by N B Dixon
The litter came to a halt so sharply that it tipped, spilling the abbot out onto the forest floor. He heard laughter and, looking up, saw two men: one giant who appeared to be driving the wagon on which the money chests were loaded, and another man who carried a drawn sword and wore his hair long.
“Nice of you to drop in, My Lord Abbot,” the swordsman said with a grin.
“Who are you?” the abbot demanded. “How dare you waylay me in such a manner? I am a man of the cloth.”
“So you are,” the giant agreed. “There’s a friend of ours who wants to meet you.”
The abbot looked wildly around for the soldiers, but saw no sign of them.
“What have you done to my escort, you scoundrels? If you have killed them, there will be a pit full of fire and brimstone waiting for you in hell.”
Both men exchanged mock-frightened glances. “I’d hate to land in a pit of brimstone, wouldn’t you, Will?”
“I was destined for that pit long ago,” the smaller man—Will—said cheerfully. “Your soldiers won’t be coming after us, that’s for sure. Come on, Abbot. The sooner you do as you’re told, the sooner you can go on your way.”
The abbot had no choice. With the swordsman at his side and the giant behind on the wagon, he was led deeper and deeper into Sherwood. He soon had no idea of his bearings at all and was certain that without a guide, he would never be able to find his way back to civilisation.
The men came to a halt. The abbot, not expecting it, lurched into Will, who steadied him with a solicitous hand. He produced a length of cloth and without ceremony, began to wind it around the abbot’s eyes.
The abbot started, letting out an inarticulate sound of protest, but Will held him still without effort. The abbot knew there was no point struggling. The man had a grip like iron. Will gave no explanation for his actions. The giant dismounted from the wagon, hoisting the chests into his arms.
They walked a considerable way like this. Will kept a firm hand on the abbot’s arm, but he often stumbled over hidden rabbit holes and tussocks of grass. Though Will was careful not to let him fall, he made no effort to ease the abbot’s path, either. Branches whipped across his face, and cruel thorns and brambles snagged his clothing and left scratches on exposed skin.
At length, the smell of wood smoke reached the abbot’s nostrils, together with the familiar scent of roasting meat. His dread increased. With the blindfold in place, running was out of the question. Even if he could see where he was going, years of rich living and little exercise made flight almost impossible.
The abbot was jerked to a stop and, to his relief, the blindfold was removed. He stood blinking, gazing around him at what appeared to be a miniature camp. A boy in his mid-teens was tending a deer roasting on a spit over a fire, while a small, wiry man was filling skins with ale. An older man sat to one side of the fire, his leg propped on a log. With a thrill of recognition, the abbot saw Sir Richard of Lee, the knight whose debts had nearly led him to the gallows. Which meant the dark-haired man moving forward to greet him was…
“Bring him to the fire,” Robin Hood said. “He and I need to have a little talk.”
The abbot was propelled forward. He stared at his captor with mingled terror and fury. He’d heard the stories—who hadn’t?
The outlaw was young, yet they all deferred to him. When he turned merciless green eyes on his prisoner, the abbot felt sure his death had come.
“I warn you, I am under the protection of the sheriff. If you harm me, it will be the worse for you.” The abbot hated the way his voice shook.
Robin Hood was not impressed by his statement. “Tie him up.”
The abbot was manhandled over to the nearest tree. His wrists were bound behind him and another rope was wrapped around his waist, secured to the bindings tying his hands and then to the tree. The trunk was thick and ancient. He was utterly helpless. The rope bit into his flesh, but he managed not to cry out.
Robin Hood was still watching him with that pitiless gaze. Mixed in with his terror, the abbot felt confusion. It seemed he was not to be killed, but held hostage. Perhaps the outlaws hoped they would get a ransom for him.
At last, Robin turned his attention to the boy tending the meat. “Is that ready, Edward?”
The boy nodded.
“Then bring some for our holy guest.”
The boy, Edward, approached the abbot. He speared a piece of meat with the tip of his knife and shoved it at the abbot’s face. The abbot opened his mouth, more from instinct than because he wanted any food. The meat was shoved roughly between his lips and juice dribbled down his chin. His cheeks burned with humiliation, but he could do nothing except chew the morsel he was given. The boy waved another piece of meat in front of his face, his knife coming perilously close to the abbot’s nose. In this way, piece by piece, the abbot was fed. The meat was succulent, but his face and habit were soon smeared with juice.
At a signal from Robin, the boy moved away, only to return again with a skin of ale. He tipped it towards the abbot’s mouth. The abbot gulped down the bitter-tasting brew, choking on it a little.
“Is that not to your taste?” the wiry little man asked. “I thought it was good, myself. We liberated it from some foresters two days since.”
“You’ve drunk stolen ale and eaten the king’s deer,” the giant commented. “By law, you should swing for it.”
“What do you want with me?” the abbot demanded. He’d meant to sound scathing and authoritative, but his voice came out as a frightened squeak.
Robin Hood set down his ale. Unlike the others, he had not helped himself to the venison, but had sat and watched every mouthful the abbot swallowed as though he begrudged the need to feed him.
“First,” he said quietly, “there is the matter of a reckoning.”
Icy fingers of terror stroked up and down the abbot’s spine. “A reckoning? For what, pray?”
Robin indicated Sir Richard of Lee. “This good man came to you for help.”
“And I gave him money,” the abbot interrupted swiftly. “If it were not for me, he would not have been able to pay his nephew’s bail.”
“If it were not for you, that same boy would not have been sentenced to swing from a Portsmouth gallows.”
The abbot swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “I gave Sir Richard plenty of time to pay.”
“You took everything he had. Just as you did the people of Blidworth.”
The abbot winced. How on earth had they found out about Blidworth? He opened his mouth to defend himself, but under Robin’s icy stare, the words died in his throat.
“You claim to be a man of God, a servant of Christ. You are nothing but a thief. And there is only one way to deal with thieves.”
His men were all looking worried. Will, who sat closest to Robin, reached out and gripped his arm. “What are you doing?” he hissed in an undertone, which nevertheless reached the abbot. “We can’t kill him.”
Robin shook him off. “You’re right.” He turned to the abbot. “By rights, I should string you up from the nearest tree, but the Bible teaches us to be merciful to our enemies, so I’ll settle for a fee.”
For a moment, the abbot was bewildered. Then he realised what the outlaw leader meant. “No! That money is not mine. It is coin raised in tithes for the Church.”
“I’m aware of that. It seems strange to me that the Church is prepared to take money while those in its care are starving to death. Do you not find it odd, Abbot, that an outlaw is telling you how a Christian should behave?”
Robin gestured to the giant. He got up and strode to the place where he had dumped the chests. With one blow of the mighty axe he carried, the lock of the first splintered. The abbot watched in dismay as the man folded back the lid, revealing several neatly stacked bags bulging with coins. They clinked as the giant lifted one out, handling it between his massive fingers.
The abbot took a desperate gamble. “That is all the money there i
s. The other two chests hold books and holy relics that I was transporting. They will be of no interest to you.”
“Really?” The giant was grinning. “Then you won’t mind if we have a look.” He struck off the lock of the second chest, revealing more bags fat with money. The abbot could only watch in impotent fury as John and Will emptied all three chests of their contents and began sifting through the money bags.
“This will keep the villagers fed for months to come,” Will declared.
Robin had watched this performance in silence, his face expressionless. The wiry man and the boy had also joined in the counting of the coins. Only Sir Richard stayed where he was. He had clearly sustained some sort of injury. If not for that, the abbot suspected he would have rushed over to claim his share.
Robin turned his attention to the abbot once more. “It seems you are lying. If there’s one thing I detest above all others, it is a dishonest man.”
The abbot quailed—he couldn’t help it. He was certain that Robin would cut his throat.
“Untie him, Will, if you would.”
Will shot his leader a questioning glance, but he drew his dagger and quickly cut through the bonds securing the abbot to the tree trunk and finally the bindings around his wrists. The abbot rubbed his arms, trying to restore the circulation.
Robin strolled over to another tree against which a longbow was leaning. A quiver of arrows had been slung over a low-hanging branch. To the abbot’s horror, Robin proceeded to string the bow and select an arrow.
“Robin, that’s enough,” Sir Richard called. “You’ve made your point.”
“But we still haven’t discussed the abbot’s fee.”
“You’ve taken everything I had,” the abbot protested.
“Not true. This money was never yours in the first place. You still need to pay for your supper.”
“But I never asked for it.”
Robin ignored him. “How about some entertainment?” he suggested.
Will and John half rose, arms outstretched as if to restrain Robin. The outlaw raised his bow and fired. The arrow thudded into the earth, inches from the abbot’s boots. The abbot leapt back with a squeal of fright, and Robin fired again. This time, the arrow nicked the abbot’s toe.
Robin fired several arrows in quick succession, each one coming within a hair’s breadth of the abbot’s feet. He leapt and danced aside, trying to avoid the deadly missiles while the laughter of the others rang through the clearing. Only Robin and Sir Richard did not join in. Robin’s face was set in a grim mask, while Sir Richard looked on.
The abbot was soon out of breath. This was the most physical exercise he’d had in too long to remember. Another ungainly leap caused him to stumble and fall flat on his face at Robin’s feet.
Robin looked down at him. “I think that should cover the price of a meal.”
The abbot picked himself up, watching Robin with mingled fear and hatred.
“John and Will shall escort you out of Sherwood. You must be blindfolded, of course.”
“I will see you excommunicated,” the abbot spluttered, still gasping for breath. The front of his habit was covered with grass stains and small twigs, which he brushed at ineffectually. He was aware he did not cut a very impressive figure, and the knowledge infuriated him.
Once again, the blindfold was secured over the abbot’s eyes and he was led away. After what felt like a lifetime, it was removed. Will pointed. “The Nottingham road is through those trees. I’d stay clear of Sherwood if I were you.”
“What of my litter and horses?”
Will grinned. “Oh that’s right, Robin forgot to tell you. They’re part of the fee, too.”
The abbot opened his mouth, then shut it again. Protesting would be useless.
“You might want to look after your villagers better in future,” the giant advised. Then they faded into the forest, as if they had never been there at all.
***
Prince John speared Guy with his haughty gaze. “You are telling me, Sheriff, that the wolf’s head has been running rings around you? A handful of no-good peasants are making a fool of you and your soldiers?”
Guy fought the urge to squirm. He was not the only one looking uncomfortable. Hugo Beaumont appeared very interested in the tapestry on the wall. Only Katrina looked at ease.
“Robin Hood is no ordinary outlaw, Sire. He was a nobleman and a Crusader.”
Prince John brought his palm down on the table with a decisive smack. “He is one man, Gisborne. Spare me your excuses and tell me what you intend to do about him?”
“While he is in Sherwood, he has the advantage, Sire. I’m ashamed to admit he knows the forest a good deal better than any of my men. Captain Beaumont and his soldiers have searched Sherwood for months and have been unable to find him.”
Beaumont flinched and Katrina shot Guy a venomous look, but he didn’t care. It was time Prince John directed his wrath at someone else. Ever since his arrival at Nottingham Castle, the prince had made it clear he held Guy accountable for the upsurge of outlaw activity.
Before Hugo could open his mouth to defend himself, a timid knock on the door heralded the arrival of Joel.
“Yes?” Guy snapped.
Joel made a jerky bow in Prince John’s direction. “Begging your pardon for interrupting, but the Abbot of Saint Mary’s is here and demanding to see the sheriff.”
Prince John’s face relaxed into a smile. “Bring him in at once.”
Guy bit back his annoyance. He resented the prince giving orders in his own castle, but then it occurred to him that really he was just its custodian. The prince had every right to throw his royal weight around.
Joel ushered in the abbot. He looked a mess. Twigs and leaves adhered to his habit, which was filthy and stained. There were scratches on his face and hands. Joel withdrew after a second bow to the prince.
“My Lord Abbot.” Guy pulled a chair out solicitously. “What on earth has happened to you? Please sit down and take some wine.”
The abbot took the cup in shaking hands. He stared around at all of them through bloodshot eyes.
“I have been robbed,” he announced. His voice shook with a mixture of terror and rage.
“Robbed?” Prince John repeated incredulously. “By whom?”
“Robin Hood.” The abbot spat out the name like a foul taste in his mouth. He drained the cup and held it out in a wordless demand for more. As there were no servants to hand, Guy obliged.
“We were ambushed,” the abbot went on plaintively. “It was as we were passing through Sherwood. We were set upon by outlaws with arrows.”
“What of my men?” Hugo asked.
“I fear their souls are with God. I did not see what became of them. My litter was captured. I was blindfolded and taken deep into the forest. I was brought to the camp of Robin Hood, where I was bound to a tree and humiliated.”
“And the money?” Prince John interrupted. “I believe you were bringing money destined for the Church.”
“It galls me to say that they took it all—every penny.”
Prince John leapt out of his seat. He strode around the table until he was leaning over Guy. He was a short man, but as Guy was sitting, the prince had the advantage.
“This cannot continue,” he hissed. Guy felt flecks of spit strike his cheek. “I will not have my authority mocked in such a manner. I want this outlaw caught and swinging from a gallows. Do you understand, Guy? If you are unable to complete the task, I shall replace you with someone more competent.”
He swept from the room. The abbot got to his feet and scurried after him, leaving Guy, Katrina and Hugo alone.
“What will you do now, brother?” Katrina asked.
Guy rounded on her. “You seem to have the answers. You’ve been saying for some time that the only way to capture Locksley is to lure him out of Sherwood, so I’m all ears. Tell me how it can be done.”
“Locksley is a good archer,” Katrina said simply. “Propose an archery conte
st as entertainment for Prince John. Make it known that a special prize will be offered, say perhaps a hundred marks. If that doesn’t bring Locksley out of Sherwood, nothing will.”
***
Marian paced her room. She knew she ought to ask Ursula to prepare her for bed. It was late, but she was too restless to sleep. Maybe tonight he would finally summon her. Surely he would want to speak to her regarding her future. Marian could imagine him closeted away with Guy, discussing her as if she were a horse they were contemplating buying. Guy was probably stating his case for consideration. Unbeknown to him, Marian had a means of thwarting his ambition. All she needed was some time alone with the prince.
“Will you not retire, My Lady?” Ursula suggested timidly. “You will wear yourself out pacing about like that.”
“What is causing this delay?” Marian burst out. She did not expect an answer, but it did her good to release some of her frustration. “How long is he going to keep me waiting? Does he enjoy suspending this over my head?”
Ursula said nothing. She was not expected to speak, but Marian would have welcomed any advice at this point.
Conceding defeat, Marian went to sit on the edge of the bed. “Very well, Ursula. Help me prepare for bed, though I doubt any sleep will find me tonight.”
Ursula was on her feet at once, setting aside the embroidery she had been working on. She helped Marian out of her gown and freed her hair from its confining braid. With a comb, she began teasing out the twists the plaiting had left behind. The soothing strokes relaxed Marian, and she was beginning to feel drowsy, when an insistent knocking at her door jolted her back to full alertness.
“My Lady, the prince wishes to speak with you.”