Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  Robin was beginning to congratulate himself on a battle won, when he saw Wat fall.

  Wat had never been good with a sword, in spite of all Will and Sir Richard’s efforts to train him. The quarterstaff was his preferred weapon, and a soldier got in under Wat’s guard. The blade drove deep into his chest. Wat’s eyes flew wide, then he was collapsing to the forest floor.

  John released a bellow like a wounded animal. He charged the offending soldier, his axe swinging in a mighty arc that took the man’s head from his shoulders.

  Meanwhile, Beaumont was fighting Sir Richard. Once, it might have been an even contest, but Sir Richard was older and slower.

  Robin knew a moment of utter panic. He saw the same horror reflected in Will’s eyes. Both of them renewed their efforts, desperate to reach Sir Richard, but they were hemmed in by soldiers. Robin slashed and hacked, but always there seemed to be another man in his way. Then the unthinkable happened. Beaumont’s sword darted in like a striking snake to bury itself in Sir Richard’s belly.

  Robin heard a cry and realised it was his own. He was barely aware of killing his opponent. His way to Beaumont was clear.

  Beaumont had ripped his sword from Sir Richard’s body. Stooping, he wiped the blade on the fallen knight’s tunic. He straightened in time to see Robin’s sword cleaving through the air towards him. He raised his own sword in defence, but he was not swift enough. Robin’s blade caught him in the neck. Beaumont’s sword slipped from slack fingers. He dropped to his knees, terrible gurgling sounds coming from his throat. Robin gazed at the dying man for several seconds before another quick slash of his sword ended Beaumont’s life.

  On seeing the death of their captain, the remaining soldiers threw down their weapons and fled into Sherwood; none of the outlaws tried to stop them.

  Robin rushed to Sir Richard’s side, Will on his heels. Incredibly, the knight was still breathing, though already his eyes were filming over with the approach of death.

  A fist of pain clamped itself around Robin’s heart and twisted tight. He reached out and smoothed back the hair from Sir Richard’s face. Sir Richard’s hand shot out, clutching his wrist with surprising strength.

  “It seems my time has finally come.”

  “No!” The word was a shout of denial. Tears slid down Robin’s face. He made no effort to wipe them away. “We’ll take you to the abbey infirmary.”

  “It’s too late.” Sir Richard’s voice was matter-of-fact, despite his weakness. “There’s nothing anyone can do for me now. You’ve seen battle, Robin. You know what I say is true.” He gasped as a spasm of pain took him.

  Will had taken Sir Richard’s other hand. He and Robin stared at each other across his body. Will’s eyes mirrored Robin’s pain. The knight had been a mentor to both of them. To Robin, he was the father Lord Locksley never had been. For Will, he was the man who had believed in a peasant boy and given him a chance to make something of his life.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Robin saw Marian approaching, Ursula with her. Both women joined David, Edward and Daphne, who stood at a respectful distance. John was bending over Wat. Around them lay the bodies of soldiers. It had been a victory, but the cost had been high.

  Sir Richard’s hand clenched Robin’s more firmly. “I’m proud of you, Robin. Your father would be, too.”

  It was a lie. Robin bowed his head. “You can’t go. Not yet.” He knew the words were childish.

  The ghost of a smile flitted across Sir Richard’s lips. “I’ve lived a good life, Robin. You’ve been like a son to me. Will, too. Look after each other.”

  Robin met Will’s gaze briefly. So much hung unsaid between them.

  Sir Richard gave a small sigh and breathed no more. Robin laid the knight’s hands across his breast and reached down to close his eyes. Will was scrubbing hard at the wetness on his own cheeks.

  “He was a good man,” Robin said.

  “Aye,” Will managed. “He was.”

  Nearby, John was drawing the hood over Wat’s face. He looked up at Robin and Will, his expression bleak. “He could be a dishonest bastard at times, but he was my friend.”

  “He was one of us,” Will said.

  Robin struggled against the grief and anger trying to force their way out. He beat them down. Now was not the time.

  “We’ll return to the abbey. I’ve no doubt Abbess Evelyn will allow us to lay them to rest in the graveyard.”

  Marian ventured near. She was pale, and there were scratches on her face and arms. “Robin, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Daphne snapped. “Being sorry won’t bring them back. They’re dead because of you.”

  “Daphne, enough.” John’s voice was unusually subdued. “They weren’t forced to fight.”

  Robin stayed silent. He knew it wasn’t fair to blame Marian, but a part of him did anyway. She stepped close to him and kissed his cheek. Her lips were warm and soft. Even as Robin’s brain registered what had happened, she was turning away.

  “Ursula and I should return to the abbey. We will be safe there, at least for tonight.”

  “Gisborne won’t be in a hurry to send more men,” Will said. “He’ll need to appoint a new captain, for starters.” He gestured to where Beaumont’s body lay in a crumpled heap. The ground all around him was saturated with blood.

  ***

  Katrina lay listless and still against a mound of pillows. Though the bearskin coverings were pulled right up to her chin, she still shivered. Her body hurt, but that was nothing to the pain in her heart.

  The news had reached her just before dawn. It was what she had dreaded. Hugo was dead; Locksley had killed him. A scream rose up in her throat, fighting to get out, but her throat constricted, choking it off before it could begin. Her eyes were dry and gritty. She had already cried enough tears in which to drown.

  One hand moved to lie over her womb. It was empty now, empty of life and promise. At the news of Hugo’s death, the child inside her had died also. She would not even have that piece of him to carry with her. Locksley had robbed her of husband and child in the space of a night.

  You will pay. The words were a silent vow. If it takes the rest of my life, you will suffer for what you took from me.

  Guy didn’t care. His only concern was the incompetence of his captain, and Prince John’s anger when he heard about Locksley’s latest victory. He didn’t care that Hugo was dead.

  Well, she didn’t need him. She was alone in the world, and that was all right. Locksley would die at her hand—no one else’s.

  Chapter 18

  Guy knocked on the door of Prince John’s private solar. A dull voice commanded him to enter.

  Guy straightened from his bow to find the prince sitting slumped in his chair by a dying fire. It was a measure of his preoccupation that he did not bawl at Guy to have a servant stoke it up again.

  “How many dead?” His tone was flat and weary.

  “Twenty-five, Sire, my own captain among them.”

  “It seems no one can rid me of this wolf’s head.”

  Guy was finding the prince’s lacklustre mood disturbing. He was used to Prince John ranting and raving, not slumped in defeat.

  “I shall send out more men. I’ll burn the abbey to the ground if I must.”

  “No. The Lady Marian must stay where she is for now.”

  Guy stared at him in disbelief. “But Sire, the lands—”

  “You heard me, Gisborne.” Prince John’s voice had regained its usual snappish quality. “The Abbot of Saint Mary’s came to visit me yesterday. It seems the Church is none too happy about your attempt to drag Lady Marian from her current place of sanctuary.”

  Of course they weren’t. The abbot knew very well that if Marian gave herself to Christ, the Church would benefit. Guy bit back the retort that hovered at the tip of his tongue. “He would listen to you, Sire.”

  “There’s the rub, Gisborne. In the eyes of many, I am a pretender, nothing more. Never mind the fact that under my brother, Engla
nd is close to bankruptcy. Never mind that she would be much better off in the hands of someone who cares about her people. I need support if my seizure of the throne is to be legal. The Church has a good deal of influence. Without them, the barons will not fall into line.”

  And there it was. Prince John would do nothing to anger the Church, even if it meant losing Huntingdon. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

  Meanwhile, Marian was under Locksley’s protection. No doubt she had opened her legs for him already. Guy strangled the air as if it were Locksley’s throat. Was there nothing the man wouldn’t take from him? Without Prince John as an ally, he was helpless to do anything.

  “Of course,” Prince John said, “if you ever manage to kill Robin Hood, I might reconsider.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

  Gritting his teeth, Guy left.

  ***

  Summer gave way to autumn. Owing to the severe drought, the harvest was poor.

  There had been an uneasy calm since the failed attack on the abbey. Robin and his fellow outlaws continued to rob merchants and nobles, but the castle remained unusually quiet. According to rumour, Gisborne had sent out far and wide to recruit a new captain. Katrina, it was said, had gone into seclusion since her husband’s death.

  Robin paid regular visits to Sir Richard’s and Martha’s graves, which were carefully tended by Father Tuck. Occasionally, the kindly priest would invite Robin to sample his homemade mead. Father Tuck proved to be an excellent source of information, and kept Robin apprised of many of the doings in Nottingham. It was from him that Robin learned of the appointment of Philip Mark as Gisborne’s new captain. He was said to be an experienced mercenary with a fearsome reputation. He would bear watching.

  Robin sat across from Much and Alan at the Blue Boar. Since Edgar’s death, Gisborne had not seen fit to replace his steward in Locksley, and the outlaws were able to come and go more freely.

  “How is the grain situation?” Robin asked. “Will it be enough to get Locksley through the winter?”

  Alan shook his head. “By the time the Church has taken its share in tithes, we’ll be lucky if there’s enough left to feed ourselves.”

  “How can I help?”

  “We wondered if you might be willing to hide some of the grain in Sherwood,” Much said. “A representative will arrive tomorrow to collect what is due. Rumour is it’s this Philip Mark.”

  Robin nodded. “I’ll send Will and John with a cart tonight. It will be safe enough in Sherwood.”

  Both Alan and Much relaxed.

  “How are things at the abbey?” Alan asked.

  “It’s been quiet there for months. We stayed close for a few weeks after the initial attack, but no other attempt was made to abduct Lady Marian. As far as I know, she bides there still.”

  Much frowned. “Does she intend to take her vows, then?”

  Robin shrugged. “She will be safe from Gisborne in the abbey.”

  ***

  Philip Mark saluted as he entered the solar. He was dressed for riding—a light coat of chain mail over tunic and hose, a formidable broadsword slung at his side.

  “The Abbot of Saint Mary’s is insistent the grain be delivered to him tomorrow,” Guy said.

  Philip Mark nodded. “I have ordered a detail of men to set out first thing in the morning.”

  “You may find the peasants somewhat recalcitrant.”

  “Recalcitrant creatures can be broken.”

  Guy regarded his new captain. In many ways, Philip Mark had been the ideal person to succeed Beaumont as leader of the Nottingham garrison, but something about him was unsettling. His expression never altered, nor did his quiet tone of voice. It was impossible to tell if he was angry or amused. Guy did not like people he couldn’t read. It made them far harder to control.

  Philip Mark had been a personal recommendation from Prince John. An experienced soldier, he had served in Ireland during Prince John’s ill-fated attempt to rule the country. It was said he had put entire towns to the sword. But nothing moved him. He did not, for instance, have the naked lust for power that Beaumont had shown. Guy was afraid of him, and he hated it. It was time to take back some initiative.

  “You may be aware that Locksley village is friendly to Robin Hood and his outlaws.”

  “I should think so, My Lord, since it was his home.”

  “Beaumont failed to capture the wolf’s head. I trust you will have better luck. No one is expendable, Captain, and Prince John wants results.”

  The man’s face did not so much as twitch. “If that is all, My Lord, perhaps I might be permitted to go about my business.”

  “Do, Captain.”

  ***

  “I don’t recognise the one in front,” Much said. The villagers of Locksley had congregated as soon as the news spread that riders had been sighted.

  Alan nodded. “It must be that new captain, Philip Mark. He’s a nasty-looking customer.”

  Much had to agree. As the captain reined in his mount, surveying the gathered villagers as though they were animals he was eyeing up for slaughter, Much could not hold back an involuntary shudder. The man’s eyes were dead. He exuded an aura of cruelty.

  “I am here to collect the grain due to the Church.” His voice was as devoid of emotion as his eyes.

  Alan, the unofficial headman of Locksley since Edgar’s death, stepped forward. “It is in the barn, My Lord.”

  Philip Mark gestured to two of his men. Alan led them away with every appearance of calm. Much watched him go with a sharp pang of unease. Beside him, Jane’s hand crept into Lara’s.

  Much was certain that, like him, the villagers were wondering what the captain would do when his men returned. He didn’t doubt the soldiers would take all they had, not just what was due in tithes to the Church.

  The men were soon back. Alan was unscathed, to Much’s relief. The men proceeded to load the sacks they carried into the waiting cart. Much exchanged glances with Alan. From his bleak look, Much knew his suspicions were correct. The soldiers had taken everything. Much blessed Robin in his mind.

  Philip Mark dismounted from his horse and approached the cart. He inspected the sacks piled there, then turned his flat, merciless gaze on Alan.

  “This is it?” The question, spoken so softly that Much had to strain to hear it, sent a fresh chill down his spine.

  If Alan was afraid, he did not show it. “Your men have taken all we have.”

  “You expect me to believe that these few measly sacks are all the grain you have? Perhaps you can explain how it is that all the surrounding villages were able to yield twice as much.”

  “I cannot speak for other villages,” Alan said.

  The captain turned from him to his men. “Search the village. Bring any food you find—fruit, vegetables, anything.”

  “We’ll starve,” someone in the crowd protested.

  “Then perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me where the rest of the grain is.”

  No one spoke. Philip Mark signalled to his men, who set about their work. The villagers were forced to watch as the food stores were raided. Anything edible was loaded into the waiting cart. The soldiers entered people’s houses, removing any food stuffs they found. Several women began weeping.

  “Captain, I must protest,” Father Tuck cried. “You go too far. What you are doing is godless. The Church would not condone—”

  Philip Mark lashed out, striking Father Tuck’s temple with the hilt of his sword. He crumpled, and Much and Alan barely managed to catch him. They lowered him to the ground, and Lara knelt beside him.

  Their work done, the soldiers assembled before their waiting captain.

  “This is everything?” he asked.

  “Everything, Sir,” one of them confirmed. “We found no more grain.”

  The move was so sudden, it took Much and everyone else completely by surprise. A man was dragged, protesting, from the crowd. The hapless villager was thrown on his back in the dirt, and Philip Mark placed a booted foot on his ch
est. He raised his sword high, and the man’s wife let out a terrified scream.

  “I am going to count to ten,” Philip Mark said in the same quiet voice. “Tell me where you have hidden the grain, or I shall separate this man’s head from his body. If you refuse, I shall kill another, and another, until someone talks. One, two…”

  The man stared up at him in terror. His lips worked, but no sound escaped him.

  “…seven, eight—”

  “It’s in the forest,” the man’s wife blurted.

  Philip Mark lowered his sword. “Where in the forest?”

  “I…I don’t know, My Lord. Some men came and took it away.”

  “What men?”

  “Outlaws,” she stammered.

  Much’s heart sank. He didn’t blame the woman, but he would have given anything to stop her uttering that last, fatal word.

  Philip Mark turned his attention back to Alan. “So, not only do you hide the Church’s lawful portion of grain, but you collaborate with men who are outside the law. It seems this village needs to be reminded of to whom it owes loyalty, but for now, you will take me to where the grain is hidden.”

  He gestured to one of his men, who seized Jane, dragging her away from Much’s and Alan’s desperate grasps.

  Alan reached for her, but was brought up short as another soldier put a dagger to his throat. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “This woman will be coming along with us as surety of your good behaviour. If you try to get us lost on purpose, she will be killed. As for the rest of you, I suggest you enjoy tonight, because tomorrow you will suffer the displeasure of your lord and sheriff.”

  ***

  Robin listened in mounting fury to the tale. An atmosphere of terror pervaded the village. The regulars at the Blue Boar all wore beaten, downtrodden expressions.

  “What do we do now?” Matthew’s voice was hollow. “The soldiers will be back, no question.”

  “I doubt Gisborne will act before tomorrow,” Alan said. “We must be ready for them.”