Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord)

by Steven A McKay

  * * *

  The great stone walls seemed to crowd in on Robin, as a pretty young nun led him and John to Will’s sickroom in the priory.

  The outlaws were used to the open skies and the leafy canopies of the greenwood, occasionally the low thatched roof of a village alehouse. These great high ceilings, tiled floors and cold, grey stone walls made both men nervous, but the nun had smiled happily at them when they had knocked on the door, asking after Will.

  “Your friend has made a miraculous recovery,” the girl said. “Truly God was at work in our priory last night!”

  John smiled back, admiring the gentle curves of the young woman’s body, which the dark habit couldn’t hide. Robin nodded distractedly as the big man nudged him, smiling lecherously behind the nun’s back.

  Despite the girl’s enthusiasm, both Robin and John were stunned to see Will sitting up in bed, wolfing down a large bowl of apple stew. He smiled sheepishly at them, and Beth leapt up from her chair to rush over and hug Robin’s legs.

  “He’s all right! I knew he’d be all right!” she laughed happily.

  “So I see, lass,” Robin replied, ruffling her hair as he looked down at Will who finished off the last of his meal and closed his eyes, grimacing slightly as a shiver of pain ran through his side.

  “I’m alive, but it still bloody hurts,” he grunted.

  “How’s the wound?” Little John asked. “Allan said it had healed over – surely that’s not true?”

  “The nuns stitched it up, they say it’s clean and will heal up nicely soon enough. As for it healing over, well, Allan’s a bloody minstrel isn’t he? He likes to exaggerate. Still…we all know I should have died yesterday, so I can’t complain.” He smiled weakly.

  “You can’t stay here for long,” Robin told him. “Someone’s bound to find out who you are and the sheriff’s men will come for you. We need to get you back to the forest as soon as you’re able to travel.”

  Will nodded. “What about Beth? The forests are no place for a child.”

  “I’ve spoken with Matilda about Beth,” Robin replied. “She says her ma and da will be happy to take care of her. They’ll have the extra space now, since Matilda will be living with us for a while…”

  Will grinned in relief. “That sounds good my friend. And…” He lowered his eyes, as they filled with tears. “I don’t know how to thank you and Allan for getting my little girl back for me.” He pulled Beth to him and hugged her tightly. “I never believed she was still alive. I feel guilty now for never looking for her myself. I thought the soldiers had killed them all.” His body shook as he sobbed gently, stroking his daughter’s long brown hair. “I’m so sorry, Beth.”

  “Well, she’s safe now,” Robin replied awkwardly. “You two can start again.”

  “Aye,” John laughed loudly. “And maybe now since you have something to live for you won’t be so bloody miserable all the time?”

  Everyone smiled at that.

  “Aye, you’re right. I know I’ve been hard to be around. But now, well, like you say I’ve got something – someone – to live for. Thanks to you Robin.”

  Friar Tuck wandered into the room, chewing a piece of black bread. His eyes lit up as he saw his friends. “Truly a miracle, lads,” he cried, crumbs spilling from his mouth. “The Virgin Mary gave us our brother Will back – she must have a purpose for him here.”

  “Oh I have a purpose all right, Tuck.” Will’s smile turned to a steely glare. “I want to be up and about as soon as I can. Because once I’m better, I’m going after the bastard that took Beth from me!”

  * * *

  “The king must be dealt with!”

  The magnates gathered by Thomas, Earl of Lancaster in another of his “parliaments” rumbled agreement at his assertion, although some looked uncomfortable at such a treasonous statement.

  “The younger Despenser – with Edward’s connivance – has embarked on a career of piracy!” Lancaster, his face red with anger, slammed a fist onto the long table before him. “The Despensers have been banished, yet the younger of them continues to act as he pleases, while the king does nothing. In fact, the king aids Despenser in his criminal activities!”

  “At least his father has accepted his fate and gone abroad,” Sir John de Bek growled.

  “Many of us,” Lancaster roared, “pledged ourselves when we last met in June to secure the destruction of the Despensers. Both of them. Yet the younger is allowed to live the life of a murderous pirate, waylaying many English merchant ships on the Channel, while I have heard strong rumours that the king has been in contact with him and plans to recall both father and son before the end of the year.”

  There were cries of outrage at this.

  “Surely Edward would not be so foolish?” Sir Richard-at-Lee demanded in disbelief. “He knows the depth of feeling against the Despensers. If that piece of murdering filth ever sets foot in the country again I will hunt him down myself!”

  “The king cares nothing for our feelings!” Lord Mowbray spat. “Do my lords forget the other…favourites…the king has kept over the years? The Despensers have manipulated him for years – and will continue to do so – just as Piers Gaveston did.”

  The Earl of Lancaster nodded in agreement. “My cousin is not fit to rule I’m afraid, gentlemen. When I was made Steward of England I naively thought I could influence him. I hoped to curb the influence of men like Gaveston and the Despensers, but Edward is blind to the faults of these…friends…of his.”

  Lord Clifford shook his head despairingly. “It grieves me greatly to say it, my lords, but I fear the time has come that we take matters into our own hands, before the king ruins us all, as he has recently ruined Lord Badlesmere.”

  There was a silence in the room at this pronouncement, as each of the assembled magnates contemplated the terrible fate of Badlesmere, who had sided with the Marchers against the king.

  Edward’s wife, Queen Isabella, had sought lodging for the night at Leeds Castle, of which, Badlesmere was constable. Although he was away at the time, his wife, Margaret, had refused the royal party access, going so far as to have her archers shoot down half a dozen of the queen’s retainers. The king had, understandably, been incensed at this, and had laid siege to Leeds castle.

  Some of the Marchers, including Mortimer and Hereford, had travelled to Lady Badlesmere’s aid, they had arrived too late and the castle had fallen to the king.

  Although Lord Badlesmere had not been captured, his wife, their children and other immediate family had been imprisoned in Dover Castle, while many of his supporters were hanged.

  The king had shown a new side to his character: decisive, ruthless and merciless. His actions had shocked Sir Richard-at-Lee and most of the other lords gathered here at Pontefract who were used to seeing an indecisive, weak and inept Edward.

  The Marchers, and the Earl of Lancaster, were particularly worried. If they did not act soon, the king’s newfound sense of purpose would be the end of them.

  Time was not on their side.

  “The king has shown by his unlawful treatment of Lord Badlsemere, who has been found guilty without due legal process, that he will do as he pleases even to his most devoted subjects. He has gone insane with power – he has become a tyrant!”

  Sir Richard noted a few frowns around the room, but the loud roars of outraged agreement from the Marchers and their friends filled the room.

  “The time to act is almost upon us, gentlemen,” Thomas stated. “Or any one of us will be the king’s next target. Would you sit twiddling your thumbs while Edward strips you of your lands?” He glared at the men seated before him. “Will you wait, like lambs to the slaughter, hoping our beloved monarch and his friends will not imprison or even murder your children, as the king has done to Badlesmere, and Despenser did to Sir Richard-at-Lee?”

  Again the Marchers shouted angry demands for action, and Sir Richard could tell Lancaster’s speech was having the desired effect as many of the lords who had appeared
undecided at the start of the meeting were now joining in with the cries of outrage.

  The commander of Kirklees grinned savagely. He had paid the ransom to the younger Despenser and freed his son, but, despite that, his son was dead and Sir Richard was as good as ruined. His private estate was small; it didn’t provide the sort of income he needed to repay his debt to the Abbott Ness. The situation enraged him and he had vowed to stand with the Earl of Lancaster against the Despensers and, by extension, the king.

  He had lost almost everything anyway.

  All he wanted now was revenge.

  The meeting ended with most of the magnates signing a petition warning the king of their intent to defend themselves by force of arms, should his attitude not change.

  It was all the justification King Edward needed to move, once and for all, against his rebellious lords.

  There would be war.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Divine assistance or not, Will was well enough to travel within a week and rejoined Robin and the other outlaws at their camp with grins all round.

  The nuns at the priory had informed Archbishop Melton in York of their miracle patient, and he had travelled to Kirklees to see for himself. Will and Beth had sneaked out the evening before he was due to arrive. Will was not ungrateful for their help, but he knew the more people that saw him, and the more fuss made, the more likely someone would recognise him for the outlaw he was.

  Little John had told him he was a fool for returning to the camp.

  “What the hell are you talking about, you big oaf?” Will growled. “Where was I supposed to go?”

  “You’re a walking miracle!” John grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “The priests would have made the King pardon you. You could have lived like a lord.”

  Will laughed. “Until the next miracle came along, and they lost interest in me. Then the sheriff would have come along and hanged me for a wolf’s head.”

  Despite the fact he was able to travel, Will was still not fully healed, so, as summer finally gave way to autumn and the leaves that hid them so handily started to fall off the trees, there had been no more mention of hunting down Lord John de Bray for enslaving Beth. Robin was glad. He had hoped that the return of his daughter might have softened Will’s outlook on life – dimmed his never-ending need to kill powerful noblemen.

  While he understood the desire to avenge Beth’s cruel imprisonment for so long, Robin still wished Scarlet would forget about it.

  The little girl had settled in well with Matilda’s parents, Henry and Mary. They were upset at their daughter having to take up with the outlaws of the greenwood, but looking after Beth tempered the blow. Considering what she had endured in her short life, Henry told them the girl was as bright as a button and Mary was pleased to have a willing helper around the house.

  Since they had destroyed Adam Gurdon and his foresters no one else had made an effort to hunt them down. It would have been a happy time for the outlaws, if food wasn’t so scarce. They managed to hunt just enough venison, rabbit, birds and fish to survive, buying milk, eggs, salt, bread and other foods when they were available from the surrounding Yorkshire villages for exorbitant prices. But, like Robin’s family in Wakefield, people all over the country could barely get enough food to survive. It was a source of worry for many of the outlaws, who had family and friends living in the villages surrounding the forests of Barnsdale.

  Robin had been accepted by all the men, if only grudgingly by Matt Groves, as their leader by now, despite his youth – he had just turned eighteen in October – and lack of experience. Little John, Friar Tuck and Will Scarlet were always available for advice, if and when he needed it.

  “You know, things are going to get even harder than this?” John said one frosty morning as they skinned a pair of small rabbits they’d trapped.

  “Harder?” Robin looked at his big mate in disbelief. “Are you taking the piss?”

  “You joined us in the spring,” John replied, peeling back the fur from one little animal’s carcass. “You’ve been an outlaw only during the easy weather, when there’s plenty of game and fruit to eat, plenty of rich travellers to rob and plenty of leaves on the trees to hide us. But it’s coming into November now – winter. And it’s been a shit year for growing food, as you know yourself.”

  Robin sighed in frustration. “I know. My little sister Marjorie’s probably going to suffer. I’ve been trying my best to help my family with food and money but…” His voice tailed off and he stared at the trees disconsolately. “What can we do?”

  Little John finished skinning his rabbit before he rinsed off his hands and knife in the swiftly flowing stream next to them, then he stood up and looked down at his young leader with a sly smile. “I know a certain local we might be able to rob – it’d please Will too.”

  Robin sat for a moment, wondering what John meant, then he realised. “You’re having a laugh, right? Are you seriously saying we should attack John de Bray’s manor house?”

  John nodded his head vigorously, and walked over to sit facing Robin, his hazel eyes gleaming earnestly. “The people in Hathersage say de Bray’s got a great pile of food stored away in that undercroft of his.”

  “What?” Robin demanded, his face twisted in fury. “He’s hoarding food, while folk like my sister Marjorie are starving to fucking death?”

  “So they say,” John shrugged. “Smoked or salted meat and fish, pickled vegetables, dried fruit. It’s perfect. Scarlet wants his revenge on the bastard – and we know the layout of the place thanks to you and Allan. Beth could probably help us plan it as well. She must have a good idea of the kitchens and undercroft. Think about it! How much money and food has that little prick got lying around in his fancy manor house? Winter clothes? Weapons? Armour? If we go in during midwinter, we’ll come out with enough food and money to feed and clothe the whole of Yorkshire ‘til next spring!”

  Of all the manors in the surrounding areas, John de Bray’s in Hathersage was one of the smallest. Some powerful English nobles, like Thomas of Lancaster or the Earl of Warenne counted scores of villages among their holdings, but John de Bray was Lord of Hathersage alone. De Bray was still a wealthy man though, and, as Robin knew from personal experience, his manor house wasn’t that well defended.

  It was an ideal target for a small gang of outlaws, especially if the wicked bastard had been hoarding food so he could stay fat while the villagers starved through the winter.

  Robin was lost in thought, wondering if John’s plan was feasible, when a shout came from near their camp.

  “Robin! John!” Much appeared from the trees, eyes scanning the forest.

  “What is it, Much?” Robin got to his feet, helping John up with him.

  The miller’s son hurried over to them, excitedly.

  “Men – coming this way. Gareth spotted them. From his description, Tuck and Will say it sounds like Hospitallers.”

  Robin and John shared an uneasy glance as they all started back towards the camp. The Knights of St John – Hospitallers – were an immensely powerful and wealthy order of warrior monks who had grown even stronger with the demise of the Templars. A hostile force of Hospitallers would pose a huge threat to the outlaws.

  “How many are there?” Robin demanded.

  “Only two of them,” Much replied. “Well armed and armoured though, and on big warhorses too.”

  “They can’t be hunting us, then.” Little John heaved a sigh of relief. “They must simply be travellers, passing through.”

  Robin nodded, winking at his giant friend. “Rich travellers…”

  They reached the camp and found the rest of the outlaws waiting on them, already armed and ready to move.

  As John and Robin strapped on their own light armour they, with Will and Tuck, discussed what to do.

  “These aren’t a couple of soft, fat priests,” Will cautioned. “No offence, Tuck.”

  “None taken,” laughed the friar.

  “Looks like a Hospita
ller knight and his sergeant,” Will went on. “They’ll be dangerous, and could be damn hard to bring down if they decide to fight.”

  The outlaws headed for the main road, where they would ambush the Hospitallers. They had chosen a heavily wooded area, which would hinder the mounted men greatly, should a fight break out.

  “We’ll have a handful of the men in plain sight, high up, with their bows ready and aimed at these Crusaders,” Robin said. “The rest of you take up positions close to me, by the roadside. I’ll talk to them, see if we can avoid any bloodshed.”

  Matilda was told to hang back with Much.

  They reached the road at midday, and the sound of a distant church bell could be heard tolling mournfully in one of the surrounding villages.

  Will and Little John ordered the outlaws into their positions, and they settled down to wait for the knight and his man-at-arms.

  A short while later, the sound of heavy horses could be heard coming through the trees towards them. Harnesses jingled, the animals snorted softly and their great hooves made distinct thuds on the hard ground.

  The riders were silent, and, as they came into sight, both men looked gloomy and downcast. They were indeed heavily armoured, with black tunics, and bore black shields with white crosses painted on them. Hospitallers right enough.

  Robin let them come closer and, when they were around twenty yards away, he stepped out from behind the oak tree he had been hiding behind.

  “Good day, sir knights!” he smiled, folding his arms across his chest, and leaning against the tree, his brown eyes glinting cheerfully.

  The men pulled up their horses, and both moved their hands instinctively to their sword hilts, eyes scanning the woods around them.

  Now that the outlaws could see them clearly, it was plain these two soldiers had fallen on hard times. Their armour and clothes were shabby, and their horses looked poorly fed.

  “What do you want?” said the largest, and slightly better dressed, of the two knights, a thick-necked, grey-bearded, commanding looking man.