by N B Dixon
“Maybe I’m beyond redemption.”
“No one is beyond God’s forgiveness; not if they are truly repentant.”
Another voice spoke over the priest’s, this one far colder than the graveyard where Robin stood.
I warned you this would happen, but you would not listen. You are a miserable sinner and God has turned his back on you in disgust. You must pray nightly to him to change his mind and cleanse your tainted soul.
Robin shuddered.
“You are cold.” Father Tuck looked concerned.
With difficulty, Robin reminded himself that this was not the man he hated, the man he’d fled to in grief and shame, the man who’d destroyed his faith in the Church.
“I’m fine,” he forced himself to say.
Father Tuck indicated Lucy’s grave. “You knew the poor person who lies buried there?”
Robin was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. He’d never met a priest who was so inquisitive, and it irritated him. “Haven’t you anything better to do, Father? There must be souls in the village more worthy than mine for you to tend to.”
“You think your soul is worthless? That is not so, my son.”
Robin had had enough. He turned to go back to his horse.
“Wait! Will you at least tell me your name, Sir Knight?”
“I was Robin of Locksley.”
Father Tuck did not miss the past tense. “And now?”
“Robin Hood.” He said the name automatically. It was what the people of Locksley had always called him. It felt more comfortable than his given name.
Father Tuck regarded him quizzically. Robin marched back towards his horse. He had made it into the saddle when Father Tuck accosted him once more.
“Are you on your way to Locksley Manor?”
“What if I am?”
“Then I’m afraid I have some sad news for you. If you have been away from these parts, you will likely not have heard.”
Robin was on the alert at once. “Heard what?”
“Lord Locksley is dead. Guy of Gisborne owns the manor.”
Robin could not have been more astounded if Father Tuck had hit him over the head. He gaped at the priest, trying to take in what he had said. Dead? My father is dead? It was unbelievable. Lord Locksley had always been so healthy and robust. How could he be dead? Then the rest of Father Tuck’s sentence penetrated his shocked mind.
“You say Guy of Gisborne owns the manor?”
“Indeed, though he spends little time there. His steward, Edgar, manages the place.”
Edgar? Robin’s hand clenched on his sword hilt. Edgar had been his father’s steward. He had wasted no time in going over to the enemy, but then, Edgar had always been drawn to those with power.
“Where is Gisborne when he’s not at Locksley?”
“Why, at Nottingham Castle. He is the sheriff.”
Shock followed on the heels of shock. Robin stared at Father Tuck, wondering if he had heard correctly. “The sheriff?” he blurted out. “You must be mistaken. This is a joke.”
“Not at all. Prince John himself appointed him.”
“By what right did he do that? The last time I checked, Richard was king.”
Father Tuck heaved a sad sigh. “Richard has been absent from England for many years. John struts around, playing at being king, and Richard’s advisors do nothing to rein him in. They are too preoccupied with running the country and ensuring Richard gets the money he needs for his Crusade. John has his own court, and his own chancellor. Richard bestowed on him six counties, among them Nottinghamshire. John administrates the shire as he sees fit. No one dares gainsay him.”
“I see,” Robin said between gritted teeth. Things were beginning to make sense. If Guy of Gisborne was Sheriff of Nottingham, that explained how he had been able to hire an assassin and send him after Robin. Of course, he would have no guarantee the assassin would succeed. All he could do was send him to where King Richard was rumoured to be and hope for the best. It seemed that, with Richard gone, John was up to his old tricks. Things were far worse than Robin could ever have imagined. With Guy in a position of power, it would make it a lot harder for Robin to get to him. Better to find Will and sort through the new information.
Robin set heels to his horse’s flanks.
***
People poked their heads around their cottage doors as John and Wat came clattering into the village. It was five years since John had been back to Hathersage. His old friends and neighbours clustered around him, calling greetings and demanding news. His reception could not have been more different than when he was last here. Then, a cloud of suspicion had hung over him, and women made sure their children avoided him. John didn’t know what had changed, and he didn’t care.
He scanned the growing crowd for a sight of Jaspar, the village headman. He spotted him near the front with a flame-haired young woman beside him. John made for him, Wat dogging his every step, waving at several wide-eyed children, who were staring at him curiously.
“It’s good to see you, John.” Jaspar clasped his hands warmly. “Are you tired of Nottingham?”
“I reckon Nottingham is tired of me. God’s eyes, Jaspar, it’s good to see you.”
John’s gaze strayed from his old friend to the young woman at his side. “How are you, Daphne?”
The headman’s daughter ignored the question. Her hard gaze travelled over Wat, taking in his disreputable appearance. Wat flashed her a flirtatious grin, which revealed all the gaps in his teeth and made John wish momentarily that he had left him to the mercy of the sheriff’s soldiers.
“Who is this?” Daphne demanded.
“Wat the tinker. He needs a place to shelter for a day or so.”
“Shelter from what?” Jaspar asked sharply.
“I was caught cutting the purse of the sheriff’s steward,” Wat announced. “John came to my rescue.”
If looks could kill, John thought, then the glare Daphne levelled at him would have dropped him where he stood.
“You brought a fugitive from the law to our village? Have you any idea what the sheriff’s men will do to us if he is caught here? We will be accused of harbouring a traitor.”
Jaspar laid a quieting hand on his daughter’s shoulder, but his expression was grim. “I apologise for my daughter’s outspokenness, John, but what she says is true. We cannot harbour a fugitive.”
“It won’t be for long. I’ll smuggle him away somewhere as soon as I can. The sheriff will have no reason to look for him here.” To Wat, he said, “Mind you do nothing to bring attention to yourself. If you endanger these people, I’ll kill you myself, friend or not.”
The grin slipped from Wat’s face. He and John had been friends for a long time, but John could tell Wat knew he was serious.
The gathering of villagers broke up. John was about to head for the tavern and a welcome mug of ale when Daphne pulled him to one side.
She was a tiny woman, the top of her head barely reaching John’s collarbone. Her hair hung down her back in fiery ringlets. Her face was pale and doll-like but for the flash in her dark eyes. Gazing down at her, John’s stomach tightened with the familiar rush of longing.
“I’ve missed you,” he told her. The words felt awkward in his mouth. What he really wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless, but Daphne’s entire body still radiated hostility.
“It’s been years, John. In all that time, you’ve never made any effort to see me.”
“You know why I left.”
“Aye, I do. If not for my help, you’d have swung from the gallows. And this is how you repay me, by bringing a criminal to this village and endangering all of us.”
John shuffled his big feet. It was odd how such a tiny woman could reduce him to a stammering boy with a few well-chosen words. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”
“Why did you help him?”
“He’s a friend.”
“He’ll likely be made outl
aw for this if he isn’t caught and hanged, and you will share his fate. You should have left him to the sheriff.”
“You don’t mean that.”
For the first time, the furious mask slipped. Her lips quivered. “No, but if you get killed because of him…”
John reached for her, pleased when she settled against him. Her body felt familiar in his arms, and so delicate. He was afraid if he gripped her too tightly, he would break her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she whispered. “I waited for you, John, and I won’t lose you to the sheriff’s soldiers.”
He bent to kiss her, wondering how he could ever have believed this woman was fragile.
Chapter 2
As Robin opened the door of the Blue Boar tavern, he was greeted by a welcoming gust of warm air, the strong smell of wood smoke, and silence. Robin had been able to hear the noise and music clear across the street. Now, as he stepped inside, bringing a freezing draught with him, every eye swivelled in his direction, and in each was the same expression—a mixture of anxiety and defiance.
Under other circumstances, Robin would have found this reception amusing. He had, after all, been a regular at the Blue Boar in his teens. But he knew what they saw. A hooded stranger, a knight—to judge by the sword at his hip—but with a longbow and quiver across his back. His eyes roved over the gathering. He recognised many of them, including Alan, an old friend of his, who was standing with a pitcher of ale in his hands, apparently in the act of pouring a mug for someone. Robin wondered where the landlord was.
It was Will who broke the tension. “You daft clots. Don’t you know who this is?”
There was some murmuring, and then Alan set down his pitcher and hurried forward.
“Robin? Will said you were back, but…” He broke off.
Robin put back his hood and managed a tired smile. “It’s good to see you, Alan.”
Alan startled him by flinging his arms around Robin in a tight embrace. The tavern erupted with noise. Men leapt from their seats, greeting Robin as if he were the prodigal son from the Bible returned home to his family. He was engulfed in a sea of bodies. Hands slapped his back. Delighted voices cried welcome. Robin felt himself relaxing for the first time since his arrival in England.
A young man made his way forward. He had a pronounced limp, and Robin’s heart twisted as he recognised Much, though he bore little resemblance to the boy Robin had last seen on the day he left Locksley.
“Sorry about just now. We’re used to armed men bursting in here, and it never bodes well. We’ve missed you, Robin.”
Much also embraced him, a smile lighting up his face. He was thin—too thin. He looked careworn.
A young woman with a kind, pretty face made her way through the crowd. With another thrill of recognition, Robin smiled at Jane. She was the daughter of the Blue Boar’s landlord, and Robin had entertained vaguely lustful thoughts for her at one time. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, before going to stand beside Alan, slipping her hand into his.
Robin raised an eyebrow. “You two are married?”
Alan nodded. “Since Michaelmas.”
Will grinned at Alan. “All the good-looking men were taken, then?”
Alan swung a mock punch at Will’s head. “You’re jealous, Scathelock.”
“Where is your father?” Robin asked Jane.
“He hasn’t been well. Alan helps run the tavern, which leaves me free to care for him.”
“I always took you for the wandering type,” Robin said to Alan. They had been friends since they were boys, and Alan had harboured a secret passion to be a minstrel.
“I travelled the country for a while, but let’s just say I had someone worth coming home to.”
He and Jane exchanged a glowing look, and Robin struggled with a sudden, unaccountable sense of envy. They were so happy together, and he would never know that again. While he was pleased to see all his old friends, he hadn’t come here merely to drink and gossip. He needed information about his father and Guy.
As if he sensed Robin’s impatience, Will broke up the reunion. “How about a mug of your best ale, Alan? We’ve a lot to talk about.” He gave Robin an uneasy look, and Robin guessed that Will must also have heard about Lord Locksley’s death.
They were joined at their table by Much, George the carpenter, and Matthew, the village blacksmith and Will’s master for a brief time.
Alan bustled over with a fresh pitcher of ale and filled everyone’s mugs. He had changed. Gone was the dreamy-eyed boy who would sit and play his lute for hours on end, oblivious to the world around him. Alan’s eyes had a hard look, as though he had seen many things he would rather forget. Robin recognised that look all too well. While he and Will had been fighting abroad, the villagers of Locksley had been engaged in their own war, the simple battle for survival under a tyrant who cared nothing for them. If Guy had been in the tavern just then, he would have killed him right there in front of everyone for taking the sunshine out of Alan’s life and putting the worry into Much’s eyes.
Alan squeezed in beside Will on the bench, and Jane, after seeing to a customer, came to perch on his lap.
“We thought both of you were dead,” Alan said. “Gave me the shock of my life when Will came waltzing in here like some ghost from the past.”
Will assumed a hurt expression. “Anyone would think you hadn’t missed me, Alan.”
Robin took a gulp of ale; it was every bit as good as he remembered. “What about my father? Your priest said he was dead.”
The men around the table exchanged solemn looks.
“Aye, that was a bad business, right enough,” George said. “He wasn’t popular, begging your pardon, Robin, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“He was a saint compared to Guy of Gisborne,” Mathew growled.
“What happened?”
“None of us knows for sure,” Alan said. “I was still working in the manor at the time. I’d come into the hall for my breakfast when I heard Martha screaming.”
Martha! Worry pinched at Robin’s chest. “Is she all right?”
“She’s with us at the mill,” Much said. “After Lord Locksley died, well, it broke something in her. She’s not been well this past month or two. Guy of Gisborne installed his own servants when he took over the manor, all except Edgar. He threw Martha out. We took her in as she had nowhere to go. I’m afraid she’s not long for this world.”
“My Lara has been helping to nurse her,” George said.
Robin hadn’t believed it possible he could hate Guy any more. The thought of Martha, his nurse and the only mother he had ever known, thrown out into the street to survive as best she could was more than he could bear. He half rose from his bench, meaning to rush to the mill and see her for himself, but Will’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Later,” he murmured.
Robin nodded. He turned back to the others, all of whom were watching him anxiously. “So it was Martha who found my father?”
“Aye, lying dead in his bed, he was.” Alan shuddered. “Blankets soaked in blood and his throat slit. It’s a sight I’ll carry with me to my dying day.”
“How do you know it was Gisborne?” Will asked.
“We don’t for sure, but he came swanning into the manor barely a couple of hours later. He said he’d heard of Lord Locksley’s death, and that meant the manor was without an heir. He said that, as sheriff, he would take temporary charge of it until such time as a suitable custodian could be chosen.”
“That’s rubbish if ever I heard it,” Will burst out.
“Let me guess,” Robin said between gritted teeth. “No suitable lord was given the manor.”
“All we were told was that by order of Prince John, Locksley was once more part of the Gisborne estate. With you gone and Lord Locksley dead, the estate reverted back to its previous owners. We assumed Gisborne knew something we didn’t about you.”
“That’s why he sent a man to kill me,” Robin murmured,
mostly to himself. “He wanted the job finished.”
“He sent someone to kill you?” Much gazed at Robin in horror.
“Don’t worry, Much.” Will slapped Robin on the back. “Our Robin’s hale and hearty, as you can see. It was the assassin who got the worst of the deal. We found a ring bearing the Gisborne device on his body.”
“When did Gisborne become sheriff?” Robin asked.
“Not long before Lord Locksley was killed,” Matthew said. “He’s been ruling the shire for about six months.”
“Where is my father’s body?”
“Gisborne ordered him placed in a pauper’s grave.” Much didn’t meet Robin’s eyes. “He said the Locksleys had possessed the manor unlawfully and therefore did not deserve a nobleman’s burial.”
Robin slammed his fist down on the table, causing everyone to jump and the cups to rattle. Several men looked their way and then just as quickly turned back to their own conversations.
“Is he at Locksley Manor?”
“Aye, but you don’t want to go there, Robin.” There was real alarm in Alan’s voice. “This isn’t like when you were lads. Guy of Gisborne has power. He rules with a rod of iron. He taxes the people of the shire to death. Any who can’t pay are turned out of their homes or forced to watch as their houses are burned and their livestock slaughtered or stolen. More often than not, the men are imprisoned while their womenfolk and children are left to starve. The gallows in Nottingham are never empty. Anyone caught thieving loses both their hands, while any poachers are blinded, and those are some of the more lenient punishments. His captain, Hugo Beaumont, is just as bad. He’s married to Gisborne’s sister, and he’s utterly loyal to the family.”
Will’s normally cheerful face was grim. “It sounds like he’s gone power mad.”
Alan shrugged. “Who’s to stop him? He was appointed by Prince John.”
“I’d have thought Longchamp would have something to say about that,” Will remarked.
Robin shook his head. “Longchamp might be chancellor, but John has a chancellor of his own, and advisors who are more than happy to tell him what he wants to hear.”