Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  Harry’s body rested on a makeshift litter which stood alongside the altar. A blanket shrouded the still form. Beside it knelt Much. He gave no sign he had noticed them. He held his father’s hand as though he could will him back to life. His head was bowed. Candles burned at all four corners of the litter.

  Robin walked to Much’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Much looked up. His face was ravaged, and the pain in his eyes tore at Robin. At the sight of him, Much’s restraint broke. He slumped forward, and Robin barely managed to catch him. For several seconds, Much clung to him, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Robin held him until the spasms had passed.

  “Sorry. Much, I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”

  “No!” Much raised his face. His wet eyes held a fierce gleam. “You aren’t to blame, Robin. You didn’t kill him.”

  Robin disagreed. It may not have been his dagger that had ended Harry’s life, but he had brought their family nothing but trouble from the moment he first met Much’s sister Lucy. First her elder brother Peter, then Lucy herself, and now Harry had died, and all because they had become caught up in Robin’s long-standing feud with the Gisborne family.

  “Where’s Meg?” Robin asked.

  “She was overcome by grief,” Father Tuck explained. “She swooned and was taken home by some of the other women. I fear that witnessing her husband’s murder has damaged her mind.”

  “They will pay,” Robin said. “I promise you, Much, your father will be avenged.”

  “No!” Much gripped Robin’s wrist with surprising strength. “Alan is right, Robin. You must run away. Get as far as you can from this village and never return.”

  Robin shook his head. “Come, Much, you know me better than that. Do you think I would be happy while I knew my people suffered?”

  They left Much to his lonely vigil. Father Tuck and Alan escorted Robin and Will through the village. An unnatural silence hung over Locksley—the silence of grief and fear. Robin recognised it from the many towns the Christians had put to the sword in the Holy Land. Civilians cowered in their hovels, praying the marauders would pass them by.

  Robin was gripped by a strong sense of self-loathing. He had been one of those men—no better than Gisborne’s soldiers. He had been following orders, and he’d never taken life from innocents, as many of his comrades had done, but the villagers had still looked on him with fear.

  The word hypocrite resounded in his head with every footstep. Maybe he couldn’t atone for the harm done in the Holy Land, but he could save these people.

  A shadow slunk across their path, body low to the ground. Without thinking, Robin brought up his bow and fired. The wolf fell with a yelp, an arrow buried deep in its chest. Will and the others gaped at the fallen animal.

  “Never saw the blighter,” Will exclaimed.

  “They’re getting bolder,” Alan said. “One killed a lamb last week and wounded another, which later died.”

  Robin drew his sword.

  “What are you going to do?” Alan asked nervously.

  Robin didn’t answer. With a single swipe, he severed the wolf’s head from its body. He’d killed a wolf once before. That time, it had been to save a life—Gisborne’s, to be precise. If he’d let the wolf have him, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “Where is Edgar’s house?”

  Alan pointed. “It’s the reeve’s old dwelling, the biggest in the village apart from the manor itself.”

  Will had guessed what Robin intended. His face split in a grin. “Can I have the honour?”

  “Be my guest. Leave it outside his front door where he is certain to find it. That should send an appropriate message.”

  “I must protest,” Father Tuck broke in. “This is not wise.”

  “Then look the other way,” Robin said shortly. “Isn’t that what your kind usually does? It would not do for you to be found here. Go home. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Robin Hood has returned, indeed,” Alan said. Then he melted away.

  Will took up the grisly trophy and disappeared, leaving Robin alone with Father Tuck.

  “Aren’t you going to denounce me, Father? This ritual smacks of the satanic, after all.”

  “You will answer before God when the time comes, as will we all. Who am I to judge?”

  Robin was startled. This priest continued to surprise him. He’d expected the man to cross himself and call down hell fire. Against his will, Robin was developing a grudging respect for him.

  On the edge of Sherwood, Father Tuck turned to him. “While the sensible part of me agrees with Alan and Much that it would be safe for you to flee and never show your face in Locksley again, I fear for the safety of these good people. I am only one man. I cannot protect them. You, Robin Hood, may be their only hope.”

  Chapter 5

  Much rose after a sleepless night. His eyes ached and his head throbbed, but he knew if he didn’t do it now, he would never have the courage. His leg twinged as he put weight on it. It was particularly bad in winter. Sometimes it was so stiff, he couldn’t walk without the aid of a crutch. Things were better in summer. Then he could get about almost as well as anyone, apart from a slight limp.

  He glanced at the ceiling. His mam was asleep in the mill loft above. She’d sunk into an exhausted stupor some hours earlier, courtesy of a herbal draft provided by Father Tuck. Until then, she’d sat vacant-eyed, not seeming to recognise him or anyone else.

  Much was glad not to run into anybody as he made his way to the home of George the carpenter. He knew Lara was an early riser, and he wanted to speak to her first before approaching her da.

  Edward met him outside, clutching his longbow. A full quiver of arrows hung from his shoulder. He started guiltily when he saw Much, but his face set immediately in a mask of defiance.

  Edward was fourteen, two years younger than Much. When they were little, he, Edward and Lara had been inseparable—that was until Much’s accident. A certain awkwardness had grown between him and Edward after that. Edward had always been a healthy, energetic boy, while Much had been pale and sickly. He often wondered if Edward disapproved of his relationship with Lara. He felt a certain responsibility for the younger boy, whose reckless flouting of authority was bound to get him into trouble someday. Edward reminded Much all too painfully of his elder brother Peter.

  “You’re going out again.” Much made it a statement.

  “I’ve no choice. Mam’s strength isn’t what it was. If she doesn’t get a decent meal inside her, Da thinks she’ll…” Edward didn’t finish the sentence—he did not have to.

  This winter had been a severe one. The harvest had been poor, and Gisborne’s crippling taxes, coupled with the amount of grain and other food produce he insisted his tenants give him, had left many close to starvation. Edward was not the only one who had taken his bow and gone into Sherwood in hopes of killing a deer to feed his family.

  “You shouldn’t go yet,” Much said. “Likely there are soldiers still searching the forest for Robin.”

  Edward grinned, though his eyes remained dull. “Then they’ll be too busy to worry about the likes of me.”

  “I’m serious, Edward. Wait a day at least.”

  “My mam may not have a day. She took ill last night. Those horsons destroyed everything we had—even Da’s tools. The shock was too much for her. You know she’s never been strong. I can’t sit back and do nothing.” Edward’s voice broke.

  Much was horrified. By a single act of cruelty, Hugo Beaumont’s soldiers had destroyed George’s livelihood. He had no means of earning a living, apart from what he could get working the fields. It wouldn’t be enough to pay his rent or taxes, and Edgar would take great delight in evicting him and his family on behalf of his master.

  “Just have a care, that’s all. It would break Lara’s heart if anything happened to you, and she’s going to need you.”

  Edward’s gaze on Much sharpened. “What do you mean by that? Why are you out so early, anyway?”


  “I need to speak to Lara.”

  “What about?”

  “I mean to set her free. A pretty lass like her shouldn’t be saddled with a cripple like me. She needs someone better. Someone who can protect her.”

  “That’s nonsense if ever I heard it,” Edward retorted.

  Much was startled by his vehemence. He’d been certain Edward would agree with him. He surely wanted better for his sister.

  “Don’t you see?” he pleaded. “I can’t keep Lara safe. You saw what happened yesterday. You saw those soldiers throw my da in the dirt as if he were nothing. I couldn’t stop them.”

  Edward’s voice was low and fierce. “You’ll break her heart. She’s been soft on you for years. You know that.”

  “And you think your da would really want me in his family? A cripple?”

  “It isn’t up to him,” a new female voice said.

  Lara had come out of the cottage. She glared from the longbow in Edward’s hand to Much.

  “I’m out of here,” Edward said, backing hastily away from his sister. Much opened his mouth to call after him, but chided himself for being a coward. He had come to speak to Lara, after all. He couldn’t hide behind her younger brother.

  “You heard everything?”

  “Aye, and you’re a fool, Much.”

  “Lara, I—”

  “Do you think I care if you’re a cripple? Do you think it makes any difference?”

  “Of course it does. You need someone who can protect you.”

  “Don’t you be telling me what I need.” Her eyes were bright. Guilt stabbed through Much. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry. He put out a hand to her.

  “I want you to be safe, that’s all. I don’t want to lose you, too.” His voice failed on the final word.

  She took his hand, gripping tightly. “That’s good, because I’m not going anywhere. No, listen!” she said sternly as he opened his mouth to object. “No one is safe these days. It doesn’t matter if they’re healthy or not. Look at your da. He wasn’t a cripple, and he could no more stop those soldiers. I want you, Much. No one else. Even if you walk away, I would not take another husband, so you might as well stay.”

  There was no arguing with her logic, and in all honesty, Much didn’t want to. He’d tried to set her free, believing it was the right thing to do, knowing that to see her in the arms of another would be more than he could stand, but she still wanted him in spite of his disability. Much drew her close. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he played with a long lock of her hair that had come loose from her thick braid.

  “Promise you won’t leave me,” she whispered.

  Against his better judgement, Much felt his resistance crumbling. She was the light of his life. Without her, there wasn’t much point in anything. He’d been foolish to think she would give him up without a fight. Maybe he was weak and selfish, but in that moment, with her warm in his arms, he knew the only place he wanted to be was by her side. “I promise,” he whispered against her lips.

  ***

  Robin woke alone. He lay on his back, one forearm over his eyes as memories of the night before washed over him. Harry was dead.

  He wondered if Edgar had found his message yet. If so, he was probably barricaded inside his house, trembling. He would learn what it was to have Robin for an enemy.

  It had taken Robin a long time to fall asleep, and the nightmares had been waiting for him. He’d jolted awake to find Will lying beside him, close enough to touch. He’d almost reached out for him, told him everything, but the old shame and humiliation choked off his words and kept him rigid where he lay.

  Robin reached for his bow. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been a whole day since he had last eaten. He stepped out of the cave where they had sheltered, feeling his chest loosen with relief to be back in light and fresh air.

  Movement caught his eye. Will was practising with his sword. Though it was cold, he had stripped off his jerkin. It was draped over a nearby tree branch. Robin watched, hypnotised, as Will moved through a complicated series of exercises. His body dipped and rose with the grace of a dancer. His arm moved with such speed, it was impossible to follow every single move. It was as if the sword were an extension of his hand. Sweat made the tunic cling to his well-muscled frame. Robin’s own body responded to the sight, a keen arousal that was almost painful. It made the breath catch in his throat.

  No! He fought it, using every ounce of his will. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t afford to feel like this. Normally, he was adept at holding back such emotions, but every so often, when he was unguarded or vulnerable, they blindsided him. Robin gritted his teeth, his hand clenching around his bow, until, with a sheer effort of will, he forced his rapidly beating heart to slow. The tightness in his groin eased, and he could breathe freely again. He felt oddly empty, as though something vital and precious had been killed.

  Will turned then, and saw him. He lowered his sword, and the grin Robin knew so well broke across his face.

  “You’re awake, then. I was afraid you’d sleep the day away.”

  Robin took a deep breath, making absolutely sure no emotion would show in his voice. “I’m going hunting.”

  “Good. I’m starved.”

  Robin’s lips almost twitched. “Why don’t you gather some kindling and make a fire?”

  “Are you sure that’s wise? We don’t want to give away our position to Gisborne’s men.”

  “We are not the only outlaws in Sherwood, and it’s too cold to go without. Besides, I don’t intend to eat my breakfast raw. I shan’t be long.”

  Without giving Will time to answer, Robin melted into the trees. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Will as he could.

  He chose a direction at random. Part of his attention was on the forest, reading it for deer prints. Though he had never hunted for his living before, he was a skilled tracker and he knew Sherwood like the back of his hand.

  Keeping Will at arm’s length was becoming increasingly difficult. Will was no fool. He knew something troubled Robin. During the day, Robin was able to keep a tight rein on himself, but at night, when he was asleep, it was a different matter. How long would Will wait before finally attempting to force the truth out of him? How long before these dreams left him in peace? Robin hated what he was doing to Will, but he saw no way to stop it.

  His mind left Sherwood, drifting back to a day under a blazing desert sun.

  ***

  Silence lay over the desert. After the din of battle, it was all the more terrible. Robin’s ears still rang with the screams of the wounded and dying, the keening of women as their fathers, brothers and husbands were cut down before their eyes and they themselves were raped and brutalised by so-called Christian men. The walls of Acre had been reduced to rubble, crushing bodies beneath them. Yet more bodies littered the battleground, Christian and Saracen, united in death as they had not been in life.

  Robin picked his way among the grisly remains, searching. He tried not to see the carnage, but it was impossible to ignore. Men lay in crumpled heaps, hacked apart by swords or transfixed by spears and arrows. There were women, too, many of them naked, their flesh carved like meat. And children, their bodies pitifully small in death.

  Blood had seeped into the ground. Robin himself was covered in it. It adhered to him like a second skin. Here and there, men still lived, calling out weakly, perhaps in prayer, perhaps for a loved one. Most of the wounded had been taken from the battlefield. Those who were left had been deemed too near death to be worth saving.

  Robin saw a soldier, younger than him, his battered helmet lying beside him. His stomach had been torn open. Blood had soaked the ground beneath him and his face was twisted in agony. He cried out, his eyes wide with panic.

  Robin bent over him. “It’s all right. Lie still.”

  The man’s eyes found him. His voice was a desperate croak. “Make it stop.”

  Pity stirred inside Robin. What would this boy’s
family be told? That he had fought bravely? There was nothing brave about this scene. Though the Christians had won, and Acre was no more, it didn’t feel like a victory. People like this young boy had died to gratify the egos of a few warrior kings.

  Robin drew the dagger from his belt. “This will make it stop.”

  The blow was quick. The man twitched once and then lay still. Robin sheathed his knife, his momentary feeling of pity replaced by renewed worry. This boy had distracted him. He needed to find Will. He had not been brought in with the wounded, and if he was among the dead, Robin had no intention of leaving him out here to rot. He would be buried along with the others.

  Robin’s stomach clenched and his eyes burned. The thought of Will dead was impossible to contemplate. Robin had never known anyone more alive. If Will was gone, what would he do? How would he carry on? He had no faith in the cause they fought for. Will had come here because he’d followed Robin. If he was dead, then it was Robin’s fault.

  He continued to make his way through the dreadful carnage. He pushed bodies aside and lifted others, turning them onto their backs to scan their faces. More than once he disturbed carrion birds, which squawked angrily as they flew off in search of new prey. Bluebottles hung around the dead in clouds, filling the air with their monotonous buzzing. The panic built in him, almost breaking his control.

  Then, as he lifted a man in a torn and blood-spattered Crusader’s tunic, he saw there was another pinned beneath him. Robin rolled the man’s inert body away, and relief washed over him, followed almost immediately by dread. Will lay curled on his side, his brown hair matted with blood. More blood soaked his tunic, though Robin was sure most of it was from the man who’d been lying on top of him. The body had been cut and slashed almost beyond recognition. Robin dropped beside Will.

  “Will! It’s Robin. Wake up.” Will didn’t stir. With trembling hands, Robin examined his body for injuries. He saw nothing obvious. He lifted Will’s body in his arms, and Will let out a moan.

  “Thank God!” Robin breathed.

  Will’s eyes fluttered. “Robin?”