Oh yes, she’d seen enough to know when someone else played dress-ups, because she’d been doing the same thing herself for years.
Now Ellen found herself guarding double-stolen goods, and Roger was a right twit to think he was going to keep any of it without Maudlin finding out.
To be honest, Maudlin would most likely take her commission before sending things on to the Sheriff. And he’d probably take his commission before sending anything on to Prince John, looking after the King’s treasury.
Her eyes fully accustomed to the darkness, Ellen set about making a soft bed out of fallen leaves.
Oh lush, she thought, as she mushed herself into it.
Being left behind was a bonus. No more hard work or marching or raiding villages for her. A night under the stars in a bed of soft leaves. Not a worry in the world.
Not a worry, that was, until Roger came back. And then what?
Uh-oh.
Ellen sprang out of her bed as fresh troubles swamped her.
Maudlin was bound to notice she was missing from Roger’s gang. What kind of lie would Roger invent to explain her absence?
The easiest one would be to say they’d been attacked. Would Roger come back tomorrow and make sure, in a very permanent way, that she could never tell Maudlin of his deception?
Roger might be stupid, yes, but he was also dangerous.
The smartest thing she could do now would be to grab what she could from the strong box and hit the road.
A familiar “caw, caw” filled the sky.
Wings flapped overhead and a jackdaw, as black as a moonless night, landed on her shoulder.
“Clever girl, Rook!” Relief flooded Ellen. She dove into the strongbox and took out a piece of leather. In the darkness, she hunted for anything that would make a mark. The dagger would do.
Now she wished she had lit a fire so she could see better, but it was too late for that. She had to use the dagger to write some kind of message in darkness and hope it wouldn’t result in slicing her thumb off.
With the pointy end, she banged in two eyes and a curve underneath, like a smiling face. Then she sheathed her dagger, rolled up the leather and Rook took it in her talon.
“Fly back to Maudlin,” She said.
Ears straining, Ellen heard Rook’s wings flap away into the distance. The raven would be flying towards Sheffield. Which meant she had to go in the opposite direction. Because if she went the same way as the crow, there was every chance she could run into Roger again.
She stumbled and staggered over the uneven ground until she came to the dirt road. The moon tried its best to break through the clouds, but she’d have to make do with the watery light it offered.
Enough light to show she was still wearing her boy disguise of loose trousers and a tunic, instead of a long skirt. Back to the cache of goodies she scarpered, raiding the boxes for anything remotely girlish.
An apron would do.
Back on the King’s Road, she set off at a jog, trying very hard not to make a noise just in case any of Roger’s men were about. The road took her past the turnoff to Hillfoot and on to a badly singed Littleton. She recognized it from the stone tower they’d set fire to.
Strong tower, didn’t even look damaged.
When she walked under the arches, she could see clear up to the mottled sky.
Oh dear. Quite a bit of damage then.
“Hello, is anyone here?” May as well check.
Nobody responded.
Like a spider, Ellen took to the outside of the tower’s stone wall and scrambled up. The battlements looked completely unsafe so she decided not to climb on to them, but while she was up here she gazed around as much as she could.
And saw a blazing light up ahead. Could it be the other village they’d set alight? Was it still burning?
Or was it a sign that some of the people had returned?
Desperate to find out, Ellen scrambled down the wall and headed off towards Loxley.
***
An unfamiliar voice called out in the Loxley air.
Robyn grabbed the hammer out of Marion’s hand mid-swing and stomped out into the night. “Who’s that! Show yourself!”
“Only me!” A girl called out.
“Who’s ‘Me’?”
“Me is Ellen from the Valley.”
“What valley?”
The girl took a step closer, but was completely non-threatening about it, judging by the way she held her palms up in surrender.
“Sorry about that, you call them dales here. I’m not sure there’s much difference, to be honest.”
Robyn lowered the hammer. “You speak funny.”
The stranger said, “Your accent’s lush too.”
“You finished with this?” Marion snatched his hammer back so he could return to work.
Seeing the girl meant no harm, and from the sounds of her accent she had to be a long way from home, Robyn extended her hand in friendship. “I’m Robyn, from Loxley. Or, what’s left of it.”
“It’s lovely to meet you. But I won’t lie to you Robyn, I’m starving. Is there anything to eat?”
Pointing towards the darkness beyond the village, Robyn asked, “How many more of your lot are out there?” It was so hard to place Ellen’s sing-song voice. Was she all by herself or was she with a whole group of travelling people and they’d sent her to the village to make contact?
“No, love. It’s just me.”
“I found Bella,” Mother Eleanor said as she walked the ruminant towards the warmth of the forge. “Oh hello there, I’m Eleanor.”
She and Ellen introduced themselves, before Eleanor called out to Marion. “Got any pails or bowls I can use?”
Ellen piped up. “Does your cow need milking then? Let me help, now, I don’t mind.”
A quick hunt through the forge yielded nothing useable. Until with a sigh, Marion handed over his incomplete helmet.
“You’ll have to hold it, it’s not flat on the bottom so it will roll over.” He said.
Robyn made what she hoped looked like a sympathetic face. “It’s a really handsome bowl.”
Marion shook his head and stomped back to the forge. Soon the familiar sounds of clanging and banging rang out. Louder than normal. Taking his frustrations out on the anvil.
Ellen and Mother Eleanor set to milking the cow. One holding the bowl and the other milking. It wasn’t a large bowl, so it filled quickly. They passed it around so everyone could have a drink before milking Bella some more.
“That’s so warm and lush,” Ellen said. “Thank you Bella, you are a truly beautiful cow.”
To make the night even more bizarre, the girl started singing.
How lovely a creature is the cow
Far kinder than goats or sows
When the milking is done
She’s up with the sun
And is ready to pull the plow . . .
“Can’t say I’ve heard that song before,” Eleanor said.
“Made it up just now this minute,” Ellen beamed.
“Where are you from, exactly?” Robyn asked again.
It was hard to tell in the darkness, but she could have sworn she saw Ellen take a gulp at the question. Maybe a bit of milk went down the wrong way.
“I’m travelling mostly, to be honest. I lived in Blaenafon for a while, but most of the time we called it “The Valleys”. Although now I think of it, Blaenafon was up on a hill. So that doesn’t make any sense now, does it? But everyone knew it as “The Valleys” so that’s what we called it. We mined coal from the ground and sold it to other towns. It’s world famous that coal. Maybe the coal in your forge could be from us.”
A twitchy squint made Robyn’s eyes narrow. “The coal in Marion’s forge is from what’s left of the village.”
“Oh, I am sorry about that,” Ellen said, then covered her hand over her mouth. All too soon she took it away again. “Pay no mind to me, I won’t lie to you, I do run off at the mouth.”
Understatement.
“Where’s Joan?” Robyn asked, looking around. “It’s not like her to pass up a drink.”
“Coming,” said a voice from far off. “Just hitching up the wagon.”
“We have a wagon?” That was news to Robyn.
Joan reached Robyn, bringing her beaming smile and a wagon with the horses behind her. “The Sheriff’s men burnt the top off the carriage, so now it’s a wagon.”
“Why would they burn the top off their own . . . oh, they didn’t know it was theirs, did they?” Madge must had instructed the village children well, judging by the look of it now.
Joan beamed with pride. “Now we can ride to Sheffield instead of walk.”
“Mother’s milking the cow. Help yourself while it’s warm.”
“Oh, hello, who’s this?” Joan said as she accepted the bowl of milk –
– which Ellen dropped as she took a sudden step back.
“Oh, I’m so clumsy! I’m so sorry!” Using the cow as a shield, Ellen muttered about getting her another drink.
“This is Ellen a’Dale,” Mother Eleanor said by way of explanation. “She’s wandered in from the valleys.”
***
Ellen couldn’t stand clumsy behaviour in other people, yet that’s exactly what she’d become at the sight of the girl giant. It had to be the same one who’d handed them their backsides on the King’s Road. And now she was right here! Which meant any of the others in the village could be her accomplice.
Would the giant recognize her? Oh please no, that would ruin everything.
It was dusk when they’d met on the road, and, praise the saints, it was pretty dark now. And she’d been disguised as a man at the time to blend in with the rest of Roger’s men.
Well, they had all been dressed as men, hadn’t they? Still, there was no mistaking this tall girl as the one who’d given her a right walloping.
Then again, perhaps Ellen wasn’t the only one with bruises? No doubt the giant had lumps on her head from forgetting to duck under doorways.
Don’t be stupid, you can’t hide behind the cow forever. Hand the giant her milk and if she recognizes you, make a run for it.
Holding a full bowl, she stood up carefully, holding back the trembles as she handed it over.
Not a flicker of recognition from the giant’s face as she took the milk and drained it.
“Thank you very much, Bella,” the giant said, then she handed the bowl back. “I’m Joan, by the way, nice to meet you Ellen. Are you here on your own?”
Yes and no. She had to think quickly. “I was with my family, we were going to Sheffield to trade, but the Sheriff’s men stopped us on the road and we all had to run off in different directions.”
“Him again,” Joan said. “We’ll have to clonk him harder next time we meet.”
“You what?” Ellen asked, pretending not to know.
The girl called Robyn elbowed Joan in the ribs to hush her and said, “We’re going to Sheffield ourselves, once Marion’s finished up. You can ride with us if you like.”
“I’ll say ‘yes’ to that.” Ellen was grateful for the warm milk in her belly, grateful they hadn’t recognized her, and especially grateful for the offer of a ride back to Sheffield.
Going there alone would have been problematic; it was a long walk, and she might run into Roger.
Travelling with plenty of other girls and a bad-tempered blacksmith? It was the perfect cover.
Maudlin was going to be so proud of her when she turned Joan the giant in. So long as these villagers didn’t work out who she was before then.
“Tie your frock,” Mother Eleanor said, coming over to Ellen and looking at the state of her clothes. “My goodness but your skirt is simply hanging off you. Tie them up better so you don’t get caught in anything.”
“Yes, of course, thanks,” Ellen took a step back and adjusted herself.
Eleanor tended the cow. “Joan dear, hand me that rope, we’ll tie Bella to the back of the wagon and bring her too. And Robyn, for goodness sake, tie your frock as well. You can’t go to Sheffield looking like that.”
“Who cares what I look like?” Robyn said.
“I do, and so will the gatekeepers. You want to look like you belong, not like you’re some desperate refugee whose village has burned down.”
Ellen gulped at the mention of fire. She’d been one of the arsonists.
“Our village has burned down,” Robyn stated the obvious.
“Let’s not be telling them that either,” Eleanor said.
Joan piped up. “We’ll say we’re traders on our way south to Nottingham.”
Ellen stopped breathing. Joan had appropriated her own lie to suit them. Did that mean Joan didn’t believe her after all?
Oh dear. Despite appearances, the lumbering giant had a brain as sharp as a pick.
Making a run for it back to the valleys suddenly felt like a really good idea.
Robyn kept up her chat with Joan the giant. “OK, just for the moment, let’s say our plan is to pretend we’re traders. What are we selling?” Robyn asked.
“Our spare horse?” Joan said.
“Not Shadow!” Robyn ran to the animal and hugged her neck.
Ellen tried very hard to stay out of it, but as she looked at the two horses Joan had hitched to the front of the wagon she knew exactly to whom they really belonged. These people were peasants; they were lucky to have a cow. Highly unlikely they’d have not merely one strong horse, but a ‘spare’ to sell as well. They’d stolen these fine beasts as sure as dirt was dirt.
The list of charges was piling up!
The lad Marion came out of the forge with several leather bags that made jingling noises as he walked. “We’re not selling, we’re buying.” He tossed the leather bags to Joan, who deposited them onto the floor of the wagon.
“What are we buying?” Robyn asked.
“Whatever they’re willing to sell,” Marion said.
“What good will that do us?” Robyn asked.
“We’re not really going to do that, that’s just the story we’ll tell them if they ask us.”
“Is that your plan?” Robyn asked him.
“Got a better one?”
Ellen stifled a snicker. Oooh, that blacksmith really sounded cross. With any luck, they’d be far too busy fighting with each other on the way to Sheffield to even notice her.
“Fine then. Everyone in the wagon,” Robyn said, climbing up and getting the hem of her skirt caught on the wheel.
“I told you to tie your frock,” Eleanor said.
“Tie your frock, tie your frock,” Robyn said.
Eleanor’s hands turned to fists as she jammed them on her hips. “Don’t mock me. Just tuck yourself in like a good girl.”
“Tuck, tuck, there you go,” Robyn said, tidying her skirts.
Ellen approached the wagon. A heaving shove came from behind as Joan “helped” her in.
“Sorry. Some days I don’t know my own strength.” The giant said.
With all five of them on board, the cow tied to the back and the two horses harnessed at the front, Ellen curled herself into a tidy ball as the wagon jolted forward.
What awaited them in Sheffield was anyone’s guess.
CHAPTER SIX
For a girl who’d spent all her life in Loxley, with the occasional hunting foray into the Shire Wood and trade visits to Littleton for chickens, the journey to Sheffield was a huge adventure for Robyn. Shame it was at night, it was hard to make out any of the countryside she longed to see.
She thought about the adventures her father and the rest of the village men must be having as they took their crusade to the Holy Land. Would they be having battles on the roads? Would they be hiding in the forest? Did they even have the same sorts of forest trees in the Holy Land?
Oh dear. Her imagination started getting the better of her and she saw her father battling a fire-breathing dragon. Everyone knew there were no more heathen dragons in England, but what about other lands? They could have
dragons that incinerated armies with one breath.
And burn the villages.
Just as Roger and his men had done.
“Do you know which way you’re going?” Marion asked as he sidled up to her on the driver’s bench.
Irritation niggled Robyn. “Where else does this road go?”
“Don’t get snappy with me. I’m just wondering if we should have waited until morning.”
Why did he have to be so . . . so . . . Marionish? And what was with people using words like ‘snappy’? A girl could be in a wonderful mood, but the minute someone accused her of being in a bad one, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The only way to calm down was to say nothing and wait for her breathing to return to normal.
Marion nudged her. “You’re going silent on me now?”
Robyn kept her voice low so as not to alert anyone to her rapidly worsening humour. Make no mistake, if Marion kept up this niggling attitude, she’d be fair seething in no time. “You know full well if we waited till morning, Roger would come back.”
A shrug from Marion. “Maybe he won’t? There’s nothing left to take.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Definitely in a foul mood now.
If not for the job of holding the reins, Robyn would have crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. As it was, she had to keep steering the horses. Straight if possible.
The clip-clopping horse and cow hooves provided noise, but not enough to fill the uneasy silence growing between them.
Why did things have to be so awkward between them all of a sudden? They’d always been friends and mucked about together all the time. But lately things were . . . different.
On they went, the cloudy sky providing a few glimpses of the moon to guide the way to Sheffield. The cold night air swirled around her neck, so she pulled her hood tightly over her head.
“It’s not your fault, you know.” Marion said at last.
“I never even thought that.” Robyn sounded far too defensive to her own ears. Her guilty conscience told her if she’d not annoyed the tax collectors so much, Roger wouldn’t have retaliated so thoroughly.
Robyn and the Hoodettes Page 6
