The outlaw's tale (2 page)

The forest was not much further on.  They approached it gladly and were thankful for its shade as they entered.  Sister Emma exclaimed, “Such a blessing to be out of that dreadful sun.  Oh, it's lovely here, so green and cool.  Is the way short or long through here, Master Naylor?  I hate to think we'll just be comfortable and have to go out again.  Which way is it, Master Naylor?"

With an effort, the steward stirred himself to ask, “Which way is what, my lady?"

“Is this way long or short through the woods?  I really don't want to be out in the sun again."

“There'll be woods until almost the end."

“Well, that's a blessing," Sister Emma said.  “All the same, a dry May and a dripping June makes all things come into tune.  Or so I remember it..."

Frevisse stopped listening again.  There were the new savors of the forest to enjoy, and she did.  By law the undergrowth was cleared well back on either side of the road, to leave no concealment for any one who might mean trouble.  But the great trees had been left to throw shade across the road for travelers' comfort.  The sunlight was gentled under the green branches, the horses' hoof-falls and creak of their harness softened.  Woodbine grew in the long grass of the verge, and though there was no birdsong now in early afternoon, the flash of wings crossed their way now and again, and there were rustlings in the leaves.

They were somewhere several miles into the wood and had just crossed a stream when Master Naylor's head lifted a little higher with alertness and his hand went to his sword.  “Other travelers."

“Oh, wonderful!" Sister Emma exclaimed.  “We've seen nearly no one.  Won't it be pleasant to see someone and wish them good-day and God's blessing?  A soft answer turns away wrath where a harsh word stirs up anger, so they say."

Frevisse sighed at this inapt quote and thought that they also said that a wise man conceals his wisdom while a fool announces his foolishness.

A bend and trees had hidden the other wayfarers until they were nearly met, but they were in sight now.  Four men, all on foot, no more than peasants by the look of them, bound for somewhere bearing bundles on their backs and trudging as if they had come miles already and had miles more to go.  Probably sent by their lord on an errand that did not warrant better service, Frevisse thought.  She was aware of Master Naylor eying them as he and she edged their horses sideways to give the men their share of the road.  The men themselves also gave way, dropping into single file on their own side, their heads still down.

Sister Emma, never a steady hand on the reins and worse for her awkward seat, had fallen back as Frevisse drew aside but could not manage her horse sideways out of the men's way.  Frevisse turned in her saddle to frown at her as the first man passed her own horse.  He would need to crowd to the roadside to avoid Sister Emma's.

But too suddenly for any warning, he dropped his bundle, straightened, and grabbed hold of Sister Emma's bridle.  In almost the same moment, the other three men were in sharp motion with him, their bundles in the dust, one of them grabbing for Frevisse's reins, the other two leaping for Master Naylor.  Frevisse jerked her horse's head away and tried to kick it forward, to ride the man down.  But the horse was nunnery-bred, gentle to a fault; it balked and sidled and the man had her reins.  Frevisse tried to kick at him but her skirts hampered her.  He dodged without loosing his grip, grinning up at her.

Master Naylor, with two against him, was out of his saddle.  One man had gripped his leg and heaved him sideways and over in a single motion, pitching him to the ground on the far side of his horse.  The fourth man ducked under the horse's upthrown neck to fall on him.  Sister Emma, eyes shut and hands pressed to her cheeks, began to shriek, “Help, oh, Jesu, help, help, sweet Virgin, help, help!"

The man gripping Frevisse's bridle cried out as he grabbed her kicking foot, “Hold, sister, hold!  We're don't mean harm!  Hold, for God's pity!"

He was ill-dressed and dirty, his red hat filthy, but his voice betrayed he was no peasant.  Because of that, and because he had no weapon in his hand, Frevisse hesitated in her struggle.  As she did, Sister Emma's shrieking ended abruptly and Frevisse wrenched around to see her slumping limply from her saddle.  The man beside her looked with panic from her to the horse, not certain if he should let go of it to catch her.  Belatedly he tried to do both but too late.  Sister Emma slipped through his hold and fell to the ground with an untidy thump and lay still.

Frevisse's man seized her moment of distraction to let go her horse, grab her instead by the skirts, and drag her from the saddle.  Freed and at last frightened, the horse shied away, tossing its head to clear the reins from its feet.  Frevisse, clutching at the man to keep from falling headlong, got her feet under her, shoved back, and tried to strike him.  He caught her wrists.  “Stand!" he ordered.  “We have your steward and the other nun.  Where can you run?  Stand!"

Frevisse stood, braced against his grasp.  Sister Emma was motionless in the road.  Master Naylor lay face-down on the verge, his arm wrenched up across the small of his back toward his shoulders by a broad-muscled man straddling him at the hips.  The fourth of their attackers stood over him, Master Naylor's sword in his hand.

“Yield," the man holding Naylor ordered.  “We mean no harm to you or the sisters.  Yield.  There's no help for it."

His face white and screwed tight with pain, Naylor nodded.  The man eased his hold, rose up from him, and stepped aside.  Naylor, wincing, rolled over and sat up, nursing his arm for a moment before rising to his feet.  His armed captor topped him by half a head, out-muscled him by several pounds, and was weaponed as well.  But Naylor, facing him squarely, demanded, “What do you want?  These are nuns, for God's sake.  You're damned if you harm them, we've little to rob, and will hardly bring a ransom worth your while."

“We know who they are, and it's neither ransom nor robbery we want."  The man was rougher of looks and manner than the one still holding Frevisse, but there was nothing threatening in his tone.  He grinned.  “All we ask is your company for dinner in the greenwood.  Our master sent us for you."

Master Naylor's face registered his irony and disbelief.  “And I suppose your master's name is Robin Hood?"

The man grinned wider.  “When it suits him.  And that's Little John standing over yon fallen lady, not knowing what to do about her.  And Will Scarlet is holding your other."  He made a somewhat respectful bob of his head to Frevisse, then turned to the man beside him.  “Hal, take his dagger, too, and let's be away from here."

“Will someone come see to this one?"

The rather plaintive plea from the outlaw still holding Sister Emma's horse made Frevisse pull against her own captor's hold.  “Let me go to her."

The man promptly released her with the sketch of a bow.  She went to kneel beside Sister Emma and found her breathing was suspiciously even and her color good.  Somewhat more sharply than necessary Frevisse slapped her cheeks and said briskly, “Wake up, sister.  Wake up, or I needs must dash water in your face and spoil your wimple.  You can't stay here.  Wake up."

With soft groans and much fluttering of eyelashes, Sister Emma responded, looking first at Frevisse bending over her, and then at the man standing behind her.  With a piteous moan, she turned her face away and shut her eyes again.  “Oh, it's not a nightmare.  We're ruined, Dame Frevisse.  Ruined!"

With quelling asperity Frevisse said, “I doubt it."  Whatever these men were about, it hardly seemed rapine or even robbery, to judge by their words and carefulness so far.  But Hal had Master Naylor's dagger now, and the sword was still at the steward's chest, and none of them looked inclined to patience.  The big man said, “We can't be biding here on the high road all the afternoon.  Help her up and we'll be going."

Frevisse nodded and rose, pulling on Sister Emma's arm.  Little John – and Frevisse doubted that was anything like his proper name – took Sister Emma's other one.  Sister Emma shrank from him with small noises of distress and fear, but did not resist beyond that.

“Come on, then, sister," the man said, not unkindly.  “Let's be away from here."  He grinned and added, “Welcome to Sherwood!"

The man called Hal chose be Master Naylor's keeper.  He took the steward's sword belt to wear himself, notching it around his waist and sheathing the sword with a satisfied air.  But he kept the dagger in hand at Naylor's back while two of the other outlaws tied the dropped bundles to the saddle of one of the horses, and Little John stayed guard by the women.

There being no help for any of it, Frevisse stood silently, while Sister Emma first pleaded to be set free, then threatened her brothers' vengence on anyone who touched her, and the sheriff's full rigor if she wasn't sent on her way immediately, and finally - when no one paid heed to any of that – gave herself up to loud crying, clutching Frevisse for support.

Over Sister Emma's head, Frevisse met Master Naylor's questioning look and twitched her head in the smallest of negative gestures.  There was no hope of any escape that included Sister Emma; she would be as burdensome as wet laundry.  And as useful.  Careful that none of the outlaws was looking at her, Frevisse silently formed, “You go."  He had the best hope of escape, given any kind of a chance.

Grim-faced, Master Naylor shook his head.  He was bound by duty to protect them; he would not desert them, no matter how little help he could offer.  And then the man who had captured Frevisse brought a rope from one of the bundles and, with Hal still keeping the dagger at his back, tied Master Naylor's arms behind him.

“Done, Cullum," he said.

They followed the road only a little way, then turned aside into a wide grassy path used by timber cutters, Frevisse guessed.  But this was not the season for timber cutting, and the outlaws moved with an assurance that showed they expected to meet no one.  Well away from the road, Will  disappeared into the underbrush with the horses, one tied behind the other.

“Bring them back!" Sister Emma wailed.  “You're stealing our horses!"

“They'll keep hidden here till you need them again," said Cullum shortly.  “You'll have them back.  Now let's be away from here.  Will can catch up."

“We're to walk?  In the woods?  Do you know what it's like in the woods?  How can you expect me-"

Sister Emma's volume was increasing with her distress.  Reading the look on Cullum's face, Frevisse said hurriedly, “Hush, Sister.  Be quiet!  You're going to make them angry.  You don't want them angry, do you?"

“My brothers will–“ Sister Emma began loudly, then grasped what Frevisse was saying.  She stopped, gaping, for a moment, then shut her mouth with an audible snap.  Head hunched and hands clasped tightly under her chin, she began to pray.  But inaudibly.

“Good," said Cullum.  Beside him, Hal was tightening a blindfold over Master Naylor's eyes.  Will came back, with a gesture to Cullum that all was well.  Cullum nodded in reply and said, “Then let's be going.  You'll be behind me, steward, with Hal to guide you.  Then the women, with Will and John to see to them.  No more noise than need be or we'll have to gag you and sling you from a pole and carry you like a deer's carcass.  You understand?"

“Clearly," Master Naylor answered evenly.

Frevisse did not mistake his tone for submission.  But Cullum, satisfied, said, “Good."  He led them off the wide way for a narrower path deeper into the woods.  Frevisse, hampered by skirts, wimple, and veil among the branches and brush, was thankful she was at least unblindfolded and unbound.  Dressed as they were, she and Sister Emma could not flee through the underbrush beyond the path; and the outlaws knew it.

And certainly Sister Emma had no thought of escape.  She was too busy stumbling over everything in her path, untangling her veil from almost every branch, and sobbing under her breath every prayer she could remember, whether they suited their present trouble or not.

Ahead of her a branch slipped past Cullum's shoulder and whipped across Master Naylor's face.  He flinched but made no outcry.  Sister Emma stumbled yet again; John caught her elbow to steady her but she jerked it indignantly from his hold, then tripped again and fell to her knees with a miserable cry.  Master Naylor started to turn, demanding, “What..." but Frevisse said quickly, “It's all right.  She only tripped," before Hal could do anything to him.  He faced forward again, but Sister Emma wailed from the ground, “It's
not
all right!  I can't
do
this!"

Before any of the men could intervene, Frevisse hissed, “Hush!  They'll gag you if you keep on this way.  Be quiet."

Sister Emma gulped, cast a cringing look at John looming beside her and let Frevisse help her to her feet.

They went on.  She pretended to be absorbed in managing herself and Sister Emma along the narrow path; but she was also trying to memorize the way they went – left along a dry stream cut, right at a fallen tree caught in the crotch of another, left again in sight of a tall broken stump.  The way was deliberately tangled, she thought; and was doubtful she would be able to find her way back even if she had the chance.  But at least she could try.

At last they came into a large clearing.  It was ringed by wide-trunked trees, with sunlight and flowers in its long grass and the air fragrant with the smell of roasting venison.  A half dozen roughly dressed men were scattered around in the shade.  One of them, seated on a great tree root across the clearing, plucked lightly at a lute, so apparently at ease that he did not even look up as they came by.  The others lounged to their feet, looking uncertain how to respond to the presence of two nuns in their midst.  Except one, who moved forward with a confidence that said he was their leader.

He was perhaps near forty, dressed in the plain-cut green tunic of a forester; but the belt and pouch and dagger sheath at his waist were of richly finished leather.  He was smiling, and there was charm in both his smile and the way he said to Cullum, “Take off his blindfold.  There's no need now.  Let him see for himself we mean no harm, neither to him nor these fair ladies."