Thanks to all my readers: your patience will hopefully be rewarded in this chapter, as not only does the story kick into gear, but I can promise you that there'll be a Will/Djaq conversation in the Very Next Chapter!
Chapter Four: Ambush
The next few weeks passed without major incident, and Djaq became used to the rhythm of life among outlaws: restless days of hiding out in the woods and nights of slumber under the stars, and endless movement from one campsite to another in order to confuse anyone that might be sent out to track them down. These regular expeditions throughout the forest left her hopelessly lost, for despite her awareness that there were several different species of trees in England, somehow those that made up Sherwood Forest managed to all look the same to her. Eyes and ears were constantly alert for signs of passage in and out of Nottingham, but it would seem that after the successful robbery on her first day among them, any potential travellers were opting to stay at home.
She found herself spending most of her time with Much and John. John – who had lived and worked in the forest even before he'd become an outlaw – was teaching her the names and properties of many herbs, mushrooms and berries growing on the forest floor. With his help, she learnt the English names of the plants she recognised from home – those she knew to have medicinal traits – and discovered a range of new ones, all of which she carefully memorised and collected, stashing them away in a small pouch should they ever become necessary. John reminded Djaq of her father, who despite being a much smaller man than John, had who had the same unlikely grace about him, an interest in the miniscule worlds of nature, and a weight of the spirit that made them both sturdy pillars of strength in what she knew was a very fickle and changeful world.
Much on the other hand, reminded her of Bassam. Although Bassam had been considerably quieter, they nevertheless shared the tendency to speak without consulting their minds first, resulting in considerable exasperation from those around them. Remembering the way Bassam had gradually withdrawn from the rest of the world, eventually coming to prefer the company of birds to that of people, she made an effort to sympathise with Much over his hunger pains, the hardness of the ground he slept on, the way the cold weather made him feel ill, and the constant heckling of the others. She sensed that it was safe to show affection toward Much, feeling that although he was conscious of the fact that she was a woman, he did not quite understand the implications that could arise over the idea of a single woman living among five men.
Therefore, it was near Much that she rolled out her blankets, next to him that she sat around the campfire, and to him that she spoke with most during the day. Of course, the talkative side to him could get tiresome, and she was occasionally thankful for the frequent "shut ups" that Allan directed at him (even if his tone of voice could be a little kinder) and she'd never forget the day that she caught him filling his mouth with the herb that she'd foolishly told him was for stomach pains earlier in the day. "I thought it would help my hunger pains!" he'd cried, gesturing to the meagre remains of the wood-pigeon that had been their meal that evening. "Not that kind of stomach pain," she'd sighed, trying to salvage what was left.
As for Robin, there was little chance of talking with him in the day. Even when the others lolled around the campsite, he was always on the move, taking solo expeditions into Nottingham, writing letters to various nobles, or whittling arrows and practicing his shooting. On the rare occasion when he was simply sitting with the rest, he was still detached: thinking, plotting, dreaming, caught up in a world of his own that Djaq suspected featured only two others: King Richard and Lady Marian.
Only as evening fell, when the others were drifting off to sleep, did the two of them speak to one another, discussing politics, history, philosophy, and other subjects that emerged from their educated past, topics that somehow seemed rude to discuss in front of their others. Neither had been particularly enthusiastic scholars, but there was a need for both of them to remind themselves that they had not always been in the situation they were now, an ego-driven desire to separate themselves from the illiterate and superstitious woodsmen that slumbered around them. More than any of the others, Djaq and Robin were the most displaced members of the gang, having been torn from wealth and rank and thrown into poverty and destitution. In this way Robin reminded her of Khalid…but she didn't want to dwell too long on those particular memories. Nevertheless, it brought her a sense of comfort in finding echoes of home in these foreign men.
She was still keeping her distance from Will and Allan, speaking to them only when she needed to, and not opening herself up to any sort of conversation. Despite this, she could feel them watching her sometimes, and there were other things too, things so subtle that she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't just imagining them. For instance, whenever it was Will's turn to distribute the blankets, it seemed to her that she was always left holding the warmest one. Whenever she helped Much with the cooking, Allan's usual complaints about its quality (or lack thereof) were oddly silenced. When either of them divided up the rations among the group, she couldn't help but feel that hers were the larger portions. She could never be completely sure, but if they were indeed signs of mute communication, then she was forced to simply ignore them. Djaq was not vain, but neither was she naïve, knowing that in a life filled with long days and cold nights, it wouldn't take much encouragement to convince an otherwise stable-minded man to believe that he was in love with the single female in his vicinity.
It was only after she noticed Allan casually eying her waistcoat in the attempt to find some semblance of a figure underneath it (swiftly followed by a warning grunt from John) that she realised her boy's clothes weren't doing a shred of good. She'd exchanged the mysteries of the veil and the various youths who had sought to catch a glimpse of the beauteous Safiyah, with garments that hid every line and curve of her body. "Men are intrigued by what they cannot see," her mother's voice echoed mockingly in her head. Djaq had grimaced to herself. It wasn't enough to simply be dressed as a boy – she would have to take her femininity and push it down so deep that not even she would be able to see it.
She tried her hardest to invoke the real Djaq, recalling every gesture and mannerism that he'd once made. In all her prayers she would ask for some semblance of her brother to envelop her, to hide her away from her true self, recalling her twin's life to the best of her ability. Djaq, who had been an insufferable dreamer, the bane of her father's life, a poet and a layabout, who had grudgingly undergone training as a soldier only to avoid following in his father's footsteps as a physician, who fell hopelessly in love every other week – and spend most of his free time wooing the latest object of his affection, when he wasn't coming up with elaborate pranks ranging from setting all of Bassam's pigeon free to pinning the veils of his mother's matronly friends to the back of their chairs. As much as she had loved him, he wasn't exactly the paragon of masculinity she was striving to emulate.
After one such prayer, recalling the aspects of her brother in what seemed like something close to despair, she sat up on her knees and closed her eyes wearily. Her prayers these days seemed to be made up of memories and daydreams rather than a conscious surrender of body and soul to heaven. Sometimes she wondered whether Allah could still see her in this sunless country, whether all her suffering and pain had been some sort of punishment for the unorthodox way she'd lived her life back home. Perhaps she was still being punished in this cold exile from home, yet with the absence of any bolts of lightening from the heavens, she could only assume that His eyes were so fixed on the bloodshed and horror of his Holy Land that there was no time to concern Himself about one lonely acolyte, adrift in a country far from home, doing what she had to do to survive.
She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a clanging high in the trees – one of Will's alarms had been triggered, warning them of travellers on the road through Sherwood. It was through an intricate set of tripwires that passage throughout the forest was carefully monitored, and since she'd arrived there had been no warning of any potential targets – until now. Instantaneously, all six outlaws sprung to their feet.
"East Road," Will said, and everyone scrambled for swords, bows, arrows and staffs. Djaq's heart began to pound when she realised that no one was ordering her to stay behind this time. Robin was the first be ready, and he silently dashed away into the forest.
"He runs ahead in order to see who's coming," Much told her. "We wait for him at the ambush point."
She nodded in understanding, and cast a glance over at Allan and Will, wondering if she'd get the chance to see them use the weapons they were currently arming themselves with. She was especially interested in Will and the axe that was never out of his arm's reach, and was currently being slung over his back. She had tried not to laugh when she had first seen it, finding it hard to imagine that any one could effectively wield a tool for felling trees against human enemies – what's he going to do, chop at people? – she'd wondered. Now she couldn't help but be doubly curious as she fell into step next to Much.
The outlaws' collection of rough campsites were strewn around Sherwood Forest, but none of them were positioned more than a ten minute sprint from one of the main roads to and from Nottingham. Likewise, Will's alarms were designed to give them a head-start on any traffic passing through, allowing the outlaws to reach designated ambush-locations well before any travellers arrived. As such, it wasn't long before all five of them were crouched in hiding places either side of the road, listening for sounds of passage down the leaf-strewn road. Her heart pounding loudly, Djaq glanced at Much, wondering if she should ask what to expect. Not wanting to look nervous, she instead decided to simply follow his lead.
Whatever you do, don't try to show off, she told herself firmly. If she could pull this off effectively and efficiently without trying to impress anybody, Robin wouldn't question her ability to do what was required of her.
It was not long before Robin returned, approaching Much and Djaq as silently as a cat, emerging out of the trees behind them.
"There's a small convoy coming," he whispered to them. "Small, but guarded. And…there's something odd about it…I can't explain it. Have your weapons drawn, but don't try to intimidate anyone just yet. We'll see if we can get some information first."
He darted across the road to where Will, Allan and John were hiding, presumably to pass on the same instructions. Djaq squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on her sword hilt, hearing the sounds of approach.
Within a few moments, the cart trundled into sight. It was a small two-wheeled gig pulled by a small pony, its contents covered by a canvas, and holding a single passenger: a man of middling years who held the reins and searched the trees either side of him with suspicious eyes. Positioned on either side and at the back of the cart were three younger men, tall and strong-looking, with hoods obscuring their faces and cloaks pulled tight around their bodies. Djaq frowned. Robin was right…there was definitely something wrong with these men…
Just as the cart rattled past Djaq's hiding place, Robin swiftly stepped out of the trees and grasped the reins of the pony firmly.
"Good afternoon," he greeted the group cheerfully. "It's a fine day for a stroll through Sherwood Forest."
Djaq copied Much's actions as he emerged from the bushes to flank the right hand side of the cart, their movements mirrored by Will and Allan on the other side, whilst John took up a formidable position at the rear of the cart. Djaq watched the man nearest to her with wary eyes. She could see that however they might be dressed, they were certainly not peasants. Their movements were too careful, and their eyes too focused on their unexpected opponents to be anything other than men with a purpose.
The driver ran his shrewd eyes over Robin and cleared his throat.
"Let us pass," he said, with what sounded like a considerable amount of confidence to Djaq's ears. "My sons and I are travelling into Nottingham to see my mother. She's sick, and we bring her supplies."
He tried to yank the reins free of Robin's grasp, and failed. Robin smiled in return, and raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"Ah, but I would advise you against going to Nottingham," he told them. "It's not a nice place to visit. It's full of beggars and thieves. Starving people on every street corner. There's not nearly enough food to go around, and the sheriff…well, let's just say that you don't want to run into him. Not to mention that the only road to Nottingham is through Sherwood Forest, and that place is full of outlaws and brigands just waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting traveller. It's lucky for you that you ran into us first."
The men shifted nervously, and Robin looked past the driver to nod at John. Nodding back, John stepped forward and whipped the canvas covering off the back of the cart, exposing several bulging sacks, a few small kegs, and a cage of chickens. The driver turned back to Robin with a blank stare.
"As you can see, we're just simple peasants," he told him.
"Then you won't mind if we have a closer look," Robin replied.
With another flick of his head – this time at Will and Allan – the three men on foot were drawn away from the cart and pushed up against trees bordering the road. Djaq followed Much's lead as he stepped forward and began to rummage through the cart. However, if Robin was expecting riches, he was to be disappointed, as the kegs held ale, the sacks held grain, and the chickens were –
"Definitely chickens," Much announced.
Robin exchanged a long look at the driver.
"Why don't you step down and stretch your legs?" he suggested firmly. "Much, help the man down. And Djaq, come here and hold this fine pony for me."
Djaq exchanged places with Robin, whilst Much encouraged the driver down from his seat with a rough pull on his arm. As Much lined the man up next to his so-called sons against the trees, Robin roamed his eyes over the cart before suddenly ducking down out of sight. He emerged with a wicked grin on his face, and immediately began depositing the contents of the cart onto the forest floor.
Hidden underneath the supplies were the lids of two chests, one considerably larger than the other, both of which were snugly inserted into rectangular holes sawn into the planks of the cart. It was easy to assume that the bottom halves of each chest were suspended under cart itself, effectively hiding them from view. Looking immensely pleased with himself, Robin heaved out each chest and unclasped them under the surly view of their owners. Each one was packed with coins, and Robin looked across them to the men.
"It's an awfully warm day today," he said, conversationally. "Far too warm to be wearing those heavy cloaks. Why don't you take them off and let yourselves cool down?"
Since the weather was just as cold on this day as it usually was, the comment's true implications were not lost on the men, who glanced uneasily at one another. The driver stiffened, but seeing himself surrounded, he nodded reluctantly to his companions. Slowly, they reached up, unclasped their cloaks and let them fall to the forest floor. Each one of them had a sword belted around their waist.
"Interesting," Robin declared. "We don't often see hungry peasants carrying swords. What's your business in Nottingham?"
"That's tribute," the driver said sullenly. "For the sheriff of Nottingham. The smaller coffer was for you, should we run into you on the way."
For the first time, Robin seemed genuinely surprised, and the other outlaws exchanged glances.
"Interesting. And who might your employer be?"
The man did not answer, but inexplicably, his eyes flickered in Djaq's direction.
"Hey," Robin snapped, finally getting irritable. "Answer the question. Who's sending you to Nottingham? And what's the tribute for?"
Finally sick of Robin's attitude, annoyed at being humiliated in front of his men, and more than a little on-edge at the fact that Much's sword point was situated close to his belly, the man snarled a response:
"I don't have to say anything to you! I've heard of you, Locksley, and I'm not some nobleman, leeching off the backs of the poor. I'm just a man being paid to do a job – deliver these goods to the sheriff of Nottingham, so that I can go home and feed my own family."
"You're not leaving this forest until I get some answers."
Djaq had been listening to this exchange with growing alarm, the unspoken threat behind Robin's words throwing her back into a turmoil of memories: blood, pain, darkness, panic…
These men, she knew they were outlaws, but surely they wouldn't…
"Wait!" she cried as Robin approached the helpless men threateningly. "I have another way."
Desperately she let go of the pony's reins and pulled the small glass vial out of her pocket – she had carried it there for weeks as a good luck charm – and brandished it before them all. Holding it carefully so as to hide its emptiness from the travellers (the acid had dissolved on the day she'd used it to revive John at the bottom of the mine) she moved closer to the nervous-looking driver, and held it before his eyes.
"This is a Saracen potion," she told him firmly. "If I was to pour this down your throat, every secret you've ever had since you were seven years old would come spilling out your mouth like a bird-song. Not to mention that it would hurt – a lot. So it would be best for you if you simply answered Robin's questions. Then you can go on your way safety."
The man gazed at her and the tiny vial in horror, before turning back to Robin, looking gob-smacked. Robin shrugged.
"You heard him. Speak up, or drink up."
"Alright, alright. Look – we were approached at the docks. This man…this, er…nobleman, I think he was," he stuttered, casting another odd glance in Djaq's direction. "He comes to us and offers us money if we were to take a tribute to the sheriff to announce his coming. We're an envoy, see? Supposed to herald his arrival, and pay up the sheriff to make sure he'll receive him properly. Look – got the guy's ring and everything!"
He pulled a leather thong out from beneath his clothing, a heavy signet ring dangling from its length.
"When I told him about you lot hiding out in Sherwood Forest, he adds another casket to the bounty – the smaller one - telling me that it's for you – to let us go unhindered if you were to stop us."
Robin looked over the two chests, and then deliberately hefted the larger chest to the ground.
"Sheriff Vaysey will never know," he said confidentially, and swaggered over to take a closer look at the ring still dangling from the man's neck. It was at that moment that the man standing next to the driver struck. Whipping his sword out of his scabbard and gaining momentum by pushing himself away from the tree he had been leaning against, he lunged at Robin, who only just managed to leap out of the way. Within a matter of seconds, everyone had leapt into the escalating fray.
Caught off guard, Djaq fumbled to return the vial to her pocket, not wanting to simply drop it on the forest floor after so many months of keeping it safe, and yanked her sword. Much sprang to her side, and together they attempted to keep the driver from reclaiming his seat on the cart and fleeing the forest.
Much's fighting technique was the closest in style to her own, and – as she'd expected – they fought well together, fending off the sweat-drenched man as he stumbled toward the cart as though it guaranteed him safety from the dangers of the forest.
Vaguely, she heard Robin yell out an order, but her mind was too focused on the task at hand to pay attention. It was only when Much grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the trees that she realized that he'd called a retreat. Glancing back, she noticed that the man had catapulted himself onto the driver's seat of the cart and grasped the reins, another of his company throwing himself onto the back and hanging on for dear life as the skittish pony bolted, taking the cart and its two passengers with it.
Robin and John rushed past her, and she wrenched herself free of Much's grasp when she realized that this could be her chance. Throwing herself against the nearest tree to slow her momentum on the sloped ground, she peeked around to see Allan and Will combat the remaining two men. In the few moments it took before the travellers fled the forest, Djaq took the measure of both of them.
Allan fought with the shadow of Robin's grace, but none of his restraint. The raw talent was there, but it had not been tempered with discipline, and as such it lacked confidence. In its place was a brutality to his fighting that revealed a man who was conscious that life – particularly his life – was a temporary condition at best.
As for Will, she felt a wave of shame pass over her for her dismissal of his abilities, because watching him now, she realised she'd completely misjudged him. The axe was a part of him – weapon and tool and extension of his being all at once – and he was dispatching his opponent with less effort than the rest of the outlaws she'd witnessed thus far. As the two remaining men retreated, realizing that their companions had already left, Will deftly spun the axe in his hand and returned it to the holster slung across his back. She turned swiftly so that neither one of them would see that she'd been watching them, and quickened her step to catch up with Much.
Yeah, it was really, really long, I know - but if you've made it this far: thanks!