Rise of the Wolf (31 page)

Beth ran on ahead, laughing and skipping in the rain, splashing in the puddles that collected in the divots and pot-holes that liberally dotted the ancient Roman road, while Will, half-heartedly, demanded that she keep dry or catch a chill.

Everyone was, understandably, in high spirits and, when the thunder-heads passed and night began to fall they were glad to stop and set up camp in a clearing not far from the main road, surrounded by beech, yew and oak trees which felt just like home to the men who'd spent most of the recent years of their lives in just such a place.

Once a fire had been kindled and the smells of meat and fish cooking on spits above it filled the air, everyone felt truly blessed by God. And that was before they'd even broached the cask of newly-brewed ale portly Aexander Gilbert, landlord of Wakefield's tavern, had given them for the trip south.

It was the best meal Robin had ever eaten. Matilda sat on the grass beside him, laughing and cuddling into him as the travellers told ghost stories and bickered good-naturedly among themselves while Arthur sat on his knee, taking little pieces of cooked meat from his plate and chewing it contentedly, laughing in a wonderfully endearing way whenever he thought someone was being silly.

The young archer looked around at his friends and lifted his ale mug in silent thanks to the Magdalene who he'd prayed to ever since he'd become an outlaw. She too had been seen as an outcast, looked down on by the authorities, and so she'd seemed like the ideal patron for a wolf's head. He grinned as Will aimed a ferocious verbal barb at Little John whose mouth dropped open in dismay, the expression looking hilarious on the giant's face which bore a thick brown beard again.

He truly was blessed to have friends like these – the Magdalene had watched over him well these past two years.

“It's getting late.” His wife's words broke into his comfortable reverie and he glanced at her, eyes sparkling in the orange firelight. “Let's bed down for the night. Arthur is about ready to go over anyway...”

She smiled, flicking her tongue over her teeth impishly and Robin felt a small thrill run through him.

“Good idea,” he replied, standing up, cradling the dozing toddler in his left arm and using his other hand to help Matilda up.

There were ribald comments shouted after them – which they pointedly ignored – as they found a spot to sleep in for the night that was just far enough from the fire to hide them from watching eyes yet close enough to offer protection against any hungry animals, although wolves hadn't been seen in northern England for decades.

Arthur was soon asleep and, as they made love under the stars Robin allowed himself to become lost in the moment. They climaxed at the same time, holding each other tightly and stifling their joyful gasps as the happy feast carried on behind them.

After all the heartache and betrayal and death of the past two years, Robin was finally at peace.

It felt good to be alive.

“Time to die.”

Robin stood in the cell that held Matt Groves, wearing the blue livery of Sheriff de Faucumberg although he retained his own weapons and leather gambeson – the same one with the patched up hole that he'd been given when he'd first joined the outlaws.

Although he wasn't due to become one of the sheriff's staff for another week – he'd specifically asked for that time so he could spend it with his family back in Wakefield – he wanted to be here for this, so, with de Faucumberg's blessing, he'd borrowed one of the guard's uniforms and, along with a couple of burly soldiers almost as big as he was, he walked into Matt's cell to take him to the gallows that stood outside the city walls.

The sight of hanged criminals on the road into Nottingham was supposed to scare potential law-breakers onto the straight and narrow path of the lawful but Robin didn't think it really worked. Certainly, it had never stopped him from robbing rich clergymen. Still, it was as good a place for justice as any other.

“Get up, Groves.” He looked down dispassionately at his former gang-member who returned his gaze from wide, frightened eyes. Matt didn't want to die.

Robin shrugged and turned to the soldiers behind him. “Lift him.”

The guardsmen moved to drag Matt up from the floor. He struggled but the bigger of the two soldiers punched him full in the mouth with a gauntleted fist and it was enough to make the prisoner more pliable. One of them squeezed his cheeks and the other poured a bitter, acrid liquid into his mouth. Unwatered wine, to stop the prisoner from causing trouble on the way to their destination.

They led him – half walking and half dragging – out of the grim, dank cell and along the corridor behind their new superior officer.

When they reached the courtyard there was a wagon with a wooden cage and the guards dragged the wild-eyed Groves up a ramp and threw him into it, their hard, threatening stares enough to stop him trying to escape or even protest at the humiliating captivity.

Penned like an animal on its way to the Shambles for slaughter.

Robin mounted a warhorse which wore simple barding in the same blue with red piping livery as he wore himself and nodded at the cart driver. “Move on – to Gallows Hill.”

The wagon rumbled out of the castle grounds and into the city, heading north-east towards the carter gate. The cobbled streets weren't lined with cheering people as they would have been for a high profile hanging – most of them had never heard of Matt Groves – but there were still plenty of citizens around, either with nothing better to do than watch the prisoner's last, lonely journey or simply because they wanted to see a criminal meeting well-deserved justice.

Life was cheap for the lower-classes in Nottingham; the locals were just glad it was someone else being taken off to hang while they and their families lived another day.

Robin rode at the side of the slow-moving wagon. He was still no great horseman but was starting to become more comfortable when mounted; he no longer felt his thighs burning after a short distance and didn't expect his horse to turn and bite him whenever he offered it direction.

Matt tried to talk to him; to plead with him for his freedom, or at least for a lesser sentence than the death penalty. It was out of Robin's hands – the sheriff was the law in Nottingham, even if he had granted Robin more than one favour lately – but he had no desire to help the sour-faced, hateful old bastard Groves anyway. So he ignored the man, now desperately trying to recall times when he and Robin had shared moments of friendship back in Barnsdale.

Those moments were almost non-existent though. The only time Robin had felt like Matt was becoming close to him had been an act; a ruse to draw him and Much into the forests where, ultimately, Sir Guy and his men had ambushed them. Much had died that day, with the Raven's crossbow bolt in his chest and Matt's sword in his stomach.

Robin held his peace grimly as the wagon trundled on through the streets and out the Carter Gate into the open countryside where Gallows Hill could be seen in the near-distance.

He felt calm and almost emotionless. Even the memories of Much or Allan's bloodied bodies weren't enough to shake him on that sombre journey.

It didn't take very long to reach the place of execution. The gallows stood on the summit of Mansfield Road, close to a rickety old windmill. When the horses were reined in and the cart drew to a halt Matt became silent at the sight of the sinister wooden structure that stood a short distance away.

The gallows had been built with huge, thick timbers and its simple design spoke of cold, merciless efficiency. Matt had seen many such constructions in his life; indeed he'd witnessed them being put to use on a number of occasions. He'd always enjoyed the sight of a man being hanged, especially when the executioner wasn't very good at his job and had to swing on the victim's legs or even climb onto their shoulders to finish the job. 

His arms and legs tingled with pins-and-needles and he couldn't stand when the pair of burly guardsmen dismounted and came to take him up the stairs to the platform. They knew their jobs though, and had seen this reaction before when men became so terrified that their limbs wouldn't work, so they unlocked the cage door and simply dragged him, feet-first, out of the cart, hauling him upright before his head cracked off the road below.

Robin watched dispassionately as his despised enemy stood shakily, eyes fixed on the gallows. The guards gave him a moment to regain his equilibrium then, grasping an arm each, hauled Groves up the stairs and onto the platform which was badly discoloured despite the cleaning it received after every execution. Some stains could never be washed off, no matter how much water and lye soap was used.

Looking out over the crowd that had gathered for the day's grisly entertainment Robin spotted Matilda with Marjorie, John, Will and the rest of their friends clustered around, watching in silence as the prisoner was made to stand, head bowed to hide his fear, beneath the crossbar of the gallows, just in front of the noose which swayed almost imperceptibly in the warm westerly breeze.

Robin almost wished he hadn't asked the sheriff if he could preside over this now that he saw the size of the audience; of course he had become accustomed to addressing the men in his gang, but those were his friends and weren't that great in number. There must have been at least a hundred people – strangers – gathered there that day though. People with no personal axe to grind with Groves but also with no work to go to for whatever reason, so they'd used their free time to come along and watch another criminal get his comeuppance.

Still, Robin had never been particularly shy, except around Matilda when they'd been younger, so he dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a nearby guard with orders to return the beast to the castle stables. Then he climbed the steps up to the gallows and stood at the front of the raised platform where he gazed out at the crowd silently. Eventually, the people noticed the blue-liveried soldier and realised the show was about to begin. The clamour of happy, excited voices dropped until, at last, there was silence. Some unfortunate gossips failed to notice the quiet and were shouted down, red-faced and abashed at the dozens of angry eyes boring into them.

Robin took a deep breath, cleared his throat and, with a small smile towards his wife who returned the look encouragingly, addressed the gathering.

“This is Matthew Groves of Sheffield: convicted thief, murderer and rebel. By the authority of our King Edward, second of that name, and his representative Sir Henry de Faucumberg the High Sheriff of Nottingham and Yorkshire, the criminal is sentenced to be hanged by the neck until death doth ensue.”

Robin watched as the wide-eyed prisoner was readied for his doom then turned back momentarily to look at his friends and family. Will glared up at Groves as if he wanted to kill the man with his bare hands; Little John's steely eyes glistened and Robin wondered what was going through the giant's head; Friar Tuck made the sign of the cross and his lips moved in sad, silent prayer.

Matilda's expression was the one that hit him the hardest though – she was watching Matt almost as murderously as Will and Robin nodded to her in understanding. Much had grown up with her in Wakefield too after all.

He was glad little Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Aye, he'd wanted his son to be there to see justice done but now the time was upon them... it didn't seem right to make such a small child watch a man die. He wondered where the boy was, then recognised the back of his sister Marjorie's head moving away through the crowd, his son's small blonde head by her shoulder and another diminutive figure – Beth Scaflock – by their side.

The young-folk had no desire to see the execution.

Robin gazed around at the excited mob, cheerfully awaiting the sight of a man they didn't even know suffering a humiliating, painful death and he sighed heavily. 

Such was the nature of man. It was why they were here today, after all.

He turned to look at his former outlaw companion whose glassy eyes focused on him, lip curling into a sneer of sheer hatred as Robin stood directly in front of him, hand raised.

“I'll see you in hell, Groves,” he growled. “Say hello to Gisbourne and Adam Gurdon for me. I'll be along eventually with my sword and longbow to make eternity fucking miserable for you all.”

His hand dropped and the hangman kicked the stool out from under Matt's feet.

Robin let out a long breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been holding in.

It was over.

Adam Gurdon/Bell. Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Matt Groves. All dead now. Only the bastard Prior John de Monte Martini still lived but he was an old, old man and would be dead within a year or two if Tuck's judgement was right, while Robin and his men and their families were free and had, God willing, many long happy years ahead of them.

Leaving Groves's corpse to swing Robin jumped down from the gallows and pushed his way through the cheering, hooting crowd to take Matilda in his great arms.

“I made you a promise,” he told her. “To win a pardon, one way or another, so we could be a proper family. Well – now we can be a proper family.”

They embraced, tears of both joy and sadness in their eyes and then, without a backward glance, the big yeoman led his wife away to find Arthur and Marjorie and all their friends.

For now, their adventure was over. They were free at last.

It was time to live.

TO BE CONTINUED...