Falconer's Prey

by April Hill

  “This is unjust!” Alice cried. “And cruel!”

  “Perhaps, but it is the rule. Were I you, Mistress, I would take careful note of your foolhardy companion’s wails of anguish. We continue to stay alive only so long as we maintain our guard. We have few rules here, but those rules are meant to obeyed, even by those enjoying our ‘very poor hospitality,’ as you call it. Now, I must leave. I’ve things to do. I’ll send one of the women to find you a place to sleep for tonight. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” When he began to walk away, Alice stepped in his path, still enraged by Arthur’s mistreatment.

  “Are all of the men here savages, like this brutish blacksmith of yours?” she demanded. “Savages you allow to abuse children and women?”

  He turned back. “I have explained the reasons for Arthur’s plight, Mistress, and however he may seem to you, he is not a child. Nor, I’m sure, would he like to be regarded in that way by you or any other. As to these women you accuse us of abusing? The men here are not a patient lot, I’ll give you that, particularly when they’re obliged to deal with the wealthy and spoiled. Many of these men have been grievously wronged, forced to watch helplessly while their families were put out of their homes to starve. Others have been imprisoned or tortured by the same arrogant bastards upon whom we now seek revenge – or justice, as we prefer to think of it.

  “I offer you an example: Let us suppose that a poor man – one of our own, perhaps – snares a rabbit for his family’s supper. He is apprehended by the landowner, deemed a poacher and summarily punished for his crime by being branded on the cheek or forehead – disfigured for life, marked as a criminal. Avenging the injustice upon the landowner is rarely possible, since cowards of that sort are always well protected. It’s far simpler to seek redress from the landowner’s wife or mistress, by the simple act of relieving one or both of the dear ladies of their purses and their jewelry. By no means a fair exchange, of course. Jewelry can be replaced. Human flesh cannot. Still, it’s better than nothing. Our lives are lived in that way, Mistress Johnstone, by repeating to ourselves, ‘Better than nothing.’ Unfortunately, not every lady is agreeable to contributing to our cause and when they protest at too great a length, there are a few men here who would just as happily cut their lovely throats, were they given leave to do so. It was Robin himself who suggested a somewhat less dastardly approach. My suspicion is that the suggestion was originally made in jest, or under the influence of too many Brown October ales, but the idea has proven quite effective in satisfying the men’s need for some small measure of vengeance.

  “Daniel – the man by the fire, there – with the black hair and dark visage to match? His widowed sister and her three children were evicted last year by the Sheriff’s henchmen. Since then, he claims to have bared and spanked the dimpled, overfed bottoms of at least two dozen women.”

  Alice made a face. “And what crimes did these innocent women commit that they deserved to be humiliated in such an outrageous fashion?” she demanded. “Other than being wealthy?”

  “Daniel is a most impatient man, I’m afraid. In their reluctance to part with their valuables, I believe they called him a disagreeable name or two. But the ladies’ real crime, as we see it, is that the velvet draperies behind which they sleep and every morsel of rich food with which they stuff their faces are all made possible by the misery of the poor and helpless. These women for whom you feel such outrage have chosen to live in comfort on money stolen by the men with whom they consort – our sworn enemies.”

  After Fletcher’s impassioned speech, Alice could find nothing useful to say in reply. She was beginning to feel foolish and it wasn’t at all a comfortable feeling. But Will Fletcher’s mood was still cheerful –even while he was obviously mocking her.

  “Now, I will admit that it is altogether possible that Daniel exaggerates the number of women he’s paddled,” he went on, “but be that as it may, I would speak very politely to him, should he choose to divest you of those pearls you’re wearing.”

  “The pearls are paste,” she said haughtily, fingering the necklace around her throat –one of the few possessions of her dead mother’s she had been allowed to keep during her confinement. “The man must be a very poor thief not to recognize paste when he sees it.”

  Fletcher smiled and in his smile she saw that her lie had been wasted. The pearls were real and he knew it. “Perhaps, but knowing that he’d been hoodwinked might only serve to inflame Daniel’s temper even further, which could bring about the same result from a spanked lady’s point of view. I shouldn’t chance it, were I in your place. My understanding is that he is exceptionally fond of birch.”

  Incensed by the personal nature of Fletcher’s remarks, Alice’s temper flared. “It is a normal impulse to attempt to protect your belongings from thieves,” she argued. “If you must steal, why must you humiliate your victims, as well? I have heard countless terrifying stories of Robin Hood’s mistreatment of those he robs.”

  Fletcher laughed. “You heard this in the Abbey at St. Mary’s, of course. With an Abbess in residence as wicked as any brigand in England. I would be shocked if you’d heard anything other than lies from that nest of wasps. Perhaps you should try questioning those whom we help, and those we protect, rather than trust the words of those who divest innocent peasants of what little they have. Our methods are sometimes coarse,” he conceded, sighing. “And too often, they are probably tainted with the lust for vengeance I mentioned earlier. But our policy as thieves is quite straightforward. We first ask our – well, let us call them, for the sake of argument – our visitors. We first inquire of a visitor if he or she is carrying any valuables on his or her person. When the visitor is honest and doesn’t try to hide those valuables, he or she is released unharmed, to go his way in peace – after being relieved of those valuables, of course. Should the visitor lie to us, however, and be found out – which he always is, by the way – then the punishment for his or her transgression is sometimes – Ah, let us say, disagreeable?”

  “How disagreeable?” she inquired sarcastically.

  “Very disagreeable, I’m afraid. A common penalty is to be stripped naked and tied backwards upon one’s horse – assuming, of course, that the animal is not worth stealing. At which point, he, or she, is driven from camp, to be found in that embarrassing state by whomever she first meets on the same road.”

  Alice gasped. “That is reprehensible! And for a well–born woman, intolerable.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “And chilly, as well. A situation a wiser well–born woman could have avoided by simply offering up her jewels without attempting to conceal them from us. We have sometimes found precious items hidden in the most unlikely places you can imagine.” He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps I am growing irritable in my old age, but it gives one pause to realize just how greedy and immodest today’s well–born women can be.”

  Fletcher continued and though his tone was solemn, Alice saw an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Such improperly brought up ladies are obviously in need of firm correction, which our men sometimes feel duty–bound to provide. The imprudent lady is stripped naked, placed across a low–hanging limb or a convenient log, and paddled soundly. Perhaps I should say unusually soundly. On her bare buttocks, of course, since we’ve found that to be the most effective method. Afterward, a carrot or other appropriately shaped vegetable is occasionally lodged firmly in – well, in whichever immodest orifice the lady has chosen to employ as a hiding place. At which point she is tied astride a horse, backwards, with her welted bottom on fire, and sent safely but unhappily on her way.”

  A horrified Alice blushed deeply, but confronted him with her eyes flashing. “Such treatment is vile in itself, but it is also said that your men feel equally free to rape the women they find on the roads, as well as robbing, beating, and humiliating them!”

  He shook his head sadly. “Rare, but I will not deny that it has happened. The men here are but men and rough ones, at that. When we learn of such behavior, the man i
n question is punished and ordered to leave the camp. But even the women of our sworn enemies are at less risk with our men than with Prince John’s henchmen, or with the Sheriff’s, or with the powerful and corrupt robber barons that now terrorize England’s highways. Should the naked and well–spanked lady I spoke of be unfortunate enough to come upon one of John’s knights after she leaves our camp, she will find herself in worse hands by far than ours, I promise you. She may protest as loudly as she can that she is the treasured wife, or mistress, or daughter of some well–known rich or noble man, but her fate will be the same – to be raped and buggered, and then abandoned by the roadside, to live or die.

  “In addition, however strong our anger, we have never assaulted children, as the usurper Prince John’s hirelings do regularly. When they’ve finished, they ride off and leave their young victims to die of cold in the forest. Like the lass, there, whom we recovered some weeks ago, near death.” He pointed to a frail, pale child carrying water in a bucket. “She was eleven at her last birthday. Her nine–year old sister was not as fortunate and died before she could be rescued.

  “Now,” he said briskly. “Back to your own situation. Henry Burden is a good man and for his sake, we will do what we can to make your stay here agreeable. Arthur was right to bring you here, despite the lack of proper caution in his methods. The roads are unsafe, especially for someone in your circumstances. With your history, you would suffer a very great price should you be caught again. We will try to get word to your uncle as soon as possible.”

  “I do wish not to trouble my uncle,” Alice said hastily. “Nor to place him in danger. He knows nothing of my most recent escape. My plan is to travel to London, where I have made arrangements with friends. I will notify him from there, when I have arrived safely.”

  Fletcher seemed curious at her objection and shook his head. “I think it neither fair nor wise to keep your presence here with us a secret from your uncle, Mistress. I know not what it is you’re about, but Burden has always been an excellent friend to our cause and I’ll not take part in deceiving him for any purpose. As far as your plan is concerned, yes, London is probably far enough from Nottinghamshire to guarantee some measure of safety and we will see that you reach there as quickly as it can be arranged. Until then, however, I must ask you to keep to the center of the camp. The Sheriff’s men and the King’s Royal Foresters come looking for us now and then, despite the weather and as spring approaches, the attempts will increase. They may even now suspect your presence here and should you be taken, we haven’t enough men here to pursue them outside the forest. In the meanwhile, you may help the women with the cooking, perhaps, or tending the animals.”

  She grimaced. “You do not understand, Master Fletcher! I do not wish to stay here, but to leave immediately! Arthur and I ask nothing more than two fresh horses and the loan of a small sum of money, perhaps.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “That is impossible, Mistress. You have no escort.”

  “But, Arthur,” she began.

  “Arthur is a boy, and a boy we all care a great deal about. Only a fool would have allowed him to take the risk he has already. No, Mistress, you will stay with us until we can arrange something. Until then, as I said, you will help the other women with – ”

  “No!” she cried. “I will leave this place at once! I have not escaped one prison only to be locked up in another!”

  Fletcher’s voice hardened. “I have explained how things are and in Robin’s absence, I expect you to abide by my decision.”

  “I will not stay here, sir!” she protested furiously, striding out of the hut. Fletcher followed her, took her arm firmly and pointed to the nearby hut of the blacksmith.

  “I believe our good blacksmith has finished dealing with young Arthur. If it is your wish to find yourself upended and walloped over the same anvil, continue this nonsense and I promise you I will see to it.”

  Seeing something in Fletcher’s eye that made it clear his threat was not in jest, Alice backed off – for the moment. “If I am to be detained here, there must surely be something else I can do,” she said sullenly. “Other than caring for pens of fowl, or swine. My duties at the convent were in the library, inspecting the monks’ manuscripts for errors in their Latin and Greek. I know nothing of cooking, nor of caring for animals.”

  He grinned. “Our chickens and pigs rarely converse in Latin or Greek, but they will manage to make their needs known, I’m certain. The work is perhaps not as clean as toiling in a dusty library, but it should be no less boring. You don’t cook, either? Ah, I suppose that is a foolish question. Well, then you shall wash. Nuns wash, do they not? Their clothing, bedding?”

  “I did not launder others’ soiled clothing,” she said proudly, becoming more annoyed at his questions as every moment passed. “Others laundered. I did not.”

  Fletcher frowned. “I see. Were you, by chance, a – how shall I put it? A favorite of our friend the Abbot, the corrupt Bishop of Hereford? I understand he plucks a plump partridge or two from his own confessional when the need – ”

  “You dare to suggest I’d allow that fat, croaking toad to put his ungodly, unholy hands –”

  “Careful, Sister!” he cautioned, smiling broadly. “You’ll not wish to add blasphemy to your already considerable sins. All right, then, go and speak to Fanny Kimball – the large woman over there by the fire, among the smoke and cooking pots. We can’t afford idlers in camp, so it’s time for you to learn a useful skill. Tomorrow, come dawn, Fanny will no doubt show you how to stir a pot or two and to feed and slop what few fowl and swine have survived the winter.”

  With that, he walked away whistling cheerfully, leaving Alice to fume in frustration.

  Chapter the Second

  In the Camp of Bold Robin Hood of Sherwood. The Eighth Day of March, In The Year of Our Lord 1193. May God Keep Good King Richard!

  Several evenings later, Alice discovered that the penalties for disobedience she had already witnessed were not an unusual occurrence in Robin Hood’s camp.

  Over her objections, Will Fletcher had assigned her to the kitchen – a cook’s helper, learning from chief cook, Fanny Kimball, how to prepare common meals for the entire camp. Come spring, Fanny had explained, the population of the camp would swell to over two hundred hungry people. As Alice stood over the fire, stirring a giant pot of soup, she noticed a group of several men come into the clearing. They were shouting and squabbling, and pulling behind them a blowsy, heavy–set woman who complained loudly at every step.

  Fanny shook her head in disgust and spoke to another of the sweating cooks. “Well, m’ dears, will y’ look what we have here? If it ain’t Marsilla Nubbs. Seems the bleedin’, foul–mouthed fool has gone an’ done it again.”

  “What is it?” Alice asked curiously, for as the argument grew hotter, a crowd had gathered. “Why are those men treating that poor woman so harshly?”

  At that moment, Will Fletcher walked up.

  “Pity her not, Mistress. The woman is the wife of John Nubbs. She’s a shrew and a scold, and given to idle gossip. She’s been warned time and again to stay out of the village, but she went there today, and her careless chatter brought two of the sheriff’s men to our door a few minutes ago. Had the sentries not discovered the intrusion and made quick work of them, Nottingham’s spies might well have brought a larger force with them next time. Now, we must bury the bodies, assign additional sentries, and pray that no one else overheard her babbling.”

  “A selfish half–wit, the woman is!” Fannie added. “Poor Nubbs vowed to wallop her for fair if she done it again. And so she has!” At this, Fanny whooped, clapping her hands with glee at the prospect of Mrs. Nibbs being “walloped.”

  Fletcher nodded, trying not to smile at the wretched woman’s plight. “Aye, and were I the gambling sort, I would wager that Mrs. Nubbs will rue the day she opened her mouth in the village square. Nubbs is a good and gentle soul, and unaccustomed to taking the lady in hand, but even as we speak, he�
��s gone to borrow a thick strap and a stout paddle from the blacksmith. This whipping is a long time in coming, and there’s not a man or woman here who’ll not cheer Nubbs as he does what he must. Indeed, there’s more than one man here who would do it for him, should poor Nubbs become faint of heart. One way or another, the lady will leave here tonight with a bruised and welted bottom, and – we hope – a much improved disposition.”

  John Nubbs appeared a few moments later, carrying, as Fletcher had predicted, a large wooden paddle and a short, thick strap. He sat down on a nearby bench and then beckoned with one finger to his surly and apprehensive wife, who promptly turned and tried to bolt in the opposite direction.

  It took two strong men to capture and drag the fugitive the short distance to where her husband waited, but within seconds of her arrival there, she was sprawled across his lap, shrieking in complaint even before the first blow was struck.

  It began and from Alice’s vantage point, she had an excellent view of Marsilla Nubbs’ reddened face, widely opened mouth and flailing arms. Splayed across her husband’s thighs, kicking and screaming, the woman’s ample buttocks suffered the longest, loudest, and most thorough spanking Alice had ever witnessed. The solid splat of Nubbs’ open palm on his wife’s posterior continued for some time, during which the lady bewailed the injustice of her chastisement and then launched into an obscene vilification of her husband’s physical attributes and his prowess in the marriage bed.

  Under the ceaseless hail of verbal abuse being heaped upon his head, it seemed for a few moments that Nubbs’ resolve had weakened, but in the end the insults appeared to renew his determination – and his vigor. He picked up the leather strap, adjusted his lady more advantageously across his lap, and dealt a mighty storm of well–angled blows to her writhing backside, which had become visible now to many of the onlookers due to her extreme exertions and new position – head down and rump up.