“Is that all she gave you?” Scarlet demanded, laughing suggestively and James flushed as red as the outlaw's name. Peter Ordevill's mother had tried it on with all of the outlaws at one time or another, much to her son's chagrin.
“Their plan is for Tuck to come along and be found by your men, just as I was,” James continued, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “The monk with him will leave a trail for Sir Guy to follow, straight to your camp. And then...”
“And then we die,” Robin said, to a grunt of agreement from the young archer behind him.
They lapsed into silence then, and, shortly, the foliage gave way and they walked into a clearing.
“John!” Robin shouted, summoning his giant lieutenant from the undergrowth. “The rest of you, stay hidden for now. We're still not sure what we face yet.” He turned to James and pointed towards the fire. “There's ale and meat there. Help yourself and rest while we discuss this. Even if Tuck's right behind you, Gisbourne can't be too close – he'll have to keep a safe distance so our lookouts don't spot him and ruin his plan.”
“Tuck?” Little John asked, baffled. “Gisbourne? What the fuck's going on? If the Raven's nearby shouldn't we be getting the hell out of here? He must have –”
Robin held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “Listen, and I'll explain what's happening, then we can decide what to do.”
* * *
“They must be nearby,” Tuck said, in reply to Osferth's grumbling about his sore feet and how much longer until they found the outlaws. They'd been advised to leave their mounts in the village by the residents of Selby, since the outlaws' nearby camp-site was hidden in a thick section of forest and both men were now thoroughly fed up with their walk.
“In fact,” Tuck smiled encouragingly, “their lookout's probably spotted us already and ran to warn Robin and the lads of our approach. I'm sure they'll be along to see us any time now.”
“You're not wrong there, father.” A voice, seeming to come from directly overhead, startled both of them, Osferth almost dropping to his knees in fright but Tuck chuckled, recognizing the voice as that of Allan-a-Dale.
When Gareth had taken up Allan's recently vacated lookout spot, he'd been pleasantly surprised to see their old friend and mentor Friar Tuck appear with some other monk in tow. He'd sprinted back to camp as fast as he could to give the men the good news, only to find they were expecting the friar. He and the minstrel had then headed back, again, towards the lookout spot, Allan explaining things to his companion as they went, before he climbed a tree about halfway along the only obvious path the approaching clergymen could take. Gareth continued on, taking a circuitous route through the undergrowth back to the his lookout post high in the great oak tree with orders to stay and watch for Sir Guy of Gisbourne's inevitable approach.
Now, not for from the outlaws' camp-site, the minstrel jumped down and Tuck grabbed him in a great bear-hug, the joy at seeing one of his friends evident on his ruddy face. Osferth nodded a greeting of his own which was returned by the burly outlaw before the man stood back and looked Tuck up and down.
“You look... well, just the same as when you left us, really,” he said. “Maybe a bit thinner again. You're not quite the big, pot-bellied friar I remember from that first meeting.”
“Aye, well, Prior de Monte Martini didn't feed me as well as I'd have liked, the bastard. Still, I'm sure you've got plenty of meat and bread – and ale – at your camp. So, are you planning on standing there, gaping like a trout all day, or are you going to lead my companion and I to sustenance? It's almost dinner time. And this is Osferth, by the way; a friend of mine from Lewes. He didn't like the prior much either.”
Allan glanced at Osferth and a look flashed across his handsome features but it passed almost instantly and Tuck was unable to read it.
“You'll never change will you?” The outlaw smiled, before turning to lead the two travellers into the undergrowth. “Can't do anything unless your stomach's filled. Come on then, stay close.”
Allan glanced back to make sure he was being followed by the pair and, from the corner of his eye, he noticed Osferth, a small blade in his hand, marking the trunk of the tree nearest to him.
“Gareth saw you coming,” the minstrel said, turning quickly to face the front again. “Edmond's got the pot bubbling away nicely you'll be pleased to hear. The men'll be glad to see you; we've missed you, old man.”
Tuck smiled. “I missed all of you too, Allan. I had to go back to Lewes though, and I'm glad I did. God had a purpose for me, which is why I'm back around Barnsdale again. For good this time, I hope.”
“Well, save your breath for now, you can tell us all about it when we get back. Come on,” he began to quicken his pace. “It's not far, but I'm starving myself so let's hurry.”
Tuck was glad when, soon enough, they came into the clearing where his outlaw friends were camped. The exercise had left him puffing hard and he had a painful stitch, but the sight of a grinning Robin, flanked by the bear-like figure of Little John and the stocky Will Scarlet made him forget his discomfort and he hardly slowed as he skipped past the fire with its attendant cooking pot and gripped arms with the outlaws.
“I've never been so happy to see a priest in all my life,” Will joked, shoving himself away from Tuck's embrace, a broad smile on his face. “It's good to see you again, you old bastard.”
The rest of the men seemed to materialize from the trees like ghosts, greeting Tuck happily, but he was surprised when the vast majority of the outlaws all faded back into the undergrowth after their hasty welcome. His feeling of unease only increased when he spotted a man – not one of the gang – sitting on a log beside the fire, nursing a mug of ale and watching him from wary eyes.
“You...” The friar racked his brain for a moment, trying to recall where he knew the young man from, before he nodded in recognition. “James, isn't it? The archer who spared my life when his friends would gladly have robbed and killed me.”
“You spared their lives too,” James replied, not mentioning the fact that one of the men had died later from the whack in the skull the friar had given him. No need to place that burden on the good friar's soul...
Tuck shrugged, as if to say the brigands had been nothing but a minor irritation, to be swatted aside like insects. “What brings you here?” He turned then to address Robin before James could reply. “What's going on anyway? Why are the men concealed, as if expecting something?”
“Ask your friend.”
Tuck looked at Osferth, who still stood at the edge of the camp, in confusion. “What? What are you talking about, Robin? Will someone please tell me what in God's name is happening here?”
Osferth's eyes had widened and his hand had fallen inside his cassock as if grasping for a weapon.
“Your mate is working with Gisbourne. He's been marking the trees along the way here so the Raven can bring his soldiers and wipe every last one of us out, once and for all.”
Tuck laughed and sat down beside James, helping himself to a slice of salted beef from the wooden trencher in the man's lap. “Osferth's been with me on the entire road here from Lewes, he hasn't left my side. How could he be helping Gisbourne? Why would he do that anyway?”
“It's true, father,” James said quietly, looking at the forest floor sadly. “I'm sorry, but I was in Horbury at the same time as you were. Your companion came to the inn I was staying at – the Swan – and met Sir Guy there. I overheard their conversation.” He looked up to meet Tuck's irritated gaze. “You helped me even though my companions and I had tried to rob you. That means a lot to a man like me so... when I knew that little rat bastard was going to betray you I came here to try and stop it happening.”
Tuck tossed his half-eaten slice of meat back onto the plate and rose to his feet, watching Osferth, who stood silently and serenely, as if he was simply back at the priory listening to evening mass.
“Well? Is it true?”
Osferth nodded. “It is, but fear not: t
he soldiers will not harm you.”
“What?” Tuck shouted in disbelief. “Fear not?”
“Sir Guy is coming to do God's work, just as I have done. These murderers – sinners – will know justice, and the world will be a better place for it, but Sir Guy knows not to harm either of us. Once this is all over we shall return to Lewes where Prior de Monte Martini will reward us.”
Tuck stared in astonishment at the man he'd thought was slightly unbalanced but this... it was unbelievable. “Are you insane, Osferth?” he demanded. “I punched the prior in the face. I stole his precious relic. You set half the bloody priory on fire, man! If we go back to Lewes we'll be excommunicated and strung up. That's assuming we survive this nightmare you've brought down upon us.” He strode across and grabbed Osferth by the scruff of the neck, almost lifting the slight monk from his feet. “The prior hates me. Why would he want Gisbourne to spare my life? Of all these men here I'm the one he'd like to see dead the most! Are you really so naïve?”
Osferth shook his head in denial of Tuck's words.
It was clear the Benedictine was lost in some fantasy where everything would turn out well for them, as God intended.
Friar Tuck released him with a shake of his head and turned to glare at Robin. “Well, what the hell are we still here for? If Gisbourne's coming shouldn't we be on our way?” He spoke again to Osferth, spitting the words out furiously through gritted teeth. “How many men does he have at his command?”
“I've no idea. At least enough to outnumber these evil-doers. I told him to send for reinforcements when I first sent word to him back in that little village... Bryneford, wasn't it? Where we slept in that local's house because they didn't even have an inn. I had the priest there ride to Nottingham to tell Sir Guy where we were heading and what our plans were.”
“You've been in contact with him since away back then?” Tuck roared, again grabbing his turncoat companion by the front of his cassock. “How? You never left my sight the whole way here.”
“Gwale. The prior gave me it before we left.”
Tuck's face froze for a second as the full reality of the situation finally hit him. De Monte Martini had planned this whole thing. Osferth befriending him; the tale about the prior knowing the location of Robin's camp; everything... “That's why I slept like a babe those times, yet woke up feeling as if I'd drank an entire barrel of ale by myself. You little shit!” He released Osferth and hammered his fist into the man's mouth, hurling him backwards where he lay sprawled on the bark and moss, a look of shock and disbelief on his face.
“You're supposed to be my friend,” the young monk said through split lips, his eyes filling with tears. “I've come here to save your soul. Why did you hit me?”
Tuck suddenly felt, unbelievably given the circumstances, like he'd just kicked a playful puppy, and he swung back to Robin, his face a mask of fury and confusion.
“Well? What are we waiting for? We all know the whole story now, all about how I was such a fool and led the Raven right to you. Shouldn't we be off before he gets here and kills us all?”
Robin nodded to Little John and Will who gave Tuck a last apologetic look, unhappy to have been witness to their portly friend's humiliation, before they too slipped into the trees and out of sight.
“What about you, friend?” Robin asked James who swallowed the last of the ale in his mug and stood up, grasping his longbow. “You better get off if you don't want to be part of what happens next. Here...” he fumbled inside his gambeson before pulling out a small purse and tossing it the young archer. “For your trouble. Thank you for coming to warn us. There's enough in there to see you right.”
James nodded gratefully but didn't look inside the purse, just held it in his hand as he returned the outlaw captain's gaze. “Seems to me you could do with another longbowman at your side this day. If you'll have me.”
Robin shrugged. Time was running out, Gisbourne would be upon them any time. He didn't know anything about James's life, or why he had come here and now offered to stand with them but it was true – another archer would certainly be useful.
“You're more than welcome to stay,” he nodded. “Keep beside me so you don't get in the way. You must be exhausted after walking all through the night.”
Tuck shook his head in consternation at Robin's words. “You're talking as if you're not planning on escaping. What madness has come over you all?”
In reply Robin hefted his longbow, bending it back to slip the string onto it. “We're done running, Tuck.” He pulled an arrow from his belt and nocked it to the string, raising the weapon as he continued. “For the past two years I've been running. Moving camp every time Gisbourne, or Adam Bell, or the sheriff or whoever got too close. No more.” He pulled back the string to his ear as Tuck watched, eyes widening when he realised what Robin was about to do. “No more running.”
He released the arrow and watched dispassionately as it thudded home in Osferth's heart.
“Now we fight.”
* * *
Sir Guy of Gisbourne reined in his big warhorse and looked warily from side to side, turning his head to do so since his missing left eye hampered his vision on that side. “What about their lookouts?” He lifted his leg over the saddle and slid easily to the ground to gaze into the thick trees that lay about a mile before them. “If they spot us coming there's little point in this – they'll simply run off and we'll be back where we started.”
Matt Groves nodded grimly. “Don't worry about that. Wait here, and look for my signal.”
Gisbourne watched as his sergeant kicked his heels into his mount and galloped off, not along the main road but to the left, through the long grass on the heath that ran parallel to the forest in front of them.
Matt had looked at that forest and knew exactly where a lookout would hide – he'd been an outlaw himself for years hadn't he? He could read the land as well as any of Hood's gang. One tree in particular stood out, even at this distance, for its height and the fact that its branches didn't grow so densely together as those surrounding it. A man could sit comfortably in a tree like that, he knew, with a fine view of the surrounding terrain.
He had to be sure the lookout didn't spot him so he rode for a while until the contours of the land and the sparse foliage dotted around the heath would mask his approach, then he turned his mount and galloped straight forward, towards the forest.
When he reached the thick line of trees he slid to the ground and tied his horse to a sturdy branch, the animal's chest heaving from the exertion but happy to rest and crop the rich grass that grew there. “Wait here, boy,” Matt muttered, patting the horse affectionately. “This won't take long.”
He moved along the edge of the forest quickly, back towards the tall Scots pine tree he'd marked as being the most likely lookout post, wondering as he went which of the outlaws might be concealed there.
“I hope it's that prick Hood himself,” he muttered, although he knew that was unlikely. Robin didn't take many lookout duties since, being the leader, he was needed in the main camp in the event of any danger being sighted but still, there was a possibility he was in the branches of that big tree and if he was... Matt clasped the hilt of his dagger and gritted his teeth, praying to God it would be the enemy he so despised hidden in the foliage ahead.
At last the tree came into sight not far ahead, and Groves slowed his pace, stalking through the undergrowth almost silently, his eyes searching for any signs of movement in the branches overhead until, at last, he reached the gnarled, aged trunk and pressed himself against it, listening intently.
He nodded in satisfaction as he spotted the iron nails that had been hammered into the bark to form makeshift steps for someone to climb up. This was the tree the outlaws used as a lookout post, now all he had to do was deal with whoever was concealed above...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“We ready to move then?” Sir Guy demanded as Matt Groves returned, his horse's chest heaving with exertion since its rider had pus
hed hard to make it back to his captain as fast as possible.
“Aye, we can move. The lookout won't be a problem, you can count on that.”
He had a strange sardonic smile on his seamed face that Gisbourne found repulsive and he wondered what the man had done to the lookout. Probably tortured him before throwing him out of the tree or worse...
“I'll take your word for it,” Gisbourne grunted and turned to face his men, thirty-five well-armed and highly-trained soldiers, addressing them in a low but authoritative voice. “Listen to me. This isn't your usual gang of outlaws – these men are not some undisciplined peasants carrying sickles and pitchforks. They are not old greybeards, or untested youngsters. Robin Hood was skilled enough to hold his own against me.” Gisbourne could not accept he'd been defeated; it had been a freak accident that had been his downfall, he knew, not any greater skill on the part of the wolf's head. He touched his empty eye-socket thoughtfully before continuing. “His men train hard and many of them have experience in wars, either here or abroad. Although they don't expect us, they will react as soon as we attack – I know this for a fact, as do any of you who were with me when we attacked their camp near Wakefield not so very long ago. So be ready for them. Our victory is certain, but whether you personally live or die this day will count on you being prepared for whatever is thrown at you.”
He stared around at them for a few heartbeats, measuring their resolve, before looking away, apparently satisfied at what he saw reflected in the soldiers' eyes. “Let's move. Be as silent as possible. And one more thing.” As he pushed his mount into a gallop he shouted venomously over his shoulder. “Leave no-one alive. No-one!”
* * *
Rise of the Wolf (The Forest Lord Book 3) Page 25