Vampire Outlaw (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 2)

by Dan Davis

  “So he’s in Sherwood,” I said, my nose half an inch from his own. “I could have guessed that. Where in Sherwood? Where has he taken them?”

  “Taken his men? He knew not where.”

  “What are you blathering about?”

  Guy frowned. “He goes to find the Lady Marian. He took ten men before dawn, leaving me and a few of us here to guard the castle and the town.”

  “Find Marian? But he is the one who took her from me.”

  Relief washed over Guy’s face. “He did not. The Green Knight took her.”

  “The sheriff is in league with the Green Knight.”

  “He is not.” Guy said and I squeezed him. “I swear, I swear it, on God’s teeth, I swear it.”

  “But the sheriff is in league with the archbishop,” I said.

  Guy peered at me warily. “The archbishop is here often,” he said. “But they are two of the most powerful lords of the north, why would they not be?”

  “The archbishop is working with the Green Knight,” I said.

  Guy simply gaped at me.

  I shoved him away and turned around. The three men at arms stood with their swords out. I ignored them and straightened the sheriff’s fine chair. I sat myself down in it and thought.

  “The archbishop sent a steward to Ashbury after I was outlawed,” I said to Guy as he inched around before. Guy waved his men back and pulled a bench upright, quite far away from me. “The new steward was a big man, a very big man named John. I did not think of it at the time but after the women were taken, I recalled the sheriff saying he had sent his chief bailiff, a man named John into the Greenwood. John the bailiff was a big man, correct? And he’s the sheriff’s man?”

  “Bigger than you,” Guy said. “Little John they called him. But he went into the wood. He never came out.”

  I nodded. “I understand now. He was not the sheriff’s man after he came out. He was William’s. William de Ferrers, the Green Knight. He has made the bailiff, Little John, into his own man. And somehow, William has sent his man to Ashbury, on request of the archbishop. But how did the sheriff know that Marian had been taken?”

  “He pays a man who lives near Ashbury. He sends reports, every now and then.”

  “Reports of me? Who is this man?”

  “I would rather not say,” Gisbourne said.

  “My dear Guy,” I said. “I am sorely tempted to cut off your head and then kill your men here. Are you on my side or are you not?”

  “He is the Prior of Tutbury. A monk named Simon.”

  “That sneaky little bastard,” I said. “He told the sheriff Marian was there, and the sheriff sent a man to take her, am I right?”

  “He sent me,” Guy said, sullenly. “Only, when I arrived she was already taken by the new steward, this fellow John.”

  “You bunch of sly, traitorous bastard dogs,” I said. “You have been conspiring behind my back.”

  “I do only as I am commanded by the Sheriff of Nottingham and Derbyshire,” Sir Guy said. “I am a loyal servant.”

  “You are as cowardly as a woman, Guy,” I said. “And as faithful as a snake. Be thankful your head is yet attached to your body. Tell me, where was the sheriff going first, to look for Marian?”

  “Linby, first, then on to Newstead Priory.”

  “He will find both places empty of life,” I said. “Where would the sheriff go next?”

  “On to Blidworth, I should think.”

  “Then I ride to Blidworth,” I said.

  Guy leapt to his feet. “I will accompany you,” he said, then paused. “That is, if you agree, Sir Richard.”

  “Your lord commanded you to stay here, did he not? All Nottingham is entrusted to you.”

  “My men can be trusted,” he said. “Can you not, boys? If the sheriff’s good wine is so much as looked at then I shall cut off your hands myself, do you hear me?”

  “Fine,” I said. “But you do as I say at all times.”

  “I swear, Sir Richard,” Guy of Gisbourne said, the lying sack of shit.

  ***

  “First, we find the sheriff and his men,” I said to my own assembled band. We were all mounted, on the road north of Nottingham and were ready to set off. It was midday and I ached to be gone already. “Then we will combine our forces, find William and his monsters and save Marian and Eva.”

  We were Jocelyn, Anselm, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Swein and sixteen Wealden archers. Four of the original twenty had elected to return to Kent with the wealth they had taken at the Lincoln Fair. The sixteen that were left were young men all, good fighters, excellent bowmen. I was glad to have them but I feared I was leading them to their deaths.

  “Any man who wishes to return to his home is welcome to do so,” I said. “I have a royal warrant to defeat the outlaw band and we will all be rewarded. But none of you should think this will be an easy way to make money.”

  “Sir Richard,” Swein said. “My men want to save Marian and Eva as much as you do. The women spent the whole winter with us. There’s not a man here who would not give his life for the Lady Marian.”

  “They are your men now, are they?” Jocelyn said.

  “They are,” Swein shot back.

  “And you consider yourself a man,” Jocelyn said. “But if you think the Lady Marian looks upon you as anything but a boy then you are very much mistaken.”

  Swein reached for his bow and I rode forward, pushing my horse in between the two of them. I kicked Swein’s horse on the rump and it jerked sideways. Swein, being such a poor horsemen, fell from his saddle and landed hard.

  The archers, all mounted, sat up straighter and a couple put their hands to their daggers.

  They were Swein’s men indeed.

  I had not meant for him to fall but I could not apologise now without appearing weak.

  “I will have no fighting in this company,” I shouted, making some of the horses nervous, and their riders too. “We will be fighting for our lives this very day. Save it for William’s men, you flaming bloody fools. Get up on your horse, Swein, and try to stay upon it.”

  “I told you peasants make poor horsemen,” Jocelyn said.

  I glared at Jocelyn. “You are supposed to be a knight. Act like one.” His smirk fell from his face. “And get rid of that absurd lance, will you, man? We are riding into a woodland, you will find no place for a charge.”

  “I am a knight,” Jocelyn said, sticking his nose in the air. “And the lance is a knight’s weapon.”

  Swein clawed his way to his feet, his eyes full of murder as he looked up under his cap at me. I hoped I had not made an enemy of the lad by shaming him in front of his men.

  “Swein, you know the Greenwood better than any man here,” I said. “Please lead us onward to Blidworth. Let us move quickly, we have less than a half a day’s light left.”

  The lad mounted and nodded, somewhat mollified.

  Sir Guy raised his eyebrows as we rode out. “Not a word from you, Gisbourne,” I muttered and he lowered his head to hide his smile.

  We knights and squires had good horses, capable of comfortable gait. But the archers and Swein had their sturdy, short-backed ponies. They could keep pace with us but they were much jostled. All had complained bitterly in the long, fast journey north and then every day that they had mounted since. Although, I had to admit they had all grown into their saddles, learning to move with their mount and as we rode north from Nottingham I was pleased to see them riding fairly well and without complaint. For I would need them in fighting form the moment that they dismounted.

  “Your so-called squire grows big for his boots,” Jocelyn said as he rode close beside me. He spoke in French and even then, he kept his voice low.

  “You will stop this absurd rivalry with the lad,” I said. “What has gotten into you? You are a famed knight and he will only ever be a commoner. No doubt, he will end his days on the end of a rope yet you treat him as if he is a threat to you. I know, son, you are afraid for Marian, of course, you are but why
release your ire onto Swein? What has he done to deserve it? We need him, he was an outlaw in these woods. And, as you are too blind to see it, those archers are indeed his men. Did you see him when we raided Dover? Did you see him leading them in Lincoln? They were Cassingham’s men once but the lad has brought them over to himself. They are here with us because of him. If you truly want Marian back, then you will treat Swein as a friend, not your enemy.”

  Jocelyn said nothing for a long while and I waited for him to argue. Instead, he eventually agreed. “You are right,” he said. “It is just that he and Marian have been often found talking together and laughing together. I could never make her laugh. I am ever awkward with her.”

  “He is an outlawed son of a freeman,” I said. “She could never marry him. You must be patient with her. She will see that you are a good man and would make a good husband, you will see.”

  Jocelyn hung his head. “She is likely dead, is she not? Or at the very least, she is raped by those beasts.”

  I thought that Jocelyn was probably right. “More likely they have taken her to William, who will drink from her,” I said.

  “But his men,” Jocelyn said, his face twisted in anguish. “His men will take her, will they not?”

  “All that matters is that we get her back alive,” I said. “And Eva too.”

  We rode into Linby. It looked the same as the last time we were there after Ranulf the forester had talked to me in his home and then been slaughtered for it. The whole village had been butchered, with bodies in the houses and in the gardens. It was still deserted. The bones of the dead had been dragged away by the beasts of the woodland. There was no smell of smoke. No animals squealing and being hushed. A pair of goldfinches flitted through the open doorways.

  “The sheriff and his men’s horses came through here,” Swein said, dismounted and looking at the disturbed ground. “No sign of a fight, as far as I can tell.”

  “Onward to Blidworth,” I commanded Swein. “Every man be ready from here on out. Keep your eyes open.”

  “As if we weren’t already,” one of the archers muttered.

  We picked our way along the track from Linby toward Blidworth. The sun slid behind a cloud but the wind was still warm. The overwhelming scent of immense clusters of elderflower filled the air with their heady smell, so strong that it was unpleasant.

  Once out of the village the trees grew close to the track. The woodland by villages is always coppiced and often free of tangled undergrowth. No animal larger than a field mouse is found in such domesticated wood. It was late May. Blossom bloomed in the hedgerows and at the edges of the wood. The whitebeam blossom formed loose domed clusters of small white flowers. Hawthorn shrubs and small trees were more numerous than any other. The dense masses of flowers form white in May but I knew they would turn pink as they matured, as if in the promise of the vivid red berries that they will become, turning the colour of old blood by Christmas. I wondered if I would be alive to see it.

  Bullfinches flitted through the branches, crying out at our intrusion with their mournful, single-note call.

  And yet for all the new life in it, the woodland outside of Linby felt deeply threatening. I imagined all manner of men and beasts waiting just out of sight and sound in the darkness between the dense trunks and green understorey.

  “How far to Blidworth?” I asked Swein, who rode at the fore of our band.

  He glanced at me. “Not far,” he said. “Half of half a day on foot?”

  “A quarter of a day,” I said. “So, seven miles?”

  “Sounds right,” he said, shrugging.

  “What is this place like?” I asked.

  “Just a village, Sir Richard,” Swein said. “A village like any other in Sherwood. A village subject to the king’s laws of the forest. Subject to the whims of the warden, foresters and the verderers.” Swein spat off the side of his horse to show me what he thought of those men.

  “Like that man Ranulf,” Anselm said, from behind me. “He was a landowner in Linby. What did the folk of Sherwood think of him?”

  “The folk of Sherwood?” I asked. “Like Swein alludes to, Anselm, the folk of Sherwood are the same as the folk of anywhere. They moan and gripe about the laws that govern them and likewise complain about the loyal servants of the Crown who must enforce them.”

  Swein shook his head. “The laws are wrong, my lord, they are wrong. Outside of the king’s forests, there are laws, traditions long held. Inside the forest then there is another law. A law where a man is sentenced to maiming or even death for simple things like trespass or the killing of a deer. I ask you, Richard, what kind of law is it where a skinny old doe in winter, not a day from a natural death, is equal to the life of an Englishman?”

  “No fair law,” Anselm said.

  “The king’s law,” I said. “Now hold your flapping tongue still for a moment, will you? Who is the verderer at Blidworth? Not Ranulf too? He did not seem important enough to be forester and verderer both.”

  Swein looked at me strangely. “Did you not know? It is your friend, Sir Guy of Gisbourne.” Swein jerked his thumb behind us.

  Anselm started to turn about. “Do not look at him, Anselm or I will take your eyes.”

  Swein grinned. “He’s a right evil bastard, that one, my lord.”

  “He is the verderer at Blidworth?” I asked. “Why would the sheriff not take him to his own village?”

  “Perhaps because all the verderers in Sherwood are corrupted,” Swein said. “The sheriff is supposed to have no legal authority in Sherwood but he and his friends have seen to it that every post, from warden and verderer to forester and on down has been one of the sheriff’s men.”

  “But the verderers are elected by the county courts?”

  “And who rules them, my lord?” Swein asked.

  “It is true,” Anselm said. “Swein has told me much about this. I think I shall have to speak to my father.”

  “For the love of God, Anselm,” I said. “You are a good lad and a fine squire but you will never change the way of these things. Men’s hearts are corrupted and so their hearts corrupt their posts. So the priests tell us.” I lowered my voice. “Now, fall back slowly and warn Jocelyn to watch out for Sir Guy. Speak softly, out of Guy’s hearing, draw Jocelyn away. Warn him that Guy may have been left behind to lead us into an ambush.”

  Anselm’s eyes widened, all noble thought of justice for the peasants forgotten. He moved to the edge of the path and slowed his horse to do as I asked.

  “An ambush?” Swein asked, scanning ahead.

  “Do you know of any likely places?” I asked.

  He scratched his nose. “A few, perhaps. There is a dell, a couple of miles from Blidworth. The rocks climb high above the track. And the village has fields on all sides but the houses are in two rows, either side of the road. Men could hide there for us to enter, trap us between the buildings.”

  “And between here and there is all woodland?”

  “I recall a patch of moorland on the high ground up ahead.”

  It sounded as though we might be ambushed anywhere. I wondered if I was overreacting. Perhaps Guy never considered it important enough to mention. Certainly, if his post existed only to increase his personal wealth and to keep Sherwood as well as the county in his sheriff’s hands, then there was little reason to bring it up.

  And yet why would Roger leave his best man behind in Nottingham? As Guy had said, his men would look after such a quiet, stable place as Nottingham. Guy was quick enough to volunteer to accompany me into the woodland. Had I been manipulated? Was the sheriff even in Blidworth at all? Perhaps I was being led far from where Marian and Eva really were.

  “Every man who has a helmet,” I said, turning my horse to face the archers. “Put it on. String your bows. Loosen your arrows. Distance yourselves further from each other. Watch ahead and to either side. Sing out if you hear or see anything at all. Do you all hear me?”

  Sir Guy showed no obvious sign of distress at our
preparations.

  Thus arrayed, we continued on.

  I myself chose to go without my helm to preserve my exceptional sight, hearing and sense of smell. However, I did not pretend, even to myself, that my powers of healing would cure an arrow through my head. So I remained rather concerned as we proceeded.

  I was thirsty for blood. I wondered idly what Swein would say if I asked him for some of his own, as he had fed Tuck. He would probably not agree.

  In the narrow band of moorland between the wood, we went single file, in three separate files moving parallel to each other. The central one I led along the path. Jocelyn the left and Swein on the right.

  We sprung no ambush.

  At the dell, we found a mix of ash, alder, goat willow, holm oak, strawberry tree, suckering elms, spindle tree, dogwood, elder and white poplar woven together in a rich limestone scrub by a scramble tangle of wild hops, dog-roses and brambles that could have hidden a thousand crouching monsters. I sent archers up and around both sides to discover any waiting bowmen.

  There were none.

  We approached the village of Blidworth with caution. As we came out of the wood, to either side of the track was a large strip field with rows of barley. The sun was setting over the woodland behind us, sending our long shadows before us as we rode up the hill toward the village, which remained out of sight over a hump in the road.

  The clash of iron came on the wind.

  I pulled up, straining to hear.

  The men, needing no instruction, reined in behind and beside me.

  Jocelyn turned his helmeted head toward me.

  “I hear the sound of battle,” I said. “Up ahead.”

  “The sheriff has found William,” Jocelyn said.

  “Or the other way around,” I said, speaking quickly. “Jocelyn, you and Anselm lead your five archers up the left through this field. Swein, you take six of your fellows and take up position to the right of the village. Sir Guy, come along with me and these five fine fellows here. We knights to close in from three sides, each covered by the bowmen. And if any of you archers shoot me in the back, I shall rip your giblets out. Move now, quickly now.”