Wolf's Head (The Forest Lord)

by Steven A McKay

  Sir Richard shook his head with a wolfish grin. “He was never one of us, you know that – he’s a king’s man. Besides, the bastard’s been ruined, Will. He has no money left, his tenants have turned against him, and, as we speak, the king is sending a man to replace him as lord in Hathersage. He’s nothing.”

  Robin clapped his friend on the back. “I told you we’d make him pay, Will.”

  Will drained his ale and set his mug on the table grimly. “Once we’re done here, then, I have some business to deal with in Hathersage.”

  The earl had no idea what Will meant, but he didn’t care either. He had to get moving, to try and add more men to his growing army.

  He stood up, Sir Richard rising with him, hastily downing the last of his own ale.

  “Take care of your business, then, lads.” Thomas nodded to the outlaws. “Sort out whatever you have to sort, enjoy your Christmas. Then be ready to bring your men to Sir Richard’s castle at Kirklees when we call on you in the next few weeks.”

  “After that,” Richard smiled boldly, “all we have to do is destroy the king…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “So – who feels like kicking King Edward’s useless arse for him?” Robin demanded.

  The outlaws cheered and raised their ale cups to the night sky jubilantly, the joyful sounds filling the forest. The young wolf’s head had never seen the men so excited.

  “I can’t believe it,” the youngster Gareth grasped his leader’s shoulders happily. “I never thought I’d be a free man.”

  “Slow down,” Robin laughed, tossing back a mouthful of ale. “We still have to defeat the king’s army first!”

  Gareth shrugged as if the task was trivial and, grinning widely, wandered off to join the rest of the men dancing and singing by the great campfire which had been banked high to stave off the bitter winter chill.

  “You’d think we kill kings every other day,” Robin shook his head ruefully, enjoying the outlaws’ reaction to the earl’s proposal, but fearing the raucous celebrations were premature.

  “Let us have our fun,” Friar Tuck advised. “No, it won’t be easy to beat the king’s soldiers. Quite possibly every one of us will die in the battle, even if the earl wins in the end.” He shrugged. “But we finally have a goal – a purpose. Something to aim for, rather than just scratching an existence from one day to the next in this forest, hoping the law doesn’t catch up with us.”

  Robin realised the friar was right. No wonder the men were so excited. “Alright then, Tuck, what are you waiting for? Let’s see you dance!” With a whoop, he tossed his empty cup on the ground, grabbed the portly churchman by the wrists and dragged him round in a manic jig.

  On Christmas day, the outlaws who had family or friends in nearby villages went to visit them. It had snowed sporadically for the past few days, and the roads were treacherous for unwary travellers. The law would not be out hunting for wolf’s heads in such harsh weather, so the men made the most of it.

  Little John went off smiling and whistling to Holderness to see his wife and son. Gareth went to see his poorly ma in Wrangbrook, and Arthur visited his parents in Bichill. Some of the outlaws, like Friar Tuck and Allan-a-Dale, were happy to stay at the camp, feasting, carolling, and playing drunken games like blind man’s buff with each other. They had even gathered some ivy and holly, with many bright red berries, and decorated the cave with them.

  Matilda had taken her pardon and, escorted by Robin, and Will, gone home to Wakefield, a free woman.

  Robin had asked Much to come to the village with them, but, with his da murdered and a new miller living in the mill where he had grown up, Much had decided just to stay at the camp with Tuck and the others.

  In Wakefield, Matilda’s parents greeted her with joy, as little Beth wrapped herself around Scaflock’s legs, screaming in delight.

  The Fletchers’ house, like the outlaws’ camp, and all the other properties in the village, had been decorated with evergreen foliage, which stood out gaily against the frost and snow, and many villagers were singing carols.

  Robin headed off to spend the day with his parents, and Scarlet, who had brought his own bedroll, stayed with the Fletchers, who gladly agreed to put him up for the evening.

  Before they went to watch the mummers performing their festive play in the village green, Will took Beth for a walk down by the river, a huge grin on his face the entire time. He would never forget what Robin had done for him by rescuing his daughter and bringing happiness back into his life. She was a wonderful little girl, despite her harsh three years in de Bray’s house, and Will knew his wife, Elaine, had been a fine mother. He wished she could see Beth now, but pushed the bleak thoughts out of his mind, and just concentrated on enjoying the day with his daughter.

  Since it was Christmas he had brought her a gift – a little carved wooden dog on wheels, and they laughed and ran together through the snow, pulling it jerkily along behind them. Will’s heart was light, and he offered a silent prayer to God for his good fortune.

  Robin visited his family, taking them a ready cooked goose and some pickled vegetables for their Christmas dinner. He also handed his father a bag of silver to make sure they enjoyed the season without worrying about money.

  Martha piled plates for them all, and they enjoyed a meal as a family for the first time since Robin had been outlawed seven months earlier. After the main course, a big mince pie was produced and Marjorie, who was looking much better since Robin had seen her last, was allowed first bite and told to make the traditional wish.

  The big outlaw’s heart swelled to see his little sister grinning as she bit into the tasty meat savoury, and he made a wish of his own, that Marjorie would enjoy many more happy, healthy Christmases.

  Although she was stronger, his sister was still too poorly to go into the freezing afternoon to see the mummers with Will, Beth and the Fletchers, so the Hoods stayed home, happy in their own company, as the sounds of revelry filled the village outside.

  As the light faded outside, making the already dim, smoky room seem even darker, they sat around the fire drinking warm ale and Robin told them of his intention to join the earl’s planned rebellion. They knew King Edward would call the villagers to fight for him against the Earl of Lancaster’s forces. Robin didn’t want to find himself on a battlefield facing his own father.

  “Don’t worry about that, son,” John told him. “If it comes to that, I’ll join the same side as you. The earl has tried to be a decent lord to Wakefield, while the king continues to persecute men like you. There’s no way I’ll fight for a king whose unjust laws made my son live in the forest like an animal!”

  Robin was cheered by his father’s support, and the talk soon drifted to happier subjects, including his marriage to Matilda, which his parents were more than happy about. They talked long into the night, a well-banked log fire chasing the worst of the winter chill from the air, bathing the small room in a cosy orange glow.

  John and Martha finally went upstairs to the little loft to sleep, kissing their son and daughter good night as they stretched out on their own straw pallets beside the fire which Robin now placed the stone cover over.

  “He’s a good lad,” Martha whispered proudly to her husband as they climbed into bed and pulled the thick blankets over themselves. “A good man.”

  “Aye, he is,” John agreed. “And maybe if the Earl of Lancaster can defeat that worthless bastard Edward…”

  “Our boy can come home.”

  They hugged each other close and, full of hope, slept better that night than they had for months.

  In the morning, Will and Robin said their farewells to their families, hopeful they would see them again soon, as free men. Still, even Will had tears in his eyes as he said goodbye to his little daughter, cuddling her fiercely and telling her how much he loved her.

  Robin had embraced his parents and Marjorie, promising to visit more often, then went to the Fletcher’s house to say goodbye to Matilda.

&n
bsp; The two of them walked alone, thick cloaks round their shoulders as a light but icy wind whipped about the trees on the village outskirts.

  “Did you tell your ma and da about…?” Robin wondered, placing a tender hand on his wife’s belly.

  Matilda shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ll wait a couple more weeks until I’m showing more then I’ll say to them. I don’t know how they’ll take it – they still think of me as their own wee girl. And, with you still being an outlaw…”

  They walked a little longer, feeling melancholy at their parting.

  Robin was overjoyed at Matilda being pardoned, and being able to live in Wakefield with her parents again, where she could raise their child in a normal environment.

  He felt sad that he might not be able to enjoy being a proper father to the baby though. He’d never thought about having a child until now, but he wanted to do things right.

  “I promise you, Matilda,” he told her, grasping her hands and looking in her eyes earnestly. “I’ll be here for you and our baby. I’ll fight for the earl, and win my pardon. Then we’ll be a proper family together!”

  They held each other tightly, neither wanting to let go, but eventually they made their way back to Matilda’s home, where Robin and Will bade everyone a last farewell, and headed into the forest to return to their camp.

  The day before, Robin had visited the Wakefield headman, Patrick, and given him a bag of silver, as a Christmas gift to the village. Patrick had been shocked at the amount, but had promised to put it to good, and fair, use during the bad weather. He also told Robin he would make sure the villagers knew exactly who had given them the money.

  Matilda, Marjorie and Beth would be well looked after by the people of Wakefield.

  The two outlaws reached the camp by late afternoon, despite the thick snow, which slowed them and tired their legs.

  “Scarlet!” Allan-a-Dale shouted as he saw his friends approaching. “Good news!”

  “What’s up, Allan?” Will wondered.

  The minstrel hurried over, eager to share the news.

  “Wilfred the baker sent word from Hathersage! The new lord there turned up yesterday with a dozen soldiers. John de Bray’s been sent packing. Him and his wife were seen on the road south, struggling to get their horse and cart moving through the snow. Probably heading to London.”

  “Just the two of them?” Robin wondered.

  “Aye,” John nodded. “He’s got no money to hire guards, has he?”

  Will nodded grimly. “I’m going after him. Finally…finally, I’ll have my revenge . . .”

  Robin grasped him by the shoulder. “Do what you have to do. Take one of the horses.”

  They still had the two horses that had pulled Abbot Ness’s cart of silver, so it would make the journey much quicker if Will took one of them to hunt his quarry.

  “D’you want me to come with you?” Robin asked his grim friend. “Or one of the others? It’d be safer if you aren’t alone, there’s more outlaws than just us around these parts.”

  Scarlet thought for a moment; then he shook his head. “No, I have to do this alone.”

  In truth, he would have been happy for one of the other men to go with him for company but the fact was, he didn’t know how he would react when he finally came face to face with the man who had murdered his family and made a slave of his infant daughter.

  He believed he might butcher John de Bray, and possibly his wife too if she got in his way, and he didn’t want any of his friends to be there to see it.

  He saddled the youngest of the two horses and headed south without a word to the rest of the men.

  When he returned to camp late that evening no one asked him what had happened, they simply welcomed him home warmly.

  He accepted a mug of ale from Robin and gave his friend a melancholy nod of thanks.

  It was done. Will Scaflock could, at last, move on – the darkness in his soul had finally been cleansed.

  Robin never found out whether his friend had killed de Bray and his wife or let them go. The pain in Will’s green eyes – the anguish Robin had there since the day he had met him – was gone at last.

  Friar Tuck believed Will, a new man since rediscovering his daughter, had done the Christian thing and let de Bray go, while Matt Groves muttered to the outlaws of how he imagined Will had butchered both de Bray and his wife.

  It didn’t matter. Will Scarlet was, finally, Will Scaflock again.

  For now.

  * * *

  “Fucking bastards!”

  The servants cowered as de Faucumberg raged in his great hall in Nottingham castle, smashing things left, right and centre. These outbursts had been happening regularly, since the sheriff had returned from his humiliating meeting with Robin and the Earl of Lancaster.

  “Bastards, the lot of them!” he screamed, face almost purple with rage. ”Treat me like a fucking peasant?” He kicked over a chamber pot, piss spilling all over the floor. Even though he had made the mess himself, it only made him angrier as he screamed at his servants to clean it up.

  “My lord . . . ?” The steward crept surreptitiously into the hall, trying to remain as anonymous as possible as the sheriff stormed around the room. “You have a visitor.”

  “Unless it’s Richard-at-Lee or the Earl of Lancaster crawling on their knees begging my aid, you can kick them out! I’m in no mood for visitors!” de Faucumberg roared, before he eventually calmed down and, with a sullen grunt, dropped into the high backed chair at the end of the room.

  “Well?” the sheriff roared at the cowering steward. “Show them in then!”

  A tall, black armoured knight strode confidently into the great hall when the door was opened. He had dark eyes and walked as if he owned the castle.

  The sheriff disliked him straight away.

  “Who are you and what the hell do you want?” de Faucumberg demanded, as the man stood in front of him confidently, his big arms clasped behind his back.

  “I’m here to hunt your outlaws, sheriff,” the man replied, his face expressionless as he removed his helmet, revealing hair as black as his armour.

  De Faucumberg snorted. “Oh are you? Well, I’ve been hunting those men for months – years some of them – and had no luck. I hope you can do better than I’ve managed. Who sent you? ”

  The stranger stood stock still, but his eyes moved to fix the sheriff in his gaze. “Everyone in the north of England has heard of these outlaws, and your failure to bring them to justice.”

  De Faucumberg’s face became even angrier, as he glared at the stranger who had walked into his own castle and insulted him in front of his own people.

  “You can hold your tongue, sir!” the sheriff snapped. “If you must criticise me, do it in private, not in front of my own men.”

  The big stranger remained silent, eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall in front of himself.

  “Who are you, anyway, and who sent you to save us all from the mighty Robin Hood and his men?” the sheriff demanded, spittle flecking his lips.

  The knight moved forward, graceful despite his size, left hand resting gently on the pommel of his sword. He stood in front of de Faucumberg and looked boldly into the sheriff’s eyes.

  “King Edward himself has sent me, to destroy these outlaws that plague you. And I will destroy them, you can be sure of it.”

  He leaned down and placed his hands confidently on the table as he gazed at de Faucumberg. “You may have heard of me, lord sheriff. My name is Sir Guy of Gisbourne.”

  Historical Note

  Writing historical fiction throws up some interesting challenges, and it’s not always easy deciding how to overcome them.

  During the time period covered in this series there was more than one sheriff in the north of England, where the action takes place. Some readers might have liked me to write the novel with 100% historical accuracy, and used the correct names for each different year. However, I decided to pick one man to fill the role of sheriff, who read
ers could get to know, and stick with him for the entirety of the series rather than introducing a different character for each book, who would flit in and out of the story, before readers could get to know them.

  Sir Henry de Faucumberg was Sheriff of Nottingham and Yorkshire from 1318-1319 and again from 1323-1325 – around the time I’ve set Wolf’s Head and its sequels. If Robin Hood did operate around the time of the Lancastrian revolt, as I think likely, de Faucumberg would have been a major thorn in his side for much of his life. De Faucumberg is also an interesting character in his own right, being charged on three separate occasions between 1313 and 1315, for theft and contempt of court, before somehow finding his way in life and being named sheriff shortly after in 1318.

  He hunted down the Lancastrian rebels – the “Contrariants”, was sheriff when the king visited the area in 1323 and, before being appointed sheriff, lived in Wakefield, just like Robin. He also held an estate in Holderness, where Little John originates.

  Sir Henry de Faucumberg, with all these (coincidental?) connections to our other characters and places in Wolf’s Head is the ideal candidate for our sheriff, I hope you will agree. Or at least see my point in choosing him for the position.

  The next book in the series will see Robin, Will Scarlet, Little John et al dealing with the aftermath of Thomas, Earl of Lancaster’s revolt. Sir Guy of Gisbourne will also pose a new threat to Robin and his friends – a hunter more deadly than Adam Bell/Gurdon ever was…?

  I hope you’ll join me to find out!

  Steven A. McKay,

  Glasgow,

  December 26th, 2012

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