by carl ashmore
‘So why did you go?
‘Promises made from them in power – the church, the landowners. And it ain’t easy bein’ of lowly stock in England, many don’t live to any kind of age. I reckoned if I were to die young, might as well do it with the sun on my face beneath a foreign sky. By my thinking, Will’s reasons were nobler than mine …’
‘What were they?’
‘He can answer that righter than I. But I do know many Englishmen are still living because of his involvement. Bettered all others in battle he did. Soon, his reputation flourished and he were summoned to the King’s side. In time, Will grew more in the King’s favour than any of his most trusted Knights. Thing was, as we were fighting in lands afar, Prince John were scheming to seize England for himself. Anyway, in time the King heard talk of this and sent Will home to expose the Prince’s plotting. Me, Tuck, Alan A Dale and Arthur Stutely journeyed with him. However, on our return to English shores, we found ourselves hunted like dogs. Prince John had fixed a reward for our heads. So, as wanted men, we took to the trees of Sherwood for sanctuary. In time, our merry band grew…’
Becky took a moment to process this. ‘I see,’ she replied. Then she swallowed a deep breath as she readied her next question. ‘Little John, can I ask you something?’
‘Aye, lassie.’
‘You saw Will earlier. He never loses his temper like that.’
‘Tis true,’ Little John nodded. ‘He hath the gentlest of temperaments.’
‘So why d’you think he reacted to Joe like that?’
Little John said nothing for some time, before his lips parted and a single word came out. ‘Guilt…’
Becky wasn’t expecting that. ‘What do you mean guilt?’
‘Will has seen much wickedness in his life, witnessed many horrors inflicted on those he cares for. He is, by nature, a protector, and wishes no more from life than to protect those he cherishes. I think he cherishes you and your kin.’
‘But why guilt?’
‘We were livin’ for years in this forest, helpin’ feed the people of the Shire, happening’ to blunt Prince John’s treasons, when word reached us King Richard wished Will to see him. Outta duty, Will left once more for foreign shores. The crusades had just ended in failure, and the King had returned to Europe to try and rebuild his rule. Problem was, he did not trust some of those that gave him council. Treachery was everywhere. When Will finally were by the King’s side, the King gave him a … a gift …’ Little John’s voice stumbled to a halt.
‘What gift?’ Becky pressed.
‘A baby.’
Becky stiffened with shock. ‘A baby?’
‘Aye. The King had fathered a son - Prince George … the rightful heir to the throne. King Richard entrusted the baby’s safekeepin’ to Will, said he wanted George to be reared in England, but in secret, as a commoner … far away from them who would see him harmed … until he were old enough to take the crown. Will agreed and returned to Sherwood. Tragically, the King were killed in a misfortune soon after in Châlus, France. By this time, Prince John had heard ‘bout the baby and grew crazed with hunting him down.’
‘What happened to the baby?’
‘Prince John had success,’ Little John replied miserably. ‘The baby were found by the Sheriff’s men, seized like a kestrel snatches a mouse, and were never seen again. I believe guilt fuelled Will’s words to your brother – guilt at the death of the Prince he loved…’
Chapter 18
The Long Trek
It was then Becky realised just how little she knew about Will’s past. At once, she wanted to sprint to his cabin, wake him and hold him until morning. Instead, she remained absolutely still, her breath forming silvery orbs in the chilled night air. ‘How did it happen?’ she asked quietly.
Little John took another slug from the flagon, froth lingering on his lips as he struggled to find the words. ‘Prince George must’ve only been months old.’ He gave a cheerless smile. ‘A waggish rascal, he were. Ne’er a moment passed when there weren’t a grin fixed to his face. And in passing over charge of the child, the King asked but one thing of Will, and that were every Sunday, if fortune allowed, he wanted the boy to attend church. And Will did his rightest to comply. Hindrance was, Will had a face known to all … and the Sheriff’s eyes were everywhere. But there were a buxom lass friendly with Alan A Dale from a nearby village, Adela Fernyhough her name were…’
‘Each Sunday, Adela would take the baby to the Church of Saint Mary in Edwinstowe and pass him off as her own. Will would always chaperone them to Edwinstowe, but then stay hidden by the forest ‘til she returned from the service. Anyhow, on this one Sunday, a swelterin’ July morn it were… Adela didn’t return. Will waited, but heard nowt. Bothered, Will went into Edwinstowe and found poor Adela’s body on the village green. Poor girl’d been stabbed. The baby snatched. He raked the village but to no avail. A villager declared he’d seen a band of the Sheriff’s men attack the girl and seize the child. Will searched and searched the area for hours but nowt … The trail went as cold as the grave. Anyhow, by the time Will returned to us he were a changed man.’
‘And he never found Prince George?’
‘Nay.’
‘So he could still be alive?’
Little John gave a glum shake of his head. ‘Nay. There be no prospect, poor little scamp. Thenceforward, Will were a shadow of himself, didn’t speak to a soul. Twas only days after that, he vanished for good. And we ne’er saw him for three summers, ‘til he appeared with yer uncle.’
‘And that was three years ago?’
‘Aye.’
Little John’s jaws tightened and his next words came out as a hiss. ‘The Prince and the Sheriff have much to pay for. And one fair day they shall, if only for that little Prince who breathes nay more…’
*
Becky felt numb as she returned to the cabin. As she entered, torchlight wakened the room, sending long shadows against the timber walls.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Joe asked.
‘Talking to Little John.’ Becky replied, slumping onto her bed.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yep.’ Becky hesitated. ‘And no. Turn the light off, Joe, there’s something I need to tell you…’
She spent the next ten minutes explaining all she had been told. Even in the darkness, she could feel Joe’s shock emanating outward like a wall heater. After she had finished, the resultant silence threatened to choke them both.
‘Will never told me any of that,’ Joe managed finally.
‘Why would he?’ Becky replied. ‘I bet he still feels awful.’
‘I s’pose we finally have an answer to why he didn’t want us here. Do you think we should mention to him that we know?’
‘No. It’s not our business. And it wouldn’t make him feel any better.’
‘Are you going to tell Uncle Percy?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Becky replied. ‘He’ll probably know anyway. I think we should just keep it between ourselves.’
‘Poor Will. How long ago did all this happen?’
‘Three years or so.’
‘But Will’s been at Uncle Percy’s much longer than that.’
‘Yeah, but that’s the weirdness of time travel, isn’t it? They could’ve come back at any point. And just because Will left the camp, we don’t know when he met up with Uncle Percy. It could’ve been years later.’
‘I s’pose.’
Joe fell silent. Suddenly he let out a small gasp and said, ‘Becks … Drake knew about the Prince.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Remember the message on the back of the lottery ticket. ‘For Harry, England and Saint George…’ It’s a bit of a coincidence the prince was called George, don’t you reckon?’
Becky felt nauseous. ‘Who’s to say what he knows and what he doesn’t…’
‘I know,’ Joe said insistently. ‘And I know he knows…’
Becky found it almost impossible to sleep aft
er that. She tossed and turned for what seemed like the entire night. She awoke with a start to the sound of the door groaning open. Will entered, carrying two piles of clothes, which he laid on the floor. ‘Here are garments for you both, Miss Becky,’ he said. ‘Did thou sleep well?’
‘Yes,’ Becky lied. ‘Did you?’
‘Like a man free of discord,’ Will replied. ‘I have missed these wood deeply.’
Joe awoke with a yawn. ‘Well I didn’t. It was like kipping on frozen steak.’
Will chuckled. ‘Thou hath been too spoilt by luxuries, Joe. We are leaving forthwith. We must away afore the camp wakes.’
‘Are the merry men coming with us?’ Becky asked.
‘No,’ Will replied. ‘This is one venture we must journey alone. Our farewells were said last night.’ He hesitated. ‘But I do wish to repeat my apologies for my temper of late. The reasons are complex but I assure thee both it shall not occur again.’
The previous night’s revelations returned to Becky. ‘It’s not a problem,’ she said gently.
‘Ah we all get crabby sometimes,’ Joe said. ‘You wanna try livin’ with my sister. I swear she was born with a shell and claws…’
A few moments later, Becky and Joe had packed their rucksacks and left the cabin. The first breath of daylight illuminated the village. Five horses, slender-limbed yet burly, stood parallel beside the ashes of the campfire, their bushy tails whipping left and right. Four of the horses wore polished leather saddles; the fifth, however, carried two large packs tied across its wide back, balanced evenly on both sides.
‘Morning,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Not really.’ Becky rubbed her eyes.
‘Ah, I slept like the proverbial log,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘As Socrates once wrote, ‘He is richest who is content with the least, for content is the wealth of nature.’
‘Yeah, well gimme a Premier Inn any day,’ Becky muttered.
Uncle Percy, a sword dangling from his belt, approached the smallest of the five horses. Sturdy yet elegant, it had a sleek, sandy brown coat that gleamed like melted chocolate. He brushed his face against its muzzle and curled his fingers through its silken mane. ‘This one’s yours. Isn’t she dazzling?’ The horse flipped its head high and whinnied. ‘Of course, Peggy would’ve made the journey somewhat quicker, but we’re having to do it the old fashioned way.’
‘And how far is it to Alnwick Castle?’
‘It’s a distance… approximately a hundred and seventy miles. So prepare yourself for a somewhat tender derrière.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘Two days, and that’s if we make good time. Joe’s not as experienced at riding as you so we’ll have to take that into consideration. Will thinks we should arrive by nightfall tomorrow.’
‘Does he know the way?’
‘Apparently. He’s been there a number of times before and there’s a little surprise for you but I’ll save that until tomorrow.’
‘What kind of surprise?’ Becky asked warily.
‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ Uncle Percy grinned. ‘Anyway, shall we skedaddle? I think it’s best if we find Morogh MacDougal’s dagger before we do anything.’ He hunched over, cupped his hands and gestured for Becky to slip her foot inside. ‘Allow me, M’lady…’
Clasping the horse’s neck, Becky pushed herself on to the horse’s back and settled in to the saddle. She watched Joe, Uncle Percy and Will, who was now armed with a sword, bow and a quiver of arrows, do the same.
And then they set off. In a matter of seconds the camp had been camouflaged wholly by undergrowth. The group hurtled down a muddy trail flanked with trees, their writhing branches like gargoyle’s fingers, reaching out and forming an archway ahead. The forest extended before them in brilliant colour, unnerving, mysterious, endless. Birds scattered overhead; red squirrels scuttled up moss-covered tree trunks thick with age.
Becky lifted her head into a cool north wind. She felt it lash her hair into disarray. She didn’t mind one bit. She felt exhilarated.
It didn’t take so long before they reached Beryl’s battered shell.
Uncle Percy drew up his horse at the car and lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry, Beryl, when all this is over I promise I’ll return and fix you up as good as new.’ Then he leapt down and walked north for twenty feet or so, reaching a small oak tree. ‘Here’s a nice slice of Sherwood trivia. Do you see this sapling here? Well, in our time, this tree still exists and is over eight hundred years old. It is also arguably the most famous tree in the world.’
‘Really?’ Joe said.
‘Absolutely, it’s known in our time as ‘The Major Oak’.
‘Why is it so famous?’ Becky asked, intrigued.
‘Legend has it that Robin Hood himself used to hide from the Sheriff of Nottingham’s men in its hollow trunk.’ He pointed at the sapling. ‘But I doubt you’d fit in there at the moment, would you, Will?’
‘I would not.’ Will smiled. ‘But then, as I have said before, I am not Robin Hood. Perhaps the real life Robin was much smaller than I?’
Chuckling, Uncle Percy rummaged beneath a mound of leaves, before standing up, the dagger clasped tightly in his hand. ‘We’ve finally caught a break,’ he said. He slipped the dagger into his cloak and mounted his horse. ‘Onward to Alnwick then …’
Passing through dell and dale, gorge and gulley, they pushed onward. Steadily, the forest thinned into wide stretches of open pasture, golden meadows and endless strip fields separated by hedgerows. For the first time since they arrived in Medieval England, Becky found herself at peace. There was something about the undulating motion as she rode, the hooves pounding the dewy ground, which made her forget the terrible affair of Prince George. And it occurred to her: even in the remotest parts of twenty first century England, there was always some marker of civilisation on the horizon, something that evinced so called progress – electrical pylons, motorways, cars zipping down country lanes, planes soaring overhead. Here, there was none of it. And she liked it.
She liked it very much.
Stopping for the odd break, they continued, the wind at their rear, urging them forward. Morning became afternoon, which, in turn, morphed into evening. Not once did they see anyone, save for the odd crofter working the field on ox-drawn ploughs, or small groups of workers harvesting crops.
Night arrived. Sequin-silver stars coated a midnight blue sky. They had been riding forever. Every inch of Becky’s body was in pain. Her muscles burned, her joints were stiff. She felt a swell of relief as Will drew his horse to a halt on the bank of a river. ‘We shall make camp here… Miss Becky, Master Joe, if thou wouldst gather wood for a fire?’ He turned to Uncle Percy. ‘My friend, if you might erect shelter, I shall search for a meal.’ He leapt to the ground, slung his bow and quiver across his back and walked off.
Becky dismounted, her feet welcoming the earth. She surveyed the area. The river, wide and fast flowing, sliced through the landscape like cheese wire. On the opposite side an otter’s head poked through the glittering water, a flailing bream clamped securely in its powerful jaws.
Uncle Percy approached the packhorse, detached its load and knelt down, unravelling the contents within on the sandy ground: long sweeps of cotton, wooden poles of different sizes, rope and metal pegs. He looked up at a bemused Becky and Joe. ‘It may not be your Premier Inn, Becky, but we have tents …’
Becky and Joe spent twenty minutes collecting firewood. On their return they were surprised to see Will had made it back before them. Four large trout lay on a cloth, surrounded by breads, tomatoes and fruits brought from the previous night’s feast. Uncle Percy basted the fish in oil, salt and various herbs Will had found on his forage.
Becky and Joe stacked the wood high. Will set dried bark, sun-baked moss and twigs into the fire, and soon a ravenous flame was devouring all in its path. Will whittled a crude roasting rack, lined the fish parallel and began to cook. Twenty minutes later, they sat down to eat.
After the meal was over, Uncle Percy sat back with a contented smile and said, ‘I don’t mind telling you, William, but that was a supper fit for a King.’
‘A supper for King John would involve arsenic,’ Will replied darkly.
‘I take your point,’ Uncle Percy replied. He turned to Becky and Joe. ‘Anyway you two, I believe it’s customary to recite spine-chilling stories around a raging campfire? Do you know any good ones?’
Becky thought for a few moments. ‘Not really,’ she said, pausing before she spoke her next words. ‘But I think you do.’
Uncle Percy looked taken aback. ‘Really? Like what?’
‘Why don’t you tell us about Emerson Drake?’
The grin vanished from Uncle Percy’s face. ‘It’s been a perfectly lovely evening, do we really want to ruin it talking about that fiend?’
‘I think so,’ Becky replied doggedly. ‘We can’t pretend he doesn’t exist. And I think we’ve got a right to know why he’s like he is … after all, he’s got our dad … he’s the reason we’re all putting our lives on the line time and time again …’
‘Becks is right,’ Joe said. ‘Maybe you know something that’ll help us beat him when it comes to it. Because he isn’t going away, and neither are we. Do you know much about him?’
It took some time before Uncle Percy could find a reply. ‘I believe I do, yes.’
‘Go on then,’ Becky urged. ‘Tell us.’
Uncle Percy looked conflicted.
Will leaned into the fire, its reflection dancing in his eyes. ‘They speak the truth, old friend. Their courage, their valour, their spirit hath earned them that right…’
‘Very well,’ Uncle Percy replied, hesitantly. ‘But it’s not a pleasant tale.’
