Tuck stitched a tear in Much’s tunic in the fading light, watching his leader discreetly. When Robin had been sure that the woman and her son were sleeping soundly, he had beckoned everyone to the other side of the camp for a council of war. At first, Tuck had assumed that Robin had chosen to conduct this council in secrecy so as not to alarm their guests but, as the meeting progressed, Tuck began to suspect that Robin’s motives were a little more complex.
“We need to draw them into Sherwood,” Robin said.
“If that boy’s as important as you say, they’re bound to be looking for him, aren’t they?” John answered grimly.
“It ain’t a matter of if they’ll come but when,” Will spoke, poking his dagger in the ground. “’Ow many men does the bastard ’ave?”
“Not many or, at least, not many that he can spare to track the boy.” The outlaws stared at their leader in confusion. Much was the first to speak.
“But I thought you said he was rich and powerful,” Much said.
“He is but according to the man I questioned – James was his name – this rich and powerful family is being watched closely by King John’s spies. They’ve managed to catch the King’s notice despite his preoccupation with Wales. Because our enemies are being watched so closely, they haven’t tried to pursue the boy with too many men. The soldiers they have sent out have been dressed as peasants or servants. Some of the men have been servants since the family believed they could be trusted or, at least, bribed and intimidated, I suppose.”
“Is that why that lord – the one Gisburne killed – was here in Sherwood? Because he has so few men he can use?” Tuck asked, speaking for the first time.
“Perhaps, though I think it’s more likely that he was trying to divert the King’s spies. It would only be natural for a lord to be accompanied by at least some of his servants. It would also give him an excuse to bring his soldiers, though some of them would already be disguised as servants. The spies would come to know which men were servants and which men were soldiers, so our lord would have needed to be careful.”
“So is that why he was there when they attacked Gisburne and Margaret? Because he needed to travel with them in the first place to divert the King’s spies?”
“But if that were true, why wasn’t ’e there when they first attacked Margaret or when they decided to kidnap Gisburne?” Will said.
“Maybe he split up his men,” John suggested.
“He would have certainly covered more ground that way,” Robin said. “But if he, or rather, our new lord decides to follow Matilda and her son into Sherwood, he may decide to risk the attention and gather more men.”
“So we could be facing an army.”
“I don’t know, John. All I know for certain is that these men wish to kill an innocent boy. They’ve already killed Margaret.”
And possibly Gisburne, Tuck thought.
“We’d ’ave no chance against an army,” Will said after a long period of silence.
“But we have the advantage. We know the forest better. We-we could ambush them.”
“With six of us?”
“We’ll pick off some of them from the trees.”
“And the rest?”
“We’ll figure out something, Will.”
“When? It’ll ’ave to be soon. For all we know, these men you’re talking about could be ’eading ’ere as we speak!”
“We could go to Wickham,” Much said. “They helped us fight against Gulnar.”
“And we almost got them all killed!” Will exclaimed. Robin shivered then crossed his arms over his chest.
“We can’t ask for their help. This doesn’t concern them.”
“But it concerns us?” Will demanded. Robin glared at him.
“Yes, it does. Margaret was our guest.”
“She was Gisburne’s sister! Why the ’ell should we care what ’appened to ’er?”
“Will, keep your voice down!” Tuck hissed.
“Why should I? Maybe it’s time our ‘guests’ learned just what kind of man Gisburne is!”
“Or was,” John mumbled.
“I won’t believe it till I’ve seen ’is body. I don’t want to get my ’opes up, do I?” Will glanced at his leader again. Robin’s eyes were still cold.
“God, what is it with you? You’ll be sayin’ that we should do this for Gisburne next! Is that what you believe? Well?” Will prodded Robin’s shoulder, and it took all of Robin’s willpower not to hit him back. He took a deep breath, trying to control his anger.
“Unless I’m mistaken,” Robin said in a quiet but icy tone, “we’re here to help those who can’t protect themselves. Matilda and her son need our help.” Much bowed his head and John scratched his beard thoughtfully. Nasir simply nodded while Tuck smiled encouragingly. Only Will still seemed adamant. Robin sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“I could take them out of Sherwood, but it wouldn’t change anything. They’d be running again and the boy’s life would still be in danger.”
“If you left Sherwood, you could all be killed,” John said.
“They could be killed ’ere,” Will argued. “Margaret was.” Robin closed his eyes.
“That-that was different,” he countered. “Margaret had left the camp. She didn’t have our protection…We didn’t know what we were facing then.”
“And we do now?”
“We know what they want. We just need to be ready when they come looking for it.” Robin stood and finally pulled his eyes away from Will.
“Where are you going?” John asked.
“I need to think. I want to be sure that our friends receive a proper welcome when they return to Sherwood.”
“You’re using them as bait. You’re hoping that if you dangle them on a line, this mysterious lord of yours will bite.”
Robin lifted his head slowly, just meeting Tuck’s eyes. The monk had managed to leave Robin in solitude for almost an hour before his conscience had forced him to seek out his friend. Robin knew he should be angry that Tuck had disobeyed his simple request for privacy, but he was too tired to muster that much emotion. Instead, he looked away and muttered, “This isn’t fishing, Tuck.”
“Aye, but it’s close enough,” Tuck said, lowering himself to the ground with a groan. “I was fishing the first time we met, remember?”
“It was the second time but, yes, I remember.”
“I was only after trout, but you were after bigger fish.” Robin allowed himself a smile.
“One was a very big fish named ‘Tuck’.”
“Aye, so it was.”
“And I caught him.”
“So you did. But while I may be wide in girth, the fish you’re after now are much bigger. And they have teeth.” Robin looked away for an instant, his face shrouded by the growing darkness.
“I have teeth too. Sharp teeth.”
“That may be but that boy and his mother do not.”
“That’s why they’re here. So I can protect them.”
“By using them as bait?”
“I’m not – !” Robin shouted. Then he lowered his voice. “I’m not using them as bait.”
“You’ve seen what they’ve done to Margaret and Gisburne. You know how dangerous they are.” Robin rested his head in his hands, his fingers clenched.
“What would you have them do?” Robin demanded at last, lowering his hands. “Keep running?”
“No, lad, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“You’re going up against something you don’t fully understand and willing to endanger our lives in the process.”
“We’ve gone up against soldiers before. Why is this so different?”
“Because these aren’t the Sheriff’s men. These men could be mercenaries, knights.”
“We’ve faced them too.”
“Aye, but we knew what we were expecting before we fought them. You’re leading us into this blind.” Robin looked down, trailing his finger through the dirt.
“Sometimes the enemy moves in shadows and darkness, stays hidden until he decides to make his attack. Sometimes he’s so powerful that he can afford to protect his identity, and intimidate others to do likewise.”
“Like Matilda?” Tuck asked.
“And my father, yes.” Robin sighed, lifting his eyes again. “If I seem to be going into this blind, it’s because I am. I admit it, Tuck. I don’t know what I’m facing. I just know that it has to be destroyed. I don’t have any choice in the matter. Can’t you see that?” Robin said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. Tuck placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“I know, lad. I can see that. But there’s something else that concerns me.”
“What?” Robin asked, though he already knew the answer. Tuck suspected that Robin knew as well. However, he was still wary of broaching the subject.
“You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” Tuck said reluctantly. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your anger control you.”
“My anger?” Robin questioned, feigning disbelief.
“Isn’t that what you feel after everything they’ve done?”
“Well, I’m angry after what they did to Margaret, and for everything they’ve put that boy and his mother through…”
“And is that all?” Tuck’s gaze was firm, unwavering. Robin looked away.
“He has nothing to do with this. He’s my enemy, remember? Whether he lives or dies matters little to me.”
“You say that and yet you travelled all the way to Hereford to – ”
“I had to be sure that Margaret would receive a proper burial.”
“You let Marion stay to tend to his wounds.”
“She asked to stay. She-she insisted!” Tuck nodded grimly.
“So she knows the truth now too, does she?”
“Yes, she…she figured it out,” Robin admitted, rubbing his face wearily.
“Robin…”
“Yes, I know! I know!” Robin snapped. Tuck took a deep breath.
“And your father…?”
“He stayed because I asked, and he did it for Marion’s sake not Gisburne’s. He hates Gisburne.”
Someone was watching him. He had sensed the other presence in the room some time ago but, as he had been closer to sleep than waking, his brain had been slow to register the fact. His body had attempted to cling to sleep, but his mind had nagged at him, telling him to wake and discover who this person was. Gisburne finally surrendered and dragged himself from sleep.
“What do you want?” he mumbled, without opening his eyes. When he received no answer he opened his eyes. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see the Earl of Huntington sitting beside his bed. What did surprise Gisburne was the confused, lost expression on the man’s face.
Gisburne pulled himself slowly and painfully into a sitting position. Huntington raised his pillows for him then passed him a cup of water. Gisburne accepted the cup reluctantly and took a long sip, his eyes never leaving Huntington’s face.
“Why are you here?” he asked, more forcefully this time.
“I don’t know. To-to apologize, I suppose,” Huntington said quietly.
“Apologize?”
“For my behaviour yesterday. It was…I…Forgive me.” Gisburne studied the older man, his forehead creasing.
“Are you drunk?” Huntington laughed and shook his head.
“No.”
“Ill? You don’t look well.” Huntington looked away, attempting to escape the scrutiny of Gisburne’s sharp, blue eyes.
“I…I did not sleep well,” Huntington admitted. Then he forced himself to meet those eyes.
“Was it because you were filled with remorse?” Huntington started.
“What?”
“You said you came here to apologize. You seem to believe that you somehow wronged me.” There was a long pause.
“I have,” Huntington said. Gisburne studied him again, taking another sip of water.
“You are drunk.” Huntington forced a tight smile.
“I wish to God I was,” he whispered. Gisburne felt a strange twinge in his stomach that had nothing to do with his wound.
“If you wish to get drunk,” Gisburne said, deciding to treat Huntington’s comment as a joke, “don’t let me stop you, though I’m hardly in a position to do that anyway, am I? I’m at your mercy or, at least, the mercy of your son.”
“Robert!” Huntington gasped. “My God, in all this time I never even considered…”
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” Gisburne demanded sharply. Huntington swallowed, averting his gaze. Then he rose swiftly from his chair.
“I must go. No doubt I have overtaxed you, and you need your rest.” Gisburne opened his mouth to protest, but Huntington was already heading for the door.
“It’s finally happened,” Gisburne muttered to himself. “The old man’s gone mad.”
* * * *
The boy waited patiently, gazing at the outlaw standing on the far side of the camp. Robin simply stared back, his face expressionless. When Robin moved his hand, the boy tensed. Robin smiled and, after a moment’s hesitation, the boy relaxed. Then Robin reached for Albion and flew towards the boy.
Matilda gasped and rose quickly to her feet, but her fears were quickly dispelled when her son ducked and dodged between Robin’s legs.
“There!” the boy cried. “You see! I can do it, Mother, I can!” Matilda forced a smile and nodded.
“That was good,” Robin said, patting the boy on the back, “but you need to be a little faster. If you were really attacked, you wouldn’t want your enemy to guess what your move would be beforehand. Let’s try it again.” Robin crossed to the other side of the camp, and Matilda looked at Tuck with pleading eyes. Tuck cast her a sympathetic glance, but could provide little else in return.
He had already tried to talk to Robin, to make him see reason, but Robin had refused to listen. Tuck shifted and sighed, leaning more heavily against his quarterstaff.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a deep voice suddenly rumbled in his ear. Tuck jerked and sent a startled look over his shoulder, almost dropping his quarterstaff. John was standing behind him, grinning. Tuck had forgotten that he had stayed behind while Will, Nasir and Much went hunting. Tuck smiled sheepishly, and John clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” John said, squeezing his shoulder now. Tuck met his gaze and simply nodded. “Aye, so am I.”
“He’s not thinking clearly, John. Instead of acting he’s reacting. He’s treading down a dangerous path and he’ll get himself and that boy killed if he’s not careful.”
“Have you tried talking to him?”
“Aye. It was like talking to a wall. He won’t budge.” Tuck’s eyes fell on Matilda again, only to find that she was still watching him. It was with a jolt, that Tuck read the expression behind those eyes. She had seen it too. Tuck tried to take a step towards her, but he found his path blocked by a rather large obstacle.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” John said, standing right in front of him.
“No, John, you’re mistaken.” Tuck tried to walk around him, but John wouldn’t move.
“I know there are things Robin tells you that he won’t tell us. Secrets.”
“He’s said nothing this time – not to me, anyway.”
“But you know something.”
“I know many things. We’d be standing here all day if I was to tell you everything I know.”
“That’s not what I meant,” John growled, “and you know it!”
“Aye, I know it.” Tuck sought Matilda’s eyes again, but she had gone to speak to Robin and her son. Then he heard Will’s signal in the distance, an indication that they would soon return.
“I need to think,” Tuck said. “I’m going for a walk.” John’s eyes widened in astonishment. Then he reached out a hand slowly and laid it against Tuck’s forehead.
“You don’t feel hot,” John stated.
“Maybe it’s madness.”
“Aye, I always suspected as much…” Tuck slapped John’s arm playfully.
“I’ll try not to wander too far. If I get lost, I reckon some nice forester will see to it that I’m looked after,” Tuck joked.
“I could go with you,” John suggested, suddenly growing serious. “I wouldn’t talk, so you’d be able to think.” Tuck touched John’s arm again, but he did it gently this time.
“No, John. You’re needed here. I wouldn’t leave the camp myself if I didn’t know the others were returning.” John still looked concerned. “I’ll be careful,” Tuck added.
“You’d better be.” Tuck smiled and finally managed to make his way around the taller outlaw. It wasn’t until he was clear of the camp that he thought to breathe again. He inhaled deeply.
What he had told John had been true. He did need to think and, while walking was hardly his favourite activity, it was conducive to thought. And with all the thinking Tuck had to do, he felt certain that he was going to get a lot of exercise.
As the events of the last several days churned in his head, Tuck found that his pace quickened. If his friends had seen him, they would have been surprised by his swift strides. For a man of his girth, he could possess surprising speed at times, especially when his mind was trying to sort through a problem. He became so engrossed in his thoughts, that he was halfway to Nottingham before he realized that his feet had carried him in that direction.
Tuck made to turn back then stopped. His feet had led him in this direction for a reason. Nottingham was a dangerous place but, perhaps, it was where the solution to their troubles lay.
The Earl of Huntington balanced the tray carefully, trying not to spill the contents of the bowl. A small amount of broth had already sloshed over one side despite his best efforts.
He knew he was unaccustomed to such tasks, though he had helped nurse his wife through the last stages of her illness. However, that had been a good many years ago, and the experience hadn’t usually involved him stealing trays from the hands of startled servants, not that Cecily had seemed truly startled. She had stared at him for an instant in surprise, then had handed him the tray without comment. No doubt she had thought him mad and had simply been trying to humour him. Considering his current state of turmoil, Huntington had begun to question his sanity as well.
Huntington reached the door of Gisburne’s chamber and hesitated. He knew that Gisburne didn’t want to see him, that even Marion of Leaford would be a more welcome sight than he would be, but he knew that he had to grasp every opportunity that was granted to him. They would part ways soon enough, returning to the roles that had been assigned to them, and their paths would rarely cross. Huntington couldn’t decide if he was relieved or saddened by the prospect. With a twinge of guilt, he opened the door. More broth spilled from the bowl.
“Have you taken leave of your senses? What are you doing?” Huntington barked, depositing the tray on the floor with a clunk and hurrying towards Gisburne.
The knight was leaning heavily against the wall, a hand clutching his belly, his face pale and drenched in sweat, and his whole body shaking from the strain of his exertions. Without conscious thought, Huntington grabbed the hand clinging to the wall and slung Gisburne’s arm across his shoulders. Gisburne’s legs buckled, and Huntington was forced to support most of the knight’s weight as he guided Gisburne back to his bed.
Gisburne fell back against the pillows with a groan. His eyes were tightly shut and his hand was still clutching his belly. Huntington managed to pry the hand away and immediately checked Gisburne’s bandages. There had been a bit of bleeding but the stitches had held. Marion would probably still have a fit when she found out what Gisburne had done.
“I advise you to rest and you do the opposite,” Huntington growled. Gisburne opened his eyes.
“Do you think…I follow…the advice of…madmen?” he gasped, still struggling for breath.
“Madmen? What are you talking about?”
“This morning…You’re mad…”
“I told you I hadn’t slept. I-I wasn’t quite myself.” Gisburne laughed quietly, despite the pain.
“But you are now…? It makes little difference to me.”
“It might have made a great deal of difference if I hadn’t come here when I did! By Saint Thomas, what on earth possessed you to get out of bed? If you’re trying to kill yourself, there are quicker and easier methods, you know.”
“Suicide is for cowards!” Gisburne spat.
“So is bed rest and a healthy dose of common sense, apparently,” Huntington commented dryly. “Why were you out of bed?”
“That is no concern of yours.”
“In other words, you have no excuse to give.”
“You have no authority here. I don’t have to answer to you,” Gisburne snapped.
“Perhaps not but you’ll have to answer to Marion if she finds out that you deliberately tried to open your wound again.”
“I didn’t – !” Gisburne’s fists clenched and he stared up at the ceiling helplessly. “The sooner I am able to walk, the sooner I can leave this place.” He attempted to sit up, but Huntington pushed him back down.
“You almost died, Guy. Your wound has barely begun to heal. You’re in no condition to go anywhere. However, if you’d like to work on regaining your strength, I’ve brought you something to eat. No doubt it’s cold by now, but the effect should still be the same.” Huntington went to retrieve the tray, noting in dismay that even more of it had spilled.
“I fear that I make for a rather clumsy servant. Only half of the broth remains in the bowl.” Huntington dipped his finger in and tasted it. “And it’s cold, as I suspected.” He sighed and lifted the tray from the floor. He placed it on the table beside the bed and picked up the bowl. An instant later he set it down again. Gisburne had fallen asleep.
Huntington shook his head in disbelief. Then he leaned over the bed and pulled up the blankets, draping them over the sleeping knight.
His feet ached and he was practically out of breath, but he made it back to the camp just after nightfall. He had expected to be immediately greeted by sharp reprimands, but the camp was empty, a dying fire the only proof that his friends had been there recently.
Tuck had fervently hoped that supper would already be cooking, though he had prepared himself for the worst when he could smell no enticing aromas wafting through the trees. Tuck was forced to settle for quenching his thirst rather than satisfying his appetite as he took a sip from his water-bag instead.
Where were they? Had they been forced to abandon the camp? If someone had tried to attack the camp, the others should have seen them approaching and would have immediately doused the fire in an attempt to conceal their whereabouts. Maybe one of the villagers was in trouble and they had gone off to Wickham to offer them aid.
Tuck wondered briefly if he should pay a visit to Wickham just in case there was trouble, and the others needed him. Maybe once he had got his breath back and had had a chance to rest. Even if the others hadn’t gone to Wickham, it wouldn’t be a wasted trip, as the villagers would probably have some food they could offer him. A bit of bread perhaps, or…
“So you’ve finally decided to return,” a voice said. Tuck whipped around and found his leader standing behind him. He stood up and smiled sheepishly.
“Where are they?” Robin asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Aren’t the others with you?”
“I’m not talking about the others. I’m talking about Matilda and her son.”
“What? They’ve disappeared? We’ve got to find them!”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to do – for hours. What did you do with them?”
“Me?” Tuck cried. “I haven’t done anything with them!” Robin moved a step closer, his eyes strangely cold despite the glow of the fire.
“Then where did you go? What have you been doing?”
“I needed to think. I went for a walk. I told John.”
“According to John, you said you wouldn’t walk far.”
“I hadn’t planned to – not at first, anyway.”
“But then you changed your mind. Was this before or after you took them away?”
“Robin, I didn’t – !”
“What did you do? Agree to meet them somewhere so we wouldn’t be suspicious? Where did you place them? Nottingham? One of the villages?” Robin grabbed Tuck’s robe with both fists. Then he found himself lying flat on his back on the forest floor.
“I don’t know where they are,” the monk said angrily. “If I did know, I would tell you. Now, we can go and look for them or we can stand here and argue about it. Either way I have a good mind to knock some sense into that thick head of yours.”
“I think you’ve knocked me around enough, thank you.” Robin sat up, ignoring the hand Tuck offered. He stood, brushing some of the dirt off his clothes. “I’m going back to look for them,” he stated.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, I think you’ve done enough walking today. Stay here in case they return.” Tuck crossed his arms, fighting a losing battle with his temper.
“Are you sure you can trust me?” he shot back.
Robin, who had started to walk away, stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around slowly, and Tuck was surprised to see the hurt expression on his face.
