Will in Scarlet

by Matthew Cody

  “See for yourself,” he said.

  Much pocketed his knife and cautiously examined the box. Someone had already broken the lock, so all the boy had to do was throw back the lid. It was filled with silver coin.

  Much stared at it, wide-eyed, for a few seconds before looking accusingly at Stout. Will doubted these bandits had ever seen so much money in one place before.

  “Where’s Rob and John?” asked Much.

  “Now, now,” said Stout. “They’re fine. By the time we came up out of the tunnel, this area was swarming with guards. Rob and John took a few horses to lead them on a wild-goose chase. I was supposed to wait a bit to see if you all showed up, then meet up with them again.”

  “They trusted you with the silver?” asked Will.

  “More like they knew he’d be too chicken to cross Gilbert,” said Much.

  Stout glared at them. “And what do you know about what I will and won’t do? You think Gilbert trusts you more than me?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Much.

  But Will had had enough. He was tired of all of it and just wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just pack up your silver so we can go.”

  “But that’s just the problem,” said Stout. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

  The fat outlaw moved just a fraction of an instant too slow. If he hadn’t gloated, if he hadn’t taken the time to taunt him, Will would never have seen him bring up his mace. He wouldn’t have seen it swinging for his head, and he wouldn’t have ducked away at the very last second.

  “Stout!” shouted Much.

  Stout growled as Will danced away, drawing his sword as he did so.

  “Gilbert’s orders,” said Stout, slowly closing in on Will. “He said you would be too yellow to do what needed to be done, Much, so he left it to me. His trusted Stout!”

  “But there’s the treasure!” cried Much. “Gilbert’s getting what he wanted!”

  “And now the rest of the problem will disappear,” said Will, understanding. “He never meant to let me live.”

  Will prepared to meet the man’s attack head-on, but just then Stout shouted in pain and dropped his mace to the ground. He stood there staring at his arm, as if not fully understanding what he was looking at. A small knife was sticking out of the meat of his forearm. Stout blinked at the sight. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  “Much!” he cried. “You little turd!”

  “Wait,” said Will.

  He brought his sword up to the man’s chin. Stout glanced down at the blade nervously. His tongue flicked in and out between his lips like a snake’s.

  “Yield, Stout,” said Will. “Or we’ll have your head.”

  “You talk big now,” said Stout. “I’d have had yours if that runt hadn’t tossed a bleeding knife at me!”

  He held up his ruined arm for them to see.

  “You put a knife in my arm!” he said.

  “I’ll aim somewhere else next time,” said Much. “Unless you do as Will says.”

  Stout looked fearfully at Much. “I’ll yield! I’ll yield! I’m no good without my fighting hand anyhow!

  “But mark my words,” he continued. “This isn’t over, bloody Will Scarlet. I’ll have your hide. And yours, too, Much! You’ve both got it coming!”

  Stout complained and threatened most of the way back. He carried on so much that Will had to bind up the man’s wrists, and by the end he was forced to gag him as well. The sun was coming up, and Sir Guy’s men were everywhere. In the distance, Will could hear the baying of search hounds as they sniffed for the outlaws’ trail. If they avoided the dogs, Stout’s wailing would still be heard for leagues.

  So Stout got the gag. Even so, he had to be pushed, prodded, and repeatedly threatened to get him to march. Will and Much took turns riding their only horse, and they made Stout walk the whole way. It was an hour’s ride to the rendezvous spot—which meant half a day’s walk at Stout’s pace. Still, they managed to reach it without seeing any pursuers. It was afternoon when they found the shaded outcropping where they’d first donned their disguises. Rob and John were supposed to meet them there if they could.

  Stout fell to his knees the moment they stopped, and for a while Will worried the man’s heart would burst in his chest he was breathing so hard. But they removed his gag (which meant they had to put up with his curses) and changed the bloody bandage around his arm. They gave him some water (which he gulped down in between the curses) and dumped him next to a tree. Will left his hands bound but didn’t bother tying him to the tree itself. After the long march, the fat bandit was in no physical condition to run away.

  They buried their stolen soldiers’ uniforms and found their own clothes safely where they’d stashed them. Will eyed the scarlet jacket warily and considered tossing it away, but when he saw Stout watching him, he decided to wear it again to spite the man. He and Gilbert had meant to shame him with the garish coat, but Will thought it fitting. Much nodded approvingly (but when Stout wasn’t looking, he helped Will tear off the lace and tassels, which made a vast improvement). They dared not risk a fire, for fear that the smoke would be spotted from the road, so they broke their fast on stale bread and washed it down with water from a nearby brook.

  After they’d eaten, Much climbed the tallest tree he could find to keep a lookout while Will sat and brooded. He could leave now if he wanted. There was no chance this band would follow him into Shackley Castle a second time, and what business did he have hanging around a bunch of outlaws anyway? Especially when Sir Guy was still alive. But the question now was, where would he go? Though he worried about his mother, he wasn’t about to give up his revenge and make for France.

  He couldn’t forget the look in Osbert’s eyes. The old man hadn’t wanted Will to throw his life away, but he wouldn’t want him to tuck his tail between his legs and run to his mother, either. He would want Will to stay in England and fight. No matter the odds. Will had to find another way to get to Sir Guy.

  And after that—if he survived that—the sheriff was still out there. Guy was a murderer, but Mark Brewer had betrayed them in his own way, too. He’d brought Sir Guy’s mercenaries into the castle. He’d been so afraid of angering Prince John that he’d betrayed his friends, and now Geoff was dead.

  After Sir Guy. Once Guy was dead, then Will would confront the sheriff.

  Will was still wrestling with his thoughts when John and Rob finally arrived. Much spotted them well in advance, so they had time to prepare. Or, more precisely, to plan their explanation as to why they had Stout tied up under a tree. Will was nervous about how they would react, but Much promised him that John and Rob had no love for Stout in the first place, and even less for Gilbert the White Hand. They could be trusted.

  He hoped.

  Much and Will greeted them as they rode into their little camp. Both men were haggard and dirty from a night of hard riding. They obviously hadn’t slept.

  They spotted Stout’s bindings right away and shared a look.

  “Well,” said John. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

  Upon seeing them, Stout hollered and cursed up such a racket that Will was forced to gag the man again. Neither John nor Rob made any move to stop him.

  Much explained to them all that had transpired, about Stout’s attack, all except the part about Will’s real identity. An omission that Will was both surprised at and thankful for.

  “So, Master Will,” said Rob. “Sudden betrayals notwithstanding, I’m curious—after we were separated, did you ever find your hidden treasure?”

  Will didn’t like the way Rob asked the question. As if he’d long ago guessed the answer.

  “There’s your treasure,” said Will. He pointed to the lockbox of coin sitting at his feet. “More than you’d get robbing merchants’ carts, I’d wager.”

  “Ah, yes, we’re rich men now!” said Rob. “Minus Gilbert’s share, of course.”
r />   “Gilbert?” said John. “Rob, haven’t you been listening? We have a problem here!”

  “Eh?” said Rob. “So Stout got greedy and tried to cut out one man’s part of the loot. Hardly surprising for an outlaw.”

  “I’m not just talking about Stout,” said John. “It’s Gilbert. You knew it’d come to this someday.”

  “Come to what?” asked Rob. “He hasn’t hurt me. Nor you.”

  “He’s ordering the murder of boys now! You can stand for that?”

  “Bah,” said Rob. “No one’s dead.”

  But John wouldn’t let up. “Stout would’ve killed the boy—you know it’s true. And Much, too, if needed.”

  “Oh, just stop it, John!”

  “Why? You need to hear more?”

  “What I need is a bloody drink!”

  With that, Rob stomped off to the edge of the camp. There he sat, staring off into space. Will could see the man’s hands shaking despite the warm sun.

  John began unpacking their horses, all the while muttering under his breath. Will stood staring for a time at Rob. He’d misjudged the man. He’d thought him a drunk and a scoundrel at first, but he’d come to realize he was something more. Still a scoundrel, yes, and certainly a drunk, but there was something else in him, a kind of strength that made others listen when he spoke. It was a quality Will’s father had possessed, one that Will had dreamed of having.

  Much pulled Will away, and the two of them began unpacking their rations for a late lunch. Eventually, John joined them, but Rob stayed where he was. He looked to be getting worse, and his face was pale and sweaty. Will began to worry about the man’s health.

  “He hasn’t been sober for this long in … a long time,” John explained, finishing off a piece of crusty black bread. “It’s hard on him.”

  “Why’s he like this?” asked Will. “Why does he do that to himself? The drinking?”

  John leaned back against the rocks and began tearing long strips from one of the nearby saplings.

  “Want to hear how Rob and I met?”

  “What’s that got to do with—” began Will, but John kept on talking, and Much motioned to Will to stay quiet. It was best to let the man talk.

  “Rob and I became friends because one day we both wanted to cross the same bridge at the same time,” John continued. “I wanted to go one way, Rob wanted to go another. Both of us too stubborn and too full of our young selves to give the other man the right-of-way.”

  “So you argued?” asked Will.

  “Argued? We fought! Stupid reason to, but there it is.”

  John tied a few strips of green wood into a knot and then held it up to the sun.

  “A pointless, dumb fight over who got to cross the bridge first. As pointless as this here knot of wood. But like this knot, it was something to do.”

  “Men are fools,” said Much. “Grown men, I mean!”

  John laughed. “I’d say men of a certain age are foolish, yes. Just old enough to be dangerous but not yet old enough to be careful. Like young master Scarlet there.”

  Will felt his cheeks redden to match his coat. He’d very nearly gotten the lot of them killed, but so far no one was taking him to task for it. But it was unspoken among all of them.

  “So who won the fight?” Much asked.

  “I did,” said John. “Because I cheated. I called a truce, and when Rob’s back was turned, I kicked him into the water face-first.”

  “And he fell for that?” asked Much.

  “Of course he did,” said John. “He’s a man of honor among thieves.”

  Will looked over at Rob. He’d curled up in the shadow of a poplar and pulled his cloak over his face.

  “That still doesn’t answer why he drinks like he does,” said Will. “What’s honorable about killing yourself with wine?”

  “Nothing,” answered John. “But I will tell you lads two more truths about that man that might help explain. One, Rob there is the best longbowman in all of England. Better than Gilbert even. And our fearless leader knows it.”

  “What?” said Much. “I’ve never seen him touch a bow.”

  “That’s ’cause of the drink. Can’t aim an arrow when your hands are shaking. But trust me, he’s the stuff legends are made of. And being that good at something—I mean the best—well, that does something to you. Sets up expectations, you see. Unreasonable expectations.”

  It was true that Will had seen Rob swing a sword well enough, but that was mostly bravado. But he had a hard time picturing Rob steady enough to aim a bow.

  “Fine,” said Will. “Rob’s a legend. What’s the second thing?”

  “Second is, be careful of women,” said John.

  “That’s it?” said Will. “Are you trying to say a woman did that to Rob?”

  “Not just any woman,” said John. “Believe me, Mari—Look, I shouldn’t even use her name, but just know that she was the kind of woman that men do stupid things for. Wars have been fought over women like her. Rob loved her and, to everyone’s shock, she loved him back.”

  “So what was the problem?” asked Much.

  “She was a royal, the daughter of a well-respected house. And Rob is … Rob.”

  “How did it end?” asked Will.

  “Badly. It ended badly.” John shook his head. “Now, I’ve said too much about another man’s business already. Time to get some sleep, my young lads. Dream about the women who’ll break your hearts someday!”

  Then John stretched his long arms out and clasped them behind his head, finally closing his eyes.

  “Too dangerous to travel by daylight, but we’ll be safe here until nightfall,” he said. “And it never pays to make plans when you’re this tired. Besides, Rob and I were extra careful to disguise our trail. We could hole up here for days and no one would be the wiser. Believe me, there’s no two better woodsmen in all of England!”

  FIFTEEN

  The many do the bidding of the few in merry old England, Will. Remember that.

  —ROB

  It seemed to Will that he’d been asleep only a few minutes. He’d been dreaming that he and Much were sharing a bowl of porridge sweetened with stolen molasses when he heard the howl of wolves outside his window. They were near.

  “Will, wake up!”

  Will blinked awake to find Much shaking him. The boy’s face looked worried, and the sweet molasses was gone. But the wolves were still there. He could hear them getting closer.

  “We have to go!” Much was saying. “They have our scent!”

  Hounds. Not wolves at all. Sir Guy’s hounds had picked up their trail. Will could hear baying in the distance. But getting louder.

  Will leaped to his feet, shaking the life back into his still-heavy arms and legs. The sun was a pale orb low in the west. Dark rain clouds had gathered overhead, and the wind was picking up.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

  Much put his hand up to the sun. He seemed to be measuring the number of hand widths from the sun to the horizon.

  “We’ve about an hour of daylight left,” he said. “Come on, we have to hurry. Again!”

  Will glanced around the camp and saw that Rob and John had climbed the outcropping and were peering over the top.

  “There they are,” Rob was saying. “Ten riders at least. Must’ve found your trail.”

  “Not mine,” said John. “You’re the one can’t cover your tracks. I told you to ride on the rocky ground.”

  “It’s those giant feet of yours,” said Rob. “Can’t hide giant feet.”

  “I was on a horse!”

  Much grabbed Will by the arm, pulling him away from the two men’s bickering.

  “Come on,” he said. “They’ll catch up.”

  There were only three horses left, and two of those were still exhausted from last night’s ride. Three horses and five people.

  “Will and Much, you two will have to double up,” said Rob, jumping down from the rocks.

  “What about Stout?�
� asked Will.

  “He’ll have to ride with me.… Oh, blast it all!”

  Will followed the other man’s gaze over to Stout’s tree, only there was no Stout.

  “Must’ve run off when the dogs started.”

  “We shouldn’t have turned our backs on him,” said John.

  “Do we follow him?” asked Will.

  “No time,” said Rob. “He’ll take his chances with the hounds like the rest of us. Only he’ll do it on foot!”

  Will climbed atop his horse and helped Much take the saddle in front of him. As they rode out of the camp, Will felt the boy stiffen when he put his arms around his waist.

  “You don’t have to hold me,” said Much. “I won’t fall.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” said Will. But the boy still shoved his arms away.

  “Fine,” said Will. “But if you tumble, I’m not stopping to pick you back up.”

  The baying of hounds grew steadily louder as they left the shelter of the trees, and now Will could see the riders’ dust cloud in the distance. They were coming for them at full gallop, the hounds mad with the scent. Will remembered Geoff’s dogs and how they’d get when they caught a fox’s trail. Nothing could stop them.

  “They’re on fresh horses,” said John. “We’ll never outride them!”

  “We can make for the river,” suggested Much.

  “Those are trained hunting hounds,” said Will. “They can track us downstream.”

  “Then what do we do?” Much asked.

  Rob looked up at the darkening sky. He kicked his heels into his horse and rode.

  “We ride hard,” he shouted. “And pray for rain!”

  Will didn’t know if any of the others had actually followed Rob’s advice, but the prayers worked. Or maybe they were just lucky. Either way, the combination of night falling and a sudden, soaking downpour threw the dogs off their scent. The rain started with a light drizzle but soon became a violent, blowing gale. For a time, they could still catch glimpses of their pursuers outlined in the brief flashes of lightning, but eventually they outpaced them altogether, losing them in the crags and hollows of the moors and behind the sheets of rain.