A second knight threw his arms wide, his sword spinning from his grasp as he crashed to his knees and flopped face-first to the ground. A third knight paused in midstroke and glanced down at his chest, where he saw a rose-coloured stain spreading across his pale tunic; in the centre of the crimson stain, the steel tip of an arrowhead protruded. With a cry of pain and disbelief, he threw down his sword, grabbed at the lethal missile, and tried to pull it free even as he toppled.
The fourth knight took an arrow on his shield and was thrown onto his back as two more arrows ripped the autumn air, one of them striking the soldier a step or two ahead of him. The knight faltered, his legs tangling in midstep as the missile jolted into him, twisting his shoulders awkwardly. His shield banged against his knees, and he plunged onto his side at Bran's feet.
The sole remaining knight, still on the ground, covered his helmeted head with his shield and lay unmoving as the dead around him. Nocking another arrow to the string, Bran surveyed the battleground with a rapid sweep to the right and left. Several of the monks with Abbot Hugo had thrown off their robes to reveal mail shirts and swords, and others-five mounted soldiers including Sheriff Richard de Glanville-charged out from the nearest trees.
Stooping swiftly, Bran picked up Odo, dragging the frightened monk to his feet and driving him headlong into the safety of the greenwood. There came the sound of leaves rustling and branches thrashing in the forest nearby, and they were gone.
The mounted knights galloped to the edge of the wood and halted, listening.
All that could be heard were the groans of the wounded and dying. The marshal and Sergeant Jeremias ventured slowly out from behind their shields. "See to those men, Sergeant," ordered Gysburne. To the knight who lay unharmed among the bodies, he called, "Get up and find the horses."
"Are we going after the outlaws, Sire?" inquired the knight.
"Why, by the bloody rood?" cried the marshal. "To let them continue to practice their cursed archery on us? Think, man! They're hiding in the trees!"
"But I thought the abbot said-" began the knight.
"Obey your orders, de Tourneau!" snapped the marshal irritably. "Forget what the abbot said. Just do as you're told-and take Racienne with you."
The two knights clumped off together, and Gysburne turned to see Sheriff de Glanville and his bailiff turning back from the edge of the wood. "Have no fear," called the marshal. "The outlaws have gone. You are safe now."
The sheriff stiffened at the insinuation. "It was not for fear that we held back."
"No," granted the marshal, "of course not. Why would I think that? You merely mislaid your sword, perhaps, or I am certain you would have been in the fore rank, leading the charge."
"Enough, Gysburne," snarled the sheriff. "The last time I looked, you were crawling on your hands and knees like a baby."
The abbot shouted from the clearing, cutting short what promised to be a lively discussion. "De Glanville! Gysburne! Did you get him? Is he dead?"
"No," answered the marshal, "he got away." He promptly amended this, adding, "They got away. It was a trap; they were waiting for us."
Abbot Hugo turned his gaze to the bodies lying in the long grass. His face darkened. "Are you telling me you've lost four men and the outlaws have escaped again?" He swung around to face the marshal. "How did this happen?" he shouted.
"You ask the wrong man, Abbot," replied Gysburne coolly. "We did our part. It was the sheriff who failed to attack."
"You were supposed to draw them from hiding, Abbot, remember?" said the sheriff darkly. "Since you failed in the first order, no good purpose would be served by pursuing the second." He pointed to the bodies on the ground. "You can see what that accomplished.
If I had attacked, it would have been at the cost of more men, and more lives wasted."
"If you had attacked as planned," the marshal said, his voice rising, "we could have taken him and we'd not be standing here now heaping blame on each other."
"There is plenty of blame to go around, it seems to me," retorted de Glanville angrily. "But I'll not own more than my share. The plan was flawed from the beginning. We should have anticipated that they would not be drawn out so easily. And now they know we have no intention of accepting their ridiculous peace offer. We've gained nothing." Turning away from the other two, he shouted for his men to load the bodies of the dead onto the backs of their horses and return to Saint Martin's. He climbed into the saddle, then called, "Gysburne! I turn my duties over to you while I am away. Bailiff will assist you."
De Glanville wheeled his horse.
"Where are you going?" demanded the marshal.
"To Londein," came the answer. "I am the king's man, and I require soldiers and supplies to deal with these outlaws."
"We should discuss this," Gysburne objected.
"There is nothing to discuss. We need more soldiers, and I'm going to get them. I should return within the fortnight."
Marshal Guy looked to the abbot. "Let him go," said Hugo. "He is right."
"I would not linger here any longer if I were you," called the sheriff. "We are finished, and it is not safe." He snapped the reins, and the big horse bounded off.
"Do not underestimate me, Sheriff," muttered Abbot Hugo, watching him go. "I am far from finished… very far from finished."
Marshal Guy de Gysburne walked over to where a knight had been slain; there was blood in the grass. He picked up the dead man's sword and stuck it in his belt. "You can stay if you like, Abbot, but they are probably watching from the forest."
Casting a hasty glance over his shoulder, the abbot hurried to rejoin his bodyguard and scuttled back to the abbey in undignified retreat.
PART TWO
Came Little John through the forest that morn,
And chanc'd upon poor Rhiban Hud,
So high on his back he carries him to
A priest on the edge of the woode.
"God save you, Fryer Tuck," quod John.
"A handsome fish I've here.
His length's as longe from snout to tail
As any I've seen this yere."
"Then don't delay, friend John," quod Tuck,
"But lay him here on the hearthe.
Let's get him skinned and then get him cleaned
And warmed up quick and smart."
Young Rhiban quickly mended himself
At Fryer Tuck's strong, healing hands.
And when he had sense, the two hearde account
Of the change that had passed in those lands.
"For twenty long summers," quoth Rhiban, "by God,
My arrows I here have let fly.
Methinks it quite strange, that within the march,
A reeve has more power than I.
"This forest and vale I consider my own,
And these folk a king think of me;
I therefore declare-and so solemnly swear:
I will live to see each of them free."
"By t'rood, this is a most noble sport,"
John Little did him proclaim.
"I'll stand with thee and fight 'til death!"
"And I," quod Tuck, "The same!"
"Then send you bold captains to head up our men
And meet in the greenwoode hereon:
Merian, Llech-ley, and Alan a'Dale,
Thomas, and Much Miller's son."
CHAPTER 8
Two riders picked their way carefully along the rock-lined riverbed, one in front of the other, silent, vigilant. Dressed in drab, faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed, shapeless hats, they might have been hunters hoping to raise some game along the river or, more likely, a party of merchants making for a distant market. Strange merchants, however-they shunned the nearby town, going out of their way to avoid it.