Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  The skirmish was brief. The outlaws were lightly armed; they had not been expecting a fight and were ill prepared. It did not take long to subdue them. The soldiers forced them into a cluster.

  “Keep them there,” Guy ordered. “Kill any man or woman who moves.” He approached the coffin and drew back the lid. There, before his astonished gaze, lay Robin of Locksley.

  His hands had been folded across his breast in an attitude of prayer and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung partly open, the skin of his face drawn tightly over the bones and white as wax. Guy reached out a finger and touched one sunken cheek. The skin felt unpleasantly clammy, and he quickly withdrew his hand. Locksley’s tunic was stained black with clotted blood. The man was dead; there was no doubt about that.

  Locksley had been his mortal enemy for so long. The man who had escaped death so many times, was finally no more. His overwhelming sense of relief was rapidly turning to elation.

  Beside him, Katrina’s face was split in a smile of pure glee.

  Will Scathelock was being restrained by two soldiers, but even a pair of blades at his throat wasn’t enough to silence him. He fixed Guy with a look of rage and hatred.

  “Are you satisfied, you horson? You never even had the guts to do it yourself. You found a snake in the grass to do it for you. How much did you pay him, Gisborne?”

  His words were cut off as one of the soldiers pressed a knife into his neck, drawing blood.

  Guy grinned. “Hold your tongue, Scathelock, if you want to keep it.”

  “I told you,” Cedric squeaked. “I told you, Sheriff.”

  Guy nodded. He felt almost giddy. “By all means, Cedric. You have done me a great service.” He made a sign to his soldiers. “Well done. We ride for Nottingham.”

  “And the outlaws?” queried Philip.

  Katrina spoke before Guy could. “Let them mourn their fallen leader. They’ll be ours soon enough.” She smiled at Will. “The people might have been unwilling to give up their saviour, no matter the price on his head, but will they do the same for you, I wonder?”

  Guy nodded to Philip, and at a signal from him, the soldiers mounted. The outlaws watched, stony-faced, but they were of no importance. Prince John was all that mattered, and Guy could finally tell him with absolute certainty that Robin Hood was dead.

  Part 3

  March 1194

  Chapter 23

  The Abbot of Saint Mary’s dismounted from his litter. His nerves were stretched to breaking point after the journey through Sherwood. He well remembered the last time he had travelled that way, but this time, no outlaws had arisen from the undergrowth to molest him.

  As Joel hurried forward, the abbot demanded, “Where is the sheriff? I must see Guy of Gisborne immediately.”

  “He awaits you in his private solar, My Lord Abbot. I’m instructed to take you there.”

  “Well, get a move on, then. I haven’t got all day.”

  Joel muttered something less than complimentary under his breath, but the abbot barely heard him.

  By the time they reached the solar, he was little better than a gibbering wreck. Guy of Gisborne rose to greet him, and after dismissing Joel, hurried to pour wine and pushed a chair forward for his guest.

  The abbot gulped the wine as if it were water and wordlessly held out his goblet for more. Guy filled it a second time and he sipped more slowly.

  “You seem agitated, My Lord Abbot.”

  The abbot mopped his sweating face with a sleeve. “You haven’t heard the news? I hastened here as soon as I received it.”

  “You mean that King Richard’s ransom has been paid?”

  How could the man sound so calm? The abbot stared at him like a trapped creature. “The Queen Mother and Hubert Walter were able to raise about half of the ransom. The rest has been promised later.”

  Guy snorted. “Anyone who believes that is a fool. Once King Richard is safely back on English soil, his jailers will never see the rest of that ransom.”

  “But you don’t understand,” gibbered the abbot. “King Richard is on his way home as we speak.”

  “I am aware of it. I fail to see what you are so worried about.”

  A spark of anger peeked through the abbot’s fear. Could the sheriff be so obtuse?

  “When the king returns to England, he is likely to punish all those who were disloyal to him.”

  “If he regains his throne.” Guy laid a heavy emphasis on the first word.

  The abbot was puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned. “The prince intends to have him killed?”

  “Prince John arrived this evening to discuss the situation. I suggest you stay and be one of the council.”

  The abbot breathed a little easier. If Prince John had a plan, his neck might yet be safe.

  ***

  They were a small gathering: Guy, the Abbot of Saint Mary’s, Philip Mark, and a few other nobles who were known to be loyal to the prince. The prince, himself, held the place of honour at the head of the table. There were circles under his eyes, and his nails had been bitten to the quick.

  “Are we absolutely certain, Sire?” Guy asked. “Is it definite that the king is on his way home?”

  “I had a message.” Prince John’s voice was clipped. “The devil is loose. It would make no sense to most people, but to me it was plain enough.”

  It made sense to Guy as well. The children of King Henry II and Queen Elinor of Aquitaine had often been called the devil’s brood. With their violent tempers and treacherous tendencies, the name was rather apt. Prince John was also a classic example. The man was as unpredictable as he was vindictive. It was said that his tantrums were a thing to witness.

  “The king has sailed for Dover,” Prince John went on. “If the weather is kind to him, he should arrive in England within the next week or so. If I know my brother, he will then set about making sure that England falls to heel. He cannot be unaware of the dissent among the nobles, and if he is, then my dear mother will be sure to give him a full update.” The prince’s thin lips curled in a sneer.

  Guy knew there was not much love lost between Prince John and his mother. She had always favoured Richard. Unlike John, Richard had spent most of his youth in his mother’s home of Aquitaine in France. Owing to her long imprisonment during her husband’s reign, for siding with her sons when they rebelled against the king, she had seen little of her youngest son. John had been a small child when the rebellion had taken place.

  “Surely you are in no personal danger, Sire,” one of the other nobles ventured.

  “I would not trust to that. There is little love between myself and Richard. If he is generous, I will be exiled. I intend to make sure he will never resume his throne. If I am to take the kingdom, then now is the time, when my brother is at his weakest. Many will flock to our cause. Several nobles resented the taxes they were forced to pay to fund my brother’s Crusade. He will not receive a friendly reception everywhere he goes. I know I can count on all of you in this room.” He cast a dagger-like glance from one man to another. Many of them shifted in their seats, but Guy remained motionless. He had nothing to fear. Since Locksley’s death, his position as one of John’s most trusted advisers was assured.

  “I will make my stand at Nottingham Castle,” Prince John said. “It is one of the most formidable fortresses in the country.” He glanced over at Guy, who nodded.

  “The castle and its garrison are at your service, Sire, as am I.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. There remains but one problem. There are some nobles, particularly in this area, who will certainly do their best to hamper our cause. I have a spy planted in the home of Sir Lewis d’Ambray, Lord of Mansfield. He and his followers intend to ride to Dover and warn the king of the rebellion. They must be prevented at all costs.”

  “What do you propose, Sire?” the abbot asked.

  “I shall arrest them for treason.”

  “And then?”

  Guy felt a surge of irritation. What did the m
an think would happen?

  John’s smile was wolfish. “Traitors to the Crown must die.”

  The abbot looked alarmed. “But they are powerful lords with a strong standing in the community. If you were to execute them outright, it could cause others to rebel.”

  “If Richard is defeated, it will make no difference.”

  “And your brother?” someone else asked.

  John shrugged. “Imprisonment, I expect. Killing him may well lead to civil war, which would not be desirable. It is rather ironic that the king escapes one prison only to fall into another. If he dies in his cell…well, such tragedies occur all the time.”

  The meeting broke up. Guy rose to leave with the others, but a look from Prince John stopped him. The prince waited until they were alone.

  “I believe you deserve a reward, Guy.”

  Guy was taken aback. “Sire, that is extremely generous of you.”

  John shrugged. “You saw off Robin Hood. Against all the odds, and after many displays of your incompetence, you managed it.”

  Guy flushed. John ignored his discomfort.

  “It is in my head to give you the Lady Marian in marriage. You are an earl now, and you need an heir. I happen to know she has not taken her vows.”

  “What of the abbot?”

  John snorted. “A weak fool. You saw him at the council. He cannot be counted on as an ally. Once I am king, I shall have no further need of him.”

  Guy could not contain his smile. He had the prince’s permission to do what he’d been longing to do ever since Locksley’s death. With John acting as Marian’s guardian, Guy had not dared go against him, but now… “Thank you very much, Sire,” he said.

  It occurred to him that John was complacent of his success against Richard, but that didn’t matter. He would have Marian, and if need be, they could flee to France. Guy excused himself and left to give his orders.

  ***

  Sir Lewis d’Ambray raised his goblet in a toast, clinking it against that of Henry Runeville. “King Richard!” he shouted above the laughter, chatter and music filling the hall. All around him, his guests followed suit.

  Roland DeVere leaned across to touch his glass first to Lewis’s and then to Henry’s. Unlike everybody else in the hall, he looked worried.

  “Why the long face, man?” Henry called, sloshing yet more wine into his glass. He was well on the way to being drunk, and would likely have a severe headache in the morning.

  “We don’t know for certain when the king will reach Dover,” Roland said. “If we do not get there ahead of him, his treacherous brother might plan anything—an ambush, an assassination attempt, who knows?”

  “The prince won’t kill the king,” Lewis said. “He is no fool, Roland, whatever his other faults. He knows it would likely result in war. The king dying in battle is one thing, but the king murdered in cold blood is quite another. John will not fight Richard unless he has a substantial force behind him.”

  “And your spies are certain he intends to make his stand at Nottingham Castle?”

  Lewis sighed. “We’ve been over this, Roland.”

  “I just wish we had more support,” Roland grumbled.

  Henry nodded. “It’s a pity Locksley is dead. He’d have joined us, I’m certain.”

  Lewis was not so sure. Like the other two, he had been shocked and dismayed to hear the news of the death of Robin of Locksley. He still found it hard to believe. He would have liked nothing better than to have Locksley at his side, but the man had no love for Richard. Perhaps he would have refused.

  “We should get to bed,” he said. “It will be an early start in the morning.”

  A servant slipped into the hall. He made his way through the gathering, aiming straight for where Lewis, Henry and Roland sat. One look at his face told Lewis that something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  “Soldiers, My Lord. They are demanding entrance.”

  Though the servant spoke in a low voice, something about his demeanour had gradually communicated itself to everybody else in the hall. The musicians fell silent and a ripple of unease went around the guests.

  Lewis’s wife, Gwendolyn, left her position on the dais and hurried to his side.

  “Is everything all right, my love?”

  “What do these soldiers want?” Lewis demanded. One hand dropped to the place where his sword normally hung. Henry was watching him, all signs of drunkenness gone. Roland’s face was set in a ferocious scowl.

  “They say…they say they’ve come to arrest you, My Lord. You and Sir Henry and Sir Roland.”

  “John!” Roland spat. “He must have sent them.”

  “But how could he have known our plans?” Henry blurted.

  “The horson has spies everywhere,” Roland said.

  It was true, but the thought that someone in his own household might have betrayed him cut Lewis to the heart. He would have trusted any of them with his life.

  “You must leave,” Gwendolyn exclaimed.

  “They have the manor surrounded, My Lady,” the servant said.

  Lewis nodded. “There’s no help for it. We will have to confront them.”

  “We’ll kill the bastards.” Roland was eager for battle.

  The servant turned to Lewis. “Your captain asked me to tell you that in his opinion, we are not a sufficient force to see them off, not without sustaining heavy casualties.”

  Gwendolyn burst into tears. Lewis embraced her swiftly. “Do not fret, my love. All will be well.” To his servant, he said, “Tell the men at my door that I shall deal with them presently.”

  The servant bowed and hurried out.

  “What now?” Henry said.

  “We arm ourselves. If it is a fight these soldiers want, we’ll give them one. No matter what my captain says, I will not go quietly into John’s clutches. Are you with me?”

  Both Roland and Henry nodded, their faces grim.

  ***

  The chapel was quiet at this time of day. For Marian, the solitude was both blessing and curse. Kneeling, she gazed at the crucifix hanging on the wall above the altar. The face of Christ looked back at her, calm, despite his suffering.

  Marian clasped her hands in an attitude of prayer, but no words came to mind. None that she had not asked God already, and he seemed disinclined to answer.

  Where was Robin? Why had he not come for her? Why had she not heard from him in almost three months? These were questions she had asked many times within the solitude of the chapel, and she was no nearer to knowing the answers.

  Perhaps it was time she faced facts. The single night they had shared had clearly meant nothing to Robin. He had escaped as soon as he decently could, and not by word or signal had he indicated that it meant anything more to him than a brief diversion. Her plan to seduce Robin, to make him fall for her appeared to have backfired badly. Whenever Marian pictured Robin in Sherwood with Will Scathelock, nausea threatened. If she faced up to the real possibility that Robin was not interested in her, that then left her with a future that was all too bleak. She could not stay in the abbey forever, not unless she chose to take her vows and become a nun. Abbess Evelyn had been kind to her, but the nun’s patience would not last forever, and if she left the abbey, where could she go? Guy of Gisborne was the new Earl of Huntingdon. He had no more need of her.

  Tears welled in Marian’s eyes and slid down her cheeks, hard as she tried to fight them back. Self-pity wasn’t going to get her anywhere. But her heart disagreed. It needed release.

  A distant commotion reached her ears—shouts, slamming doors and running footsteps. Marian raised her head as the door to the chapel burst open and Ursula ran in. She looked terrified. Marian was on her feet at once.

  “What is it?”

  “Soldiers, My Lady. Soldiers in the abbey. They are threatening to kill all the nuns unless you give yourself up.”

  So it had finally happened. Marian had thought that once Guy had her lands, he would leave her be. It seemed she h
ad underestimated him. He believed Robin Hood to be dead, and now he was making his move. She was only surprised he had waited so long. Bitterness against Robin rose up in her.

  “I’m coming,” she said. She felt like a woman walking to her own execution, but she would not allow the nuns to suffer for her sake.

  Ursula wrung her hands.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” Marian said gently. “Stay here. They have no interest in you.”

  Ursula wavered a moment, then shook her head, her shoulders stiffening with resolve. “I won’t leave you, My Lady.”

  A lump rose to Marian’s throat. She knew she had done nothing to earn such loyalty. Because of her meddling, Ursula’s brother was dead. Marian still heard her sobbing at night. And it had all been for nothing.

  Wordlessly, Marian embraced her, and the two women clung together for several seconds. The sound of booted feet and the loud hammering of metal on wood caused them to break apart.

  “Lady Marian, come out, or must we come in and fetch you?”

  Marian strode to the door and flung it open, Ursula close behind her.

  “What business have you here? How dare you invade the abbey and frighten the holy nuns in this way.”

  The soldier’s face was hidden behind his visor, his voice flat and emotionless. “You will come with us now, Lady Marian. Any protests on your part, and every one of these nuns will die.”

  “May I ask what you want with me?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Will you come?”

  “It seems I have no choice, but my maid comes, too.”

  The soldier shrugged. “As you wish.” He made a sign to two of his men. They grabbed Marian and Ursula and forced their wrists behind them, binding them tightly.

  Marian winced at the sharp pain, but refused to give them the satisfaction of crying out. She and Ursula were then frogmarched from the abbey, watched by an audience of silent, terrified nuns. Each nun was held in a soldier’s grasp, a sword blade to her throat. Many looked on the verge of passing out from terror, but Abbess Evelyn called out as Marian and Ursula were led away.