The Forest Laird (56 page)

“Sheriff Hazelrig has made it his overriding objective to bring about my end. He quadrupled the price on my head about a month ago, in the hopes of tempting someone to betray me, and hard on the heels of that, he offered a bounty of a silver mark for each and every Selkirk outlaw brought to justice or into King Edward’s Peace. That means dead or alive. It is a death sentence passed upon any man who is accused of being one of us, Jamie, irrespective of whether he is or not. The accusation is sufficient to cause death because there is no need to bring the man in alive.
Any
dead outlaw has clearly been brought to justice, and will surely never disturb the King’s Peace in the future.” He watched me, and when he saw my eyes narrow, he nodded. “Aye, it is iniquitous, no one will dispute that. But it is an iniquity sponsored and abetted by the King of England’s High Sheriff in Lanark, so who is to gainsay it?”

I shook my head, not quite in disbelief, but because I somehow hoped the truth would prove deniable. “But … what did you do to cause him to quadruple the price on your head?”

“And to pass a sentence of death on all my followers at the same time? Well, what would you think I did? I know you believe I did something, because I heard it clearly in your voice when you asked the question. I did nothing, Jamie. Nothing at all.”

“You must have attracted his attention somehow, perhaps without realizing it.”

“
Nothing
, Jamie. I said and did
nothing
. And be careful what you say next because your disbelief is starting to irk me. Hear me clearly. We have been inactive here for several months, committing no robberies and staging no raids since the English pulled in their horns back in November. I did nothing to attract the sheriff’s notice, and none of my men did, either. He simply decided to make a public example of us, probably goaded by that fat slug Cressingham, or possibly by his own superior, de Warenne of Surrey.”

“I see. So what is happening now?”

He sniffed deeply and looked away into the trees. “We have patrols out, in strength. They are moving quickly and constantly, keeping careful watch because we don’t know where Hazelrig’s soldiers will strike next. The local folk are in terror of being taken out and hanged, and so we keep our people spread out and moving, constantly in touch with one another and ready to attack at the first sign of hostility.”

“You’re ready to fight.”

“Of course we’re ready to fight. Would you have it otherwise?”

“Will
you
fight? What about your oath?”

“What about it? My oath is unbroken and I have no intention of fighting. But I can’t leave my people, Jamie.”

“Aye, and besides, it would be folly to go to Lamington with the sheriff of Lanark on the watch for you.”

“Pah! Folly nothing. He wouldn’t know me if I walked up and spoke to him face to face. That part of it is not an issue. I simply need to stay here for the time being, with my people. I agree with you that Mirren’s place is with her mother. No arguments from me on that, and I feel as guilty as sin because of it. But I can’t take her there, and until now I have not had anyone who could, at least not without risk of attracting attention. But now I have the right man. You can escort her to her mother’s place on your way back to Glasgow. She’ll be safe with you, and I’ll send an escort with you. A small group. Men I trust. Four or five.”

“Four or five men and a woman and child?”

“Aye, and a priest. What’s wrong with that?”

“Priests don’t travel with heavily armed men, Will, unless they are liveried men-at-arms. And the same applies to pregnant women with small children in tow. Besides, I doubt that Mirren will go without you.”

“She has to. She has no choice. She needs to be with her mother, and I need her to be there as well. I need to know she’s safely out of the forest until this nonsense with Hazelrig is over. Will you see to that for me, Jamie?”

I slumped against the tree. “I suppose I will. It seems to me there is a deal of needing going on here, one way and another, but aye, I’ll see her safely to her mother’s, so be it she agrees to go.”

“Good man. As for the escort, you can be sure I’ll pick them carefully. They’ll be discreet. No one will ever know they’re with you, unless you fall into danger. But they’ll never be far away from you, wherever you are.”

He rose to his feet and towered above me, then reached out a hand to me and pulled me effortlessly to my feet before jerking me forward into an enormous hug.

3

W
e were a small, subdued group as our two wagons set out from Selkirk Forest towards Lanark and Glasgow, our quietness attributable mainly to the strain surrounding the parting between Will and Mirren and, of course, young Willie. It was a parting neither one wanted, but circumstances had combined to make it necessary.

We were soon out of the largely trackless forest and on the high road to Lanark. Perched on the driver’s bench of the first and larger of our two wagons was Alan Crawford of Nithsdale, who would serve as senior driver and cook, responsible for the thousand and one daily details of our journey. Beside him sat Ewan Scrymgeour, who had come to regard Mirren as his own daughter. Big Andrew, his crossbow safely stowed out of sight behind him, and looking like a small boy perched on the driver’s bench of the second wagon, would serve as Alan’s assistant. Also with us was Father Jacobus, the elder of the two over-cloistered priests I had brought with me when first I came to live in the greenwood. He had grown visibly younger, more vibrantly alive, as the result of his life among the forest folk, nourished and greatly strengthened from ministering to their daily needs and thriving on the joy of it. Robertson the archer and five of his best men were ranged outward ahead of us, out of our sight but screening us from interference from the front and both sides.

The initial awkwardness of the post-parting silence passed more quickly and more easily than I had expected, due beyond a doubt to Mirren’s determination to make the best of the situation, and so by the end of the first day’s travel, the mood among the group was easier and more relaxed. It was a short day, too, for we were pulled off the road in a sheltered spot well before the sun began to sink. The March weather was consistent—inhospitably foul, cold, and damp—and the sun seemed to be setting earlier each day, instead of later.

Our cooking fire was small and almost completely concealed in a wide, deep-dug pit, and Alan prepared a remarkable meal of stewed goat, with vegetables and meat that he had brought with him, serving it with dried broad white beans he had braised in a deliciously salty sauce that set my mouth to tingling. We sat around the fire for no more than an hour after dinner that night, though, for despite knowing that Robertson and his bowmen were out there guarding us, we knew, too, that we were in unknown country and our firelight would be visible for miles. Just as I was about to retire to my evening prayers, one of Robertson’s men stepped out of the surrounding shadows, carrying a brace of fine hares, gutted and tied by the hind legs, that he handed to Alan before slipping away into the darkness again. I knew what we would dine on the following night.

We made better distance on the second day, having been up before dawn and on the road by daybreak, well muffled against the steady, cutting wind, and by three of the afternoon we had travelled more than twenty miles at a steady, ground-eating pace, avoiding the small town of Peebles by detouring a few miles to the south of it. Robertson’s people had already found our next camping spot, about five miles beyond that, and one of them waited for us by the roadside and then led us off into the woods, where we found the roofless ruins of an otherwise solidly built and surprisingly spacious house. We pitched our tents within its walls and slept soundly that night, sheltered from the wind that howled outside. We were, by my reckoning, within fifteen miles of Lanark.

On the morning of the third day, we awoke to a torrential downpour that had already flooded the low-lying areas around us and showed no signs of abating. Ewan and Alan, as the joint commanders of our little group, stepped outside the shelter of the walls into the greyness of the reluctantly breaking day to try to gauge the wisdom of breaking camp. They came back inside moments later to consult with me and Mirren about whether or not we wished to brave the weather and continue immediately towards Lamington, because they themselves were divided in their opinions.

I looked to Mirren, prepared to abide by her decision, but on this occasion Mirren, normally so straightforward and decisive, could not make up her mind about what she wanted to do. Leaving immediately meant in all likelihood that we might reach Lamington and her mother more quickly, but that was far from certain in the face of such outlandish weather, because according to Ewan and Alan the ground was a sodden quagmire and the wagons might be difficult to handle on steep and muddy surfaces. The alternative, to wait and see, would mean we might lose time initially, but when the weather finally broke and the wind and rain abated, the going would be firmer underfoot and conditions would certainly be both drier and warmer beneath the leather canopies of the wagons. Dryness and warmth for both herself and her young son was, I could see, the more appealing prospect in Mirren’s eyes, but I could also see that, precisely because it was so personally justifiable, she was loath to make that decision on her own. And so when she shrugged and turned to me, I smiled at her and made the choice to wait out the storm.

I have wondered a thousand times, over the years, if I might have changed anything by choosing differently that morning, but always my faith in God’s all-seeing wisdom convinces me—alas, never for long and never completely—that His will was carried out as He wished it to be.

We stayed in the camp for most of the morning, and for the last hour of that time the wind and the rain gradually died down and then stopped. We had already begun to break camp by then, and were having enormous difficulty in dismantling and stowing our leather tents, for their weight had been tripled by the amount of water they had absorbed. By the time we finally had the wagons loaded and were preparing to pull out, back onto the road again, the clouds were breaking up and clearing quickly, and bright sunlight was lancing down through the gaps here and there in spectacular glowing rays.

No one spoke much as we settled into the journey, but as the miles fell slowly behind us and the sun’s warmth dried our wet clothes, a semblance of good humour re-emerged and soon there was a steady flow of banter passing between the two wagons. At one point I twisted in my seat on the driver’s bench beside Big Andrew, to respond to a jibe from Ewan in the other wagon, and suddenly found myself racked by an intensely painful cramp in my left foot. My entire leg seized up and I writhed so violently against the pain of it that I lost my balance and fell sideways, barely managing to grasp the side of the bench in time to prevent myself pitching headfirst to the ground. Ewan, in the other wagon, saw me jerk and fall sideways, and for a few stupefied moments he thought I had been felled by an arrow.

The ensuing alarm was short lived, though, and turned quickly to laughter when it became clear that I had simply suffered a cramp. Alan muttered something about priests spending too much time on their knees and their backsides, and wondered aloud why it should be strange that their muscles complained of inactivity by twisting into cramps. I remember feeling rather shamefaced as I massaged the feeling back into my leg, and then I hopped down and walked beside the wagons, hobbling for the first few minutes but soon striding easily. I felt euphoric for a short time after that, wanting to run in my exuberance, in sheer celebration of being me and of being alive and of being away, for a brief time at least, from the responsibilities of my priestly life.

Striding out in front, I was a good hundred yards ahead of the wagons as I came to the brow of a little hill, no more than a slight rise in the road. As I breasted it, I saw one of Robertson’s archers jogging along the road towards me. I was not alarmed, for the archers were seldom far beyond our sight, but there was something about the way he was coming that brought me to a halt, looking around me and then at the road behind him. He was moving quickly but furtively, keeping close to the bushes that lined the road as he approached. He saw me watching him and raised a hand in greeting, but he did not slacken his pace.

When he reached me he stopped and bent over, panting for breath with his hands gripping his knees.

“Englishry, Father Jamie,” he gasped. “Robertson sent me back to warn you. He says there’s nothin’ tae be upset ower, but he thocht ye’d like to ken they’re doon there, at the crossroads at the bottom o’ this road. Ye canna see it frae here, but that’s where they are. There’s a knight in charge, on the biggest horse ye’ve ever seen, but we couldna recognize his crest or colours, an’ he has a couple o’ mounted men-at-arms wi’ him, forbye about ten archers. They’re up to somethin’, but we couldna tell what. Watchin’ for somebody or mayhap just waitin’ to see who gaes by. But Robertson jalouses they’ll stop ye and ask ye what your business is, just because they’re English.”

I thanked him, and he turned away and vanished into the dense growth lining the road. This was not unexpected, and we had planned for it and knew our story. I walked back towards the approaching wagons.

“What?” Alan asked as I pulled myself up on to the stirrup step beside him. Mirren was sitting beside him, between him and Ewan, and all three were looking at me expectantly. I smiled at Mirren and waved vaguely in the direction we were heading.

“One of the archers just warned me that there are English ahead of us, at a crossroads at the bottom of the next slope. A knight, he says, with a couple of mounted men-at-arms and half a score of archers.”

“Aye, I know the place. What are they doing, did he say?”

“No. He didn’t know. But he and Robertson think they’re up to something. Nothing to do with us, though, since nobody knew we’d be coming this way. But he thinks they’ll challenge us.”