The steward looked irritated by the knight’s rudeness. “My lord Despenser is away with the king. I am his steward here, I act in his name. As for your son, he has been well looked after. If you will follow me to the great hall, I have sent word for him to be brought to meet us there.”
The castle, of motte-and-bailey design and built on the site of an old Roman fort, was hugely impressive, in comparison to Sir Richard’s own rather modest fortress. It was manned by a large garrison, in response to trouble with the locals who disliked their Despenser lord, and the guards were a highly visible presence as the three men walked along the corridors to the great hall.
“Does your lord make a habit of extortion?” the big knight demanded.
The steward never turned as he continued walking, “Your son has been accused of murder, my lord. It is entirely your choice to pay the bail fee – you can leave him here until a judge arrives from the King’s Bench and he can receive a fair trial, as the law demands.”
“How long will that take?”
“Maybe a few months,” the steward shrugged, pushing open the door to the hall which was empty apart from five guardsmen, armed with pikes. “Maybe much longer – who knows?” He turned and smiled. “These judges are very busy men.”
Sir Richard wanted to punch the smug bastard, but he noticed his son, who looked sullen although healthy enough, standing by the long table in the centre of the enormous room. “Simon!” he cried, hurrying over, angered at the sight of the manacles on his son’s wrists. “Get these damn things off him!”
“All in due time, all in due time.” The steward sat in a chair on the other side of the table and opened a ledger, running a long finger down it until he found Simon’s name, which took some time as the man seemed to suffer from poor eyesight. The steward never offered the visitors a seat as Richard embraced his son and they stood waiting together, facing the man as he read what was written on the parchment silently, his lips moving, nodding his head occasionally.
“I see, yes,” he glanced up, squinting disapprovingly at Simon who growled at him. “A very serious matter this, your son apparently used a lance that hadn’t been blunted, which is why his opponent was killed.”
“That’s a lie!” Simon shouted, shaking his head furiously as he looked at his father. “The lance was blunted, I remember it distinctly. It was an accident! It could just as easily have been me who was killed.”
Sir Richard patted his son reassuringly on the arm as the steward continued. “That may be the case, my boy, and it could be the judge will agree with you, but the charge is so serious that your bail has been set by my lord Despenser at one hundred pounds.”
The big Hospitaller snorted. “What you mean, you pompous little arsehole, is that the victim’s father is a friend of your lord. Between them, they’ve decided to make my son and I suffer for what was nothing more than an unfortunate accident.”
The steward shrugged and pressed his bleary eyes with his fingertips. “You have the money?”
Sir Richard nodded to his sergeant and they hefted the saddlebags onto the table. “It’s all there, I counted it myself.”
The steward smiled. “Of course, I trust you, a knight of God, but you understand my lord expects me to make sure. You can wait outside while I make sure the full amount is here.” He waved dismissively to the door, ordering one of the guards to remove the manacles from Simon on the way out.
The three men stood in the dim hallway while the money was checked, Simon fidgeting nervously at the thought of walking away a free man again. At least until the trial.
“Where did you get all that money, father?” he wondered. “Our family isn’t rich – you gave it all away when you became a Hospitaller. I’ve never seen so much silver.”
“I borrowed it from an abbott,” Sir Richard grunted. “Only Christ knows how I’ll ever pay it back, but the main thing is to get you out of here. These bastards would let you rot in their jail for years.” He stopped and fixed his son with a calm gaze. “You did have your lance blunted, didn’t you?”
“I did!” Simon shouted, his voice echoing down the long stone corridor. “I swear it. I did nothing wrong. We tilted, I found myself lying on the grass, dazed, then Alfred ran over and told me I’d killed Wytebelt. It all happened so fast, I think the lance must have slid up and caught him in the face, breaking his neck. It had nothing to do with the lance being blunted or not, it was simply an accident.”
Richard nodded. He knew Edmund Wytebelt had indeed died of a broken neck – when the squire, Alfred, travelled back to Kirklees with news of what had happened the boy said the dead man’s head had been lying at a funny angle.
Hugh Despenser’s greed was sickening – the Hospitaller knew he was as good as ruined, while Despenser sat somewhere laughing with the king, accumulating wealth illegally from good men like Sir Richard.
No wonder the Earl of Lancaster and the Marcher lords were determined to do something about the injustice that was rotting the very heart of the country. Well, Sir Richard would help any way he could.
“For now,” he growled, looking at his son and his loyal sergeant, “we get the hell out of this castle and back up the road to Kirklees. Once we’re safely away from here, we’ll see what we can do about all this.”
“I’ll have to come back to stand trial, won’t I?” Simon muttered fretfully.
His father never replied, but the look on his face suggested none of them would ever be coming back to this place.
The big door opened again and a page boy came out, handing a rolled up piece of parchment to Sir Richard: a receipt. “The steward says everything’s in order,” the lad told them in a reedy little voice. “You’re free to go. He says you’ll be summoned to attend a trial at some point, when you’ll have to return.”
The page showed them back to the courtyard and pointed to the stables. “You can retrieve your horses and leave, my lords.”
Richard grunted a word of thanks and led the other two into the low building. Stephen breathed deeply and smiled – he loved horses, the smell of them brought back memories of his time with the Hospitallers in the Holy Land, and he was pleased to see his destrier had been well looked after.
The head groom saw them and came over, gesturing to the two big war-horses. “I had my boys rub ‘em down and feed ‘em before they were allowed to go and have their own meal,” he smiled. “We take better care of our horses than we do people here.”
“My thanks to you,” Sir Richard nodded, tossing a small coin to the groom. “Saddle my son’s horse, please and we’ll be on our way.”
The groom looked confused. “Your son’s horse?”
“Dionysus,” Simon replied, as if talking to a simpleton. He saw his own mount in a stall next to his father’s and stepped over with a grin to greet the big animal which made a soft noise almost like a laugh as it spotted its master.
“No one said you were taking that one,” the groom shook his head firmly. “You’ll just have to get up behind your da,” he told Simon. “Your horse belongs to my lord Despenser now.”
Simon wasn’t sure what to do, but his father was. “Stephen,” he glanced at his sergeant. “Saddle Dionysus as quickly as possible please.”
As the groom moved to stop him, Sir Richard grabbed the man round the throat and slammed his back, hard, into one of the wooden pillars supporting the roof. The whole building shook at the force and the man went limp as the burly knight slammed him into the pillar again. “Give me those!”
Simon grinned and lifted the stirrups his father had indicated from their hook on the wall next to him. The Hospitaller used them to bind the man’s arms behind his back, and then tied another piece of leather round his mouth to stop him shouting.
“Get them outside,” he ordered his two companions who led the three horses from the stable, into the courtyard, the setting sun casting long, menacing shadows from the surrounding towers onto the dusty ground.
Sir Richard dragged the semi-conscious groom in
to Dionysus’s vacant stall and threw him onto the hay, locking the door. “Your lord Despenser has my hundred pounds of silver you little prick. If he needs something to ride, he can ride you.”
He walked outside and jumped into his saddle. “Let’s move!” he ordered, and, after collecting their weapons from the gatehouse, the three men rode as fast as possible out of Wales.
CHAPTER NINE
“Where the fuck is he?”
The night had worn on with no sign of their leader returning, and Robin was growing increasingly edgy.
“Probably found some willing young lass in one of the towns hereabouts,” John grinned. “Don’t worry yourself – we all like to have a night away from the camp now and again.”
Robin accepted this with a grunt, but as it had grown dark that evening and Adam Bell hadn’t returned to camp the young wolf’s head felt a knot in his stomach for no reason he could put his finger on.
The outlaws had set guards, as usual, and the rest of the group relaxed around the fire. It was the middle of August and, although the weather was extremely hot during the days, on cloudless nights like this one it could get chilly.
“What if he’s been captured?” Much asked. “He could lead the sheriff right to us.”
“Aye, he could, lad. But we’ve got four lookouts posted in trees around the camp’s perimeter. You’ll be taking one of the watches yourself later on, right? If a load of heavily armed men try to sneak up on us in the pitch black, through the trees, I’m sure one of our guards will notice.” Little John slapped Much on the back, grinning good naturedly. “Like I said – don’t worry.”
“Does he do this often? Disappear for days without telling anyone I mean?” Robin wondered.
John laughed at his friend’s obvious concern. “Christ, if he knew you cared so much he could have just stayed here and shared his blanket with you instead of looking for an eager girl!”
Robin reddened, and John, not wanting to upset the young man, grew serious. “Relax. Adam knows how to take care of himself better than any of us, there’s very little chance of him being captured.”
The big man could see his reassurance hadn’t quite worked yet. “Listen, if Adam’s not back by mid-morning tomorrow, we’ll talk about it then. Trust me” – he leaned forward earnestly, spilling much of his ale onto the grass – “there’s nothing to worry about!”
John’s confidence took some of the edge off the fears of the two younger men, and they began to relax and enjoy the ale and the biblical tales Tuck was telling round the fire. Adam’s absence seemed to be somewhat liberating. Robin noted, with some surprise, that men who were normally quiet and shy were enjoying themselves immensely tonight, like children when their strict parents leave the room. The bright cooking fire threw flickering shadows on the trees around the camp as the men ate and drank their fill of roast venison and ale, singing and laughing late into the evening.
Much left to take his turn on guard duty, so Robin moved to sit on a log next to Will Scarlet, who seemed to still be lost in the melancholy brought on by his earlier tale.
“You alright?” Robin asked gently.
Will looked up in surprise at the big young man’s sudden appearance next to him. “Christ, you can move like a ghost! I never heard you coming at all.”
“Sorry,” Robin replied sheepishly, feeling guilty for disturbing the tortured Scarlet. “I seem to be picking up the woodcraft skills you’ve all been teaching me.”
Will forced a half smile then looked away, watching the rest of the men laughing and singing a short distance away. One of the men was playing a musical instrument and the others slapped their legs and stamped along with the rhythm.
“Aye, I’m fine,” Will replied. “Why aren’t you joining in with that lot?”
Robin shrugged. “Don’t really feel like it. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous about Adam. He’s been gone a while – where is he anyway?”
Will grunted. “No idea, he never told me. You’d be better asking John.”
Robin leaned over and looked into Will’s eyes. “Are you serious? You don’t know where he is?”
“No,” Scarlet replied irritably. “I just said so, didn’t I? What’s the big deal?”
Robin straightened, his hand moving reflexively to his sword, and he peered anxiously around at the dark trees surrounding the outlaws’ camp. They seemed to take on a sinister, threatening look as the young man’s imagination began to run away with itself and he forced himself to keep calm.
“I think we need to move camp, Will. Now.”
Scarlet stood and faced Robin, a baffled and somewhat angry look on his face. “What the fuck are you on about? Move camp? In the middle of the night? When half the men are half drunk? Who put you in charge anyway?”
“It’s not about who’s in charge,” Robin retorted. “You don’t know where Adam is – well, neither does Little John, I asked him earlier. Don’t you think that’s worrying? Our leader goes off somewhere and doesn’t tell either you or John where he’s going or when he’ll be back?”
Will listened and found himself agreeing with the younger outlaw – the fact John didn’t know Adam’s whereabouts was a surprise – but he was in no mood to have Robin ordering everyone around like he was in charge.
“Listen, Hood” – he growled, pointing a finger menacingly at the other man.
“What’s the problem?” Little John had noticed the discussion and strode over from the campfire to stand between Will and Robin before things could get any more heated.
“He doesn’t know where Adam is either,” Robin replied, nodding at Scarlet. “I’m telling you, something’s not right. If we don’t move camp we’re going to regret it.”
Will snorted, but John looked at him seriously. “Hang on; maybe the boy’s got a point. Adam always tells one of us where he’s going if he thinks he might be away for a while.”
“So, what then?” Scarlet demanded. “We all pack up our stuff and run off into the forest in the pitch black?”
“If Adam’s been captured,” John replied, “he can lead the law right to us. Aye, he can fight better than any of us, and he knows the forest like the back of his hand, but anyone can be taken by surprise.”
“Adam wouldn’t let himself get captured!” Will shouted. “You know him – he’d fight to the death before he let himself be taken. He’s even crazier than me! I’ve had enough of this shit, John – I’m away to sleep.”
As Scarlet stormed off, muttering to himself, Robin remembered the conversation he’d had with Much and Tuck a few days earlier and in a flash of inspiration things suddenly became clear.
“We have to move, John,” he told the huge outlaw earnestly. “Adam hasn’t been captured – he wants that pardon. He’s going to lead the sheriff right here – and wipe us all out.”
* * *
Two days earlier Adam Bell, or Gurdon, had left the outlaws’ camp and made his way to Nottingham, where he had struck a deal with the sheriff.
He had shaved and dressed himself in his finest clothes once out of sight of the outlaws, and, on reaching the castle, had begged an audience with the sheriff, telling the guards he knew the location of the notorious murderer Robin Hood. The guards , after divesting him of his weapons, had ushered him into see Sir Henry de Faucumberg, Sheriff of Nottingham and Yorkshire.
“Well, well! Adam Gurdon – my former bailiff in Stamford!” De Faucumberg’s eyes opened wide in surprise when he saw his visitor. “I haven’t had the pleasure of your company in years! Where have you been hiding? Along with the other wolf’s heads in my forest? I seem to recall you disappeared when word got around you had been a Templar knight.”
Gurdon inclined his head to the sheriff, who he had indeed known, years ago, before he was declared an outlaw. He had once saved de Faucumberg’s life, yet despite that, Adam suspected the sheriff may have been the cause of his ruin . . .
“Things in Stamford went to shit once I left and the king split the manor in half, eh?” de Fau
cumberg grinned. “Those two fools that took over from me made a right arse of things. I heard they had you enforcing marriages the brides didn’t agree to just to claim tax on the dowry!” The sheriff’s face grew stony. “You imprisoned people on trumped-up charges just to extort bail money. You even let rapists off as long as they bribed you well enough . . . yes?”
Gurdon remained silent. The sheriff’s accusations were true – de Faucumberg had been a decent lord in Stamford – fair and mostly honest – but when he had moved on the people of Stamford had become sick of their corrupt bailiff and the two new lords, Gilbert ad Pontem and John Chapman. The king was petitioned by some of the wealthier local residents, and, in order to convict the two lords, Gurdon gave evidence against them, in return for the charges against him being dropped.
Chapman and ad Pontem were imprisoned while Gurdon simply returned to his job as bailiff in Stamford, under the care of another new lord, Edward Le Rus.
“Well, speak up, man!” the sheriff cried. “Have you been living in the forests with those outlaws or not?”
Gurdon snapped out of his reverie and stammered a reply. “You’re right, Sir Henry. Somehow,” he emphasised the word and met de Faucumberg’s eye looking for a reaction, but the sheriff remained impassive, “the people in Stamford found out I had been a Templar and I was forced to flee into the forests. I had to take up with the scum and dregs of society: it was the only way I could survive. I had to act like them, speak like them, dress like them – become just like them. After years of this…existence, I heard of your offer of pardon to any who turns in Robin Hood of Wakefield.”
Many of his former brothers in the Templars had been arrested, imprisoned, tortured, and even killed after the Papal Bull of 1307. Although King Edward II had taken his time in carrying out Pope Clement’s instructions to arrest all Templars, the monarch had eventually given in and, in late 1309 effectively ended the Order. Arrests, accusations of apostasy, torture…Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Templars, had no choice but to become outlaws and seek refuge in the forests of England, Scotland, even Ireland.
Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord) Page 10