Will in Scarlet

  But their escape was not without casualties. Will’s horse lost its footing among the slippery rocks and stumbled, throwing both its riders. Will and Much were lucky enough to end up with just a few scrapes, but the horse broke its leg. Much hid his eyes as John put the poor creature out of its misery.

  That left the four of them with only two horses, both of which had been ridden nearly to death already. And they were soaked down to the bone and exhausted, and there was no way they would make it to Sherwood that night.

  They needed a place to hide and wait out the storm. They needed somewhere dry. It was Rob’s idea to make for a nearby farmhouse. He knew the family who lived there, the Walthams.

  Through the pelting rain and clinging mud Will traveled alongside his captors. No, they were no longer his captors since he could have left at any time. His companions, then? Certainly not friends, these outlaws. But what was he now if not an outlaw, too? What else would you call a lord without a land? He was cold, wet, and hungry—that was for certain—and these men were his only chance to get to some place warm and dry.

  It took several straight hours of marching through the night to find the farm, and when they did, Will was sure Rob had made a mistake. When Will thought of the tenant farms on his family’s land, he pictured snug thatch-roofed houses and tall steepled barns. Smoke wafting up out of the chimney and the air smelling of baking bread as men tended to rolling fields.

  Farmhouse was a generous word for where Rob had led them. It was, Will supposed, technically a pig farm in that it had people and pigs sharing the same tiny patch of earth, but the Waltham farm consisted of a single flat-roofed one-room shack for the people, a rickety lean- to sty for the pigs, and a weather-beaten old hay barn that had collapsed on one side. The rainwater had collected in pools on top of the shack, and the overflow ran down in steady streams along the outside. The yard was nothing but mud and pig droppings up to your ankles. And the whole place smelled, just not of baking bread.

  Rob spent long minutes at the front door talking with Farmer Waltham, though their words were lost in the roar of the storm. From the stern look on Waltham’s face and Rob’s wild gesticulating, Will guessed that the old farmer wanted to know why he should open up his house to four waterlogged bandits on the run. Will couldn’t think of an earthly reason why he should, but apparently Rob had made his case, because he came back and told them they’d be allowed to hitch their horses up in the barn.

  Inside, they found room enough to dry and brush down their remaining two horses, even though one whole half of the barn was little more than fallen debris. Will still felt sorry about the horse they’d had to put down. It made him worry about Bellwether back at the Merry Men’s camp, but she was Gilbert’s possession now. So he let the men have a bit of a breather and offered to brush down the horses himself. Perhaps if he took extra-special care of these animals, it would go a little way toward making up for the loss of the other. Milo would have liked that he tried, at least.

  Will wondered where the stableboy was now. Hopefully he escaped Sir Guy’s cruelty. Milo, Nan, Henry, and pretty Jenny. Maybe they were together at one of those farms that smelled of bread. It was a nice fantasy, if nothing else.

  “Could do with a little work,” said Rob, looking around at the ruined structure. “Roof sags a bit on the left.”

  “It’s good the horses will stay dry while we’re in the house,” said Will.

  “Inside what house?” said John. “You’re sleeping with the rest of us here.”

  Will noticed then that his companions weren’t merely catching a rest. They were unpacking and hanging up their wet clothes to dry. They were settling in for the night here in this ruin of a barn.

  “Oh,” said Will. “So we’re …”

  “Sleeping with the horses?” said John. “Yes. Welcome to the luxurious life of an outlaw on the run!”

  “Waltham couldn’t possibly fit us inside his house, Will,” said Rob. “He’s got four children and a wife in that one room already.”

  Will nodded, embarrassed that he’d assumed they’d be given the royal welcome by these peasants. That was the kind of assumption William Shackley might make, not Will Scarlet.

  Sleeping out in the barn would be no great comfort, but it was mostly dry. The wind blew the rain in through the cracks near the corners, but there were enough piles of dry hay about to be used as makeshift beds.

  By the time he’d finished brushing down the horses, John and Rob had already stripped to near nothing. Their dripping clothes hung steaming from each and every hook they could find. But Much still sat in a corner, shivering. The boy had taken off his boots and cloak but kept on the rest of his soggy clothes. He hugged his knees to his chest for warmth.

  As Will hung up his own wet clothes, he glanced over at John and Rob. John saw the concerned look on Will’s face.

  “It’s no use,” John whispered. “He won’t change out of those wet clothes.”

  “He’ll catch his death,” said Will.

  “Everyone has a reason for being the way they are,” said John. “And pushing them doesn’t help any.”

  The boy stared at his feet, his teeth chattering so hard Will feared they’d break off. He wanted to follow John’s advice and leave him be, but he couldn’t just watch Much shiver like that.

  “I think we need a fire,” said Will, loud enough for all to hear. “I could use something hot.”

  Much looked up at the mention of a fire, but he didn’t say anything.

  Rob glanced around the barn, at the piles of hay. “That a good idea?” he asked.

  “We’ll be careful,” said Will. “Besides, we’re not going to burn the Walthams’ barn down in this rain. Come on, Much. Help me see if we can find some dry wood around this place.”

  In the end, they got a small fire going with some old rotten boards and a pile of hay for the tinder. It smoked terribly, but it put out welcome heat. Much sat as close to the fire as he dared without setting himself aflame, and after a time his shivering stopped and his cheeks eventually returned to their healthy rosy color. The little fire lifted all of their spirits and it brought some real warmth to the end of a long, cold night.

  The fire also allowed them to have a hot meal for the first time in days. They heated Much’s store of boiled acorns and spread them across hunks of black bread like butter. When they turned in for the night, they had warm, full bellies. As he lay down to sleep, Will tried not to think about what sorts of creatures he was sharing his bed with, but exhaustion soon overtook his squeamishness and he fell into a sound sleep.

  By the time he awoke, the rain had changed to a thick morning mist. The fire had died out during the night, leaving the air chilled once more. Rob was the only other one awake, and he sat at the barn door, wrapped in his cloak, watching the sun struggling to break through a flint-gray sky. Much slept in a ball near the cold fire pit, and John lay across from him, snoring away like a tree saw.

  “I had to douse the fire,” said Rob when he saw Will was awake. “Can’t risk the smoke in the daylight. Even in this halflight. Guy’s soldiers will have resumed the search now that the sun’s up.”

  Will drew his red coat tight about his neck and joined Rob at the door. It was hard to believe that this man was the smelly drunk he’d met just days ago.

  Rob gestured to the pigsty across the yard, where Farmer Waltham and his sons—a few of them around Will’s age—were trying to corral two pigs into a makeshift pen.

  “One of Waltham’s hogs died from a fever yesterday,” said Rob. “This morning there are two more sick, so they’re trying to separate them from the rest.”

  There was a sudden squeal, and one of Waltham’s boys went headfirst into the mud as a pig scurried out of reach.

  “Can’t be easy to grab hold of a wet pig,” Rob said.

  “What happens if they can’t get them separated?” Will asked.

  Rob looked at him. “I look like a pig farmer?”

  Will shrugged.


  “The others will get sick, too, I suppose,” said Rob. “Maybe die.”

  Will examined the sorry state of the Waltham farm. In the daylight, it looked even worse, more like a ruin than an actual home. Gaps in the house were filled in with mud and straw, and Will doubted that the occupants of the house had been much drier last night than he. But worst of all, Will saw how thin the boys were. Their sunken cheeks were visible even at a distance.

  Rob nodded, as if reading Will’s mind. “Only reason Waltham let us sleep in his barn was he needed the coin.”

  “You’re paying him?”

  “Four of us for a halfpenny. He wouldn’t risk the trouble with Guy otherwise. And I don’t blame him.”

  “The boys are so … skinny,” said Will. “Don’t they have enough to eat? I mean, they’re pig farmers, so couldn’t they just … eat bacon?”

  Rob laughed, but it had a bitter ring to it. A bark more than a chuckle.

  “You think those are his pigs? Waltham is a serf, Will. None of this belongs to him. He works it for his lord and master and gets a pittance in return.”

  The front door of the house opened and out stepped a tall woman with stringy hair and an infant at her breast. She called Waltham and the boys in to breakfast, eyeing the barn nervously.

  The old farmer waved at her but didn’t stop his work. They had one pig corralled in its pen, but the other was proving difficult.

  “Maybe we should help them,” said Will.

  Rob shook his head. “They don’t want our help. She doesn’t want us here at all. Too afraid of what Guy would do if he caught us here. Having us out in the open working would just add to the risk.”

  “Sir Guy.” Will spat the name. “It’s unforgivable that he lets his people live like this.”

  Rob looked at Will for a moment. The man’s blue eyes were inscrutable.

  “These are Guy’s serfs now, it’s true,” he said. “But they weren’t a few months ago. They belonged to Lord Rodric Shackley. We’re still on Shackley land.”

  Will blanched. He looked back at the run-down shack, the skinny family, their sunken cheeks.

  “B-but,” he stuttered, “surely this didn’t happen in just a few months.…”

  “Things are worse under Guy, to be sure. He’s a brutal man, and his enforcers are thugs. But this family has been poor all their lives. They’ve never known what it’s like to eat your fill. They’ve never known what it means to be free.”

  Rob patted him on the shoulder. “The many do the bidding of the few in merry old England, Will. Remember that.”

  Rob stood and stretched. “By the way, I like the coat,” he said, gesturing to Will’s red jacket. “I know Gilbert meant it as an insult, but you wear it well, Will Scarlet.”

  Then Rob went to scrounge up some breakfast, and Will was left alone. So he straightened his coat and stepped out into the misty yard. He waved to the woman as he approached. For her part, she nodded politely but didn’t drop the scowl.

  “Thank you for offering us the use of your barn,” Will said. “It’s most kind.”

  “Nothing any Christian wouldn’t do to help a group of travelers in that storm,” she said. “But you’ll be leaving now that it’s passed.”

  “Of course.”

  She looked back to where her husband and sons had cornered a pig. Will noticed that she’d called them travelers, not outlaws or brigands. He thought it best not to correct her.

  “This farm is on … was on Lord Shackley’s lands?” Will asked.

  The woman answered without looking. “He was lord of the manor. Family’s been indebted to Shackleys for generations.”

  “And now Sir Guy of Gisborne?”

  Again she nodded.

  “Tell me, if you would,” said Will. “How is the new lord compared to Lord Rodric?”

  The woman snorted. “It ain’t like I ever met either one of them. Who am I to say?”

  “Of course,” said Will.

  “Look, I’ve a table to set, and you’ve all got to pack your things. You’re leaving, yes?”

  “Of course we are,” said Will. “But just one more question, if you don’t mind?”

  The baby in her arms began fussing. It was rooting into her shoulder, looking for a meal. The woman was so thin, Will wondered how she was able to feed the infant at all.

  “Quick,” she said. “Baby’s hungry.”

  “You’re serfs, are you not?” Will asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So how much … I mean, how much debt do you have to pay off? What do you owe your lord?”

  She looked at Will as if seeing him for the first time, her eyes wide. For a moment, Will feared that he’d somehow offended her.

  “We’ll never pay off our debt,” she said. “We were born serfs. We will die serfs, and so will our children. Now, if you please, I need to feed my baby.”

  Will bowed as she let herself back into the house. She’d die a serf, she’d said. Her children would die serfs. They would die in slavery. And there hadn’t even been a hint of bitterness in her voice. Just resignation, which seemed somehow even worse.

  Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing. Had his life back at Shackley Castle really been that sheltered? Had his mother seen these people? His father? Will went back to the barn and stood outside the door and watched a man and his half-starved sons chase a sick pig through the mud. A man who up until recently had been his.

  SIXTEEN

  They’ve found us! Why do they always find us?

  —ROB

  Much wanted to clear out of Sherwood and Nottingham altogether. Take the silver they’d robbed and make for the north. Or west to Wales. Anywhere they could escape the reach of men like Sir Guy and Gilbert the White Hand.

  Trouble was, once men like that had your scent, they never stopped hunting you. The original plan had been to blame the robbery on Crooked’s Men, to make a tidy sum and exact a little revenge on the side. But that was before they’d come face to face with Tom Crooked himself—in Guy’s own castle, no less. What he was doing there with a chest full of silver was anyone’s guess, but it didn’t take much figuring to guess that Tom was now in the Horse Knight’s employ.

  Crooked had recognized John, and he would make sure that everyone knew who’d really been behind the robbery. Soon Sir Guy would know that it was the Merry Men who’d stolen into his castle and made off with his silver. When the watchtower guards whose uniforms they’d stolen told their story, Crooked would figure out that the Merry Men had been trying to frame him for the crime. In the span of a single night, they’d made several powerful enemies, and those enemies would travel far and wide for their revenge.

  So the debate now was whether to return to the Merry Men or flee as far as possible, with Much arguing that they take their winnings and run.

  John, who’d never been farther than nearby Barnesdale and had no interest in “exotic locales,” wanted to stay and fight. Return to Sherwood and take their chances with Gilbert was his plan.

  Will was silent on the subject of what to do next. He’d been in a quiet, glum mood all morning long, which irritated Much. Even more than usual. Last night’s fire had been an act of rare kindness on Will’s part, and it was touching that he’d been concerned for her. The two of them had even shared a bit of talk over dinner. But by this morning, he was back to his black mood and spent most of his time at the door or outside watching the Walthams go about their miserable lives. He’d even turned away breakfast.

  Which was fine with Much. Will Scarlet was trouble and best avoided. Much had so adjusted to her life as a boy that she often forgot she was anything but. She could roughhouse and carry on with the Merry Men as if she were one of them. She could spit and curse and fight like a boy—better than. Except when Will was around. For some reason, he made her feel the difference, keenly.

  While she sat with Rob and John and argued over what their next move should be, Will sat outside the door and stared at the fog.

&
nbsp; Fine. Bloody Will Scarlet.

  “We could divvy up the silver and go our separate ways,” John was saying. “But I for one think we’ll last longer if we stick together.”

  “Don’t worry, Little John, I’ll keep you safe,” said Much.

  “It’s appreciated,” he answered with a grin. “When all this trouble blows over, I think I’ll use my share to build myself an inn. I’ve always wanted to have my own place. Roaring fire and fine food in the front room, dice games in the back. And music constantly. There’ll be music and dancing from dawn to dawn!”

  “And what’ll you name it?” asked Rob.

  “Ah, but there’s the best part! The Little Inn by the Road, but it’ll be huge! You see, the joke’s that it’s not little at all.…”

  Rob and Much blinked at John.

  “Hilarious,” said Rob dryly.

  “Ah, what do you know?” grumbled John.

  “And what about you, Rob?” asked Much. “What do you plan on spending your silver on?”

  The bearded man sighed and stared down at his water cup. “I’ve drinking to do. Real drinking.”

  Much scowled at him. The man seemed determined to drink himself into the grave, and Much couldn’t think of anything sadder than that.

  “But we haven’t solved our current problem of how to stay alive long enough to spend the coin on anything,” said John, bringing them back to the subject. “If we’re staying together, then I say again, we head back to Sherwood.”

  “What about Gilbert?” said Much.

  “The man’s had it coming for a long time,” said John.

  With that, he looked pointedly at Rob, who had dug into the last of the morning’s cold breakfast of leftover acorn mush and the last of their pack rations.

  “Oh, sod off!” said Rob. “I’m not in the mood to think about Gilbert.”

  “And what to do about Will?” said John, his voice low. “He knows that Gilbert ordered him dead. You think the lad should just forget about it?”

  Will Scarlet. Lord William Shackley in disguise. What Rob and John didn’t know about Will just might be enough to get them killed. Always their troubles revolved around him. Much had been wrestling with whether to tell Rob and John Will’s secret. After all, she was one of the Merry Men, and she had a loyalty there, especially to John, who’d looked after her like a brother. Will’s secret could spell real trouble for them all in the end.