Maybe God had sent him the relic, as a way to leave this life as a wolf's head...? If that was so, it would be sinful not to use it for the purpose the Lord had intended...
“What's to be done with him, then?” Allan-a-Dale shouted suddenly, standing up and pointing.
Edmond looked up, his cheeks flushing as the outlaws turned to look at him.
“Can you fight, lad?” someone demanded.
The tanner nodded, but his eyes remained self-consciously on the grass and soft old leaves carpeting the forest floor and Tuck instantly felt sorry for the young man who muttered a reply.
“Aye, well enough.”
“That's enough for us, then, eh?”
Most of the men, half-drunk by now and in a happy mood, cheered Allan's words, but as Tuck saw the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of Edmond's fleshy mouth another voice spoke up.
“Hold on.” It was Stephen. He had taken his fill of the ale like the rest of them, but he was mourning the death of his master, and friend, Sir Richard, and clearly didn't feel so much like celebrating that night. He walked over to stand in front of Edmond, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his pock-marked face. “It's time you told us what happened between you and Sir Richard, boy – you owe me an explanation. And it had better be good.”
Tuck clenched his fist protectively around the priceless reliquary, refilled his wooden mug and settled back to listen as the tanner from Kirklees began to tell them his tale.
Edmond wasn't much of a story-teller but the emotion betrayed in his voice – the obvious pain and sense of loss as he told the band of outlaws his tale – made up for his lack of eloquence.
Even Stephen felt sorry for the young man by the end of it.
Little John stood up as the men quietly digested Edmond's words. “Enough of this, we're supposed to be celebrating! Allan!” He glared at the minstrel who jumped to his feet under the giant's murderous gaze. “Give us a tune.”
As Allan expertly strummed his gittern and the sounds of a merry jig filled the camp the men were pleased to shake off the sorrowful atmosphere Edmond's story had weaved around the place. The glad sounds of singing and dance filled the shadowy forest and the celebratory mood was kindled again.
John made his way over to Edmond and sat down beside him with a nod. For a long time they sat together in silence, watching the others enjoying the music and ale.
“I'm truly sorry for what I did,” Edmond finally said to the bearded giant, tears making clean tracks in the grime on his face. “I know Sir Richard was your friend.”
Little John leaned over and grasped the tanner by the arm, staring into his eyes earnestly.
“Listen to me. Every one of us here has a sad tale to tell. We all wish our life had turned out differently. But we're here and we live this life as best we can. As wolf's heads, aye, but as friends and brothers too. Forget your past, forget all the shit that life's thrown at you – you're one of us now.”
The giant grinned and moved away to join in with the celebrations.
Edmond sat watching the outlaws singing, dancing, drinking and laughing together, all grinning merrily at him as they passed in their revelry and he felt the tears spill from his eyes again, only this time his heart soared and he thanked God.
Finally, he knew he had found a place where he would be accepted for who he was.
* * *
“Where is he?” The door burst open and the people in the house shrank back, eyes searching instinctively for something to use as a weapon.
“Where's my son?”
“Robin, you bloody idiot! I nearly shit myself there – have you never heard of knocking before you open a door?”
The big outlaw muttered apologies to Matilda's father and the rest of the relieved people gathered in the Fletcher's house. His own parents were there, Martha and Thomas, with his little sister, Marjorie who ran over to give him a cuddle, a big smile on her thin teenage face. Will's daughter, Beth, was there too and she followed Marjorie's lead, jumping into her grinning father's open arms as he followed Robin into the modest house.
Robin's eyes settled finally on the old chair by the hearth, where his wife sat cradling a small bundle in her arms.
Matilda's eyes sparkled joyfully as she looked down at the child then up at her beloved wolf's head. “Your son has your nose,” she told him.
Grinning at his parents he moved past them and stooped to look down at his child, placing a big arm around his wife and cuddling her in close as he gazed at the little person they'd created together.
“You can hold him,” Matilda smiled, offering the sleeping baby to him, but he shook his head and leaned back, almost defensively. “No, no, you hold him, I might drop him.”
Mary snorted from behind him and shook her head at her daughter. “Get used to that. Men are all the same – think they're so strong they'll break their own baby, or so clumsy they'll drop it on its head.”
Robin never even heard his mother-in-law, transfixed as he was by the sight of his beautiful tiny son. His own mother, Martha came over and hugged him proudly.
“Congratulations, daddy,” she said.
“Thanks, grandma,” he replied.
“Come on,” Henry's big voice boomed out in the low room, “everyone sit by the table, there should be enough space for us all to fit somewhere.” He gestured at the things his wife had laid out for them: meat, bread, cheese and ale. “Eat. Drink. Robin, you're looking, well...battered, truth be told. What the hell happened?”
The outlaw had taken a seat right next to Matilda and the child, and he looked up from them now, his face twisted in a grimace.
“Sir Guy of Gisbourne.”
The room seemed to grow smaller and darker at the very mention of the Raven, but Robin poured himself a mug of ale and nodded confidently. “He murdered Much...and would have killed me too if it hadn't been for the sheriff pulling him off. We needn't fear him any more though. I've just taken half his face off.”
There was an awkward silence for a few moments as the celebrating families didn't know how to react to Robin's news.
“Kicked his arse for him, right enough, never seen a fight like it in all my life,” Will nodded cheerfully, trying, unsuccessfully to lighten the atmosphere. “But Robin beat him good. 'The Raven' will be dead by now, after what Robin did to him.”
“Are you all right?” Martha's maternal instincts took over and she stared at her son, who would always be her own little boy, no matter how big he was now.
He forced a smile back onto his face and stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth, pushing the image of Much's corpse to the back of his mind. “Aye, I'm fine! I beat the bastard and my wife and son are well. A man couldn't ask for any more.”
“A pardon would be nice,” Mary muttered sarcastically to laughs from the rest of the group.
“What are you going to call him?” Marjorie demanded, moving around the table, followed by Beth, to touch the baby's tiny hands and nose.
Robin looked at Matilda, remembering their conversation months ago. “Arthur,” she nodded, and her husband grinned approval.
“Aye, Arthur. Much better than Edward or Adam.”
The rest of the evening, what remained of it, passed quickly with much laughter and joy as the ale flowed and Robin and Matilda's parents – and Will too – told stories of their own children's younger years, warning the proud new mother and father what to expect from their own mischievous little one. The women, along with Marjorie and Beth, were happy to take the babe for cuddles whenever he woke up and didn't need Matilda to nurse him.
Eventually, knowing they all had to work early the next morning, the Hoods made their goodbyes and left for home, taking Will and Beth with them. Henry and Mary retired to their own bed, leaving Robin and Matilda to bond, alone together, with their child.
“Arthur,” Matilda whispered. “It suits him. He's perfect.”
“He is. Just like his mother.” Robin's arms pulled them in close and t
he little family stood together, savouring the blessing God had bestowed upon them.
“I'm tired, let's go to bed.”
As they lay beside each other, listening anxiously for the gentle sounds of their baby's breathing as all new parents do, Robin thanked God and the Magdalene for his beautiful son.
As he drifted off into a fitful sleep, though, he remembered growing up in this village with his best friend, Much, and wished the miller's son could have been here tonight to share their joy.
That bastard Matt Groves thinks he's safe, somewhere, but I'll find him one day, and I'll make him pay. As God is my witness, I will find him, and I will kill him for what he's done!
* * *
Things had worked out perfectly. He had a drink in one hand and some giggling whore's soft little tit in the other, with coin to afford quite a few more nights like this before he'd have to find a way to earn more. Gisbourne had paid him well for betraying Robin Hood and that other idiot from Wakefield so Matt had made his way east to Hull, which would be far enough away that he'd never run into any of his former outlaw 'friends' by accident.
He'd been a good sailor before turning to piracy and, as a result of that, ended up on the run from the law in Barnsdale. Here in Hull he knew he'd be able to find work on one of the many wool ships that plied their trade between England and Flanders.
He spilled ale down his chin and groaned loudly as the girl's hand finished its work. He lay on the stinking old pallet for a while, grinning, before tossing her a coin and ordering her out of the room.
Aye, things had worked out perfectly for him...
* * *
“He's dead, my lord sheriff.”
Sir Henry de Faucumberg fixed the soldier with an angry stare. “I can see that, you idiot. What happened?”
“Robin Hood and his men.”
The sheriff hadn't known Gisbourne was taking men off to fight a private duel with the wolf's head, and he shook his head angrily at what he saw in front of him now. Today should have been a day of celebration: they'd hung the Hospitaller and the king would be pleased at the news. Now this...! Gisbourne and Barnwell were the king's own men, sent here by the monarch personally, to deal with Robin Hood originally and, latterly, to help round-up the Contrariant rebels.
The thought of telling King Edward that Robin Hood still lived after all this made the sheriff's stomach flip over and the back of his throat tightened. He coughed, trying not to puke as he looked down at the corpse in front of him.
The sound of agonised screaming suddenly came through from the room next door, so loud that even the thick walls of the castle couldn't muffle it completely, and de Faucumberg sighed.
“At least it won't all be bad news I'll have to send the king.”
“My lord?” the soldier asked in confusion.
“God be praised,” de Faucumberg replied sarcastically, turning to leave the room. “Unlike his dead sergeant here, the surgeon tells me Sir Guy of Gisbourne will live, despite his terrible wounds. I expect he'll want revenge for what Hood's done to his face. If Gisbourne was a lunatic before, Christ only knows what he'll be like once he's fit again...”
Author's Note
Hopefully you enjoyed The Wolf and The Raven and, if you read the earlier story, Wolf's Head, you liked how the story and characters have developed. I have to be completely honest and say I didn't actually plan things to turn out like this though!
Originally, as you may know, I had wanted this series to be a trilogy. Too many authors find success with a character or formula and string it out until it becomes a shadow of its original self and I didn't want that to happen with my first foray into the world of writing.
However, when I sat down and started to work on this book the characters of Sir Richard and Stephen seemed to take over and, being the type of writer who plans very little and lets the people in the story dictate much of it, some of the things I wanted to do got overlooked here.
Little John for example, is someone I'd like to explore in more depth yet he ended up having little to do in this tale. Similarly, Matilda plays very little part, being pregnant as she is, and it would be nice to look at the role Robin's wife and family might play in the future.
So, if I was to make the next book the last in the series I would have to shoe-horn in a lot more than I'd be comfortable with.
For that reason, I'm now planning on adding an extra volume to the trilogy, making a total of four books – a tetralogy! Of course, who knows what the characters will do in the next one once I get started..? What I can tell you is that Little John will play a much greater part, as will hopefully Robin himself and, along the way, there may be a few more surprises.
Please stick around, and join me to find out what the future holds for our merry men and women!
Steven A. McKay,
18 March 2014
If you enjoyed The Wolf and The Raven please take a minute to leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads and anywhere else you browse. Word-of-mouth is so important to a self-published author and I really do appreciate it when readers take the time to post their thoughts.
If you haven't already, be sure to read the first book in the series, Wolf's Head, which is also available now as an audiobook, from Audible. Book three is under-way and should be out in late 2014/ early 2015. In the meantime, look out for a short novella featuring Sir Richard-at-Lee's time in Rhodes, tentatively titled Knight of the Cross.
Keep up to date with my writing and join in the discussions here:
www.Facebook.com/RobinHoodNovel
http://stevenamckay.wordpress.com
THANK YOU FOR READING!
Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Author's Note
The Wolf and the Raven Page 30
