Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  ***

  “Quite an impressive display,” Prince John drawled. “Perhaps I shall recruit some of these men myself. I see no sign of the outlaw though.”

  “I believe, Sire, that he might be here in some form of disguise.” Guy eyed each of the remaining archers speculatively. His eyes lingered on the beggar who was once more awaiting his turn, eyes downcast. “I wonder…”

  “Wonder what?” Prince John snapped.

  “That beggar has shown extraordinary talent for one so frail.”

  “You think it might be him?”

  “It is a possibility, Sire. We will have to act quickly. I doubt he’s here alone.”

  Guy’s eyes raked those people closest to the archers, searching for Will Scathelock, but saw no sign of him. He had to be here, though, if Locksley was. Guy smiled. He had men at arms on every exit as well as crossbow men stationed at various upper windows. Locksley was as good as dead.

  For the third round, each archer shot three arrows at the target from a further fifty paces away. The range was close to the normal limit for this type of contest, and would require tremendous skill to hit the centre at that distance. Few would manage it, Guy was certain, but he only needed one—the right one.

  The first two archers had shot, but neither hit the bullseye. The third man struck the outer circle with two of his arrows and the centre with only one. The fourth man struck the bullseye with all three of his arrows. They stood proudly side by side, buried in the straw dummy’s heart. There was a roar of approval from the crowd. Surely no one could better that.

  Now we shall see, Guy thought. Is your pride greater than your intelligence? Would you allow this man to win?

  He was reasonably sure the beggar was Locksley. The man was careful to keep his hood pulled close, and the little of his face Guy could see was smeared with dirt. He walked hunched over, and dragged one leg noticeably. It was a convincing performance.

  Any sensible man would lose on purpose at this point. Guy panicked briefly. What if he was wrong? He forced it down. Locksley was the most arrogant man he’d ever met. He would never allow himself to be bested.

  The beggar shuffled forward without waiting for the target to be cleared. Even before the herald gave him leave to shoot, he had raised his bow. Three arrows flew, almost too swiftly for the eye to follow. So quickly had the archer nocked and loosed, that all three struck the target nearly at the same time. For a second or two, there was silence.

  “He missed,” the Abbot of Saint Mary’s exclaimed. “The other man’s arrows are still in the target.”

  Guy gritted his teeth in helpless frustration. But then a child’s voice lifted in excitement.

  “He split them. He split the other man’s arrows.”

  Guy looked again. There were three arrows buried in the target’s heart. And there, lying in the grass, were three splintered arrows. They had each been snapped cleanly in half. A smile of triumph lit Guy’s face. “We have him, Sire. That is Locksley. I’m sure of it.”

  “Then make the men ready. I will not have him get away.”

  ***

  Will groaned. While part of him marvelled at the difficult shot, the rest of him would have happily strangled Robin. He had to show off.

  Robin was approaching the royal box, still shuffling along, leaning on his bow for support. He managed a clumsy bow in the prince’s direction. Prince John had risen, and a respectful hush descended.

  “A truly remarkable performance.” The prince pitched his voice to carry. “I should not have thought it possible for someone of your undoubted frailty.”

  Robin bowed again but said nothing.

  “Will you not tell us your name, archer, so my herald can announce you properly to the crowd?”

  Will tensed.

  The beggar mumbled something unintelligible. The herald cast Prince John an apologetic look.

  “I cannot make out what he’s saying, Sire. His accent is very strong.”

  “No matter, herald. I believe I know this man’s name. I think he is none other than Robin Hood. Am I right, beggar?”

  The beggar, with surprising agility, sprang from the platform into the crowd.

  A murmur ran through the throng, rapidly swelling in volume.

  “Robin Hood? Is it really?”

  “Must be. No one else can shoot like that.”

  “It’s him! It’s Robin Hood!”

  Hugo Beaumont gave his men a signal, but at the same moment, the crowd surged forward in a great rippling wave. Their shouts mingled with those of the soldiers trying to force a way through.

  Will plunged into the crowd, searching frantically for Robin. A soldier filled his vision, wielding a broadsword. Will raised his quarterstaff and saw the soldier’s mouth twist in a sneer, but Will used the superior reach of his staff to clobber the soldier before he could get close enough to strike. He knew a moment of satisfaction as the man crumpled, a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Never underestimate a man with a big stick,” Will told him. One down, about a hundred more to go. He wished, for the first time in his life, that he was good with a bow. Arrows would have been a lot more effective than a long wooden pole. But then, he reflected, it would have been difficult to get a clear shot with so many townsfolk running about like headless chickens. He would be just as likely to hit an innocent bystander as a soldier.

  He caught a glimpse of Robin weaving through the crowd, hotly pursued by two soldiers. Crossbow quarrels flew into the mob, turning them in an instant from hostile to terrified. People sought refuge under stalls. At least two fell. He saw Robin pulling a woman to safety and bellowed his name. Robin looked round, but someone cannoned into Will from behind, knocking him flying. He was up again in an instant, staring desperately about for Robin, but there was no sign of him. He caught a glimpse of John locked in fierce hand-to-hand combat close to the castle gates. Wat and Edward darted by, Edward calling frantically to Will to follow, but still he hesitated.

  Then he saw Robin. He was being dragged along by two soldiers. They were forcing him towards the royal box where Prince John and Gisborne still stood looking down on the scene. The crowd was beginning to realise it, too, and people were turning to look. At a command from Beaumont, the soldiers formed a ring of steel between Robin and the crowd, and a few more warning crossbow bolts kept them back. Will was not nearly close enough to help. He could only watch.

  Prince John stepped down from the box as Robin was hauled onto the stage and flung at his feet. When he tried to rise, a soldier drove a vicious kick into his stomach, sending him back to his knees. The bow was wrenched from his hand and broken in two. The crack was audible, and Will winced. He knew what such a loss would mean to Robin. Manacles were locked onto Robin’s wrists. He made no attempt to struggle, but looked his captors in the eye, his expression defiant.

  Will started shoving his way towards Robin, but was brought up short by a sharp elbow to his solar plexus.

  “Stay back, peasant, unless you want to join him.”

  “I’m sure you thought you were very clever,” Prince John said, looking down at Robin. “You thought you could pull the wool over my eyes. Me, a prince of the realm.”

  Robin made a second attempt to rise, and this time, succeeded. For a fraction of a second, his eyes met Will’s. Will read the unspoken message. Do nothing. He understood it. Robin didn’t want him to interfere in the arrest. Better for Will and the others to remain undetected, as that would give them a chance of saving Robin. If they were all taken, they were dead men.

  Before Prince John could speak again, Lady Marian Fitzwalter left the royal box and joined him on the stage. There was a gasp from the watching people. Marian curtsied deeply to the prince. When she spoke, she, too, raised her voice to make sure as many as possible could hear her.

  “I believe you have been misinformed, Sire. This poor beggar is not Robin Hood.”

  Prince John’s momentary look of astonishment turned cold. “And how can you be so sure
of that, my dear?”

  “I met Robin Hood, Sire. He and his outlaws robbed me on my way to Nottingham. This man bears no resemblance to him at all.”

  “Nice try, lass,” Will murmured.

  “You are mistaken, Lady Marian,” Gisborne cut in smoothly. “His costume is a convincing one, I grant you, but it is him.”

  Prince John regarded Robin the way someone might examine some mud on their boots.

  “Have you anything to say, wolf’s head?”

  “Where is my prize?”

  “Your prize?”

  “The silver arrow. I won it fairly.”

  Prince John snatched the arrow from where it rested on a small cushion and waved it in Robin’s face. Then he stamped on it, grinding it into the mud.

  “Nothing is yours, outlaw. You are a wolf’s head. You don’t exist.”

  “I am Robin of Locksley. I was my father’s heir until your lackey murdered him and stole the land for himself.”

  A chorus of shocked gasps and muttering ran through the watching people, swiftly silenced by Beaumont and his men.

  Prince John’s face was mottled with rage. “As I understand it, you were disinherited for running off with some low-born country slut.”

  “And last I heard, Gisborne was a traitor to his king. He has no more right to the Locksley estate than I do.”

  “You stole money intended for my brother’s ransom,” Prince John shrieked.

  “I stole no money that was meant for the king’s ransom.” Robin’s voice rang loud and clear. “I took the money you meant to line your pockets with.” He turned to address the crowd. “This prince would have you believe that he has his brother’s interests and yours at heart. All he wishes is to take the throne for himself. The money he claims in taxes goes only to pay his debts and those of the Church.”

  The people’s muttering grew louder. At a signal from Prince John, a soldier kicked Robin’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard.

  John stood over him, his eyes alight with malice.

  “You are charged with treason against the Crown and you will suffer the penalty at midday in Nottingham Square tomorrow. Take him.”

  Will was forced to watch as Robin was dragged away. Robin caught his eye again for an instant. Will saw no fear. He was probably experiencing enough terror for both of them.

  Many people pressed forward, shouting their protests, but Robin called, “Stay back, all of you. Return to your homes.”

  With swords and crossbows pointing at them, the people had no choice. Will was borne along with them. He tapped John’s shoulder as he passed and glimpsed Wat and Edward close by. The outer gates of Nottingham Castle began to close as the portcullis started its ponderous descent. With an ominous boom, it fell into place, sealing Robin inside.

  Chapter 13

  Martin tapped the front door of the humble cottage with the hilt of his sword. It was opened by a harassed-looking woman who cast a nervous glance up and down the street before turning frightened eyes on him.

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s all right, Jenny. It’s me.” Martin removed his helmet.

  His sister breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back, allowing him into the one-room hovel. A little boy, who had been tending a pot of water hanging over the fire, abandoned his chore and ran to greet him.

  “Uncle Martin! We haven’t seen you in so long.” The rest of his words were lost in a bout of coughing. Instantly, his mother was there.

  “Daniel, you mustn’t excite yourself. You should never leave a fire and boiling water unattended.”

  Daniel retreated, but his face wore a delighted grin.

  “I’m sorry it’s been so long, Jenny,” Martin said.

  She shook her head. “You’re busy up at the castle.”

  “That’s no excuse. You’re keeping well, are you?”

  “Daniel’s cough is much better. I’m hoping he’s on the mend.” Jenny lowered her voice so her son would not hear. “For a while, I feared for his life. If not for Robin Hood, He would have died for sure.”

  Martin started at the name. “The wolf’s head? What has he to do with you?” Even as he asked the question, he remembered John telling him that he and his band of outlaws had helped several of Nottingham’s poorest folk, including Jenny.

  “He heard Daniel was ill. I’ve no idea how. He brought me money for medicine. I owe Daniel’s life to him. Many of us do.”

  Martin’s heart sank. The outlaw was even now languishing in the dungeons below Nottingham Castle, awaiting the pleasure of the prince and the sheriff.

  As if reading his thoughts, Jenny said, “Is it true he was arrested today?”

  “Aye. He’s to be hanged at noon tomorrow.”

  Jenny’s shoulders slumped, and a hopeless expression crossed her face. “When he goes, there’ll be many folk in Nottingham who’ll follow him to the grave.”

  ***

  Marian toyed with the meat on her trencher. The great hall of Nottingham Castle was particularly lively that evening. Robin Hood, the thorn in the side of Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham, was safely behind bars, destined for the gallows. There was no hope of rescue for him. Gisborne had trebled security on the castle. Anyone attempting a rescue from outside would face certain discovery. Robin’s men were cut off from him.

  “Is something the matter, Lady Marian? You have scarcely touched your food.” Katrina’s voice dripped with false concern. Marian wondered how Katrina would look if she were to tip the nearest wine pitcher over the other woman’s head.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Prince John, hearing this, cast her a lecherous look. He was already deep into his cups, his face flushed and beaded with sweat. Getting up, he lurched his way around the table until he loomed over her.

  “What is the matter, my dear?” he slurred, patting her cheek clumsily.

  Marian flinched at his touch. “I am unwell, Sire. I fear the excitement of the day has been too much for me.”

  “Surely you are not planning to leave us? My evening would not be complete if I couldn’t gaze on your pretty face.” He leaned in close. Wine-laden breath blasted in Marian’s face, mixing with the odour of rotting teeth. Unable to help herself, she recoiled. She almost preferred the prince the way he’d been at their first meeting, when he had treated her as someone barely worthy of his notice.

  “Sire, forgive me. I really must retire.”

  “But I insist you stay. The meal is almost over, and then, I will take you to your bed myself.”

  His meaning was unmistakable. Marian’s stomach roiled, but she sensed instinctively that if she showed fear, it would only arouse this disgusting man even more.

  “Your offer is most kind, Sire, but I believe my maid can assist me.” She rose from her seat and beckoned to Ursula, who was hovering anxiously behind her. Taking the hint, Ursula hurried to Marian’s side and seized her arm. Marian leaned on her as though she were unsteady on her feet and allowed herself to be supported from the hall.

  Once in the safety of her room and with the door bolted, Marian sank onto the edge of her bed, shaking. She took several deep breaths, trying to master herself. John wouldn’t follow her up here, would he? He was certainly drunk enough. Then she consoled herself with the fact that there were plenty of other women in the castle to distract him. As long as he had somebody in his bed tonight, he would be content.

  Guy was another matter. She had seen his face. It had been set in a rigid mask. He had not approved of his prince’s behaviour, though Marian didn’t think it was out of concern for her virtue. Would he come seeking her?

  Her thoughts turned to Robin. They were going to hang him tomorrow. There was no hope of rescue from outside. Perhaps she could help him. No one would be expecting aid from inside the castle. Maybe she could distract the guards somehow, create a diversion…she broke off that train of thought. She couldn’t rescue Robin alone. She needed an accomplice.

  A quiet sob distracted her. Urs
ula had been returning some of Marian’s gowns to the coffer. Even as Marian watched, the gown she was holding slipped from her fingers as Ursula covered her face.

  “Ursula, what is it?”

  Ursula sniffed. “Forgive me, My Lady. It’s my brother. He’s to be hanged the day after tomorrow.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “One of the soldiers, Martin. He’s nicer than the others. He only lies with the serving girls if we’re willing, not like some. He asked me once.”

  Marian felt they were wandering off topic.

  “When did he tell you your brother was to be hanged?”

  “Just before the archery contest. He thought I should know. The sheriff made him hang some of his own men not long since, and he was upset.”

  Marian held up a hand to stop the flood of explanations. It sounded as if the disgruntled Martin might be the answer to her prayers.

  “Go and find this soldier and bring him to me. If we are lucky, we can rescue Robin and your brother, though he little deserves it.”

  ***

  Robin shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. The dungeon he’d been thrown into was a pit situated in the bowels of the castle. It was reached by means of a trap door and ladder. He thought not many hours could have gone by, but it was difficult to be certain, alone in the pitch-black, with nothing but the occasional squeaking and scuttling of rats to break the silence, and his own creeping fear.

  When he’d first been arrested, he’d known only fury, but that had cooled. The full horror of his situation weighed down on him. He was going to die.

  The floor of the pit was hard-packed earth—years of accumulated filth covered by a thin layer of straw and bones. The air wreaked of damp and decay.

  Gisborne’s men had searched him thoroughly, removing all the weapons he’d secreted about his person. It was the loss of his bow he felt most keenly. It had been a part of him for so long. It had kept him alive during the Crusade. He blessed the necessity that had taken him to Tom Fletcher’s shop, and blessed even more the impulse that had made him leave the new bow at camp. Without a bow or sword, he was helpless, even if he did manage to escape. It was highly unlikely Will and the others would be able to get him out. He was at the mercy of Gisborne and Prince John.