Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  Marian had never seen a battle before. The closest she had ever come was watching knights jousting, but that was done under strict tournament guidelines. Though she knew accidents happened, some of them fatal, none of the combatants were aiming to kill. This was different. The outlaws were fighting for their lives, and Hugo’s men were just as intent on making sure they failed.

  Robin plunged his sword into the chest of a man who had been on the point of firing his crossbow at the boy. Marian fought back a wave of nausea as he fell. He twitched for a few seconds before falling still. Robin closed with Hugo. Steel rang against steel. A second outlaw joined the attack, wielding his sword with undeniable skill. Robin left Hugo to him.

  The giant swung his axe with vicious strength. Marian cried out in horror as the blade thudded into the chest of a soldier. Blood sprayed.

  The older man was also giving a good account of himself with his sword, but he was tiring. Even as Marian watched, the soldier he was fighting got under his guard and plunged his blade deep into the older man’s thigh. The man stumbled and fell. He would have died if Robin had not leapt forward and dispatched the soldier with a single stroke. Another man had managed to get his crossbow loaded and, bringing it up, aimed it at Robin. Marian let out a cry.

  The small sound alerted Robin, and he ducked, just as the bolt flew. It embedded itself in the tree against which Marian was leaning. Before the soldier could load again, he was stabbed through the back by Hugo’s attacker.

  Marian, in serious danger of being trampled by both men and horses, dragged her eyes away from the terrible scene unfolding before her and got to her hands and knees, intending to crawl away. Her ankle throbbed sickeningly as she tried to move, and she moaned, unable to hold it back. Powerful arms seized her, lifting her from the ground.

  Before Marian could do more than gasp, she found herself in her own horse’s saddle. Robin had the bridle, and was leading the horse away into the trees. She heard Hugo Beaumont give a cry of alarm and plunge after them. Robin let go of the bridle and turned to face him. Marian saw then that Hugo was bleeding profusely from a sword wound to the shoulder.

  “You are lucky you had this lady with you.” Robin’s voice was icy. “Take your men and go.”

  Hugo glared at him. “The sheriff will have your head for this.”

  “I enjoy empty threats. Get going.”

  The battle ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Three men were wounded, including Hugo, and several were dead. Of Robin’s party, the only man not to suffer a scratch, so far as Marian could see, was the one who had taken on Hugo. The older man was hurt badly and was being supported by the boy. Marian was not given time to see much more as a soldier seized her bridle and led her horse away. Marian glanced back once, but the dense covering of undergrowth already hid Robin and his men from view.

  ***

  “It’s beyond me,” John said. “I’ve done my best to staunch the bleeding, but it will need stitches.”

  “We could take him to Kirklees Abbey,” Will suggested.

  “He can’t ride like this.”

  “We can make a litter.”

  Robin let the words wash over him as he gazed down into Sir Richard’s pale face. The man was conscious, but his features were twisted with pain. The wound in his thigh was deep and he had lost a lot of blood.

  Robin fetched a wineskin they had liberated from a merchant the day before and, supporting his tutor’s head, brought it to his lips. “Drink this.”

  Sir Richard sipped, choking a little as the liquid hit the back of his throat. If they did not get the wound seen to, it would become infected, and would almost certainly be fatal.

  “I must be getting old,” Sir Richard murmured. “I’m not as fast as I used to be.”

  “Lie still. It will be all right.”

  Will, John and Wat were discussing the best way of constructing a litter to carry Sir Richard to Kirklees Abbey. Robin agreed that it was the best place for him, but they would be taking a risk. Gisborne’s men were probably searching for them, and at least part of the way to the abbey lay over open ground.

  Edward was busy tying a makeshift bandage around his upper arm.

  “How bad is it?” Robin demanded.

  “A scratch. I’m all right.”

  Robin proffered the wineskin and Edward drained it.

  “Can you walk?”

  Edward scowled. “I said I’m all right.”

  A crude litter was constructed of branches woven roughly together and covered in a blanket. Robin helped ease Sir Richard onto it before securing one of the stolen horses to the litter. It would be a bumpy ride, but there was nothing they could do about that.

  All the while he was overseeing these preparations, fear gnawed at Robin. He had already lost Martha, the only real mother he had ever known. Was he to lose Sir Richard, too? The man had always been more father than teacher. Had Robin risked everything to get him out of Nottingham Castle only to have him die?

  A hand rested on his back. Robin didn’t need to look up. He recognised the touch. He would know it anywhere.

  “He’ll be right as rain soon,” Will said. “Remember what the nuns did for Much.”

  It was the first time Will had spoken since the argument of the night before. Shame brought hot colour to Robin’s cheeks—that Will was offering comfort after the terrible things he’d said. He managed a nod.

  Having made Sir Richard as comfortable as possible, Robin took up the bridle of the horse pulling the litter. Will and John, also on horseback, flanked him on either side. Wat and Edward were at the rear, the latter with his bow in hand and an arrow ready on the string.

  It was a long walk to the abbey. They met no one, to Robin’s relief.

  Abbess Evelyn herself welcomed them; Richard was soon settled on a pallet and his wound dressed and stitched. None of them were allowed into his room while this procedure was going on, but Robin heard Sir Richard’s moans of pain and each one went to his heart.

  “Well?” he demanded of the nun tending Sir Richard the moment she emerged.

  “Providing the wound doesn’t fester, he will do well enough. I’ve given him some poppy juice to help him sleep. You may sit with him for a little if you wish.”

  Robin nodded and entered the small room. Sir Richard’s eyes were already half closed, but he managed a smile as Robin laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t be so worried, Robin. I’ll be well again soon enough. You shouldn’t still be here.”

  “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Then my men and I will make camp as near to the abbey as we can. You will be here for at least a few days, I expect.”

  Sir Richard sighed and closed his eyes. Robin stayed a few minutes until he was absolutely sure the man was asleep. Then he left him.

  Robin headed for the chapel. It had been a long time since he’d prayed. He’d come to the conclusion that God had abandoned him long ago, but worry for Sir Richard made him desperate enough to seize on the smallest hope. He was startled to find Father Tuck there.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to speak to the nuns. Two of the children in Locksley have taken ill, and I hope to persuade one of the nuns to help. You seem troubled, Robin.”

  “We were attacked in Sherwood today. Sir Richard was badly wounded. I’m afraid for him.”

  “The nuns will do all in their power to help him, rest assured of that. There are no better healers in the shire. But their efforts will be helped by your prayers. God is merciful. He will hear you.”

  “Does God have any mercy for such as me?”

  “God has mercy for all who reach out to him. You are a good man, Robin Hood. God sees everything.”

  ***

  Martin saluted his captain. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

  Hugo Beaumont was not his usual smart self. A bandage wrapped one shoulder, and he was walking with a noticeable limp. He was one of the few to have returned from the battle in Sherwood alive. Martin knew the
failure sat heavily on the captain’s shoulders. He himself had been away from Nottingham on business for the castle. Several good men had perished in the skirmish. Martin had spent the morning comforting their women and children, an action apparently beneath Beaumont, who seemed to regard anyone not of his rank as a lesser species of human being.

  “The sheriff wishes an example to be made,” Beaumont announced.

  “I’m not sure I follow you, Sir.”

  “I will spell it out for you, then. The soldiers who failed to capture Robin Hood are to be hanged.”

  Martin gaped at him. Beaumont himself had been one of the party who had come upon the outlaws. Why was he being spared punishment?

  “You have a problem with this, Martin?”

  Martin took a deep breath. “I understand the sheriff is upset, but these are good men, Sir. Men we can ill afford to lose.”

  “You are my second-in-command, are you not?”

  “Yes, Sir, but—”

  “You were promoted because of your ability to follow orders efficiently and without question.”

  Martin bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. He’d lost too many of his companions recently because of that dammed Robin Hood and his band. His thoughts flew to John Little, once his closest friend, now a good-for-nothing thief who had sent many men they both knew to their graves.

  “You will carry out the order, Martin, or find yourself joining them. Do I make myself clear?”

  Martin forced the words out between stiff lips. “Yes, Sir.”

  The captain strode away without a backward glance. Martin watched him go, resentment seething inside him. He’d never liked the man. He was sure it was only Beaumont’s connections that had saved his neck. No doubt the sheriff’s sister had interceded on her husband’s behalf. Martin thought of the wives and children of the soldiers. How could he tell them that their husbands and fathers were about to die on the orders of the sheriff? How could he look any of them in the eye?

  He found himself wondering if John had been right to leave. Nottingham Castle was a harsh, cruel place. Soldiers and servants alike were nothing but tools to be used and discarded by their betters. Martin did not know whom he hated more—the sheriff or Robin Hood.

  ***

  “There, My Lady. How does that feel?”

  “Much better, Ursula, thank you.”

  Marian was sitting in a chair in her own private chambers, her injured ankle resting on a footstool. Ursula had wrapped it in an evil-smelling poultice, which she swore would help reduce the swelling. Marian leaned her head against the carved wooden back of the chair.

  She wondered how the outlaw who had been wounded was faring. Would Robin believe she had arranged the fight on purpose? Would he think she was working for Gisborne? For some reason, the thought upset her. Though Robin was not the most approachable person, he had helped her twice, both when she was lost and when she was hurt. Marian knew that, accidentally or not, she was partly to blame for what had happened. If she hadn’t galloped off into the forest, she would never have become lost, and the soldiers would never have been sent to find her. Their families would not be mourning them, and Robin and his men would have been safe. She didn’t know when it was that she had started to care about their welfare or why she had forgiven them for robbing her.

  Ursula was busy tidying the chamber. Every now and then, she would sniff loudly and dab at her eyes with a sleeve. She’d been doing it all day, and Marian’s patience was wearing thin.

  “What’s wrong with you today, Ursula? You’ve been moping about since this morning.”

  “I’m sorry, My Lady.” Ursula burst into tears.

  Marian was startled by the girl’s grief. She would have gone to her, but getting up felt like too much effort. Instead, she held out a hand, beckoning Ursula to her. She would not normally trouble herself with the problems of servants, but in this place, surrounded by enemies, Ursula was the only friend she had.

  “Come here and sit by me. Tell me what is troubling you.”

  Ursula dropped to the floor by Marian’s chair. She sniffled several times, but finally the story came pouring out.

  “My brother is in the castle dungeons.”

  “What is his crime?”

  “He was caught by the Abbot of Saint Mary’s. He was a noviciate at the abbey and had yet to take his final vows. He was discovered lying with another man.”

  The colour rushed into Ursula’s cheeks, and Marian felt an answering blush heat her own face. She looked down, unable to meet Ursula’s gaze.

  “The abbot was quite right to send him away, Ursula,” she said severely.

  Ursula sobbed even harder.

  “I am a little confused as to why he was sent here,” Marian went on. “I thought the Church usually took care of its own. Do they not have the benefit of clergy or some such?”

  “He was not a full monk,” Ursula wailed. “And he was also caught stealing in Nottingham.”

  “Then I am sorry, Ursula, but it sounds as though he has brought his misfortunes on himself.”

  “The sheriff will hang him.”

  Marian thought that was probably true, but now did not seem the most tactful time to say so. “It may not come to that. If he has not been hanged outright, it would suggest that the abbey is deliberating his case. You must try not to worry and pray to God for your brother’s sole, tainted as it is. Nobody is beyond redemption.”

  Ursula wiped her eyes. “Yes, My Lady.”

  A knock at the chamber door interrupted them, followed by a familiar voice.

  “Lady Marian, may I speak to you?”

  Marian’s heart sank. She did not feel equal to dealing with the sheriff at the moment. From experience, she knew he wouldn’t go without an answer. He was a persistent man.

  “Let him in, Ursula, then leave us.”

  Ursula scurried to the door and opened it. The sheriff gave her only a cursory glance as she bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried from the room.

  “I wanted to make sure you were well after your ordeal.” His gaze dropped to her ankle. “I do hope it is not too serious. Rest assured, the soldiers will be punished for their failure to protect you.”

  “It is only a sprain. A day or two of rest and I shall be well. As for your men, they fought valiantly. No one could have done more. Please don’t punish them on my account.”

  He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “We must have you well for Prince John’s visit.”

  Marian tensed. “When is he coming?”

  “He will be here tomorrow. He’ll want to see you, I’m sure.”

  So he could discuss her marriage. Well, she had a weapon to defeat both of them.

  As if reading her thoughts, Guy crouched by her chair and reaching out, took her hand. Marian resisted the urge to jerk free.

  “Lady Marian, this is not a good time, I know, but there is something I must speak to you about.”

  Marian’s eyes darted to the door. She wished she could run, but that was out of the question.

  “Yes, My Lord?”

  “Prince John is coming to Nottingham for a variety of reasons. Most of them need not concern you as they involve matters of state, but he will wish to discuss your future. The earldom of Huntingdon cannot remain vacant for long. Prince John will want to appoint a successor to your father, and the best way of doing that will be through right of marriage to his heir.”

  Marian found her voice with difficulty. “I am a ward of the king. It is up to him to decide my future.”

  “Ordinarily yes, but we must face facts. Richard may never return. He beggared England with the funds demanded for his Crusade. We simply do not have enough money to pay the ransom.”

  “And yet you continue to tax the people.”

  Guy’s lips tightened, but he gave no other outward sign of annoyance. “We will do all we can, of course. No one is more eager than Prince John to see his brother home safe and well, but we must accept reality. If Richard does not return, John is his o
nly heir. The prince wishes to do what is best for the Crown and for England.”

  “There is Arthur of Brittany.”

  “He is a boy, too young to rule. The prince must consider what is best for the kingdom. If we are not to have Richard back, John is the most logical choice.”

  “So John will rule out of duty, not because he wants his brother’s throne?”

  Guy’s expression darkened. “Have a care, Marian. What you say could be interpreted as treason.”

  “If I were speaking against the king, perhaps.”

  She could see Guy struggling to keep his composure. “You have just lost your father, so I will make allowances. But you need to accept that the prince is looking out for a husband for you.”

  “And are you one of the lucky men he is considering giving this honour to?”

  “It is true the prince has approached me with an offer of your hand. I do not wish you to do anything unwillingly, Marian, and you need not worry yet. A proper mourning period must pass first. I would be happy to give you all the time you need, but consider, if not me—a man you know—it will be a stranger, perhaps one not so concerned with your welfare. I respect and esteem you, Marian, and I promise you will not have cause for regret if you were to marry me.”

  “A very handsome proposal.” Marian jerked her hand free, not wanting his touch any longer. “But rather wasted, I think. As you have taken pains to point out, I am not at liberty to choose my husband. I must sit and wait while you and the prince decide my fate.”

  “But if your preferences could be taken into account?” He trailed off delicately.

  “It is late, My Lord. I have had a trying day and I’m tired. Also, as you pointed out, I am still grieving for my father. I cannot at present think of the future. I must ask you to leave me.”

  This time, he was unable to hide the flash of annoyance in his eyes, but his voice was coldly courteous. “As you wish, My Lady. Only promise me that you will think about what I have said.”