by N B Dixon
At least his suffering had not lasted too long. A few minutes, at most.
Will followed Robin’s gaze and turned quickly away.
Tears stung Robin’s eyes, but he blinked them back, not wanting anyone to see. Gilbert was dead. Robin had failed him.
Will broke in on his thoughts. “Can you use a bow and sword?”
The sudden question startled Robin. “Of course. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
Robin wasn’t fooled. Will’s tone might have been careless, but he was interested.
“Would you like to learn?”
Will’s face lit up. “I hope you’re a better archer than you are at wrestling. You fight like a girl.”
Robin bristled. “I suppose you can do better?”
“’Course I can.”
“How about a trade, then? I’ll teach you how to fight with sword and bow and you teach me how to wrestle.”
“What about His Lordship over there?”
“I won’t tell him if you won’t.” Robin held out his hand. “Shake on it.”
Will’s smile nearly split his face in two. “Done.”
As they clasped hands, Robin knew that though he had lost one friend today, he had almost certainly gained another.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Robin fidgeted under the priest’s stern frown.
“You are restless, boy.”
“Sorry, Father.” Robin stared gloomily down at the page of Latin he had been ordered to copy out. It was a list of the Ten Commandments.
He’d hoped his father would forget about him as he was tied up with the sheriff, discussing who knew what, but no such luck. Lord Locksley had asked the castle’s chaplain to continue Robin’s Latin lessons. He had been studying Latin with the priest at Locksley, but he’d never had much interest in it or, indeed, anything academic. He would far rather be outside honing his fighting skills.
“Let’s see how well you have done.” The priest pulled the page towards him. “Your writing is atrocious, boy. Why, if you were a regular pupil of mine, I would beat some better writing skills into you. There’s little a good beating will not solve.”
“I thought the Bible says you shouldn’t harm one another.”
The priest acted as if he had not heard Robin’s interruption. He jabbed a finger at one of the headings.
“Adultery. A grievous sin, boy, the worst of them all.”
“What, worse than murder?” Robin said, unconvinced.
“Far worse, for adultery and sodomy corrupts others as well as yourself. Never forget, boy, there is a particular pit reserved in hell for fornicators.”
Robin fought back a yawn. He did wish the priest would stop calling him ‘boy’ all the time. He had a name, after all.
“What is sodomy?”
The priest crossed himself. “It is a most vile practice. Where men choose to lie with other men.”
“And that’s different than a man lying with a woman?”
“Of course it is, boy. Men lie with women not for pleasure, but for the sole purpose of increasing God’s flock. Sodomites seek only the gratification of the flesh.”
Robin doubted men and women only lay together to have children. From talk he had overheard among servants, they seemed to enjoy it, men and women both. The priest, however, was in mid-rant.
“Only in a marriage sanctified by God and the Church is man permitted to lie with woman.”
Robin didn’t understand why a sin stopped being a sin only once you were married. The priest’s tirade was interrupted by a knock at the door. Robin breathed a sigh of relief.
Will stuck his head in. “If you please, Father, Lord Locksley requires Master Robin’s presence. The sheriff wishes to speak to him.”
The priest looked irritated, but he could hardly refuse. “Very well, boy, you can go.”
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Robin said as soon as they were out of earshot.
“What was he yelling about? I could hear him from the top of the stairs.”
“Nothing interesting, just how it’s a sin for men and women to lie together.”
Will’s forehead creased. “What nonsense are you talking?”
“I never said I agreed with him. Priests have to take a vow of celibacy, don’t they? I suppose he would feel like that. He thinks sodomy is a sin as well.”
Robin expected Will to ask what that was. However, he just scowled.
“Priests think everything’s a sin. They’d send you to hell for breathing too loud.”
Robin chuckled. “What does the sheriff want?”
“Nothing. I thought we could have some fun.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“If you like, I’ll give you a tour of the castle.”
Will proved to be a good guide. He seemed to know every nook and cranny of the massive fortress. Most of the castle consisted of empty rooms, dusty and neglected.
“Isn’t there anything interesting to look at in this place?” Robin complained.
Will thought for a moment. “There’s the armoury.”
Will led Robin up yet another flight of stairs and along another series of passages, finally stopping before a rusty door that looked like all the others they had passed. He flung it open with a flourish.
“There you are.”
Robin gazed around him in awed astonishment. Blades of every size and variety hung from the walls—two-handed broad swords, long swords and daggers. There were maces and battleaxes, spears and shields, longbows and crossbows. In the centre of the room was a whetstone for honing weapons. Robin feasted his eyes on this treasure trove. Suits of armour stood around the walls like metal guardians.
“Why on Earth do they need so much?”
“Bodies are weak, no protection against swords, axes and the like.”
“Put all this on and I’d be surprised if a man could stand, let alone fight.” Robin pointed to the nearest plate armour. “What’s that for?”
“Greaves help protect a knight’s calves and ankles. Poleyns protect the kneecaps.” Will raised a quizzical eyebrow at Robin. “Hasn’t anyone taught you this? I thought you were training to be a knight.”
“I’m sure my tutor was getting to it.”
Will went on with his lesson. “Here, we have the breastplate and back plate, and the faulds—they’re rings of armour that protect the hips, abdomen and lower back.”
“How do you know so much?”
“My da made armour for the Nottingham Garrison. I grew up around all this. When I was old enough, I helped him.”
Robin picked up a pair of gauntlets. The gloves had metal plates over the fingers.
“I suppose you know what those are for?” Will said sarcastically.
“For beating you senseless with?”
Will snorted. “You could try.”
It was odd how comfortable he was around Will already. He felt more like a friend than Guy ever had.
Robin lifted down a heavy round shield. He thought it was called a besague, though he wasn’t sure how it was supposed to be worn. It laced, he saw.
“What is this for?”
Will, who was examining a particularly wicked-looking dagger, glanced absently over. “Oh, that laces to the shoulder to protect the armpit.”
Robin replaced the shield and lifted down a helmet. It was incredibly heavy. Really, it’s a wonder a man could move with all this on, Robin thought again. It must be like wandering around in a hot, metal furnace.
“On guard!” Will shouted. Robin looked up in time to see Will swinging a broad sword. He skipped back out of the way.
“Watch what you’re doing. You nearly took my head off.”
Robin took down two wooden swords and threw one to Will. He caught it deftly, and Robin was reminded of the first time he had ever thrown a practice sword to Guy. He had fumbled the catch and the weapon had clattered to the floor.
“Now it’s your turn for a lesson,” he said. He demonstrated the c
orrect way to hold the sword, and Will copied him. Robin could tell at once that this was someone with a natural aptitude. As an advanced swordsman himself—for his age—he knew a kindred spirit when he saw one. He himself had recently graduated from practice swords to the real thing, whereas Guy still fought with staves—another reason why Guy’s appointment to train as a knight at Nottingham Castle was unfair.
Robin forced down his resentment and threw himself into the mock battle. Every move he showed Will, the other boy grasped instantly. He had an instinct for anticipating his opponent’s intentions, and Robin was soon enjoying himself.
Will was strong for his age, and light and quick on his feet. They were of a similar height and build, and though Robin’s experience gave him the advantage, Will was a fast learner. Soon, they were both sweaty, bruised and breathless.
Will threw aside his sword at last, exhausted but grinning, and both boys sank down to sit against the wall.
“That was fun,” Will said.
“You are a quick learner,” Robin panted. “It is a pity my tutor, Sir Richard of Lee cannot school you.”
Will pulled a face of mock horror. “I am not worthy to learn alongside you, My Lord. I am but a humble servant.”
Robin shoved him. Will shoved him back, and soon they were wrestling. Robin was startled when Will caught him in a choke hold within a matter of seconds.
“You might be better with a sword,” he teased, as Robin struggled ineffectually against his grip, “but I know all there is to know about wrestling. My da taught me.”
“Why did they hang him?”
Will froze. He let go of Robin, and the two of them sat regarding each other for several seconds. Robin waited.
Finally, Will said, “He was caught stealing from the castle kitchens. We were close to starving. There was a new armourer, the sheriff’s cousin. He set up in the town, and the sheriff was careful to send a lot of custom his way. The men at arms from the castle all started going to him. Da couldn’t compete.
“My mam drank a lot, and she spent whatever Da brought home on liquor. I had to get work, but even that wasn’t enough to feed my mam and younger sisters. Mam barely noticed when Da died.”
“Where are your mother and sisters now?”
“Dead.” Will’s voice was flat. “My sisters both died of the bloody flux that ravaged the town last year. Mam was drunk one night. She fell and cracked her skull.”
Robin listened in silent sympathy. Will was alone in the world. He had been forced to watch his father die and his mother drink herself into an uncaring oblivion.
“I was lucky to get work in the kitchens,” Will went on. His tone held no self-pity. “The cook knew my da and liked him. He took me on.”
“Well.” Robin tried to keep his voice light. “Now you are going up in the world.”
“So I am.” Will bounced to his feet and swept Robin a deep bow. “Would it please you to see the rest of the castle, My Lord?”
Robin scrambled up. “Where to now?”
“How about the wine cellar? It’s always empty at this time of day. I fancy sampling the sheriff’s wine. How about you?”
Robin’s eyes lit up. His father had never let him have any wine, claiming he wasn’t old enough yet. He was curious to see what it tasted like, and wondered how much wine it would take before he got as drunk as his father’s guests often did.
“Lead on.”
Just then, a drawling, arrogant voice called, “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Robin stiffened. He hadn’t seen Guy since the hanging. Rage simmered inside him once more as he saw again the image of Gilbert White-hand swinging from the end of a rope. Guy had done that. He had led the sheriff’s men to Sherwood, even if he hadn’t actually been present.
Guy was wearing the livery of a castle page. He had a smug look on his face that Robin longed to wipe off with his fist.
Bryan was with him. He smiled at Robin, as friendly as ever, and Robin returned the greeting. He had missed Bryan. It was a shame he was Guy’s cousin. Not for the first time, Robin wondered how two boys so closely related could have turned out so different.
Guy’s face twisted into a sneer as his eyes settled on Will.
“So, this is who you would rather spend time with. I should have thought even you had some standards.”
“I do,” Robin said shortly. He turned to Will. “Shall we go?”
Will sent Guy a cocky grin and started to walk away. Guy moved to block his path.
“Bow before your betters, peasant,” he demanded. The order sounded ludicrous in his shrill voice.
“I see no betters here,” Will said.
Guy shoved him hard against the wall. Will let out a grunt of pain.
“How dare you! I should have you whipped.”
Both Bryan and Robin moved at the same time. Bryan gripped Guy’s arm and pulled him back, while Robin caught Will’s upraised fist.
“Stop it,” he hissed. “Or he really will have you whipped. My father will have no problem obeying, I promise you. Do you want to lose your job?”
Will subsided, but he was staring at Guy with venom in his eyes.
Meanwhile, Guy had tugged free of his cousin. He rounded on Bryan. “What’s the matter with you? Have you no family pride? He insulted me.”
“Don’t make a scene, Guy,” Bryan murmured.
Guy glared at Will and Robin for a moment and then turned away.
“You’re right,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough for them both to hear. “After all, scrapping with a peasant is hardly gentlemanly behaviour, and I would hate to get my hands dirty.”
He strode off, laughing. Bryan went with him, casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder at Robin and Will as he left.
Robin glowered after Guy’s retreating back. Oh, what wouldn’t he give to bring Guy crashing down off his high horse. Someday soon, he would.
“Come on,” he said to Will. “I want to see the cellar.”
***
e The wine cellar was cold, damp and musty. Bottles lined the walls in racks, some new and shiny, others dusty and wrapped around with cobwebs.
Will had selected one of the latter, overriding Robin’s objections by pointing out that wine was supposed to taste better the older it was.
With no better way of opening it, Will had prised the cork out with a rusty dagger he’d come across in the armoury. They passed the bottle between them.
Robin wasn’t sure he liked the wine. It had a dry, earthy kind of taste. He didn’t know if it was meant to be like that, or if it was a result of being left down there for so long.
He hid his feelings from Will, who was knocking the wine back as though it were water.
Robin sipped at it whenever it was his turn. At first, he had tried gulping it back like Will, but he was beginning to feel queasy. He kept encouraging Will to take bigger gulps, in hopes of finishing the wine more quickly.
Robin had heard that people behaved differently when they were drunk. He’d often seen guests at his father’s table drunk after too much wine, but it didn’t seem to make them that different, except perhaps that they were even more obnoxious than usual.
Will became more talkative the more he drank. “That friend of yours, Guy, he’s a nasty swine if ever I saw one.”
“He is not my friend,” Robin corrected. His head was beginning to pound.
“I thought all you nobles were great chums. What did he do to get on your bad side?”
“You mean apart from getting my friend hanged?”
Will looked impressed. “Gilbert White-hand was your friend?”
Robin didn’t answer. Gilbert’s death was still fresh in his mind. Wasn’t being drunk supposed to make the pain go away? Robin was sure he had heard that somewhere. He took another gulp and wished he hadn’t.
“How did you meet him, then?” Will wanted to know.
“I challenged him to an archery contest.”
Will gaped at him. “You never
did.” He tipped the bottle up to get at the dregs. “That’s a story I’d like to hear.”
Robin gave up all pretence of being manly and buried his head in his hands. The room was spinning.
Will seemed at last to realise what a state he was in. “You look awful. You’d better get some fresh air.” He helped Robin to his feet.
The room spun even faster. Robin was sure he would have fallen if not for Will’s supporting arm. He noticed, with some chagrin, that Will was completely steady on his feet.
“We’d better get you back to your room,” Will said, grinning.
Robin didn’t argue. His stomach lurched with every step. He wondered if he would make it back to his room, and how he would explain his state to Martha.
Sure enough, as they passed a clump of bushes, Robin’s stomach lurched. Jerking out of Will’s grip, he barely made it under cover before he was on all fours, retching. The wine tasted even worse second time around.
Robin heaved until his stomach was empty. He’d hoped he would feel better afterwards, but his head still pounded. He emerged, wiping his sleeve across his mouth.
Will was waiting for him. Far from looking concerned, he was smirking.
“You all right, My Lord?”
“Shut up,” Robin grumbled.
“Look.” Will, who was still clearly trying not to laugh, pointed. “There’s one of the hay barns. Why not rest there for a bit?”
Robin agreed. He didn’t have the strength to go any further—not yet. A short rest and he’d be fine.
However, as they approached the barn, he froze. There were voices coming from inside. As Robin listened, he thought he recognised one of them. Surely that was his father’s voice. But no, it couldn’t be. His father was in council with the sheriff.
“What’s wrong?” Will said. “Are you going in or not?”
“Shh!” Robin moved closer, his nausea and headache forgotten.
“I cannot go on like this, Geoffrey.”
Robin jolted. Was that Lady Gisborne’s voice? He was barely aware of Will squeezed in beside him. Lady Gisborne had called his father Geoffrey. Robin had never heard her address him by his Christian name.
“My love, we have no choice—”