by N B Dixon
There was no alternative. Marian could feel the jaws of the trap closing around her, but she could be as dignified as he.
“I accept your offer.”
He looked relieved. “It will do you good to be around others of your station, especially women. Prince John visits Nottingham a good deal. Maybe I can use my influence with him to make sure your chosen husband is worthy of you, or perhaps even to wait until Richard returns—something we all long for.”
Marian almost laughed. John, if anyone, was probably praying Richard would die in prison. Was there more to Guy’s speech than he was saying? Very likely, but at least she would be on hand to counter it. She wouldn’t make it easy for him or anyone else to gain Huntingdon. She would choose her father’s successor, not some jumped-up prince.
“Pack what you think you might like to take. I’ll send an escort for you tomorrow. The roads are not safe for a woman to travel alone.”
***
“What kind of swing do you call that? You’re trying to beat down your enemy, not swatting away flies.”
Edward flushed and glared at John. The quarterstaff he held in his hand drooped towards the ground. “I still don’t see how this is supposed to help against a sword.”
John ran his free hand through his wild mane of hair, causing it to stick out even more. “I’ve told you, lad, a quarterstaff can be a deadly weapon if you know what you’re doing. It has a much longer reach than a sword. You can deflect your enemy’s blows and hopefully keep from having your head lopped off. You can also unhorse a man if you have enough skill.”
Edward looked unconvinced.
From his place on the sidelines next to Sir Richard, Robin watched the mock battles. Will was engaging Wat in a sword fight, though it was very one-sided. Even as Robin watched, Will sent the sword spinning out of Wat’s hand.
“Will,” John bellowed. “Get over here. Let’s show this pup how it’s done.”
The man would have made a formidable sergeant, Robin thought with some amusement. He saw the gleam of challenge in Will’s eyes.
“No holding back,” John directed.
“As you like.” Will launched a vicious attack at John’s head. Quicker than Robin had expected, John’s staff snaked out, blocking the blow. Will tried again with the same result. With his third attack, he struck lower, aiming for John’s belly, but again the staff was there to block him. Back and forth the two of them moved, Will never once able to land a blow on John.
Edward watched, his mouth open in awed fascination; John also had been unable to land a blow. Robin felt sure the two of them would go on all day or until there was a winner—whichever came first.
He finally called a halt. As he did so, John succeeded in knocking the sword out of Will’s hand.
“The man said halt!”
“Do you think your opponent will stop on command?” John turned a triumphant face to Edward. “What did I tell you, boy?”
Edward nodded, admiration clear in his eyes.
“Good.” John handed the quarterstaff to Edward. “Let’s try again.”
“Will and John are good fighters,” Sir Richard observed. “But it will take a lot of training to get Edward and Wat up to scratch.”
“Wasn’t it you who once said not everyone has the same aptitude for weapons?”
Robin was thinking of Gisborne. When Sir Richard had tutored both of them as children, Robin had taken to every form of fighting, often mastering techniques after only a few attempts. Gisborne had been the opposite. His arrows missed their targets much more often than they hit. His sword fighting was clumsy, allowing an opponent to easily get in under his guard. He’d been a fair hand at wrestling, but that was never going to get a man anywhere on the battlefield.
“They need to learn how to defend themselves,” he said. “Gisborne’s men will not hold back.”
“Would you have a boy learn how to kill?”
“Better that than be killed,” Robin retorted. “I’m trying to keep him alive.”
“What then? You will take on Gisborne and his soldiers? A handful of outlaws?”
Robin controlled his temper with an effort. Sir Richard had changed, no longer the tutor Robin remembered. His nephew’s death had broken something in him. He blamed himself, and Robin knew from personal experience it was no good trying to change his mind. Perhaps he could not stand the thought of another boy dying as his nephew had.
Robin made his voice deliberately gentle. “We can’t just hide in Sherwood and wait for Gisborne’s soldiers to catch us. We’re the only hope the poor have. I’m not asking anyone else to risk their lives. Everyone here chose to fight, and I owe it to them to ensure they have the best chance possible of survival.”
“It is not your leadership skills I question, Robin. It is you. I am worried about you—we all are. You’ve changed. I see it, Will sees it—”
“Of course I’ve changed. I’m hunted like an animal. Every week, Gisborne sends new parties of soldiers into Sherwood, all of them eager to carve pieces from my hide.”
“It’s more than that. You’re reckless with your own life, driven by revenge. If you’re not careful, you’ll drag innocent people along with you. You barely sleep. Something is troubling you. If you can’t tell me what it is, then why not confide in Will? He’s as worried about you as I am.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Robin turned on his heel and walked away from his old tutor.
In truth, the nightmares were growing worse. He had tried staying awake, but sheer exhaustion won out in the end. Though he worked tirelessly to keep the people of Locksley and the surrounding villages well fed and with enough money to pay their taxes, the strain was considerable. In return, the villagers traded with the outlaws for basic food and supplies. Many would follow him if he asked them, and he wrestled daily with the constant fear that one or other of them would pay the price for their loyalty.
The idea of doing nothing was inconceivable. Every time he faltered, he only had to hear of a woman raped and beaten by Gisborne’s men, or a villager blinded for poaching in order to feed his children, and his resolve hardened. The nightmares were an invisible enemy he couldn’t fight, so he spent all his energy on those he could. He did not expect Sir Richard or anyone to understand.
***
Robin and the rest of the outlaws entered Locksley under cover of dusk. They crowded with the rest of the village into Locksley’s tiny church to witness the marriage of Much and Lara. Robin knew it would mean a great deal to Much to have him present at the wedding, but his real reason for coming was that he knew Edward would have moved Heaven and Earth to be there for his sister, and Robin had no wish for the boy to land himself in trouble. If Sir Richard thought he was reckless, he didn’t know Edward. The boy seemed to believe that he was immortal, and carried his rage like a banner. One of these days, unless he could be taught to fight with any skill, it would get him killed.
Father Tuck presided over the simple ceremony. Gazing at Much, standing proud and beaming beside his bride, it was hard to believe he was a cripple. Robin’s heart swelled with an unexpected burst of affection for the boy. He had lost so much, but it seemed that God was finally smiling on him, rewarding him for his endless patience and kindness.
Meg stood alone. Robin was startled by the change in her. Gone was the tough woman he remembered. In her place was a frail creature with large, frightened eyes. She was gazing around her in a distracted manner as though unsure what she was doing there.
George was also there, supporting his wife. Robin only had to look at her to know she was dying. At least God had spared her long enough to see her daughter wed.
Lara looked radiant. It was obvious to anyone that she loved her new husband.
Robin’s gaze drifted over to Will. He found himself wondering if Will had ever looked at him the way Lara looked at Much. The feeling caused an unexpected pang deep in his chest. Will’s eyes were not on the young couple, but were scanning the church for any sign of danger.
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John was watching with an odd expression on his face. If Robin didn’t know him better, he’d have said it was wistful.
Alan and Jane were among the congregation, holding hands. Sir Richard looked on with a benevolent smile. Robin knew he’d tutored Much in the use of the longbow as a boy.
Wat was clearly bored. Like Will, he scanned for danger, but his gaze kept straying to the silver chalice that held the communion wine, as though wondering what it was worth.
Once the ceremony was completed, the guests headed to the Blue Boar tavern for the celebration feast. Thanks to the efforts of Robin and his men, there was food and drink aplenty. The air rang with happy shouts and laughter, and Robin found himself relaxing for the first time in weeks. The cheerful mood of the guests was infectious.
Alan struck up a lively tune on his lute, and several couples rapidly formed.
“Will you dance, Robin?” Jane asked.
“With a pretty girl like you for a partner, what man could refuse?”
She smiled up at him and allowed him to take her hands.
The dance was lively and quick, and Robin gave himself over to it, allowing it to burn off some of his pent-up frustration. Jane was a good dancer, her body lithe and supple in his arms. Her dark eyes laughed up at him, and Robin remembered how, when he was a teenager, she had often vied for his attention. He had even stolen the odd kiss from her behind the Blue Boar tavern, until she had started showing interest in Alan and he had met Lucy.
Robin pushed the unwelcome thought away. He was fond of Jane, but it had never gone beyond that. He was pleased to see her happily married and to one of his oldest friends. At least somebody’s life had turned out well.
“When is your turn to come, Robin? You’re too handsome to be single.”
“I’m not sure the outlaw’s life is an ideal setting for romance.”
“What about Will?”
Robin stumbled, causing Jane to do the same. It took a second or two for them to get back into the beat.
“What about him?”
“I’m not a fool. I remember the way you used to look at each other when you were lads. He’s over there in the corner watching us. So, what’s holding you back?”
“I…it’s not like that.”
“Well, it should be. There’s no shame in it. You’re together in Sherwood, why not make the most of it?”
“We could die any day, either at the hands of Gisborne’s men or someone trying to claim the price on our heads.”
“Which is why you should make the most of the time you have.”
Robin didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain to Jane or anyone why he kept Will at arm’s length. He deliberately did not glance over to Will’s corner.
When the dance was over, he gave her a courtly bow and she responded with a deep curtsy, though rather spoiling the effect by winking. Then she reached up to kiss his cheek. “I just want you to be happy.” He pulled her close, resting his chin against the top of her head.
“Do you think you could release my wife, Sir?”
Robin raised his head to see Alan.
Jane detached herself from Robin’s arms and took her husband’s hand. She grinned impishly at him. “Jealous, my love?”
Alan did his best to speak in a courtly accent. “If he had detained you any longer, I would have challenged him to a dual.”
Jane gave him a mock-horrified look. “Oh, please, no bloodshed. I’ve just had clean floor rushes laid.”
Robin shook his head, smiling, and went to join the older bystanders who were gathered watching the cavorting of the younger men and women.
Will’s gaze momentarily locked with his, and what Robin saw reflected in Will’s eyes made his body tighten in response. The spark was bright and eager as a newly conjured flame. It stirred Robin’s senses, filling him with the temptation to go over to Will and… He came back to Earth with a jolt. And nothing. He had no business thinking such thoughts. There was nothing between him and Will, and there never would be.
Father Tuck accosted him then, and Robin was grateful for the distraction.
“You know Gisborne has raised the price on your head yet again. You should get out while you can. If Edgar finds you here…” As if on cue, John came thundering towards them, scattering villagers before him.
“Robin, men at arms coming. They must have got wind that you were here.”
Will was suddenly beside Robin. “We need to leave. If Gisborne finds out we were here, there will be reprisals against the villagers.”
“No time,” John snapped. “They have the village surrounded.”
“Hide in the church.” It was Father Tuck. “You should be safe there. If the soldiers arrive here and find the wedding going on in full swing, they will hopefully think they were mistaken.”
“I’d love to know who told them we were here,” John growled. “Whoever it was, they’ll wish they were dead by the time I’ve finished with them.”
“Save your threats for later,” Robin advised. “Find the others and get them to the church.”
***
They huddled together in the small church, listening to the sound of soldiers riding through the village. Distant shouts reached them, punctuated by barking.
“They brought dogs,” Wat muttered.
“Who betrayed us?” Edward demanded in a furious whisper.
“Some villager Edgar bribed or threatened, most likely,” Will said. “With Gisborne raising the price on Robin’s head every week, it was only a matter of time before the lure became tempting for someone.”
“Robin helps those people,” Edward argued. “They would all starve if not for him.”
“Quiet!” Robin hissed, his eyes on the church door. The sound of voices and hooves was getting closer. They were too exposed in here. All the soldiers had to do was batter down the door and they would find them.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Father Tuck appeared through a side door. “Gisborne’s men are conducting a thorough search of the village. Their orders are to leave no stone unturned. Your best chance is to remain here. I will tell them you claimed the right of sanctuary.”
Robin shook his head. “That won’t stop these men. They’ll drag us out regardless, and you will be punished for helping outlaws.”
“Then we fight.” John gripped the haft of his axe.
“I have a better idea,” Sir Richard said. “The old family crypt. We can hide down there. Soldiers are often superstitious. I doubt they would wish to disturb the dead, even for Gisborne.”
Robin nodded. “This way, all of you. Father, keep them distracted as long as you can.”
Robin led them to another door tucked away in a corner of the church. Beyond it was a small flight of narrow stone steps. With no light to guide them, Robin was forced to feel his way, step by step. Will came behind him, one hand on Robin’s back. The rest followed in procession, each touching the man in front of him.
The crypt was dark and musty. Cobwebs blanketed the walls and niches in which coffins rested, each housing the remains of some long-ago Lord of Locksley. Robin’s father should have been among them. If things had been different, Robin himself would have been buried here at his death. But his father lay outside in an unmarked pauper’s grave, and Robin would likely end the same way.
Robin’s searching fingers finally encountered what he was looking for: another door that led even deeper underground. It was here, so his father had once told him, that their ancestors had stored treasure and other valuables during times when the countryside was under attack from marauding gangs. This had been a particular problem during the anarchy of King Stephen’s reign. The nuns from nearby Kirklees Abbey had also used it as a shelter.
Robin located the stout iron ring and tugged. Nothing happened. Cursing, he tried again. With a shriek of rusted hinges, the door inched slowly open. Robin glanced around, fearful that someone above might have heard, but all was silent, save for the breathing of the men behind him.
“I
n here,” he whispered.
It was more of a cubbyhole than a real chamber. With the six of them crammed inside, it was a tight squeeze, especially as John took up enough space for two men. They pressed themselves against the cold stone walls, straining their ears for any sounds from above. Robin and Will stood closest to the door. Will’s shoulder was pressed up against Robin’s, his breath stirring the hair at Robin’s temple. Robin shivered a little, and it had nothing to do with the dank, cold chamber.
A shout from directly overhead made him jump. Robin glanced towards the ceiling, wishing he could hear what was going on. It sounded as though the men at arms had entered the church.
Will’s lips brushed Robin’s ear, sending a shock along every nerve. “If they come down here, it won’t be easy to fight them off in a confined space like this.”
Robin’s voice was hoarse as he replied, but he told himself it was the musty air. “We shall have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Voices sounded again, from much nearer, and Robin cursed inwardly. They had come down into the crypt. He recognised the calm voice of Father Tuck.
“There’s nothing to see here, gentlemen, save the dead. Look in the coffins, by all means.”
“The priest’s right,” one soldier said. “Let’s go.”
“They could be hiding in the coffins,” another man muttered. “Here, Martin, give me that torch.”
John sucked in a breath, which was drowned by a loud scraping, then a curse and the sound of the lid being dropped hurriedly back into place. “No one here. Let’s go.”
“Hang on,” someone else called. “I think there’s another door here. Where does this lead to, Priest?”
“More tombs, I’m afraid. The Locksleys are an old family. The more recent generations are buried in this chamber. The older bloodlines were moved to the next one. By all means look, if you wish.”
“No,” the reply came quickly. “We’ll head back up.”
Robin let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding as the footsteps faded away.
