‘Where are we?’ he said to Maude.
‘This is the Newark road,’ said Maude. ‘We’re not far from the forest now.’
The road was slightly easier going than the riverbank and, after ten minutes of silent march, they reached a small coaching inn. A sign, just visible in the moonlight, gave its name as The Feeding of the Five Thousand although, from glimpses of the firelit interior, Erasmus would personally have named it as The Gradual Inebriation of the Five Dozen. The inn’s low tables seemed to be filled with men, each with a road-weary face and a tankard of ale and, from the sound of it, a lot to say about themselves. The level of conversation was almost deafening, even from where Erasmus was standing. On a low wall outside the building, he could see that two drinkers must have shared his opinion, as they seemed to have brought their drinks out into the relative quiet of the night. Alice motioned for the group to stop, and then crossed the road to them. The taller of the two men looked her up and down appraisingly then, noticing the glare on her face, returned to his ale.
‘You seen anyone pass here?’ Alice asked the man brusquely.
The man shrugged. ‘Naa,’ he said sullenly.
‘Speak up, man,’ said Alice. ‘Have you or haven’t you?’
‘Naa,’ said the man, making no effort to raise his voice.
Alice fingered the dagger on her belt, then evidently thought better of it.
‘This is a rough area to be drinking outside,’ she said politely, the hint of steel in her voice emphasised by the fact that her hand was still within inches of the less subtle hint at her side.
‘Arr,’ said the man cordially. Alice took her hand away from her belt – she seemed convinced the man was either drunk or retarded. His tone sounded positive, though, so she decided to continue.
‘Have you business in these parts?’ she said.
‘Oh arr.’
‘Have you been out here long this evening?’
The man exchanged looks with his shorter companion, who shrugged. He turned back to Alice. ‘Aa-rr,’ he said non-committally.
‘Have you seen any soldiers ride this way?’
‘Naa.’
‘What about your friend?’
The taller man looked at his companion again. ‘Arr?’ he asked him.
‘Naa,’ said the shorter man.
Alice turned to leave, but an insistent ‘arr’ made her turn back to the men. The shorter man was holding out a hand, palm upturned. Alice’s hand hovered over her dagger once more, but she relented and took some coins from a pouch somewhere in the recess of her robe and handed them to the man. He tested the coins with his teeth then nodded. Alice, feeling her duty was discharged, crossed back over the road accompanied by a chorus of grateful ‘arr’s. The taller man took a deep drink of his beer and watched as they disappeared into the forest. Then he wiped the foam from his lips and turned to his companion.
‘Looks like another lot escaped from the castle,’ he said.
‘Arr.’
‘I don’t know why they don’t just hang ’em when they catch them.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘It’s not too tough. If the dungeon system in this country is going to work, they need dungeons people can’t get out of. These dungeons are like stables – anyone can just walk out.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Oh yes, the Tower’s good, I’ll give you that. You can’t exactly take every two-penny criminal down to London, though, can you?’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Well, I don’t know what the answer is, do I? I was just making a point. It’s a free country—’
‘Har.’
‘All right, it’s not a free country. It’s an expensive country, but I’m still allowed to say something’s a problem even if I don’t know what the answer is.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Well, it is a problem. That lot will be trouble, mark my words. They’ll wish they’d hanged them.’ He took the gold coins from his pocket and toyed with them. ‘Fancy another ale?’
The path Alice followed through the forest was narrow and winding and tree roots hung across it, tripping unwary passers-by like the legs of drunken louts in a nightclub full of cheerleaders. Attempting to match the pace of his companions, Erasmus stumbled with frightening regularity, but invariably his outstretched hand caught the branch of a tree and he was able to steady himself. After half an hour his hands felt raw from the continuous scratching of bark and he began to wish he’d taken the opportunity to leave when it had presented itself. He had no idea where he was or what time it was and he was beginning to yearn for the comforts of a quiet classroom and a mug of hot tea. He realised, with a sharp pang, this latter comfort wouldn’t be available for several hundred more years. He wasn’t a great fan of ale, real or otherwise.
Eventually, the pace slowed and Erasmus began to get the feeling they were arriving somewhere. There were subtle changes in Maude’s posture as she walked along in front of him and Erasmus felt that peculiar feeling of coming home, even though his own home had yet to be built. Feeling a burst of energy, he took a couple of brisk steps forward, tripped on a particularly large root and pitched forward. He stumbled and caught hold of a branch, but it snapped off in his hand and he continued to fall. Maude, disturbed by the noise of snapping wood, turned round and managed to catch the falling teacher’s shoulders and arrest his descent. For a moment the two held this position, then Maude looked down. Erasmus, following her gaze, realised his hands were on Maude’s breasts and he quickly adjusted his footing and stood upright, moving his hands away in embarrassment.
Maude smiled at him. ‘Not now, m’duck,’ she said. ‘There’ll be time for that later.’
Erasmus looked down at his feet, glad the poor light hid his flushed features. Maude patted him affectionately on the arm, then took his hand and led him into the camp.
The clearing was an awesome sight. The trees that ringed it were packed tightly and their outstretched branches formed an effective roof, giving the impression of a vaulted ceiling. A fire burnt in a carefully prepared hearth in the centre and, looking back at the narrow path through which they had entered, Erasmus realised how perfect this was as a hiding place for fugitives. It was like a sanctuary, a pagan cathedral in the forest where no soldier could reach you. He felt safe and, relieved of the tension that had driven him throughout the night, he sank down and sat at the edge of the clearing, leaning back on one of the trees and closing his eyes.
Presently, he got the odd sensation of being watched and he opened his eyes to see a woman staring at him. Her raven-black hair framed a face so round it seemed to be designed around her smile. She was dressed in a simple green robe, laced at the waist, and, under her arm, she carried a heavy, black cloak. Erasmus realised this was Maude – the firelight gave him the first clear view of the woman who had held his hand for most of the last two hours. It was clear she was examining him with the same degree of curiosity.
‘You’re not like I imagined,’ she said finally.
‘No? How not?’
‘You’ve got less ’air.’
Erasmus ran his fingers over his head self-consciously. His hair wasn’t exactly receding, but it was perhaps cut shorter than historic fashion prescribed. Television tended to portray its Merry Men as looking either modern or with long slick hair that was better placed in an advert for shampoo. Perhaps the shampoo advert look was closer to the truth than he’d realised.
He also realised he hadn’t said anything for several seconds. ‘It’s just cut short,’ he said eventually.
‘I don’t mind, like,’ said Maude.
‘Oh.’
‘But I don’t know what you think you’re wearing.’
Erasmus looked at his costume, suddenly worrying if his research on mediaeval dress had been equally flawed. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ he said.
‘It’s brown,’ said Maude.
Erasmus looked at her blankly.
‘Didn’t you know?’ said Maude.
�
�Know what?’
‘Nobody wears brown any more. It’s so last season.’
Erasmus relaxed and Maude sat down next to him. ‘Is it because you’ve been travelling?’ she said.
‘I suppose it must be.’
‘Does it take long to get to foreign?’
Erasmus smiled with tired amusement. ‘Longer than you can imagine,’ he said.
‘Do I look like you imagined?’
Erasmus took another look at the woman who sat beside him. She was fairly short, round in the face and with a figure that seemed typical for the feminine form in the ages before gravity was discovered. This was probably more down to her dress than a suspension of the laws of physics. ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.’
Maude looked disappointed.
‘Oh, I’m not saying I’m not interested,’ Erasmus added hurriedly. ‘It’s just that, what with the fight with Gisburne and the escape from the dungeon, I haven’t really had time to think about anything.’
‘You’ve ’ad a busy day,’ said Maude. ‘You must be ’ungry.’
‘Ravenous.’
‘I’ll get you some stew if you like.’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘I’m afraid it’s only mutton.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
Maude rose and made her way over to where a pot was warming on the fire. Erasmus watched her spooning out some stew into a wooden bowl, then looked around. Alice seemed to have left the clearing with some of the party, leaving two other women besides Maude. The first woman, a young blonde, was sitting on the opposite side of the clearing, sewing; the other, an older woman, seemed to be rearranging the camp, moving rocks into tidy piles around the clearing.
‘What’s she doing?’ Erasmus said to Maude when she returned with his stew. He pointed to the older woman, who was now gathering up fallen leaves in the folds of her skirt.
‘Oh, don’t worry about Ethel,’ said Maude. ‘She’s a bit odd. We think it’s ’cause she’s spent so long cleaning up after other people.’
‘You mean it’s become a habit?’ said Erasmus, gratefully accepting his bowl of stew.
Maude sat down beside him and rested her own bowl on her lap. ‘It’s all she knows,’ she said sadly.
Erasmus braced himself and took a mouthful of the stew. It was actually surprisingly good: unfamiliar herbs and berries gave the meat an unusual, but not unpleasant, flavour.
‘What’s this herb?’ said Erasmus, picking out a parsley-like leaf that smelt strongly of celery.
‘Lovage,’ said Maude, taking a spoonful of her own stew and eating it hungrily.
Erasmus chewed thoughtfully on the leaf. It must be difficult to live on the run, he thought. Living rough in the forest, trying not to leave any sign of your passage. He looked around the clearing – there was no way a horse could get in. If a soldier found the camp, he’d know it for what it was, though. No matter how well the fire was hidden, human habitation would be given away by the neatly stacked rocks around the edge. He wondered briefly if Stonehenge had been built by Ethel’s ancestors – people who just couldn’t bear to leave slabs of stone lying around without a purpose.
‘Why did Ethel join your band?’ he said.
‘Well, she couldn’t very well stay where she was.’
Erasmus finished his stew. ‘Was it something she did?’
Maude put her bowl to her lips and drained the remaining stock, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘What, Ethel? No, ’course not. She wouldn’t do nothing to ’urt no one.’
‘Then why?’
‘Well, she couldn’t very well stay at ’ome when ’er mistress ran away into the night and pretend nothing ’appened, could she? She’s loyal.’
‘Is Alice her mistress, then?’
Maude laughed loudly, a sound not unlike the whinnying of a horse, and slapped Erasmus on the knees. ‘Alice, a lady,’ she choked between bursts of laughter. ‘Meg,’ she called across the clearing. The blonde woman looked up from her sewing.
‘You’ll never guess what ’e asked,’ said Maude, prodding at Erasmus as she did so. ‘’E asked if Ethel was Alice’s servant.’
Meg smiled indulgently then returned to her sewing.
‘Alice a lady!’ Maude chuckled. ‘Gawd, don’t let ’er ’ear you say that – she’ll ’ave your gizzard out before you could say sorry.’
‘Well, whose servant was she?’ said Erasmus.
‘Marian’s,’ said Maude.
Erasmus looked at Maude, his eyes wide like a rabbit trapped in headlights. ‘Marian!’ he said loudly.
Just at that point Alice entered the clearing from Meg’s side. With her was a tall, willowy woman with a lightly freckled face and hair the colour of chestnuts.
‘Hello,’ she said softly. ‘Alice told me we had a guest.’
Erasmus rose to his feet, hastily dusted himself down and bowed politely. Maude, standing up next to him, took Erasmus’ arm and gestured to the new arrival.
‘Marian, this is ’rasmus,’ she said. ‘’Rasmus, this is Lady Marian.’
‘Marian will be fine,’ said Marian.
Erasmus took a moment to compose himself, then stepped forward to shake the lady by the hand. Unfortunately, he failed to notice – in short succession – a tree root in front of his foot and a low-hanging branch behind his head. After briefly touching on both he failed to notice anything at all for some time.
Chapter Eight
Erasmus awoke to the sound of birdsong, a mishmash of chatters and twitters that interrupted each other more often than a pair of arguing first formers. He lay on his back, wondering whether he’d left the window open last night and why his bed seemed so uncomfortable this morning. Then, as he opened his eyes to the sight of the green-filtered light trickling through the forest ceiling, the events of the previous day came back to him in a rush. Unfortunately realisation came along with a throbbing pain in his temples and he groaned and clutched at his head as he sat up.
Maude hurried to his side with a bowl in her hand.
‘’Ow you feeling?’ she said. ‘You took quite a knock last night. I’ve never seen someone fall over like that – not without one of Alice’s daggers in ’em anyway.’
‘I feel like I’ve spent all night teaching 3C,’ Erasmus groaned, provoking a puzzled look from Maude. ‘Children,’ he said by way of explanation.
Maude nodded understandingly, then took a poultice from a pouch at her waist.
‘This’ll ’elp with the pain,’ she said as she began to wrap it around his forehead.
‘Thanks.’
Maude finished binding his head, then picked up a wooden bowl and passed it to him. ‘Now drink this and you’ll feel much better.’
Erasmus took the proffered bowl, sipped at the contents, then passed it back to Maude. After a moment he spat out a mouthful and screwed up his nose. ‘What’s in that?’ he said.
‘Secret,’ said Maude.
‘It tastes like soap.’
‘Soap?’
‘You wash with it,’ said Erasmus. ‘It makes you smell nice.’
‘I always smell nice,’ said Maude. ‘I changes my under-things every week.’
Erasmus nodded, but the motion made him feel woozy and he slumped back against the tree and closed his eyes. ‘It’s always the same when you go anywhere special on holiday,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You spend the first week feeling ill, then it’s time to go home.’
‘And how is our guest this morning?’
A soft voice that definitely wasn’t Maude’s made him open his eyes and look up. Marian stood in a halo of sunlight, giving Erasmus the feeling he was being visited by a cross between Florence Nightingale and an angel. Seeing her standing there, he could understand why she had persisted in the popular consciousness for so long. Now, here she was, like Aphrodite in a green dress, asking a lowly teacher how he was feeling.
‘I’ve been better,’ he said.
‘Yo
u took quite a turn,’ said Marian. ‘What came over you?’
‘I never realised how beautiful you were,’ Erasmus said without thinking. There was an angry clank and Erasmus turned to see the wooden bowl lying awkwardly on one of Ethel’s stones beside him. He looked up – Maude was stomping off across the clearing, her retreating back conveying an impression of annoyance.
Erasmus watched her go. ‘What was that all about?’ he said.
Marian smiled warmly. ‘She’s taken quite a shine to you,’ she said.
‘I thought she was just that kind of person,’ said Erasmus.
‘And who told you that?’
‘Nobody. I’d never heard of her until we met in the dungeon.’
‘Yet you’d heard of me?’
Erasmus nodded, then clutched at his head again. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s heard of you – you’re legendary.’
Marian looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I find it a little unfair that, if word of my deeds has spread as far as foreign,’ she pronounced the word very definitely, convincing Erasmus she was educated enough to know it wasn’t a country, ‘that the deeds of my companions have not been included.’
‘I never heard of you having your own band of outlaws.’
‘You heard I worked alone? My, your storytellers must be able to spin quite a yarn.’
Erasmus shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I heard you were part of Robin Hood’s band.’
Marian’s eyes widened in surprise and her lips set in a firm line. ‘Do you think I’d want to associate myself with that bunch of drunken cutpurses?’ she snapped. ‘I come from a noble family.’
‘I’d heard that Robin was a good man. That’s why I came.’
‘You wanted his help?’
‘No. I wanted to know the truth – what really happened.’
Marian bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘You came all the way to Sherwood to find out if there was truth in a rumour. What kind of man are you?’
‘A scholar,’ said Erasmus. ‘It’s important for me to know the truth about things. Where I come from, not everyone believes that Robin Hood even exists.’
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