Will in Scarlet (2 page)

“It’s the howling that chills you,” added Hugo, his family’s skinny steward. “More so than this winter’s air. A single howl gets your attention; then the chorus starts. That’s when you know they’ve got your scent. When you’ve gone from hunter to hunted.”

The men grew quiet. Will was listening for howls on the wind when Osbert loudly announced to the hunting party that he’d grown cold enough to fart snow.

The frozen men burst into laughter, their icy beards cracking with their smiles. It only grew worse when Hugo told Osbert to stop exaggerating and Osbert invited the steward to
lean close and see for himself. He threatened to fart up a blizzard for him.

Will laughed until his face hurt, but it helped to unclench the fear he’d been holding in his gut ever since they’d ridden into these woods. He was wiping away the tears of laughter before they could freeze to his cheeks when his uncle Geoff rode up next to him.

“Old Osbert tells the same jokes he told your father and me when we were boys,” he said. “But somehow they never get old.”

Will looked at the white-haired knight hunched over in his saddle, his hands so arthritic and curled that they could barely grasp the reins. But those big arms could still swing a sword with more strength than Will could muster.

“Just how old is he?” Will asked, and not for the first time.

“Haven’t you heard? Sir Osbert dined with the Romans, just so he could tell Caesar his roads were too bumpy.” Geoff shook his head. “Truth is, he was little more than a lad when he first rode to war with your grandfather, God rest his soul. He and Osbert were boys together. Around about your age, I’d imagine.”

Will winced at his uncle’s reference to his being a boy. He knew that’s what the men here thought of him. The only son and heir of Lord Rodric was a boy overly fond of his play games, and of trouble in general. And who’d been shielded from manhood by an overprotective mother while his father fought alongside good king Richard against the infidels. Will knew his father’s men were fond of him, even if they teased him mercilessly, but he also knew they feared he lacked the spine to rule.

That was why he was out here tonight. Talk was getting out of hand. Men were wondering, out loud, if Geoff might be the better choice, and Geoff would have none of it. As Rodric’s younger brother, he wasn’t officially in line, and he certainly
wasn’t a man of ambition. Geoff reveled in being free to hunt and fight without worrying about the responsibilities of leadership. But while Lord Rodric was away to war, Geoff’s rule as regent had been strong and fair. He’d become more popular than ever, and if Will failed to show his mettle …

“How’s the armor?” Geoff asked. Will wore a shirt of chain links beneath his thick fur-lined cloak. The shirt alone weighed thirty pounds. Add to that the plate-metal greaves on his legs and the gauntlets on his hands, and it was exhausting work just getting on and off his horse.

“Metal’s cold,” said Will. “Even through my underclothes. Glad I don’t have to armor my arse.”

His uncle chuckled. “I meant did you have anyone check it after you strapped it on. Won’t do much good if it’s dangling open.”

Will felt his cheeks warm, despite the weather. “I know how to armor myself, Uncle. I do it whenever I train in combat lessons.”

“I didn’t mean … Look, I’m just keeping an eye on you, understand? Your father will be back in England by the thaw, so just try to stay alive that long? As a favor to me?”

Will’s father would be home by spring, if not sooner. After two years, it seemed hard to imagine, but they’d gotten word. King Richard’s crusade was over. He and his knights, Will’s father included, were sailing back to England. Will’s heart was full of joy at the thought of his father’s return, but also a bit of fear. What if he was a disappointment to his father? At thirteen, he was now of age, and expected to act like the heir to his father’s title. That meant he should spend his days at study, he should join his uncle on his hunts, he should learn politics and history and governance. He should stop stealing Nan’s molasses.

They rode on for a few minutes without saying much.
Eventually, Geoff motioned to Will to follow him, and the two trotted to the front of the line, out of earshot of the rest. They were getting deep into the woods now. The trails here were narrow and crowded for a troop of men on horseback. Stinging branches whipped against exposed cheeks and necks. At least Osbert would have something else to complain about besides the cold.

“This trail is a game path,” said Geoff. “And there’s wolf spoor all along here. I’m sure we’ll find them soon.”

Will peered at the trail, but in the night one patch of fallen leaves looked like another. How his uncle could track that well in these conditions was a mystery, but Geoff had a nose for this that couldn’t be denied. A born huntsman.

“I suppose you heard me arguing with Lady Katherine earlier,” Geoff said, not taking his eyes from the trail.

Will nodded. His uncle and his mother had had disagreements before, but nothing like their row today. Voices had been raised, and his mother had reverted back to her native French to call Geoff names that would make Osbert blush.

“She thinks you’re not ready to be out here with us tonight,” said his uncle.

“She thinks I’m still a boy.”

Geoff let out a long sigh. “And she’s right. On this, your mother has right on her side. No question.”

Will looked at his uncle, but the regent of Shackley held up his hand. “She’s right as a mother, but she’s wrong as the lady of Shackley. You are the son of Rodric Shackley, and heir to his house. You must be seen as such. I’m not your father, but I owe it to him to see that you are ready to rule. When he sailed off with Richard, you were still a boy, but when he returns, you’ll be a man. Your days as young Will Scarlet, scourge of the castle servants, are over. You’ll be Lord William before you know it.”

Young Will Scarlet
. Nobody but Geoff called him that. A play on his name and a tease. Whenever he’d been brought before his father for some terrible offense against Nan or the kitchen staff, he’d always blushed a bright crimson. Geoff said it was his tell, and that they always knew when he’d been up to no good by his shade of red. Will’s father would grow grave and disappointed, while Geoff smirked over his shoulder.

Young Will Scarlet’s rear will match his face after Nan’s done with her spanking spoon!
Geoff would sing.

“Killing wolves is supposed to teach me to be a great lord of men?” asked Will. “Aren’t there any books on the subject?”

“No,” said Geoff. “But sharing in your men’s hardship, their danger, that’s a start. And they are your men, Will. Despite Osbert’s taunts, or even mine. We will be yours to command one day.”

Geoff put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Still, stay near me or Hugo tonight. We’ll find the pack if Osbert’s bellyaching hasn’t scared them all back to Sherwood already. But if we do catch up with them, hold your reins tight and stay clear. Prince John’s been offering real silver for wolf pelts, and hunters have been driving them out of their woods to haunt us. Cold and hunger will make any creature desperate, Will. Add the fear of the sword, and that makes them dangerous.”

As his uncle steered his charger, Samson, over the frozen ground, Will tried to follow the same path. Samson was a destrier, a warhorse, who’d carried Geoff over many hunts, and he was sure-footed even on this icy track. But Will’s horse was a young mare named Bellwether, and although Will loved her, she was still skittish. Not that Will blamed her. This wasn’t a fit night for any creature.

“Uncle,” he said, checking to make sure the men were
still out of earshot. “In the kitchens this morning, I heard the women talking.”

“Yes, they do that. Passes the time, I’m told.”

“No, they were talking about the farmer who came to visit you the other day with a … hand wrapped in a sackcloth. They said that when he’d cut it off, it had belonged to a wolf.”

His uncle could barely suppress his chuckle. “A wolf? Is that what they said? Well, really … The man’s name is Gamel, a tenant in terrible debt. Gamel, it would seem, listens to the very wrong kind of advice, because someone told him that if he were too maimed to work his land, he’d be relieved of his obligations to his lord.”

Will turned this over in his head. “So, this Gamel … he cut off his own hand? To escape his debt?”

Geoff shook his head and sighed. “Not as thick as all that. But nearly. No, he tried for just his thumb. Didn’t even manage that properly, though. All he brought me was the knuckle upward. Tell the kitchen gossips that it was a half thumb that had once belonged to a half-wit, not a wolf.”

Of course the wolf story wasn’t true. How could Will have believed the kitchen women’s tales? And yet, for a moment, Will couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

They rode until the woods opened onto a large stretch of lonely fields and moorland. Somewhere on the other side of those vast moors lay Sherwood Forest, and not even the brave knights of Shackley House would venture into that far-off forest. Bandits and worse called Sherwood home. Worse than wolves, to be sure. It was said that the devil himself walked beneath those boughs on moonless nights and turned men into wild beasts.

But Sherwood was far away still, and here, out of the trees, the full moon was easily visible in the clear sky. The ground
frost reflected the silvery light so that the earth seemed covered in riches just there for the taking. If they weren’t so miserably frozen, the men might have paused to appreciate the beauty, but as it was, they were eager to turn south toward home. Back to warm fires and heavy blankets and bed.

Geoff had just given the signal to turn back when Hugo held up his hand. Sitting up tall in his saddle, he tensed, listening for something.

“What is it?” asked Will’s uncle.

“He’s realized he’s frozen off his necessaries and wants to backtrack to find them, my lord,” laughed Osbert.

“Quiet!” said Geoff.

They listened for a moment. At first all Will heard was the wind on the hills; then he heard something more. An animal howl.

“They’re on the moor,” said Hugo, hefting his boar spear.

“Probably laughing at us while we gathered nettles in our backsides all night long,” said Osbert, scowling at the woods.

Geoff steered Samson to the front. The rest of the horses seemed anxious, pawing at the ground. Bellwether was already straining against her reins. Only Samson stood iron-still, steadfast.

“Hugo, you take that closest hill,” said Geoff. “See if you can’t flush them out to us.”

“Won’t need to, my lord,” said Hugo. And he pointed to the closest rise.

Will squinted. Even with the bright moon, it was hard to make out details in the dark. The hill’s crest was a ragged silhouette of rocks, but when several of the rocks moved …

“They’ve got our scent,” said Geoff.

No sooner had his uncle spoken than the moor began to echo with howls. Two, three, more and more.

That’s when you know you’ve gone from hunter to hunted
.

“God’s blood,” swore Osbert. “How many are there?”

“Even half dead with hunger, they won’t try six men together on horseback,” said Geoff. “Stay in formation and use the boar spears. Watch your horses’ flanks.”

The pack rushed down the hill but stopped within a stone’s throw of the mounted men. Their hackles raised, they snarled and snapped at the air but would come no closer. The horses whinnied with worry.

Will counted nine of the beasts, including a large coal-black leader. They were sad, wiry things except for him. He had meat and muscle on his bones, having earned his pick of the kills.

“On my mark!” said his uncle. “Charge!”

Geoff spurred Samson forward, and they all pulled ahead as one. The wolves scattered at the men’s charge but did not retreat. Hunger kept them in the fight.

Hugo drew first blood, skewering one on his boar spear. It died with a quick yelp. Osbert missed his as the creature dashed between his horse’s legs, leaving the old man’s spear stuck in the frozen earth and a curse on his lips.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Geoff run down another, trampling it beneath Samson’s hooves. But Will couldn’t focus on the hunt for long. He was busy holding Bellwether’s reins tight. She wanted to bolt from the battle, and it took all of Will’s strength to keep her within the circle of riders.

His ears rang with snarls and cries, with men’s shouts and the stomping of hooves on the frozen ground. Will’s mouth had gone dry, and his heart beat wildly in his chest.

Geoff’s orderly charge dissolved into chaos as men and wolves clashed on the moor. Will found himself cut off from the rest when the big black one bore down upon him. Bellwether
reared up to try to avoid the black’s snapping jaws, even as Geoff turned Samson to come to Will’s rescue. But the black snapped Bellwether on her hind leg. She let out a cry and she kicked out with all her might, sending the wolf rolling into the dirt.

But there was no calming her now. She bolted away from the fear and pain straight into the woods, heedless of the path. Will lost the reins in her charge, and all he could do was hold on to her mane as she barreled through the trees and brush. Branches swatted his head and scraped his cheeks, but still deeper into the wood she galloped.

Will was reaching forward with his left hand, groping blindly for her bridle, when a sturdy branch caught him on the shoulder and spun him around and off the saddle.

The trees, the ground, and the night sky suddenly stopped flying past him as he hit the forest floor. He tried to breathe, but the air had been knocked from his lungs, and panic grabbed hold of him.

Where was he? How far had Bellwether taken him in her mad dash, and had anyone watched him go?

After a few minutes, he found his breath again and pulled himself to sitting. Pain radiated down from his left shoulder, but he could still move his arm, flex his fingers. His face felt wet and sticky from a gash along his right cheek, but otherwise he didn’t seem seriously hurt, which was lucky.

He stood to get his bearings. The path was nowhere to be seen, and at this edge of the woods one tree looked like another. He and Milo had never ventured as far as the moor, and regardless, a deep woods looked nothing like itself in leafless winter.