Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  He gritted his teeth to stop himself shouting in frustration. Once before, he had been at men’s mercy, a victim to do with as they pleased. He’d been lucky to emerge from that encounter alive. He did not think he would be so fortunate this time.

  At long last, a distant sound reached him. In the absence of light, his other senses had sharpened. He made out the rhythmic march of footsteps overhead, then the screech of rusted hinges as the trap door was pulled open. Robin blinked in the sudden light. He climbed to his feet, stiff muscles protesting. The ladder was lowered. A voice floated down to him.

  “Up with you. Be quick about it.”

  Robin obeyed. As he emerged into the comparative light of the regular cells, he considered making a run for it. But there were too many guards. He would never reach the stairs. They were on him, seizing his arms and dragging him so roughly he was barely able to keep his feet.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  One of the guards holding him leered. “The sheriff would like a little word. Tell him what he wants to know and he might go easy on you.”

  “You mean he won’t hang me after all?” Robin tripped and fell. He was jerked upright impatiently.

  “Oh, no, you’re still for the gallows, but there’s some information the sheriff wants from you first. You will tell him before you die.”

  He was taken to a chamber where Gisborne sat waiting for him. Hugo Beaumont was also there. Robin’s wrists were chained behind him. Gisborne surveyed him with obvious satisfaction.

  “Well, well, how the mighty have fallen. I must say, chains suit you. They go so well with your ragged clothes. Now you really do look the part of an outlaw.”

  Robin said nothing.

  “Where is Prince John’s tax money?” Gisborne barked the question. When Robin failed to answer, Beaumont drove a fist into his ribs.

  The breath left Robin in an involuntary grunt. He staggered, but remained upright.

  “Where is it?” Gisborne repeated, enunciating each word.

  “Where it belongs.” Robin braced himself for the next blow, but this time, it wasn’t his ribs. At a sign from Gisborne, one of the soldiers who had brought him slammed a gauntleted fist into Robin’s jaw. Pain burst through Robin’s head as he was sent sprawling. The side of his face felt as though it had been battered by a boulder. Spitting blood, he tried to get to his feet, but Beaumont locked a hand into his hair, wrenching his head back and keeping him on his knees.

  Gisborne’s face wore a gloating smile. “I can keep this up for a long time. For your sake, you would do well to tell me the truth.”

  “Too cowardly to take me on yourself, Gisborne? Do you need an honour guard alongside you?”

  Gisborne struck out. His fist connected with the other side of Robin’s head, and Robin saw stars before he blinked his vision clear.

  “This is nothing to what I could do to you,” Gisborne purred. “I’m giving you the chance to tell me of your own free will.”

  “In which case, you know I’ll lie.”

  “Perhaps a session on the rack or with the branding irons would loosen his tongue,” Beaumont suggested.

  Gisborne leaned close. “How about it, Locksley? Which would you prefer?”

  Robin’s answer was to spit full in his face. Gisborne wiped the blood and saliva away with his sleeve, then backhanded Robin hard. He collapsed, his head ringing. This time, his vision took a little longer to settle.

  “Give him a good beating, Beaumont, then return him to his cell. If he still remains uncooperative, then interrogate him in whatever way you see fit. Do not come to me until you know the whereabouts of the money.”

  He strolled to the door. Robin tried once more to get up and face him, but a booted foot planted in his stomach kept him where he was. At the door, Gisborne paused.

  “Oh, and Beaumont? Make sure he’s still alive for the hangman.”

  ***

  Marian started when the knock came, even though she had been waiting for it. The man Ursula ushered in was young and rugged, a typical soldier type.

  “You are Martin?”

  He bowed. “I am, My Lady. Ursula said you wished to see me.”

  “You are aware that the outlaw Robin Hood is currently being held prisoner in this castle?”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  “I intend to get him out, but I require your help.”

  He blinked at her, his careful mask of politeness slipping. “Why should I do that?”

  “You must be aware of the good Robin Hood does in the city. If he dies, many people will suffer.”

  She saw him wince and knew her words had hit home. “You’re asking me to go up against the sheriff. You know what could happen to me if he were to find out?”

  “I know I’m asking a lot of you, but between us, perhaps we can make sure he never does find out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ursula tells me there are caves running beneath this castle that lead into Nottingham town. I believe Robin Hood could be smuggled out that way. If I created a diversion, could you not release him from his cell?”

  Martin dragged fingers through his hair. “It could be done, I suppose.”

  “My Lady,” Ursula whispered.

  Marian suppressed her irritation. “Ursula’s brother David is also in need of rescuing. If you are going to release one man, would it be so difficult to release two?”

  Martin took one look at Ursula’s pale, anxious face and his own softened. Marian knew, then, that she had him. She sent a silent prayer of thanks up to God for all lusty young men. Martin’s attraction to Ursula would win out over his caution.

  “Very well, My Lady. If you can keep the guards occupied, I will see the outlaw and Ursula’s brother safely out of the castle.”

  Marian gave him her best smile. “Give Robin this when you see him.” She produced an object from behind her back and dropped it into Martin’s outstretched palm. He gazed down at it for a second, then nodded and left.

  ***

  “It’s no good. We’ll never break in tonight. We were lucky to get out of Nottingham alive.”

  Edward glared at Wat. “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “We’re not giving up on him, lad,” John said. “Gisborne will have tightened security. There’ll be no getting into the city or the castle. We’re better off waiting until noon tomorrow when they bring him out.”

  Will knew what John said was true, though every part of him agreed with Edward. He hated to imagine what could be happening to Robin while they stood around talking. Robin was alone and unprotected in Nottingham Castle, at the mercy of Gisborne and Prince John, the two men who had most reason to hate him. Gisborne had said Robin would be hanged the following day, but what if he had been lying? What if he’d decided to forgo a public spectacle and execute Robin in private, where he could be certain of no interference?

  Sir Richard seemed to read his thoughts. “There is the possibility that Gisborne will be expecting a rescue attempt. He will not have forgotten what happened the day of my hanging. If he’s wise, he’ll post archers to prevent you from taking them by surprise.”

  “Gisborne will want an audience,” John objected. “He’ll want to use Robin as an example to the rest of the people.”

  “Enough!” Will shouted. They all looked at him. “We’ll have to trust that Gisborne will want to make an exhibition of Robin’s death. Tomorrow, we have a chance of rescuing him. We’ll get into Nottingham as early as we can and try to come up with a plan.”

  John gave him an understanding look before seizing Wat and Edward. “Our larder’s getting empty. We need to hunt something before the light goes.” He frogmarched them away, leaving Will alone with Sir Richard. Will busied himself building a fire so he would not have to look at the older man.

  “You are doing the right thing, Will.”

  “I left him to those bastards.”

  “You had no choice,” Sir Richard said firmly. “If you’d stayed, you would o
nly have got yourself caught along with him.”

  “Do you think Gisborne will wait until tomorrow?”

  “If it were up to him, I think he would kill Robin privately. He will have learned from what happened the last time he tried a public execution, but he has Prince John to consider. The prince likes being entertained, and a hanging is his idea of a good time. If it sets an example to the people, so much the better.”

  “Why did he go?” Will raged. “We all warned him. He must have known what a harebrained, idiotic thing he was planning, and yet he did it anyway.”

  “Where archery is concerned, our Robin has never thought sensibly.”

  “It’s worse than that. You’ve seen him lately. It’s as if he doesn’t care anymore whether he lives or dies.”

  “What happened between you?” Sir Richard said gently.

  Will was caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not blind, Will. Before you went away on Crusade, you were inseparable. Now, Robin hardly looks at you unless he thinks nobody is watching.”

  “Ask him.” Will heard the bitterness in his own voice. The fire was proving stubborn. It took three attempts to get a spark. Sir Richard was still watching him, waiting for an answer. “Dammed if I know,” Will muttered, not meeting his eyes. “I thought…” He could not make himself finish the sentence. He was well aware what such an admission might mean.

  “You’re in love with him?”

  Will’s head snapped up. Sir Richard was regarding him. There was no condemnation in his face.

  “How…how did you know?”

  Sir Richard reached over and patted his knee. “What happened?”

  “Robin fell out with the king. After the siege of Acre, King Richard wanted to execute our Saracen prisoners as a message to Saladin. Nearly three thousand men, women and children. Robin told him it was barbaric. King Richard had him flogged.”

  “He was lucky not to be hanged,” Sir Richard commented.

  “The wounds became infected. Robin took a fever. For days, I thought he wouldn’t make it. Then he seemed to turn the corner.”

  Will’s throat seized up around his next confession. He’d fought with the guilt for so long. “They needed some scouts for a mission the king was planning. I was ordered to go in Robin’s place. He seemed to be getting better, so I left him, but when I got back…something was wrong. He’d changed. He would barely let me near him. He scarcely spoke, never laughed.

  “I found him lying in the tent, covered in blood and bruises. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, no matter how many times I asked. Then the nightmares started. He’d wake in the night screaming, but if I tried to talk to him about it, he pushed me away.”

  Will’s eyes stung, and he wiped at them irritably, hoping Sir Richard had not noticed. He’d carried this burden around for so long, it was a relief to finally get it out in the open.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell me what happened?” he burst out. “It must have been a beating, but who did it and why? What bastard attacks a man still weak from a fever?”

  “Hatred is a terrible thing,” Sir Richard said. “Men particularly hate things they cannot understand.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You forget that among the aristocracy in particular, homosexuality is viewed as wrong and shameful. Robin will have grown up hearing this his whole life. If you made your relationship public, you may well have created some enemies who took the opportunity to show their displeasure. I’ve heard of such things happening before, even in the army, where such behaviour is tolerated. It would not surprise me if Robin is attempting to repress any desires of that nature.”

  “He didn’t care what people thought. Everything was all right until that fever.”

  “Perhaps he did, but chose to keep it to himself. He would never have wanted to hurt you.”

  “You sound as if you’re speaking from experience,” Will said.

  Sir Richard’s smile was wistful. “Have you not wondered why I never married?”

  Will’s mouth dropped open. Such an idea had never occurred to him, but now, thinking about the lonely life Sir Richard had led, he was amazed he hadn’t guessed before.

  “I knew from a young age that I desired men,” Sir Richard said. “I also knew that my desires would never be accepted by my family or my peers. I repressed them as well as I could. When my father tried to arrange my marriage, I ran off to war to escape him. I knew I could never be happy with a wife, but I knew that as a landless knight, my only hope of securing a future was if I married well.

  “I saw no life for me. Killing myself on the battlefield for a noble cause seemed my only option. However, I survived. Lord Locksley took notice of me and asked me to tutor his son. If he had known the truth about me, he would never have let me within feet of Robin. I learned to hide my feelings. Eventually, that part of me died. I stopped desiring anyone.

  “When I was younger, I thought this was a good thing. I had got the better of my unholy tendencies. Now I know that all I did was kill a part of myself. I feel incomplete, like something is missing. Do not let that happen to Robin. Be patient. Stay beside him. If he loves you, he will eventually realise it.”

  Will could think of nothing to say. He had never truly comprehended what an admission of this kind would mean for a man in Robin’s situation. Robin had been meant to be a lord. He had been prepared to throw away his lands and his title in order to marry Lucy, but he risked far worse if his relationship with Will ever became known. After all, the Church preached that for man to lie with man was a sin. In France, those who were caught were burned. It was far more serious than ordinary rebellion.

  Be patient, Sir Richard had said. Will could do that. But if Robin chose to deny his own nature, he would be helpless.

  ***

  Every breath hurt. Even the smallest movement sent knives of pain stabbing through his side. Robin suspected that at least two of his ribs were either severely bruised or broken. His face was stiff with crusted blood. All in all, the soldiers had done a thorough job, but it could have been worse. The soldiers had held back deliberately, saving him for Beaumont.

  With difficulty, Robin hauled himself to his feet as he once more heard the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps. The guards had returned him to the pit with the promise they would be back for him as soon as they had consulted with the sheriff. Robin had not told them what they wanted to know, and he was certain that a worse ordeal awaited him. He wondered what it would involve and if he would be able to hold out. He was under no illusion; he had seen men break under torture before.

  Once, while on Crusade, a spy had been intercepted by British soldiers. By the time they had finished with him, he had told them what they wanted to know and plenty more besides. He’d been begging for death by the end.

  The trap door was opened once more, and the ladder dropped. Robin considered refusing to climb, but nothing was to be gained from staying down here. Once out of the pit, he might yet find a chance to escape. Robin smiled ruefully. There was nothing like foolish optimism to keep a man going. Suppressing a groan, he began to climb.

  By the time he reached the floor above, perspiration was standing out on his forehead. Every part of him ached, and his muscles shook as he fought not to collapse.

  The guard grinned at him. “They gave you quite a going over. You’ll be wishing they had finished you off by the time Beaumont is done with you.”

  The room they brought him to was something that could never be imagined even in a person’s worst nightmares. Along every wall were rows of hooks, and from each one hung an implement whose sole purpose was to bring pain. There was a wide variety of knives, instruments designed to crush bone, different shaped irons used in branding, whips of varying size, and in pride of place, the frame of a rack.

  Hugo Beaumont was waiting for him. He sat on one side of a small table. Across from him was a nervous-looking scribe, his quill poised to note down anything Robin said.

  “You’ve
had a little time to think, Locksley. I hope you’re in a better frame of mind. It would be wise of you to tell us what we want to know. Our demands have risen. The Abbot of Saint Mary’s also wishes to know what you did with the money you stole from him. This is your last chance. Will you tell us freely?”

  “I’ll tell you nothing, Beaumont.”

  Beaumont nodded briskly to Robin’s guards. “Take off his tunic and secure him to that chair.”

  The tunic was yanked over Robin’s head. He could not hold back an involuntary gasp as his arms were jerked upwards and his ribs protested. Hugo Beaumont eyed his body with clinical interest.

  “I see your skin has already tasted the lash before.”

  Robin said nothing. He was forced into a chair and bound tightly to it. The ropes bit into his already bruised and welted skin. He glared at Beaumont with the one eye he could see through.

  Beaumont raised his voice. “Bring it in.”

  Two guards entered, wheeling a brazier between them. It was already alight, but even as Robin watched, more wood was added to it. The heat caressed his bare skin—a forerunner of what was to come.

  Beaumont examined the irons on the wall. He took his time, rather like a connoisseur choosing a favourite wine. Eventually, he selected one and handed it to a guard, who thrust it into the brazier.

  “His arm first, I think,” Beaumont mused.

  Robin’s heart pounded in his ears. He tried to brace himself for the coming pain. The guard approached him, a beatific smile on his face.

  Robin thought he knew what pain meant. The beating Beaumont’s men had dealt out had been unpleasant, but he’d experienced the like before while on Crusade. He remembered the agony of being flogged with a rawhide whip beneath the blazing sun, and he had lived through that. But the second the branding iron was pressed to his skin, Robin knew he had been wrong.

  The pain was all consuming. It felt as though his entire body, not just his arm was on fire. He heard his own scream echo off the chamber walls. He jerked reflexively, trying to escape the torment, but the ropes binding him to the chair did not allow for any movement.