Heir of Locksley

by N B Dixon

  He saddled his favourite horse and rode away, Katrina perched behind him, all without being discovered.

  “See?” Katrina said as they left the boundary of the Gisborne lands behind them. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Be quiet,” Guy muttered.

  Katrina sniffed.

  Guy kept looking over his shoulder every few seconds, while Katrina continued to act as if they were merely out for a pleasant ride in the country.

  “You’re not afraid, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Guy snapped. In fact, he was well past being afraid. Terrified would be closer to the mark.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to our outing. It should be fun.”

  The smugness in her voice goaded him past endurance.

  “Only a girl would be that stupid. What do you understand about outlaws? You’re just coming because you couldn’t stand being left behind. Never mind that you’ll slow us down, and if outlaws do attack, we’ll have to defend you.”

  “I can defend myself,” Katrina shot back. She whipped a dagger out of her belt. Guy recognised it as their mother’s.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Katrina blushed. “Mother gave it to me.”

  “Don’t lie. You stole it. A fat lot of good it will do you, anyway, against armed outlaws.”

  “Arguing so soon?” said a voice.

  Guy jumped so badly he made his horse sidle. He brought it under control with an oath and dismounted, helping Katrina down. He tethered the horse to a nearby tree and sent a frown in Robin’s direction.

  “Did you have to sneak up on us?”

  Robin was armed with his bow and a full quiver of arrows. He leant against a tree, perfectly at ease.

  “I’ve been here for a while. If you hadn’t been so busy squabbling, you might have spotted me. Shall we go, then?”

  Guy hesitated. This was his last chance to back out. All his life, he had been warned against venturing into Sherwood. Every one of Martha’s stories came seeping into his mind with crystal clarity.

  “I’m ready,” Katrina said with a venomous look at Guy. “Lead the way.”

  Reluctantly, Guy shouldered his bow. Robin gave it an approving nod.

  At first, it wasn’t too bad. Robin led with Katrina next and Guy at the rear. It made sense to place Katrina in the middle, as she was the most vulnerable of the group.

  “You were able to get away without any trouble?” Robin asked.

  “Yes,” Katrina said. “Mother went out tonight and Father took to his bed early.”

  “My father has gone out, too. It’s lucky they didn’t think to bring us along.”

  Guy said nothing. He would far rather have gone with his mother, even if it was just another dinner party where he would be likely to make a fool of himself. How could Robin and Katrina be so relaxed? Had they forgotten all Martha’s stories? Knowing Robin, he probably didn’t believe in the spirits and whatever else that lurked in Sherwood at night.

  They had reached the forest proper now. Thin shafts of moonlight filtered through the dense canopy above them, but large parts of the forest were shrouded in gloom. Trees loomed out at them—great, towering oaks, ancient and magnificent. Guy doubted he could have wrapped his arms around any of them.

  How long had they been growing here? Had they been saplings before the town of Nottingham and its surrounding villages grew up? Nobody wishing to journey to Nottingham could do so without passing through Sherwood. What scenes had these giant trees witnessed? What secrets would they share if they could speak?

  Guy was not usually a fanciful person, but something about Sherwood called to his imagination, and not in a good way. It felt as though the trees were closing in on them. The wind sighing through the leaves sounded a lot like voices whispering. It was as if they were saying, ‘Turn back. You are not welcome here.’

  Despite the numerous small noises—the crunch of their own footfalls and the rustlings of night animals out on the hunt—nothing ever quite pierced the silence. It felt menacing.

  “Robin,” Guy called in as loud a whisper as he dared. “Robin, perhaps we should go back.” The trees swallowed his voice, deadening the sound.

  Robin turned to him. Guy was startled by the expression on his face. It was shining with excitement.

  “Isn’t this amazing? You could travel for miles and never break cover. You could live here for years and never learn its secrets. It’s like another world.”

  Guy had no idea what to say. Clearly, something about Sherwood had fired Robin’s imagination, too, though in a very different way.

  Guy forced himself to speak casually. “Still, we should go home. This forest is vast. How do you expect to find your outlaw? You could search for days, weeks even, and never see a soul.”

  “Exactly. He could be hiding anywhere, lurking behind any tree. Don’t you see what an adventure this is?”

  Guy didn’t, and nor, from the look on her face, did Katrina. She had been silent for some time. Though she was doing her best to hide it, Guy could tell the atmosphere was getting to her as well. He also knew she would die rather than admit it.

  Nothing ever seemed to frighten Robin, Guy thought with a trace of envy. Did he care so little about his life? Or did he believe he was immortal like the heroes in folktales?

  As if reading his mind, Robin said, “We can pretend we’re on a quest if it makes you feel better.”

  Katrina brightened. “Like King Arthur and his knights. My nurse told me about them. We can be searching for Excalibur.”

  “King Arthur didn’t have to search for Excalibur,” Guy felt compelled to point out. “It was given to him.”

  “All right, the holy grail, then,” Robin suggested. “We should swear the oath like Arthur’s knights did. Well, Katrina can’t.”

  Katrina gave Robin a hurt look. “Why not?”

  Guy said, with the tone of someone explaining the obvious, “You’re a girl. How many of King Arthur’s knights were female?”

  Katrina pouted. “True, but I’m the only one with a sword.” She waved her knife.

  Robin took it from her. “Perfect.” He nicked the base of his little finger. A drop of blood welled. “I promise to protect my friends—”

  “Comrades,” Katrina interrupted. “Your fellow knights are comrades.”

  “Oh, all right.” Robin started over. “I promise to protect my fellow comrades and defend them with my final breath.”

  He held out the knife to Guy. “Your turn.”

  Guy took the knife. “I don’t remember King Arthur’s knights exchanging blood oaths, and I’m too old for childish games.”

  “Oh, come on, Guy, it’s just a little fun.”

  Guy sighed and pricked his finger. He spoke the words of the oath and then handed the knife to Katrina. She cut her finger without hesitation and said the words.

  “Onward, brave souls,” Robin said, and marched off.

  As Guy walked, he was aware of a subtle change. While he knew Robin had turned this venture into a game to make him and Katrina feel better, and the possibility of danger was all too real, the oath, silly as it was, had given him a feeling of solidarity.

  They walked on for several minutes in silence. The trees were much closer together now, their branches so dense that little light could be seen. In places, the oaks appeared to have grown together, their limbs entwined as though in an embrace. The forest was virtually impassable in parts, forcing them to try to find an alternative path.

  Guy had no idea at all where they were. He wondered, with an increasing sense of panic, how they would ever find their way out again.

  Robin strode along as if he knew precisely where they were going, but his false assurance didn’t fool Guy. Robin had no more idea how to navigate this forest than he did. Still, it didn’t appear to worry him. It disturbed Guy how at home Robin looked, like some woodland sprite from a fairy tale.

  Their first alarm came when a scream pierced the night, followed by two
more in quick succession. The screams were unearthly and turned Guy’s blood to ice. All Martha’s talk of ghosts came rushing back to him.

  They froze. Katrina, terrified, reached out and grabbed Robin’s arm.

  Even in the midst of his fear, Guy couldn’t help a twinge of annoyance that it was Robin she turned to for comfort and not him.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  Robin drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and fitted it to his bow.

  “Draw your weapon,” he whispered.

  Guy obeyed. The bow felt more clumsy than usual in his hands. He wished he’d brought a sword instead. The bow would never be his weapon of choice.

  The scream rang out again, and both Robin and Guy tensed. Robin aimed his bow at the place where it had come from, his arrow at full stretch, quivering to be loosed.

  Guy’s hands shook so badly, he let fly without meaning to. His arrow arced away into the trees and something came darting out of cover.

  It froze, staring at them. They stayed motionless. Then the fox let out another harsh, barking cry and shot away, disappearing with a flick of its brush into the undergrowth.

  Guy let out his breath and heard Robin do the same.

  Robin managed a shaky grin. “Let’s go.”

  They moved ever deeper into Sherwood, both Guy and Robin with their bows drawn and arrows nocked. Katrina held her knife in a white-knuckled grip.

  An owl hooted somewhere, a low, melancholy sound. Guy frowned. Something about the call didn’t sound right. But then, what would he know about owl calls? He was just jumpy after the fox.

  The owl hooted again, a little closer to them. A third call answered, this time from another direction.

  Guy froze. Robin did also. Their eyes met in wordless understanding. They weren’t owl calls.

  A twig snapped somewhere near.

  “Hold an arrow ready,” Robin whispered.

  ***

  Robin’s body was as taut as the string of his bow. He sensed rather than saw movement in the dense thicket around them, and fear and excitement gripped him.

  The men appeared without a sound. Every one of them was dressed in simple tunics and hose, the colours blending with the foliage so that it was impossible to tell man from tree until they moved. There were perhaps a dozen of them, and they quickly surrounded Robin and the others. All of them carried longbows, arrows ready on the string, and several had daggers thrust in their belts.

  Robin’s stomach churned. Every face he could see was hostile. They looked all too ready to use their weapons and there were too many to fight.

  If Robin had thought about his meeting with the outlaws at all, it had been in vague terms. He would find the camp. The outlaws would take one look at his clothing and know he was a noble. He had taken care to wear his surcoat with the wolf’s head crest of Locksley. They wouldn’t hurt him, he reasoned. It would bring the wrath of his father down on their heads. Surely that was a risk they couldn’t afford to take. Discovery would lead to death on the gallows at Nottingham. Robin would be quite safe. That was what he had believed.

  Gazing around the circle of faces, each one looking more than capable of murder, he saw how stupid he had been. These were men with nothing to lose. They wouldn’t take the chance that Robin or the others would return to give away where they were. It would be easy enough to make them disappear in Sherwood. His father might search forever and never find a trace of him or his killers. If he’d come disguised as a peasant, they might have let him off with a beating, but anyone wearing the Locksley crest was a threat. He had wanted Gilbert White-hand to know who he was. His arrogance would likely get them all killed.

  No, he thought fiercely. I will get us out of this. Guy and Katrina were only there because of him. Whatever happened, they had to live.

  “Well, lads, what have we here?” a man with a scar twisting his upper lip drawled. He spoke with a slight lisp, but it made him no less menacing. “Three little birds,” he went on. “Three pretty little birds who have flown where they shouldn’t. Little birds should know better than to wander about at night. There are all sorts of wicked things lurking in the forest just waiting to gobble them up.” He leered at them.

  Robin’s anger mounted. The man was toying with them. His companions chuckled. Beside Robin, Katrina let out a stifled sob.

  The man’s scarred face whipped around at the noise. “Ah, now, there’s no need to cry, little girl. We won’t hurt you—that is, as long as you behave.” He reached out a hand and ran a grimy finger down Katrina’s cheek.

  “Get off me.” Katrina lunged at him with her knife. With a negligent flick of his wrist, her attacker sent it spinning and twisted Katrina’s arm behind her back. She screamed.

  Guy threw his bow aside. “Let go of her!” He hurled himself at the man, but two of the outlaw’s companions seized him, lifting him so his feet dangled a few inches off the ground. They laughed as he kicked and struggled.

  Robin’s body vibrated with rage, leaving no place for fear. What kind of monsters were they? Men who tormented children for fun. He pointed his bow at the man holding Katrina.

  “Let her go.”

  The man sneered. “What are you going to do if I don’t, little boy?”

  Robin’s arrow grazed the man’s arm, slicing off a chunk of his sleeve as it went. He cursed and let go of Katrina.

  His friends whooped in appreciation.

  “That was well shot, boy.” One of the men holding Guy said. “But you can’t get all of us.”

  Robin knew he was right. He tried to think past his fear and Katrina’s terrified sobs.

  “Please don’t hurt my brother,” she pleaded.

  “We should kill them,” one man said, to scattered nods and murmurs.

  At those words, Robin’s head cleared. He knew what he wanted to do. “Take us to your leader, Gilbert White-hand. I have business to discuss with him.”

  “Listen to the lad,” one man mocked. “Barely out from behind his nursemaid’s skirts and he talks like a grown-up. You picked the wrong men to mess with, runt. No spoiled rich brat is going to scare us.”

  “What I did to your friend there, I can do again,” Robin said evenly.

  The man with the scar glared from Robin to the thin line of blood running down his wrist.

  “Is that right?” He drew his dagger. Quick as a flash, he set the blade to Katrina’s throat as the men holding Guy tightened their grip.

  Robin could see Guy’s face twisted with pain. His eyes were fixed on his sister.

  “Drop the bow,” the scar-faced man said to Robin, “or she dies.”

  Robin knew he had no choice. Moving slowly, he laid his bow and quiver on the ground and straightened, hands in the air to show he had no other weapons. The game was up. They were going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. The look in Scar-face’s eyes promised Robin his death would not be as quick as the others. He had injured an outlaw, and they would not let that indignity slide.

  A man grabbed his wrists while another seized his hair, forcing his head back.

  I’m sorry, Robin told Guy and Katrina with his eyes.

  Katrina’s desperate weeping was muffled by the thick greenery all around them.

  “Don’t kill us,” Guy blurted out. “We can give you money.”

  Scar-face made a show of looking around. “I don’t see any purses, do you, lads?”

  Just then, the foliage near Robin parted, and a man stepped out. The outlaw clenching Robin’s hair released his grip, and Robin’s head snapped forward. His eyes watered from the pain and he blinked hard. He refused to show weakness in front of these men. He raised his head and looked at the newcomer.

  He was tall and in early middle age. Grey flecked his hair and beard and his face was prematurely lined. His eyes were hard and weary at the same time. He carried an unmistakable air of authority, and Robin knew without a doubt this was the man he had come to find.

  “Let them go,” the man said. Though h
e spoke quietly, his men obeyed without question.

  “We caught them trespassing,” Scar-face hurried to explain.

  “Trespassing?” Robin knew he would be wiser to keep quiet but he couldn’t help himself. “Sherwood doesn’t belong to you.”

  “No more does it to you, young Lordling,” Gilbert White-hand said. He still spoke in that reasonable voice, but Robin fell silent at once.

  “We should kill them now,” Scar-face insisted. “We can’t let them go home to tell people what they found.”

  “We won’t say anything,” Guy broke in swiftly. “Honestly, we won’t.”

  “You’re right,” Scar-face agreed. “You won’t say anything if you’re six feet below ground.”

  Katrina made a tiny whimpering noise.

  “A moment, Ralph.” Gilbert White-hand turned back to Robin. “You’re a good shot with a bow, boy. So, what are three children doing wandering around Sherwood at night?”

  “I made them come with me,” Robin said. “They have nothing to do with this. It was my idea.”

  “What was your idea, boy? What are you doing here?”

  “They probably want the reward,” one of the other outlaws growled. “Ralph is right. We should kill them and have done.”

  Gilbert White-hand held up a silencing finger. “I want to hear what the boy has to say.”

  Robin took a deep breath. Perhaps there was a way out of this if he chose his words carefully. Gilbert White-hand seemed less bloodthirsty than his companions. At any rate, he might be reasoned with.

  “You’re right. I did come looking for you, but not for the reward. I didn’t even know there was one.”

  “Then why?”

  “Perhaps he wants to join up,” one of the outlaws said with a laugh. “Tired of living the life of luxury are you, boy? Fancy a life under the stars living on what you can scrounge?”

  Robin waited for the laughter to die down, then, still addressing Gilbert White-hand, said, “I hear you’re a good archer.”

  The outlaw leader raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

  “So am I.”

  There was a murmuring among the outlaws.

  “I can prove it. If we both shoot and I win, you’ll let us go, and you’ll allow me free passage through the forest whenever I want it. In return, I won’t tell anyone where you are, nor will my friends.”