by carl ashmore
‘Men of Sherwood,’ Little John yelled. ‘May your aim be true!’
Almost as a response to these words, the merry men were suddenly everywhere, bows raised. Arrows clouded the air, thumping into the guards, one after the other.
The crowd roared with delight. Through the chaos, Joe sprinted toward the stage, dodging villager after villager, his sword raised. The guards at the front were tumbling like dominos, arrows peppering their bodies, leaving a clear path to the stage. With a single bound, he leapt on the platform.
Will couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘In God’s name!’
Joe didn’t reply. Wasting no time, he sliced through Will’s bonds, before doing the same for a dumbstruck Uncle Percy.
‘Joe!’ Uncle Percy panted. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Saving your backside,’ Joe replied, throwing the sword at Will who caught it.
‘Where’s Becky?’ Uncle Percy asked.
Joe nodded at the marquees – more were collapsing, sealing their inhabitants inside. ‘Doing her thing,’ he grinned.
Will leapt from the stage. A guard charged at him. Like lightning, Will cut him down. Two more guards rushed at him like bulls, weapons raised. In a flash, they had fallen. More guards entered the fray. Like a terrible force of nature, Will fought every one of them, causing many in the crowd to scream with delight, until he was the only one standing. It was then a powerful hand pulled him back.
‘We must flee!’ Little John urged.
Will nodded. At that moment, the thunder of hooves filled the air. Alan A Dale, Arthur Stutely, Eldred Mulch, David Beale, and Kevin Costly galloped into the square on giant black horses, each of them clasping the reins of a second, rider-less horse. Alan A Dale drew to a halt before Will, and threw over the reins to his second horse. Will caught them and vaulted onto the horse’s back. David Beale threw him a bow and quiver, and within seconds, Will was firing one shot after another at the guards. Then, through the pandemonium, he spied a giant figure heaving himself up from beneath the canvas of the Sheriff’s collapsed marquee.
Otto Kruger stared at Will, his icy blue eyes seething.
A curious smile arched Will’s lips. Then he steered the horse away, galloped up to Joe and pulled him on to his back.
At the same time, Kevin Costly drew up to Uncle Percy and threw over the reins to his second horse, which Uncle Percy caught and quickly mounted. Desperation in his eyes, he scanned the crowd, finally finding the one face he wished for more than any other. ‘Becky!’ Galloping over, he offered out his hand. ‘Fancy seeing you here, young lady.’
Through watering eyes, Becky stared up at his face, which was almost unrecognisable from his injuries. She couldn’t speak. Instead, she tendered her hand and Uncle Percy wrenched her up.
‘Yahhh!’ Uncle Percy shouted, when Becky was settled. His horse bolted off.
A wide gap had formed in the crowd and, after checking that every one of the merry men had straddled a horse, Will powered the convoy out of the square.
Becky gripped tightly to Uncle Percy’s waist. Just before they left, she glanced back at the chaos behind. Many of the Sheriff’s guards lay dead on the ground, and those that were alive were struggling to contain the rampaging crowd, who were still playing their part in creating as much disturbance as they could.
Becky clung on to Uncle Percy for dear life, and, soon, the clamour from the square was replaced by the sound of a harsh wind thrashing leaves as the convoy headed into Sherwood Forest.
Daylight was fading fast and a silvery half-moon flashed through the cracks in the trees, but the group pressed on, deep into the belly of the forest. It was twenty minutes before Will steered them into a clearing, drew his horse to a halt and dismounted. Everyone followed suit.
Climbing down, Joe stretched his arms and exhaled loudly. ‘That was some crazy stuff, eh, Will?’
Will ignored him. Marching over to the edge of the clearing, his back to all of them, he stared impassively into the blackness beyond.
Bewildered by Will’s odd behaviour, Joe walked over to him and tapped his shoulder. ‘Are y’alright, Will?’
Will didn’t move.
‘What’s the matter, Will? Are you -’
Before Joe could finish, Will spun round.
Becky was startled by what she saw. Expecting to see relief in Will’s eyes, even gratitude, she could see nothing but rage - a ferocious rage that seared Joe like a branding iron.
‘What hath thou done, boy?’ Will demanded.
‘S - saved your life, I reckon,’ Joe replied weakly.
‘We did not need saving!’
‘I – I don’t understand.’
‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME TO THIS TIME!’
‘Why are you being like this?’ Joe asked. ‘We’ve just saved your life.’
‘My life means nothing,’ Will shot back, glaring at Joe, whose eyes were dampening. Will saw this and at once his fury gave way to compassion. In one movement, he heaved Joe into the most powerful embrace. ‘Tis because I care for you, boy,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I care for you as a father cares for a son.’
‘And I … I care for you,’ Joe replied. ‘That’s why I had to come…’
Watching Will and Joe hold each other, Becky could scarcely breathe. But although the vision touched her beyond words, she also found herself craving answers to two simple questions: Once again, why had Will reacted in such a way? And what about Joe being here, in this time, filled him with such dread?
Chapter 17
Questions and Answers
After a few moments of silence, Little John stepped forward and gave a small cough. ‘Will, we must leave if we’re to see our encampment afore blackness chokes us.’
Will nodded. ‘Aye, John.’ He released Joe, and they returned to their horse. Everyone remounted and soon they were pressing once more into the forest.
As Becky held on to Uncle Percy, she couldn’t stop thinking about Joe.
‘I care for you as a father cares for a son.’
Melancholy and joy filled her in equal measure. She knew exactly what those words would have meant to him. Ever since their father’s disappearance, he had been without any kind of role model, certainly not a male one, until Will Shakelock had entered his life. And in a very short space of time, Joe and Will had formed a solid, unbreakable bond. On more than one occasion, she had felt a touch of envy at their relationship, but more than anything she felt thrilled … thrilled they had found each other.
The final gasp of day yielded to night. In the gloom, the forest assumed a sinister air. A cacophony of sounds met Becky’s ears: tawny owls yodelled; bats fluttered above their heads; nightjars churred from the branches of tall oaks.
The party pushed on for a further twenty minutes, when, through the undergrowth, Becky glimpsed light. A campfire pitched coils of smoke upward like ghostly apparitions. At once, she felt giddy with excitement. They were approaching the merry men’s camp. As Will led the group into a wide glade, shrieks of joy echoed all around. Figures hurried from the shadows – old men, women and children – and rushed eagerly toward the merry men, who dismounted and embraced their loved ones. Will, in particular, was singled out for extra attention, his horse besieged on all sides by well-wishers.
A tall, heavyset woman with full crimson cheeks stomped over to Little John, and shovelled him in her fleshy arms. ‘Husband … Thank the Lord above there’s still breath in your lungs.’
‘Aye, wife,’ Little John replied, kissing her forehead. ‘But it ain’t the Lord that deserves gramercy. Tis these young ‘uns.’ He motioned to Becky and Joe. ‘Come hither.’
Becky and Joe walked over.
Little John curled his giant arms around their shoulders and pulled them close. ‘Wife of mine, this be Becky and Joe, ’ he said proudly. ‘Kinfolk of Percy Halifax … and two of the grandest warriors to have ever graced these tormented lands. They made the Sheriff look like a brain-boiled dolt. The lad be as fine with a bow as our Will �
� and the lassie - in truth, she be as dangerous as a dozen Boudiccas. Becky, Joe, this here’s me betta half, Elisa.’
‘Hello,’ Becky and Joe said simultaneously.
Elisa gave a deep bow. ‘Then truly, Becky, Joe, I thank ye …’ she said in a kindly voice. ‘Thems of the Forest thank ye.’
‘Err, no problem,’ Joe replied.
Through the corner of her eye, Becky noticed Uncle Percy whisper something in Will’s ear.
Will nodded gravely and turned to the assembly. ‘Friends,’ he shouted, mounting a fallen tree trunk so he was visible to all. He waited for the commotion to fade. ‘It saddens me, but we must all abandon this forest forthwith.’
The group fell silent.
‘But why, Will?’ someone shouted up.
Will looked grim. ‘My return has brought a new species of monster to the forest, one that shall surely find us soon. These woods are not safe …’
‘They’re ne’er safe, Will,’ someone else spoke up. ‘We’ve ne’er fled before.’
‘This is different,’ Will replied gravely. ‘Dragons roam the land – three of them - dragons in the enemy’s command. T’would take too long too illustrate, but for the care of all, we must leave.’
Little John laughed. ‘Will, the dragons be gone. The boy vanquished them like a doused flame.’
Will looked shocked. ‘Gone?’
‘Aye,’ Little John pointed at Joe. ‘He slew them. All three of them … I claim I never saw owt like it.’
Will smiled at Joe. ‘You did?’
Joe nodded. ‘They were only Cyrobots.’
Clearly impressed, Will faced the crowd again. ‘Then it appears the forest is a haven once more.’
The gathering roared their approval, many of them glancing at Joe admiringly.
Becky took stock of her surroundings. In the hazy glow of the firelight, she could make out small wooden huts, some built at ground level but obscured behind thick foliage, others built high on the branches of the trees, their leaves concealing them from plain sight. A tree village. Astonished, she was about to tell Joe when she heard Uncle Percy’s voice.
‘Becky, may I have a word?’ He turned and walked to the edge of the glade, out of earshot of the others. Becky followed.
‘First of all,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Thank you for saving our lives.’
Becky looked at him. Through his patchwork of injuries, she saw relief and gratitude.
‘Tell that to Will,’ Becky replied. ‘He doesn’t seem to agree with you.’
‘Will’s had a difficult time adjusting to being back here. Sometimes he’s not quite himself…’
‘But he’s been acting weird since he heard about Morogh MacDougal’s knife.’
‘Because he knew the trail would lead us back here, to this time.’
‘Okay,’ Becky replied, ‘but why’s that such a big thing? No, there’s definitely something more, something he’s not telling us.’ Her voice fell to an accusatory whisper. ‘And neither are you.’
Uncle Percy looked awkward. He was about to say something when Becky interrupted.
‘ – And don’t bother making something up just to make me feel better, because that’s not fair.’ Becky suppressed her welling anger. ‘We both know you’re keeping summat from us, and I’m going to have to accept that. But what I will say is that you’d throw a wobbly if we kept something from you.’
‘I would try to understand.’
‘Maybe … maybe not,’ Becky replied tersely. ‘Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?
Uncle Percy hesitated for a moment. ‘How did you get here?’
‘We used the numbers circled in green on the lottery tic -’
‘I mean … literally,’ Uncle Percy cut in. ‘Please tell me Barbie brought you and is lurking around here somewhere?’
Becky looked down. ‘We broke into the library and took a portravella out of your desk drawer.’ She pulled up her sleeve. ‘This one…’
Uncle Percy sank his head into his palms. ‘Darn it!’
‘I’m sorry we broke in but –’
‘I don’t care about that.’
‘What is it then?’
‘This portravella’s Rectriator is broken. I intended to fix it when I got back.’
‘What does that mean?’ Becky asked.
‘It means it can’t return us to the twenty first century. For this particular portravella, this could only ever be a one-way trip.’
‘Can you fix it?’
‘Not here … no.’
Becky was panicking now. ‘What about your other portravellas?’
‘After Will and I were ambushed by the Utahraptors – ’
‘I thought they were Velociraptors?’ Becky interrupted.
‘Don’t get misguided by Hollywood’s depiction of Dinosauria. The Velociraptor was a small dinosaur, about the size of a large dog. No, the cyrobots you came across were Utahraptors – much bigger, much deadlier. Anyway, Will and I were ambushed by the Utahraptors and a group of Associates as we approached Beryl. Upon our capture the Associates took everything - my portravellas, my pagidizor - anything that could aid our return home. The only thing they didn’t get was Morogh McDougall’s knife which I managed to drop in a mound of leaves once the attack started, so I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.’
‘So we’re stuck here?’
‘It certainly seems that way.’
But then something occurred to Becky. ‘Not necessarily … I left a note for Barbie saying if we didn’t return with you then she should come and find us.’
Hope flashed in Uncle Percy’s eyes. ‘You did?’
‘Yes. And I left her the coordinates.’
Uncle Percy smiled. ‘Well done. That’s certainly something. Furthermore, as long as Kruger and his thugs are still in this timeline, there’s always a chance we can acquire a portravella one way or the other. Besides, I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere without the Sword of Ages.’
‘So you definitely think it’s here then?’
‘They certainly believe it is.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Let’s just say, as my appearance suggests, that we were interrogated rather forcibly, and whilst we managed to remain tight-lipped, the interrogators were far from it.’
‘What do they know?’
‘They believe Morogh MacDougal hid the sword in Scotland, and, as Will said, they believe his two daggers hold the key to its location. They do not, however, seem to know anything about the riddles. What I do know is they’re searching for Tuck. They know he’s left Nottingham but have no idea where he’s gone. Subsequently, the sooner we find him the better.’
‘Little John said he’s at a castle.’
‘Yes,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Alnwick Castle in Northumberland.’
‘So we’re going to Alnwick?’
‘At first light. Of course, without a time machine it’ll be a long trek.’
At that moment, Little John appeared, carrying two large wooden kegs and wearing a wide smile. ‘Halifax,’ he bellowed. ‘We must toast your good fortune. Let’s drink until we stain these trees with our puke!’ He laughed.
‘Charming,’ Uncle Percy muttered under his breath.
Little John didn’t hear him. ‘So what say you?’
‘I say a nice cup of Earl Grey wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Earl of who?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
Becky would always remember that evening as one of the best she’d ever had. Laughter shook the trees. Food was consumed until they were fit to burst. And the merry men told stories and sang ballads until their voices grew hoarse.
At midnight, Becky and Joe retired to Friar Tuck’s empty cabin, which was on the ground level, because, according to Little John, ‘There be no oak in Sherwood strong enuff to prop the friar’s pudgy bulk.’
Becky climbed into her makeshift straw bed and pulled a blanket around her neck. At once, fractured images of the day�
�s events peppered her thoughts. So much had happened in just a short space of time. Within minutes, Joe’s soft snores purred in her ears. She lay there for what seemed like hours, wide-awake and alert. Deciding some fresh air might help her sleep, she got up, left the cabin and walked into night. All was silent, save for the machine gun taps of a distant Woodpecker and the faint sputter of the campfire. It was then she saw Little John sitting by the fire, staring absently into the embers and taking long swigs from a pewter flagon.
Becky stepped toward him. A twig snapped under her foot. In a flash, Little John drew from his waistband a dagger, which glowed in the firelight.
Flustered, Becky said, ‘Little John, it’s me … Becky.’
Little John lowered the dagger. ‘I beg thy forgiveness, child.’
‘That’s okay,’ Becky replied. ‘Can’t you sleep, either?’
‘Sleep could never find me on a night such as this,’ Little John replied, slurring his words slightly. ‘And a finer one for havin’ our Will back in our bosom… all thanks to you and your kin. Come hither, sit with me.’
Becky walked over and sat down. Little John raised the flagon and offered it over. ‘Ale?’
‘No, ta.’
‘It will aid your sleep.’
‘Still no, ta.’
Little John took another slug. ‘Do as thou wilt.’
Silence washed over them for a few moments, before Becky spoke up, ‘So how did you meet Will?’
‘Ah, Will and me been acquainted for years,’ Little John replied, a wistful smile arching his mouth. ‘We first chanced upon each other as young ‘uns in the archery tournaments at the local village fairs - Bingham, Thoresby, Kegworth, West Chillwell, Gotham … and many more across the Shire.’
Becky smiled. ‘I’m guessing he won.’
Little John chortled. ‘Every one of them. T’were none could match him. Still can’t. Anyways, we weren’t much older than thou when we left these shores for the Crusades…’ He gave a weighty sigh, the dying flames making his face look older than his years. ‘And a vain pursuit it were, too. I deem more wars have been fought in the name of God than any other cause … that and the folly of fool-born rich men. And therein lies the truth of warfare - the rich do the talking … the poor do the dying. The crusades were no different. In truth, King Richard were unlike most – a noble man, as skilled with a longsword as any, and as valiant in combat as the creature that bequeathed his name - Lionheart. Be that as it be, I always deemed the Crusades a reckless quest. What gives a man claim to thrust his faith on another is beyond my reckoning.’
