But no. To do that, Will would have to slip into another of those illusions and to turn his back on the reality he’d discovered here. To forget Guy’s villainy, and the sheriff’s betrayal. He’d made a vow to Osbert not to abandon these lands, and that was a vow he meant to keep.
“Will?” said Much. “Are you still set on killing Sir Guy?”
In part, Will had been expecting this. Much had been acting odd ever since the boy returned from Nottingham. Will would catch him staring when he thought Will wasn’t looking.
“I won’t put you all in danger, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Will.
“That’s not what I’m asking at all,” said Much. “I want to know if you still plan on killing Guy. Because I’ve seen him now, up close.”
“And?”
“And you won’t be able to do it.”
Will started to say something. He opened his mouth to tell him that he was young and foolish and that he had no idea what Will was capable of. But when he saw the look on Much’s face, he stopped. The boy wasn’t taunting him; he wasn’t trying to hurt him. Much was scared. Scared for Will, and when he said that Will wouldn’t be able to do it, he was just being honest. And honesty, Will had learned, was something to be treasured among outlaws.
“Maybe,” said Will after a moment. “But I have to try.”
“Why?” said Much. “I mean, there are other ways—”
The boy stopped suddenly, his eyes going to the door.
“What? You hear something?” Will asked.
The boy nodded. “It’s all right. I think Rob and John are back.”
Will let out a sigh of relief. And he was thankful not to have to talk about Sir Guy any longer.
“We’ll finish our chess game later,” he said.
“Not likely,” answered Much.
The door swung open and Rob stomped in. He hadn’t even bothered to scrape the mud from his boots.
“I need a drink!” he said. “I know Tilley has a bottle of something around here!”
“Nothing, Rob,” said John, stepping into the doorway. He had to duck his head to fit inside. “The old man doesn’t touch the stuff.”
Will had actually seen Tilley with a bottle last night, but one look from John, and Will kept his mouth shut. No one wanted Rob to go back to the wine. But Will did want to know what they’d discovered that had him in such a state.
“What did you find?” he asked.
“The Waltham farm,” said John.
“Guy burned it to the ground!” said Rob. “Slaughtered the livestock and left the Walthams to starve.”
“What?” said Much. “Why?”
John sighed heavily. “It seems that Waltham decided to share a bit of his good fortune at the pub in Nottingham. The poor fool bought everyone a round of drinks and told them a tale of the kindhearted outlaw who slept in his barn and filled his pocket with silver.”
“And word got back to Guy,” said Will. “This is all my fault.”
“No!” said Rob, striding over to him. “This is the doing of Sir Guy of Gisborne and his thugs. You tried to help Waltham.”
“But he won’t stop there,” said Will. “He knows we’re helping these people with his silver, and he’ll keep taking his revenge on them.”
“You’re right,” said Rob. “We’re putting Tilley and his sons in danger just being here. They’ll be searching every outlying farm and homestead now.”
“So what do we do?” asked Much. “Where do we go?”
Rob and John exchanged a look, but Will knew what they were thinking. They’d stayed out here among the farms and villages for too long. But it was no longer just their lives they were putting at risk—it was the life of every single person they helped. Will couldn’t put them all in danger.
“We go where any outlaw goes who’s on the run,” said Will. “We go back to Sherwood.”
Rob scratched at his beard thoughtfully for a few minutes.
“I think the lad’s right,” he said. “No use putting it off any longer. I think it’s past time I had a conversation with Gilbert the White Hand.”
“And it’s about bloody time,” added John, smiling.
TWENTY
If Guy wants to keep the respect of the Merry Men, then he’ll have to murder me fairly. Or at least unfairly but in spectacular fashion.
—ROB
That morning Will awoke to find the sky outside their window still the blue-gray of predawn, and the frenzied chirping of birds told him that the sun was ready to rise. They’d been given beds, while John lay sprawled out in the corner—the floor seemed to be the only thing that could accommodate his massive size. Much slept contentedly in the bed next to Will’s, burrowed under the covers like a mole, but Rob’s was empty.
Will slipped on his boots, took his coat down from its tack on the wall, and snuck out the door, careful not to let it squeak as it closed. The Tilleys had taken the floor in the front room, and Will had to step carefully so as not to crush exposed fingers or toes.
He found Rob outside near the fence, wrapped in his cloak and staring at the pink glow in the east.
“Well met, Master Will,” said Rob.
“Do you mind some company?” asked Will.
“Not at all. Pull up a piece of fence.”
Will leaned against the post and looked up at the sky.
“If you wait a bit,” said Rob, “you can see bats hunting. You can tell them by the way they fly—not straight like a bird, but more erratic.”
Will squinted up where the sky was growing light. After a moment, he did start to pick out dark shapes fluttering about, their flight paths like cracks in a glass.
“I see them,” said Will.
“Did you know John’s afraid of bats? Hates them. That’s why he sleeps with his boots on. Says they go for your toes.”
“Do they?”
“Nah. But don’t tell him that. The more he keeps those gargantuan feet of his covered, the better it is for the rest of us.”
Will watched the bats swoop and dive for their breakfast. Or was this their bedtime snack? Bats were night creatures and would soon hide away to sleep as the sun appeared over the horizon.
“I used to get up at first light to steal sweets from the kitchen,” said Will. “The staff would unpack the sweet cream and honey first, and I’d try to grab handfuls while they weren’t looking. Nan would examine my fingers at breakfast for any traces of the stuff, but I learned to keep my fingernails short.…”
Will trailed off as he realized what he was saying. This was the most he’d spoken about his old life in months, and he’d just come very close to saying too much.
Rob was watching him, those sharp eyes of his hawklike and his face expressionless.
“Well, I was always an early riser, too,” Rob said after a moment. “That is, when I wasn’t sleeping off a barrel of wine.”
Will smiled at this, but even as Rob made light of his drinking, it made Will worry. In spite of himself, Will liked this Rob. He respected him, even. But the drunken braggart he’d met those weeks ago was a frightening, sad creature, and Will now lived his days afraid that he’d look and find that creature had returned.
Maybe he was still foggy-headed from sleep, or maybe experience had made him bold, but somehow that morning Will found the courage to ask a question that had been haunting him for weeks.
“Rob, are you going to go back to drinking?”
Will had been afraid that the question would earn him a tongue-lashing, but Rob just sighed and wrapped his cloak tighter around him.
“Do you mean today?” Rob said. “No, I think not.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Honestly, lad? I don’t know. I hope not.”
Will nodded. Rob’s honesty surprised him, and made him feel good in a way. If Rob had said he’d sworn off wine forever, Will didn’t think he would’ve believed him. But he could take him at his word day by day.
Emboldened, he decided to try another quest
ion.
“John said you started drinking because of a girl. Is that true?”
Rob didn’t handle this question nearly as well. The man turned around and pointed angrily at the Tilleys’ house, his voice rising as he spoke.
“Oh, is that what he said? Well, Little John has a mouth to match his giant, ignorant head!”
Will feared he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “He just mentioned her in passing. He didn’t even say her name!”
“That’s because her name will not be spoken, you hear me?” Rob turned his finger to Will’s face.
Will nodded.
“And she’s a lady, not a girl,” said Rob, looking away. “And I didn’t start drinking because of her. Not exactly.”
“I am sorry, Rob,” said Will. “I shouldn’t have pried.…”
“It’s this place, Will,” Rob said, gesturing to the fields and trees around them. “It’s England. It’s this time we live in that makes a man drink himself dumb. It’s the simple, spiteful unfairness of it all! It’s the fact that if I’d been born Robert, Earl of Locksley, say, rather than plain old Rob the yeoman, then I’d have the lady I wanted. I’d have a chance at least. But that’s not to be—so, the bottle.”
Rob’s broken heart, the Walthams’ ruined pig farm, even Geoff’s murder—they were all a part of William Shackley’s England. The England where men were propped up by birth rather than deeds, where the strong took from the weak. It was an England Will Scarlet was beginning to despise.
“It’s those same forces that are after us now, you know,” Rob said. “Those with power—who said I couldn’t dare to love the woman I chose—those are the very same people who are after us now. We’ve upset the order, and that’s not likely to end well, lad.”
“You know,” said Will, taking a deep breath. “My uncle used to say that the power to rule over another man is like brittle glass. All it takes is a crack to shatter it all to pieces. I don’t know if I believed him at the time, but I’ve grown up a lot since then.”
“So what do you believe now?” asked Rob.
“I think no man should starve when another man has so much. And we can show people that. Guy and the sheriff and Prince John himself will hunt us, but if we are clever, we can show people that truth. We can crack their lie to pieces. If we’re caught, then maybe we’ll be worth a story or two. And maybe someone else will pick up the tale.”
At this, Rob broke into a huge grin, that laughing, wild-eyed grin he got, and he clasped his hand on Will’s shoulder.
“I may be a good-for-nothing drunkard and a fool, Will Scarlet, but I will say this—that’s something worth being sober for! By God it is!
“Come on,” he continued. “Let’s find some breakfast for these lazy layabouts we call friends! We’ll need our strength for the journey into Sherwood, I think. After all, if our luck holds, I fully expect someone will try to kill us today!”
In the short time Will had spent among the outlaws, he’d discovered there was a reason Sherwood Forest was a home to so many scoundrels and brigands. There were really only two decent roads through the forest; the rest was a maze of tangled paths, dark hollows, and impenetrable brush—unless you knew your way around. Many of the so-called criminals who’d fled to the forest were woodsmen and trappers who’d lost too much under Prince John’s yoke to make a decent living. It would be a stretch to call them honest men, but they were not without their own sense of honor.
With the exception of Gilbert and Stout, the Merry Men were just such men. Given the choice of robbing or earning an honest living, most of them would take the latter, if an honest living didn’t mean being a slave to your lord and master. They were not men deserving of a hangman’s noose or the sword, especially if the sword was wielded by the likes of Sir Guy. They needed to be warned about Sir Guy, at the very least.
“Think Gilbert will just have us shot on sight?” asked John as he peered into the thick brush. With only two horses remaining, they’d taken turns riding and walking most of the way, but now the path was getting so tangled that they were all forced to go on foot.
“He would,” said Rob. “But the rest of the men love me. I’m a very popular figure among the outlaw type.”
Rob either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the look that John and Much shared with each other.
“If Guy wants to keep the respect of the Merry Men, then he’ll have to murder me fairly,” he continued. “Or at least unfairly but in spectacular fashion. Something more impressive than an arrow in the back.”
“What about an arrow in the front?” asked John.
“Shut up,” answered Rob.
“Why would he want you dead at all?” asked Will. “I’m the one Stout tried to kill.”
“Oh, he’ll kill you, too, don’t you worry,” said John. “But now you’re a small fish. More than anything, Gilbert fears competition. Someone better equipped to lead.”
“He’s right,” said Much. “Now that Rob’s sober—”
“Tragedy that may be,” said Rob.
“Now that Rob’s sober,” continued John, “he’s the man the rest’ll look to. Rob the Drunk was easy to keep in check. Ah, but now Robin—”
“Don’t say it,” interrupted Rob. “I hate that name and you know it!”
Much and John shared a laugh.
“What name?” asked Will. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, my lad,” said John. “You know that statue back at the camp? That horned and hooded monstrosity?”
“Yes. Much told me that Wat built it.”
“Oh yes!” laughed John. “But he wasn’t alone! It takes more than the dim wits of Wat Crabstaff to design such a brilliant engine of banditry! Such a fine, original idea—Hey, everyone! We don’t need to threaten people into giving up their coin. We’ll just build a giant hooded monster to do it for us!”
“All right,” said Rob. “That’s enough.”
“But, Rob,” said John. “Surely an act like that is deserving of a name to remember you by? What was it again? Robin—”
“No, I mean shut up!” whispered Rob. “We’re being watched!”
No sooner had he spoken than a loud birdcall echoed through the trees. Then the call was taken up by another farther on.
“We’ve been spotted,” said Rob quietly.
“Was that the signal for friend or foe?” asked Will.
“Neither,” said Much. “That wasn’t one of our calls.”
“You think Gilbert’s had them changed?” asked John.
“I think we need to be ready for anything,” answered Rob. “Will, you still have that longbow?”
“Yes,” answered Will. “But I told you I’m no good at it.”
“It’s not for you,” answered Rob. “Hand it over.”
Will took the bow off one of the horses and handed it to Rob. As he strung it, Rob ran his hand along its curves, as if testing the wood.
“Good bow. Yew. The best, in fact.”
Next he slung a quiver of arrows onto his back.
“Shoddy bunch of arrows, though. Look like they’ve been fletched by a blind man. If things go badly with Gilbert, if he somehow manages to get the best of me, you and Much make for the trees. Deep in the forest there’s a lightning-struck oak with a face like an old crone’s. You know it, Much?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Meet there if we need to split up. Bring Will with you.”
Much started to protest, but Rob cut him off. “Do as I say.”
Much looked to John for help, but the big man just shook his head. “You heard him.”
Will didn’t say anything, though he knew he wouldn’t run. If there was fighting to be done, he would be there fighting at their sides.
When the gate came into sight, it was wide open. Men moved about in the camp beyond. A fat fellow walked toward them, waving.
“Stout!” said John. “He made it back after all!”
“Hey there, Rob!” called Stout. “John, Much
. Been waiting for you.”
“I bet he has,” said Much under his breath.
“Where’s Gilbert?” said Rob.
Stout swallowed nervously. Will realized the man was scared. Terrified, even.
“He’s … he’s dead,” said Stout.
“Dead?” said John.
“It’s true,” called out a familiar voice. “But he died fighting, I’ll give him that.”
From one of the tents behind Stout stepped a tall man wearing a broadsword. He was slipping on a most unusual helmet made to look like the head of a corpse stallion. It matched his horsehide armor.
“Stout said if we punished a few peasants, you’d come running home,” he said, drawing his sword. “Good boy, Stout.”
“Sir Guy!” breathed Will.
“What?” said John. “How did he—”
But Rob didn’t wait for him to finish. There was a flash of movement, and then an arrow sang through the air. It landed with a meaty thunk in Sir Guy’s right hand. The Horse Knight cried out as he dropped his sword.
“Good shot!” said John.
“I was aiming for his face!” answered Rob. “I’m out of practice!”
Sir Guy shouted an order, and the camp was suddenly alive with soldiers. Some were dressed plainly, disguised as Merry Men, while others came rushing from the tents readied in full armor. A few were even perched in the trees with crossbows. Guy’s soldiers had been lying in wait for them to come home.
“Go!” John shouted as he hauled Will up by his shoulders and threw him into the trees to their right. But Will could barely make his legs move. There was Sir Guy of Gisborne, not thirty feet from him. The man who’d killed his uncle and stolen everything from him.
They charged through the trees as crossbow bolts landed around them, John dragging Will and shouting at the boy to run. Soldiers crashed through the brush in pursuit. Rob ran a few feet, let loose an arrow, dropped an opponent, then ran some more. He never missed. Will had lost sight of Much.