Robyn and the Hoodettes (7 page)

The climb down was tiring enough. The climb up would be a
total cow.

Using her hands to see, Robyn found a small bucket. It was
already tied to the end of the rope she’d found. Hugely convenient.
Next her foot tripped over a piece of wood.
Shlucking
it out of the mud, she saw that
the wood was bent in the shape of a bow. It still had the string
attached, although it too was slimed in mud. The string broke the
moment she tried to pluck it. Great.

She slotted the bow into the bucket and dropped to her knees,
sloshing through the stinky gloop in the hope of finding more
goodies. A few coins in the mud made the effort
worthwhile.

By the saints
! She found the mother load. Wrapped in thick fabric was a
quiver full of arrows.

She wiped her hands on her tunic and placed everything in the
bucket. “Haul away!” she called up. They would find something to
restring that bow. Maybe Shadow would donate some of her tail
hairs?

While the three above pulled the bucket up, Robyn
slip-slopped away, finding a hammer and a large knife in the
ooze.

A gasp of relief leapt out. The knife was in a leather sheath,
otherwise she might have sliced her fingers off.

The stench from the mud made her gag. The sooner she finished
finding things, the sooner she could get out of here. Then head
straight to the river for a wash.

“
This is really disgusting,” she called up.

“
Doing great, darling,” Eleanor called down.

“
Keep looking.” Joan added encouragement. “I’m sure there’s
more stuff.”

Urgh. Slop, slap, slip, squelch, stink
. Breathing through the mouth
was the only way to cope. With no choice but to keep on searching,
Robyn spread her hands wide. Sludge oozed through her
fingers.

They touched something soft, wrapped around something hard.
Robyn picked it up–it was heavy–and unwrapped the putrid
leather.

All breathing stopped as she boggled at a lump of gold as big
as a fist.

***

The smoking ruins of three peasant villages lay behind them
as Roger of Doncaster and his men headed toward Sheffield after a
successful few days’ tax collecting.

The stress began to ease out of his shoulders. His carriage
groaning with goods should satisfy Maudlin this time. Perhaps after
that, she’d finally be done with him and he could return to his
family in Doncaster. He hadn’t seen them for four
seasons.

“
Whoa there,” he pulled on the reins and the carriage came to a
stop.

“
Why are we stopping?” One of the men called out. “Are there
highwaymen?”

Highwaymen? Not such a bad idea. After all, how was Maudlin
to know how much they’d collected? “We have risked our health and
our souls, for little payment.” He said to his rag-tag team. “We
have collected above and beyond that required by Maudlin. Here is
where we take our commission.”

The men–he used the term loosely as some of them were
barely old enough to grow whiskers–wore confused expressions. Roger
sighed. Did he have to explain everything to these
cloth-heads?

“
I’m creating a back-up plan,” Roger said. “We deposit items
here, just as if we were depositing it in the holdfast in
Sheffield. The next time Maudlin sends us on a mission, we come
here, collect the items and take them back. No risk of attack or
injury.”

The men nodded and muttered their agreement.

Half an hour later, they’d stashed nearly one third of their
“taxes”, all the smaller more easily transported items at any rate,
in a strongbox hidden in the shrubbery.

Roger looked at their efforts and was pleased. “Good work.
Now, I need a volunteer to stay here and guard it.”

At first, nobody wanted the job, until the smallest of his men
wordlessly put his hand up.

“
Yes, you’ll do.” Roger tossed him a loaf of bread they’d taken
from the hamlet of Hillfoot. “Sleep tight, we’ll be back
later.”

With a flick of the reigns, Roger was on his way to face
Maudlin. For what he hoped would be the last time. He had to get
back to Doncaster with fresh supplies before winter closed
in.

When they arrived in Sheffield, Roger and his team spread the
goods from one end of Maudlin’s banquet room to the other. It gave
the impression of an almighty haul. She’d have no idea there was
more deposited in a hiding spot in the Shire Wood.

Tureens of soup and wooden trays piled with freshly baked
bread sat on the long table. The men stood behind Roger, waiting
for the go-ahead.

Rumbles from their stomachs reverberated around the room as
the men shifted their feet.

A slow clap sounded at the far end. Maudlin strolled in, a
small raven on her shoulder. “Nice work.” She said, casting her
gaze from one end to the other. “I’m sure The Earl of Derby, our
Lord Sheriff of Nottingham, will be well-pleased. You may
eat.”

The men fell upon the food, ripping the warm bread into chunks
and ladling soup into their bowls.

It was almost too good to be true. Roger bowed to Maudlin and
made a small cough. “My Lady, there is, of course, the small matter
of payment for our endeavours,” he said, raising his eyes to hers
to see if he’d pushed his luck too far.

“
Of course. You have done well. You shall be paid by sundown.
For now, you may eat with your men.”

Forcing a smile back, Roger bowed again and took his seat with
as much patience as his salivating mouth would allow.

Don’t smile, whatever you do.

They’d gotten away with it. He’d tricked the witch and now he
was helping himself to her food. And on top of all that, she’d pay
him.

“
It seems,” Maudlin said, approaching the table. She had to
raise her voice to be heard over the slurping of soup. “You are a
man down.”

Gulp
.
Roger looked at the table and noticed the empty seat.

Of course Maudlin would notice. She wasn’t stupid.

“
We were set upon, by more highwaymen,” Roger said.
“Unfortunately we lost one of our team. We had to leave him where
he fell, such a pity. But I shall personally return to retrieve his
body.”

“
I see,” Maudlin tilted her head to the side. “So the thieves
are still at large?”

“
No my lady.” Needing time to think, Roger dabbed at his mouth
with his tunic sleeve. “We defeated them. In any case, there is no
way they can attack the villages of Loxley, Littleton or Hillfoot
again, as those villages are no longer there.”

Maudlin’s eyebrows creased together, “That explains the dozens
of peasants arriving at the gatehouse earlier today.”

Roger continued. “We had to burn the villages. In order to
save them. Now they can never be attacked again and the thieves
have lost their base.”

Maudlin look a breath and smiled as she turned to the bird
on her shoulder. “Did you hear that Rook? I used to think Roger was
an idiot. But lo, even an idiot can be full of surprises.” She
turned again to the men snaffling food as if it were their last
supper. “Eat up everyone. You’ve earned it.”

The bread wedged in Roger’s throat as he tried to swallow.
Maudlin made him uneasy at the best of times. He might be a
paranoid man by nature, but that didn’t mean the witch wasn’t out
to get him.

***

Maudlin watched the men greedily take her food as if it
were their right. They were one down, and she knew exactly which
one because she’d placed her in the group. Disguised as a boy, of
course, and in those heavy tunics and shapeless clothes the
journeymen wore, who would be able to tell? But still, if Ellen
were dead, more deaths would follow, starting with
Roger.

She left the men eating and marched to the top of her tower,
eager to look west and see the smoky ruins of the villages for
herself. Rook cawed on her shoulder as she reached the lookout. The
strong wind brought the smell of ash and smoke towards her. Gazing
west, smoke rose from Hillfoot’s general direction. Two more plumes
arose from villages further west.

Her fingers curled into fists at how stupid Roger had been.
Burning the villages had done nothing but create a false economy.
Now she had extra mouths to feed and no future source of income.
The fields would lie fallow. Where would their food come from
now?

Holding her arm outwards, Maudlin clicked her tongue and Rook
obeyed her instruction to climb out on her limb.

“
Find Ellen, my darling. Find her for me.”

With a flap and a caw, Rook took wing, following the Kings
Road towards Hillfoot, Littleton and Loxley, as the crow
flies.

CHAPTER FIVE

Long shadows fell over Loxley as Robin, Joan, Marion and
Eleanor turned the final corner into town. Ay least the sun was
nearly gone for the day, it meant Robyn wouldn’t have to see how
badly her home village had burned.

“
First thing. Let’s go to the forge,” she said. A new idea had
grown on the walk back, and maybe if she kept busy she wouldn’t
have time to dwell on the horrible guilt growing inside her. “That
is, if the forge is still there.”

“
I reckon it will be,” Marion said, “It’s designed for burning
things in it, not being burnt.”

E
very
cottage that used to have a thatched roof no longer had one. The
walls had held at least. Perhaps one day soon everyone could return
and rebuild?

The
horses sauntered about, sniffing out food.

“
I’m off to see if there’s anything we can salvage,” Eleanor
said.

Misery leached Robyn’s bones to dust. She ached to lie down
but she couldn’t rest. The village was little more than piles of
embers. And it was all her fault.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the tax collectors, and what
she could have done differently so that none of this would have
happened. Her mother had told her to run, she could have run into
the Shire Wood and hidden. Then she could have walked back into
town with her bag of wheat and they would have been so thankful to
have something to run through the mill and make bread.

And the village would still be whole.

“
Everyone get shovels or spades or whatever we have so we can
bring the hot coals to the forge. It will all help, right?” She
said to Marion and Joan.

“
Whatever you say, boss,” Joan said. “By the way, why didn’t
the forge roof burn?”

“
It’s slate,” Marion said. But instead of walking into the
smithy, he walked over towards the well, grabbed the rope and
hauled up a bucket that made metallic clunking noises, revealing
his tool kit.

“
That is pretty smart,” Robyn admitted.

“
Glad you noticed, Robbie,” Marion said.

The air fled Robyn’s lungs. It felt . . . weird and strange
. . . and for a moment she stood there saying nothing, her mind
trying to work out the source of the strangeness.

But there wasn’t time for that luxury. She had bigger
issues to deal with, including whether there was anything left of
her village to salvage, and the really, really,
really
big issue of–

“
Where is everyone?” Joan asked.

Sickness rose in Robyn as she took in her surroundings.
Really took them in. Not merely burning embers and destroyed
houses, but an eerily empty village. A day earlier, she and Joan
had returned triumphant with their stolen belongings and food.
Hailed as heroes.

“
They’re all gone,” Marion spoke the words Robyn couldn’t bring
herself to say.

“
What, everyone?” Joan turned to Marion, as if he were somehow
responsible for this. “Those taxmen must have turned up as soon as
our backs were turned.”

A heavy sigh from Marion. “Pretty much. Roger and his men
came in, nailed up the warning sign about outlaws in the Shire
Wood, then rounded everyone up.”

“
The bastards.” Anger and guilt warred with each other in
Robyn.

“
Where did they take them?” Joan asked.

Clever, sensible, smart Joan. This was the kind of question
Robyn should be asking instead of stewing in her own bile.
Littleton had suffered as much as Loxley. Joan had to be crazy with
worry about her doddering parents, but she hadn’t let it cloud her
judgment.

Unlike Robyn.

Marion’s broad shoulders slumped. “Sheffield.”

“
Yes, but . . . where in Sheffield? Are they relocating them
or have they all been arrested and thrown in the dungeons? How many
wagons did they have?” Robyn felt a spike of pride at being able to
ask something sensible.

“
Only one extra carriage. They loaded it with everything
they stole back from us . . . and made everyone walk back to
Sheffield ahead of it.”

“
And where were you all this time?” Joan asked.

“
Steady on,” Robyn said.

“
No, she’s right to be cross.” Marion said. “I ran and hid.
Then ripped the sign off when they weren’t looking and ran to
Littleton to find you.”