Chapter. 7
The sheriff was indeed very interested. He leaned forward in his chair stroking his moustache as Marcus of Antrim blurted out his story.
"So you say this young fellow stumbled into your village two days ago."
"Yes my lord. They will not say his name but some say he runs with Robin Hood."
"What does he look like," Gisborne asked scowling down at the ruffian.
"He's young my lord, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He has a mop of curly red hair." Marcus told them eagerly.
The Sheriff and Gisborne exchanged glances.
"Hum!" The sheriff nodded "and he's been there two days already, what made you come here?"
"I saw it as my civic duty my Lord."
"Just so," he nodded as he held his goblet up for more wine. "Your civic duty...and of course you expect nothing in return for such an act,"
Marcus faltered slightly "well my Lord perhaps a few coins for the effort. I'm not a greedy man anything you can spare, I'd be much obliged."
"Of course," Robert nodded.
Gisborne felt he needed to say something, "And what of Robin Hood, have you seen him, has he been in the village. Would you recognise him if you saw him." He asked.
"Do shut up Gisborne you're giving me a headache," Robert told him, feeling his hangover taking hold already.
"We will look into it. In the meantime I hope you are in good singing voice?"
Marcus twisted his cap in his hands feeling slightly bewildered. "My Lord?"
"It is late evening, we desire to be entertained, do we not Gisborne," the Sheriff favoured his henchman with a sardonic smile.
With a smile of his own Gisborne took his seat at the table and wrenched a leg from the cooked chicken in front of him. With a barely discernible nod to the servant he was handed a goblet of wine.
"Sing!" He barked as he tucked into the feast before him.
With no other choice Marcus of Antrim squealed out an old folk tune, his stomach grumbling at the sight of so much fine food.
The sheriff and Gisborne sat back picking at the many dishes and swigging large gulps of expensive wine. Marcus shuffled from one foot to the other as time passed trying to think up more tunes to entertain them. Sometimes they sang with him, more often they threw bones or scraps of meat at him. Much later they hauled themselves up and staggered towards the stairs intent on going to bed.
Marcus, now hoarse from singing watched them go. He considered calling out to them as they disappeared up the stone steps. His mouth moved but no sound would come. Then he considered lunging at the table and devouring what was left of the food but he soon found himself marched between two soldiers. A great iron grill was pulled aside and he found himself thrown down into darkness.
He stood shivering, as the grill was secured in place. He listened as the footsteps faded to silence.
"Why?" He yelled in the darkness.
~o~
They had no choice but to leave him. They built a fire to keep him warm and left him some bread and goats milk. Much felt no compunction to eat but was grateful for the warmth of the fire.
As they prepared to leave Mathew crouched beside Much,
"The wife made you these bread rolls this mornin, they're still warm."
Much took them with a nod of gratitude. "Tell her thank you, for all the stuff she did."
As he went to get up Much took hold of his sleeve.
"Mathew, the Sheriff will come. You must hide, all of you. He don't care, he'll kill you."
"Nay lad, we'll be alright. We'll be saying Marcus has a grudge against us for not buying his prize sheep."
Mathew smiled but Much would not be swayed.
"No, Mathew. I've seen what he can do, he has no mercy. He'll kill..." Much broke off in a fit of coughing.
"Now take it easy lad, that's enough. You will start that wound to bleeding again. Rest easy,"
Mathew put another log on the fire.
"I must head back now, you mind yourself young villain. Or one day it'll be your neck in a noose if you don't look out." He patted Much on the shoulder and headed off after the others.
Much frowned. He needed help but not at the expense of these people. The sheriff would show them no mercy, he'd kill them all and burn the village. He couldn't bare that.
~o~
"Nasir, stop, wait," the Fryer waddled up to him.
Nasir had been engrossed in his task of tracking the boy but now he waited patiently as the Fryer approached.
"Are you sure he's gone this far, he couldn't have gone this far. We've had to stop over night already." Tuck told him.
Nasir nodded without speaking. His dark eyes scanned the immediate area around them for any signs of threat.
"Much can run like the wind," John put in "besides, we had to stop because of..."
John didn't finish. He looked at Robin feeling sorry he'd said anything.
The young noble man had slowed them up but it was unintentional. That injury had festered and now a nasty infection had taken hold. The only telling sign was the flush to his face and beads of perspiration that glistened on his forehead. All talk of him staying in camp with Tuck and Marian went unheeded. He was determined.
"Well let us not waste any more time standing around talking about it." Robin muttered.
He limped on ahead. Nasir gave him a dark look of concern but turned and continued on.
John caught up with him and took hold of Robin's arm.
"Robin, I didn't mean..."
Robin put a hand to his shoulder. "No John, you're right. I need to keep up."
He limped on ahead before John could answer.
"He's got grit, ill give him that," Will said as he sauntered up to John.
The big man shook his head. "He's got too much to prove. It's not good."
~o~
They all stood to attention, trying not to shiver as the Sheriff dismounted. He walked purposefully to Mathew and struck him across the face.
"Harbouring an outlaw, your children will be first to die." He sneered.
Gisborne got down from his horse and a woman nearby shrieked in terror as he took hold of her teenaged son. He took a dagger from his belt and held it to the youngsters throat.
"Where is he," he yelled. "Speak or I swear I'll spill this boy's blood on the filthy ground on which you live,"
"I'm here."
All heads turned as Much limped towards them with the aid of a stick.
"I'm here my lord, let him go," Much's voice cracked slightly, such was his fear.
Gisborne threw the boy aside. He went to where Much stood and kicked the stick out from under him. He stumbled but did not fall. But the much taller man punched him so hard in the stomach Much crumpled to the ground choking in agony and clasping with both hands the wound to his side.
"So nice of you to give yourself up halfwit," the Sheriff grinned. "I'm sure your friends will be wondering where you are. Gisborne have your men set up a perimeter guard around this village. Sooner or later Robin and his men will come looking for him. They will not escape this time."
