“Dislocated?” Sir Richard offered.
“Aye, that,” Edmond agreed. “His face was pale and he screamed in agony when the barber put it back into place. Four of the children had...” his voice cracked in disgust, but he carried on through gritted teeth. “They had tied a noose around his neck and pulled him up onto a branch! The rope snapped and he'd landed on his shoulder – the boys had run off when Walter got his breath back and started screaming.”
They walked on, the clouds growing ever more threatening, and Sir Richard let Edmond gather his thoughts for a while.
“How could children do something like that? So...evil? Walter was only eight! A little boy!”
The Hospitaller stared along the road, his own memory replaying images of cruelty and hatred perpetrated by men supposedly fighting for the glory of God.
“Did you” –
“Aye, I did!” Edmond replied. “I found out who had done it and I did the same thing to one of them, but his da told the headman and I was warned not to go after any more of the little bastards. To this day, whenever Walter and I would go to the inn for an ale after work, those boys – grown men by now – would snigger at him and make choking motions.” The rage left him and he gazed at Sir Richard with wide, damp eyes. “All because Walter was born a little bit slow-witted.”
The rain began to fall on them then, gently. “So you wanted to show the men of Kirklees that Walter was as much of a man as any of them by capturing one of the rebel leaders.”
Edmond nodded, bringing the sword up threateningly as if just remembering where they were going. “Aye, but you ruined it; you, and this.” He looked in disgust at the blade in his own hand.
Sir Richard held his peace and they plodded on, the rain becoming a torrent, ending any possibility of further conversation, but the old knight understood Edmond much better now. It was clear from his body language that he hadn't just wanted to prove Walter's worth to his peers – he had wanted to prove himself. With his stumpy little body and odd-looking facial features, Sir Richard knew the village bullies would have made Edmond's life a misery, almost as much as they had Walter's.
The rain coursed down his face and dripped from his grey beard but the Hospitaller felt too tired to wipe it away. So much hatred and pain in the world. At his age, after everything he'd seen and done in his long years, he would have hoped to be able to make sense of life. But he had no better understanding of the ways of men now than he did when he was Edmond's age.
He sighed and bowed his head to let the rain drip off onto the old Roman road. These stones have been here for centuries, and nothing's changed: men still can't stop hurting and killing one another...
* * *
Will forced himself to keep moving along the corridor as the door to the great hall opened and a figure came through. If it was another guard, Will would surely be recognised and that would be the end of his rescue attempt.
“You – where's the latrine?”
The man fixed Scarlet with a drunken glare and the outlaw let out a sigh of relief. Just another reveller, thank Christ.
“Up the stairs, and straight ahead, my lord,” he replied deferentially, as the man staggered off without another word.
“Noble twat.” Will hurried to the opposite end of the corridor, to the great door that stood closed, and fitted the key he'd taken from the dead guard into the lock. It turned easily and he moved through onto another stairwell, which led down into the dimly lit, and damp-smelling dungeon.
He left the door unlocked: no one would come down here by accident, even if they were drunk: it was obvious the stairwell led to the dungeon, and leaving it unlocked would speed their escape once he had Robin.
Voices came to him as he reached the bottom of the steps. Men shouted for water, or food, or freedom. One seemed to be singing a children's song and Will shook his head, knowing the prisoners would have been physically and mentally abused horribly down here where no-one could hear their tortured cries.
Well, that wasn't his problem – some of them probably deserved it anyway.
Setting his shoulders confidently, he strode up to the two guardsmen who sat at a table playing dice. They looked up curiously, but the sight of the light blue surcoat Will had put on stopped them from reacting immediately with alarm.
“What's up?” one of them asked, squinting up at him. Will had stood directly in front of a guttering torch, so the guards couldn't make out his face in the brightness behind him, and he made the most of the few extra seconds it bought him.
“Adam?” he asked.
“Aye, what is it?” the man demanded impatiently. “Why are you down” –
Scarlet hammered the point of the pole-arm he'd taken from the dead guard in the linen room into Adam's chest, hurling the man backwards into the wall, where he stood for a moment, before sinking slowly to his knees, a look of disbelief on his face.
Before the second guard could react, Will withdrew the pole-arm and brought the blunt end round in a ferocious sweep that sent the shocked man sprawling onto the floor. Reversing the weapon the outlaw plunged the bloody point through the groaning man's windpipe.
“Shit!” He cursed as he searched Adam's body for the keys to the cells. He hadn't wanted to kill the guards – if there had been just the one he would have overpowered him and locked him in his own cells. But it was too risky to try and beat two trained soldiers so there had been no other choice if he was to get Robin out of here alive. The guards had to die.
When he had exploded into violence, the sounds from the cells had stopped completely, and the eerie atmosphere closed in on him as he hastily made his way to the cell at the end of the stinking stone hallway.
The other prisoners pressed their faces against the iron gates, watching the man who had just murdered two of their hated jailers.
“Let us out of here,” one of them shouted. “You have the keys, let us out!”
Will ignored them all as he reached the final cell and peered inside at the figure lying on the cold floor. “Robin!” he hissed, but the figure never moved.
The jailer's ring held a number of keys, all of similar shape and size, and he had to try half a dozen before the gate finally popped open with a harsh creak.
Warily, he made his way over to the prisoner lying on the ground, in case the man attacked him. “Robin,” he muttered again, and this time was rewarded with a small groan from the prone figure.
By now, Will knew he'd found his friend – he recognised the clothes and the closely-cropped brown hair. Kneeling beside him, he laid a hand gently on Robin's arm and gave a gentle squeeze. “I've come to get you out of here,” he told his young captain. “They're throwing a party upstairs to celebrate your capture, so I was able to climb inside. We have to move quickly though. Get up and let's go before we're discovered!”
The outlaw leader never moved, so Will carefully pushed him onto his back and gasped. Robin's eyes flickered open and his face split in an agonised grimace.
“I won't be climbing anywhere, Will.”
“Holy Mother, what have they done to you?” The sight of Robin's blood-caked and terribly bruised face made Scarlet's blood run cold, and he guessed the rest of his friend's body was just as badly injured underneath his clothes.
“Gisbourne,” Robin replied softly, obviously with great effort. His eyes filled with tears as he forced himself to continue. “The bastard killed Much!”
Will slumped onto the filthy stone floor and cradled Robin's head in his lap, feeling no shame as tears filled his own eyes at the sight of his broken friend.
“I know,” he whispered. “We found him. I thought I'd be able to get inside here, we'd escape, and then we could hunt Gisbourne in the forest.” He shook his head in frustrated rage. “I can't carry you out of here! I had to climb up the fucking latrine to get in, and it's the only way we'll be able to get back out!”
Robin shuddered as a wave of pain tore through his body and he gasped an apology to his would-be rescuer.
“Thank you for coming for me, Will. You're a true friend. But I can't even climb to my feet never mind climb down a wall. Leave me. You and John can lead the men. Take them away from Barnsdale – Gisbourne won't stop until he's killed every last one of us.”
Scarlet hugged his friend's head as the tears of rage and sorrow rolled down his grime-encrusted face. He knew Robin was right: they couldn't just walk out of the castle past the guards at the gatehouse. It was over.
“Go!” Robin urged. “Before someone finds you!”
There was a sound from the end of the doorway above and Will growled like a rabid dog as he realised someone was coming down the stairs.
“Too late.” He stood up and grasped his sword, gazing along the corridor. “Looks like we die here together, my friend.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rain had let up and thankfully the sun had broken through the patchy clouds, but it offered little heat and Sir Richard shivered in his sodden clothing.
Edmond was better off in his thick hooded cloak but he was huddled into it, clearly feeling the cold.
“We should stop and build a fire to dry ourselves and our clothes,” Sir Richard said. “Unless you want us both to come down with a chill and be too sick to make it to Pontefract.”
Edmond was lost in his thoughts and his head snapped up in surprise at the suggestion. “Aye,” he agreed. “Fair enough. Night will be on us soon anyway. Let's hope we can find enough dry kindling to get a blaze going.”
They moved off the road, Edmond watching his captive warily the whole time, sword still held ready even though his arm must have been very uncomfortable under the weight by now.
“Don't think about running” –
The Hospitaller waved him to silence and began hunting for firewood. A couple of old oaks grew near the roadside and they managed to find a few dry twigs and branches to build a small fire. “You get it going,” Sir Richard suggested, as Edmond placed the little bundle in a pile. “I'll find more – we don't have enough there to dry us.”
The thought of a warm blaze cheered Edmond as he set about constructing a small camp-fire and the big knight disappeared into the trees fringing the road. Should I bring him back and keep him in sight? He wondered. No, he had to trust the man's oath would hold – there was no way Edmond could watch him every moment of the day after all.
There was precious little dry kindling anywhere close to their makeshift camp, Sir Richard realised, widening his search irritably. He'd hoped to get a roaring fire going as soon as possible: the chill was seeping into his joints, making them ache, and he detested such pain for he knew it meant he was growing old. Christ, his own body-heat would have dried his soaking clothes twenty years ago! Now, he worried about catching his death if he didn't build a fire soon.
He shook his head ruefully, picking up what sticks he could find, discarding all but the driest.
Strangely, given his situation, he felt relaxed and somehow at peace. A captive on his way to what would very possibly turn out to be his death at the end of a rope, yet a comforting calm seemed to come over him as he searched for firewood and, as he looked around at the beauty of a spring forest coming into life again, he felt the joy of life for a while again and he smiled in appreciation.
The desperate scream of agony broke his train of thought, and he raced back towards the roadside, hand grasping for his missing sword.
* * *
“Can you stand?”
Will held the pole-arm he'd taken from the castle guard towards his injured friend, but Robin shook his head, clenching his teeth in pain. “I don't think so.” He took the proffered weapon and with a super-human effort, managed to haul himself upright, but his vision blurred and he almost threw up as a wave of nausea swept over him.
“You'll do,” Scarlet grunted appreciatively at Robin's display of willpower.
In truth, the young man had all but given up on life – he was physically and mentally utterly beaten. But the knowledge that Will had risked his own life to climb into this stronghold just to rescue him had given him back a little of his spirit.
Enough at least to face death like a warrior.
A man appeared, stopping momentarily to check on the two guards Will had dispatched, then, finding them dead, he stood and moved towards Robin's cell.
Will held his sword behind his back so it wouldn't gleam in the light of the torch that was being carried along the corridor towards them, while Robin clung to the thick wooden shaft of the pole-arm and prayed to the Magdalene to grant him the strength to wield it.
The torch-bearer moved straight along the passageway towards them, holding the light in his left hand and a quarterstaff in his right.
A cold sweat broke out on Will's back and neck; it was clear the man was coming straight for them, and felt confident enough in his own ability to take on whoever had killed two of the castle guards. It had to be Gisbourne himself.
Will could fight. He'd done so with distinction alongside the military Orders in the Holy Land after all. But he would be the first to admit his style was one of brute force, power and more often than not, sheer recklessness.
He knew he couldn't best Gisbourne. The only outlaw that could ever have beaten him was propped up on the stolen pole-arm next to him, gasping with the effort of holding himself upright.
Tensing himself, pulse thundering in his ears, Scarlet waited for Gisbourne to reach the cell door, determined to land the first blow; maybe he could take the bastard's hand off before he knew what was happening!
The king's man reached the cell and, with a roar, Scarlet threw himself at the cell gate, battering it open, but his target moved, stepping to one side and allowing the furious outlaw to barrel past.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Will faced his opponent in confusion as the torch was raised and he realised his mistake. It wasn't Sir Guy of Gisbourne that came hunting them after all.
“Tuck! How the hell did you get in here?”
The friar threw him a grin as he moved into the cell to check on Robin who still stood, swaying, as he clung onto his makeshift walking stick. “Walked in the front door. Much cleaner than climbing in through that latrine.”
His eyes took in Robin's terrible injuries, but he too had served in the Holy Land, so he didn't allow his emotions to take control of him. They had no time to waste on questions or even rudimentary first-aid.
“We have to get out of here. Now,” he said. “Where's that spare robe of mine you were wearing?”
“I left it in the latrine, under the bench,” Will replied. “It stank, remember. Why?”
Tuck whispered a very un-Christian oath. “We might have been able to disguise Robin with it and leave the same way I came in. The guards weren't interested in looking at me too closely – I told them the sheriff had summoned me to preside over a wedding and I'd been late. They let me in without a fuss, despite the hour. They'd probably been drinking. But even so, there's no way they'll let me back out with Robin beside me.”
“How high's that latrine?”
Will and the friar turned in surprise at Robin's question.
“Too high for you to climb in your state,” Will replied sadly.
“How high?”
“The height of three or four men. Like I say, too high” –
“We need a rope then,” their young leader mumbled through cracked lips. “You two should be able to lower me down, eh?”
Will thought about it for a second then nodded. “Aye, that'd work. We can make a rope out of the sheets in the room beside the latrine. I don't know how we'll get you along the hallway back there though. Anyone that sees you will know what's happening and raise the alarm. We can't fight our way out of here – Tuck's not much fitter than you, he's just woke up remember.”
Tuck placed his torch into a sconce on the wall and shrugged out of his grey robe and pulled it over Robin's head, arranging the hood so it hid the young man's battered face. “Come on, let's get the hell out of her
e.”
“Wait. Hold him,” Will said to the friar, taking the pole arm from Robin's thick purple fingers and leaning it against the cell wall. He drew his sword again and carefully, but powerfully, hacked down on the shaft of the long wooden weapon, taking the steel blade off the end. He handed it back to Robin with shrug. “Looks a bit more like a clergyman's staff now.”
The friar recovered his torch and then they walked as fast as possible back along the corridor, ignoring the pleas for help from the other prisoners, only stopping so Tuck could remove one of the dead guards' surcoats and put it on.
Two of the sheriff's men and a feeble old Franciscan friar... Maybe they'd get out of here alive after all...
They had to move slowly, with Tuck and Scarlet supporting Robin as they climbed the stairs back to the ground floor. If any of the other guardsmen had appeared it would have been the end for the outlaws, but somehow the friar's eyes retained their mischievous sparkle and Will's indomitable spirit saw him carry most of the weight of his injured leader.
“You'll have to walk from here,” he said to Robin as they reached the top of the stairs and the door that led out onto the main corridor. “If we support you it'll look suspicious.”
Robin sucked air in through his teeth and nodded in silent determination.
Will pulled the heavy door open and, all three of them praying silently, they moved into the hallway.
The sounds from the feast had grown louder as more wine and ale had been consumed – even through the doorway men's voices could be heard raised in jest or argument, while women laughed shrilly and the minstrels tried to be heard over the whole cacophony.
“Move!” The hallway was empty, so Will strode forward, grasping Robin by the upper arm, his eyes fixed on the final door on the right where he'd left the guard, James, bound and gagged, and where they'd find the sheets to make a rope for Robin to climb out of this place.
Tuck did his best to keep up and between them, he and Will practically carried their hooded friend for what seemed like an eternity, until they came to the door they were heading for and Will turned the handle to let them inside.
The Wolf and the Raven Page 20