Robyn and the Hoodettes (8 page)

“
Wait a minute,” Robyn’s mind stopped spinning for long enough
to make sense of all this. “They nail up a sign, knowing full well
hardly anyone in the village can read.”

“
Except us, of course,” Marion said.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t think anyone noticed.
“Of course, but . . . they pack the rest of us off, and leave a
sign up in an empty village, which they then set fire
to.”

“
They think we’re blokes, remember?” Joan said with a wicked
grin. “Everyone knows most girls can’t read. But some men can. My
dad can . . . a bit. So they put the sign up to let us know they’re
on to us. Figuring we’ll have to come back at some
point.”

Again Joan had it all worked out. The girl may look a
brute, but she had a fine mind.

“
OK, so they’re sending us a message. Let’s send them one
back,” Robyn said. The words poured out of her before she could
chicken out. “We take the fight to them. We take back what’s
ours.”

“
How?” Marion asked.

“
I’ll figure the details on the way. For now, let’s salvage
what we can from here, then we go to Sheffield.”

A broad grin split Joan’s face. “I like it.”

“
I don’t,” Marion said. “We should think this through some
more. Have a more detailed plan.”

Robyn threw her hands up in frustration. “I’ve already given
us a plan. Sure as the sun comes up in the morning, Roger and his
men will be back here, raiding the village and the Shire Wood
looking for us. But they won’t catch us napping, because we’ll
already be in Sheffield.”

Marion scratched at his top lip, as if the few soft whiskers
there itched him. Was this his way of trying to remind them he was
the man of the village? That he should be in charge?

Robyn wasn’t buying it. She had her blood up and her mind
fixed. “They’ve taken everything from us, we have nothing left to
lose.”

***

In her hiding place beside the King’s Road, Ellen took a
woollen blanket from the strong box and wrapped it around herself.
No way could she set a fire for warmth; the light would provide a
beacon for anyone else to find her here.

She didn’t mind the cold. She’d grown up in the valleys and
dales and had spent many nights sleeping under the stars. Watching
over sheep and making sure most of them got back to the village.
She only ever took what she could eat, mind. Especially when one of
the ewes had twins. Twins were bad luck, weren’t they? They drained
the mother of energy and took so much longer to grow. So to be
honest, she was doing the farmers a favor when she weeded out a
spindly twin to feed her belly. Or the male lambs. After all, the
males would only be sorted out later so they didn’t cause trouble
for the flock in the long run.

Shepherding was always good while it lasted and she could
usually last in one place for a few months until the locals wised
up to her and ran her out of their valley.

Alas, she’d run out of so many valleys, moved on so many times
she wasn’t sure if she knew know how to get back. And to be honest,
she didn’t know if she really wanted to. It didn’t rain here half
as much as it had in the valleys.

And she’d eaten enough lamb to last her a lifetime.

Maudlin was a cracking woman. What a day it had been when
their paths had crossed. She and Maudlin could have been sisters
they were so alike in the way they viewed the world.

She couldn’t wait to tell Maudlin about Roger. He
was hopeless, to be
honest. Leaving the smallest of his team to look after . . . what
had he called it? Their commission? There was no way one strong
girl could defend it if a band of thieves really did show up.
Still, if she stayed quiet and kept herself warm by means other
than a fire, the chances of real thieves stumbling across her were
slight.

Ellen rubbed the bruise on the back of her head from the
right
thwacking
that giantess had given her. A
giantess-pretending-to-be-a-strong-man-pretending-to-be-an-old-crone
with a wayward nag.

Oh yes, she’d seen enough to know when someone else played
dress-ups, because she’d been doing the same thing herself for
years.

Now Ellen found herself guarding double-stolen goods, and
Roger was a right twit to think he was going to keep any of it
without Maudlin finding out.

To be honest, Maudlin would most likely take her commission
before sending things on to the Sheriff. And he’d probably take his
commission before sending anything on to Prince John, looking after
the King’s treasury.

Her eyes fully accustomed to the darkness, Ellen set about
making a soft bed out of fallen leaves.

Oh lush, she thought, as she mushed herself into
it.

B
eing
left behind was a bonus. No more hard work or marching or raiding
villages for her. A night under the stars in a bed of soft leaves.
Not a worry in the world.

Not a worry, that was, until Roger came back. And then
what?

Uh-oh.

Ellen sprang out of her bed as fresh troubles swamped
her.

Maudlin was bound to notice she was missing from Roger’s gang.
What kind of lie would Roger invent to explain her
absence?

The easiest one would be to say they’d been attacked. Would
Roger come back tomorrow and make sure, in a very permanent way,
that she could never tell Maudlin of his deception?

Roger might be stupid, yes, but he was also
dangerous.

The smartest thing she could do now would be to grab what she
could from the strong box and hit the road.

A familiar “caw, caw” filled the sky.

Wings flapped overhead and a jackdaw, as black as a
moonless night, landed on her shoulder.

“
Clever girl, Rook!” Relief flooded Ellen. She dove into the
strongbox and took out a piece of leather. In the darkness, she
hunted for anything that would make a mark. The dagger would
do.

Now she wished she had lit a fire so she could see better, but
it was too late for that. She had to use the dagger to write some
kind of message in darkness and hope it wouldn’t result in slicing
her thumb off.

With the pointy end, she banged in two eyes and a curve
underneath, like a smiling face. Then she sheathed her dagger,
rolled up the leather and Rook took it in her talon.

“
Fly back to Maudlin,” She said.

Ears straining, Ellen heard Rook’s wings flap away into the
distance. The raven would be flying towards Sheffield. Which meant
she had to go in the opposite direction. Because if she went the
same way as the crow, there was every chance she could run into
Roger again.

She stumbled and staggered over the uneven ground until she
came to the dirt road. The moon tried its best to break through the
clouds, but she’d have to make do with the watery light it
offered.

Enough light to show she was still wearing her boy disguise of
loose trousers and a tunic, instead of a long skirt. Back to the
cache of goodies she scarpered, raiding the boxes for anything
remotely girlish.

An apron would do.

Back on the King’s Road, she set off at a jog, trying very
hard not to make a noise just in case any of Roger’s men were
about. The road took her past the turnoff to Hillfoot and on to a
badly singed Littleton. She recognized it from the stone tower
they’d set fire to.

Strong
tower, didn’t even look damaged.

When she walked under the arches, she could see clear up to
the mottled sky.

Oh dear. Quite a bit of damage then.

“
Hello, is anyone here?” May as well check.

Nobody responded.

Like a spider, Ellen took to the outside of the tower’s stone
wall and scrambled up. The battlements looked completely unsafe so
she decided not to climb on to them, but while she was up here she
gazed around as much as she could.

And saw a blazing light up ahead. Could it be the other
village they’d set alight? Was it still burning?

Or was it a sign that some of the people had
returned?

Desperate to find out, Ellen scrambled down the wall and
headed off towards Loxley.

***

An unfamiliar voice called out in the Loxley
air.

Robyn grabbed the hammer out of Marion’s hand mid-swing and
stomped out into the night. “Who’s that! Show yourself!”

“
Only me!” A girl called out.

“
Who’s ‘Me’?”

“
Me is Ellen from the Valley.”

“
What valley?”

The girl took a step closer, but was completely
non-threatening about it, judging by the way she held her palms up
in surrender.

“
Sorry about that, you call them dales here. I’m not sure
there’s much difference, to be honest.”

Robyn lowered the hammer. “You speak funny.”

The stranger said, “Your accent’s lush too.”

“
You finished with this?” Marion snatched his hammer back so he
could return to work.

Seeing the girl meant no harm, and from the sounds of her
accent she had to be a long way from home, Robyn extended her hand
in friendship. “I’m Robyn, from Loxley. Or, what’s left of
it.”

“
It’s lovely to meet you. But I won’t lie to you Robyn, I’m
starving. Is there anything to eat?”

Pointing towards the darkness beyond the village, Robyn asked,
“How many more of your lot are out there?” It was so hard to place
Ellen’s sing-song voice. Was she all by herself or was she with a
whole group of travelling people and they’d sent her to the village
to make contact?

“
No, love. It’s just me.”

“
I found Bella,” Mother Eleanor said as she walked the ruminant
towards the warmth of the forge. “Oh hello there, I’m
Eleanor.”

She and Ellen introduced themselves, before Eleanor called out
to Marion. “Got any pails or bowls I can use?”

Ellen piped up. “Does your cow need milking then? Let me help,
now, I don’t mind.”

A quick hunt through the forge yielded nothing useable.
Until with a sigh, Marion handed over his incomplete
helmet.

“
You’ll have to hold it, it’s not flat on the bottom so it will
roll over.” He said.

Robyn made what she hoped looked like a sympathetic face.
“It’s a really handsome bowl.”

Marion shook his head and stomped back to the forge. Soon the
familiar sounds of clanging and banging rang out. Louder than
normal. Taking his frustrations out on the anvil.

Ellen and Mother Eleanor set to milking the cow. One holding
the bowl and the other milking. It wasn’t a large bowl, so it
filled quickly. They passed it around so everyone could have a
drink before milking Bella some more.

“
T
hat’s so warm and lush,” Ellen said. “Thank you Bella, you
are a truly beautiful cow.”

To make the night even more bizarre, the girl started
singing.

How lovely a creature is the cow

Far kinder than goats or sows

When the milking is done

She’s up with the sun

And is ready to pull the plow . . .

“
Can’t say I’ve heard that song before,” Eleanor
said.

“
Made it up just now this minute,” Ellen beamed.

“
Where are you from, exactly?” Robyn asked again.

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but she could have sworn
she saw Ellen take a gulp at the question. Maybe a bit of milk went
down the wrong way.

“
I’m travelling mostly, to be honest. I lived in Blaenafon for
a while, but most of the time we called it “The Valleys”. Although
now I think of it, Blaenafon was up on a hill. So that doesn’t make
any sense now, does it? But everyone knew it as “The Valleys” so
that’s what we called it. We mined coal from the ground and sold it
to other towns. It’s world famous that coal. Maybe the coal in your
forge could be from us.”

A twitchy squint made Robyn’s eyes narrow. “The coal in
Marion’s forge is from what’s left of the village.”

“
Oh, I am sorry about that,” Ellen said, then covered her hand
over her mouth. All too soon she took it away again. “Pay no mind
to me, I won’t lie to you, I do run off at the mouth.”

Understatement
.

“
Where’s Joan?” Robyn asked, looking around. “It’s not like her
to pass up a drink.”

“
Coming,” said a voice from far off. “Just hitching up the
wagon.”

“
We have a wagon?” That was news to Robyn.

Joan reached Robyn, bringing her beaming smile and a wagon
with the horses behind her. “The Sheriff’s men burnt the top off
the carriage, so now it’s a wagon.”

“
Why would they burn the top off their own . . . oh, they
didn’t
know
it was theirs, did they?” Madge must had instructed the
village children well, judging by the look of it now.