Men of Sherwood (A Rogue's Tale Book 1)

by Sarah Luddington

  “Unfortunately for you, my lord,” Marc said, “the French usurper and the Pope are not here. I am. I married your sister in good faith and I intend to keep her and Nottingham.”

  “I had the feeling that might be the case, Sheriff.” Robin sighed. “Well, for now, let’s visit as family and we can discuss this in more detail at a later date. Gisborne and I have been friends for years and I am glad to see him again. When you travel together in the Holy Land fighting for Christendom you learn the true meaning of brotherhood.”

  “Taking the Cross together was an honour,” Guy murmured and he gave Robin a small bow, showing his deference for the other man over the High Sheriff of Nottingham.

  “It was,” Robin said with more meaning than the rest of the room could hear in the softened words. Guy swallowed hard and managed a weak smile. I knew what it did to me when Robin focused all his attention behind a simple phrase well targeted and it seemed Guy wasn’t immune either.

  The sheriff’s reaction was to laugh. “Gisborne is good at his job, Robert but his time in Palestine only seemed to hone his killing instinct, not his honour or humanity.”

  A wave of pain washed into me from Guy but he remained visibly stoic and in control, as if Marc’s comments were nothing.

  “Perhaps, or perhaps my time in the French court on the way back from Rome has softened my memories,” Robin said.

  Marc’s eyes narrowed and he poured himself some of the wine. “You’ve been busy.”

  “It pays to be in the right places at the right times,” Robin said. “I hear you’ve been having a few problems here in Sherwood. I have to say, when my father kept the peace hereabouts there was little trouble for me to deal with.”

  “You?” Marc asked.

  “Didn’t Marion tell you? I used to be my father’s sword, collecting those who needed to face justice from the forest. I can’t imagine what you’ve been doing for so long to lose so much control. The outlying lands clearly disdain your leadership and taxes, despite how well dressed the castle and its soldiers seem to be,” Robin said looking around with obvious distaste. “It’s all a bit over the top for me.” He fingered the fine tapestries on the wall. It depicted a story from myth and legends.

  Marc’s sallow skin flushed red and his nostrils flared. I tensed but Guy placed an unseen hand on the small of my back to settle me. We were still playing word games.

  “Perhaps we can leave talk of politics for another time?” he murmured. “Our guests must be hungry, Lord Sheriff, we should offer them hospitality.”

  “Food would be good. I have a large retinue with my sister travelling in my company.” Robin turned his back on Marc, confident of our ability to protect him while he poured more wine. I had a brief panic he’d drink too much and forget his self-control but I had no right to interfere without giving our enemy too much information. If Robin wanted Marc to think he was drunk then drunk he’d be.

  Marc, who made it clear with the sneer on his face he didn’t want us to remain long enough for food, nodded to a servant who lurked in a corner of the main hall. Guy moved away from me and I watched him rather than listen to Robin continue to annoy Marc. Tuck stood close to Marion who had remained demure, much to my surprise and I opted to remain close to them and the other women. In fact we all stood around the women while Robin and Marc verbally sparred. Guy took up a post near Robin and joined in the baiting when necessary.

  I watched the guards around the room. Considering Nottingham wasn’t at war, it seemed strange to have heavily armoured men in the halls of the keep itself. On the doors to the outside perhaps but internal doors? It worried me.

  “Is it normal to have so many guards in this room?” I whispered to Marion.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “He’s paranoid and he likes witnesses when he humiliates people.”

  “Which is what he’s trying to do to your brother?”

  She nodded. Marc’s eyes shot to hers. “Do you have something to say, wife?” he snarled.

  Robin focused on her, held out his hand and she went to him in complete obedience. Her brother wrapped his arm around her small hips and kissed her head. “Do you have something to say, sister?”

  “Only that the man I was forced to marry is paranoid,” she snapped.

  Marc laughed. “You have no idea what it takes to rule in a place like this. With the nobles to the north, the peasants pleading poverty and lying about what they have, the guilds vying for power in the city… Women have no idea, she is a shameless romantic.”

  “She is compassionate, I’ll say that,” Robin replied.

  “The trouble with the forest is the forest itself, too much untamed land. Gisborne has failed in his duty, he cannot find the rebel scum and bring them to justice.”

  Robin pursed his lips, pulling on the scarring covering his face. I worried the heat from the fire would unstick it from his cheek and jaw. “You think of them as rebels rather than outlaws? That’s a serious change in charges. From thieves to traitors.” He sounded almost sympathetic to Marc’s dilemma.

  “They are cunning. Led by a man who understands how to fight, who wants the people to rise up against the king’s law. A band of cutthroats cannot accomplish what they have done, they are disciplined and organised,” Marc said, staring into the fire. “It’s almost as if they’ve had knowledge of my plans before my men even leave the castle.”

  John and I shared a glance, ready to act if we needed to defend the others.

  “You think you have a spy in the castle?” Robin asked.

  Marc’s eyes strayed to Marion. “I think there are few people in this world I can trust.”

  “That’s a difficult position to be in,” Robin said. “You are lucky to have Gisborne.”

  Marc grunted. “He has his uses. Nottingham is free of thieves and vagabonds at least.”

  “The purge was brutal,” Guy murmured.

  I wondered what he really thought about the sheriff’s tactics of hanging people on the slightest provocation. Did he believe it would be necessary to purge Nottingham or did he think Marc too cruel? Was the damaged man capable of understanding the difference? How could I love two such brutal men?

  Robin leaned forwards in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps a little compassion would mean none of this brutality is necessary.” His tone remained measured and deferential, as if wanting Marc to understand this was the only way out of his coming death.

  Marc snorted in derision. “They are villeins, vagabonds and criminals, I have no compassion for such creatures.”

  “What of the people of the shire who are bowed double by your taxes?” Robin asked.

  “The king needs the money to stop your French usurper.”

  Robin smiled. “Wars in Europe should not be our priority. Philip has a right to the lands he claims and wringing the necks of the people of England won’t help. King Philip would help those in England if given the chance.”

  News to me. I glanced at Guy in surprise and saw his understanding matched mine.

  “You sound like the northern barons,” Marc snapped.

  Robin raised an eyebrow. “Are they wrong? Really? Wars fought for Richard and John have crippled England.”

  “England is here to serve her lords and kings,” Marc said.

  Robin shook his head. “That is where you are wrong, a lord and king is there to serve his people, to honour their trust, loyalty and damned hard work. We are meant to protect them not hurt them, not punish them for not giving us wealth they do not have.”

  “You sound like a Saxon,” Marc snapped.

  “Maybe I do, I want to stand for a new England, a better world,” Robin whispered.

  Guy and I shared a long look, Robin spoke of dreams created in the heat of the desert, dreams that had no place in this room.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “we should go to the table to wait for the food’s arrival, my lord?” I touched Robin’s shoulder to bring him back to the present. He blinked, a long, slow and deliberate move
ment bringing him back to us.

  “As you say.”

  “You really think I’m going to feed you?” Philip Marc, High Sheriff of Nottingham asked.

  33

  WE ALL FOCUSED ON him, which proved to be a mistake. A rustle of cloth, the chime of metal moving, the creak of leather, it all warned us too late. I glanced up at the minstrel’s gallery and men with crossbows filled the small space. More guards came in from the doors which were open and each stationary man in the room moved with intent, drawing his sword or lowering his spear towards our small group.

  “Philip –” Guy began, holding out his hands in supplication.

  “Traitor,” Marc spat at him, yanking a weapon from the nearest guard and aiming it at Guy’s chest. Robin reached up and grabbed Guy, pulling him back.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Robin asked, retaining the illusion of Robert Loxley. He held his hand out, palm down to stop the rest of us reaching for our weapons. My heart rate went from rabbit quick to rabbit panic.

  “Do you really think I am so easily fooled?” Marc asked, stepping back and giving himself room. “Did you not consider the possibility I might have realised Gisborne knew you from the Crusades? That he at least knew Marion? The way he protected her set me off, the ease with which she escaped the castle. I am not a stupid man, Robin of Sherwood, or is it Robin Hood? Have the peasants you champion so valiantly decided yet on the right nom de plume? I would like to put the correct name on the placard I’ll hang around your neck while I’m personally dragging your guts out.” Marc’s face went from sallow to puce with his rage.

  “Robin of Sherwood is quite long to paint on a placard,” Robin said remaining still and calm. He seemed to be bored by the entire process. I could see Guy’s chest heaving with the need to fight and I felt the noose tightening around my throat. Marion stood beside her brother, pale and composed.

  “This is madness,” she said, a quiet command in her voice. “You are addressing the Earl of Huntingdon, Robert Loxley. You have no evidence for this accusation and you have no authority to hold him.”

  “I have every authority, he is an outlaw, a sodomite, condemned in Acre.” Marc almost foamed at the mouth.

  “I think the Pope –”

  “The fucking Pope doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Marc ranted.

  You could hear the harsh intake of breath from the sheriff’s men. Robin smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell him that when I return to Rome.”

  “You’re not going to Rome,” Marc continued, losing his concentration and stepping into Robin’s space. Marc still had his sword drawn but he’d dropped the point. I searched for Alviva and Eva, who’d been absent from the exchange and had slipped out of the room altogether, blending in with the servants of Nottingham.

  Robin looked up at Marc and maintained eye contact as he rose from the chair, somehow towering over the other man despite being close in height. “I will go wherever I choose. I am the Earl of Huntingdon. My family dates back before the Conqueror. You are nothing. Guy is my man because he recognises his true authority, which is why he protected my sister from your disgusting behaviour. You have no honour, sir.”

  I’d never heard such contempt and looking at Robin holding the metaphorical robes of a lord over his strong shoulders forced my subservience and utter belief in him with a blind devotion. Until a little voice in the back of my head whispered, All these lies he’s giving to the sheriff feel very real – are you sure you know this man?

  A sound from above made me glance upwards. The four men in the gallery with the crossbows were unable to defend themselves from the short, sharp blades of the women. I watched in horrified fascination as blood sprayed over the floor and bodies fell. The entire room remained still for several heartbeats, until Alviva shot the first crossbow bolt at a guard near the doorway to freedom.

  Negotiations and posturing were at an end. Chaos erupted.

  I drew my sword and flicked off the helmet I wore. I was not trained to fight like Robin and Guy, I needed to be able to see. Neither man wore armour but their skill swept them into the centre of the melee. For a moment I could watch them work, Robin remained the focus, the smashing giant of war, while Guy moved around him a whirlwind of pain and death. I had no choice but to return my attention to my predicament. John, Tuck and I held the line with Marion at the centre and Alan at our backs nearest the fire.

  “We need to carve a way out.” I had no idea how to fight against a man with a spear – carefully came to mind.

  “We need to kill Bastard Husband,” Marion told us, pulling knives from her bodice.

  “No, we need to live,” Tuck said. “Leave Robin and Guy to deal with him.”

  I could almost feel Marion seethe at her lack of power and I had to agree with her, justice should be delivered by her hand but I also wanted her out of there so we didn’t have to consider her safety on top of ours.

  “The moment we make a break in their line, we run,” I said.

  John roared and rushed the line of guards we faced. I raced after him and hacked down at a spear. These men wore the uniforms but faced with a giant in armour screaming like a banshee they let their panic control them. They were not trained. We might not have been knights but we were fighters. I gave voice to my fear and roared my defiance. Their spears were no defence in the tight confines of the keep’s main hall and without training they were nothing but pointy sticks controlled by children. The line gave but I heard the orders coming from real soldiers outside the keep.

  The men we faced dropped their long weapons and drew their swords.

  The skilled men were protecting the sheriff who screamed his loathing in torrid cascades of verbal abuse. Marion’s assessment about the man’s state of mind proved correct, he and sanity were not close bedfellows. Robin and Guy were now back to back, dealing death to all who approached.

  “We have to run,” I said pausing and assessing during a break in the fighting. My fist pounded with the pain of smashing in someone’s face. All I could smell was blood in this grand room.

  “Get Marion out,” shouted Robin a moment before he screamed.

  I turned in shock at the pain in his voice. It wasn’t Robin, but Guy who stumbled, his knees hitting the ground, a crossbow bolt in his chest. Guy’s sword dropped from his hand, but Robin swept it up and went from knight to berserker.

  “John,” I called. “We have to get Guy out.”

  John looked over his shoulder and nodded. He raced to Guy, lifted the man and slung him over his shoulder making Guy bellow in agony as the bolt ripped into his shoulder. Marion screamed and fought a man in the corner but two bolts came from the gallery as the women reloaded the crossbows and fired into the hall.

  “Run,” I called up to them. Alviva nodded and picked up more bolts before racing out of the gallery. I had no idea if they would survive and I couldn’t affect the outcome we all faced. The noose tightened around my throat. This plan could not have failed any more spectacularly.

  Tuck, Alan and Much grabbed Marion and made it out of the smaller door to the kitchen, John with Guy over his shoulder, ran after them. I turned to look at Robin.

  Three guards fenced the sheriff off from Robin, who battled to reach his target. Dead men and maimed men, lay on the floor of the keep – Robin and Guy had decimated their ranks. The smell of spilled guts and voided bowels permeated the air and the cries of the wounded jangled my nerves.

  “Robin, we need to run,” I yelled. My eyes darted everywhere, trying to see enemies coming, trying to track the threats and anticipate every move and counter move. My hands were slick from blood and sweat. I didn’t understand war, I didn’t understand a battle like this. A scrap in the forest where we could vanish back into the trees I could understand but this? Confined within stone walls, this was madness. This was the end.

  “Go, Will.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Archers, kill the boy,” Marc yelled above us all.

  I glanced up at th
e gallery. “Fuck.” There were three more men, standing over the bodies of their fallen comrades, and they lifted their crossbows.

  “Will,” Robin bellowed.

  He disengaged from the guards surrounding Marc and even as I ran for the kitchen, he swept me up in one arm, shielding my body from the archers who struck nothing but stone and wood as we dived through the door. The chaos that our companions had left behind them proved easy to follow. Marion and Alan had given us all escape routes to use after I’d built the model of the keep. We could run together or separately. We raced into the kitchen, the serving maids and cooks huddled in a corner, the fire in the hearth raging out of control. Robin skidded to a halt, grabbed a skillet off the nearby table and plunged it into the fire. He then yanked it back hard and logs tumbled from the fireplace and onto the ground. The rushes soon caught. Screams began to fill the air.

  “That’ll keep them busy,” he muttered, grabbing my hand and yanking me out into the walled kitchen garden. A large wooden gate stood broken and swinging on its hinges at the end of the path and we plunged towards it even as shouts of ‘fire’ echoed behind us.

  “We need to get to the tanners’ yards,” I said, now panting with the effort of keeping up with Robin.

  I knew the streets better so took the lead and we slowed the paced, two men running through Nottingham drew notice, but a well-dressed man and his guard did not. In the process Robin peeled off the makeup covering his face and we stopped long enough to scrub him clean before he lifted his hood to cover the scar we couldn’t hide.

  “They’ll be after us with dogs soon enough,” Robin said.

  “The tanners’ yards will help confuse them. We’ll find some offal and leave that for them once we’re out of the city,” I said.

  “How did he know, Will?”

  I glanced at Robin. “You can’t think Guy betrayed us?”

  Robin shook his head. “No, I don’t think that. I do think we might have a spy among us Guy knows nothing about. It’s clear the sheriff hasn’t trusted Guy for some time. Damnit, Will, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”