by N B Dixon
Robin sighed. “Go home, Edgar, if you’re sober enough to remember the way.”
Edgar leaned closer so that his wine-laden breath blew in Robin’s face. When he spoke, Robin felt flecks of spit hit his cheek.
“You can’t give me orders anymore. You’re nothing but a peasant now.”
Robin gave him a light shove. He had only meant to push the man’s face away, but he hadn’t reckoned on how drunk Edgar was. He staggered and grabbed George the carpenter, who was sitting on the neighbouring bench. Both men went down in a tangle of thrashing limbs, upsetting the bench on top of them and sending a cascade of ale to the floor. A fistfight promptly ensued.
“There’s a waste of good ale,” Will commented.
Robin rose to intervene, but the landlord beat him to it.
“All right, that’s enough. Break it up. And you, Edgar, you can clear off home, and don’t come back till you’ve sobered up.”
Edgar left, muttering under his breath and glaring back at George as he went.
George came over. “Horson,” he muttered. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“I’m sure he is just the first.”
George laid a heavy hand on Robin’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re doing, lad.” He wiped his bloody lip on the sleeve of his tunic. “There aren’t many as would stick by a girl once they’d got her in trouble. I’ve known Lucy since she was a swaddled infant. She deserves a bit of happiness.”
Robin couldn’t think of anything to say. He wasn’t making Lucy happy.
“You need a top-up. It’s on me.” George signalled to Jane.
Robin opened his mouth to protest, but Jane was already there, placing a fresh mug in front of him.
“You drink that up. Never mind Edgar. Lucy’s a lucky lass.”
Someone challenged Will to a game of dice. Robin sat watching them for a while. The tavern had settled down again. Alan was playing his lute. From time to time, Will’s laughter reached Robin. He drank up as quickly as he could and made his way back to the mill.
Lucy was asleep when he climbed up to the loft. Robin could see the traces of tears on her cheeks, and his heart twisted. He regretted not staying at the Blue Boar a while longer. He wasn’t much of a gamer, but the noisy cheerfulness of the players would have been a distraction.
Robin missed Will. Perhaps it was because they had lived under the same roof for six years, but it sometimes seemed as if Will was the only one who could make him smile these days. There was another reason, of course. It gave him the chance to be with Will without feeling guilty. If he really wanted to crush those feelings once and for all, he should avoid Will entirely, but that would take some explaining. Will was his closest friend. Maybe it was selfish, but to cut Will out of his life was more than Robin could stand.
Sighing, he lay down and put his arms around Lucy. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and tucked the thin blanket more closely around both of them, but sleep was a long time coming.
***
Robin and the rest of the household were up at sunrise the next morning. It was the day for bringing in the wheat crop, and since Locksley was a relatively small domain, it was a communal affair.
The wheat had been sown in winter and left to ripen over the spring and summer. Months of warm weather with little rain meant that the grain needed to be collected sooner rather than later. The harvest would take several days, with priority being given to the wheat and rye, followed by the spring crops of barley and oats. Any grain that was not yet ripe would be stored in ovens built specifically for the purpose.
Robin and Will assembled with Harry and George. The harvesters worked in teams of five. Alan made up the fifth member of their team.
The golden ears of grain waved gently in the breeze. Though it was early, the day was already warm.
Harry presented Robin with a sickle. The blade gleamed wickedly as the sun caught it.
“Be sure to cut a couple of hands breadth below the ear,” he said, demonstrating. “It’s important to leave the long stubble standing for the livestock.”
It was back-breaking work. Robin wore Peter’s old clothes, and in no time, the back and underarms of his tunic were soaked through with sweat. The sun beat down mercilessly, burning his neck. Flies were forever settling in his eyes and mouth, however often he brushed them away.
It wasn’t always possible to cut exactly in the right place, meaning that grain often drifted to the ground. Robin knew from previous harvests that this grain would go to the poorest villagers. It was often hotly quarrelled over. Robin remembered how one such argument last year had degenerated into a fight.
His team worked well together. Robin soon discovered there was a rhythm to it. Many men sang as they worked. Though progress was slow, there was an air of companionship among the villagers.
They toiled for the better part of the day, with a short rest at noon for a meal of bread, cheese and ale.
Robin wiped sweat off his face with a forearm. “Is it a good crop this year, do you think?”
Harry shrugged. “We’ve had worse. By the time the church takes its cut in tithes and the banality fees have been collected, there should be a fair winter store.”
“That’s if Lord Locksley doesn’t raise the amount in banality fees as he did last year,” George said.
Robin winced. Banality fees were the charges demanded by a manor lord for the use of his mill and grain ovens. Serfs and freemen alike had to pay for the right to use the lord’s mill. Payments were collected in money, but also in any food produce such as grain.
One sheaf in ten was also paid in tithes to the church. Only then could the remainder of the grain be divided amongst the villagers.
Robin could see the anxiety in several faces. His father raised the banality fees every year or so, and it would be the poorest villagers who suffered most. Robin determined there and then that when it came time for any dropped grain to be collected, he would make sure it was parcelled out as fairly as possible.
The women joined their menfolk for the midday meal. Lucy came to sit with Robin’s group, but she ate nothing. Robin swallowed the last of his bread and cheese and reached for her hand.
“Walk with me?”
She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Robin led her away from the chattering groups of villagers. He had lain awake for a long time the night before, knowing one thing—that he had to convince Lucy he was happy. They couldn’t go on like this.
“Your father thinks we will have a good harvest this year.”
“That’s good.” Her voice was flat.
“Lucy, please, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She spun to face him, dropping his hand. “Are you honestly telling me you’re happy, Robin? The lord’s son is happy to grub around in the dirt with the peasants?”
Robin struggled to hold back his irritation. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m where I want to be. I don’t mind hard work, and I certainly don’t miss anything I left behind. I don’t want my father’s title, nor the rich wife he picked out for me. Everything I want is right here. Why can’t you believe me?”
She sighed. “I suppose I do. It’s just that I feel so guilty.”
“Well you’ve no need to.” Robin searched for the words that would convince her. “My father never loved me. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. He would beat me at the least provocation. I scarcely ever had a kind word from him. No title is worth living with a man like that.”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Will you stop saying that?” He hugged her. “Now do you think you could smile a bit more often?”
She laughed, and the sound eased the knot of worry in his chest. “I’ll try.” She grew serious. “I do love you, Robin.”
He bent to kiss her, but a chorus of whistles and catcalls shattered the moment. Robin cursed, and Lucy pushed him away, still smiling.
“You had better get back to work, or Edgar will accus
e you of shirking.”
***
By the evening, Robin was filthy, aching and more tired than he could ever remember being in his life, but he had the satisfaction of knowing he had done a good day’s work. An acre of grain had been harvested. Tomorrow would be another day of hard labour, but if the weather held, the grain barns would soon be stocked.
The atmosphere in the Blue Boar that night was cheerful. Harry announced to Robin that they would have to harvest his own small plot of land, as well as cleaning the mill equipment ready for use. The mill was usually cleaned once a week, but more often in warm weather. Though they were well into autumn, it was still unseasonably hot for the time of year.
The next few days followed the same pattern. The villagers were wary of Robin at first, and Edgar took every opportunity to make sarcastic remarks, but these dwindled as even Edgar realised that Robin not only pulled his weight, but often did more than his fair share to give a less able person a rest. Robin was one of them now, and sometimes it felt as if he’d never known any other life.
Things were also improving between him and Lucy. Though she was still troubled by sickness, the depression that had weighed on her seemed to be lifting. She smiled more and even joined them in the fields sometimes. Harry and Meg were like parents to him, treating him like their own son, while Much worshipped him. Robin spent as much time as he could with him. He brought Much gifts from the forest: the first acorns to fall, a magpie’s feather, ripe apples from the store. He told him some of the stories Martha had entertained him with as a child. Much was largely confined indoors, and Robin knew he was lonely, though he never complained. Lara and Edward came by to visit him, but Much could no longer join in their energetic games.
Will was happy, too, Robin knew. Working with horses and metal was what he had been trained to do, though the blacksmith had still not given up on a match between Will and one of his daughters.
Robin missed Martha and Sir Richard, but otherwise, he was content.
Once the wheat and rye crops were harvested, it was the turn of the barley. It had to be harvested much closer to the ground than wheat. This was accomplished with the aid of long-handled scythes.
“Robin!”
Robin could tell from the impatience of Will’s voice that it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get his attention.
“What?”
“I said, do you hear that?”
Robin paused mid-stroke, listening.
“It sounds like a horse,” he said.
“A horse being ridden out of control,” Will agreed.
Others were laying down their tools and looking round. The sound of hooves was growing louder. Robin got to his feet, reaching for his bow, before remembering it was back at the mill. The horse burst into sight, thundering down the slope at a reckless pace.
Will, the most experienced with horses, darted forward and managed to grab the animal’s bridle. With difficulty, he brought it under control.
The horse’s sides were lathered with foam and its eyes rolled in terror, but it was not this which drew shocked gasps from the watching villagers. It was the young man in the saddle.
He lay slumped forward across the horse’s neck, only his boots, still caught in the stirrups keeping him from falling.
Robin hurried forward and, with Harry’s help, eased the man to the ground. His tunic and cloak were of fine lamb’s wool, though saturated with blood.
He sagged in Robin’s arms. An arrow protruded from the side of his chest. His hood fell back and Robin sucked in a startled breath. It was Bryan.
Lucy hurried over. Her face went white at the sight of the blood seeping through Bryan’s tunic, but she spoke calmly.
“Someone should go for help. It might not be too late.”
“There’s no time.” Desperation clawed at Robin, making it hard to think.
Bryan’s eyes opened. They were glassy with pain, but they found Robin.
“He’s done for me,” he gasped.
“Nonsense,” Robin said fiercely. “You’ll be fine.”
Will had succeeded in tethering the skittish horse and came over.
He swore. “Who the hell would do this?”
Lucy tore strips from her dress and pressed them to the wound in a vain effort to halt the bleeding. No one tried to remove the arrow. It was buried deep, and any attempt would certainly kill Bryan.
Bryan’s breath was coming in quick pants. His eyes were already closing. Robin gripped his wrist with bloody fingers.
“Who did this to you?”
“Came from nowhere,” Bryan gasped. “Didn’t see.”
“Do you have any idea who it might have been?”
“Guy.” Bryan’s voice was a whisper.
“Guy?” Robin exclaimed. “In God’s name, why?”
“I was going to tell you. Guy didn’t want me to.”
Robin exchanged a confused look with Will. Lucy continued to apply pressure to the wound, but Robin knew it was hopeless.
He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice. “Tell me what, Bryan? What is Guy up to?”
“Danger!” Bryan managed. “Treason. All of them. Guy…”
But Robin never found out anymore. Bryan’s chest hitched once, twice, then was still.
Robin bowed his head, hot tears stinging his eyes. He felt Lucy’s arms around him, heard her voice, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Bryan’s still face. His final words echoed inside Robin’s head. “Danger. Treason.” A sense of dread stole over him.
Bryan was dead, and Guy was responsible. He’d had his own cousin murdered. Bryan had spoken of treason. Was Guy involved in some plot against the king? But how? For that, he would need influence, supporters, money, and Guy had none of those things. He wasn’t even a knight. No one would follow him.
Will’s hand on his shoulder jerked Robin out of his daze.
“We need to see about burying him, or at least getting him back to his family.”
“He had no family,” Robin said dully. “His mother is mortally sick. She may already be dead. His family are the ones who had him killed.”
Lucy’s eyes were swimming, though she hadn’t known Bryan at all. “You can’t be sure of that.”
“You heard him. He spoke Guy’s name. It was Guy who killed him, or more likely, he had someone else lie in wait for him. I doubt Guy could have made such a shot.”
Robin bent over Bryan once more. “Farewell, my friend. I don’t know why you were slain, but you will be avenged, I promise.”
“But, Robin,” Lucy protested. “We have only Bryan’s word that Guy was responsible. That isn’t proof. Anyway, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Guy want him killed?”
“Bryan said something about treason. He was killed in order to stop him telling what he knew. I don’t know what’s going on, but I intend to find out.”
* * * * *
Chapter 17
“We should take Bryan back to Gisborne Manor,” Robin said.
“They’re the ones who killed him,” Will objected.
“We have to confront Guy. He can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“Like as not he’ll shoot us the moment he claps eyes on us.”
“Will’s right,” Lucy said. “This is madness, Robin.”
“I have to do something,” Robin burst out. “I’m not just letting the horson walk off scot-free. Besides, Bryan’s mother is dying. She should at least get the chance to say goodbye to her son.”
“Guy hates you,” Lucy argued. “If he is up to no good, you’ll be playing right into his hands. Will getting yourself killed bring Bryan back?”
Robin put his arm around her. There were tears in her eyes and she was pale, her dress stained with Bryan’s blood. All around them, the village was a-buzz with excited chatter, the harvest temporarily forgotten.
“This is nothing to do with you,” Lucy said. “Not anymore. It’s up to the sheriff. Someone should tell him.”
“A lot of good that will do,
with no witnesses to the actual murder. The sheriff will have little to go on, even assuming he acts at all. He and Guy are on good terms, and everyone knows Raymond Warci can be persuaded to turn a blind eye if the bribe is good enough. Money is all he cares about.”
Lucy looked as if she might argue some more. Robin met Will’s gaze over her head, and Will nodded. He had Robin’s back. Lucy pulled away from him with a sigh.
“There’s no changing your mind once it’s fixed on something. Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry. Guy will not find me such an easy opponent.”
***
A villager lent them the use of his cart. Bryan was wrapped in a blanket and loaded onto it. Robin took the driver’s seat while Will rode alongside on Bryan’s horse. Before they left, Robin dashed back to the mill to retrieve his bow and sword. He did not fancy facing Guy unarmed.
He and Will rode for several minutes in silence. Robin kept looking straight ahead, deliberately avoiding staring at Bryan’s corpse. He was also straining for any sign of movement. He wouldn’t have put it past Guy to have other hidden assassins lurking about.
Will spoke. “If Guy’s planning treason, he’ll need others on his side. Isn’t the king due at Nottingham ’round about now?”
“He will be well guarded, and there’s Richard and John to take into account as well. I hear Richard is a formidable warrior.”
Will shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time the king’s sons had tried to get rid of him.”
Robin said nothing. There was no knowing how deep this conspiracy went. He was about to dive headlong in, and he had no idea if he would surface alive.
“You can turn back, Will.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“This isn’t a game. It may end in death before this is all over.”
“Aye, well, here’s hoping it’s Guy’s death.”
Robin’s gaze wandered to Bryan’s shrouded form. One arm dangled over the side of the cart, swaying with its motion.
“He came to me for help, and Guy killed him for it.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Will said. “You didn’t shove an arrow in his chest.”