Heart of Sherwood Page 8

  His musings were abruptly interrupted by an arrow whizzing so near his face that he felt the breeze from it. Eyes widening in shock, he lifted a hand and shouted, "Halt! To the ready!"

  But before he could finish giving the order two large tree trunks fell to block the road in front and behind the caravan and a flurry of arrows rained down around them. The men at arms gripped their weapons tighter, drawing them to the ready as they held firm to their horses' reins and turned their heads searching for their enemies. But they saw none.

  "Ghosts of Sherwood," whispered one, and fear wove its way through the ranks.

  In an instant half a dozen men armed with swords, staffs, and bows emerged from hiding holes in the ground at their feet while a literal giant approached through a mist set ablaze with the bright streams of sunlight before them on the road.

  In a lightning quick reflex, Edward slung his bow into his hands, loading an arrow. But before he could fire, his hands felt the jolt of his weapon being ripped away by a shot from nowhere. He was stunned! How could this be happening?

  The giant spoke as he neared and Blanchard got a better look at him. "Good morrow, Deputy," he said politely. "And what occasion have you to enter our forest this fine morning?"

  Edward raised his hand signaling his men to hold while he cocked his head at the specimen before him. Then recognition lit on his grizzled face. "John Naylor, is that you?"

  "Aye," the big man replied as he stopped and stood arms akimbo. "It has taken you long enough to find me, and now I have an army of my own, so what will it be?"

  "It is a fortunate day for you, indeed," Edward said with some relief. "We are not here for you. In fact, if you and your party will just slip away back into the woods, I'll forget I ever saw you."

  "Not here for me?" Little John frowned and his voice rang with disappointment… or was that humor?

  "No. The Sheriff has sent us here to find a new outlaw, a young hooded buck who absconded with a wanted poacher and robbed Maid Marian, so you and your band are of no interest to us this day. If you would please just step aside, no one need be hurt."

  "You hear that, Robin?" Little John said in a boisterous tone. "You rate a whole troop of Nottingham guard, but nothing for paltry John Naylor. What is England coming to?"

  Confusion showed on Edward's face until Robyn stepped out from behind a tree. "Deputy Blanchard, so we meet again." He turned his gaze to whom he believed to be a lanky lad and reached for his sword hilt.

  Robyn raised her bow with notched arrow. "Let's not see if your sword is faster than my shot, for I assure you, good deputy, it is not."

  "So you are Robin," he said returning his hand to rest on the pommel of his saddle. "Robin who?"

  "Hood," she replied, taking sideways steps out into the road. "And the company of men I command in these woods is far larger than the one you brought. As you know from our previous encounter, I prefer not to kill, but do not think that I won't if it comes to that."

  Their eyes met and Edward could not help but foster respect for this new outlaw leader. "Robin Hood of Sherwood," he stated in affirmation. "Mayhap the Sheriff will be satisfied if I bring him the poacher. You and I need not fight this day."

  Robyn laughed and shook her head. "That is not going to happen. What is going to happen, is that you and your men will dismount, disarm yourselves and disrobe, then march unceremoniously back to Nottingham."

  Edward's eyes widened, and he sat a little straighter in his saddle. "We shall do no such thing! That is absurd!"

  "No, deputy, it is what will happen. Did you think I would not anticipate you were coming after me? I know the Sheriff's black heart and know it well. Did you think I would be unprepared? You come to me with a dozen men, but hiding in these trees I have two dozen trained archers, not to mention the six standing around you. We have caught you off-guard and cut off your routes of escape. If you want to go home alive, you will do as I say."

  "You, a mere boy, claim to command so large a troop? My men are skilled fighters in armor and your rag-tag bunch are no match for us," the deputy explained.

  "Mayhap, if all other conditions were equal, but as you see they are not," Robyn replied with confidence. "We have your men surrounded and outnumbered. If you make a move, you will all be dead before a one of you can draw blood on us. But out of the generosity of my heart, I will order my men to allow you to leave unharmed, if you but comply. I would require you to promise to never again come looking for us, but we both understand the Sheriff would never let you keep that promise."

  I pray he lets me keep my life after this! Edward thought. A quick scan of the vicinity did not reveal those hiding in the forest. He knew arrows had flown in on them from various directions, but were there really two dozen? He had only this Hood's word on that. Unfortunately, it would seem the rogue was right; they may be able to kill a few of Robin's men, but they would never get out of the forest alive. He hung his head and sighed. "It would appear that you are an honorable bandit, Robin Hood, to only humiliate us when you could easily have killed us all. But you are correct about the Sheriff. I pray he will be as merciful as you. He will not relent."

  Robyn raised her chin and relaxed the grip on her bow and arrow. "Neither will I," she stated, a promise that puzzled him.

  Could this be some personal plan of retaliation against Giffard? If so, then he must be someone whom the Sheriff has wronged, or whose loved one the Sheriff has killed. That narrows it down to… everyone in the county. He slumped and lowered his head. "Men, do as he says. Dismount, lay down your weapons, and strip off your mail."

  "And boots," Robyn added.

  "And boots? But you are making us walk through the rough forest ground; we need our boots."

  "The road is fairly smooth, and you may keep your stockings."

  The deputy shook his head in resignation and climbed down from his courser. He looked up at the steed and stroked her nose. I love this horse, he thought. We've been through a lot together. The emotion caught him unaware, and he choked back a tear.

  "These fellows won't hurt you, girl," he said looking into big round eyes. "I'll see you again soon."

  *~*~*

  Robyn studied her opponent. He cares for the lives of his men and he even cares for his horse. He isn't like the Sheriff, but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. Surely Nottingham won't kill him for this. She frowned as she watched the soldiers pile their arms and remove their armor. Then she stepped over to Tuck, who held his sword on their captives, and whispered in his ear. He gave her a confused look and then pulled out a scrap of parchment and a thin cylinder of lead from a pouch on his belt. The Friar would sometimes scribble down poems and prayers and Robyn recalled he frequently carried his instruments with him. She scratched a note onto the parchment with the lead stylus and folded it once.

  When the deputy and his soldiers stood in their braies and stocking feet, Robyn walked up to Blanchard and gave him the note. Tuck, Little John, and the others were already gathering the chainmail and weapons and packing them on the steeds to be led back to camp.

  "When you return, give this to the Sheriff; I pray it will save you from a hanging, honorable deputy. Mayhap one day we will meet as allies rather than enemies, but make no mistake." Her eyes fixed on his as one holding great authority, and her voice was as dynamic as that of a general. "Nottingham can send whomever he wants, as many as he wants, as often as he wants, and he will never find me. I will always be ready for him and will give my utmost to put a stop to his treachery, cruelty, and treason. You may think you have no choice save to serve him; but in my experience there are always possibilities."

  He lowered his gaze and gave a short nod. "Then it is war, for neither will he stop hunting you. The Sheriff is a prideful man, and this insult will cause his soul to burn like a crucible toward you. I pray we are never pitted against one another, Hood, but if we are, I will be a most dangerous opponent without a doubt. Thank you for the letter and for keeping your word."

  Robyn nodded in
understanding. "Blanchard, I always make a point of keeping my word. Now, all of you back to Nottingham, and stay out of Sherwood," she called with raised voice. "If you think we appear and disappear as spirits, just wait until you encounter the real ghosts of the forest!"

  *~*~*

  Little John, Friar Tuck, Arthur Bland, and David of Doncaster escorted the deputy and his troop to the forest's edge. Robyn, Much, Gilbert Whitehand, Will, and Alan led the chargers about a mile toward their camp and then stopped.

  "Will, run ahead," Robyn instructed, "while we wait here with the horses. Find Roger, the farrier, and tell him to bring his tools for I have a most important task for him."

  Will nodded, turned, and scampered nimbly through the underbrush. Gilbert leaned against a tree studying Robyn while Alan patted a bay mare. "Your plan was a brilliant success, Robin," he said in admiration. "I assume you did not intend to hit any of them, but your first shot toward the deputy almost grazed his cheek."

  "See why I need the lessons?" she replied with a half laugh.

  "And the villager who lost his tongue," he continued. "You have an important charge for him as well?"

  "Indeed," she declared seriously. "These horses are shod with a Nottingham smith's shoes. They will be far too easy to track. I need him to remove them before we are anywhere near camp. In fact…" Her face lit with sudden inspiration. "Alan, Much, gather some vines, stones, and start sharpening some staff length branches. The Sheriff's men will follow the horses to this spot and I want to set up some traps to greet them." The men grinned at that and set about gathering the necessary elements.

  "Are you sure you didn't fight in the Holy Land?" Gilbert suggested. "A youthful squire, by chance, or as a page for a knight?"

  "On my oath, I've never left England," she replied. "My father and brother served, but I have no such experience."

  "And yet you have the mind and bearing of a commander in the field. You rally those under you and give them important tasks and vital duties, praising and building them up," he perceived in amazement.

  "Roger has lost his tongue, Sir Gilbert, not his hands. We need his talents; and yes, I suppose you or I could pull horseshoes, but he needs to know that he can still be useful. If you are accusing me of being a good leader, then I thank you."

  "But you will not tell me how you come by these skills, any of them." When she looked away without a reply, he simply nodded. "That is your right, I suppose. You are still wary, and that I can understand, as you have only been with us a few weeks. But already you are in charge. The funny thing is, it seems very natural for you, as if you have always been making plans and issuing orders."

  She returned her gaze to him with a hint of trepidation. "You have many years' experience leading men in battle. Do you think I should defer to you? Would you make war on the Sheriff?"

  Gilbert sighed and shook his head. "I will never again lead men to their deaths, and was content to live out my last years in obscurity in the forest. But now you are here inspiring us to rob from the rich and give to the poor, to stand up to Nottingham's injustices, and who knows what next–rescue the King? You think you have secrets? Suppose, as an act of trust, I tell you just one of mine."

  "If you wish." Robyn stepped closer to Gilbert, and they sat together on a large stone.

  "About two years ago our forces arrived and captured Acre after a siege, where we took 2,700 Muslim hostages. Many of them were women and children. Of course we killed soldiers whom we fought, but that is war, isn't it?" He lifted his eyes to Robyn's and then lowered them to the earth. "The King had requested a parlay with Saladin, but the sultan refused to meet with him unless a peace agreement had first been reached. Instead Saladin began a negotiation for the release of the prisoners. This dragged on without him meeting all of Richard's demands. Thinking the sultan was not serious about forging a treaty, that he delayed too much, Richard became impatient. He had the prisoners brought outside the city walls where Saladin and his men could see them and ordered them all to be decapitated. My sword was called upon to mete out this judgment, and I fear no amount of prayer and fasting will ever cleanse the act from my soul. Saladin sent in his cavalry to try to rescue them, but our archers and catapults held them back." He paused to run a hand down his haggard face. "The cries of Muslim women and children are not unlike our own. Their blood is just as red. Is not the infidel a human being, also created in the image of God?" he asked lifting his eyes to Robyn's face. "If not for God's grace, I could have been born in that land, raised to believe their teachings. Was it right to slaughter unarmed prisoners of war, elders, women, and children along with the Saracen?"

  Robyn wanted to offer him comfort and solace but, in her role as a boy, an embrace or a kiss would be inappropriate. She was not familiar with this story, and fully understood why it wasn't being told. Decent Englishmen would have been appalled by the slaughter. "You followed the orders of your King," she said in grave resignation. "What else could you do?"

  "Naturally, the sultan reacted by killing all Christian prisoners the Saracens held, and soon after that the surrender treaty was finalized and we moved on leaving Acre in the hands of the French. With the blood of Christians on his hands, King Richard was remorseful and regretted his rash decision, but it was too late. That was a sad day, Robin, one I wish to forget. But sometimes I see them in my sleep and hear their cries."

  Robyn nodded, lowering her gaze lest she spy the tears welling in his eyes. She knew of his nightmares though no one spoke of them. "I suppose if you suffer the torment of purgatory in this life, you will be spared its cleansing in the next. Your soul is saved by Christ's own sacrifice, and I believe the very fact that you feel sorrow and compassion for your enemies is proof of that salvation."

  "Thank God you have been spared the horrors of real war, Robin," he said. Then her teacher rose and walked away.

  She sat for a moment, head bowed, hands clasped between her knees. Thank God, indeed. But her father and brother had not. What horrors had they witnessed, or participated in? She closed her eyes not wanting to imagine.

  *~*~*

  Nottingham Castle, later that day

  No sooner than he had dressed, Deputy Edward Blanchard once again stood in the Sheriff's office having failed to perform his duty. Foreboding consumed him as Giffard read the note aloud.

  "Dear Sheriff, do not fault your deputy and his guard, for should the devil himself have entered my domain, he would have been sent fleeing with his tail between his knees. You need not waste time pursuing me, for I shall take every opportunity to pursue you. Sincerely, Hood."

  Giffard fisted the note into a wad, gripping so that his nails bit into the heel of his hand. Then he hurled it across the room. "Bloody hell!" His face was red with fury just as Edward had predicted. "But you got a good look at him this time?"

  "Yes sir, milord. I don't draw well, but I can work with one what can. His name is Robin Hood and he's right put out with you for some reason. Never heard of anyone 'round these parts with that name, so I figure he's from another county."

  "You arse sardin' twit!" Giffard bellowed. "He's a bloody outlaw! He can make up any name he wants to call himself. How do we know who the hell he is or where he came from?" Edward shrunk back, his face turning pale. "You say he was very young and beardless, yet he commanded a host of brigands. How is that possible? Was he noble? He can obviously read and write, which would suggest a noble or clergy background."

  "His dress was quite common, as was that of his men."

  "So he took your mounts, did he?" The Sheriff plotted as he paced the straw strewn wood planked floor. "We can track them to his hideout. I shall go myself this time, to personally oversee the mission and make sure nothing goes awry. You," he said pointing an accusatory finger into Edward's chest, "will stay here and post guards at every entrance to the town. If he is foolish enough to come after me, we will catch him like a rabbit in a snare. Go fetch our best tracker and two dozen of the castle guard. I will not have that churl humiliati
ng me while Prince John is visiting, is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir," the deputy replied snapping to attention. "Right away, sir." He darted out before Giffard could change his mind, eternally grateful that he retained all of his body parts.

  *~*~*

  That evening, a stone-faced Sheriff returned to Nottingham leading half of his two dozen guards, battered and bloody. The others had fled in terror from the ghosts of Sherwood Forest and he doubted they would ever return to the castle.

  Robyn's traps had been all too successful, both halting their advance through the wood and upholding local legends. The large owl swooping down at dusk with its eerie cry was simply added luck. As much as a weary Godfrey hated to admit it, it was time to enlist the aid and ideas of his two friends. They must stop this insolent insurrectionist before he began to infect the people.

  *~*~*

  A starry night blanketed Nottingham as a man's hands reached into a cage atop one of the castle's turrets to retrieve a pigeon. He strapped a tiny cylindrical case around its foot, slid in a rolled note, and tied it shut. Cautiously he surveyed his surroundings while standing motionless for a few moments. Satisfied he was alone, he released the bird into the sky and watched it fly away.

  Chapter Seven

  Windsor Castle, two days later

  An ordinary looking middle-aged man rapped on the door to Queen Eleanor's chamber. "Is Your Highness awake?"

  The tall door opened with a quick jolt in the gloved hand of the robust matriarch. "Indeed, Marceau; I have already had my morning ride and heartily broken fast. Now, what news have you for me?"

  He bowed and handed her a tiny tube-shaped leather pouch. "It arrived during the night. No one has viewed its contents, I made certs of that."