Much, finally realising his friend was about to do something rash, pushed back into the crowd to try and restrain him, while Henry the bailiff, his sword back in its sheath, glared at the big yeoman, wondering if he’d imagined the outburst.
“What did you just say to me?” the prior demanded in shock, then, regaining his composure slightly, he stepped towards Robin and said quietly, “I’ll have you in chains and thrown in jail for that.”
“Robin, leave this, please, let’s just do as the prior says.” Matilda’s voice was shaking with anger, but the fear in her eyes was clear as she climbed back to her feet and grasped Robin’s wrist.
“Oh no, girl. You’ll be going to the jail too.” The prior moved even closer, dropping his voice again, so only Robin, Matilda and the bailiff could hear what he said next. “Maybe the sheriff’s men will find some…use…for you there. Maybe I’ll even come visit you myself to see you on your knees…begging the Lord’s forgiveness.”
Robin understood exactly what the prior was getting at. He knew many of the wealthier clergymen owned brothels in the big cities, and Prior John de Monte Martini was said to have a stake in several, even using their services himself regularly. The bailiff looked amused but didn’t say a word, simply enjoying the entertainment, while Matilda regarded the clergyman in confusion.
“You piece of filth,” Robin spat, shaking with nerves, but too angry to back away. “You touch her and I’ll kill you.”
The prior grimaced and ran a podgy hand along Matilda’s arm, staring into her blue eyes. “Oh yes, after a few nights with nothing to eat I’m sure you’ll be a lot more…open…to a humble prior like me. In fact, I’m sure I could find you employment in a local establishment, I own myself – the ‘Maiden’s Head’ in Nottingham.” He nodded towards Henry. “Take them into custody bailiff. My men will help, once they remove this mob.” He glared around himself, trying to locate his guards, who were still too far away to know what was happening.
Henry, nodding his head with a grim smile, began to draw his sword again, shouting for assistance from the locals around him. No one seemed greatly inclined to help.
Robin heard nothing after that, as a roaring noise filled his ears and time seemed to slow to a crawl. His right fist shot forward, smashing into the prior’s nose which exploded in a burst of scarlet. As the churchman fell backwards onto the ground the shocked bailiff finally dragged his sword out, but before he could use it, Robin kicked him brutally between the legs. With a scream of agony, Henry doubled over, and, as he dropped to his knees, sword forgotten, Robin grabbed the bailiff’s head and smashed his knee into the man’s face.
Henry collapsed, bloodied and senseless, beside the downed clergyman.
“You fucking…peasant!” the prior looked up, and screamed through hands clutching his ruined nose. “I’ll see you hanged for this!”
Robin, adrenaline pumping, feeling utterly invincible, moved forward to finish off the clergyman, teeth bared in a wild grin, but the brawny miller, Thomas, Much’s father, managed to grab him, pinning his arms to his side. “Stop this, you fool, calm that temper of yours! He means what he says. His guards will have you once they realise what’s going on – you need to get away.”
“He’s right, you have to run!” Matilda pleaded, eyes flickering nervously between Robin and the crowd, half expecting a soldier to run her big friend through any second.
Thomas and Much, who had finally pushed his way through the throng, pulled Robin away from the cursing prior and unmoving bailiff. They moved in the opposite direction to the mercenaries, who only now understood something had happened to their master and were forcing their way aggressively through the villagers.
The people parted to let the miller and the younger men through – some folk even cheered and slapped Robin on the back as he passed by, happy to see the prior bloodied, and glad it wasn’t them who would suffer punishment for it.
The crowd closed in protectively behind them, although not all the villagers were pleased by Robin’s actions.
“You’re an idiot, Hood!” The village headman Patrick appeared beside them as they hurried away. “Do you realise the trouble you’ve brought on yourself? And the village too? That prior isn’t one to forget this – he’ll make all our lives miserable now. Christ, you’ve probably killed the bailiff too! What the hell were you thinking?”
Robin shook his head, his anger fading as he started to realise the danger he was in. “He was saying things about Matilda, threatening her…I just exploded, Patrick.”
“I don’t know what he said, but you have to get away from here, fast. Get to your house and take whatever you need, the people will delay the mercenaries. Say your goodbyes; you won’t be seeing anyone around here again for a while.”
That finally hammered home to Robin what he’d done, and he wanted to puke. Or cry.
“Peace, Patrick, he’s still young – hasn’t learned to control his temper yet. Let’s help him get away for now – he can worry about what he’s done later.” The miller grasped Robin’s shoulder sympathetically. He may not have heard what the prior said, but he knew Robin. Knew he wasn’t one to lie.
The headman nodded, shaking his head regretfully. “Get your stuff together, son. Good luck – you’ll be needing it. Don’t worry too much about your ma and da, or young Marjorie – the prior might be powerful, but the villagers won’t let him take out his anger on an innocent family. He’ll be off back down to Lewes soon anyway.”
Robin’s head whirled. None of this had crossed his mind when he’d exploded into violence at the prior’s whispered promises. Could he have held himself in check if he’d realised the consequences of his actions? He honestly couldn’t say.
It mattered little now. He let Much lead him home at a sprint, mind in turmoil. John and Martha, Robin’s parents, were out somewhere, enjoying the day with Marjorie, oblivious, for now, to what their son had just done.
He hastily gathered his longbow, a loaf of bread, some dried fish and his cloak, and then dragged a box out from under his bed. In it was an old sword – not the finest steel in England, but it had been well maintained and had a decent edge to it. It had a threadbare leather scabbard, so he looped it around his belt and pushed half a dozen arrows in beside it.
Much, watching from the door for any signs of pursuit shook his head, eyes brimming with tears of frustration as he contemplated the life his friend would have from this day forward. Unless Robin was pardoned, which seemed impossible for a lowly yeoman with no money, he would need to live his life as an outlaw in the depths of Barnsdale Forest – a “wolf’s head”, as those outside the law were known. Deprived of all legal rights, any man could kill a wolf’s head on sight, as if he were nothing but an animal.
Less than an animal, in fact. The king’s Charter of the Forest made it illegal for commoners to hunt deer. But any man could hunt down a wolf. Or a wolf’s head.
“Get going. Hide in the forest for a day or two until this all blows over. I’ll leave you food and things at the old well. You know the place.”
“Of course I do!” Robin tried to smile, although it came out as more of a gimace. “We used to spend hours there as children, playing.”
“Aye,” Much agreed sadly. “So we did – playing games, pretending to be mighty Saxon warriors killing the evil Norman invaders”.
Now, though, real warriors would be hunting for his friend, with real steel.
The time for play was over.
“Shit!” Much gasped, eyes wide. “The soldiers are coming!”
Robin pushed past his friend out the door and saw four of the prior’s men jogging through the village, looking for him.
“You there!” one of them roared, pointing his drawn sword towards the two young friends. “Hold!”
Much pressed himself against the door frame and raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, and yelled at his friend to make for the forest.
The soldiers broke into a run, yelling for him to stop, as Robin
sprinted off towards the outskirts of the village and the safety of the trees.
Three of the pursuers, older men in their forties, were blowing hard after a short distance, but, looking back over his shoulder, Robin could see one of the soldiers was keeping pace with him, his eyes fixed determinedly ahead on his quarry. This man didn’t waste his breath shouting, and Robin felt the beginnings of panic building up inside him as he contemplated the possibility that he might have to make a stand.
He had never fought with a sword before – never even really practised with one. The bow was his weapon, like the rest of the young men in the village. But the man chasing him made his living with a blade in his hand. Robin knew he couldn’t beat him, and the trees were still some way off.
Trying to push his body even harder, pulling in great lungfuls of air, he risked another glance behind and cursed in fear as he realised the soldier was gaining on him. He would not make it to the trees before the man’s sword took him in the back.
With a sob of desperation, Robin spun round, facing his pursuer. The man’s eyes widened in surprise as Robin hastily pulled an arrow from his belt, drew back his great longbow, and desperately let fly.
The shot was a poor one; Robin’s whole body was quaking with the exertion of the run, and his arms felt leaden, but the arrow hammered home with a sickening damp thud into the soldier’s thigh. The man spun backwards onto the ground with a scream of agony, his leg flailing behind him.
The remaining pursuers, some distance back, cried with outrage at the sight of their fallen comrade, as Robin shakily rose to his feet and stumbled off towards the forest, gasping with exertion, the downed soldier’s cries of agony ringing in his ears.
CHAPTER TWO
True to his word, Much, helped by Matilda, had left food and blankets near the old disused well in the forest, close to the neighbouring village of Bichill.
Although Robin was hardly used to living life in luxury, it was a new and frightening hardship having to sleep outdoors, in the dark, lonely, night of the forest.
Much would have stayed by Robin’s side, at least on some evenings, but he was fearful that the bailiff had paid some of the villagers to spy on his movements, in the hope of tracking down his outlawed friend.
The sheriff’s men had arrived the day after Robin had attacked the churchman, but they hadn’t been overly keen on searching the greenwood for a violent wolf’s head. They knew the forest, which covered many square miles, harboured many outlaws, all of them more than willing to stick an arrow into a lawman’s back.
The prior had been taken back down south to Lewes to recuperate – his incompetent mercenaries paid off by the furious clergyman. Henry the bailiff, almost recovered, but with badly swollen bollocks and a broken nose to match the prior’s, had questioned Robin’s parents on where their son might have gone to hide. While the bailiff liked an easy life, Robin Hood had utterly humiliated him before the people of Wakefield. He was eager to see the young man in a dungeon, or swinging from a rope. Or, even better, on the end of his sword.
The villagers, led by the headman, Patrick, had been polite, but un-cooperative with the hunt for Robin, and banded together to make sure no one suffered unduly over what had happened. The bailiff had been made to leave by the locals when it became clear his questions were upsetting an already distraught John and Martha Hood. And more violence had been threatened when the bailiff and his foresters had tried half-heartedly to take Matilda into custody.
Eventually, when it became clear information on Robin’s whereabouts would not be forthcoming, the villagers were left in relative peace.
The bailiff and the prior might have been enraged over what had happened to them, but they knew it would do neither of them any good if they pushed the close-knit community of Wakefield too far. The Earl of Lancaster was an absentee landlord, leaving the running of Wakefield to his appointed steward and the bailiff, but he still expected the village to be productive. Civil unrest would not be looked upon kindly by the earl – the second most powerful man in England – as it often led to a drop in rents and the earl needed as much money as he could get, being locked, as he had been for years, in a power struggle with his cousin, King Edward II.
As a result, the bailiff reluctantly allowed the villagers to go about their lives as normal. He knew he would find some way to make them all pay, eventually.
Robin was not forgotten altogether by the authorities, though. Publicly declared an outlaw, it was made clear he would be arrested and likely hanged if he was ever captured. Assuming one of the foresters didn’t get a chance to shoot him first.
Luckily for the young outlaw, spring was in full bloom when he found himself sleeping rough in the forest. The weather was warm, the days were long, and there was enough food to eat. With nothing to lose any more, Robin, sometimes joined by Much, hunted the king’s deer and rabbit, fished, and collected those berries which grew at this time of year. The pair would regularly have too much for Robin to eat himself; so Much would take the extra back to Wakefield and share it among those families that needed it most.
But Robin knew he couldn’t live like this forever. Summer would fade into autumn and that into winter. Life on the run, in a makeshift shelter in the forest, with food much scarcer, would not be as easy as it was just now.
“You’re going to have to leave the area and try to find a life somewhere, away from the prior and the law.” Much told him. “Hiding from the foresters is simple enough when you’ve thick trees to lose yourself in, but come winter there’ll be no shelter here.”
Robin stared into the crackling fire the pair were cooking a spitted brown trout on, his belly rumbling as the delicious smell filled the little clearing they were hiding in. At any other time, this would have been a wonderful late spring day – two young friends, surrounded by the lush green foliage of beech and oak, sunlight filtering softly through the leaves, violets and bluebells carpeting much of the ground, a small waterfall burbling quietly somewhere nearby, and a couple of fat fish to share between them.
“Robin?” Much prompted.
“I know,” Robin sighed heavily. “It hasn’t been a terrible life as an outlaw so far. But I need help.”
“Help? You need to get away!”
Robin shook his head. “I can’t just leave, Much. My family is here in Wakefield. You.”
“Matilda?”
“Aye, Matilda,” Robin agreed, softly, before his voice rose, becoming loud and angry. “Why should I be forced to leave my home because of that fat priest? He was out of order – just because he’s rich he thinks he can do whatever he likes!” He jumped up and pulled the trout from its spit, biting off a great chunk viciously. “I was going to ask her to marry me . . .” he mumbled sadly, sitting back on the ground in dejection.
Much remained silent, letting his friend vent his emotions on the food for a while.
The sounds of insects, and birds singing merrily, filled the forest as the pair sat in thought.
Then a dry twig, a remnant from the previous autumn, cracked somewhere close to their right.
Robin sat bolt upright, his eyes seeking out his bow on the ground next to him. Much looked over at his friend, wide-eyed, questioning, frightened.
The sounds of men moving none too quietly through the undergrowth came to them, and Robin silently hefted his bow over his shoulder and grabbed his bag of arrows.
“Wait! You smell that? Fish cooking!” A voice, too close for comfort, reached them, as Robin stealthily gathered his blankets and tied them to his back, motioning Much to follow him as he moved into the trees in the opposite direction to the voice.
Suddenly, a man, his green and brown attire marking him as a forester, appeared through the foliage right next to Robin and the young man started back in shock. The undergrowth, most of it fresh and damp, had masked the sounds of the forester’s approach, and Robin mentally kicked himself for his lack of woodcraft.
The forester roared a warning to his fellows in the bushes nearby a
nd dropped a hand to his sword hilt, dragging the weapon from its sheath. Robin, startled, and frightened by the sounds of at least four or five other foresters converging on them, let his longbow slip down his arm and, grasping it two-handed, swung it as hard as he could into his opponent’s face.
The man screamed, and fell on the forest floor, writhing in pain, his cries panicking Robin and Much even more.
“This way!” Robin gasped, grabbing his friend by the arm and dragging him into the deeper bushes, the sounds of pursuit close behind them.
The foresters must have stopped to check on their injured companion, as the two young men ran for a long time, as fast as they could through the trees, tripping over roots and low branches numerous times, before at last, utterly breathless, they collapsed on the hard brown soil beneath an ancient oak.
There was no elation at their escape. The adrenaline coursing through their veins gave them no pleasure as they sat, backs against the rough bark of the oak, throats and chests burning, dragging in great lungfuls of air, eyes darting around for signs of other pursuers.
“Shit!” Much sobbed, slamming his palm against the tree in frustration, knowing they had been literally seconds from death or at least capture. “Shit, Shit, Shit!” His head dropped and he hugged his knees. “How can you live like this?” he groaned. “Knowing those bastards can appear at any time and kill you? How can you even sleep at night for fear of one of them sneaking up and running his sword through you?”
Robin had no answer to his friend’s questions, so he sat in silence, catching his breath, too exhausted to even manage a shrug of his huge shoulders.
After a while, their hearts’ stopped racing and the sense of immediate danger passed.
“You know,” Robin grunted, “last week when I visited my family, my ma mentioned a group of outlaws who had been reported in the forest.”
“Aye, I heard about them,” Much replied. “But I heard they’re a bloodthirsty lot too. Rapists and murderers.”
Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord) Page 2