by N B Dixon
“What can we do against soldiers?” someone else asked.
“We can fight,” Much said. “We have two choices—sit back and let Gisborne’s thugs terrorise our women and children, or strike back.”
“You will not be alone,” Robin said. “My men and I shall camp near to Locksley tonight. When the soldiers come, we shall be waiting for them.”
“We’ll be killed,” someone argued.
“We’ll likely die, anyway,” Alan said. “I, for one, don’t intend to grovel at that captain’s feet.”
“What about food?” Jane said. She was pale after her ordeal. Alan had had no choice but to lead the soldiers to the hidden grain stores. The soldiers had taken it all.
Will spoke up for the first time. “John and Daphne went to Nottingham to see what they can buy.”
“They take a terrible risk,” Father Tuck said. His head was bandaged, and he was a little unsteady on his feet, but he had refused to lie down despite Lara’s pleading, insisting that his parishioners needed him.
“Then you might want to include them in your prayers,” Will said.
***
“They did what?” Guy stared at Philip Mark in disbelief.
The man remained unmoved. “They hid some of the grain in the forest. I believe they had the help of the wolf’s head, Robin Hood.”
“Miserable scum! They defy me at every turn.”
He was tired of this, tired of being made to look a fool. It was time these peasants realised once and for all who was in charge.
“Take some of your best men.”
Philip Mark raised an eyebrow fractionally. “My Lord?”
“I want an example made of them. Leave no building standing. Kill as many as you can—men, women, children. I want it to be imprinted on the memories of these human cattle. Let them remember what disloyalty to the sheriff means.”
“As you wish.”
***
They came at night, descending on the village like a swarm of locusts. They smashed doors and windows and dragged people screaming into the streets. They set fire to houses with families still trapped inside. Men attempted to fight back. Any who tried to flee were cut down.
Robin started to his feet as the distant sound of Locksley’s church bell pealed out across the countryside.
“No,” Will breathed. “It’s the dead of night.”
“A sneak attack,” Robin growled. It was like Gisborne to send his soldiers when the villagers were vulnerable and unprepared. As his men scrambled to find weapons and mount horses, Robin noticed that John and Daphne were missing. Nottingham’s gates closed early; either they were trapped inside for the night, or they were down there, in Locksley. He’d felt sure Gisborne would wait until the following day to strike.
Robin smelled the burning before he saw it. He approached the village at a full gallop, but his horse shied as it caught the scent of smoke. It hung like a pall in the air, tainted by the grisly smell of burning flesh. The acrid taste struck the back of Robin’s throat, making him gag.
They thundered down into the village and into a scene of chaos. Buildings burned. Bodies littered the streets. Some of them were soldiers, but the vast majority were villagers. It was Acre all over again. Men, women and children lay crumpled and broken.
Villagers armed with quarterstaffs, axes and knives attempted to beat back their enemies, but they were hopelessly outmatched. A few had longbows, and they were having somewhat better luck, but the dense smoke made aiming difficult.
With a roar of fury, Robin charged into a knot of soldiers who had surrounded the church. As yet, the building was not ablaze. From the way the soldiers were pounding on the doors, Robin had no doubt innocent villagers were hiding inside.
He drew his sword and from horseback, he swung. A soldier fell headless to the ground in a great arc of blood. Robin spurred his horse forward, swinging again and again. He was aware of John on his right and Will on his left, both equally enraged. The soldiers fell back before the ferocity of their attack, but the element of surprise was gone. The soldiers recovered quickly and struck back with pikes and swords.
Robin stabbed a soldier who had been aiming for John’s unprotected flank.
“Where is Daphne?”
John turned a frantic face to him. “In the church.”
A spear passed clean through the throat of Robin’s horse. Robin sprang clear before it could fall and crush him, and dispatched the man who had done the deed.
The porch of the church was choked with bodies, and yet still more soldiers appeared.
Matthew, George and Alan arrived on the scene, every one of them armed with an axe. Even as Robin registered the new arrivals with relief, Father Tuck joined the battle. His robe was singed and his face smeared with soot, but his usually gentle face was a mask of fury. He wielded a quarterstaff and proceeded to lay about him with astonishing skill.
Robin left the battle on the porch and ran around to the side of the church, where an ancient yew tree grew. With its help, he climbed onto the roof and strung his bow. More soldiers came running, along with other Locksley men. Robin took aim and loosed. He began a deadly rain of arrows. With every loose, a soldier fell. Robin saw Much, bow in hand, before he was swallowed from sight. Soldiers retreated from the onslaught, but the fires continued to spread. Locksley’s houses were all made of wood and thatch, set close together. The fire welcomed the fodder and fed on it greedily. A strong breeze blew flaming debris everywhere.
Robin continued to rain death on the soldiers, but he knew he could not keep this up forever. One of the church windows burst inwards in a shower of glass. The soldier darted forward and threw his flaming torch inside. Robin fired, but even as the arrow left the string, he knew it was too late. The damage was done.
Robin dropped to the ground and raced for the church door. The battle had moved out of the porch, and Robin was forced to tread on corpses as he pounded towards the door. John was heaving his axe over and over into the wood, but the stout oak timber held. There was no sign of Will.
Three bodies struggled through the broken window. With a leap of relief, Robin saw Daphne, Lara and Jane. John seized Daphne in a crushing embrace, but she broke from him, pointing.
“We have to save them!”
Jane turned a distraught face up to Robin. Her hair was singed. “There are still people inside. They’ll never get out in time.”
“Find water, quick as you can.”
Robin wrestled with the heavy bolts as John renewed his attack on the door. The bolts refused to give.
“They’re jammed, somehow,” Lara told him before running after Jane and Daphne.
Screams rose from inside the church. The sound tore into Robin. No one else attempted to climb through the window; the smoke had likely proved too much for those trapped inside. Robin drew his sword and joined John. Under their joint efforts, the wood began to splinter, but not quickly enough.
Daphne, Jane and Lara reappeared with Will, all carrying buckets of water. The women began hurling bucket after bucket at the blazing structure while Will grasped the edge of the window and boosted himself up, but fell back, choking.
“It’s no good,” he gasped. “The fire’s too strong.”
Robin’s eyes streamed. His lungs burned with the effort to take in air.
Finally, the door gave way under a rush of heat and smoke that slammed into Robin. Gasping and coughing, he tried to run inside, but the heat was too intense. He saw shapes outlined in flames—terrible, twisted shapes. Then hands were on him, dragging him clear of the building. Will was beside him, coughing and retching. Daphne, Lara and Jane clung together, sobbing. Robin fought to break free, desperate to reach those still trapped within, but his strength was nearly spent.
“There’s nothing we can do,” John rasped. Even as he spoke, the roof of the church collapsed inwards in a torrent of splintered wood and slates.
Soldiers were retreating, mounting their horses. They kicked them into a gallop and charged through the burning
streets, riding over the dead and wounded. A few stray arrows sailed after them, but all fell short. As Robin wiped at his streaming eyes with his forearm, he made out a lone rider astride a handsome coal-black stallion. For the briefest instant, their eyes met. The man’s face split into a cold, merciless smile, and he raised his hand in a salute, before he spurred his horse and galloped away, leaving Locksley to burn.
***
Not a single building was left unscathed. Many had been burned to the ground. The church was a blackened ruin. The mill and the tavern were destroyed utterly. Only Locksley Manor had been spared. It stood on its hilltop overlooking the destruction as if it were gloating.
The shouts and screams had been replaced by the weeping of the grieving villagers. There were so many dead.
Robin had sustained several burns to his arms, but he barely felt the pain as he moved among his grieving people. He saw Jane weeping in her husband’s arms. Her father had been in his bed above the tap room in the Blue Boar. She had not been able to get to him. Edward and Lara held each other. Both their parents were dead. Much cradled his mother’s body as Father Tuck said the last rites over her. Beside them, Mathew lay, his body transfixed by a soldier’s pike.
“What now, Robin?” Alan’s voice was husky. “Locksley is destroyed.”
“You’re coming with us.” Robin laid a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You, Much, Lara and Jane. All of you shall have a home with us until you wish to move on.”
Tears made tracks in the grime on Alan’s cheeks. He hugged Robin tightly.
“If you don’t mind, I should like to add myself to your number,” Father Tuck said. “I believe I can do more good as one of your band than I could anywhere else.”
“After seeing how you handle a quarterstaff, you’re more than welcome.”
“What of the rest of the people?” Will asked.
“The survivors will go to relatives in nearby villages,” Alan said. “We need to get the wounded to Kirklees Abbey.”
“Jane, Lara and I can ride to the neighbouring villages to see if they will lend us carts to transport them,” Daphne offered.
“Your bravery is an example to all of us,” Father Tuck said.
Daphne let out a disheartened snort. “We didn’t save a single life.”
“You did your best,” John told her and hugged her fiercely.
***
It was a sorry procession who arrived at the abbey. Nearly two dozen men, women and children had been loaded onto carts or makeshift litters. Any able-bodied man had been roped in to help them through the forest. Some had come from nearby villages; they had seen the smoke on the horizon and feared what it could mean.
Abbess Evelyn met them at the door, along with the nun who ran the infirmary. Marian was there, also, with Ursula. David had sustained some serious burns, and he was hurried away by his sister to have them dressed. Will’s arm was badly gashed, and he, too, was marched off. The others helped bring the wounded inside, leaving Robin and Marian alone. Robin turned to go after his men, but Marian’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Who did this?” Marian gestured at John, who was disappearing inside with an old man in his arms.
“Gisborne has a new lapdog. His name is Philip Mark.”
“Is Locksley…?”
“Gone,” Robin finished tersely.
“I’m sorry. It was your home.”
“I failed them.” The words were torn from him. “They looked to me for help. If not for me, they might still be alive.”
“No!” Marian’s voice was as fierce as Robin’s was remorseful. “You did everything you could for them.”
Robin said nothing. He knew he would not forget the destruction of Locksley as long as he lived. Gisborne had at last found a way to punish him.
Marian continued: “I know this is not the best time, but I might not get another opportunity. I have a request to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“I want to come with you, to live in Sherwood.”
Astonishment pierced Robin’s numb shock. He gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t stay here. It is stifling. This life, all the rigid rules and discipline. I feel like I’m a prisoner. Please, let me come with you. Let me be free.”
“You want to take up residence in Sherwood? You want to live like an outlaw?”
“I may as well be an outlaw. I’m as wanted as you are.”
“You have no idea what you are asking,” Robin said. “You think living in Sherwood is some kind of revelry? Look around you.” He gestured towards the wounded of Locksley.
“You are letting other women come to live with you. Why am I different?”
“Because those women are not the daughters of earls. They are peasants, used to rough living. You would be much safer here.”
“Until King Richard returns?”
“It is all too likely the king will never come home. You would be better off taking your vows. At least then you will be safe from men like Gisborne.”
“I have no wish to take my vows. I belong at Huntingdon. There is only one man I want to marry. Only one man I want to become the earl.”
The vehemence in Marian’s tone took Robin by surprise. He stared at her, then understanding dawned.
“I am an outlaw, Marian.”
“You may not always be. If King Richard returns, he will pardon you.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least we could be together.”
Robin knew what it must have cost her to admit her feelings. He felt sorry for her, but knew he was not the one to help her.
“You know both our fathers wished us to marry,” Marian said. “I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder. I don’t want to be a nun. If I must be wed, I would like it to be a man I know and admire.”
“But you don’t know me, Marian,” Robin said gently. “You have built up an ideal of me. That is not the same thing.” With that, he left her.
***
“You wanted to see me?”
Guy’s lip curled in disgust as he gazed at his sister. Her once-fine gown was crumpled and stained. There were circles beneath her eyes, and her hair hung lank about her face.
“Look at you. The least you could do is try to make yourself presentable.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Say what you want to say and get on with it.”
Guy’s smile had a malicious twist to it. “I thought you would like to know that Philip Mark has succeeded where your husband failed. Locksley is no more.”
A faint spark of interest lit her dull eyes. “What do you mean, it’s no more?”
“Exactly what I say. Philip Mark and his men invaded the village. They destroyed every building and killed the majority of the inhabitants. Those who survived are scattered.”
“And did Robin Hood not interfere?”
“He did. It wasn’t enough.”
“And you consider this a victory? In one night, this captain of yours has wiped out all the workers on the Locksley estate. Currently, you are lord of a ruin.”
A part of Guy knew she was right. He knew that destroying Locksley was perhaps not the best move politically, but it had been so good to strip everything from those peasants, to show them what misguided loyalty could lead to.
“The manor still stands.”
“Then you will have a place from which you can view the wreckage.” She strode to the door.
Guy opened his mouth, but no reply came to mind.
At the door, Katrina turned. “You wanted to crow over me with this new captain, but you are missing the most important point, brother.”
“And what might that be?” Guy snarled.
“Robin Hood yet lives.”
Chapter 19
December arrived, bringing with it a flurry of storms. Marian sat morosely by the tiny window in the chamber the nuns had given her. A fire burned in the grate, but it was not enough to take the chill off the room. Marian could
hardly feel the needle in her fingers as she attempted to finish the blanket she was making.
It was something Abbess Evelyn had decided all the nuns should do: make blankets and warm clothes for the poor. Marian had agreed to help in the hope that it would pass the time. Boredom weighed heavily on her. She had never liked sewing, and being cooped up in the abbey with all its religious piety was getting to her.
Ursula was a comfort, at least. Without her, Marian suspected she would have gone mad.
It was two months since she had seen Robin. Two months in which she had heard nothing of him. He had disappeared back into Sherwood without a trace. Anger and humiliation warred inside her. Robin had rejected her, not once, but twice—first when she was a girl of fourteen, and now. The first rejection held no real sting. She had not known him then. But now her heart was engaged. She had as good as told him she loved him, and he had thrown it back in her face. She’d hoped that time away from him would teach her to forget, that she would become indifferent. It hadn’t.
Marian stabbed the fleshy part of her thumb with the needle and let out an unladylike curse.
“Are you all right, My Lady?”
Marian shoved her bleeding thumb in her mouth and glowered at Ursula. She was perched on the edge of Marian’s bed, stitching away industriously. She had made far better progress with her blanket than Marian had.
“I’m well,” Marian muttered. “The needle slipped, that’s all.”
Ursula regarded her. There was an anxious look on her face, but Marian suspected it had little to do with her injury. Ursula had worn it for weeks. She knew of Robin’s rejection, and sometimes, Marian thought she was on the verge of telling her something.
Finally unable to bear it any longer, Marian burst out, “If you have something to say, Ursula, then put us both out of our misery and get it over with.”
Ursula laid down her work. “It’s not my place, My Lady.”
“You can say what you like to me, Ursula. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes, My Lady.” Ursula bit her lip. “I know you are still upset about Robin.”
“He’s made it clear how he feels about me.”
“But…well, if you knew everything, maybe you’d feel better.”
