Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night Read online

  “But you said you had found dead crofters,” Sir Gui interrupted.

  “Yes. The warden found them and quite correctly came to me. But more than crofters, travelers are in danger. Those merchants who were attacked by outlaws who stole their goods might well have lost much more than that, had they faced these creatures.” He took a long breath. “These men who are no longer men are strongest in the night, but they can be powerful in the day as long as they are on their native ground. Anyone in Sherwood cannot think himself safe while these ... these servants of the Devil are abroad.”

  “Tell me, deSteny, why do you bother me with this? Surely you and Sir Humphrey can deal with these miscreants. He has assured me the garrison is sufficient to make short work of a band of outlaws.” He reached out and poured himself a cup of wine from the jar sitting on his table, very pointedly offering none to the Sheriff.

  “I doubt we can manage this with the forces we have at hand,” said deSteny with very real worry coloring his tone. “We will need more men-at-arms.”

  “God’s wounds, deSteny, I judged you a sensible man, not such a credulous fool, to be jumping at shadows,” exclaimed Sir Gui with heavy irony. “What has come over you, to permit a few outlaws to unman you? You’ve dealt with such miscreants before. Let Sir Humphrey take care of it, if you are not willing to.”

  “If it were only a few outlaws, my Lord,” said deSteny, knowing that it was useless, but unable to stop himself. “These are not outlaws as we have seen before, men who rob only goods and gold. These creatures take everything: goods, gold, life, and soul.” He saw that he had not persuaded Sir Gui. “They could endanger every man, woman, and child who sets foot in Sherwood.”

  “Then be rid of them. Hunt them down and kill them. Go into the forest and do your job. That is what your garrison is for, as I should not need to remind you.” Sir Gui coughed delicately. “I cannot now afford to pay and equip more men, nor can I enlarge your fortifications. Everything is so costly. You know how much Prince John has raised the taxes, and with all the silver coming in from the Lowlands, the value of our coins shrinks daily.” He took another long draught of wine. “It isn’t possible for me just now to provide more men, or armor, or horses.”

  “Then at least ask the Bishop of Lincoln to send us two or three ordained priests. We have only two in Nottingham, and one is crabbed with age.” It was a desperate plea, one he hated to make.

  “Priests?” scoffed Sir Gui. “Why priests? What good are they?”

  “They are trained to battle the Devil and his minions. Many of them have seen this evil before. They may do more to protect Nottinghamshire than all the men-at-arms in the Holy Land. My Lord, your people will suffer if you do not provide me with some means to strike back at our enemies.” He wished now that he had brought Wroughton or Hamlin along, to add the weight of their observations to his petition.

  “If it will make things easier for you, Sheriff,” said Sir Gui with no attempts to hide his disdain, “I will have my clerk send word to the Bishop of Lincoln, though I cannot say what his answer will be.”

  “I thank you for it, my Lord,” said deSteny, resisting the urge to yell at Sir Gui, to castigate him for his indifference in the face of danger. Somehow he managed to hold his tongue, though he burned to challenge Sir Gui for his thoughtlessness. He bowed stiffly. “You have been all kindness to hear me out.”

  Sir Gui accepted this compliment with his usual grace. “It is good of you to say so. But I am troubled that you brought this matter to me. I would have thought you were more prudent than to be so distressed by these new outlaws. Greeks or not, you know how to deal with them, and if you do not, Sir Humphrey does.” This last was and ill-veiled threat, a reminder to the Sheriff that he served at Sir Gui’s discretion and pleasure.

  “I cannot help but be alarmed, my Lord,” said deSteny flatly.

  “Um-hum.” Sir Gui considered his answer and nodded once more. “Very likely not. And finding murdered people, even crofters, is unpleasant. You get the report from the warden and let him notify the White Friars. Then leave it to the monks. They do it for love of God.” This last made him giggle. “Oh. You had better know, for it will be called in Banns soon. It seems I am to be married.” This was announced with all the enthusiasm of a man revealing the news of his exile.

  “May God show you favor in your bride, my Lord,” said deSteny, startled, but recovering quickly.

  “She is acceptable to my father and I am to hers. I believe it is all arranged now.” He lifted his shoulders to show the negotiations were out of his hands in any case. “I have not met the lady yet.”

  DeSteny thought that it was possible Sir Gui’s bride might be disappointed in what her father had chosen for her, but he said, “May it be a felicitous time for you both. How very fine for you and your House. May she give you many healthy sons. May you have long years together. May your union be a happy one.”

  “Thank you,” said Sir Gui grandly. “A man of my position must carry on the name and my only brother is a monk in France. The burden falls to me.” He showed a resigned face. “Therefore it is my obligation to provide grandsons for my father.”

  “Such is the duty of sons,” agreed deSteny.

  Sir Gui made an ironic toast with his cup. “My bride—Marian deBeauchamp.”

  In spite of himself, deSteny was impressed that Sir Gui’s father had managed to find such a well-born wife for his son. “An excellent family.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Sir Gui. “I will expect you to escort her from Nottingham to here, with all appropriate deference.”

  “That I will,” said deSteny, aware that this might give him another opportunity to ask for more men-at-arms to drive the new menace from Sherwood. “And count it an honor to render such service.”

  “Most certainly,” said Sir Gui unhappily. “I thought ...” His voice grew soft. “There would be more time before my father made these arrangements.”

  “The more time to provide your family with sons.” DeSteny said this with an inner satisfaction, for he was still annoyed at Sir Gui’s refusal to grant him the men he needed, and he was not above exacting a price for his disappointment.

  “So my father tells me,” said Sir Gui. He drank the last of his wine and poured a little more, and drank that down. “Pity, that we have such poor vines here in England. Our wines are inferior to those of Burgundy. It is very costly to bring wine from France now that Prince John taxes every barrel of it.”

  DeSteny thought how many men-at-arms could be paid and equipped for what Sir Gui undoubtedly spent on wines, and he cringed. “It is very hard, my Lord. Though Prince John is doing what he must to maintain England for King Richard. As you say, keeping men-at-arms is costly, and he has an army to provide for.”

  “Still, the taxes are ruinous,” insisted Sir Gui, staring off into space. “If my towns and tenants would pay more of the sum demanded, I would not have to make up the rest. I have the right to demand more of them.”

  The last thing deSteny wanted to do was become any more Sir Gui’s tax collector than he was now. He managed his response carefully so that Sir Gui would not be offended by having his will thwarted by the Sheriff of Nottingham. “You know what your duty is better than I, but as one who hears the travail of peasants, I don’t think it would be wise to make such demands, my Lord, not when things are so precarious in the negotiations for King Richard’s ransom. The people are not happy over what they have come to think of as the rapacity of the Crown. You could find them unwilling to provide more than they do now. The people are already paying money to the Church as well as to you and Prince John, and their silver, when they see silver, goes no further than yours.”

  Sir Gui poured his cup full again. “No matter. No matter. I was only speculating.” He indicated the door. “I will consider what you have told me. And my clerk will write to the Bishop of Lincoln tomorrow, or the day after.” He di
d not smile, concentrating instead on the wine in his cup. “I will let you know when my bride is to arrive here. I will send my herald, so it will be official.”

  “May God give you many healthy sons,” said deSteny with a bow when he reached the door.

  “Yes. Let us pray He does, for my father is counting on it,” said Sir Gui with maudlin self-pity as deSteny closed the door on him and strode away down the corridor.

  How the Red Friar fared in Sherwood

  THE BRIGHTNESS hurt his eyes, boring into his skull like torturers’ knives, and the sound of the near by stream turned his stomach. The Red Friar rolled onto his side in an attempt to shield his face from the brilliant sunlight spangling its way through the trees. He groaned as he moved, for he had never before felt so overwhelmingly weak, or so filled with lassitude that sapped his will along with his strength. As much as he wanted to be out of the direct sun, he was unable to urge himself to action.

  He noticed the pyx still lying discarded on the road, and his first impulse was to reach for it to save the sacred vessel from further desecration. But when he attempted to touch the silver, chapel-shaped box, his fingers burned and blistered, and he was taken with a bout of queasiness that made him glad his stomach was empty. He drew his hand back, hissing as he did. Why should the pyx burn him? And why should he pull away from it? That troubled him. And he could not remember hissing before. He tried to put it down to his unaccountable weakness, telling himself that he would have sworn he was stronger, but this inner protestation seemed as feeble as his body was.

  “He’s coming around,” said a voice not far away. “Should I—?”

  “No,” said another, deeper, with greater authority. “He will need no prodding from any of us. He will come to himself shortly.”

  The Red Friar looked up and saw the white-maned devil of the night before. “Welcome, little Brother, to our band.” He grinned, showing more of his sharp teeth than was strictly necessary. “Welcome.”

  A peculiar lassitude took hold of the Red Friar, as if he had no will of his own. He felt his hand extend as if tugged by invisible strings, and though he wanted to scream when the outlaw’s fingers closed around his own, he could achieve nothing more than a whimper, which made his fright all the greater.

  “Look at him,” said the white-haired creature. “He’s afraid of me.” The man laughed. It was a grating sound that had only the dreadful joy of battle to lend it merriment. “Never mind, Red Friar. You will get used to it. And when the thirst is on you, you will understand.” He tugged the Trinitarian abruptly to his feet. “We need you more than fodder, or you would be as dead as those crofters whose children you buried yesterday. We need someone who can read, someone who can approach travelers without rousing their suspicions. A Red Friar is perfect.”

  The rest of the band made low sounds of agreement.

  The Red Friar stared at the leader, fascinated by the evil emanating from him. “I don’t know ...”

  “You will learn. We will teach you.” He signaled to one of his followers, the one who had first spoken when the Red Friar woke. “Come. This is my lieutenant. He is Will. Will Scarlet. We are blood relations, he and I.” The two outlaws shared their sinister amusement without any sound.

  Will Scarlet bowed to the Red Friar. “It is good to have a monk among us.”

  The Red Friar wished he could run, but there was no way to move that did not seem impossibly dangerous.

  “And I am called Hood, for I never let open sunlight fall on me. My name is Robin. These are my men. All of my men are as I am. As you are now, Red Friar.” He went on as if addressing a child, as he gestured to the others. “That fellow there, the one in the smock, is the man you were planning to put to rest with his family. That is the crofter. We call him Hendy for he came so readily into our hands. His oldest son and his woman are with us as well, at our stronghold. They arrived there three nights since. The two men with the crossbows were men-at-arms, escorting merchants on the Great North Road. We took a few of the merchants, but they did not have anything useful, beyond their lives. We put them to rest. In case you were wondering what became of them.”

  Suddenly, as he realized the enormity of his disaster, the Red Friar began to tremble, and he sat down quickly, his head bent toward his knees. He wanted to pray but all the words had fled him, and he could manage nothing more than “Pax vobiscum,” which he repeated several times, all the while fearing he would vomit.

  “Prayers won’t help you now, Red Friar. You are seeking relief in the wrong quarter. In fact, they will serve to make you feel worse if you persist in them. Prayers are useless. They could be dangerous, as well, if you try to call upon those who are our sworn enemies.” He reached down, his long, white fingers like the legs of a tremendous spider. Gently he patted the Red Friar on the head. “Come. Get up. Up! You will feel better when all is explained to you.”

  The Red Friar could not imagine that. He tried to crawl away from Hood only to discover that his will was insufficient to the task. He looked up at the sinister figure above him. “What have you done?”

  “Made you one of mine,” said Hood, unable to keep from gloating. “My first Friar. I had hoped there would be something unusual in your blood, but there wasn’t.” He regarded the Red Friar narrowly. “Stand. We cannot remain here much longer, with the sun rising higher in the sky.”

  For reasons that baffled him, the Red Friar made haste to agree, scrambling erect as if at the order of the Pope. As soon as he was on his feet once more he swayed, feeling light-headed. If he had been standing next to anyone but Hood he might have reached out for support, but he could not bring himself to do that.

  Hood did it for him. “It will take time for you to recover your strength, and when you do, you will have more than ever you possessed before. You will, however, be mine from this day on. You will be one of my band, and you will obey me utterly.” He gave the Red Friar a direct look that could not be escaped.

  “They will send men-at-arms against you. The garrison at Nottingham will come to end your power here.” He had hoped it would be a threat, but he listened to himself in despair, for there was nothing but subservience in his tone. Despair went through him like a hot wind.

  “Men-at-arms. How frightening,” said Hood with no trace of fear about him. “We will have to be ready for them.”

  “But—” the Red Friar could not keep himself from protesting.

  “Let them send the garrison. We need their blood.” He howled with something that might have been laughter, and the rest echoed the sound, the ululation filling the forest and sending birds and game scattering for leagues around them.

  “They are well-armed and will hunt you down,” said the Red Friar, seeking for a menace that would instill in Hood a tenth of the terror the outlaw leader instilled in him.

  “Let them try,” said Hood, and started off into the deepest part of the forest, not bothering to look back to see if his men were following him.

  The Red Friar told himself he would resist, he would not join the other at Hood’s heels. He would not become one of that devilish band. But as he issued these stern mental instructions, he could not keep from trudging off in the wake of the others, moved by a force he was unable to conquer.

  Somewhat later they arrived at the heart of a dense tangle of thicket, and discovered three ancient oaks growing up and through a vast boulder. At the base of this stone a number of tie-beam huts had been erected, with a great fire-pit in the center of the huts. Two dozen men and half as many women waited beside the fire-pit, a deep, unending hunger stamped on every countenance.

  “There is trouble coming,” Hood announced as he strode to the foot of the boulder. “We must be ready for it.”

  The men and women listened in silence.

  “Tonight, when we rise to hunt, I want every one of you to seek out a single place where you can go to ground, if you must. I want us to b
e able to scatter in an instant, and disappear into the forest when we are threatened. I will summon you from your lairs when it is safe. No man-at-arms can find us if each is hidden alone.”

  Will Scarlet added, “If we are attacked, we must not be captured. Remember how terrible the craving is when it is denied. If they kill us, we have nothing to fear, but captivity must be avoided.”

  “Only when we are able to fall on the men-at-arms and overpower them should we engage them in combat, and take what we need from them when we have triumphed. It is not to challenge their valor or honor. They are not our enemies. They are our food. They are livestock,” said Hood with very little emotion.

  The Red Friar listened with growing dread.

  “And in that regard,” Will Scarlet went on, “we now have two more mules to trade with the crofters who are willing to aid us. We can provide them with the things they need, if they will protect us.”

  “If they refuse, or fail in their tasks, we will exact a price,” said Hood in the same flat voice as before. “And they will pay that price in blood.”

  The people gathered around him howled again, and to his dismay, the Red Friar found that he, too, was howling.

  “It is going to be a good night for hunting,” announced Hood. “There are crofters who have told their warden about us, and they must suffer for their insolence. The man has four sons and three daughters, and two sisters who live with his family. We will take them all, and kill them when we are done, so that others will know they will not become one of us if they betray us—they will die.”

  Again the bestial chorus sounded.

  “Sleep for the day, save for you who are to guard us. And at sundown we will march for the croft. It is six leagues away. They will be sleeping soon after sundown, and that will make our work easier. We will be there before midnight.” Hood’s satisfaction was compounded of arrogance and will. He did not look at any of his followers as he trod off toward the largest of the huts, closing himself away from the loud acclaim of his band.