Romancing Robin Hood

by Jenny Kane

  Pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders, Mathilda shuffled a few inches nearer to the fire place. Her finger ran along the length of the new girdle. It really was beautiful, a work of art, and she wondered where it had come from. She’d been worried for a while that it had been stolen, but Robert had implied it had been made especially for her, and Mathilda choose to believe that was the case.

  Watching the dying flames, Mathilda decided that if Robert didn’t turn up in the next few moments, she’d go and ask Allward where she should bed down for the night. While she waited, she prayed to Our Lady with every inch of her being, something, Mathilda hadn’t done in earnest since the famine of a few years ago had so cruelly taken her mother from her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He found Mathilda on her knees before the fire. Her lips were moving so fast that he could hear the rush of silent words she offered gallop straight from her mouth to heaven. Robert marvelled at how the girl could still have faith after all that had happened to her. The crop failures that had cost the whole country so dear, and many, including Mathilda, the loss of parents and children; the growing failure of her father’s business; her missing brother; and now, her own kidnap and enforced service; surely any one of those events alone were enough to end any faith.

  Robert shook himself. Of course she believed. Everyone believed; it was safer that way. Yet, the ferventness of her prayer had surprised him. Perhaps this girl wasn’t so different from the rest. Folville waited for her to finish, before helping Mathilda rise from the cold floor. ‘I was surprised to see you appealing to the Almighty.’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘You have not exactly had it easy, child. Praying has obviously not helped you in the past.’

  ‘You speak blasphemy, my Lord.’ Mathilda lowered her eyes from him.

  ‘And you think blasphemy, girl, I have seen it in your face.’

  Indignant, Mathilda pulled her body to its utmost height, ‘Did not Robyn Hode, despite his defamed state, still risk capture, arrest, death even, to reach the shrine of Our Lady in Robyn Hode and the Monk, my Lord?’8

  Robert couldn’t contain his grin ‘I forgot your memory for a tale, child. You are right, he did indeed.’

  ‘And I think, my Lord,’ Mathilda spoke almost haughtily, the realisation that, at least for now, the Folvilles needed her so were unlikely to dispose of her at this stage of their plans, making her braver, ‘if I may be as bold as you say I am, and say that our charade as a couple would be more successful if you were to stop referring to me as a child.’

  Folville studied Mathilda carefully, and inclined his head. What was it about her that made her so brave in the face of her own peril? He didn’t for a second think it was because she was foolhardy.

  Gesturing for her to follow him, Robert escorted Mathilda into the side room where she’d been bathed earlier. It already seemed a lifetime ago. ‘Sit down, Mathilda, we have much to discuss, and we need privacy to do so.’

  Wiping a bench clear of the damp clothes that had been laid out to dry, a wary Mathilda waited for her master to speak.

  ‘You are going on a short journey to Bakewell, stopping at Derby on the way. Do you know the road to Derby?’

  Mathilda gasped; going to Derby wasn’t a short journey. It was many miles away. ‘I know of it, my Lord, but I’ve never travelled that far.’

  ‘You surely didn’t think your message would need delivery within Ashby Folville? I could have taken such a missive myself.’ He surveyed at her with an expression of amused derision, which Mathilda found unsettling, ‘The debt your family has to reply involves more than money, and therefore is going to take more than a quick trip or two into a local town or even Leicester.’

  Avoiding the mocking look in his eyes, Mathilda asked, ‘And once I’m on the road to Derby, my Lord?’

  ‘You are to head to Bakewell. There you will ask for audience with Nicholas Coterel.’9

  Mathilda’s face went white, and her palms clenched together. ‘I see you know the name, Mathilda. Tell me, how does a potter’s daughter know of such a man?’

  Mathilda swallowed, trying to ease the sudden dryness of her throat, ‘I heard the name in the spring, my Lord. I was in Leicester with my father. It was a name spoken of in hushed tones, in awe, my Lord, and with fear.’

  ‘Nicholas Coterel and his brother John are not men to trifle with, Mathilda. Nor, however, are they men to fear – unless you have particular cause to do so.’

  Mathilda boldly fixed her gaze upon Robert’s face, fear making her forget her position of inferiority in the hope of receiving more information about her task. ‘I see, my Lord.’

  ‘They are like us; my brothers and I. The Coterel family see the disintegration of our country and counties, and have taken steps to curb the worst excesses of those who abuse their positions of power too widely.’

  Mathilda didn’t respond to his statement, and as Robert stared at her tiny frame and delicate features, he seemed unsure for the first time, ‘I admit that John Coterel appears to have developed a taste for violence beyond the necessary. Even more so than Eustace and Richard have. That worries me. But, I tell you that in confidence. Do you understand, Mathilda? I am trusting you to keep my confidence.’

  ‘I am honoured, my Lord,’ Mathilda was anything but honoured. With each word Robert spoke her shaky bravery was knocked away, and fear at what was being asked of her began to knock louder at the surface of her mind.

  ‘To you I can admit I am wary about Eustace’s plan to work with the Coterel brothers, but I think he is right in one important respect.’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Look at yourself, girl. Who would take you for anything but an honest worker, a highly placed servant of the family, doing her master’s bidding? You are the perfect candidate to carry this message.’

  Mathilda looked down at her unfamiliar clothes. He probably had a point. ‘What must I say, my Lord, when I reach the Coterel home?’

  ‘You’ll be told in good time. Once you get there, all you have to do is pass the information on, and await a reply. Then you bring it back here.’

  ‘And then I can go home?’

  ‘If you’re successful, and if the debt has been repaid, then yes.’ Mathilda tried not to read anything into the fact that Robert coloured slightly, and didn’t look at her while he replied.

  ‘May I ask a further question, my Lord?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘How will I travel, my Lord? On foot the journey will take days, and yet unaccompanied on horseback it’ll appear suspicious, a girl of my status out on her own.’

  Robert studied her shrewdly and with satisfaction. ‘Eustace was right. You are perfect for this assignment, and your question is a good one.’

  Standing and stretching out his long legs as if restless, Robert added, ‘I will ride with you as far as Derby, we have friends there. They will accommodate us overnight, and then, the following day, I will arrange for you to be taken on a cart with Master Hugo, an associate of mine who fought loyally by my side in the last Scottish war, to Bakewell, where they hold a weekly market. Hugo has a stall there selling leather wares. You will slip away from the stall to the Coterels’ hall, deliver the message, obtain the reply, and then return to the market. When you are back with Hugo you will help him sell his goods until the end of the day. Once you have been returned to Hugo’s workshop, I will bring you back here.’

  Relieved not to be travelling alone, Mathilda was sure the task wasn’t going to be as simple as Robert was making it sound. ‘Please, my Lord, why cannot you or your brothers deliver the message?’

  Robert sighed, ‘How would you react, Mathilda, if you witnessed a member of the Folville family and the Coterel family meeting?’

  ‘Of course. I understand, my Lord,’ and she did, very well indeed.

  Part of what Robert de Folville had told her the night before had seemed unimportant as she’d listened to her instructions. During a long, lonely, wakeful night on a cot at
the edge of the main hall , Mathilda hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the sentence, ‘The debt your family owes involves more than money.’ She’d just given up trying to decide what Robert had meant by that, and fallen asleep, when Mathilda was woken at dawn by Sarah the housekeeper. Even as she blinked her eyes into wakefulness, a mixture of the images that had plagued Mathilda’s night time mind, her father, her brothers, and her own situation as a spy, continued to haunt her.

  Led through to the kitchens, she found Robert already booted and cloaked, ripping off some hunks of bread and placing them in a saddle bag for the journey.

  ‘There are things you need to know, Mathilda. Come on girl, get some bread and ale in you, and follow me down to the stables. We have to make an early start.’ Striding away, Robert called over his shoulder, ‘the groom has your horse ready, don’t be long.’

  Mathilda gulped down some liquid and tried to chew the crusty bread, but it seemed to grow in her mouth, and it took a huge act of will to swallow it down. She hadn’t dared tell Robert that she hadn’t ridden a horse since she was a small child, but had always travelled in the back of her father’s cart with the pots, keeping them safe from the perils of breakage on the uneven road to Leicester market.

  Hastily following her new master’s retreating steps, Mathilda carried the remaining bread with her, and was soon being hoisted into the saddle of a chestnut palfrey, which she was relieved to see was shorter than she’d feared, with kind, docile eyes. A saddle roll hung off its harness, and she stuffed the bread inside in case hunger overtook her anxiety on the ride. As they trotted briskly out of the courtyard and onto the quiet road west, Robert drew in close to Mathilda’s side. She was hanging onto the reins and her mount’s mane for all she was worth. Robert raised his eyebrows as he observed her discomfort, but said nothing on the matter.

  ‘Before we arrive, you must know that my family’s collaboration with the Coterels is at best a necessity, usually a financially rewarding one, but it is not, generally speaking, an alliance based on friendship. Money does the talking when it comes to John and Nicholas Coterel, perhaps even more than it does with Eustace. They afford us harbour within the Peak District sometimes, and we return the favour when required. Now and again we both agree that a local issue needs addressing and we work together to do just that.

  ‘Then there is the small matter of your position. You are supposed to be my close acquaintance, and it will be assumed that you will be aware of the details of Belers’ death and its consequences. There are always consequences, Mathilda.’

  She risked a glance away from her palfrey’s neck to look at Robert. His face was handsome, and if it wasn’t for the cruel streak that could flare up in him with no warning, she could, perhaps, truly like this man. The prospect unnerved her, and Mathilda quickly pushed it to one side. ‘Indeed, my Lord.’

  ‘That my family was involved in Belers’ death is widely known. That it was Eustace that arranged it, you have probably guessed. But you should also know that I helped with the planning, as did Walter.’

  Feeling his hot gaze on her, Mathilda carefully concealed her reaction, but her insides clenched as she waited for him to continue. ‘Belers had been a thorn in the side of the gentry in the region for some time. You need not know how the breaking point for action was reached, but you should be aware that we were paid to do the job by De Herdwyk and La Zouche. Remember their names, Mathilda, you will be asked for them by Coterel as proof that you come from me.’

  ‘De Herdwyk and La Zouche.’ Mathilda repeated the names back at him.

  ‘The hunt for Belers’ killers was widespread, for he was an important man. Leicestershire’s sheriff at the time had no choice but to pursue us.’

  ‘Edmund de Ashby, my Lord?’10

  Folville was surprised, ‘You know his name?’

  ‘Of course, my Lord, he was the sheriff.’

  ‘Again you prove your worth, Mathilda.’ Robert pulled his impressive jet-black mount closer to her more ladylike palfrey, and examined her more carefully as they proceeded at a slower pace, while the sun rose to its daytime position.

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Mathilda, feeling as if she was less likely to fall and hit the ground now they were proceeding at a walking pace, began to survey the landscape around her. This was unknown territory to her, and the world was beginning to stir, getting ready for the working day ahead.

  Whispering, keeping a watchful eye on the wakeful villagers they passed by, Robert made sure they could not be overheard as he continued his account of the events of two years ago. ‘The authorities couldn’t catch us, but they had to do something to illustrate their attempts to do so, however futile. A trailbaston was held in our absence and they took our lands in Reresby in punishment for conspiracy. And then we were outlawed.’11

  Mathilda drew in a sharp breath. This she hadn’t known to be true. She’d heard rumours, of course, but had dismissed them. In this case, at least, it now appeared she’d been wrong to do so. He’d been outlawed! That meant even being seen talking to him could put her in danger.

  Seeing her fearful reaction, Robert continued, ‘Fear not, you are not vulnerable with me, for our outlawry was lifted with a pardon a year later. My brothers and I left the region for a while during its application, making contacts in Lincolnshire. We considered an arrest and payment for a quick pardon, followed by a short time in the service of the King, worthwhile for ridding the world of a scoundrel like Belers.’

  Mathilda hadn’t heard the last part of what Robert had said. Her breath had snagged in her throat. An outlaw! The balladeers songs of Robyn Hode she’d heard at the annual horse fair last year swam in her head. Robert was more like the hero of folklore with each new revelation.

  ‘There is more,’ Robert’s chin was thrust forward in defiance, ‘My family supported Thomas of Lancaster, a sturdy voice during the times of chaos.’

  Mathilda said nothing, and in truth, knew nothing of this name beyond its connection to power.

  ‘His supporters are no longer welcome in this new England, and I have charges hanging over me on that score, although I’ve never been arrested over them, nor will I be!’

  Robert sped to a trot now they’d passed through the last village for a while, having reached Charnwood Forest. ‘That is enough for now,’ he called across to Mathilda, whose palfrey was bouncing her up and down mercilessly in the saddle, ‘keep close to me through the forest. Not too fast though, or we will draw too much attention to ourselves.’

  Grace got up from her office desk to find a map of medieval Leicestershire. She wanted to plot Mathilda and Robert’s route, and so add some colour to her description of their journey for her potential readers.

  She was a little concerned that anyone of a non-historical bent would be either bored or confused by the last conversation between her lead characters, but it was essential to the plot. Or was it? She’d keep it as it was for now, but had the feeling her red pen would be crossing the mention of Lancaster out.

  Grace was also worried about the fact she was now well outside of her proved fact zone. Mathilda was purely fictitious, and therefore so was the trip she was now on. Grace knew that the Folvilles and Coterels had both employed spies and messengers, and hoped that her desire to tell a good story wouldn’t be ruined by the historical purists.

  The Folville and Coterel families really had collaborated with each other on occasion, so the trip itself between their establishments must have been undertaken, possibly even by Robert de Folville himself.

  Finding the relevant map, Grace traced the route from Ashby Folville to Bakewell that she imagined Robert and Mathilda would travel, and began to sketch in the details for her novel. Grace had finished what she was doing when her computer beeped at her impatiently, announcing the arrival of an email.

  Totally understand about book. Is it all RH or Folvilles or something else?

  Would like to meet and talk shop – maybe we could agree on subject for paper and aim to write it in th
e spring?

  What you think? I’m theoretically available every afternoon until Oct.

  Best

  Rob x

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daisy ran an eye over her notes. Guinea pigs, rabbits, gerbils, mice; all their feeding times and cleaning out requirements were listed neatly on the paper before her. As she flicked through the pages of information she’d written, all the relevant instructions seemed to be there, but Daisy had a nagging feeling she’d forgotten something. The three willing helpers recruited to look after her menagerie for the two days before the wedding, and for the duration of the honeymoon, would arrive soon to learn the ropes. Daisy wanted everything written down as a back-up, so that they didn’t have to call her with a query while she was away.

  Somehow time seemed to have speeded up to an impossible pace over the last few weeks, and the wedding, about which she’d been so laid back, was now causing her the occasional bout of butterflies.

  Marcus, as calm and steady as ever, had told Daisy to chill, and that all was in hand. The hotel accommodation was sorted, the venue was booked, the officiant was arranged, the photographer booked, the reception menu had been agreed, altered, and agreed again, the cake was ordered, and the wedding organiser Marcus had insisted on was the type of woman who forgot nothing. Marcus’s suit was ready at the hire shop, as was his brother’s and best man Simon’s, and apart from the final fitting the bridesmaid’s and bride’s dresses were ready.

  All Daisy had left to do was find some shoes and her outfit was complete. Yet she couldn’t help worrying as the final days of her independence slipped away.

  Not that she was regretting her decision to marry Marcus. Not at all. But Daisy had managed alone for such a long time, and it all seemed to have happened so fast; it was going to be a learning curve, albeit a very exciting one, having to share every bit of her life with someone else. From nowhere unaccustomed tears pricked at the corners of Daisy’s eyes. Wiping them away angrily, Daisy decided to phone Grace; she’d talk some sense into her.