Heir of Locksley

by N B Dixon

  ***

  “He thinks he’s so clever,” Robin sneered.

  Guy looked up from the sword he was cleaning. Sir Richard had been giving them a lesson in the maintenance of weaponry, but he had been called away by Lord Locksley for something. Robin took full advantage of his tutor’s absence to vent his fury.

  “He wants to trap me. I’ll show him.”

  “I’ve never been on a hunt before.” Guy looked nervous.

  Robin set aside the blade he had been oiling and took up some arrow fletching. “Nor have I.”

  “Aren’t you…?” Guy hesitated.

  Robin could tell he was reluctant to voice whatever was on his mind. Their disagreement of the night before had been temporarily forgotten.

  “Aren’t I what?”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “You mean about the outlaws? They wouldn’t be foolish enough to show themselves with so many men and dogs about.”

  “No, not that.” Guy fidgeted with his bow. The string let out a musical twang as he flicked it with a fingernail. “What if we shoot at something and miss? How will we look in front of all the others?”

  “We won’t miss.”

  “You mean you won’t,” Guy muttered.

  “Come on.” Robin put down the half-finished arrows. “Let’s have a spar.” He took down two wooden practice swords from the wall.

  “I don’t know.” Guy looked doubtful. “Sir Richard said—”

  “Sir Richard isn’t here,” Robin pointed out. “Come on, just one round. Or are you scared you’ll lose?”

  That did it. Guy snatched his sword, and the two faced each other.

  The battle was short but intense. Robin’s mind wasn’t fully on what he was doing. He was thinking about the hunt. In truth, he wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

  Guy disarmed him with a cry of triumph. Robin didn’t mind. He knew if he had been concentrating, it wouldn’t have happened, and it was good to see Guy looking more cheerful.

  “Guy?” he said as the two of them flopped down, panting.

  “What?”

  “You won’t say anything about the outlaws to anyone, will you? I’m sorry I put you and Katrina in danger. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I won’t say anything,” Guy grumbled. He regarded Robin shrewdly. “You’re not thinking of going back there alone, are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You can’t! That forest is…” Guy hunted for the right word. “Bad,” he finished lamely.

  Robin shrugged. It was a subject on which they were never going to agree.

  ***

  The sun was high as everyone assembled for the hunt. There were men of all ages, from lords past their prime to boys a few years older than Robin. He and Guy were the youngest there.

  Several of the older men had brought hunting dogs with them. The dogs tugged impatiently at their leashes, tails wagging and saliva dripping from their jaws as the anticipation of their masters infected them. Nearly everyone was mounted, and many carried spears and crossbows.

  “Perhaps we’ll nail a boar,” Robin heard one man say hopefully.

  Robin knew boar were most active during the winter and spring. They would be lucky to find one at the height of summer. Lord Locksley had sent men with lymers, the most skilled trackers of all hunting hounds, to see what they could discover.

  Robin’s horse was led over. He patted the stallion’s neck as he searched for Guy in the crush. He and Sir Benedict had to be there somewhere. He spotted his father and Sir Richard at the centre of a knot of men. Lord Locksley beckoned him over. Robin approached, leading his horse.

  Lord Locksley clapped a hand to Robin’s shoulder. Robin suppressed the urge to jerk away.

  “This is the boy, Sheriff.”

  Robin hid his surprise. Sheriff? It had to be Raymond Warci, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He was the most powerful man in the Shire, the king’s own representative and enforcer of the law. Robin didn’t know anything about the man, but his title alone was enough to make him wary. His heart quailed as he thought of the outlaws hidden in the forest. He hoped they would have the sense to stay under cover.

  Warci gave Robin a cool once-over. “Well, lad, I hear you’re good with a bow.” He eyed the longbow and full quiver strapped to Robin’s back.

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Who taught you? Not Locksley, I’ll be bound.” He let out a jovial boom of laughter and slapped Robin’s father on the back.

  “Sir Richard of Lee is his tutor,” Lord Locksley said stiffly.

  “Well now, there’s a man who can shoot. I hope to see you in action later, boy.”

  Before Robin could answer, the sheriff addressed his father.

  “When are you putting the whelp out to foster, Locksley? It’s high time he entered some house or other as a squire.”

  “He is my only son. I need him here to teach him the running of the estate.”

  Robin turned away, angry at being talked about as if he were not standing right there.

  A servant offered him some bread and cheese, which he accepted gratefully. It was the only breakfast he would get.

  He heard the sheriff say, “Think we’ll run into any poachers today? Cheeky beggars. They’re getting bolder, you know. My foresters arrested two last week. I was all for hanging them, but they were first-time offenders and the king’s law must prevail.” The sheriff snorted to show his opinion of that.

  Since the unfortunate men would either lose a hand or be blinded, Robin couldn’t muster up any sympathy for the sheriff. The group of men wandered away in search of their own breakfast.

  “Robin!”

  He turned, recognising Guy’s voice. Guy looked intensely relieved to see him. He eyed the bread and cheese in Robin’s hand, and Robin broke some off for him.

  “Where is your father?”

  “He’s here somewhere,” Guy said around a mouthful. “When do you think we’ll get started?”

  Robin shrugged. He wasn’t in any hurry.

  A group of youths sauntered up to them. Robin reckoned they were maybe three or four years older than him and Guy. Their leader was a stocky boy with a protruding belly and more than a few pimples scattered over his nose and cheeks. He gave them an insolent stare, his eyes settling on Robin, lingering on his longbow and quiver. Robin could guess what he was thinking. A peasant’s weapon. His lip curled.

  “Look, boys, it seems we’re to have children along. Maybe they’re meant for target practice.” The comment was greeted with appreciative chuckles and back slapping. “So, let’s have your names, then.”

  Robin met the boy’s gaze without flinching. His friends looked on expectantly. “I’m Robin of Locksley. Who are you?”

  The boy’s ruddy cheeks turned a shade redder. “Why, you cheeky brat. I am the nephew of Raymond Warci, the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  “Really?” Robin took care to make his tone sound as bored as possible.

  The boy glared at him. “What are you doing here? This is no place for infants. Why, you’ll probably soil your britches at the first sight of blood.”

  “Did you, when you were our age?” Robin asked with feigned innocence.

  The boy took a step towards him, fists raised, but one of his friends hauled him back.

  “Easy, Charles, that’s our host’s son.”

  Charles snorted but lowered his fists. His sneering gaze landed on Guy.

  “And who might you be, runt?”

  Guy was afraid, Robin knew, but when he spoke, his voice was steady enough.

  “I am Guy of Gisborne.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Guy flushed, but before he could reply, a commotion distracted them all. Two men were struggling to hold back their excited dogs. Lord Locksley hurried over.

  “They’ve found something,” Charles drawled. “So long, children. Mind, if you faint, don’t expect us to carry you home.” Guffawing, he swaggered off, his friends trailing after him.

  Guy�
�s face was burning.

  “Don’t mind him,” Robin said, swinging into the saddle as all those remaining on foot did the same. “Come on, we’d better fall in.”

  ***

  The lymers had found some boar droppings. One man had remained behind, tracking the boar while his companions went back to alert the rest of the hunt. They had been pursuing the boar for the best part of the morning, but it remained illusive.

  It was a wonder to Robin that the hunters were able to catch anything, what with the racket they made. The hounds kept up a constant yipping and barking that set his teeth on edge. Every now and then, a long note from a hunting horn sang out, competing with the noisy orchestra of birdsong.

  A pheasant erupted without warning from a patch of scrub. It shot skywards with a startled cry. Guy’s bow came up and he fired, but he was in such a hurry that he didn’t take the time to aim. The arrow flew wide, narrowly missing one of the hunting dogs, and the pheasant was quickly lost from sight.

  “Mind what you’re doing, you incompetent fool,” the dog’s owner barked.

  Guy’s face was crimson. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

  The sheriff’s nephew and his friends roared with laughter, pointing at Guy.

  “What did I tell you?” Charles chortled. “It’s the height of foolishness to invite babies on the hunt. We’ll never catch anything. Still, good entertainment value, wouldn’t you say, boys?”

  “Take no notice,” Robin murmured.

  At that moment, the dogs set up an excited baying and a note sounded from a hunting horn. The boar had been sighted. Most riders gave chase at once, following the excited yelping and shouts up ahead. Men gripped their spears. The final kill would happen on the ground. It would take multiple attackers to bring the beast down. Even wounded, a boar was dangerous.

  Robin was about to follow, when he saw something. It was visible for scarcely more than a second, but he froze.

  Guy, who had turned his horse to follow the hunt, looked back over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Go on without me. I’ll catch you up.”

  Guy hesitated. Robin could almost see the internal battle he was waging. Follow the hunt and subject himself to more ridicule, or stay with Robin and risk becoming separated from the party and lost. To Robin’s relief, he turned and galloped off.

  Robin dismounted, tethering his horse to a tree. He waited until the sounds of the hunt had faded and then fixed his eyes on the place where he had seen movement.

  “I am alone,” he called softly. “Show yourself.”

  Gilbert White-hand appeared without a sound. He looked furious.

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

  Robin stood his ground, but inside, he was trembling. He knew how this must look to the outlaw.

  “I did not bring them here, I swear.”

  “No? It just so happens that men with dogs appear in Sherwood two days after I let you go free? What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

  Robin could hear the fear under the man’s anger. He was in every bit as much danger as the boar. If the sheriff were to discover the outlaws’ hideout, then it would be the gallows for all of them.

  “They are not hunting you,” Robin said. “Take your men as deep into the forest as you can, and I will try to lead the hunters away.”

  Gilbert regarded him, suspicion written all over his thin, swarthy face. “Why should I trust you, boy?”

  “Fine,” Robin snapped. “Stay here and get caught.”

  They held each other’s gaze. Robin didn’t flinch.

  “I keep my word.”

  The outlaw nodded. “I will owe you a debt for this.” With that, he was gone.

  Robin untied the stallion and mounted, kicking him into a canter. He followed the trail left by the hunters, and arrived in time to witness the moment of the kill.

  The hounds had the boar cornered. The animal’s sides were heaving and flecked with foam. With a tremendous squeal, it charged the pack, catching a dog that had strayed too close with one razored tusk. The dog flew through the air, yelping, and hit the ground, where it lay still.

  A crossbow bolt flew, piercing the boar’s side. The animal stumbled, letting out another terrific squeal. This was the opening the hunters needed. Several men dived in, dodging the deadly tusks, Spears stabbing. Under the onslaught, even an enraged boar stood no chance. The boar’s legs buckled as a well-aimed thrust caught it behind the neck. It fell on its back, legs waving, body thrashing in its death agony before finally falling still.

  Robin looked on, both awed and sickened. The kill had been so brutal, so pointless. What had the boar done after all? It hadn’t harmed anyone.

  There were exclamations of delight. The carcass was a big one and would make a fine dish for the feast that night.

  Robin jerked out of his shock. He had a job to do. “Wolf!” he cried, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

  Heads snapped around.

  “Where?” someone shouted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “This way!” Robin didn’t wait to see if anyone followed. Breaking into a canter once more, he headed into the trees, suppressing a grin as he heard everyone stream after him.

  Losing the hunt was simple. Robin slowed his horse to a walk, allowing him to amble along the path where he chose. It was nice to get a bit of peace and quiet. He could stay here for a while and make his way home later. He doubted anyone would miss him.

  Voices reached his ears, faint, but recognisable. Robin’s hands tensed on the reins. He thought he had led everyone away. Dismounting, he left the stallion to graze, and crept through the forest in the direction of the voices. As he drew closer, one of them became all too familiar.

  Robin’s heart sank. Guy must have become separated from the rest somehow. Even worse, he was not alone.

  Robin crept as close as he dared, silently drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. He hid behind the buttress of a massive oak.

  Charles and his friends had Guy surrounded. They had formed a circle with him trapped in the centre like an animal at bay.

  “What do you want?” Guy was trying to sound brave but Robin could hear the fear in his voice, and so, he was sure, could his tormentors.

  “Look at him,” Charles mocked. “What a snivelling wretch. Stop trembling. We’re not going to hurt you…much.”

  “I haven’t done anything to you,” Guy said, a little more forcefully. “Let me go.”

  “That isn’t nice,” Charles drawled while his friends chuckled. “After all, I was only trying to help. Little boys shouldn’t wander off by themselves in forests. There are lots of nasty things around.”

  “What hope would you have of defending yourself, runt?” another boy jeered. “You can’t even shoot properly.”

  “You’re a disgrace.” Charles sneered. “How ashamed your father must be.”

  “What do you want with me?” Guy repeated.

  “Just to teach you what happens when you try to be a man before your time. You wish to hobnob with the elite, you have to earn it, and I don’t think you have what it takes. Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Robin didn’t wait to see any more. His arrow struck the tree an inch from Charles’s head.

  Charles stared at the arrow in bewilderment then all around him. “Who’s there?”

  Robin fired again. This arrow landed in the tree on the other side of Charles’s head.

  “Show yourself,” Charles snarled, sounding a good deal less brave than he had a moment ago.

  Robin declined to obey. “Let my friend go,” he called.

  The boys stared around. Guy looked on, wide-eyed.

  “Come out and face me like a man,” Charles shouted. “My uncle is the sheriff. He’ll have you swinging from the gallows at Nottingham Castle.”

  “I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.”

  “Show yourself,” Charles bellowed in mounting frustration. “Or must we d
rag you out?”

  Robin heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right.”

  He emerged, bow raised and ready. The moment he was out in the open, one of Charles’s friends brought up his crossbow. Robin fired. The arrow knocked the weapon clean out of his hand.

  Charles took a menacing step towards Robin. “Why, you little—”

  Robin’s arrow thudded into the ground, just nicking Charles’s toe. Charles let out an undignified yelp and jumped backwards. His foot caught on a tree root and he crashed, face first, into a thicket of thorns.

  “Run!” Robin yelled. Guy didn’t need telling twice. Both boys broke for the shelter of the trees. Robin fired another arrow over his shoulder as a warning to the others not to follow and then ran for his life, Charles’s pained cursing as he fought to extricate himself from the thorns falling further and further behind.

  “Your horse?” Robin panted.

  “He slipped a shoe. Charles and the others must have…seen me. They…followed.”

  “Never mind. We can ride double.”

  The horse was luckily where Robin had left him. Guy leaned against the stallion, breathing hard.

  Robin listened but heard no sounds of pursuit. As the fear and excitement faded, he saw again Charles tangled in thorns, bellowing like a wounded ox. Robin doubled over, shaking with breathless laughter.

  “Did you see their faces? Not quite so tough after all.” He looked up at Guy, expecting him to be happy or relieved that his ordeal was over, but Guy was glowering at him. Robin’s amusement faded. “What is it?”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Guy muttered.

  “So, I should have stood by and watched while they beat you to a pulp?”

  “I could have dealt with them.”

  Robin let out a snort of disbelief. “No, you couldn’t. You must know they would have hurt you if they could. You were outnumbered. What would you have done?”

  “I don’t need your help,” Guy shouted. “Not now, not ever.”

  An angry retort died on Robin’s lips. Guy, too, froze mid-rant.

  It had emerged without a sound.

  The wolf was huge. Its coat was grey, with patches of white on its shoulders. Amber eyes fixed on them as it crouched to spring.

  Robin didn’t stop to think. The wolf leapt, several pounds of muscle, teeth and claws, straight for Guy. Robin’s arrow hit it behind its shoulder, dropping it mid-leap. The wolf lay where it had fallen, sides heaving. Then it became still.