Soon after we returned to camp and the next morning we left Wickam. I half thought about staying at the village with Alison and her family, but felt in my heart it was wrong. I was not of her blood and although the villagers didn't loathe me, I still was not welcome either. So I continued with Robin and his men, still uncertain where my path lay.
When we made camp, we were a league from the main road through Sherwood, just far enough away we'd be out of sight if anyone ventured through, but near enough if a large troupe was on the road we'd be sure to hear them. That night odd thoughts ran through my mind of visiting Nottingham now that I was so close. Would Gisburne even be there? Would I be allowed to speak to him if he was? I took many of my questions and nagging worries and pushed them to the back of my mind. I didn't want to face the possibility that my time at Grimston was the last I'd see of him.
After a meager supper of a few roasted hares and some wild berries, the men curled up in their furs and soon were asleep. I snuggled up in my wolf pelt for warmth. Even with my new clothes, I still could not discard the damn fur skin – though I often thought of hurling it angrily away. Sometimes cold dew would cling to the ground and I didn't relish the idea of waking up next morning shivering.
Although I was cozy in the fur, I was unable to sleep and a variety of imaginary scenarios tormented me. One had the sheriff turning Guy in after all and Gisburne being sentenced to death. Another – even worse – had him very much alive, but he had another lover in Nottingham. And another had him reject me outright – I was just a reminder to his shameful past as a Son of Fenris.
I sat up from my bed and thought maybe a walk would exhaust me enough to sleep. I was careful not to leave the general vicinity of the camp – the flickering campfire always remained in my view. I saw Much standing by a tree, keeping watch. I thought it might be welcome to have some company, so I walked over to him. As I drew closer, I saw the boy was not standing so much as leaning on the tree, his eyes closed.
Asleep on watch, so much for feeling safe, I thought in amusement.
I wondered if I should wake him, but since I was not a member of Robin's troupe, I thought it'd be rude and decided I might as well keep a lookout as I was the only person who was awake. Remaining concealed and watching for danger was something I was accustomed to while I was a she-wolf, although it was mostly for my own safety rather than for the Sons of Fenris.
I crouched down behind a shrub and then lay on my stomach, looking out between the spaces in the branches. The wind whispered through the forest and the leaves rustled soothingly. Small patches of moonlight flickered through the wood's green canopy. After staring out across the dark columns of trees, I could see how easily Much could fall asleep on watch. It was a dull job and made even more difficult when the forest wind whispered lullabies to you.
I nearly was on my way to close my eyes, even on the cold, twig-strewn bed of the forest floor, when I heard a sharp, very distinct snap of a broken twig. My eyes shot open and I searched through the forest to find the offending nocturnal animal. When I didn't see any animal, my senses picked up even more; normally I would have reached for my knife, but I saw nothing and felt my anxiety was still the legacy of being with the Wolf Warriors for so long. But then I saw it – dark shadows winding their way through the trees and the glint of steel. One shadow raised a crossbow and knocked it back.
I didn't have time to warn Much as it'd be too late – he'd probably already be pierced by an arrow. I quickly rolled from my stomach to my side and gave a swift, sweeping kick at Much's shin. It had the desired double effect; Much fell to the ground and howled in pain. In less than the blink of an eye, an arrow shivered in the tree where a moment ago Much dozed.
The shadows, seeing the alarm had been sounded with Much's howl, charged out from the darkness. I grabbed a rock and hurled it at one of the men coming toward us. Although I was aiming at his head, it hit him full in the shoulder and had no more effect than to make him curse.
"Much, get out of here," I cried and slipped my long knife from its sheath.
Much nodded, jumped to his feet and ran to the camp. I didn't look back to see if Robin and his men had heard Much. At least they would be warned now. As the first man reached me, I was shocked to see the man wasn't a ruffian or an outlaw, but wore chain mail and a Norman helmet. Were these Nottingham soldiers and was Guy among them?
As the soldier moved to cut me down with his sword, I hit him full in the torso with a branch and then slashed out with my knife. I felt some resistance from the knife as I heard fabric ripping and the blade hitting home. He let out a choked gasp and then fell back, staggering to the ground. My hand felt slick with the stickiness of blood when the second soldier charged me.
A long flash of moonlight shone in my eyes as I saw him raise his broad-sword. A sudden anger welled up within me, my hatred of the Normans, all they stood for – and what Guy had done to me. I threw my full weight into the branch and used it as a club. He veered away from the swing as his sword fell and before he could raise it again, my knife dug through his cape into his back. Five more men were charging at me, screaming their war cries in anger and hatred. Desperately, I grabbed my small knife and hurled it at the advancing soldiers. One of them screamed and fell back, but the two at the forefront raised their broad-swords, ready to fall upon me at once. Swords clashed against the shadows and I saw it was Robin and Nasir fighting them.
Soon the other men came and as much as I still felt ill-at-ease around Will, he fought with a fire that bordered on madness. A soldier lifted his sword, determined to strike Friar Tuck in the back, but I swung the stick still clenched in my hand and aimed it at his head. He ducked out of the way and the wood whisked through the empty air. He turned to me, his sword slashing quick and fast in the moonlight. All I could do was dodge out of the way as my knife was no match for parrying a sword.
As I moved backward from the slicing steel, my heel hit upon a rock and I stumbled, falling to the ground. The soldier laughed and in the moonlight I thought I saw a glint of golden hair beneath his helmet. Was it Guy? No! It couldn't be!
He raised his sword for the killing stroke. In that dreadful, still moment I heard some people experience before their death, everything slows down to a frozen, terrifying instant before the end comes. This did not happen with me, but an even more dreadful, sickening despair when you realize the one you loved would be the one who'd kill you.
Just as the blade was ready to fall, he screamed and staggered, a long arrow protruding from his back. All I felt was not triumph or relief but shock as I saw him fall to his knees, still clutching his sword, before he collapsed in death. His helmet rolled off his head and I saw gleaming golden hair obscuring his face. I reached a trembling hand out … knowing how foolish this was if some life still remained within him. But as I rolled him over, I saw his broad forehead, high cheekbones and a thick, blunt nose … it was not Guy.
For a moment I couldn't get back on my feet as I felt my muscles trembling in fatigue and shock. But when I stood, I saw the soldiers still laying into Robin and his men although it looked like the soldiers were quickly losing their advantage.
As the swords clattered and the attackers began to fall, one by one, I felt the battle was won. But then a shadow arose from out of the leafy undergrowth, the steel sword he held gleamed cold and sharp in the moonlight. The soldier drew it back, ready to run Robin through the back while he was distracted in the fight. Frantically, I hurled my arm forward and the long knife left my hand and hissed through the air. The knife vanished into the darkness. I expected my aim had gone awry and when I heard a gasping cry, I feared it was Robin's. But the sword dropped from the shadow's hand and fell to the ground before he could deliver his final blow.
Will fiercely kicked over the body of a slain Norman soldier lying on the forest floor.
"They aren't the Sheriff's men," Robin said as studied the uniforms. "They bear the arms of the triple lion and wear red … We've seen these before."
"Aye, the scum working for that bastard King John," Will spat.
"I wonder what mischief the King is up to now," Friar Tuck said. "How odd they'd be here and attack us when he's at war in Wales."
I walked over to one of the dead Norman soldiers. I had never seen much difference in one Norman soldier to the next. They were all enemies to me. But the thought of the king's soldiers coming to Nottingham and trying to kill us – it did seem strange. When I looked up, I caught Robin looking at me and for a moment felt almost shy and turned my eyes away.
"You saved my life," Robin said. "Thank you."
It felt odd just to say "You're welcome." I kept my eyes still turned away from him and said:
"It was the least I could do … and my life was saved as well. That Norman would have killed me. Who shot the arrow?"
"Don't you trouble yourself about that, Little One," said Friar Tuck, leaning on his long bow. "He would have killed me as well if not for you."
I looked up at the friar's kind words and smiled.
"You fight very well. I've never seen a woman fight like that – well except …" Robin paused, sadness briefly dwelling in his eyes before he pushed it away. "Who taught you?"
Again I felt shame rather than pride in my fighting skills. It was not becoming or proper for a woman to fight, especially in battle.
"The Sons of Fenris didn't allow anyone to be weak, including their women. I learned to fight very quickly – I had to."
I turned my eyes down to the forest floor and wished I could just shrink back into the shadows, away from their attention. I felt in that moment now was the time for me to leave Robin and his men, but then I heard a startled squeak and a frightened cry.
"Well look what I found," cried Will, grabbing something in the bushes and hauling up a small, terrified man by his cowl.
"Please don't kill me," the man cried with a timid and small voice. "I wasn't with them!"
"Very unlikely," said Little John in amusement. "You wear the same colors as these men."
"I bet you're the slime who ordered them to attack, didn't ya," said Will, shaking him with relish.
"No! By the Wounds of Christ! I had nothing to do with it," the man whined. "I pleaded with them not to, but they were ordered …"
Suddenly his voice choked off and his eyes widened, as if realizing he'd just said too much.
"Ordered?" Robin turned to the little man. "Just who ordered it? King John perhaps?"
"I cannot say. I'm just a humble man who knows nothing."
"Knows nothing, eh," remarked Little John. "Yet you wear those fancy clothes and come with a full armed guard."
I moved closer and got a better look at the man. Indeed he was not dressed like a soldier. He wore a rich red tunic with the gold embroidery of the triple lions upon his vest. His trousers were not of rough wool or beaten leather, but of soft, expensive linen. The heavy gold chain necklace with a medallion upon it was quickly seized by Will.
"Now you still haven't answered our question," Will hissed. "I've asked you nice, but I'm getting angry and when I get angry …"
A flash of steel glinted in the moonlight as Will held a knife to the little man's throat. The man whimpered and closed his eyes in fear.
"If you talk, you might just live," Robin said, very coolly and with a slight grin. "But if you don't … well it's been a long time since you've had some fun, eh Scarlet?"
"Aye," Will said. "And I'm just itching to make this little piggy squeal."
"All right! Please! Don't hurt me," the little man gasped, his eyes wild like a trapped animal. "My name is James of Newark, emissary to King John. I was to bring a message to Robert de Rainault of Nottingham."
With a trembling hand, James reached into his embroidered vest and removed a small piece of parchment, sealed with the royal emblem in gleaming red wax. Robin quickly took the parchment and with little decorum cracked the seal and read the contents in a small patch of moonlight. As he read, his face became grimmer and suddenly he stopped at one part while he read, shock in his eyes.
"What is it," Much cried.
"Mostly just orders from the King to kill us at all costs – or else. Nothing new really," said Robin, his face still grim.
"And what else," Friar Tuck asked.
"Gisburne, the second part is about Gisburne," Robin said flatly.
"The bloody King is pissed at Gisburne," Will laughed. "'Bout time, the pig. Hope he's in a right dung hole now!"
"Then you have your wish," said Robin, holding the order limply in his hand. "These are also orders – no demands – from the King that Gisburne is to be handed over to the royal guard immediately. He's to be hanged in Newark – as an example to all incompetents who fail to follow his orders."
The men looked at Robin in surprise.
"Because of the grain," asked Little John. "The King can't hang a man because of grain."
"Maybe it is for something different," Robin said. "We all know Gisburne has failed many times. But maybe the grain was the last failure the King was willing to tolerate."
"Hanged," I said, feeling dull and emotionless inside. "And made an example …"
"I imagine he will be killed in front of a crowd, maybe even tortured," Robin sighed. "That would be King John's way."
I gazed at Robin and was surprised to see him looking so downcast. Wasn't Gisburne his mortal enemy? Wouldn't he want to see him dead?
"Please! Will you let me go now," cried James, still trembling with the knife at his throat.
"Not yet," said Robin, turning to him. "Tell me why the King's men attacked us!"
"I – I cannot …" then he squeaked as Will pressed the blade closer to his throat. "They were under orders – to kill you – if they encountered you while passing through Sherwood."
"Very foolish of the King – especially when he had such an important message to deliver to our friend the Sheriff," Robin said, waving the parchment. "And now he never will receive it."
I watched James' frightened and horrified face as Robin dropped the parchment and ground it into the dust beneath his boot.
"Now the question is, what shall we do with you," Robin said. "We might sell you for a nice ransom back to King John."
"Or we can release the little rat," said Will with a smile. "That way we finally can be rid of Gisburne."
Robin gazed at Will a moment and briefly looked at his men, before ordering James to be tied up.
"Patience," Robin said. "Gisburne will soon trouble us no more."