“What do we do?”
The sergeant stared out over the battlements, looking for more signs of movement, hoping to gauge the strength of the force coming for them.
“Raise the alarm,” he replied. “Tell the sergeant to fortify the western wall. There's no way Hood's men can break in here now we know they're coming. Move it, lad!”
“How do you know it's Hood's gang?” Jupp gasped, fingering the pommel of his sword in excitement.
“Who else could it be? Besides, my eyesight isn't that bad; I could tell the man leading them was a giant. It has to be John Little. What the fuck are you waiting for? Go!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Robin and Will were back at the inn, while Friar Tuck, in his Austin disguise, had ventured out into the city to watch for the guards' movements. When he saw a force of a dozen men making their way hastily to the city's western wall he knew it was time and hurried back to the King and Castle. They would get out of Nottingham now, or they wouldn't get out at all.
“Come on,” he urged, as Will opened the door to their room and he bustled inside. “John and the rest must be here: the sheriff's men have reinforced the western gate.”
They had asked Roger to take word to their friends in Barnsdale, outlining their plan to Little John.
Now, they would find out if it would work.
The three outlaws, all dressed now in black robes, climbed out the window into the street, bringing curious stares from passers-by, but it was too late to worry about that now. They headed for the north gate, Tuck and Will supporting Robin as he limped along between them.
The sound of distant shouting reached them and they guessed John and the rest of the men had started their “siege” on the castle walls. Of course, the outlaws wouldn't be so stupid as to seriously attempt to force their way into the city, but it would, hopefully, provide enough of a diversion for the three trapped men to escape while the guardsmen were otherwise occupied. Hopefully Roger and Godfrey had arranged the prostitutes to make things a little easier.
Robin was so badly injured he became almost a dead-weight as they made their ponderous way towards the northern gatehouse and Tuck was sweating before they'd covered even half the distance.
The guards would realise soon enough that the outlaws outside the castle didn't have the numbers, or equipment to pose a real threat. Then the soldiers would drift back to their usual posts and the opportunity to make it out would be gone for the friar and his two friends.
“Come on, Tuck,” Scarlet growled, raising Robin higher on his side to ease the friar's burden a little. “We have to move quicker.”
They reached the stables where Tuck had, two days earlier, paid for two horses to be ready to leave that day and, offering smiling blessings to the stable-master – and another silver coin – they lifted Robin onto one, as Tuck climbed on behind him to make sure the wounded outlaw didn't slip off into the road.
Will vaulted onto his own palfrey, and, with a cheery wave from the happy stable-master, who pretended not to notice the swords sticking out from under the black cassocks, they made their way at a trot towards the gatehouse.
“We're moving too slow!” Will growled.
Tuck knew the ex-mercenary was right, but they couldn't whip their horses into a gallop through the crowded Nottingham streets without attracting attention from the guards who still patrolled the area.
They approached the north gate and Tuck's heart sank as half a dozen soldiers jogged past them. The one at the front, a younger man, shouted up at the sergeant gazing down from atop the battlements. “It was just a diversion – only a dozen or so of them! Gisbourne says Hood must have been hoping to sneak out while most of us were defending the western gate.”
“Oh shit,” Will muttered, looking over at his companions. “Now what do we do? Head back to the inn? How the hell are we ever going to make it out of here now?”
The sergeant on the wall grinned down at his subordinates as they reached the gatehouse and began making their way back inside. “A diversion eh? They'll have to do better than that then!”
Even if Robin wasn't almost crippled the three outlaws couldn't have fought their way through the garrison on the wall in front of them.“Come on, let's turn back, before they see us.” Tuck jerked his head in the direction of the King and Castle, the blood pumping nervously through his veins as he realised they were probably going to die in this city now.
Suddenly, from the south, there was a huge roar and the distant sound of people screaming filled the air. Everyone around the northern gate froze in shock, wondering what had made such a noise.
Then, into the silence there came another, even louder, thundering crack and the outlaws' mounts skittered nervously, eyes bulging in fear as the breeze carried the unmistakable smell of burning to them.
The soldiers on the wall looked to their sergeant for guidance, but he was unsure himself.
Then, from the direction of the noise and smell, voices could be heard, raised in panic, and the fear spread like wildfire through the thronged citizens, who began to make their way to their homes, where they could lock their doors and hide from whatever was happening. Soon, words could be distinguished through the babble.
“Robin Hood's men! Robin Hood's men are attacking!”
Tuck and Will Scarlet looked at each other warily, wondering what the hell was going on.
Suddenly, one of the sheriff's personal guard appeared, shoving his way through the throng, his face black with soot, eyes startlingly white in contrast.
“You men!” he roared up at the soldiers on the gatehouse. “Hood's men are attacking the Chapel Bar gate! They've used fire to destroy some of the buildings. We're in danger of being overrun, come with me, now!”
The soldiers, finally offered some leadership, rushed to obey, running down the stairs in the gatehouse to follow the sheriff's man who had disappeared off to the west.
“That was Roger, he must have borrowed his brother's uniform!”
Tuck grinned as the guards raced past, swords drawn. “Aye! Come on, I don't know what's happening, but he's emptied the gatehouse for us!”
They spurred their horses forward, and Will jumped to the ground, heading for the great wooden beam that held the two massive gates locked shut. He put his hands underneath it and heaved.
“You, friar, get the fuck away from there!”
The area was almost empty, the bewildered locals having made themselves scarce, so the sound of descending footsteps carried clearly to Will as he gave an almighty grunt and forced the heavy wooden lock from its fixings.
The guard sergeant, Gerberd, burst out of the tower with his sword drawn and headed straight for Will.
To him, it looked like a party of three clergymen – one of them seriously ill – had decided to try and escape the apparent carnage inside the city. But, as he closed on the Austin that had unlocked the gate, something made Gerberd hesitate.
Perhaps it was the way the friar held himself, or maybe it was the steely eyes that gazed out at him from under the cowl. Whatever it was, Gerberd pulled up before he reached the gate and raised his sword before him.
He was just in time, as Scarlet threw aside his cassock and pulled his own sword silently from its leather and wood sheath.
The two blades met with a sharp metallic ring, and both men instinctively spread their feet wide defensively.
“How come you didn't go with the rest of your men?” Will asked, bringing his sword round in a blur. “Too scared?”
The guard halted the outlaw's attack, batting Scarlet's sword to the side and aiming a blow of his own which was also parried.
“No – too smart!” Gerberd gasped as the weapons met again with bone-crunching force. “There was no way anyone would have had time to get up here from Chapel Bar so soon after those noises. It was a setup. It's just a shame the rest of my men were too stupid to realise it.”
The man was good with a sword, and Will, hampered by the ill-fitting black cassock was forced
onto the back foot as Gerberd aimed blow after blow at him.
Suddenly the outlaw stepped on the hem of the ridiculous robe and stumbled into his opponent who reacted with glee, showing Scarlet backwards, sprawling onto the ground with the breath knocked out of him.
He raised his sword triumphantly and collapsed sideways as Tuck's quarterstaff hammered against the back of his skull with a horrendous crack.
“Get it open!” the friar shouted at Will, gesturing towards the gate.
Scarlet scrambled to his feet, shoving his sword back into its sheath and threw his weight against one of the sturdy gates which opened readily enough.
Tuck and Robin rode out as Will hauled himself onto his own horse and followed behind them.
Somehow they'd escaped from Nottingham, but, as he spurred his horse to catch up with his friends Will looked at Robin's limp form and wondered if their young leader would ever be the same again.
* * *
“What will they do to you? Hang you?”
Sir Richard nodded as they walked on towards Pontefract, his expression thoughtful. “No doubt. The king wanted bloody revenge against those who rebelled, and Sir Hugh Despenser – Edward's closest friend – is no friend of mine. There's little chance I will get out of this alive, but we'll see what fate God chooses for me.”
Edmond looked at the big Hospitaller, admiring the man's stoicism and apparent courage in the face of a near-certain death sentence.
Truth was, Sir Richard, rather like his friend Robin Hood not that far away in Nottingham, had felt his spirit break. His love of life had gone and the desire to fight no longer drove him. It wasn't courage that led him to Pontefract; it was simple apathy.
Yet Edmond took in the knight's proud bearing and felt himself warming to the prisoner he was about to deliver up for judgement to the king's men.
They hadn't spoke much since the robbers had attacked, but a mutual respect had developed between them. Sir Richard, for his part, felt pity for Edmond and the lamentable fate life had dealt the man, but he didn't allow it to show in his eyes, knowing it would crush Edmond even more.
The young tanner's son from Kirklees, given time to replay the botched ambush that led to his little brother's death, had come to grudgingly accept that Sir Richard wasn't to blame for it. And the Hospitaller had saved Edmond's life when the outlaws had struck after all.
Sir Richard's noble grace and bearing, and savagery in battle, impressed Edmond greatly and he found himself wishing he didn't have to hand him over to the law. Still, the knight apparently felt they were following God's will, so...he might as well make the most of the situation: take the money and the respect he would gain from capturing such a high-profile rebel.
If it was God's will, who was Edmond to question it?
Sir Richard looked over and gave him a sad, yet somehow encouraging smile, and the young man sighed.
An hour later, Edmond saw the top of Pontefract Castle towering over the treetops in the near-distance, and pointed it out in a subdued voice.
“Where?” the Hospitaller replied, screwing up his eyes and cursing, but all he could see so far off was an indistinct blur. “My eyes aren't what they used to be, lad. I'll take your word for it. Just in time eh? My feet are aching.”
“Will Sir Philip be there, do you think?”
Sir Richard had no idea. “I hope so,” he replied. “The sooner we get this over with the better for everyone.”
Take care of Stephen for me, Lord, he prayed, wondering again where his faithful sergeant-at-arms was and hoping that, since he obviously hadn't succeeded in procuring aid for Sir Richard from the Grand Prior in time to help him, he might at least find some other place for himself within their Order.
Traffic on the road became a little heavier as they neared the castle.
Merchants and waggoners delivering food and drink eyed them curiously, wondering at the proud Hospitaller being shadowed by the nervous-looking commoner.
“Here.” Sir Richard handed his sword to Edmond as they neared their destination. “You'll want to make it look more like I'm your captive. Stand up straight. Try to look like a man that bested a Hospitaller knight not some scared peasant that can't wipe his own arse.”
The crisp commands were uttered in a friendly tone yet Edmond found himself almost involuntarily obeying the older man, his shoulders pushing back and a grim expression coming over his face as he brandished the knight's sword menacingly.
Sir Richard nodded and smiled encouragingly. “Let's go get your reward, and see what the king has in store for me.”
They walked up to the castle gates, the two guards eyeing them suspiciously, but the Hospitaller had allowed his proud shoulders to slump and his face looked old and haggard as he gazed balefully at the soldiers, who visibly grew in confidence as they took in the strange pair coming towards them.
“State your business,” the eldest of the two demanded, grasping his halberd threateningly, although he didn't seem sure who to address: the defeated looking yet expensively armoured knight, or the unattractive sword-wielding commoner who seemed to be in charge.
Edmond spoke up, his nerves making his voice hoarse. “I am here to see Sir Philip of Portsmouth. He tasked me with capturing one of the rebel lords. As you can see, I have the man.” The young tanner pointed the sword at the knight's back. “Sir Richard-at-Lee.”
The guards looked at each other, although they seemed unimpressed and Edmond found himself feeling irritated at that.
“Move on then,” the guard waved the pair through the gates as a heavily laden wagon rattled up behind them. “The steward will show you where to take your prisoner until Sir Philip sees you.”
They walked through the imposing entrance, into the courtyard, and Edmond felt his stomach lurch. This was it. They were inside. No going back: Sir Richard would be hung, and it was his fault, just like it was his fault Walter was dead.
What have I done?
The steward, a tall yet strangely effeminate man appeared, hurrying over to them. He was flanked by two stocky guardsmen who moved quickly to search Sir Richard, none too gently, for concealed weapons. They removed the dagger strapped to his calf then took up positions either side of him, satisfied that he posed no immediate threat but alert nonetheless.
“Come. Sir Philip has been informed of your presence.”
Edmond didn't have time to think about what was happening now, as the steward, who recognised the captured Hospitaller from numerous previous visits there over the years, led them through a thick door and along a short corridor that fed out onto the castle's great hall.
The large room was deserted, as Edmond and his prisoner were made to stand before the massive main table which was laden with jugs of wine and ale.
A short time later the eastern door of the hall was thrown open and six men strode into the room.
Sir John de Burton, newly appointed seneschal of the castle, led the way, followed by Sir Philip of Portsmouth and four more soldiers, one of whom wore a different livery to the rest of the guards they'd seen so far. Sir Richard assumed the man was Sir Philip's own captain.
The two noblemen took seats behind the big table and, staring almost gleefully at the defeated Hospitaller, filled their cups from the jugs before them.
“So...” Sir Philip turned his gaze to Edmond, who bowed comically, having no idea how to behave in this situation. “You managed to capture him! I have to be honest, I never expected this. A knight of St John, captured by a common villager!”
“Not just me, my lord,” Edmond told him. “My brother Walter too, although the Hospitaller killed him...”
“Yes, well, congratulations, young man. You and your brother have my thanks, and the king's too. You will be well rewarded, have no fear.”
The nobleman nodded and one of the castle guards moved forward, gently taking Edmond by the arm and leading the surprised young tanner from the room.
The door was pulled shut by the soldier and Edmond was led back out to the ga
tehouse where the castle steward stood talking to a merchant.
“Ah, the hero of the day,” the steward smiled. “You have performed a great service to England, and Sir Philip has given me this for you, with his thanks.” He pressed a small bag into the young tanner's hand and gestured to the gatehouse. “You may return to your village and tell them all you single-handedly captured a Hospitaller knight.”
“It wasn't single-handedly, my brother Walter” –
The steward nodded, still smiling condescendingly, and looked at the guard behind Edmond, who again took him by the arm and steered him off towards the castle exit.
Too dazed to protest, the young man found himself back outside the castle, looking at the heavy grey clouds that threatened to burst upon the land at any minute.
Clearly Sir Philip and Sir John's gratitude didn't extend to offering him a meal, a room, or even a pallet in the servant's quarters for the night. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, trying to cover the top of his neck where a draught always seemed to get in, and resigned himself to making the long journey back to Kirklees.
“Fucking arseholes,” he muttered to himself. Still, he had his reward, and he found his spirits rising again as he moved along the road back home and grasped the little coin-purse. He emptied the money into his hand, imagining what he'd do with his new-found wealth.
The sky above him split asunder and torrential rain hammered down on him as he gazed at his reward for capturing Sir Richard-at-Lee.
He wasn't great at counting, but Edmond knew the silver he held added up to fifteen shillings. To a peasant this was a great sum of money. But he wasn't a peasant, he was a tradesman who owned his own shop now – a tanner. This was no more than he could earn himself in a few weeks!
The rain poured down his face, mingling with tears of rage and he collapsed onto his knees on the soaking road. His brother had died for this? He was hardly better off than he was yesterday! His dream of expanding his father's shop was crushed, his family was gone, and, he knew, the people of Kirklees would hold him in the same contempt they had for his entire life.
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