Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord)

by Steven A McKay

  Robin took a huge pull of his ale, shaking his head with a grimace at the burning pain in his ribcage. “I’ve been practicing, and picked up a lot since I joined your group, but I knew I couldn’t beat you – John’s told me how tough you are in a fight.”

  Bell smiled graciously and took a drink himself. “Anything can happen in a fight Robin, the most important thing is to stay alert. I knew you’d make a mistake eventually – I just had to make the most of it when you did.”

  Robin downed the last of his ale and was thankful as the rest of the men gave up their training for the day and came over to congratulate Bell on his victory. The atmosphere had grown tense during the fight, the outlaws sensing trouble should it not go the right way. Now that Adam had won it was as if the tension had been released and the men felt like celebrating without even understanding why.

  Bell himself truly believed he had bested Robin, as did Little John and the other outlaws. Only Will Scarlet looked thoughtfully at Robin, but his green eyes were unreadable, as always.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matilda was in the forest, not far from the village, collecting wood for her father when she felt hands suddenly grab her around the waist. She gave a small cry and tried to elbow her attacker in the ribs desperately.

  “Ow! It’s me, Matilda, calm down!”

  The hands lost their grip and Matilda spun round, panting. “Robin, what the hell are you doing?”

  Suddenly, sneaking up on her didn’t seem like such an amusing idea, and Robin raised his hands defensively. “Sorry. I was just playing.”

  Matilda’s eyes blazed furiously and she set her fists on her hips. “Well it wasn’t funny you bloody idiot. Everyone in the village has been wary since Mayday when you punched the prior – the bailiff keeps coming round hassling us. I thought you were one of his men.”

  Robin hadn’t even thought of that, and he apologised again, taking the girl’s hands in his own and drawing her into a hug.

  “Fine. Don’t ever do that again though.” To emphasise her point, Matilda kneed him playfully in the bollocks, but smiled and hugged him tighter as he squealed. “How have you been? I’ve missed you; it’s been weeks since I saw you.”

  They began to walk through the forest, hand in hand, and Robin told Matilda about his life with Adam Bell’s men, assuring her the outlaws weren’t all murderous rapists, and trying to convince her he was having a great time.

  As the outlaws had begun to accept him, so came more responsibility and Robin had found himself leading small raiding parties as they targeted rich merchants travelling through the forests of Yorkshire. By the summer solstice, most of the outlaws had come to see Robin as third only to Adam Bell and Little John.

  Although Will Scarlet had great experience, and the men trusted him, not many actually liked him as a result of his brooding, dark presence. Robin, on the other hand, was a pleasant companion, full of laughter and jokes. Granted, he could retreat into his own little, grim world on occasion, but so could all of the outlaws when they thought of their families, friends and lives left behind, often as the result of some lord’s injustice.

  Will seemed content to accept Robin’s rise over his own social status, but Adam Bell was careful never to send the two men on a raid together.

  Friar Tuck and some of the other men had gone off to Bichill for some supplies today; a warm morning, the sun high in the sky and only a gentle westerly breeze to stop the temperature becoming unbearable. The gang had plenty of food in their larder though, and nothing else to do, so Adam had allowed Robin to come to Wakefield to visit his family and friends.

  “I miss you,” he told Matilda. “I wish I could see you more. But if the bailiff’s men are still coming round hunting for me, I’d be putting you in danger if anyone saw us together.”

  “Yes, yes, I know that,” Matilda snapped, flashing him a wry smile. “My mother never tires of telling me about the dangers of Robin Hood. And she’s right. It would be nice to see you more though.” Her eyes glittered and she gave a laugh. “What about Much though? He’s always sneaking around my da’s fletching shop, asking if I’ve seen you.”

  Robin grinned. “I’ll go an’ see him later on. Adam said I could spend the day here as long as I was careful, so I visited my ma and da and Marjorie, then came to find you.”

  Matilda gave him a questioning look. “Adam Bell worries you might come to harm?”

  Robin laughed. “Of course he does. He wouldn’t want to lose one of his most deadly fighters would he?” Matilda’s eyebrows arched and he continued, smiling ruefully, “Not really, he’s just worried I might give them away if I’m caught.”

  Matilda returned his smile sardonically. “‘Deadly fighter’, eh? As modest as ever, then.”

  The two continued walking, simply enjoying each other’s presence, as they realised they’d come close to the village again. The mill came into sight, and Robin nodded towards it. “Maybe we could see Much now. I’ll stay here out of sight, if you could tell him to come over?”

  “Or maybe we could do something more interesting, for a while?” Matilda moved in close, eyes wide, pressing her small breasts against him, and cupped his balls in her hand through his breeches.

  Robin felt himself stiffen almost instantly, and he grinned, pulling the girl down onto the grass beside him.

  They kissed passionately, hands frantically removing each other’s clothes, until Matilda climbed on top of him and he gasped as he felt himself slide deep inside her.

  Matilda arched her smooth back with a wanton smile, as Robin squeezed her breasts and thrust himself almost desperately into her. Stuck in a forest with a gang of ugly men for weeks, Robin had become more than a little frustrated, and now, with this beautiful girl grinding herself into him, he couldn’t contain himself for long. With an explosive gasp of pleasure, he shot his seed inside her.

  Matilda leaned down and they kissed gently for a little while, embracing happily.

  “Enjoy that?” the girl asked with a grin.

  “Enjoy it?” Robin laughed. “It was unbelievable! The bailiff could have turned up just then and I couldn’t have stopped I was enjoying it so much.”

  Matilda laughed, rolling onto the grass to look contentedly up at the cloudless blue sky for a moment. “Shall we head to the mill and find Much?”

  “Aye,” Robin agreed, pulling his trousers back on. “Hopefully he’s” –

  A terrible scream of pain shattered the peaceful afternoon air and the lovers looked at each other in horror.

  “It came from the mill!” the young outlaw cried, frantically buckling his sword back around his waist. “Wait here!” He sprinted off, still half naked, towards the bridge that led to Much’s home.

  * * *

  Thomas the miller screamed again as the bailiff slammed the heavy wooden mallet down onto his hand. Much was held back by two of the bailiff’s men, as he struggled to somehow help his father who was bound hand and foot to one of his own chairs.

  Henry the bailiff addressed Much again. “If you don’t tell me where Hood’s hiding, boy, your father won’t have any hands left to work this mill.”

  The bailiff knew the miller’s wife had died ten years earlier, and, since the mill was set apart from the village, no one would hear the agonized cries and come to see what was happening.

  Much, tears in his eyes as he watched his father writhe against his bonds in agony, shouted in frustration at the bailiff. “I don’t know where Robin is, I haven’t seen him in weeks, since he joined Adam Bell’s gang! I swear it! Leave my da alone, please Henry!”

  The bailiff scowled at Much’s denial. After having his nose smashed, the prior had demanded Henry bring Robin Hood to justice, offering him a nice sum of money to make it happen, and this had seemed the ideal way to locate the young outlaw. But this bastard Much was no help at all. He raised the mallet again, but this time he cracked the miller on the side of the face with it.

  “Stop it!” Much screamed again, arms and legs thrashin
g as he tried to reach his father. “I swear to you I don’t know where Robin is, you need to look for Adam Bell!”

  Henry had to accept Much really didn’t know anything helpful. He would have given Hood up by now if he did. The bailiff dropped the mallet onto a table, and Much sobbed in relief, his father lying on the floor, bloodied and dazed, but alive at least.

  “Well then, neither of you are any use to me, but I can’t leave you around to cause trouble – can’t have the people of Wakefield complaining about me to the earl can I? He listens to the peasants too much, that one. We’ll have to make it look like outlaws broke in and killed you both…”

  The bailiff drew his dagger from his belt and slammed the small blade straight into the groaning miller’s heart. Leaving it there, he turned, slowly drew his sword from its fine leather sheath and rounded on the horrified Much with a wicked smile. “Your turn, boy.”

  The door to the mill burst open, almost torn off its hinges, as a great dark figure tore into the dimly lit room. Henry raised his sword instinctively, but the shadow man came in low, thrusting his own sword upwards into the bailiff’s guts, tearing muscle and flesh as he pulled his blade free. The bailiff grabbed feebly at his torn body, and collapsed on the floor, blood pouring from his slack mouth, eyes staring helplessly up at his killer.

  Much fell to his knees on the floor then too, gasping in shock and disbelief at what was happening in his home, as his captors released him so they could draw their own weapons against this unexpected attack. The two foresters moved apart and fell into a defensive stance, swords held ready to face the young man who stood with his head down, glaring menacingly at them, his massively muscled bare chest heaving with exertion, thick blood dripping from the end of his sword.

  “There’s two of us…” one of the men began, but Robin, moving impossibly fast, lunged forward and rammed the point of his sword under the man’s face, right up through the top of his head.

  As the second forester moved to engage him, Robin dragged his sword free and kicked viciously at the front of the next attacker’s leg. The blow sent the man stumbling face first to the floor as his knee gave way and Robin rammed his blade into the man’s side. As the forester hit the floor the young outlaw punched him in the back of the head with his left hand and, for a second, everything was still.

  Matilda ran into the mill and stopped, holding a hand to her mouth, her eyes staring around in horror at the sight of the four dead men in the room.

  Much began sobbing again, repeating the phrase, “Mary Mother of God,” over and over, sometimes looking at his dead father, still impaled on the bailiff’s dagger, sometimes looking at Robin in shocked disbelief.

  “Much.” Robin, starting to shake with shock himself as the adrenaline drained from his system, knelt down and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need to come with me. They’re going to come back for you, with more men. The prior must have ordered this.”

  Much moved to sit by his dead father, sobbing uncontrollably, until Matilda came and put her arms around him.

  “Robin’s right,” she whispered, tears of disbelief in her own eyes. “You have to leave. If the prior sent the bailiff here he won’t let something like this go. He’ll want to make sure you don’t talk.”

  Much sat for a moment, then raised his head to glare at his childhood friend. “This is all your fault, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t punched that fucking prior!”

  Robin had no answer to his friend’s accusing stare, so he stayed silent.

  “Much, we don’t have time for this now,” Matilda told her friend gently. “Maybe it is Robin’s fault, but more men will be coming looking for you now – the bailiff’s dead! You have to go with Robin, or you’ll be hanged for murder!”

  Much nodded almost imperceptibly and, after a while, got slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving his dead father’s face. “Let me get my things, please . . .”

  “Of course,” Robin replied. “Take everything you can carry. Money, weapons, clothes, food. We can’t come back here, ever. But hurry!”

  As Much, dazed, moved to collect his things, Matilda faced Robin, confusion and disbelief plain on her lovely face. “You killed three men. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Robin sank to the floor, his hands shaking badly. “I know. Adam’s men are good teachers. I’ve never killed anyone before. I just wanted to stop them from killing Much.” His eyes filled with tears.

  Matilda took his hand gently. “You did well Robin, you saved his life.”

  “Maybe.” He looked over at the corpses of the men he’d killed, and hid his face in his hands. He felt like throwing up.

  “I’m ready.” Much came back into the room, his face bleak, and Robin stood up, wiping away his tears with his hand.

  “Alright. Let’s go and find Adam.”

  * * *

  “My lords!” Sir John de Bek, a dark haired man of advancing years filled the room with his enormous baritone voice, calling the meeting to order. The gathered noblemen – barons, knights and bishops from all corners of the country, fell silent as every eye turned to de Bek, who appeared to be acting almost as a chancellor, as if this was some sort of unofficial northern ‘parliament’.

  “The Earl of Lancaster,” Sir John continued, nodding towards the grim-faced earl at the head of the enormous wooden table, “has called us here to discuss a number of issues. Firstly: the issue of the Scots.”

  The magnates sat in silence as the earl’s “chancellor” talked at some length of the threat from the Scots. “For years they have been raiding deep into our northern lands – it cannot be allowed to continue!” de Bek vowed passionately. “At the last meeting in May some of us signed a pact agreeing to defend each others’ lands against the threat from Scotland. Now, the earl asks those of you who were not at that previous meeting to sign the same pact.”

  Sir William Deyncourt led a chorus of cheers in agreement and it was clear from the mood in the room there would be no problems with this proposal. There were some uneasy glances towards the Earl of Lancaster as rumours of his fraternizing with the Scots had been heard by everyone gathered there, but no one raised the issue. The earl was the one proposing an alliance against the Scots – why would he seek friendship with them at the same time? It seemed a ridiculous piece of gossip, probably put about by the royalists to damage Thomas’s reputation.

  De Bek nodded to himself in satisfaction. “Since we all seem happy enough with that, I shall move onto the next item on the agenda.”

  He glanced down at a sheet of parchment in front of him and read off it a list of grievances against the king, including unlawful banishments, unwise treaties signed with foreign nations and, most contentiously, the bad character of Edward’s closest advisors: the Despensers.

  Thomas of Lancaster watched the reactions of the gathered men as de Bek outlined the problems, noting with dismay that many of them – particularly Archbishop Melton of York, the most powerful of the prelates at the meeting – appeared uncomfortable at the accusations against the king.

  He swore softly to himself – not only did he not seem to be getting the enthusiastic support he had hoped for, but some of the northern lords had failed to show up for the meeting. Sir Richard-at-Lee must have decided, like his order’s Grand Prior, to side with the king, Lancaster thought, noticing the big Hospitaller’s absence. It wasn’t a major blow to the earl’s plans: Sir Richard was only a minor noble, with small personal resources, wholly unlikely to sway the Hospitaller Order in England to stand against Edward.

  Still, the more support Thomas could enlist the better, and the Crusader knight would have been an excellent man to have on-side when the fighting inevitably started. Damn him! What was wrong with these people that they wouldn’t stand up against such a weak and ineffectual king?

  As the magnates debated the idea of opposing the king and the Despensers the door to the room was suddenly thrown open and Sir Richard-at-Lee stormed in. The big knight was clad
imposingly in a suit of chain mail, over which he wore the black mantle of his order, with its eight-pointed white cross emblazoned boldly on the chest. As he pulled off his gauntlets his grey-bearded face was scarlet with fury.

  There was confusion around the table, as those men who didn’t recognise the stern-faced knight panicked, wondering if the king’s men had come to put a stop their ‘northern parliament’.

  “My lords!” Sir Richard, oblivious to the effect he’d had on the room, strode to the head of the table, nodding a greeting to the Earl of Lancaster who rose and tried to calm the nervous lords.

  As it became clear the Hospitaller was not there to arrest them, the noblemen quietened down, wondering what was going on.

  “My lords,” Sir Richard began again, looking around the room, “some of you know me, and some of you don’t. I am Sir Richard-at-Lee, Commander of Kirklees. I fought in the Holy Land and Rhodes as a knight of the Order of St John – the Hospitallers.” He stood proudly before them, hands spread wide as the rage left his voice to be replaced by outraged disbelief. “Although I am a Hosptialler first and foremost, I have also been a loyal subject to King Edward, and his father before him – indeed, after the Earl of Lancaster’s last meeting a month ago, I wasn’t even sure I should come here to this one, for fear of displeasing the king.”

  There were quiet mutters of understanding at that, as many of the gathered lords had harboured similar thoughts, only turning up for this meeting as a courtesy to the wealthy earl who was, after all, Steward of England.

  “However,” Sir Richard went on, “in return for my loyalty, our monarch has allowed his – current – favourite, Hugh Despenser, to imprison my youngest son in Cardiff castle on a trumped up charge of murder!”

  Sensing an opportunity, Lancaster roared indignantly, demanding to hear the facts of the furious Hospitaller’s case against his hated enemy.