Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  “Everything? What are you talking about?”

  “David told me something about Robin. He likes men.” Ursula blushed as she said this.

  Marian was confused. “What do you mean, he likes men? You mean the other outlaws?”

  “No, My Lady. I mean he likes men the way other men like women.”

  Marian struggled to make sense of this, and then all at once, comprehension dawned. She stared at Ursula in horror. “Are you saying… No! I won’t believe it. How can David say such a thing?”

  “You know my brother desires men. It has landed him in so much trouble. He told me.”

  “Are you telling me Robin and your brother are…” Marian could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “No, My Lady. Not Robin and David. It’s the other man, Will Scathelock. David says he and Robin are…at least, David thinks so. He has liked Will Scathelock for a long time, but Will ignores him. David says Robin and Will look at each other when they think no one is watching.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” Marian cried. Revulsion made her flesh crawl. She’d heard stories about men who lay with other men. The Church had a word for them—sodomites. It was an ugly word, describing an ugly deed, a perversion of the worst kind. That Robin could be…

  Marian broke off that thought. She expected it from David and this Will Scathelock. They were peasants, after all, but Robin was the son of a nobleman. He needed to be cured, if that were possible. Surely, all it would take was the love of a good woman. Once Robin realised how happy he could be with her, these unnatural desires would fade.

  Marian mulled the problem over for several minutes.

  “You say your brother desires this Will Scathelock?”

  “Yes, My Lady. He’s jealous of Robin.”

  “So he would be pleased to have Robin out of the way? Then he could have Scathelock to himself.”

  “I think he would.”

  “When do you next go to visit your brother?”

  “Next market day in Nottingham.”

  “Then I have a message for you to deliver to him. If he’s as jealous as you say, I believe it will not be hard to gain his cooperation. Soon we will all have what we want.”

  ***

  Robin made his way through the maze of twisting alleys and dirt-clogged streets. It was market day in Nottingham once more. The men at arms were out in full force as usual, but despite their presence, the business of buying and selling went on. Robin’s stomach rumbled as he thought of the lunch he intended to buy once this particular errand was over.

  With five extra mouths to feed and five extra bodies to keep healthy through winter, the outlaws needed to purchase warmer clothing and blankets.

  These last two months had been good for the outlaws. If Robin had had any doubts about taking women into his band, they’d quickly evaporated. Daphne, Jane and Lara had taken over the cooking and any other domestic chores, claiming they could do it much better than a handful of men.

  They also conducted all the trading between the outlaws and the local people. Some villages had been unwilling to trade with the outlaws after the destruction of Locksley, but Jane, in particular, with her winning charm and friendly smile had won many of them over. Since she, Lara and Daphne were technically not outlaws, they were able to move freely in Nottingham itself.

  Jane had also displayed a talent for gathering information. Her experience of dealing with customers and putting them at ease made her an ideal choice for meeting the various informers who brought the outlaws news. Alan often helped with this; their unassuming manners made people trust them instinctively.

  Lara proved to have some skill with herbs, and when her knowledge was combined with that of Tuck, the outlaws were no longer forced to rely on the nuns at Kirklees Abbey for healing.

  When Daphne first came to live with the outlaws, she had insisted on learning to fight, and Jane and Lara had joined her. It still amazed Robin to see the way the gentle Lara could strike a target dead centre with the bow Will had made for her.

  His men were as close to him as brothers, with the exception of David, who still did not quite fit in. Alan often sang for them of an evening. Tuck told them stories around the fire. He’d asked them not to call him ‘Father’ anymore, so now he was simply ‘Tuck’, and it turned out he was as skilled with a sword as with the staff. When Robin had questioned him, he’d received an enigmatic, “I was not always a priest.”

  Much had also thrown himself into combat training. His twisted leg put him at a disadvantage when fighting with a staff or sword as his speed was hampered, but give the man a brace of daggers and point him at a target, and he could throw with blinding speed. He was also becoming a fair archer.

  Robin sometimes mourned the loss of the quiet, gentle boy Much had once been. He was even now with Edward and the women, collecting supplies while the rest of the outlaws waited at the tavern.

  Robin left the market stalls behind and entered the poorest part of the city. The houses here were little better than hovels, many of them with half the thatch missing from their roofs and front doors hanging off their hinges. Robin stopped before one such cottage. Several chickens were scratching about outside and a goat was tied to the fence by a rope halter. A boy was in the process of feeding the animals. He looked up warily as Robin approached.

  “It’s all right. I’m here to see your mother.”

  The boy regarded him a moment longer, then scampered off. A few seconds later, a woman emerged, wiping floury hands on her dress. She was barefoot and her hair straggled across her face, but she smiled when she saw Robin.

  A man filled the doorway at her back, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Robin nodded to him. “Martin.” Drawing a purse from his belt, he held it out to the woman. “Sorry this is late, Jenny. It should keep you going for a while.”

  “God bless you, Robin,” she said fervently.

  Her son was gazing up at Robin. He had seen the boy a time or two before, but then he had been sick with a fever. Now, he was bright-eyed and with a flush of colour in his thin cheeks.

  “Is it true you can shoot an arrow better than anyone in England?”

  Robin smiled. “Probably not better than anyone, but I’m very good.”

  “And is it true you’re really a forest spirit who can turn invisible so the sheriff’s men can’t find you?”

  “Daniel, that’s enough,” Jenny scolded. “Run along and play.”

  The little boy scampered off, but not before casting one more admiring glance at Robin.

  “The boy looks to be doing well,” Robin said.

  Jenny beamed. “It’s all thanks to you.” She lowered her voice. “We heard about what happened at Locksley.”

  Of their own accord, Robin’s eyes darted to Martin’s face. His expression had gone blank. Robin’s anger rose. Had Martin been there? Had he cut down innocent men, women and children? Looking at him, Robin did not want to believe it.

  “The soldiers did not have it all their own way,” he said.

  “I should go, Jenny,” Martin said.

  Robin thrust out a hand. “A moment, if you please. I would like a word.”

  Jenny looked uneasily from one to the other before disappearing back inside her home.

  Martin eyed Robin warily, his hand hovering close to his sword.

  Robin did not waste time on prevarications. “Were you there, at Locksley?”

  “I was.”

  Robin’s own hand dropped to the dagger hidden beneath his cloak. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you here and now.”

  “I had no choice,” Martin snapped. “I have to obey orders.”

  “How long are you going to hide behind that shield? How long will you use it to justify the atrocities you carry out?”

  Martin’s eyes blazed. “I killed no one that night. I had to be seen to be obeying orders, but I made sure that any building I set fire to was empty. I steered soldiers away from villagers where possible. There
was nothing more I could do.”

  Abruptly, his face crumpled, all the anger gone. “I still dream about it,” he whispered. “It was a massacre. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can hear the people screaming. I can smell the smoke…” He swallowed visibly.

  Robin’s own rage cooled a little. “I told you once before you might have to make a decision about where your loyalties lie.”

  Martin hung his head. “Thank you.” He jabbed a finger at the hovel where his sister and nephew lived.

  Robin nodded and turned away.

  ***

  Robin pushed his way into the tavern. A quick scan of the room showed none of his men. Odd—they should have arrived by now.

  His gaze fell on a number of soldiers at a corner table. A serving maid on her way over to them mouthed at Robin, “Your friends are out back,” as she passed.

  Robin gave no sign that he had understood, but turned and left the tavern.

  ***

  “Have another one,” David said.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  David grinned across the table at Will. “What if I am?”

  “You know Robin will be here soon.”

  “So? He can get drunk, too. The man needs to learn how to enjoy himself once in a while. In the meantime, it’s just you and me.”

  And Alan and John, Will thought. The big man was sitting by the window, listening to Alan tune the new lute he had ‘acquired’. John, clearly bored, lumbered to his feet, one hand tugging at his hose as he left for the privy outside.

  David signalled for two fresh mugs of ale. He passed one across the table to Will, then drained half of his in a single gulp.

  Will had to admit it was a good brew—not perhaps as fine as Jane’s, but close. David was right. It was nice to be relaxing in a tavern again like a normal human being.

  “So how many men have you had then?”

  Will blinked at David, sure he had misheard. David’s eyes were a little unfocused.

  He was not usually a strong drinker. Will wasn’t sure what had come over him today. He seemed less uptight than usual, less…monk-like. Will couldn’t help liking this new version, but David’s question caught him completely by surprise. He looked around instinctively, but the men at the closest table had just begun a game of dice. No one else was in earshot. Alan had begun to play softly, his eyes on the door.

  “Come on,” David slurred. “Don’t be shy. You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

  Will wasn’t entirely certain what David meant by that, and he suddenly found he didn’t care. Perhaps it was the ale befuddling his senses. It really was excellent.

  “Too many to count. There were plenty of opportunities on Crusade.”

  Will thought of Robin and what had been done to him, and reached for his mug.

  He’d hoped their shared grief over Sir Richard’s death would bring him and Robin closer together. Sometimes, the loneliness threatened to crush him. He’d never believed it was possible to feel so isolated in a group. He’d found himself gravitating towards David, whom he suspected felt much the same.

  David leaned closer. Their faces were inches apart. There was no denying he was an attractive man. His frame was muscular, which Will liked. His tonsure had grown out completely. His blonde hair contrasted with his dark eyes and lashes. Also, Will couldn’t help noticing, he had a full mouth.

  Urges that had gone too long unsatisfied began to make themselves known. The body had its needs, after all—no matter what the heart or head had to say about it. David had been making it obvious for some time that he was Will’s for the asking.

  The tavern seemed very close all of a sudden. Alan had left at some point, perhaps to keep a lookout for Robin. John still had not returned.

  Will was seized by a desire for some fresh air. His head swam a little, but he put it down to the heat of the room.

  “Where are you going?” David asked.

  “I need to make room for some more ale.”

  The unspoken message was loud and clear. Will saw the answering spark in David’s eyes as he wordlessly got to his feet and followed.

  Once outside, Will breathed in the cold winter air. He still felt lightheaded. He must have been more drunk than he’d thought. He led the way across the yard, past the privy and behind the kitchen shed. They were out of the way there.

  Their eyes locked. Without a word, David reached for him, pulling him close. Will saw the light of lust kindle in David’s eyes, and it fuelled his own need. David placed one palm flat against Will’s chest, pressing him lightly back against the wall. Leaning in, he covered Will’s mouth with his.

  David tasted of ale, and Will opened to him, revelling in the feel of another body against his. David whimpered in the back of his throat, and Will’s body surged in response. David’s hand slid lower, pausing at the tie to Will’s hose. David cupped him through the material, and Will’s hips jerked in response. He wanted more. His arms were still free. He wrapped them around David, allowing one hand to slide down.

  David suddenly tensed. Will opened his eyes and froze in horror. Robin stood there, his face wiped clean of expression. John appeared from the direction of the privy and Alan, a second later. They, too, froze.

  Will jerked free of David’s embrace, his brain searching frantically for some explanation, but no words came.

  David was unrepentant. He threw Robin an insolent smile as he lounged against the wall. “See something you like?”

  Will winced.

  John started forward. “You filthy bastard!”

  Will wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to, but Alan stopped him with a gesture.

  “I must have missed you,” Alan told Robin. “I wanted to warn you about the soldiers.”

  Will was chagrined. He hadn’t even noticed them.

  Robin’s face did not alter the tiniest fraction. When he spoke, his voice was flat and measured. “We should find the others and leave.”

  “Robin,” Will began, without any idea how he was going to finish the sentence. Robin had already turned on his heel and was walking away. John cast Will another speculative look before hurrying after him. Alan’s look was sympathetic as he left.

  Will made to follow, but David seized him roughly by both arms.

  “Let him go. Why do you care what he thinks?” He turned a little sideways, so he could rub his body against Will’s. The friction aroused a response, but it was muted, drowned by the memory of Robin’s face, and Will broke free once more.

  Exactly what he intended to do, he wasn’t sure—chase after Robin, try to explain? Except, he didn’t have an explanation, and he knew Robin well enough to know that he would want to be left alone.

  ***

  Robin walked without paying any attention to his surroundings. People jostled him, but he barely noticed. He passed street venders and jugglers, townsfolk and men at arms. He saw none of them. All he could see was Will backed against the wall, David wrapped around him, David’s hand… He tried to force the image away, but it kept rearing its head like a serpent.

  He had suspected David desired Will. In his less jealous moments, he’d even wondered if it was for the best. He’d pushed Will away so often. His own stupidity rose to mock him. How could he have been so blind to the signals of his own body? How could he have believed he would be happy seeing Will with anyone but him?

  The realisation stopped him in his tracks. People swerved around him, cursing. Robin didn’t hear them. Denial was a powerful thing. It had taken seeing Will in the arms of another to show Robin what he really wanted. Why had he cared what the Church thought? He flouted the Church at every opportunity. They were corrupt, greedy and selfish. They had nothing to do with Christianity. He’d let some bigoted, self-righteous priest convince him that what he felt for Will was wrong, when it was the purest thing he’d ever known. He’d let that same priest convince him that what he’d suffered at the hands of those men was divine punishment. Robin wished he had the priest in front o
f him now so he could kill him. He knew his own mind at last, but it was too late. Will had moved on, and Robin couldn’t blame him.

  He was jerked from his reverie by the sound of shouting and a woman sobbing. He turned, searching for the source of the commotion, and saw three burly soldiers in the act of beating an old man, while his wife, bent and frail with age, pleaded with them to stop.

  Robin’s fury crystallised. All he wanted to do was vent his frustration, and here was a perfect opportunity.

  “Let him go.” Even Robin was surprised by the deadly menace in his voice. The soldiers stopped what they were doing. One by one, they peeled themselves off their victim, who lay in a crumpled heap. Robin had no idea if he was still alive.

  “Who are you to interfere in the sheriff’s justice?” one of the soldiers demanded.

  “You call it justice to beat someone who cannot defend themselves?”

  It wasn’t soldiers Robin saw, but knights on Crusade, knights who had enjoyed torturing someone too helpless to fight back.

  “We are collecting taxes,” one of the other soldiers explained. “This scum is behind. We’re showing him what happens to those who refuse to pay.”

  “We’ve given you all we have,” the woman wailed. “There’s nothing left.”

  One of the soldiers struck her across the face. She stumbled and fell to her knees in the dirt beside her prone husband.

  “It’s only a coward who attacks women and old men.” As he spoke, Robin shifted his body into a fighting stance. He had neither sword nor bow with him, but neither did his adversaries.

  “Who are you?” the soldier who had slapped the woman snarled.

  “That doesn’t matter. If it’s a fight you want, gentlemen, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

  The three men attacked as one. Robin stuck out a foot, tripping the first man so that he fell, face down in the mud. He lashed out with his other foot, landing a blow in the stomach of the second man coming at him, and followed up with a punch. The man doubled over, spewing his last meal onto the cobbles. The third man swung a fist at Robin’s face. Robin ducked and repaid in kind. The man’s nose shattered.

  As the soldier staggered back, clutching the injury, the first man managed to stand. He lunged at Robin, and the two of them hit the ground, Robin uppermost. His head rang as the man’s fist slammed into his face just below his eye. Robin pinned him with his knees, driving blows into his chest and stomach. The other two men were there, one of them with a knife. He swiped at Robin, who rolled aside and gained his feet. His own dagger was in his hand.