by N B Dixon
“They’ll hang him if they catch him, won’t they?”
Lucy bit her lip. Delicate he might be, but Much wasn’t stupid.
“I don’t think so. They’d probably take his hand.”
“Then he wouldn’t be able to work the mill. We would lose our home.”
Much was right. Though their da was a free man, he didn’t own the mill. It, along with everything else, was the property of Lord Locksley.
“He won’t get caught,” Lucy said, trying to convince herself. “Da’s a good shot, you know that. He’ll be careful.”
“Peter isn’t,” Much pointed out. “When he shot at Locksley fair last month, he was knocked out in the first round. He won’t be any help at all.”
Much was right. Their elder brother might be as strong as an ox, and he could do the often back-breaking work of the mill without difficulty, but he wasn’t suited for the skill and stealth hunting required—that was assuming Da could drag him away from the alehouse where he and his cronies spent every second of the time they weren’t working. But what she said was, “Peter would never let any harm come to him.”
She could tell from Much’s expression that he didn’t believe her, and why should he? She didn’t believe it herself.
***
Mam was tired and red-eyed the following morning. After a breakfast of vegetable pottage, they got to work on baking the day’s bread. Since Locksley had no bakery, Lucy’s family served as millers and bakers combined.
Much had left with Da to visit Edwin, the local grain dealer, and Peter was heaven knew where.
He would catch it hot when Da got hold of him. Da was a mild man who rarely raised a hand to any of his children, but Lucy had seen from the grim set of his mouth when Peter didn’t appear for breakfast that Da had been pushed too far. He would tan Peter’s backside for him, and Lucy couldn’t find much sympathy in her heart.
She and Mam worked in silence. They made a good team. Lucy had been helping to bake the bread ever since she could walk. It was hard work, but it didn’t require much concentration; Lucy’s hands moved automatically, leaving her mind free to wander where it chose.
Today, her thoughts were still running over her parents’ conversation. She wanted to talk to Mam about it but wasn’t sure if she should. It would mean admitting she had listened, and Mam would not approve.
A clattering outside jerked Lucy from her thoughts. It sounded like horses. She placed a tray of freshly baked loaves onto a table to cool and, wiping her floury hands on her dress, went to look. It was a sign of Mam’s preoccupation that she neither glanced up nor called Lucy back.
A small procession was approaching, all of them on horseback. There were several men at arms and people whom Lucy took to be servants. Two women rode in the middle of the procession. They were so strikingly alike that they could only be mother and daughter. The girl was beautiful and around Lucy’s age from the look of her. She rode proud and straight in the saddle, her long blonde hair hanging loose and shining down her back.
Lucy’s eyes were drawn to the man in front. He, too, was young, also about her own age. He was fair like the mother and sister. He carried a sword at his side, and the crest on his surcoat was one Lucy recognised. It was the Gisborne emblem, meaning this had to be Guy of Gisborne.
He reined in his horse at that moment, and the rest of his party followed suit. The horses were led to the mill stream for a drink.
Lucy moved outside, the better to see. She knew little about the Gisborne family. Some scandal a few years ago had caused them to separate. Lady Gisborne had left with her children while her husband, Sir Benedict, had shut himself away, shunning all society. They said in the village that his health wasn’t good. Was that why his family had returned? After all, with Sir Benedict’s death, Guy would become master of the Gisborne estate.
Guy of Gisborne looked up then and noticed her. Close to, she saw that though he was tall and handsome, his eyes were cold and his mouth had a cruel, arrogant twist to it. He surveyed her with evident distaste.
“What do you mean by gawping at me, girl? Do you know who I am?”
Lucy hid her annoyance. After all, this wasn’t even Gisborne land. This jumped-up youth had no right to act as though he owned it. She made the deepest curtsy she could muster and lowered her head.
“I beg your pardon, My Lord.”
“I should think,” he said, fingering his riding whip as if tempted to use it, “that you would have better things to do with your time than stand gaping at us as if we were a side show for your entertainment. If this is how Lord Locksley allows his peasants to behave—”
“Please forgive us, My Lord.” Mam had appeared as if by magic beside Lucy. “My daughter didn’t mean any harm, on my honour, Sir.”
Guy’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he re-mounted his horse. “Then you would do well to teach her respect for her betters.”
He made a sign to the rest of his party, and with a clattering of hooves and a jingling of bridals, they were gone.
Mam seized Lucy’s arm and steered her back inside the mill.
“How dare he?” Lucy burst out. “I have every right to step outside my own front door. Besides, this is not even his land. Who is he to lord it over us?”
“Hold your tongue. Or do you want to end up in the stocks?”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.” Lucy was outraged. “He is an arrogant—”
“Lucy, for heaven’s sake, lower your voice. We can’t afford to make enemies now, especially with your da…” Mam broke off, her eyes over bright.
Lucy said no more. She pounded her frustration out on the bread dough. It was always the same. It was the people of the poorer classes who worked the land and grew enough food to eat. It was they who were forced to spend every last coin they earned on taxes and watch their loved ones starve while the rich Norman nobles sat up in their fine manor houses getting drunk on wine and eating from silver platters. The nobles needed them, yet they despised them. Lucy wondered if there was any lord alive who didn’t view his peasants as dung beneath his boots.
***
“So, how about it? Or are you scared you’ll lose to a peasant?”
Robin returned Will’s insolent smirk. “Why would I be afraid of something that won’t ever happen?”
“Cocky. I can beat you any day, My Lord.”
“Only if I give you a decent head start. I’ll race you to the old oak.”
“You’re on.”
Both mounted their horses. Around them, Sherwood was silent, as if the forest were holding its breath in anticipation.
Robin set heels to his horse’s flanks. “Yah!” The horse leapt forward. Will gave instant pursuit. Robin let out a whoop of exhilaration as he urged his horse on still faster.
The tree that would mark the finish line was an ancient, gnarled oak that, according to legend, had stood since the beginning of time. Robin and Will had discovered it some years ago.
They galloped down first one slope then up another. They were neck and neck. Robin urged his horse on yet again. The stallion, responding to his owner’s enthusiasm, gave it his all and they drew ahead.
Then, Robin saw the log. It lay right across his path. He cursed. Beneath him, his horse’s muscles bunched as he prepared to leap over the obstacle, and a pheasant erupted from the grass almost directly under the stallion’s hooves. The horse reared and snorted. As Robin wrestled for control, Will thundered past him. His horse leapt the log without any difficulty and galloped on. Robin swore. The race was lost.
Will was leaning nonchalantly against the oak as Robin came up. He assumed an expression of false sympathy as Robin dismounted.
“Better luck next time.”
Robin threw a dirt clod at him, which he dodged.
“I’m thirsty. I reckon the loser should buy the winner a drink.”
“Fine,” Robin grumbled. “You know I would have won if not for the damned pheasant.”
“Of course, My Lord.”
> Robin resisted the urge to throw another dirt clod at him.
***
It had been two years since Robin had started coming to the Blue Boar. The villagers were not comfortable with him at first, but his relaxed and friendly manner soon put them at their ease. Robin always took care to dress in simple, nondescript clothing whenever he went out: hose, scuffed boots, a long tunic of brown wool, and a hooded jerkin of tough leather. Indeed, it was this last that had earned him his nickname among the regulars at the tavern.
To his father and the nobles who hung around him, he was the heir of Locksley. To the villagers, he was Robin Hood. He had further endeared himself to them by his habit of slipping a coin to anyone who was down on their luck or a little behind on their rent. Of course, his father would have an apoplectic attack if he knew about Robin’s activities, but Robin felt more at home among these simple farmers and serfs than he did among the superior nobles who constantly infested Locksley Manor.
Jane, the landlord’s daughter, swayed across the room to Robin. He took the two mugs of ale she held out to him and passed one across the table to Will.
Jane beamed at him. “Da says it’s one of the best brews he ever made. I hope you like it.”
Robin sent her his best smile in return. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Jane moved away, wiggling her hips suggestively.
Will rolled his eyes. “You’re not after a romp with her, are you?”
Robin grinned. “I could do worse.”
He watched as Jane perched herself on the lap of another customer. The man immediately thrust a hand inside the bodice of her dress. Jane squealed but did not seem overly upset.
“Looks like you might have to join the queue,” Will said dryly.
“You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?” Robin enquired.
“Hardly. She’s not my type.”
Robin’s smile was part affection, part exasperation. “Really, Will, sometimes I wonder if you even know what a girl is.”
Before Will could answer, the Tavern door crashed open and a man strode in. He was already drunk from the look of him. He marched into the middle of the room and announced in ringing tones, “They’re back. Lady Gisborne and her brats have returned.”
There was a stunned silence, then a babble of talk broke out on all sides.
Robin jumped to his feet and approached the man. “Let me buy you a drink, my friend.” He waved to get Jane’s attention. “Another mug of your father’s ale, please.”
Robin ushered the man over to his own table. Jane appeared seconds later. She smiled at Robin again as she handed the newcomer his ale, but this time, Robin barely noticed.
“The Gisbornes are back, you say? Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the man insisted. “I saw them with my own eyes.”
Several patrons were listening now. Gossip was always welcome and this promised to be the juiciest bit of news that had passed through the village in a long time.
There was no love for any of the Gisbornes in Locksley. The family wasn’t popular, with the exception of Sir Benedict, who was admired by both serfs and nobles alike. There had been widespread sympathy for him once the news of Lord Locksley and Lady Gisborne’s affair became public.
The man was relishing being the centre of attention. “I recognised Lady Gisborne. Her daughter was with her. She has grown into a bonny lass,” he admitted grudgingly.
“And Guy?” Robin asked, hoping he sounded off-hand.
The man pulled a face. “Aye, he was there. Gazing around him cool as you like.”
“I wonder what could have brought them back,” Robin mused aloud.
“Why, haven’t you heard? Sir Benedict is on his deathbed. He’s not likely to see the week out.”
Robin was startled. This was news to him. Why hadn’t his father mentioned it? He drained the rest of his ale and beckoned to Will.
It was six years since the great scandal had come out. The whole of Nottingham had buzzed with the knowledge that Lord Locksley and Lady Gisborne had been secretly conducting an affair for several years. Sir Benedict had sent his family away and locked himself in his manor, leaving his steward to manage the estate. Rumour had it that Lady Gisborne had fled with her children to France, where she had friends. People had speculated as to why Sir Benedict had allowed Guy to go, as he was his father’s sole heir.
But now they were back, and Sir Benedict’s impending death was the only reason they would dare to show their faces again.
With his father gone, Guy would become lord of the Gisborne estate. Robin wrinkled his brow. At eighteen years old, Guy would be young for taking up the reins of government, but Robin doubted that would stop him. He had certainly wanted it for long enough.
Robin wondered how he would feel when he saw Guy again. He remembered vividly the last time they had met. His hand went unconsciously to his nose. It had not set quite right after its encounter with Guy’s knuckles and now had a distinct crooked curve to it. According to Will, it made him look rugged.
Since the affair had come out, the relationship between Robin and his father had deteriorated further. They spoke only when they had to. If Sir Benedict died, Lord Locksley’s path to Lady Gisborne would be clear. Would they marry? That would make Lady Gisborne his stepmother, and Guy and Katrina his stepbrother and sister. Not a pleasant prospect.
Still, Robin felt some responsibility for Guy and Katrina. It was he who had told Sir Benedict where his father and Lady Gisborne were. Robin had had no idea what the repercussions would be, but he had always felt guilty about his involvement. It had brought disgrace on the Gisborne family, and whatever Robin’s personal feelings about Guy, he and his sister had been the innocent casualties.
“You’re worrying about Guy’s return,” Will said as they mounted their horses and turned for home.
Robin nodded. It was difficult to keep anything from Will. The two of them had grown close over the years. Will was a brother, not just a friend. Lord Locksley disapproved, but he had given up making his opinion known as Robin ignored whatever he said. Lord Locksley had also given up trying to forbid Will’s fighting lessons, particularly when Sir Richard had praised his skill and suggested he might make a suitable squire for Robin someday.
Will was every bit Robin’s equal with a sword and perhaps, though Robin would never have admitted it to Will, his superior.
“If Guy becomes lord of the Gisborne estate, it will give him a free licence to parade around like the arrogant fool he is.”
“Perhaps he’s changed,” Will said without much conviction.
Robin snorted. “He is probably even more annoying than he was six years ago.”
“You still feel guilty about what happened.” It wasn’t a question.
“Finding out his mother had been going behind his father’s back must have been an awful shock. I ruined their family. I can hardly expect to be Guy’s favourite person.”
“Better he learned the truth. Besides, if you’d kept quiet, you might have ended up with Lady Gisborne as your stepmother one day, or Katrina as your wife?”
Robin grimaced. “I had a lucky escape on both counts, but Lady Gisborne may still be my stepmother.”
“Not likely after what happened.”
“There are no obstacles to them getting married once Sir Benedict is dead.”
“Your da’s friends might have something to say. His Lordship always was one for keeping up appearances.”
Robin hoped Will was right. He sometimes felt Will had a better grasp of how the nobility lived and behaved than he himself did. His father had always been one for behaving exactly as he was supposed to. He played the lord of the manor. He associated with the right people. He would not willingly do anything to tarnish his reputation. He had certainly never intended his affair with Lady Gisborne to come out.
***
Alan a Dale came running to take the bridles of both horses as they rode up. He had recently been promoted, and worked alongside Will. Betwee
n the two of them, they saw to the running of Lord Locksley’s stables as Thomas the groom was old and his joints plagued him.
Alan made a strange sight with his father’s lute strapped across his back and horse manure clinging to his boots. His face was alight with excitement.
“Have you heard?”
“About the Gisbornes?” Robin asked.
“They’re back.”
“What are you so pleased about?” Will asked.
“It’s the only interesting thing to happen around here for months.”
“If Sir Benedict recovers, they’ll likely be gone as quickly as they came,” Will said.
Alan looked surprised. “You haven’t heard? Sir Benedict is dead.”
So it had happened. Robin couldn’t help wondering again about the timing of the family’s arrival. Had they known how seriously ill Sir Benedict was? Robin felt a wave of sadness as he thought of the man. Sir Benedict hadn’t deserved the cards life had dealt him. And now, Guy was the new lord of Gisborne Manor.
Will, appearing as he often did to sense Robin’s mood, changed the subject.
“Is there a reason why you brought your lute to the stables?”
Alan shrugged. “Playing to the horses calms them.”
Will made a sceptical sound, and Robin smiled in spite of himself.
***
Robin met his father as he was heading upstairs.
“You have heard?”
Robin nodded.
“We shall present ourselves at the funeral.”
Robin searched his father’s face, trying to determine what he was feeling. Lord Locksley and Sir Benedict had been friends once. Had it all been an act? His father gave nothing away. If he was upset about Sir Benedict’s death, or happy about the fact that it left his mistress free to marry whomever she chose, he was hiding it well.
“You wish to attend the funeral?” Robin asked.
“Of course. It would not be proper of us to miss it.”
“You want to parade yourself at the funeral where your former mistress will be, in front of her children?”