Heart of Sherwood Read online

  Edward scanned the curious crowd, the vendors and entertainers, and even the other soldiers in his quest to find this aberration who had eluded him. Stepping away from the tournament field, he spotted a faint color under a bush off to the side. He rushed over and snatched up a worn red tunic. Under it lay a crumbled pair of russet trousers, an old gray mantle, and a couple of small pillows. Clever thief! he thought as he dropped the garment. So who or what do you look like now? And to where did you disappear?

  "Deputy, here!" sounded a loud shout. Edward looked up to see a guard chasing a slender archer dressed in the same shirt and jerkin he had seen Hood wear before. The sprinter appeared to sport only half a beard and was tugging at that as he ran.

  "After him!" Giffard commanded, and the troop of soldiers abandoned the rounded up contestants to chase Robin Hood.

  Edward struck out in a line parallel to his quarry attempting to keep stride, but it soon became apparent that the agile youth, absent the heavy armor of those chasing him, had the advantage. The fugitive dashed nimbly between carts and horses, jugglers and minstrels, and managed to avoid knocking down an off-balance, overweight priest as he hugged a corner and started in another direction. Does he intend to simply lead a chase? Edward wondered. He could have remained hidden and safe.

  Rounding the same corner, Edward stopped for a moment, leaned over holding his knees, and tried to catch his breath. It was then he witnessed the expertise he had anticipated all morning. Hood, far out ahead of the pursuing guards, drew his bow. The deputy followed his trajectory as the arrow sped toward the pole to which a very large and very angry black bear was chained. That first shot bounced off ineffectually. He watched in expectancy as the fugitive scampered a few yards closer and knelt to the ground to get a better angle. This time the shaft flew true, hit the ring knocking it off its hook and freed the ferocious beast.

  Blanchard smiled at the skill, shaking his head in disbelief. The outlaw disappeared into the thicket as fair goers screamed in terror and stampeded in all directions. The ursine monstrosity would have possibly posed no threat had it not been worked into a frenzy by the tormenting it had endured from the baiting. It didn't seem sure which direction it should go, lunging left and right in anxious confusion. It charged a few steps forward and swatted away one of the dogs whose growl transformed into a yelp. Next Edward swore he heard a whistle of sorts coming from the forest edge. Guards were closing in on the desperate creature and it was struck in the shoulder by an arrow. It howled in pain, swinging its head and paws with tortured fury. Suddenly, it twisted its gaze to the brush where Hood had vanished, fell to all fours, and bolted, the soldiers dashing after it.

  Well, I'll be buggered! Edward thought in amazement. That lad certs knows how to cause a distraction. But I must find him anon. Having regained his breath, the deputy took off running in the direction the outlaw had gone.

  *~*~*

  Will Scarlet was beginning to feel hopeful. They were collecting the remainder of the treasure and so far had been able to get it all securely stowed in Tuck's wagon without incident. Mayhap this will work after all, he ventured to think.

  "There," Gilbert declared as he handed Will the final bag. "That's the last of it." The lads exchanged glances with expectant glee while Gilbert pushed the iron sconce back into place. The pulpit slid into position, and everything appeared as it had before.

  "I'll go first," Alan volunteered. "Then you," he said to Will who nodded. He stood inside the door and made a slow count to twenty before stepping through. Alan was halfway across the courtyard as Will spied left and right taking measure. There seemed to be more soldiers milling around than earlier. The whole troop was looking up toward the fairgrounds and Will thought he heard a loud commotion, but his heart was beating so hard and fast that he couldn't be sure. Alright, this is it, he thought and stepped out.

  At the same time a warrior wearing a veteran's sash exited the side door of the keep and bumped into him. "Pardon me," Will said keeping his head down.

  "Watch where you are going," he bellowed in a gruff tone. "Hey, what were you doing in the chapel?" A strong grip seized his upper arm and spun him around.

  "Only praying, sir."

  Emory's mouth dropped and his eyes widened in recognition. "I know you!" he declared jerking up Will's chin with his other hand. "You're Will Scarlet, the Sheriff's little spy!"

  Instantly Will converted into flight or fight mode, only not being able to choose, initiated both. He stomped the top of the man-at-arms' foot with the heel of his boot, twisted out of his grasp, and started to run.

  "Guards!" Emory bellowed. "To the chapel! They are here!"

  A wide-eyed soldier spun around drawing his sword, but as he scanned the courtyard, he saw no intruders. "Where?" he snapped out as his gaze darted to his commander.

  "That one," Emory said pointing to Will, "and more as well. They are wearing our own mail and colors, so suspect anyone you do not know personally."

  Will had only taken a couple of steps, but his thoughts had been racing. What am I going to do? Why am I running? Mum! I must get to the dungeon and rescue her. But… I can't leave the others behind! This is my doing. These extra guards would not be here had I not… no, I will not run away!

  In a flash the lean young man ripped his blade from its sheath and spun to show these enemies his mettle.

  "Long live King Richard!" he shouted at the top of his lungs and charged the startled guard who was drawing his sword. The phrase had been selected as a verbal alarm if anyone was caught or found out during the robbery. Emory's man barely raised his steel in time to ward off the formidable strike, but Will bore down on him advancing with a balestra and a chop knocking the blade from his hands. The unprepared guard fled back into the castle shouting for more soldiers to lend aid. Will promptly scooped up the fallen arming sword without breaking his stride.

  He raised his gaze to Little John, who had just exited the chapel leaving Emory between them. Emory drew his broadsword and took a careful sidestep toward the keep door, an adjustment that situated the outlaws to his left and right rather than in front of and behind him.

  "So, Scarlet, you brought your friends to the party, did you?" The sturdy man-at-arms shot his eyes from one to the other. "I'll wager the little rat didn't tell you, did he?" A grin spread from between his whiskers as Emory employed the divide-and-conquer tactic.

  Alan turned and froze, a confused expression on his face, but Little John pinned Will with an offended glare. Reaching for the arming sword dangling from his belt, he stormed, "What is he talking about? How does he know your name?"

  Arthur, Much, Roger, Isaac, and Fawkes filed out behind Little John at the same moment that a dozen soldiers fell into line with Emory.

  Will saw the flash of pleasure in the commander's wink when he said, "Because he's been telling the Sheriff all about your plans to steal from him and we are here to stop you!"

  That instant, those words, the look on his best friend Alan's face, the fury erupting in Little John–that had been Will's worst nightmare, the only thing worse than watching his mother tortured and killed before his eyes. He had always known, from the night he had been told Nottingham had his mum in the dungeon and he better show up to meet with him or else; he had known that one or both of those fears would come to pass and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Guilt tore at his soul, but sorry would not save his friends; only his swords could do that.

  "You treacherous bastard!" he yelled at Emory in rage and charged.

  Will's rash act of heroism took Emory by surprise and had it not been for several of the soldiers rushing forward he would have been cut in half. Will fought wildly like a berserker, spinning and striking out of reflex and instinct. He thought he saw Sir Guy and Maid Marian out of the corner of his eye, but he had to focus all of his attention and emotion on taking out as many of their enemies as possible to buy time for his comrades, and hopefully save their lives in the process.

  *~*~*

  Ro
byn lit through the forest edge, not straying too far from the crowd yet remaining just out of sight. She wanted the soldiers to chase her; as long as she had them occupied, her men had more time to get the ransom money out of Nottingham castle. The idea of freeing the bear to create a commotion had popped into her mind the minute she saw it there that morning; moreover, she favored saving it from needless torment. That is also why she whistled for the beast to follow her, since it clearly had no clue which direction to take.

  Robyn stopped for a moment and tried to pull off more of the hair which Marian had so securely glued to her face. I hope it isn't permanent, she thought as she rubbed at it. Then she listened and discerned voices and tromping boots.

  "I think he went this way," said an excited, medium pitched voice.

  "No, I'm sure it is that way," contradicted a booming baritone.

  Robyn grinned. I hope things are going this well with the others. Observant of her surroundings, her acute gaze came to rest on a rock a little larger than an apple. Like a cat, she took silent steps, scooped it up, and hurled it several dozen yards away.

  "There!" shouted a third voice, and all the boot tromping thundered off after the stone. Robyn, however, began to weave her way back toward the fair grounds.

  As she neared the flustered crowd, she noticed a blacksmith shop with a stable along the side of the road. That will do well, she thought. I shall climb up in the loft and have a look around. Slowly, and calmly she slipped through the barn door so as not to disturb the horses. One raised its head in anticipation, but lowered it in boredom once it had determined she was not bringing food. The other swatted a fly with its tail. Surveying her surroundings, she spotted the two animals along with four other empty stalls, and a large haystack in one corner. She had just noticed the ladder when she heard a creak. Her eyes snapped toward the sound and grew wide as she froze in utter disbelief. Right in front of her stood the hulking figure of Deputy Edward Blanchard.

  Stirred but not shaken, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin high while deliberately drawing her father's crusader sword. "I have no quarrel with you, Deputy. Stand aside for I have no desire to kill you." Her breathing came fast, and she felt a lump in her throat; she had not wished a fight with Blanchard, but if she must, she would win–there was no other option.

  Blanchard pulled a long broadsword with his left hand and smiled. Curious. It was not a wicked smile, or a 'Now I've got you' smile. It seemed… friendly.

  Robyn was hesitant, but took up her stance with fortitude. Then he answered, "Hurry, Hood, for there is no time to waste. Your men have walked into a trap at the castle. Giffard kidnapped young Will Scarlet's mother and coerced him into revealing your plans. They need you now if it is not already too late."

  Robyn stopped stock still no sooner than her sword met his. "Why are you telling me this?"

  With his blade pressed against hers, he took a step closer and spoke in a near whisper. "Because I am Queen Eleanor's man," he divulged with honest slate-gray eyes confirming his words.

  "Truly?" Robin's heart leapt along with her spirits. She was cautious, but wanted to believe him.

  "On my oath," he swore and lowered his weapon. "It was I who listened in on a meeting and discovered the plot which was revealed to you. Make haste; the mission must not fail."

  Robyn was flooded with conflicting emotions like so many trickling streams rushing downhill after a thunderstorm. "I knew there was a reason I liked you," she admitted in relief and started to sheathe her sword.

  "Wait, please, one thing," he said soberly. "You must give me a wound, or else the Sheriff will fault me for letting you escape."

  She swallowed and gave him an understanding nod, then marched right up to his imposing frame. Laying the edge of her sword against his thigh, she reached behind his neck and pulled his head down until their foreheads met.

  "God bless you, Deputy Blanchard; God bless you." As she released him, she stepped back dragging her blade deep enough to draw a flow of blood, but not so deep to sever an artery. "Sorry about this." She cocked her fist and struck him with a powerful left cross, throwing her whole body into the swing.

  He swayed a little, allowing his head to fall lax under the blow. "Impressive," he declared, "for such a pup as you! Now, go save your men and the King." Still reeling from the emotional impact of Blanchard's revelations, Robyn raced past him fast enough to leave a breeze in her wake, out the front door of the stable, and on toward Nottingham Castle

  *~*~*

  Friar Tuck's heart leapt into his throat when he saw the fight start. He couldn't make out their words, but it was apparent something had gone terribly wrong. Next came the hardest part of all, the inevitability he had most fervently prayed against. He stood with his feet planted and a sweaty hand itching for his sword.

  Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to plunge into the fray, and with every fiber of his being he wished that he could; but he had taken an oath. On more than one occasion Robin had pulled him aside to reiterate the importance, the vital necessity that he carry out his role to the letter.

  "Friar," he had said with a reassuring arm draped over his shoulders in a tone both impassioned and dangerous. "Yours is the most important part to play of all. Should our lads be found out, should a battle arise, you must stand firm and you must not join in."

  "But Robin," he had argued, "that is nonsense! I am the most skilled swordsman of you all, I dare say one of the best in England, and you expect me to do nothing to defend our friends?"

  "You have two duties, and two alone," he had reiterated. "You must make sure the silver gets to Queen Eleanor, no matter what. If Little John, or Will, or I am killed, or even if we all die, it matters not–only that the ransom goes to free our King. For if that sum does not get to Windsor, everything else was for naught. Therefore, you must not react as to reveal your true intentions. You are the friendly friar who has brought drink to the castle guard and that is all. You may be appalled by the fighting, or frightened, or retreat into prayer, but you cannot in any way let on that you are in league with the bandits. Do you understand?"

  "Aye," he had said. The plan was sensible; what Robin said was wise and true, but that made it no easier to obey.

  "Your second charge is every bit as imperative as the first–protect Maid Marian." He would never forget the feeling that shot through his body at the intensity in Robin's gaze. "Get the silver to the Queen and keep Marian safe. Nothing is as paramount as those two. Nothing else matters. Do you understand?" he'd asked a second time. The vibrations in the young leader's voice reverberated through his heart even now. He knew it was what he had to do; he had no idea it would be this hard. "Swear it, Friar; I know your shepherd's heart. You must give your oath, on the Sacred Head of our Lord Jesus."

  "On my oath," he had promised. "I will see the treasure and the lady safely to Windsor."

  He looked on now, feeling more helpless than ever before as Will cut into a troop with no regard for his own life. Little John, who was not comfortable with a sword, slammed a big fist into the closest guard's jaw, rendering him a crumpled heap in the dirt. But before his body hit the ground, John snatched the pole-ax from his hands. He tossed the blade aside and began to spin the new weapon like a quarter staff, a confident smile overtaking his face. He used it with skill and precision as he littered the ground with soldiers. To their credit, Much, Arthur, and the others seemed to be holding their own against the trained fighting men. Gilbert covered his comrades with his bow, trying to stay out of sword-strike distance.

  Tuck swallowed and gripped the side of the mead cart to occupy his hands. "What is this?" shouted the gate guard who was taken aback by the sight of castle guards attacking each other, and he sprinted toward the skirmish. That gave David an opportunity to roll out from under the wagon and retrieve the sword hidden amongst the barrels.

  "Take care, lad," Tuck ordered him in a hush. The youth flashed him a smile and dashed into the mix.

  In the confusion
, some of the Nottingham guard ended up engaging Sir Hugh Diggory's soldiers who had been sent to reinforce the castle, because they did not know who they were. Alan worked to steer the battle closer to the mead wagon so they could unload the last of the coins. Once he was in reach, Alan used the cart as a bit of cover to stand behind while warding off the blows from his attacker. He performed a lunge strike forcing his opponent to step back, then ducked behind the back of the wagon having just enough time to drop the bag of loot. Then he sprang up and danced off leaving his foe to give chase.

  Tuck lifted his hands and began to pray at full volume as he shuffled toward the discarded money sack. "Saints preserve us!" he cried, then bent over, picked up the silver, and seeing that nobody was watching him, stowed it away in one of the trick barrels.

  Following Alan's lead, the others took turns repeating the tactic until the whole cache was safely under Friar Tuck's purview. Then, as if there was not enough chaos, Tuck heard frantic shouts and shrill screams as a stampede of spectators ran down the hill from the fairgrounds toward the castle. Some of them spilled though the gate until they noticed the raging combat. One man was sliced by a stray sword strike before the converging mob abruptly changed course to escape back out into the street. What is that about? the flabbergasted Friar wondered. Pardon me, Lord, but what the hell is happening?

  As Tuck stood holding tight to the reins of the disconcerted cart horse, another squad of armed men clad in mail rushed past the frantic citizens into the castle yard. They halted, staring at what must have appeared like a clash between guards, as all the combatants were dressed alike. One looked at him and asked, "What is this? Which ones are the outlaws?"

  He held his hands palms up. "I haven't a clue! I was minding my wagon when all of a sudden one of them shouted at another and they broke out into this chaotic brawl."

  "You had better get to safety, Friar," the soldier said in a tone more resembling an order than a suggestion. "We ran down here chasing after that arch-bandit, Robin Hood. He is on the loose, and it is no telling what he will do."