Rise of the Wolf (30 page)

Robin remained silent but he felt beads of sweat trickle down uncomfortably from under his armpits as the sheriff stared at him.

“But you saved my life and I am grateful so... I would like to offer you a position within my own household.”

The wolf's head simply gazed up at de Faucumberg, knowing he must have imagined the man's words.

“As I say, you have proven your leadership abilities. I don't think any of my men have anything but respect for you in that regard, whatever they may feel for you personally. You and your fellows have killed rather a lot of them after all.”

“Only in self-defence – what choice did we have –”

Sir Henry raised a hand. “There's no need to go into that right now. Perhaps once I'm fully healed we can discuss that sort of thing in more depth but for now... as I say I have other duties to carry out and the dressing of my wound takes up much of my time so...? What say you, Hood? I believe you have no official experience commanding men – you don't know the way things work in a castle garrison and that sort of thing, so I can't offer you the position of my personal captain just like that. However, I will find you a job that suits your exceptional capabilities. Who knows, I might even be able to find a place for others of your group. I lost a few men in that last, ill-fated, assault Gisbourne led on your camp, although I believe some of them still live, thanks to you.”

That brought Robin back to Earth.
Others of your group
. Where were Stephen and Edmond and the rest of the men?

“What about the pardons for the other members of my gang?”

The clerk in the corner of the room rummaged amongst another pile of papers and lifted some in the air, showing them to the wolf's head.

“Those are blank.” The sheriff said. “Once I have their names I can fill them in and your men will be pardoned. All of them.” He raised a finger and looked seriously at Robin. “I only demand my silver arrow in return. Fair enough?”

The reality finally hit him and Robin crouched down, weeping in disbelief and happiness and sadness for all his friends who'd died before they could see this day. He didn't care what the sheriff or the clerk or the guardsmen thought of him, he was overcome by emotion and for long moments he simply stared at the stone floor, tears streaming down his face.

They'd done it. At last, they had finally earned their pardons, they would be free!

“Thank you, my lord.” He rose, drawing himself up to his full impressive height and looked at the sheriff without bothering to wipe his tear-streaked face. “I would like to speak with my wife before I accept the offer of a position in your household. Before that, though, I have one more boon to ask...”

* * *

Matt Groves wished he'd never come back to Nottingham. He should have known how it would turn out. The fact the sheriff hated him didn't seem to matter though; he'd hoped de Faucumberg would have been so desperate for able-bodied, hard fighting men that he'd see Matt as a decent addition to his garrison.

But it hadn't turned out like that. When he'd made it back to the city from Selby the sheriff had been away with the king, so he'd made himself at home in one of the local taverns until the sheriff returned, spending what little coin he had left in his purse on a room and board for a few nights, hoping de Faucumberg wouldn't be gone too long.

When word had got around that the sheriff was back in the castle – and grievously wounded – Matt had made his way there to offer his good-wishes and support to the stricken nobleman.

Unfortunately for him, de Faucumberg had been well enough to recognise him and, in a near-delirious fury, had ordered his guards to imprison Matt until he was well enough to deal with Gisbourne's pet outlaw.

He'd languished in this shit-encrusted, vermin-infested cell for days now, with only black mouldy bread and tepid water for sustenance and he was thoroughly sick of it.

There was a noise from the end of the corridor which Matt recognised as the main entrance to the block of cells being opened and he held his breath, listening as footsteps approached. They stopped outside his cell and he got to his feet, stretching his muscles and plastering a smile on his face as the door swung open, hoping to see the sheriff or one of his lackeys come to free him at last.

One of the castle guards held a torch which burned brightly, blinding Groves momentarily as he squinted into the gloom at the two figures there, and then he found himself lying on the cold stone floor, amongst the shit and piss, his head spinning and his face aching.

“Get up you fucking arsehole.” A low, gravelly voice came to him and he raised his hands defensively but they were batted aside and someone grabbed his short hair, pulling hard until he scrambled to his feet.

When he reached an upright position again fury rose in him and he swept his right arm out in an arc, trying to land a blow on the shadowy figure that now held him by the throat.

His attempt was weak though, and he fell backwards again, his teeth rattling as another blow landed on his face. He heard a crack as the punch landed and a searing pain blurred his vision. He fell backwards into the wall, knowing his cheek had been broken. He felt weak from his captivity over the past few days but, outraged at being struck, he roared, raising his arms and running forward towards the shadowman that tormented him.

Again, a closed fist hit him, this time in the solar-plexus, and he collapsed, retching onto the already filthy cell floor. He brought up the water and slimy half-digested bread that he'd eaten earlier on, burning tears streaming from his eyes, but he forced himself to stand up once more and raised his fists to block any more attacks.

“Do you know who I am?” he found himself shouting desperately. “I'm one of Robin Hood's men. Have you never heard how he looks after his men? He'll come for you when he hears about this, you bastard!”

His attacker halted his advance and Matt took heart. “Aye, that's right, dickhead. We look after each other in Robin Hood's gang.”

He saw the next blow coming but was, again, too slow to dodge or even block it and a thunderous right hook landed on his face with a crunch of bone and cartilage and he fell backwards into the wall, blood pooling from his ruined nose.

“You look after each other?” The voice was low and filled with pure hate. “Then why did you betray Much?”

In the near-darkness Matt saw his attacker's foot coming towards him but before he could raise a hand he felt the crushing blow and he dropped, dazed and winded, onto the ground again. He didn't try to get up now; finally, he'd recognised that voice.

Robin Hood leaned down and glared into his eyes, the cowl he wore making him look distinctly sinister and wicked in the wan torchlight. “Get up and fight me like a man you old cunt. I've waited a long time for this; since I first joined the outlaws in fact. Remember? You almost broke my fingers the first time we sparred and then you knocked me into the river. Let's see how hard you are then, Groves. Let's see you break my fucking fingers now.”

He heard Hood's ragged breathing as the big wolf's head glared down at him.

“We found Allan's body after the battle. Did you kill him too?”

For a moment Groves thought about denying it, but he knew he was done for anyway. At least this would be one final barb to throw at his former leader.

“Aye, I did. He just stood there, gaping at me like a fish. It was so easy for me to skewer the stupid-looking dullard. He cried like a girl when he sank onto the grass at my feet.”

His words had the desired effect – Robin rocked back, eyes wet and filled with loathing for the man before him.

“Finish it then,” Matt growled through split, bloody lips, unnerved by his attacker's glaring silence. “Or are you still too much of a fucking woman?”

He expected Hood to rain more blows down on him but none came and he lay on his back, sucking in lungfuls of air, his entire body numb.

For a long time nothing happened. The torch the guard outside in the corridor held cast flickering orange light on the walls and Hood's breath continued to come in laboured gasps while Matt just lay on the ground, almost passing out more than once.

Then, when he'd regained his breath, the wolf's head bent down and looked directly into Matt's eyes.

“I don't need to finish it, Matt. Justice will be served, have no fear. Your master Gisbourne is dead – aye, killed by me, my wife and my little sister – and your crimes will not go unpunished. I'm the sheriff's man now... and soon enough I'll see you on gallows hill, swinging by the neck for what you did to my friends.”

It was a rather different Robin that returned to the outlaws' camp near Selby a day later, accompanied by Will and Little John. The smile was back on his handsome face and, apart from severe bruising around his knuckles he appeared to be in good health.

Of course, the lookouts had spotted the men approaching and sent word to the main camp where Stephen had gathered the men and ordered them to battle-readiness. It might have been their leader and his two lieutenants heading towards them but who knew what came at their back? It could very well be a trick of the sheriff's devising. So the former Hospitaller, careful as ever, had the men armed and ready for anything when he heard of Hood's return.

“Not the friendliest welcome I've ever had.” Robin grinned at the sergeant-at-arms who met him, grim-faced, as he strode into the camp. “But it's good to see you have the men at the ready.” He clasped Stephen's arm, grinning broadly and the man relaxed visibly, although he didn't return the grin; that wasn't his way.

“Are we safe?”

“Aye,” Robin nodded, laughing as Little John came up behind him and barged past, grabbing the shocked Stephen in a massive bear-hug that he struggled vainly to break free from.

When he was back on his feet and before he had the time to berate the giant, Will Scarlet grabbed also him and pulled him into a friendly embrace, slapping him on the back and laughing loudly. “Well met, Hospitaller. Well met.”

Robin could tell Stephen was inwardly pleased at the show of friendship, but the sergeant shoved Will away and glared at the three of them. “I take it we're not in any immediate danger? The sheriff's men aren't on their way to rout us?”

“No, they're not,” Robin shook his head, still smiling and raising his voice so the rest of the men, still hidden in the foliage, could hear. “You can come out – we have news!”

They feasted that night, after freeing the sheriff's captured soldiers to return to their homes. Little John and Will had brought fresh black loaves and a pig from the kitchen in Nottingham Castle and, with that and the late spring vegetables stored in the outlaws' larder, Tuck made a wonderful thick stew which the men washed down with large amounts of ale and even some wine the sheriff's bottler had gifted to them before they'd left to return to their friends.

When Robin produced the papers that confirmed every man's pardon there had been disbelief and then deafening cheers that split the night like thunder and the young outlaw captain had cheered as loud as any of them. It was a momentous occasion. Even Stephen managed a grin, although things would be more complicated for him, since some of the Hospitallers had tried to kill him and, as far as he knew he was still outcast from the Order.

The rest of the men though, they were – at long last – free. Their young leader had often promised to win them freedom somehow and, well, now it seemed he had. It was incredible.

And yet the celebrations were tinged with more than a hint of sadness.

They wanted to return to their families, of course, but every man there now realised they'd possibly never see their companions again. They'd go back to their  homes and, hopefully, take back the lives that had been stolen from them when they'd become wolf's heads, but most of them lived in different villages. Sure, they might pay one another the odd visit when they could but... it wouldn't be the same as spending long nights under the stars, with a roaring campfire, bread and meat and beer and brotherhood and music.

Music.

Robin had taken more than his own fill of ale and, although he felt a great joy in his heart to have finally – finally! – won a pardon, the lack of singing in the camp was  obvious and it made him think of Allan-a-Dale.

The rest of the men didn't seem to share his melancholy, Robin noted thankfully. They ate and drank and told stories and talked about what they'd do when they returned home as rich men; the outlaws had lots of stolen gold and silver in the communal chest after all and it would make life very comfortable for each of them now.

“Cheer up – you're a free man. They all are!”

Robin looked up at the voice and smiled as he saw Friar Tuck.

“Aye, free at last,” he agreed, patting the log beside him and sipping his ale as the friar sat down. “But at what cost...?”

They watched the other men for a while, drunk already, most of them. They had no need for lookouts any more, being free men, so the celebration of liberty was in full swing. Even the Hospitaller was half-pissed and deep in animated, but still friendly – so far – conversation with young Edmond the tanner.

Tuck, although he loved to eat and drink, never allowed himself to take so much that he lost control of his senses – Osferth's slipping dwale into his ale excepted. He'd learned his lesson when he was younger and now, although he still enjoyed a skinful, always stopped before he became too drunk to walk in a straight line.

Robin generally did the same – a good trait in a leader, Tuck thought.

Sometimes, though, it didn't hurt to let yourself go...

“Here.” The friar handed a wine-skin to his captain. “Drink. Lose yourself for a while.”

Robin took the drink but simply held it, unopened, in his lap as they watched the rest of the men. They'd finally begun to strike up a song or two, although they sorely lacked direction and a sweet, skilled,
tuneful
voice to lead them.

He pulled out the stopper and took a long pull, the wine burning in his chest pleasantly and he lifted the skin again, swallowing almost half the contents in one draught.

“You've lost a lot in the past couple of years,” Tuck stated, his voice soft yet still audible over the carousing and Robin barely nodded in reply.

“Perhaps more than any of us,” the friar continued. “The men that have died: Wilfred, Sir Richard, Allan... they were all our friends but... you also lost your childhood friend Much. It hurts, doesn't it?”

Robin nodded and took another drink from the wine-skin. “Harry Half-Hand died because of me,” he muttered, remembering an event from when he'd first become an outlaw and, inexperienced, hadn't followed orders. “But all those who've died since are on my conscience too, since I was supposed to be their leader. I was supposed to keep them safe but I didn't. All dead. They should be celebrating their freedom like the rest of us tonight.”

Tuck said nothing for a while, knowing Robin – despite his silence – wasn't finished yet.

“They're going to hang Matt.”

“And you'll be there to see it,” the friar replied.

“Aye, I'll be there,” Robin growled. “I want to see that bastard die in agony, pissing and shitting himself as he goes.”

Tuck nodded. “I understand. I too want to see justice for Much and Allan. But...”

Robin glanced at the friar. “But what?”

“Look at them,” Tuck said, smiling and waving a hand at the happy former outlaws before them.

Robin shrugged, the wine already making his head foggy. “What about them?”

“They're happy. They are finally free.” The clergyman grasped Robin's arm in a powerful grip. “You should be happy. You can watch Arthur grow up and be with Matilda.”

“Are you saying I should forget Matt Groves?” Robin demanded. “Even if I could – the rest of the men won't. They all want to come to Nottingham with me to see the bastard hang. And so they should, after what he's done.”

Tuck shook his head, the flushed cheeks of his young friend betraying an unusual level of inebriation and he knew he had to step lightly.

“No, I'm not suggesting you forget – or forgive – Matt. I think we should
all
go to his hanging.”

Robin eyed the friar suspiciously. The expected sermon wasn't going quite as he'd expected.

“It would be wrong to celebrate his death,” Tuck said. “But... I see no harm in celebrating a new beginning.”

Although he was becoming bleary-eyed from both lack of sleep and strong wine Robin understood the friar's point. It made perfect sense – a celebration of life in death... After all, hadn't this whole journey started in the same way, in that Mayday celebration of two years earlier?

“You're a genius, Tuck,” the young man grinned. “But, in all the joy at our freedom we've forgotten you, haven't we? The sheriff's pardons are secular and no doubt won't be honoured by Prior de Monte Martini, the little red-faced prick. Where will you go now?” He stood up, shaking his head somewhat blearily and held out a hand to his portly friend who grasped it to lever himself up from the fallen log.

“Don't worry about me,” Tuck smiled. “Just enjoy the night. You're free!”

Robin gripped him by the shoulder and they walked towards the centre of camp where the other men had started a raucous sing-along. “So are you,” he said. “And I think I know where you can hide from Prior de Martini, at least for a while. You said you brought the relic back from Lewes didn't you..?”

For the first time ever the group celebrated long and loud and without fear of imprisonment or death, their joyful voices splitting the night air and carrying on the wind across the Ouse even to Selby, where the villagers looked fearfully across the fields and wondered what demons were abroad that night.

They were
free!

* * *

The next day those who wished it travelled to Nottingham with Robin. They passed through Wakefield again, where Robin spoke to Patrick and told him Much's killer was going to be hanged should any of the villagers wish to come with them to see justice done.

Of course, the vast majority of the local people couldn't just take days off work and Much's family were all dead so, in the end, only Patrick travelled with them, along with Will Scarlet's daughter, Beth and, of course, Marjorie.

Robin's sister's dream of owning a crossbow had finally come true – she carried the sleek black Italian-made weapon that had belonged to Gisbourne although, when he asked her how she'd managed to steal it from the Raven's corpse she just shrugged and smiled. The girls she'd been training had all been hugely impressed by her part in the fight with the infamous bounty hunter, as, indeed had all of the adults in Wakefield. Robin too was extremely proud of his sister, grown into a strong, vibrant young woman.

“You fought well,” he told her as they walked.

“Aye,” she nodded, pleased at the praise, and at her new-found status in the village. “Just goes to show – women aren't only good for cooking and mending clothes.”

“Oh, I already knew that,” Robin laughed. “The wife never lets me forget it.”

For a time they walked together in silence, then Marjorie grinned up at him.

“You know, for a while I wanted to be like you. But now... I'm happy just to be me.”

Robin returned her smile although he had no idea of her long journey over the past few months. Still, he could see by the way she carried herself that she'd truly come of age and was at peace with the world.

That was all anyone could ask for in life.

Matilda also came on their journey south, of course, and brought little Arthur with her. She wasn't sure about the idea of the boy seeing someone die on the gallows, Robin knew, but he felt that it was something their son should witness. Life was hard, and it often had a way of repaying in kind those who treated others badly.

Arthur should see Much's murderer pay for his crimes.

Will brought Beth simply because he'd missed her terribly all throughout his years as a wolf's head and wanted to spend as much time with her as possible now he was a free man.

Not all of the outlaws had decided to go to Nottingham for the hanging though; some of them still couldn't believe the sheriff had granted them their freedom and didn't want to take a chance walking into the city where de Faucumberg could imprison or kill them if he decided to double-cross them. Others were so overjoyed at their pardons that they couldn't wait to see their families again and restart their lives with the welcome fortune they'd managed to gather as part of Robin's gang.

The likes of Edmond and Stephen had no warm welcome or loving family awaiting them in their home-towns so they went along with the others because there was nothing better to do, although neither man had any particular, personal hatred for Matt, having joined the outlaws after the dour man had left and gone to join the Raven.

It was a merry party, then, that made their way along the main road to the big city. They'd brought plenty of fresh meat, eggs, fish, cheese, bread and, of course, ale for the trip, all bought that day in Wakefield because they understood they'd have to spend more than one night camping out as they were all on foot. It wasn't an issue though – Robin knew the sheriff didn't plan on hanging Groves for a couple of days and it would be fun to spend time with friends and family, out in the open for once, without having to skulk in the trees as wolf's heads, fearful of discovery and capture or death. 

That journey was the happiest time of Robin's entire life.

The weather wasn't great, raining quite heavily for much of the trip, but that gave Robin a chance to lift his little son who was still not two years-old and carry him in his strong arms, snuggled in under a waterproof sheep-skin that kept the worst of the weather off the pair of them.