‘That racket you were making was doing my bleedin’ head in,’ snapped the outlaw.
‘Don’t you have an ear for music?’
‘I’ve got two of them, but that wasn’t music. It sounded like you were strangling a wolf-cub.’
‘’Twas a lament,’ said the singer. ‘My heart is heavy and ’tis all I can bring myself to sing.’
‘Well, if you don’t pack it in and give me all your money, then I’ll give you something to cry about.’
‘My money?’
Will swung his sword in an almost casual arc, allowing the sunlight to glitter on the blade and shine in the singer’s eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the suicidal innocence of his audience. ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘Hand over the loot.’
The singer now looked confused. ‘I have no lute,’ he said. ‘I have only a lyre.’
‘Lyre?’
‘No. ’Tis the honest truth, by God’s good grace.’ He produced a stringed instrument from his saddlebag and held it in front of him, his fingers poised over the strings.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
Robin, having seen enough of the entertainment, stepped forward from the shadow of the trees and laid a restraining hand on Will’s sword-arm. He looked towards the singer, his eyes earnest and inquiring. ‘Where are you headed, friend?’ he said.
The singer, his nervous eyes taking in the whole of Robin’s band for the first time, trembled visibly. ‘You’re Robin Hood, aren’t you?’
‘Just answer the bleedin’ question,’ said Will.
‘I’m bound for Newark,’ said the singer.
‘What for?’ said John.
‘I have to kill a man.’
‘With that?’ said Will incredulously, motioning to the instrument at the singer’s side.
‘No,’ said the singer. ‘Needs are such that I must trade the instrument of my trade for one of death.’
‘So, you haven’t got any money, then?’
‘Not a penny to my name – I spent my last on the horse.’
‘I think they saw you coming,’ said Robin dryly, observing the sorry-looking animal. ‘Why do you want to kill the man?’
‘He has taken my love – my Ellen – and the light has gone from my life.’
‘Really. Are you sure she didn’t just hear you sing and opt for someone more musical?’
The singer shook his head. ‘Her father holds money to be of more worth than honest love; she is to marry against her will.’
‘So, the other guy’s rich, then?’ Will began to look interested.
‘He has wealth beyond the dreams of mortals.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Will, ‘I have some pretty wild dreams.’
Robin raised his head to look the youth in the eye. ‘What would you do with his wealth if the groom were to…’ he hesitated, ‘meet with an accident?’
The singer gave Robin a shocked look. ‘I have no need of riches,’ he said. ‘I would have my lyre and my love.’
Robin nodded. ‘And what else matters?’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘I feel inclined to help you, master singer. We shall reclaim your bride and find a better use for this villain’s money than simply lining his pockets. What is your name, young sir?’
The singer looked around the group, his nervousness now oddly mixed with joy. ‘They call me Alan-a-Dale,’ he said.
‘Then, Alan-a-Dale, we shall accompany you on your quest. Lead on.’
Alan began to gently trot along the road and Robin and his men fell in behind him. As he rode, Alan tossed back his head and carried himself as a king at the head of his army. He would rescue his love and with the help of Robin Hood at that. His hand hovered over the strings of his lyre, ready to mark the occasion with a song.
‘No music,’ Will snapped.
If Alan was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. ‘Agreed,’ he said, turning in his saddle to look back at the outlaws. ‘We shall save our voices for celebrating our victory once the battle is done.’ He faced forward once more and Will looked at Robin with wry amusement.
‘Can you believe this guy?’ he said in a low voice. ‘All that money and he doesn’t want a penny.’
‘Let’s just hope he isn’t planning to sing for his supper,’ said Robin.
The road to Newark ran almost straight, cutting through the fringes of Sherwood and mostly lying concealed beneath the broad leaves of the trees. Here and there the tree cover to the east thinned and Erasmus could catch glimpses of the world beyond, fields that stretched for miles and small streams that wound their way peacefully across the countryside like so many wayward truants.
The party kept a steady pace and, after a few hours, Erasmus began to wish he’d spent more time getting fit before he’d embarked on this particular expedition: the world was a larger place when every journey was undertaken on foot. The outlaws, for their part, showed no sign of fatigue and Erasmus struggled on, looking for some kind of landmark that would tell him how far he had left to go. He knew the countryside of Nottinghamshire well; he’d been born and bred in the region, but the inexorable passage of history had changed it all so much and he saw little in the way of features that were familiar to his eyes.
By the late afternoon, he was just beginning to wonder whether they were going to the same Newark he knew, when the castle came into view several miles ahead and he realised that their journey was coming to an end. They stopped to rest on the north side of the town, where the Trent flowed away in the direction of the Humber, and Robin held conference in the shadow of the forest’s edge.
‘When exactly is the wedding supposed to take place?’ he said to Alan.
‘When the sun rises again to grace the sky,’ said Alan.
Robin looked puzzled. Erasmus, who had some experience with poetry, provided a translation. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t he just bleedin’ say so?’ Will muttered.
Robin ignored the comment. ‘Which church are they using?’ he said. ‘In plain English, if you don’t mind.’
‘St Mary’s, of course.’
‘And have you given them any reason to expect your appearance at the wedding?’
‘In what way?’
‘Have you threatened them at all?’
‘I have made no mention of my intentions, but all know my heart belongs to Ellen.’
‘So there is a chance that they’ll be expecting trouble.’
Robin stood up and paced away from the group, looking back over his shoulder at the town walls.
‘If they’re expecting something, we’ll never get in during the ceremony,’ said John. ‘It’s too easy to see people coming.’
Robin nodded. ‘I was thinking the same,’ he said. ‘I think our best bet would be to get in there before the ceremony. It’s time we joined the Church.’
They broke camp the next morning just before dawn and Robin led them through the Westgate and into the town itself. The meagre light gave the streets a dim cast, allowing the party to move almost invisibly through the silent town. Robin led them in the direction of the church, treading silently and keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Will brought up the rear, his hand never straying far from his sword and his eyes scanning the shadows for any trailing observers. Once they reached the churchyard, Robin ducked down behind the low wall that surrounded it and motioned for the others to do the same. Alan joined him at the front of the party.
‘Do you know this church well?’ said Robin.
‘Often have I prayed within those walls.’
‘How many people will there be inside?’
Alan counted silently to himself. ‘No more than eight, including novices,’ he said.
Robin nodded. ‘Then we shall have the advantage.’ He rose to a half-crouch and made his way towards the side of the building. Quietly, the rest of the group followed him. They reached the side door and Robin turned the handle cautiously – there was a moment of tension as the party waited for the slightest creak
to announce their presence, but the building was obviously well maintained and the latch rose silently, allowing the band to enter without detection.
Father Barleymow was a gentle old man and, if he had one fault, it was an overfondness for the communion wine. To those who only attended the church, the father seemed a particularly pious man, inserting mass into every possible service and frequently taking private communion between services. To those who lived around him, the action seemed less that of one filled with Holy Spirit and more one involving a different drink. The younger priests would often tell him that too much wine was bad for his health and that it was affecting his faculties – the vision he had of the Virgin Mary was all very well, but nobody else who had been so blessed had reported she rode on a bright pink charger with a yellow mane.
On this particular morning he was awake somewhat earlier than his customary hour and, as he padded around in the vestry with a goblet in one hand and a bottle in the other, he became convinced he could see a tall, young man, dressed in green and holding a sword in his hand. Perhaps Father Larkin had been right and dawn was too early for a drink, he considered. He blinked to see if the vision cleared, but far from disappearing the man now appeared to be closer and to be flanked by a whole group of others, all dressed in greens and browns and bristling with weapons. He looked at the label on the wine – it was the same as he usually had. The men seemed to be right in front of him now and the man with the long, dark hair had a sword in his hand, held hilt upright like a cross. He bowed his head to receive his blessing – and everything went black.
‘Why me?’ said Erasmus. ‘I don’t know how to be a priest.’ He glanced down at the unfortunate Father Barleymow who was lying trussed up on the floor wearing only his undergarments. Robin held out the priest’s robes to the teacher, who looked at them uncertainly.
‘Just put the robes on,’ Robin hissed, checking through the vestry door to see how John and Will were getting on with the building’s other occupants.
Alan gave Erasmus a sympathetic smile. ‘’Tis a noble deed you are to undertake,’ he said. ‘You are the very instrument of my salvation.’
‘Why me?’ said Erasmus.
‘Look,’ Robin snapped. ‘We need every man to do his part. Can you handle a sword?’
‘No,’ Erasmus answered very definitely.
‘Fine. Then you can be the priest. Look, if we don’t have a priest then the wedding party will never come as far as the altar and they’ve got to be all the way into the church before we can spring the trap.’
‘I still think I’d give the game away,’ said Erasmus. ‘I don’t know how to perform a wedding and I certainly don’t know how to give mass.’
‘Surely, you have received the sacraments,’ said Alan.
‘Never,’ said Erasmus. ‘Where I come from, religion isn’t terribly popular.’
‘It won’t matter,’ said Robin. ‘It’ll never get as far as that. All you have to do is stand there and wait for everyone to come into the church, then Will and John can close the doors and spring the trap. Couldn’t be simpler.’
‘What if someone’s late?’
‘Then we’ll start without them.’
Erasmus looked at the faces of Robin and Alan: Robin looked relaxed and confident, Alan looked hopeful, almost pleading. He took a deep breath, then held out his hand.
‘All right then, give me the robe,’ he said.
The bells of St Mary’s rang out with their usual tuneless cacophony, the timing slightly faster than normal since the bell-ringers were operating under the watchful eye of Deloial. Erasmus stood in front of the altar, gripping the lectern so tightly he wondered that it didn’t break under the pressure. Wedding guests were beginning to arrive, filtering in through the main door and dividing themselves into those for the bride and those for the groom. Erasmus smiled and nodded at them as they arrived, trying not to look at where John and Will stood concealed in the shadows. It was, he was relieved to note, a small gathering, and by the time the bride and her father entered and the groom stepped forward to take his place at the front of the church, there could have been no more than two dozen other people standing in the nave. Erasmus tried not to tremble as the bride joined her betrothed at the altar. He racked his brains for the beginnings of the traditional wedding service and just hoped it was close enough to that which was used in mediaeval times.
‘Dearly beloved,’ he began, ‘we are gathered here today—’
The groom, who had been keeping his head respectfully bowed, looked up at Erasmus. ‘Aren’t you going to bless us?’ he said.
Erasmus cursed himself silently under his breath. Of course, the thing should start with something in Latin. He picked out the first piece of Latin that came to mind, one of the Pope’s addresses, and began to recite it, moving his arms to form a cross as he did so.
The groom stared at him in puzzlement. ‘What are you on about?’ he said, then as he looked beneath Erasmus’ hood, ‘You’re not Father Barleymow.’ His hand went to his side and he pulled out a sword. John and Will, realising the time had come, closed the doors with a resounding bang and the wedding guests looked from one end of the church to the other, interested in the source of the noise, but unable to tear themselves away from the scene playing out in front of them.
The door to the vestry burst open and Robin and the remaining outlaws sprang into the nave, followed closely by Alan. Ellen, looking in the direction of the new arrivals, caught sight of her beloved and ran straight into his arms. The groom, sword still in hand, darted past the altar and made a grab for Erasmus, who dodged out of the way.
By now, a number of nobles amongst the guests had drawn swords and a pitched battle was underway. Robin was engaged with two at the same time and he held them off deftly with careful sweeps of his own blade; Will had already cut two throats and John had picked up one of the guests and thrown him across the nave, where he had landed on a small group of women, who had been hiding behind a small table for safety.
Erasmus continued to back away from the groom, dodging the occasional thrust from his sword. As the teacher stepped backwards, he found his foot made contact with the wall. He braced himself for a blow, but the groom seemed to have realised that the tide of the battle was definitely going in the outlaws’ favour and he made a lunge for the vestry door.
Robin, looking across as he despatched his third guest, caught sight of the man’s retreating back. ‘Stop him!’ he yelled. Deloial, running into the nave from the bell tower, fired a shot with a longbow and Erasmus yelped as the arrow passed within inches of him and plunged into the vestry door, which the groom had slammed behind him. He opened the door and gave pursuit, but the door to the churchyard was open and, when he got outside, his quarry had already vanished into the maze of streets beyond. Erasmus stopped to catch his breath – he hadn’t realised that being an outlaw required so much energy.
After a hard day’s march through Sherwood, the outlaws sat around a subdued fire. Alan and Ellen sat at the edge of the clearing, slightly apart from the rest. John picked up a stick and threw it on the fire, which spat angrily in response, then looked across the flames to where Will, painted red by the firelight, was sharpening a knife on a stone. Will didn’t return his gaze, so he looked across to Robin, who was staring fixedly into space.
‘He got away,’ said John, shrugging his shoulders. ‘What of it? We could get ten times the money in a week.’
‘It’s not the money,’ said Robin.
‘Well, what is it then?’ John picked up a tankard of ale from his side and drank deeply. Foam from the tankard poured over his beard and, as he put the drink down, he wiped off the worst of the spill with the back of his hand.
‘We failed – and that kind of thing carries weight. What do you think will happen if people consider we’re not infallible?’
A silence descended over the campfire. An owl hooted mockingly from somewhere overhead and Will paused in his labours and looked up menacingly before continuing to
scratch at his dagger.
Erasmus broke the silence. ‘At least you won’t have to travel as much,’ he said. Despite the failure of the plan and the fact he had been forced to impersonate a priest, he was in good spirits. He’d finally seen one of the elements of the legend taking place. True, it wasn’t exactly as the ballads told it, but it was still significant.
Robin seemed less impressed. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, a distinct edge to his voice discouraging any flippant replies.
Erasmus considered his answer carefully. ‘Well, if people think they’re safe from you, then they’re more likely to come through the forest. If they come through the forest, you can ambush them there.’
Will made a noise that sounded distinctly like ‘Hmmph.’
‘It won’t work,’ said John. ‘We aren’t the only outlaws in Sherwood.’
‘But surely you’re the most well known?’
‘Where did you hear that?’ said Robin.
‘That’s what they say where I come from.’
Will looked at Erasmus. ‘You know how long it is since they put up a wanted poster for me?’ he said.
Erasmus shrugged. Across the clearing, Alan began to pick out a quiet air on his lyre.
‘It’s been almost two years,’ said Will.
‘And how many people have you robbed since then?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t bleedin’ keep count – what does it matter?’
Erasmus struggled for the right words. ‘Surely it’s not how much people want to catch you, but how much money you steal from the rich that makes the difference,’ he said. ‘I mean, the poor can’t live on wanted posters.’
‘What have the poor got to do with it?’ Robin interrupted.
‘Well, isn’t helping them the whole point?’
Robin snarled. ‘The poor are beyond help.’
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