastic woodcarving had been done, when he caught a furtive movement out of the corner of his eye. Instantly on guard, he pulled out his hatchet and wheeled around, only to almost drop it in surprise.

It was Djaq.

--

"Hello, Will."

He goggled at her, the words clearly not forming properly in his mind. His expression was so odd that Djaq was tempted to laugh for a moment before she schooled herself back to seriousness.

"Djaq…what are you…I mean…how did you…?" He let his voice trail off, and then his expression changed, and he suddenly looked both amused and hopeful. "Have you been following me?"

"No! I…well, no, not exactly. I was just…curious." She had thought to say she was worried, but she changed her mind, not wanting to admit that she was concerned about him.

"And we're being chased by some goons who attacked Allan, so we should head back soon. The others are waiting."

Will nodded, and then waved her in front of him as they made their way out of the church. Djaq watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his mood. When she had first walked into the church, she had expected to find him prostrate before his God, praying for answers and absolution and whatever else it was Christians did in their churches. Instead, she had found him admiring the stone and wood of the church, in rapt wonder at miracles made not by God, but by man.

In hindsight, she felt as if she should have guessed where Will was and what he was up to. It was just like him to be interested in how a church was built and how its decorations were carved. It was not prayer that had brought Will to God, but art. The thought made Djaq sad, made her wish that she were a different woman, or that he were a different man, or that they lived in a different time, so that this sort of art could have been something they could marvel at together instead of the thing that drove a wedge between them, separating them forever.

She sighed heavily, and the sound made Will stop and stare at her, a question in his eyes and concern in his face. She shook her head, and he nodded, but after they had walked a few more steps, he stopped again.

This time, the look he gave her was frank, but also terribly intense, and for once, Djaq was tempted to look away. Then he spoke, and some of the intensity faded.

"Nothing has to change, you know."

She raised an eyebrow at him, confused and unsure what he was saying.

"You want everything to be like it was before we…well, before." He looked away, obviously trying to find his words. "And that's all right. I understand. I still,…"

He shook his head and then fixed her with another intense stare. "Really, I mean it. Nothing has to change."

And with that, he walked away from her, leaving her staring after him. If he had hoped his words would reassure her and bring her comfort, then they had fallen far short of their mark.

--