Heart of Sherwood

by Edale Lane

  "Huh?" Will offered her a puzzled expression.

  "Marian overheard all the plans to catch Robin Hood at the contest, so I am well prepared. This works to our advantage though. Giffard will have most of the soldiers close to the tournament field, ready to surround me as soon as I fire the winning shot. That means there will be only a few left at the castle to guard the tax money."

  "Ah," sighed Much. "And they don't think anyone knows about the hoard of silver bein' there."

  "Precisely," Robyn agreed. "The Queen's spy said that the Sheriff plans to hide it in a secret vault in the dais, beneath the pulpit. Supposedly no one knows it is there." She looked over to Gilbert who was scrutinizing her image of the layout. "Whitehand, you have been inside that chapel, have you not?"

  "Aye, numerous times," he replied. "But I have never been on the platform itself."

  "Still, you are a learned man, and perhaps have come across switches that uncover hidden passages and such."

  He nodded. "One castle I served in early in my career had a secret room where extra weapons were stored and the women could be hidden in case of attack. There was a torch holder that when pulled would slide open a panel in the wall."

  "Good," she said with encouragement. "The lever will be somewhere that it is not noticed, mayhap appearing to be a mundane thing, or concealed out of sight, but it should be near the lectern. You will go in the guise of a priest and take young David with you to be your acolyte. Many clergymen from all around will be coming and going, so no one ought question you. It will be your task to discover the trigger and open that hide-away."

  He nodded. "I will find it."

  "I have confidence in you," Robyn assured him. "Now, Little John, you need to lead the others in securing the tax money once Gilbert has found it. Remember the castle guard uniforms, the mail and helmets and such we took from that patrol a while back?"

  "Aye," he replied as inspiration passed from her eyes to his. "We'll be dressed as guards so no one will think twice about us!"

  "That's right." She indicated an entry in the castle's perimeter. "This is where you enter. It is the gate facing in the direction of the tournament field. If anyone asks, just say the Sheriff sent you down to reinforce the castle."

  Little John nodded, but David asked, "Why do I have to be Whitehand's aide or some such instead of one of the guards?"

  Robyn had thought David much too young to pass as a soldier and had wanted to keep him safe, but she replied earnestly, "Gilbert must focus on finding the hidden lever and revealing the vault; he needs someone capable, with sharp eyes to watch his back and to come to his assist if discovered. You'll look very unassuming in clergy robes; no one would suspect what a good fighter you truly are."

  Satisfied, he nodded. "I will watch out for him; you can count on me."

  She smiled. "I knew I could. Now, once Gilbert has found it, he will send you out to get the others. Everyone will fill sacks with coins and treasure then hide them inside the mail shirts. You cannot shove too much in at once, or people may wonder why so many fat guards, so it could take you several trips in and out. You'll need to be as casual and inconspicuous as possible as you walk with your hidden stashes over near the front gate here," she pointed, "where Friar Tuck shall be waiting with a mead wagon. Friar, I presume your seat is a sample barrel?"

  "Aye," he answered with a grin and pushed himself up with hands on his thighs. Then he showed them all the vessel. "I believe this is what you asked for–an ordinary looking mead barrel." He twisted open the tap and honey liquid began to flow.

  "Hey! Don't waste that!" Alan shouted, his eyes widening.

  Tuck laughed as he closed the knob tight. "Don't worry, my man, there isn't much in there–just enough to convince anyone that mead is all it holds. But look here." A pudgy finger pushed an almost invisible latch in between two of the oak planks and the cask opened in half. "The top swings up and inside there's a box in which to hide the silver. Once filled, it should be about the same weight as a barrel full of drink. These will be mixed in with full mead barrels on the cart. And one thing always needed at a festival is more spirits, am I right?"

  "Well, I'll be!" Will's blue eyes shone with amazement. "That is genius!"

  "Let us hope so," Robyn said. "When all the cache has been moved into the wagon, Tuck will ride off to Windsor. Maid Marian plans to accompany him disguised as a nun as she insists on taking the ransom to Queen Eleanor personally. There are any number of things that can go wrong. Allow me lead you through some of those possibilities and how to respond."

  Tuck resituated himself atop his special barrel while the others watched and listened intently. Their confidence grew as Robyn spelled out what action to pursue if inquiries as to their presence arose, or if Gilbert was interrupted, or if guards were already posted in the chapel. In that last case, she instructed them to create a disturbance requiring them to rush out, such as a fight or fire.

  "What about you?" Little John eventually asked. "What will you be doing?"

  "Trying to keep the Sheriff and Prince John's attention on the archery tournament. I shall wear a false guise or they would recognize me right away. I shall stay in the competition long enough to make it interesting, but I'll miss before the final round. They will be confounded when it is Deputy Blanchard, a baron, or one of their knights who makes the winning shot. They are likely to detain everybody and interrogate us individually. However, if all has gone well at the castle and I get the signal that you have the stash, I'll simply disappear. If it is taking you longer, then I'll find a tactic to keep their attention focused on the contestants. I shall meet you all back here at the camp once I know Friar Tuck and Marian are safely on their way. Now, I am open to suggestions for improvements to the proposal, or any questions you may have."

  They continued to discuss the plan and all the "what ifs" until time for the noon meal when Alice approached as a woman possessing great authority. "Men, I understand your meeting here is life and death for England, but soup and bread are hot. Whatever else you have to do will need wait until everyone has had their fill. I can feel a chill in the air, and 'tis a cold night on the way. Up, up, come on with you now," she instructed. No one dared disobey.

  *~*~*

  Nottingham Castle, later the same day

  Godfrey Giffard sported a cheerful disposition that evening as he laved and then changed clothes for dinner. While Prince John had gone to see about the secure transport of his fortune, the barons loyal to him remained in residence at Nottingham. Godfrey had been dividing his time between the castle and his new manor at Loxley, but with guests to entertain, he was now residing solely at the castle. They had enjoyed an invigorating day of hawking and he had scored the most kills.

  The Sheriff chose a bright, sun-gold tunic and pulled it on over clean black leggings. He smiled as he thought about his prize falcon, Ra, named after the Egyptian god of the sky. He contemplated its blue-black head and beak, yellow accents, its keen eyes and strong talons, majestic wings and commanding scream. It was powerful, graceful, and lethal–a lot like himself. He mused that it was second in the sky only to the eagle, and that Prince John was like the eagle, and he the falcon. He smiled while fastening the toggles of his sleeveless burgundy doublet over the tunic as thoughts of taking his rightful place at the right hand of the new king flowed fluidly through his imagination.

  Godfrey then turned to the large looking glass to groom his onyx locks. Choosing an ivory comb, he dipped it into a jar containing a mixture of aloe vera and wine, guaranteed to encourage a thick growth of hair and prevent its loss, and ran it through his mane, placing each strand precisely where he wished it to lie. It had been a good day, and now he would continue to impress his guests with the entertainment he had hired for the evening.

  An unexpected knock at his chamber door caused his face to scrunch into a frown, and Godfrey turned his gaze from the mirror. "Who's there?" he bellowed in sudden irritation.

  "Milord, it is I, Deputy Blanchard," the deep vo
ice replied. "My apologies for the interruption, but a soldier has delivered word to me that I believe you will wish to hear."

  Two lengthy strides brought Godfrey to the door which he cracked and scowled out. "Can it not wait until the morrow?"

  "It could, milord, but it will please you, so I thought-"

  "Very well, man, out with it!" he huffed as he stepped into the corridor and closed the chamber door behind him.

  Blanchard produced a disheveled young fellow in a guard's uniform. His uncertain eyes darted to the Sheriff, the floor, the walls, and back nervously as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Simon, tell the Sheriff what you told me."

  Simon took a deep breath and began. "Pardon me for disturbing you, milord, but I had to tell somebody."

  Giffard shot him an annoyed glare. "Tell somebody what?"

  "Um, I recognized one of the outlaws in Robin Hood's gang; I mean, I know him, or knew him," he stammered. "Anyway, I am positive of his identity, and I thought, well, the Sheriff ought to know. Mayhap knowing who one of his friends is will help to capture the head brigand who's been causing all the trouble."

  Godfrey's face lit with triumph, all hint of irritation vanished, as he stepped closer and draped a friendly arm around the lowly guard's shoulders. "Tell me, Simon; tell me all about him."

  *~*~*

  Nottingham three nights later

  Deep in the bowels of Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, a popular tavern nestled at the base of Castle Rock, the Sheriff and his man-at-arms met with a figure shrouded in a dark cloak. They had secured one of the most private drinking rooms which was little more than a dim, windowless cave, designed for privacy. A guard posted at the entry ensured they would not be disturbed.

  Godfrey raised his chin, eying the specimen before him with a bearing of superiority. "I am pleased that you received word so quickly and were of the disposition to meet with me."

  The outlaw who sat across from him shook with fearful fury. "You have me mum, you bloody bastard! She hasn't done anything wrong. If you lay one hand on her, I swear-"

  "Yes, yes, you'll do all sorts of terrible things to me," he interrupted without the slightest hint of concern. "But the fact remains, if you truly wish her to be released unharmed, you will tell me what I want to know. As of this moment, she is the guest of my dungeon; her status could change at any time. The charges against her are quite severe, I am afraid, and while no one enjoys the execution of a woman-"

  "You can't!" he lashed out, shoving up from his chair. "She is innocent!"

  Emory, Giffard's man-at-arms, placed a forceful hand on the man's shoulder and pressed his trembling form back down into his seat.

  "Innocent?" Godfrey questioned in an amused tone. "She raised an outlaw for a son. Now, how innocent can she be?"

  "Leave her out of this, you-"

  The middle-aged Emory gave the man's shoulder a squeeze and he bit back the insult that was sure to follow.

  "Prithee, Sheriff, do what you will to me, but let my mother go. She is a good Christian who is without vice or guile. Surely a man of the law would not falsely imprison or do harm to a blameless woman?"

  "That all depends on you," Godfrey stated, his ebony eyes turning to ice. "Where is Robin Hood's camp?" Godfrey could feel the anguish ooze from the quivering lump of humanity across from him. He looked severely into those sunken, hollow eyes and smiled. "Where will I find him and the other outlaws?"

  "I, I," he stammered. The man placed his palms on the table, apparently in a vain attempt to steady himself. After inhaling and releasing a long breath, he was able to put the words together. "I can't tell you that."

  The Sheriff looked up at his underling and started to rise. "Evidently the churl cares nothing for the woman that bore him. We'll just have to make an example of her."

  "No!" the man cried as he reached for Giffard's hand. "You don't understand!" Godfrey lowered his icy stare to the bony fingers gripping his wrist and the pitiful outlaw released him in a contrite manner. "I can't tell you," he continued, "because the location changes."

  Intrigued, the Sheriff reclaimed his seat.

  "Hood moves the camp at varying times with no advance notice. We may be in the same place a week or a day, and then he says, 'strike camp, we are going here, or there,' and we leave no trace behind. He's clever, Robin is. He'll have us bury the fire pit, rake the ground, scatter leaves." The captive emitted a nervous chuckle. "Why, by the time I return today, they could've up and left."

  Godfrey rubbed his beard in contemplation. "That fits with the whole 'ghosts of Sherwood' charade and the traps, as well as why we have been unsuccessful at finding them."

  Emory nodded in agreement. "Along with robberies occurring on roads through all areas of the forest."

  "Then tell me, where would I find Hood on a given day? Certainly there is some forward plan of what hamlet he will visit, or what robbery he has plotted."

  "We aren't told every detail," he said in a disappointed tenor. "Sometimes he just says, 'come on lads, we are off to here or there.' Honestly, I am not that important in the scheme of it."

  The Sheriff sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "It seems you are of little use. Perhaps we will schedule a double execution."

  "No, milord, please!" he begged mournfully. "There are things I can tell you, useful things, things that are worth my mother's freedom!"

  "Such as?" he inquired with a tilt of his head.

  "The archery contest; Hood knows it is a trap."

  "Ah," Godfrey huffed out as he uncrossed his arms and sat forward. "I suppose a fox like Hood would have figured that out. It is of no consequence, however. I will find another way to snare him. I wonder," he mused. "Would he show up to save you from the ax and your mum from the noose?"

  "But Lord Sheriff, I am being forthright with you!"

  "Mayhap, but what you have to offer… simply is not enough. Emory, bring him. I think it is time our guest reunited with his long lost mother in the gaol."

  *~*~*

  Amid pleas and dragging of feet, the guard and man-at-arms managed to transport the protesting outlaw through dark streets, up the hill, and into the castle. The procession then traveled down creaky wooden steps into the dismal dungeon below the stone keep. The first thing to hit the thief was the rank odor of suffering: unwashed bodies, oozing sores, urine, waste, and decay. Straw strewn about the dirt floor had likely not been replaced in weeks. Smoke drifted through the fetid air as torches on wall sconces and a smoldering fire provided the only light. He could hear murmurings and moans from prisoners as they rounded a bend and a circle of iron barred cells came into view. Frantically, his eyes searched the room until he heard a woman's gasp. "Mother?" he called in desperation as a mangy black rat scurried into a corner.

  A slender woman with a long braid of ebony hair brushed by a few silver highlights rushed to her cage door, gripping the bars as she looked out. "Son!" wailed a distraught voice that cracked at the sight of him. "You should not have come; you should have stayed safe!" Dark circles hung below pleading eyes marring her otherwise attractive face.

  "I had to, I must try…"

  "I will give you one last chance," the Sheriff interrupted, "before forcing you to watch your mother tortured. Tell me something useful, or I am done with you!"

  The woman straightened, lifting her head high. "Do not speak a word, you hear me? Not a word."

  Giffard turned to the dungeon keeper, a thick-bodied, middle-aged, bare-armed man with a close-cut fuzz of hair. "Have you a hot iron?"

  "Aye," he nodded, and pulled a poker from the fire.

  "Wait!" the woman's son shouted and began to cry.

  "Yes?"

  Will Scarlet knew he had tried to mislead, tried to protect his friends, but this was his mother. What was he to do? He couldn't stand by and let her be brutalized. In some part of his soul he feared their fates were sealed regardless, but maybe–just maybe–if he gave the Sheriff something he wanted, not the whole truth, n
ot every detail, but enough to convince him… he lowered his head and resolutely said, "He knows about the twenty thousand marks."

  In an instant the Sheriff's demeanor changed. He snapped to attention. "Gaoler, give the woman a drink of water. Outlaw, you come with me." Giffard dismissed Emory and the guard, closing and latching the door behind them. "Now, we don't want outside ears hearing what you have to say, but it had better be worth my time."

  Still shaking, he said in a low voice, "Hood knows about the Prince's tax money. He knows about the plot to take the throne before Richard's ransom is paid, and he knows it will be here, in the castle, during the Martinmas Fair."

  Will watched the Sheriff's eyes go wide and his mouth drop in astonishment. "That is impossible! No one knows; only the Prince's closest supporters."

  The cloaked man shrugged. "Mayhap a servant or a guard overheard your plans. I cannot say. Hood received a message. I know not from whom. The note told about the cache and the plot and he says to us, 'Let's save the King,' and everyone hollers, 'Save the King!'"

  Still appearing shocked and shaken, the Sheriff turned his gaze to his prisoner. "So I have a spy. Whoever it is, he or she will be discovered and punished ever so severely. But now, I must know, what are Hood's plans? How does he determine to save Richard?"

  "Well, milord," he began feeling more confident with such a huge bargaining tool at his disposal. "He hasn't finished hashing out the details, you see. Hood and his closest mates are trying to sort something out. So far they are aiming to think of a way to steal the money, but they haven't worked it through yet." He studied the Sheriff's intent, brooding face, and then offered, "If you could give your word to let me mum go free, unharmed, I could discover the plan and then tell you. That would be worth it, wouldn't it?"

  "Indeed, that would be valuable," Giffard agreed. "You must ascertain every aspect, the day and time they intend to strike, how they think to gain the silver, then–and only then–will the wench which brought you into this world be spared. If anything differs a hair from what you tell me, she dies."