The Wolf and the Raven

by Steven A McKay

  Tuck smiled beatifically at the retreating guard. “God's blessing on you, my son. May you find what you are looking for one day.”

  He closed the door behind him and threw the small bolt into place again, then sat down shakily on his bed. The outlaws remained silent, praying the soldiers wouldn't talk to the landlord and return, but moments later they could hear the guards passing in the street outside, discussing where they should try next in their search for two grey-robed Franciscan monks.

  “You're a genius, Will.” Tuck blew out his cheeks in shocked relief. “Buying these black robes was the best idea you've ever had!”

  Will smiled sheepishly. “I didn't do it on purpose. When I washed all our gear it was soaking wet – there was no way it'd be dry for ages, but I knew the landlord would be expecting to see us in his common room at some point today. We couldn't go along for dinner wearing wet robes when it's not rained all day. So I looked for some new ones to buy. It was sheer luck that the old woman selling these,” he tugged at the fabric of his garment, “only had them in black.”

  Tuck laughed loudly and looked piously upwards. “You work in mysterious ways, Lord!”

  “Get me off this fucking floor.”

  Will and the friar hastily dragged their friend out from the floorboards under the rickety bed, and helped him on top of the straw mattress.”Thanks lads,” Robin mumbled. “I was getting claustrophobic there. Did one of you mention dinner?”

  Between them, they decided Tuck and Will should head along to the common room and have a couple of ales, just to let everyone – especially the landlord – know they were still there.

  “You rest for now,” Tuck said to Robin, before he realised the young man was already asleep. Shaking his head with worry, the friar led the way out of the room and Will followed behind, pulling the door shut and praying no one would go into their room and find Robin.

  “Two ales, please, my child.” Tuck grinned at the serving girl as they walked into the common room. It was getting late and most people had eaten their evening meal, but they found an empty table with two chairs and sank into them contentedly.

  “What's the food today?” Will grunted as the barmaid set the mugs of ale on the little table.

  “Beef broth,” the woman replied. “We have plenty of fresh bread to go with it too.”

  Will's mouth watered at the thought and he and Tuck ordered a serving each.

  They sat drinking their ale, quite relaxed, as the food was being prepared for them.

  “Ah, brothers!” They looked up and saw the landlord carrying their wooden bowls of steaming broth along with a full loaf of bread, all of which he set down on the table before them.

  The man eyed them suspiciously. “I could have sworn you were in grey robes yesterday night when you came in,” he said.

  Tuck shook his tonsured head indignantly. “You should really be more observant, inn-keep,” he growled, glaring at the man. “We are Austins, we wear black. The soldiers you sent after us today, thankfully had better eyesight than you.” He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into his bowl of broth. “Franciscans indeed!”

  Will felt like he should say something too. “Franciscans? Us?” he muttered, stuffing broth-soaked bread into his mouth. “Bloody grey-robed wandering arseholes.”

  The landlord didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked, so Tuck laid a comforting hand on the man's wrist. “Don't mind brother William,” he whispered. “He had a bad experience with some Franciscans a long time ago.”

  “Right. My apologies, brothers...” the man backed away, a bemused look on his face, as Tuck shovelled more bread into his mouth and smiled at him from gravy soaked lips. “If you need anything else, just give me a shout.”

  Tuck waved merrily as the landlord disappeared into the back. “Wandering arseholes, eh?”

  Scarlet smirked, watery brown soup dripping down his chin, eyes sparkling. “No offence.”

  The pair finished their meal, which was delicious after their previous night's exertions, then they sat chatting for a while over another mug of ale. To anyone watching they would have looked like any other innocent travellers enjoying the hospitality of a cheap inn.

  They called the landlord over again and paid to stay in their room for another two nights, which he was clearly pleased about.

  “My friend here is very tired, and we must retire for the evening, though.” The friar gestured at Will who nodded in his cowl as Tuck handed over the coins for the accommodation. “But I'm still ravenous – your broth was delicious!”

  The inn-keeper smiled proudly. “My own recipe, brother friar,” he replied. “I'll make you up another bowl, you can eat it in your room if you prefer. Just remember to bring back the bowl in the morning.”

  Tuck smiled. “You have my word on it. I'll take some more of that lovely warm bread too, if I may? And could you fill our ale-skins too?”

  “Aye, no problem,” the man laughed, the rash on his face flaring scarlet. “I'll bring it all over to you, good friar, and welcome.”

  A short time later they made their way back to the ground-floor room, laden with food and drink.

  Robin managed some ale and most of the broth, but it hurt him too much to chew, so Tuck finished off the bread before the three of them settled down for the night.

  It was still quite early, and the sounds of merry-making drifted along from the common room, but the outlaws had full bellies, plenty of ale, and were happy to simply relax and try to recover their strength.

  They were safe for now. But they would have to escape from the city eventually.

  * * *

  The next day Will and Tuck spent some time wandering around the city, trying to pick up bits and pieces of gossip about the search for the escaped wolf's head.

  Robin was unable to move from the bed, and seemed content to simply lie there anyway, his eyes vacant and listless. Tuck in particular worried about the young man's frame of mind, but the most important thing was for his battered and bruised body to regain some of its strength so they could try and escape into the forest again.

  They left their injured companion at the inn, praying the landlord wouldn't get nosy and discover Robin hiding in the room.

  It was a fine spring day and the pair made their way here and there along the bustling streets and busy little marketplaces, sampling the local food and eavesdropping on conversations about Robin's miraculous escape, while Tuck doled out blessings happily.

  The feeling amongst the populace seemed to be overwhelmingly one of repressed excitement, even joy. The people loved to see authority's nose out of joint, even if they appreciated the fact Sir Henry de Faucumberg wasn't the worst sheriff they'd ever had. More than that though, the citizens were drawn to Robin – he really was a folk-hero to them. Will and Tuck already knew this, to some extent, but it was humbling, and inspiring, to hear people supporting them in hushed voices.

  Not just the lower classes either: well-to-do merchants and tradesmen grinned at each other in the streets, wondering if each other had heard about the outlaw being spirited out of the castle while the sheriff and his guests partied.

  When they returned to the King and Castle in the middle of the afternoon, they carried a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese and skins full of beer which Will hid under his cassock while Tuck engaged the inn-keeper in conversation.

  “It's lamb for dinner tonight,” the friar smiled as Will let him into the room and threw the bolt on the door so no one else could wander in. “I'll soon be back to full strength at this rate.”

  Will grunted sarcastically. “Full strength? Fat bastard more like.”

  “How dare you?” Tuck replied in mock indignation. “Fat bastard or not, I'll still kick your arse, Scarlet.”

  Will rolled his eyes and sat on the bed beside Robin who was watching the exchange with a hint of a smile on his cracked lips.

  “The sheriff's got all his men out looking for you,” Will said, tearing off a chunk of the loaf and soaking it in beer
before feeding it to Robin who gingerly rolled the food around with his tongue until it was soft enough to swallow without chewing. Then Will crumbled some of the cheese in his hand and held some of that to his friend's mouth as well.

  It wasn't the nicest meal Robin had ever eaten, but it would build him up again. They couldn't afford to keep asking the landlord for extra helpings of dinner to take back to the room every night – the man would become suspicious. Assuming he wasn't already, after their change from Franciscans to Austins.

  After he finished eating Robin fell asleep so Will and Tuck sat for a while talking, wondering how they would be able to get out of the city before someone found them.

  It seemed an impossible task.

  “Something will turn up,” Tuck promised, standing up. “The Lord will provide, you wait and see. For now, the landlord will provide. Come on, let's go and have some of that lamb while Robin gets some sleep.”

  The common room was quiet as it was still quite early in the day, so the pair sat at the same table they'd occupied the night before and ordered two helpings of dinner along with mugs of ale.

  The food, when the serving-girl brought it steaming from the kitchen was hearty if bland. There wasn't much lamb in it, but both of the outlaws finished their bowls and shouted for second helpings.

  They were happily filling their bellies when two men joined them.

  “God give you good day, brothers,” one of the newcomers said, staring into Tuck's eyes.

  It was Roger and his friend from the night before. Tuck cursed himself for not expecting the men to return to the inn – it was their local after all, of course they would turn up!

  And if Roger had spoken to his brother, James, the guard at the castle, he would know exactly who they were.

  The friar's hand instinctively curled around the dagger concealed under his cassock and his mind whirled. Even if he and Will escaped into the city, Robin lay, unable to move, in their room. This was the end of them!

  “Relax, friar. We won't give you away.”

  Will had been so utterly absorbed in his lamb that he hadn't taken any notice of the two men sitting down at their table, but he looked up now, gravy streaming down his chin and his eyes widened.

  “I swear it!” Roger whispered, knowing exactly how dangerous these two seemingly incongruous “friars” could be if provoked. “James told me you were kind to him. Well, as kind as you could be in the circumstances,” he smiled lopsidedly at Scarlet. “We're on your side.”

  His friend, Godfrey, nodded earnestly. “You can trust us, lads. We wouldn't be here otherwise, would we? We'd have sent the law and claimed the reward the sheriff's offered.”

  It was a good point, and Will nodded before scooping another mouthful of meat into his mouth. “Is your brother all right?”

  Roger nodded as the serving-girl brought two mugs of ale over for them with a near-toothless grin. “Aye, he's fine,” he replied as the girl hurried off into the kitchen to fetch some food for the newcomers. “Bit sore, since you beat the shit out of him. But those coins you slipped him will help his injured pride heal nicely.” He placed his mug on the table and wiped his lip with his sleeve. “He sends his thanks. That was a lot of money you gave him, when you could have just slit his throat.”

  “Why didn't you anyway?” Godfrey asked seriously. “Kill him I mean. Seems a bit risky leaving witnesses alive.”

  Tuck broke in before his friend could reply. “We're not murderers. We're good men, like you and Roger and James, just doing what we must to survive. It's as simple as that. We don't kill for pleasure, we do it only when there's no other option.”

  Will grunted agreement. “I took a chance, aye, maybe a stupid chance. But after what you told us about your brother I didn't want to leave those nephews of yours without a father.” He gazed at the two men disconcertingly. “Make no mistake though: if someone is a threat to us, I'll not lose any sleep if I have to tear their windpipe open.”

  Roger and Godfrey looked away, feeling the force of Will's glare before he wiped the gravy from his chin and began spooning the last of his meal into his mouth.

  “So?” Tuck sipped his ale. “Why are you here if not to give us away?”

  The serving-girl burst through the door from the kitchen carrying a small loaf and two bowls of food for Roger and his companion and the table fell silent as she dropped off the meals and moved away to serve other customers.

  “To help you.” Roger tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into his gravy before taking a bite and moaning gently in satisfaction.

  “How can you help us?” Will wondered, shoving his own empty bowl into the centre of the table and leaning back against the wall. “The city's heaving with the sheriff's men. Your brother's just a regular guard, not a sergeant or captain.”

  Roger shrugged sheepishly. “It's true, James can't get involved. He wants you and Robin to escape, but he won't help. If he's found out...”

  “We expected you would have a plan,” Godfrey growled, with a somewhat accusatory stare. “You're the experts at this. We can help create a diversion or something while you two sneak Robin out of the city?”

  Will thought for a moment then turned to look at Tuck. They nodded. It was as good a plan as any and, since they hadn't come up with any plan at all, there didn't seem to be much choice.

  “All right, let's think about this then,” the friar nodded, clasping his mug in his hands and staring at the table, trying to work things out in his head. “Robin can barely walk. He needs someone to support him, or even a stretcher to carry him out of the city.”

  Will muttered agreement. “That's the easy part. The hard part will be getting past the soldiers patrolling the streets and then making it through one of the gatehouses without the sheriff's guards recognizing us. And they're going to be ten times more vigilant than normal too, to make sure Robin Hood doesn't slip past them.”

  “We can carry Robin on a stretcher,” Godfrey suggested, looking at his friend earnestly.

  “Nah,” Will scowled. “We can do that ourselves. It's a diversion we need.”

  “But what?” Tuck muttered, clasping his mug in his hands and staring thoughtfully into it's frothy depths as the rest of the inn's patrons bustled about the room, casting dark shadows on the walls against the flickering orange light from the hearth.

  “No matter what diversion we come up with,” Roger told them, “the gatehouse guards will never leave their posts. So you'll still have to fight your way past them one way or another.”

  Will drained his mug, a thoughtful look on his face. “They don't have to leave their post...they just have to be distracted long enough for us to get out...”

  “Blowjobs.”

  Roger and Godfrey stared at Friar Tuck in shock and Will couldn't help roaring with laughter. He caught himself, not wanting to draw attention to their table, but no one in the place took any notice of another man in his cups enjoying himself.

  “Blowjobs?”

  “Aye, Roger.” Tuck agreed, looking at the man as if he was simple. “There's no better way to distract a guard than a blowjob.”

  “You distracted many guards, Tuck?” Will asked innocently before the friar rammed an elbow into his friend's ribs, drawing a gasp of pain and a grin.

  “Do you know any prostitutes?”

  Roger nodded. “Aye, friar, a few.”

  “Good. Find some that still have most of their teeth and with tits that aren't dragging along the ground. We'll pay them handsomely to...distract the guards at the Cow Lane gatehouse while you two,” he nodded at the men, “create a diversion that will take out the rest of the sheriff's men.”

  “Before we make our move though,” Will broke in. “We need someone to take a message to Little John and the rest of the men.”

  * * *

  “Will you look at that?” The young guard gazed down at the well-endowed middle-aged woman in the street below. “I wouldn't mind getting a grip of that.”

  “She's old enough
to be your mother, Jupp, you dirty little bastard,” his sergeant laughed as the lady looked up and smiled coyly before disappearing into the crowd. “Now get your eyes off the ladies, and watch who's going out the gate. The sheriff's offered a big reward to whoever catches Robin Hood or his conspirators trying to leave the city.”

  The pair were stationed on the north, or Cow Lane, gatehouse that afternoon and had a good view of the countryside around the city from their lofty vantage point. It was a fine spring day, and the sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow on the world around them.

  Jupp's eyes roved across the city hopefully. “Hood's probably already gone.”

  “Not a chance,” the sergeant, Gerbert, replied. “The city's been locked up tight since he escaped the castle. Everyone that's went out has been searched. He's still in here somewhere.”

  “I couldn't care less if he gets away,” Jupp said. “He seems a good sort, from what I hear.”

  “Aye, well, you better keep that opinion to yourself, or the sheriff will throw you off of here himself. Now: watch the people!”

  The sergeant pointed into the city, which heaved with morning business as merchants and travellers made their way in through their gatehouse and met the bustle of humanity that spent their day making money – or trying to – in Nottingham. As he turned away from Jupp, though, his eye caught a flicker of movement in the trees outside the city.

  He placed his hands on the battlements and stared out, but he saw nothing moving now.

  “Jupp! Here! You see anything over there?”

  The young guard followed his superior's pointing finger, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

  Suddenly, a figure darted out from the foliage and ran parallel to the castle walls. Two more men followed, clad in brown clothing and crouching low to the ground.

  “I see them,” Gerbert growled as Jupp opened his mouth to speak. “They're making for the west gatehouse.” He turned to look at his subordinate. “It's Hood's men, it has to be: they're here for him.”