Rise of the Wolf (23 page)

Eventually though, Robin sighed as the shadows lengthened and he realised he'd have to head back into the greenwood before it grew dark and too treacherous to travel through the hidden paths and byways he knew so well in the daylight.

With a final hug for Arthur and Matilda, who surreptitiously squeezed him between the legs when she thought Marjorie wasn't looking, the young outlaw said his goodbyes – exhorting his sister to make sure she ate lots of meat and vegetables – and hurried off along the street and into the trees.

He shouldn't complain – he had a lot of money and a wonderful family which was a lot more than some people. His childhood friend Much, for example, whose father was murdered by Adam Gurdon, the previous bailiff, before Matt Groves and Sir Guy of Gisbourne had killed him too. Poor Much. At least Robin was still alive.

With each new day in the forest, though, he grew ever more bitter at the life fate had given him, but at least now he had the silver arrow.

He hadn't told Matilda but he'd already urged his men to put the word out – if any nobleman wanted the immensely valuable arrow they could have it, as long as they'd sign pardons for Robin and all his friends in return.

If Thomas, the former Earl of Lancaster, hadn't been executed by the king the previous year Robin knew he and his men would already be free. Thomas had the power to do as he pleased, pretty much, and he had been a friend to the outlaws. He'd have gladly taken the arrow off their hands and enjoyed rubbing Sir Henry's nose in it too.

The man was dead though and Robin wasn't sure who else would be powerful enough to go against the Sheriff of Nottingham and Yorkshire. De Faucumberg must be desperate for the return of the arrow after all – if some local lord was to take it from Robin in exchange for pardons the sheriff would surely not let the matter pass without a fight.

Perhaps one of the Despenser's would take the bait? Someone like that had power enough that they wouldn't need to worry about de Faucumberg's ire.

If not though, Robin had decided he use the wealth he'd already amassed to take Matilda and Arthur somewhere far away – Scotland or France perhaps – where they could start a new, free, life together.

Whatever happened, he wouldn't see another winter living rough in Barnsdale,.
By God and the Magdalene
, he vowed,
I
will
be free!

Although James travelled light, carrying nothing but his longbow and some arrows, he was still exhausted by the time the sun started to show its face above the horizon.

He had no horse, so to beat Friar Tuck and his turncoat companion to Robin Hood's camp he'd had to travel through the night which, thankfully had been clear, with a gibbous moon overhead to shed at least some light on the road. If it had been cloudy or moonless it would have been impossible for him to make it to Selby – a trek of some thirty miles – in the dark. He simply didn't know the area well enough.

It had been a lonely, eerie journey and he'd ended up leaving the string fitted to his longbow with an arrow ready to draw from his belt at a moment's notice. The nocturnal sounds of owls and other animals, and the sight of shadowed trees almost seeming to sway of their own accord in the windless air made the young man's nerves frayed and stretched close to breaking. Twice he'd halted, breathing silently despite his fear, and aimed his weapon towards the foliage that crowded close.

He'd not seen whatever had spooked him on those occasions – presumably a fox or an owl – but he was glad when it began to grow light. The sinister forest had sapped his mental strength while the fast pace he'd been forced to set had made his body utterly fatigued. He hadn't slept that night either, of course, which no doubt played a part in the anxiety that assailed him through all that hellish flight.

Finally, as the day dawned and the chilly morning dew began to evaporate into the spring air, James wondered what the hell he was doing. Although he'd been in Selby before, he had no knowledge whatsoever of the land outside the village. It all looked much the same to him – trees and bushes interlaced with well-worn hunters paths and little-known, hidden tracks that only the most knowledgeable of locals could even find never mind traverse with any speed.

He began to feel rather foolish as his eyes scanned the apparently unchanging foliage all around him. How in God's name was he going to find Hood and his companions before the treacherous monk led the king's man straight to them? Well, James had come this far, he couldn't just turn back now. He had nowhere else to go anyway – Mark would cut his balls off if he went back to Horbury any time soon.

Some time after dawn but before noon he heaved a sigh of relief as his eyes picked out the gently-spiralling smoke from a number of fires. Some of it grey, denoting simple domestic, wood-burning hearths, and some of it dark and greasy, suggesting industrial processes of some kind. A village then, with perhaps a blacksmith working the bellows in his forge for a day spent repairing broken cartwheels or hammering new horseshoes into shape.

At least he'd be able to make sure he'd followed the stars correctly and hadn't travelled thirty miles in completely the wrong direction. And, God willing, those fires came from his destination: Selby. 

“About a mile north-east of the village, the monk had said,” James muttered to himself, steeling himself for that final section of his journey. “The outlaws are bound to have lookouts. All I need to do is find the general area and make enough noise that they come to see what's going on.”
Or shoot me...

He wondered if he should bypass the village altogether, rather than risk attracting any attention. Sir Guy of Gisbourne was due along after all and it would be safer for James if no-one could pass on his description. But James wasn't an outlaw – he had no reason to hide from anyone and, as long as he didn't ask after Hood or the rest of the notorious gang there was no reason for anyone to connect him with them. Besides, the River Ouse wound through Selby and the easiest way to reach the opposite bank would undoubtedly be the main road with its bridge near the centre of the village.

And his legs did ache, as did his parched throat. It hadn't been the most sensible or well-thought-out plan he'd come up with back in the Swan. He really should have bought some bread and a skin of water or wine from the landlord but, in his haste to make it to Selby before Tuck and his friend, James simply hadn't thought.

“Hail, friend, where can I buy a mug of ale?”

The local – a carpenter judging by the hard, callused hands that carried a pile of wooden planks and the leather bag at his waist presumably containing iron nails – nodded a gruff, “God give you good day, stranger,” and waved the young traveller towards one of the small houses. No comfortable tavern in Selby then, but that didn't matter as long as the inhabitants of the little single-storey dwelling had some cool ale to spare and a bench where he could rest for a short while.

Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the road behind for signs of the two mounted clergymen, but he could see no-one. This would have to be a short rest though, or his trip would have been for naught.

“Can I help you, son?”

James smiled at the older woman who addressed him as he knocked and pushed open the door. “Aye, lady, you may. An ale, please? And a chance to take the load off my feet for a short while.”

The woman must have been tall in her youth but age had curved her back and she stooped now, although her eyes were still bright and sharp as she looked James up and down, taking in the broad shoulders and great longbow he carried.

“Sit down, then,” she nodded and shoved a rough, filthy-looking old curtain aside as she went into a different room, returning momentarily with a brimming mug which she handed to the bowman. “Expecting trouble?”

Somewhat shiftily James glanced at the woman as he swallowed a long gulp of the pale liquid. “No. What makes you ask that?”

“String's still on your bow.”

He smiled sheepishly, took another sip of the ale which had been spiced with cinnamon, no doubt to hide the fact it wasn't particularly fresh, then stood up. Placing his left leg through the string and using his right leg to brace the bow he pulled gently backwards on the top of the great weapon to release the tension and slipped the string off before folding it neatly into his pouch.

“That'll be a farthing for the ale,” the woman nodded. “The bench is free. You want another drink, or is whoever's chasing you too close behind?”

James couldn't help spluttering into the mug and he regretted coming into the damn alehouse with its shrewd proprietor. “No-one's chasing me,” he said, trying unsuccessfully not to look guilty.

The woman simply shrugged, irritated that her customer wasn't going to give her some interesting gossip to share with the other women but pleased to see, by the big young man's nervous reaction, that she'd read the situation right. “Please yourself. Don't get many people coming into the place on foot this early in the day, though. You must have travelled through the night and no-one does that without good reason. You want another ale then, or not? Or maybe something else?”

James looked at her blankly, not understanding what the woman meant and she laughed, her eyes sparkling at his innocence. “My man's out in the far cornfields and won't return until near dark.” She undid the laces of her bodice to reveal the top of her breasts and gazed wantonly at him.

He stared back, shocked at her brazen attempt to seduce him and felt his cheeks burn red in embarrassment. “I'll have another ale, lady,” he agreed, “but that's all, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” she nodded, looking down at his trousers and he hastily covered the bulge that had unexpectedly – given the fact she was old enough to be his mother – appeared there.

Flustered, he lowered his eyes to stare into the ale mug and, with a gleeful cackle the woman went into the back and brought another drink for the bemused young man who was relieved to see she'd covered herself up again.

“Where are you heading for?” the woman asked seriously. “It's not safe to travel around these parts on your own.”

Glad at the change in the conversation James shrugged. “I spoke the truth: no one is chasing me. Indeed, no-one even knows I'm here. And I'm no outlaw, despite what you may think.” He drained the mug and wiped his lips. “But I am in a hurry. I carry news that... well, it's a matter of life and death that I deliver my message before...” He trailed off, unwilling to tell this stranger any more about his business and, in fact, surprised to have told her as much as he had.

“Well, God grant you luck, wherever you're going,” she told him as he stood and made his way out the front door after handing her a couple of coins. “And if your travels bring you back this way, be sure and come to see me. I have no problem with outlaws – my own son's one, for his sins.”

James turned back at that, his eyes wide at the muttered revelation. “Your son?”

For the first time the woman looked flustered herself and she stepped back into her house. “Aye, my son,” she admitted. “But I have no idea where he is, if you're a lawman. Is that why you're in such a hurry?” Her previous confidence and mastery of the situation had evaporated now and James stared at her, wondering what he should say or do.

He turned to glance back over his shoulder at the main road again and his blood ran cold. Two small, mounted, figures could be seen in the distance and James knew it was the clergymen. Friar Tuck would be known in this village – someone would tell him how to find Hood's camp and that would be the end of it all.

“Your son,” he repeated, turning back to the nervous woman. “Tell me truthfully: is he one of Robin Hood's men?” He shook his head to stop the denial before it could escape her lips. “Listen to me, I am no lawman! The law
is
behind me though – Sir Guy of Gisbourne himself is on his way to butcher Hood and his gang unless someone warns them. For your son's sake, you have to trust me.”

The woman stared at James but she had no reason to believe what he said. She tried to close the front door but the big bowman pressed his foot inside and blocked it open. “Wait! I've travelled all through the night to warn your son and his friends of the danger they face and now those two horsemen on the road there are about to overtake me and lead the Raven right to them. You must tell me how to find the outlaws, please!”

The sincerity in his voice touched the ale-seller but still doubts assailed her. “What is it to you if my son dies? Or Robin Hood? You say you're not an outlaw yourself so why would you go to all this trouble to help men who
are
wolf's heads?”

James sighed, exasperated at the delay which brought Tuck and the other monk ever closer. “It's a long story but... one of Robin's men spared my life when he might have killed me – indeed, would have been justified in doing so. I feel like I owe it to him to help him and his friends.” He shrugged and gazed directly into the woman's fearful eyes. “And, on top of that – I'm not an outlaw but I might as well be. No-one will give me a job and I have no prospects. I thought maybe Robin Hood could use another good longbowman...”

The whole tale sounded ridiculous even to his own ears but, finally, sensing the truth of his words, the woman opened her door wide again and gestured him hurriedly inside.

“Swear in the name of Christ and all his saints that you mean my son no harm,” she demanded, then, when James did so she gave him directions – as best she could, having never actually visited the place herself – to the outlaws' camp in the forest. “My boy told me how to find him if I ever needed him, although those directions won't bring you right out in the middle of their camp-site. Robin Hood is no fool, that's why they've been able to stay one step ahead of the sheriff and the foresters and Gisbourne for so long. But, if you go where I told you one of the gang members will find you. It'll be up to you to convince them not to kill you after that.”

She moved over to the door and peered out, muttering to herself as she saw how close the horsemen were now.

“Go,” she hissed. “Go. They're nearly here and no doubt this will be the first place they head for, looking for something to wet their dry throats, just as you did.”

James stood and looked out into the street, relieved to see no-one was watching their furtive conversation as the woman clutched his arm in a surprisingly painful grip, digging her nails in and glaring at him.

“You better have been telling me the truth, boy, or Robin will come looking for you. Now... go and save my Peter!”

* * *

Since returning to the greenwood after Gisbourne's men had chased them out of Wakefield Robin had insisted the members of his band get back into the habit of training, hard, almost every day. Archery, hand-to-hand combat, and sparring with wooden practice swords or quarterstaffs made the men fit both physically and mentally. The young outlaw captain was proud of them and knew most of them felt more like soldiers than they ever had before.

He watched, a pleased smile on his face, as Little John held the fish-lipped tanner, Edmond, at bay with his giant staff. Although John looked comfortable, Robin could tell that the giant wasn't having as easy a time of it as he had when Edmond had first joined them. Aye, the tanner had been a hardy enough fighter, but he'd lacked true skill or finesse and relied more on brute force and aggression, which was all well and good, but useless when you came up against someone like Sir Guy of Gisbourne.

The addition too of the outcast Hospitaller sergeant-at-arms, Stephen, had given the men some new techniques to learn. The bluff Yorkshireman had been trained by the very best – knights of the cross – and he was able to show even the likes of Will Scaflock and Robin, who were both absolutely lethal with a blade, a few new tricks.