Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord)

by Steven A McKay

  “Are you just going to sit here stuffing your face then?” the abbot demanded, spitting crumbs on the table in front of himself in consternation.

  “Yes, my lord abbot,” de Faucumberg retorted, “at least for the next half an hour anyway, while I eat my breakfast. Although you seem to have eaten half the contents of my kitchen this morning already.”

  “Get to the point, sheriff! What are you going to do about the outlaws in Yorkshire?”

  The weak wine de Faucumberg had forced down his gullet was beginning to take some effect, the warm glow rising through his body and into his brain. It made his plan seem slightly more palatable.

  “Since we can’t even find them, never mind kill them, here’s what I suggest….”

  * * *

  “Matilda! Robin!”

  Gareth of Wrangbrook was on lookout in a thick old yew tree when he heard the man shouting. The teenager leaned down for a better look and recognised the fletcher from Wakefield: Henry.

  Matilda’s father.

  Gareth knew better than to reveal himself – it might be a trap after all. So the youngster silently shinned down his tree and ran back to the camp to alert the rest of the men.

  “You’re sure it’s Henry?” Robin asked when he had delivered his report.

  “Aye, I’ve seen him before when I’ve gone to Wakefield for supplies. It was him for sure.”

  Robin rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Oh come on, Robin,” Will Scarlet laughed. “Henry would hardly lead us into a trap would he? Not with his own daughter here. Stop being so cautious.”

  “Will’s got a point,” Little John agreed. “Let’s go and see what the man wants.”

  Robin smiled at his friends, his brown eyes sparkling cheerfully. “Fair enough. But I want Arthur, Allan and Matt to flank us, and keep out of sight. Just in case. I’ll go on ahead with Will and John. Gareth, you better get back to your lookout post. ”

  Matilda grabbed Robin’s arm. “I’m coming with you. He’s my da!”

  “He’s mine too, now,” Robin replied with a grin, as his wife slapped him hard on the shoulder.

  “In the name of Christ, don’t you two get enough of that in bed?” Scarlet grinned, bringing more laughs from the rest of the outlaws, and an outraged flush from Matilda.

  “Very good, Will. Come on then,” Robin laughed, pulling his wife to his side and leading the way in the direction they could now hear Henry calling from.

  As they neared the fletcher, Robin became serious again, signalling the outlaws to a halt. The men took defensive positions without needing instruction, hiding behind trees and whatever other foliage was still available in the barren winter forest.

  “Robin! Matilda! It’s me, Henry!”

  The fletcher stepped back in shock as Robin suddenly appeared in front of him without warning. “Hello, Henry,” the outlaw leader smiled, his eyes warily scanning the forest behind their visitor.

  “For fuck sake, lad, you nearly gave me a heart attack there!”

  “Sorry about that, Henry,” Robin replied, his hand on his sword hilt, still staring into the trees and undergrowth around them for signs of an ambush. “Are you alone?”

  “Of course I am” – the fletcher began, then his face broke into a massive grin as Matilda, flanked by Little John and Will Scarlet, stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk and raced to her father for a hug.

  “Da!” she cried, tears in her eyes. “Oh Da, I’ve missed you!”

  Henry was oblivious to the outlaws watching as he cuddled his daughter fiercely, his own eyes wet. “I’m here now,” he told her, his deep voice cracking with emotion. “And everything’s going to be all right, like it used to be!”

  Robin wanted to ask the fletcher more, but Little John intervened. “Not here, Robin. Even if the fletcher did come alone, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been followed. We should get back to camp.”

  The young leader nodded in agreement with his giant friend and John waved everyone back towards their camp, the fletcher following them with his daughter.

  Safely off the well-worn pathways through Barnsdale forest, the outlaws, lookouts back in their positions, settled down to hear why Henry had come looking for them.

  “The sheriff is asking for a meeting with you Robin,” the fletcher told his new son-in-law. “Word is the Abbot of St Mary’s came to visit him, and complained about you stealing a lot of his money.”

  “So why’s he want a meeting with us?” Will asked. “Is he expecting us to hand back the cash? Not likely.”

  “Aye, Will, he does want the money back.” Henry raised a hand to silence the outlaws’ laughter. “The sheriff has promised pardons for some of you in return for the abbot’s money.”

  That silenced the gang, who looked at each other hopefully.

  “Some of us, Henry?” Little John asked. “Who?”

  The fletcher looked slightly flustered as he replied, “Well, just Matilda, really…” His voice tailed off in embarrassment, but he placed a protective arm around his daughter and met John’s eyes defiantly.

  “You must be mad, Fletcher!” stormed Matt Groves. “That money’s ours now. There’s no way we’re giving it up just so your daughter can go back to her nice life while the rest of us struggle to stay alive in this fucking forest! You’ve got a cheek, you have!”

  Some of the outlaws grunted their agreement of Groves’s statement; others were unsure what to think.

  When the noise had died down, everyone looked to Robin.

  “Well, Robin?” Groves demanded. “You’re our leader. Tell the fletcher to go back to Wakefield and let the sheriff know he can shove his pardon up his arse.”

  “Give it a rest, Matt.” Robin looked over in surprise as Will stepped forward to speak.

  “Henry’s only trying to look after his daughter; you can’t blame him for that. Any one of us would do the same in his place.” The fletcher nodded approval as Scarlet continued. “We already had plenty of money to see us through the winter, from Lord John de Bray’s house. It’s not like we really need the rest of it. What can we do with it in the forest anyway? Climb around the trees in fine silks? Lie in the cave eating lark’s tongues?”

  “So you’re saying we just give the abbot his money back?” Groves asked in disbelief.

  “Aye, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Will told the older man. “Being part of this gang isn’t just about staying alive and stealing from people. It’s about friendship and looking out for each other. Well, we have a chance to look out for Matilda. One day, maybe someone will do the same for you.”

  Matt shook his head angrily, clearly unconvinced by Will’s logic, and stormed off into the trees.

  “Robin?” the fletcher looked over to his son-in-law again. “What say you?”

  Robin’s heart had leapt into his mouth when Henry had mentioned a pardon for Matilda – it was the answer to their prayers!

  “The thing I want more than anything,” he replied, looking around at the men earnestly, “is for us all to be pardoned – to be free again. I think this is a start. One pardon is better than nothing and, like Will says, we don’t need the money stuck here in the forests. Let Matilda go home, I say.”

  Matilda gently released herself from her father’s embrace and came over to hold Robin’s hands. “But we’re married now,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “We should be together.”

  Robin smiled. “We will be, some day, I swear it. I don’t know how, but one day we’ll all be free men again. Then we can be together, like a proper married couple.”

  Little John gave a laugh. “All we have to do is keep stealing money from rich abbots and the sheriff will eventually have to pardon the lot of us!”

  The outlaws cheered at that, and the fletcher began to relax, sensing his daughter’s freedom becoming a reality.

  “However,” Robin raised his voice again, “we have plenty of silver, but that money isn’t mine to do whatever I like with. Every one of us has a say in th
is. Like Will says: we’re more than just a gang, we’re friends as well. The abbot’s chest held two hundred pounds. There’s seventeen of us. That means we’re each due a share of…” He looked over at Friar Tuck who screwed up his round face and thought for a few moments.

  “About eleven pounds!”

  “Eleven pounds each,” Robin nodded. “Matilda’s my wife, so I don’t mind giving up that money to free her, but I can’t tell anyone else to do the same. It’s up to you.”

  At Friar Tuck’s suggestion they all agreed on a vote by show of hands. It was carried unanimously, although a small handful of the men were reluctant at first. Robin told them he would personally repay their share of the money himself, even if it took him forever, but, eventually, the men agreed to hand back their own share of the abbot’s money in return for Matilda’s pardon.

  All except Matt Groves, who seemed to have disappeared sometime after the fletcher’s arrival.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Matilda told the outlaws, humbled by their sacrifice for her.

  “Well, don’t say anything then, lass,” Little John grinned. “You get off home to Wakefield with your da, and make the most of your freedom.”

  “Look out for my Beth, will you, until I can steal enough money to get my own pardon?” Will asked her with a grin.

  “Of course I will,” Matilda smiled. “I’ll treat her like my own wee sister.”

  All the outlaws said their goodbyes to Matilda. Every one of them had grown fond of the girl, and would be sorry to see her go.

  Especially Robin. He felt like he’d been kicked in the guts as it slowly sunk in that he’d be living apart from his new wife from now on.

  “What now, Henry?” Little John asked the fletcher. “How do we go about this?”

  Matilda’s father told them the sheriff would be at the old stone bridge a mile outside Wooley two days from then, at midday. There, he would give Robin – or whomever the outlaws chose to send – the letter of pardon for Matilda, in exchange for the abbot’s silver.

  The outlaws were happy enough with this: Wooley wasn’t far from their camp, only a few hours walk, and the chest with the money in it was sitting, intact, in the very back of their big cave. They still had the little cart and the two old horses to pull it, so everything should be fine.

  “Right, that’s sorted then,” Robin nodded, “You won’t be leaving for Wakefield until the morning though, Henry, will you?”

  The fletcher looked at the sun, gauging the time, and shook his head. “No. To be honest, I was hoping you lads would let me spend the night here. The light won’t last much longer and I don’t want to get caught out here when the temperature starts to drop.”

  Robin nodded, “Of course you can stay the night with us. We’ll have a feast to celebrate Matilda’s pardon, if we have enough food stored away. I’m sure we’ve some ale around too.”

  Now that Matilda’s fate had been decided, everyone felt buoyant, even the men who had originally been unsure about giving up such a huge amount of money to save her. They genuinely did like Matilda, and were pleased to know she would be free again. Their reticence had, Robin reflected, been completely understandable.

  Eleven pounds! It was a huge sum of money – more than most workers in England would earn in their lifetime.

  But, as Will had pointed out, what was the point in being rich if you couldn’t enjoy it? Besides, they were all still quite wealthy from the money and valuables they’d taken from Lord John de Bray’s house.

  They may be outlaws, Robin thought proudly, but they’re good men.

  He put the issue of Matt Groves to the back of his mind and joined his friends in preparing the feast. If this was to be his second last night together with Matilda for a while, he was going to damn well enjoy it.

  The ale was passed around, some salted meat was roasted and the outlaws, along with Henry, enjoyed a celebration. The snow fell in Barnsdale forest as they celebrated life round a roaring campfire – their life together as friends who looked out for each other; the life Matilda would have restored to her and, for Robin and his wife, the life that grew inside Matilda.

  Outlaws they may have been, but they were happy and free together that night.

  Matt Groves appeared a while later, shuffling into the dim light sullen as ever, but Robin took him aside and told him he could have his eleven pounds of silver. Matt brightened considerably after that and the party continued long into the winter night.

  Robin and Matilda didn’t make love that night. Matilda slapped his eager hands away when they went to bed. “Not with my da here!” she snapped. “He might see us!”

  The cave was so dark, even with the braziers lit, that Robin thought there was little chance of the fletcher seeing them doing much, but he didn’t protest. They fell asleep after a kiss and cuddle, holding tightly to each other.

  * * *

  Hushed voices woke him during the night; the anxious tones intruding on his subconscious until he opened his eyes and wondered who was still awake at this time of night.

  Carefully, so as not to wake Matilda, he rose from the pallet and pulled a heavy sheepskin around his shoulders to keep off some of the cold. Pushing aside the animal skins covering the entrance to their cave he quietly made his way to the small, but merrily crackling campfire where Little John and Will Scarlet sat, deep in conversation.

  Shivering, Robin blew on his hands and settled down on a log next to his companions. “What are you two doing out here? It’s fucking freezing, even this close to the fire.”

  “We didn’t want to wake everyone,” John replied.

  “We’re worried about this deal with the sheriff,” Will added, his face anxious in the flickering orange firelight. “You know he’s not going to just hand over Matilda’s pardon and let us all walk off, right?”

  John nodded. “I’ve heard de Faucumberg is an honourable man, for a noble, but we’re wolf’s heads – there’s nothing to stop him killing the lot of us and taking the silver.”

  The three men stared dully into the campfire, entranced by the hypnotic flickering flames and their problem.

  “What can we do?” Robin finally dragged his gaze away and looked at his friends. “Try and hide the men in the trees, ready to fire if the sheriff double-crosses us?”

  Will shook his head. “De Faucumberg will be expecting something like that – he’ll bring more men than us and have them search the area before he even arrives. We’re going to have to come up with something better than that.”

  “This is what we’ve been trying to figure out for the past hour,” John agreed. “The sheriff’s men have already had their arses handed to them by us more than once recently – they’ll be well prepared for any tricks.”

  Again, silence descended on the camp, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fire, until a smile slowly spread across Robin’s face and he softly clapped his hands together in satisfaction.

  “Here’s what we’ll do…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “You’re really going to pardon one of these outlaws?” Abbot Ness was furious at the idea. “It’d be better if you would just hunt them all down. You have enough soldiers.”

  Here we go again, thought Henry de Faucumberg. “I’ve already explained to you, it wouldn’t matter if I had a thousand soldiers. Finding a handful of men in an area the size of Barnsdale Forest, in the winter, is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “But there’s nowhere for them to hide!” the abbot shouted indignantly. “Look!” He pointed at the trees as they rode past. “The leaves are all gone. Where can they hide in winter?”

  “There are still some trees with their foliage, even in winter,” the sheriff explained. “And apart from that, the snow and ice makes it almost impossible to travel within the forest.”

  “The outlaws seem to manage…” the abbot grumbled.

  “Oh shut up, man!” de Faucumberg snapped. “You’re getting your two hundred pounds back aren’t you? Beside
s, do you think I’m about to let the outlaws just walk away?”

  The abbot sat up straighter on his horse and looked at the sheriff conspiratorially. “What d’you mean?”

  “I didn’t bring forty soldiers along with me just to keep the peace. The outlaws have seventeen men, I’ve been told. Well, sixteen minus the girl. We outnumber them more than two to one. And I chose a meeting point that’s out in the open, so the bastards can’t swing away up into the trees like monkeys, the way they normally do.”

  Abbot Ness smiled wickedly, then his face fell. “You’re putting my life in danger with this plan, de Faucumberg.”

  The sheriff grinned. “Hmm? Yes, I daresay I am. No matter, I’m sure God will watch over you.”

  They reached Wooley an hour before midday, so the sheriff told his men to eat lunch, but to remain alert.

  It was a misty morning, with a white blanket of snow covering the ground and the sun a small dim circle hardly visible in the cloudy grey sky. De Faucumberg sat on a big boulder, eating a chunk of buttered bread. A robin landed beside him and he watched it contentedly until another appeared and they chased each other off.

  “They’re coming, my lord,” one of his soldiers shouted, as the faint creak of a horse-drawn wagon reached them through the damp mist.

  “Mount up!” the sheriff roared, his breath steaming. “Be alert!”

  “What about me?” Abbot Ness asked plaintively.

  “Get on your horse, man. Just wait beside me.” The sheriff shook his head in disgust.

  Eventually, through the mist, two horses appeared, pulling a small cart after them with a great wooden chest on it. As it came closer, three heavily armed figures came into view, beside the cart. More than a dozen shadowy figures followed a little way behind, shrouded in fog.

  “Robin Hood, Will Scaflock and John Little, I presume?” the sheriff shouted into the chill, moist air, his voice barely carrying.