Hooded

by H. J. Mountain

  Thrice Lady Ariel made me change, each time dismissing my haste to leave. Finally chosen for me, one of Beatrice’s dresses: midnight blue, soft and full. It hugs my body a little too much, but I like that it is high-necked and covers the flesh-marks along my throat. But it feels wrong to be made up for any kind of revelry, like I am preparing to play a character on a stage.

  Mutch stayed with Anna, one of the servant girls. Lady Ariel’s decision, although she sounded as unhappy with that as with taking him with us to Sherwood. But at least someone is watching over him. In the morn he had calmed some. But it was a strange kind of numbing calm that disturbed me. I told him to rest. That we would return on the morrow. With, I pray, news and hope.

  My head rests upon the frame. The rickets of the wheel pass into me. Outside, across a sloping barley field, a peasant boy is pulling a crop-bag. He gives no clue that he sees us pass. Am I invisible to him? Or is he used to being invisible to the likes of us, in our carriage, in our finery?

  The night has worn me. Plagued with dreams of the clearing. Of the dust shrouded cloth bearing the lion’s head – which I carry now, buried like a secret in my purse – and of the man in the thorn-bushes. His eyeless face…

  The wheel bounces. My stomach heaves. This journey will be a long one.

  “Mother,” Beatrice says. Her cheeks are clear, almost rosy. At least one of us has slept the night. “Who is the banquet for again? Will you tell us more?”

  “Very well, my child.” Lady Ariel settles herself. “Lord Mortain is the King’s cousin. He is visiting from the North and West as honoured guest of the Lord Sheriff. He will bring news, I am sure, of the King’s campaigns in the Holy Land and of returning law and order to the land.”

  Beatrice’s eyes flash. “Is Lord Mortain a young man?”

  Lady Ariel smiles dryly. “Alas, he is rather older, my dear. Though he has a son, who is said to be very handsome and quite brilliant indeed.”

  Out of the corner of my gaze Guy is looking over at me. His jaw tensed. He glances away. I wonder what he is thinking. What he may ask of me tonight.

  “Will there will be a dance?” Beatrice inquires.

  “I am quite sure.”

  Beatrice squeezes my elbow, her anticipation bubbling over. I feign a smile. In other circumstances, Sherwood and such an occasion could excite me too. But I cannot think of a banquet or a dance, this Lord Mortain or any noble-son. My mind flits always to the woods. To the basket, dropped, and the girl who carried it. Gone.

  *

  Two hours later, still queasy, I hear Carter’s humming cease. A low muttered curse follows. The carriage halts abruptly. Lord Anson stirs in his sleep. Old Carter’s grizzled face appears in the side window.

  “Problem, m’lady.”

  Lady Ariel sniffs. “What is it, Carter?”

  “Tree across the road, m’lady. Fallen over. Heavy one, mind you.”

  “Well? Fix it, will you?”

  I look out the carriage. We are stopped at the edge of a forest. The sheer thickness of the trees gives it away. Sherwood Forest. The haunted wood.

  Guy moves to the door and so do I.

  Lady Ariel leans forward. “Brya, where do you think you are going?”

  “I can help.”

  Lord Anson blinks awake. “Shall I join you?”

  “Your back, Lord, don’t be silly!” Lady Ariel sighs. “Fine, Brya, go on. But mind your dress, for God’s sake!”

  Guy offers a sympathetic glance as he helps me down. The road, much like the clouded-over sky, is no longer clear. A solid trunk lays askew across it, protruding like a broken bone from the trees. Guy and Carter try to shift it but in vain. The trunk is wide as a barrel. Branches of withered grey leaves have stuck into the far ditch. I try to help but I am not nearly strong enough. We succeed only in budging it before it rolls back into place.

  Carter shuffles to his feet. “What now, sire?”

  Guy glances down the highway. Caught in two minds. “Did you pass one of the forest roads, Carter?”

  The driver chews his lip. “Ai. Short while back. But you know the stories of…”

  “Yes, I know the stories of Sherwood Forest,” Guy says. “I also know this trunk will not be shifted by two men and a lady. I’ll chance us with a few folktales over a very real, immovable object.”

  “So be it,” Carter says, gnawing on his mouth.

  Guy glances at me. I nod. It is the right decision. We should to the castle as soon as possible. Still I curse our luck. I’ve heard the stories of Sherwood Forest too.

  **

  Once Carter turns the horses we retrace to a fork in the road. The right bends sharply into the forest and cuts a swathe between oaks and elms that cast their foliage in full across the sky. This is a trade road, Lord Anson explains. Plenty travelled, at least in the past. Yet none of us look very assured. Guy chooses to sit up top with Carter: a second pair of eyes.

  The stories of Sherwood are older than Carter, who likes to tell them after a whisky. How, despite the Sheriff’s raids, Sherwood Forest is a hideaway to the worst scoundrels in the land. But that is not all. The stories tell that the wood is also enchanted: home to rogue spirits and unholy beasts, to darkness in the middle of the day. Some say that there is a place, far, far within, where a soul may step beyond the trees and vanish and never be seen again.

  I do not know how much I believe. Folk like their stories. But it is a vast forest, is Sherwood, and no place to venture from the path.

  As we ride on through it, my mind is restless. Returning, again and again, to that felled tree across the road. Something about it makes me remiss. I am picturing it more clearly when Beatrice nudges me to ask what I think of her embroidery. Whatever had been forming is lost. Frustrated, I tell her it is a fine sparrow she is making.

  Lady Ariel lifts her chin a fraction. “Tonight, Brya. You will follow my lead, yes?”

  “M’lady?”

  She narrows her gaze. “When I tell you to be silent you will be.”

  Lord Anson fidgets. “Now then…”

  “This is important.” Lady Ariel does not take her eyes from me. “This is the Lord Sheriff’s banquet, and I will – not – have you causing trouble.”

  I have to fight the urge to give her my true mind. “I wish only to speak with the Sheriff about Sara.”

  “Yes, yes, we know. I will speak to him on this. Lord Anson and I. You are young, Brya, and you will respect your elders. Do you understand me?”

  My tongue itches at the unfairness. I do most things Lady Ariel ever asks of me. I do them despite her making it very clear, from always, that I am not her daughter: I am a charge, a dependent that she has been stuck with. It was Lord Anson’s kindness that took me in. It may be the only battle he ever won with his wife.

  Her words linger: You are young…you will respect your elders…

  I suddenly realise what it was about the felled tree that bothers me. The branches in the ditch: their leaves were withered. Elder. Unlike the standing trees: those covered green and orange, rich with the life of early spring. That tree: it cannot have fallen recently. It must have been weeks dead at least. But that makes no sense at all. There is no way the Sherwood road would be left blocked for so long. So…

  Just then, as the thoughts play out, I glimpse a movement in the trees. Suddenly the horses mewl and rear. The carriage grinds on its hinges. I am thrown forward. And then a devilish whooping flies down from the trees around us.

  ***

  Having landed in her father’s arms, Beatrice shrieks as a face appears in the window. His eyes are reddish brown. Maroon. All that shows between his hood and the black scarf covering his face. Those eyes cast over the interior.

  “Well aren’t we a pretty party of passengers?” he says. It’s hard to be certain, but the voice does not sound to me like an old man’s. “Hope we didn’t wake you?”

  I push myself up, dazed from the collision. Outside Wolf is barking like mad. The crazed whooping dies down into a f
alse quiet.

  “Kindly rise and shine, folks,” Maroon Eyes says, “and step out into the light…”

  “We shall do no such thing!” Lady Ariel quivers in shock and rage. “Just who do you–”

  Maroon Eyes yanks open the carriage door. At the side of his leather-skin tunic he holds a blade. A bow and arrow is strapped across his back. He is not alone. A much taller, much rounder man, masked and hooded in darkest green, appears behind him. He holds what looks like a staff.

  My mouth dries. “What do you want?”

  For a moment he looks upon me. His eyes are sharp. “I want you out. All of you.”

  “Do as he says,” Lord Anson speaks. Lady Ariel moans in dismay, but we pass in turn out of the carriage. We are lined up on the path. I survey the scene. The hooded number five that I can tell. To our right, ahead of the carriage, three of them ring Guy, Carter, and Wolf. Their bows are lifted. Arrows set. One of them shouts at Guy to hold the mutt back. Carter mutters all hell at them. Guy is silent. Fists clenched at his side, one gripping Wolf’s taut leash. His sword still sheathed.

  He catches my eye. I think of my knife. Tied to my leg beneath my dress. He gives me a very slight shake of his head.

  “You will not harm us,” Lord Anson says.

  Maroon Eyes issues a short whistle. A sixth member appears from the other side of the carriage. The smallest of the lot: a slender figure garbed in blue. This has to be a child.

  “Check it,” Maroon Eyes says. The small one scuttles into the empty carriage.

  “How dare you?” Lady Ariel takes a half step towards him. For once I have to admire her fierceness, the sheer force of her will. “Do you not know who we are?”

  “Ariel,” Lord Anson starts.

  “Pray tell, m’lady” Maroon Eyes says.

  “We are Lord and Lady Gisbourne! You will leave us at once! And if you are lucky, you won’t all be hung, drawn, and quartered for your crimes!”

  She says it as though she believes he will do just this. Instead Maroon Eyes nods towards the huge figure in dark green. “D’you here that? This here is Lord and Lady Gisbourne! Why, we didn’t realise, madam! I guess we ought to leave them be. Whaddya reckon?”

  The Green Giant is wordless and motionless.

  “Ah, but m’lord here is not in agreement with your request. Nor for that matter am I. Truly sorry.” Maroon Eyes hops on his feet. “Now all of you, Gisbournes or geese, empty your jackets and your pockets. Lay everything on the ground. Quick like. This is our good King’s road, you know.”

  “I will do no such thing!” Lady Ariel says, but her force is diminished.

  When none of us move, Maroon Eyes steps closer. His gaze hardens. He points to Beatrice. She has wrapped her arms around herself like the petals of a flower.

  “You. Come here.”

  Beatrice gasps. Lord Anson says, “You said you would not harm us!”

  “I think that was you, sire. Now step here, blondi-locks.”

  “No!” My voice surprises me. I put my hand on Beatrice and come forward in her place. Guy calls out to me. He is drowned out by shouts from the hooded ring around him. One of the masked shoves him back.

  Maroon Eyes takes my wrist, neither gentle nor hard. He appraises me. For a second I am sure he can read my mind. It is picturing the knife under my dress.

  “Fine. Arms over your head, princess,” he says. Then, to the Giant: “Check these others. Any trouble and you know…”

  I have only a moment to gauge. How much danger is here? We are being robbed. That much is obvious. But will they use their weapons on us after? Will they leave us as bodies on the road? It has happened before in Sherwood Forest.

  It will not happen today.

  “I have a purse,” I whisper.

  Maroon Eyes takes fresh measure of me. He lets go of my wrist. The next happens slow and yet fast like I am falling through the air. I reach down as if for my purse. Just then the smallest one emerges from the carriage, a triumphant light in their pale eyes. They hold up a wooden box. It must have been under the bench. They open it. It has a good stash of coins.

  “Those are the Sheriff’s moneys!” Lady Ariel shrieks.

  One of the masked men howls with pleasure.

  “Now they’re ours. Good eye, Slate,” Maroon Eyes says, and, for a flash, takes his gaze away from me. It is one swift movement. Strangely instinctive: I do it without thought but with a sudden coolness in my blood. I drop low. I pull the knife free. I swivel to his back. The blade is at his neck.

  From this instant, time stops. I am aware of a rush in my veins. Of his body going rigid before me. And of a dozen pairs of eyes turned towards us.

  Trying to keep my nerves in check, I say: “Lay down your bows.” It is meant an order but comes out sounding like a request. Please do as I ask. None of them move a muscle. Only Guy: he begins toward us. Two of the arrow-men block him.

  “Brya!” he says.

  “That your name?” Maroon Eyes says. “Like the thorn-bush. Nice.” He is hardly moving his neck for the flint-tip near his throat. “Listen to me, Brya. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Tell them to lay down their weapons, and yours, too.”

  I wish it came out harder, the whip-cry of Lady Ariel, who is watching me in stark amazement. Beatrice is weeping. Beside them, the Green Giant is tapping his staff against his foot. The Small Thief sits cross-legged on the path, box in hand, staring at us.

  “Say it,” I whisper to my captive.

  Maroon swallows once. “Your wish, my command.” His sword drops. To the others, he says, “Down. Bows and all.”

  I watch, half in shock, as this happens. The ring of three in hoods check each other and then, one by one, step away from Carter and Guy and Wolf. They curse. But they lower their bows. My shock turns to excitement.

  “Him, too,” I say, nodding to the Green Giant. After a hesitation he drops his staff.

  “Yes!” Lady Ariel says, reanimated. “Step away, all of you, vermin!”

  “What now then, Brya?” Maroon Eyes speaks from the corner of his mouth. Only I can hear him. I am working this question through. A plan to get us back into the carriage and away from here. I come slowly to the side of him. My blade still kisses his neck. I am about to speak when he does a very odd thing. He whistles.

  A clump. Behind me. Near everyone is shouting: Lord Anson, Beatrice, Old Carter. My blood sparks. I spin just in time to see a dark-clad figure drop from the trees. They rush towards me. And suddenly my knife is pressed against thin air.

  Maroon Eyes is gone. He is below and then behind me. In a moment he has my arms pulled to my back. The angle makes me gasp. My knife falls. I try to wrestle against him. But he locks my arms and he is too strong.

  Guy pulls his sword and runs at Maroon Eyes. The dark-clad figure from the woods is to their knee. They fire a slingshot. A stone sings through the air and strikes Guy in the chest, winding him.

  “Drop your sword,” Maroon Eyes shouts. Guy stands to come again. All their bows are lifted. Another slingshot is readied.

  “Guy!” I shout.

  “Drop it,” Maroon Eyes repeats, coolly. “Else she’ll really feel this.”

  I already do. The knife is like ice on my flesh. Guy stops ten feet from us. He lowers his head. He is shaking. I have never seen him so pent with fury.

  “You hurt her I swear to God I’ll cut you down.”

  Maroon Eyes nods. I have the vile feeling he might be smiling behind his mask. “That’s fair. Now lay down the sword, hero, and let’s get on with our lives.”

  Guy looks at me, distress in the blue of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  He places the blade on the ground.

  The hooded are swift about their work. They take Guy’s sword. The Green Giant and the Small Thief lift off Lord Anson’s rings, Lady Ariel’s necklace, Beatrice’s bracelets – all of the purses. Some of them start whooping again. Never the Green Giant or Maroon Eyes. He stays at
the back of me until the end. Finally he steps around, faces me.

  “What of you?”

  I do not answer.

  “You know, you’ve courage for a princess.”

  I cannot stop myself. “And you’re a villain with none at all.”

  “That right? I best see what you have then.” His eyes on mine, his fingers brush the side of my leg. I tense. He pulls my purse from my pocket. Fortunately there is nothing of value inside it. Except…

  He looks down. It is barely a glance. Do I imagine it then? Or is there a flash of knowing in his brown-red eyes when he flicks the cloth over and sees the lion’s head?

  “What is it?”

  He frowns but gives no reply. He stashes the cloth in his pocket and sprints off. Whistling. The rest follow.

  “The Sheriff will hear of this!” Lady Ariel shrieks after them. “You will hang, every last one of you!”

  They are already gone. Disappeared into the woods like so many deer breaking from the hunt.

  PART II: THE CHAMBER

  4.

  Guy finds me in my guestroom on the upper floor of Sherwood Castle. I am sat on the edge of the bed. Failing to calm the hornet’s nest in my mind. Seeing Guy at least I can pause the endless thrum of the masked robbers, Maroon Eyes, the way I somehow slipped his grasp and turned my knife upon his neck. Those actions, so swift and decisive, do not quite feel my own.

  “May I sit?” Guy asks.

  “Of course.”

  He stops beside me. I let my body rest into his. He is solid oak.

  “We will be riding soon. The sheriff’s band. We shall take the Sherwood road at least as far as the crossing. If we do not yet find them…we will send them a message.”

  “You are going too?”

  “I insisted. They threatened my family. They threatened you.”

  I swallow. I think of Maroon Eyes’ cold knife on my neck. How close did I come tonight?

  “I have never seen you move like that, Brya,” Guy says.

  My cheeks flush. “I do not know what happened.”