Will in Scarlet (16 page)

With that, Rob stomped off to the edge of the camp. There he sat, staring off into space. Will could see the man’s hands shaking despite the warm sun.

John began unpacking their horses, all the while muttering under his breath. Will stood staring for a time at Rob. He’d misjudged the man. He’d thought him a drunk and a scoundrel at first, but he’d come to realize he was something more. Still a scoundrel, yes, and certainly a drunk, but there was something else in him, a kind of strength that made others listen when he spoke. It was a quality Will’s father had possessed, one that Will had dreamed of having.

Much pulled Will away, and the two of them began unpacking their rations for a late lunch. Eventually, John joined them, but Rob stayed where he was. He looked to be getting worse, and his face was pale and sweaty. Will began to worry about the man’s health.

“He hasn’t been sober for this long in … a long time,” John explained, finishing off a piece of crusty black bread. “It’s hard on him.”

“Why’s he like this?” asked Will. “Why does he do that to himself? The drinking?”

John leaned back against the rocks and began tearing long strips from one of the nearby saplings.

“Want to hear how Rob and I met?”

“What’s that got to do with—” began Will, but John kept on talking, and Much motioned to Will to stay quiet. It was best to let the man talk.

“Rob and I became friends because one day we both wanted to cross the same bridge at the same time,” John continued. “I wanted to go one way, Rob wanted to go another. Both of us too stubborn and too full of our young selves to give the other man the right-of-way.”

“So you argued?” asked Will.

“Argued? We fought! Stupid reason to, but there it is.”

John tied a few strips of green wood into a knot and then held it up to the sun.

“A pointless, dumb fight over who got to cross the bridge first. As pointless as this here knot of wood. But like this knot, it was something to do.”

“Men are fools,” said Much. “
Grown
men, I mean!”

John laughed. “I’d say men of a certain age are foolish, yes. Just old enough to be dangerous but not yet old enough to be careful. Like young master Scarlet there.”

Will felt his cheeks redden to match his coat. He’d very nearly gotten the lot of them killed, but so far no one was taking him to task for it. But it was unspoken among all of them.

“So who won the fight?” Much asked.

“I did,” said John. “Because I cheated. I called a truce, and when Rob’s back was turned, I kicked him into the water face-first.”

“And he fell for that?” asked Much.

“Of course he did,” said John. “He’s a man of honor among thieves.”

Will looked over at Rob. He’d curled up in the shadow of a poplar and pulled his cloak over his face.

“That still doesn’t answer why he drinks like he does,” said Will. “What’s honorable about killing yourself with wine?”

“Nothing,” answered John. “But I will tell you lads two more truths about that man that might help explain. One, Rob
there is the best longbowman in all of England. Better than Gilbert even. And our fearless leader knows it.”

“What?” said Much. “I’ve never seen him touch a bow.”

“That’s ’cause of the drink. Can’t aim an arrow when your hands are shaking. But trust me, he’s the stuff legends are made of. And being that good at something—I mean the best—well, that does something to you. Sets up expectations, you see. Unreasonable expectations.”

It was true that Will had seen Rob swing a sword well enough, but that was mostly bravado. But he had a hard time picturing Rob steady enough to aim a bow.

“Fine,” said Will. “Rob’s a legend. What’s the second thing?”

“Second is, be careful of women,” said John.

“That’s it?” said Will. “Are you trying to say a woman did that to Rob?”

“Not just any woman,” said John. “Believe me, Mari—Look, I shouldn’t even use her name, but just know that she was the kind of woman that men do stupid things for. Wars have been fought over women like her. Rob loved her and, to everyone’s shock, she loved him back.”

“So what was the problem?” asked Much.

“She was a royal, the daughter of a well-respected house. And Rob is … Rob.”

“How did it end?” asked Will.

“Badly. It ended badly.” John shook his head. “Now, I’ve said too much about another man’s business already. Time to get some sleep, my young lads. Dream about the women who’ll break your hearts someday!”

Then John stretched his long arms out and clasped them behind his head, finally closing his eyes.

“Too dangerous to travel by daylight, but we’ll be safe here
until nightfall,” he said. “And it never pays to make plans when you’re this tired. Besides, Rob and I were extra careful to disguise our trail. We could hole up here for days and no one would be the wiser. Believe me, there’s no two better woodsmen in all of England!”

It seemed to Will that he’d been asleep only a few minutes. He’d been dreaming that he and Much were sharing a bowl of porridge sweetened with stolen molasses when he heard the howl of wolves outside his window. They were near.

“Will, wake up!”

Will blinked awake to find Much shaking him. The boy’s face looked worried, and the sweet molasses was gone. But the wolves were still there. He could hear them getting closer.

“We have to go!” Much was saying. “They have our scent!”

Hounds. Not wolves at all. Sir Guy’s hounds had picked up their trail. Will could hear baying in the distance. But getting louder.

Will leaped to his feet, shaking the life back into his still-heavy arms and legs. The sun was a pale orb low in the west. Dark rain clouds had gathered overhead, and the wind was picking up.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

Much put his hand up to the sun. He seemed to be measuring the number of hand widths from the sun to the horizon.

“We’ve about an hour of daylight left,” he said. “Come on, we have to hurry. Again!”

Will glanced around the camp and saw that Rob and John had climbed the outcropping and were peering over the top.

“There they are,” Rob was saying. “Ten riders at least. Must’ve found your trail.”

“Not mine,” said John. “You’re the one can’t cover your tracks. I told you to ride on the rocky ground.”

“It’s those giant feet of yours,” said Rob. “Can’t hide giant feet.”

“I was on a horse!”

Much grabbed Will by the arm, pulling him away from the two men’s bickering.

“Come on,” he said. “They’ll catch up.”

There were only three horses left, and two of those were still exhausted from last night’s ride. Three horses and five people.

“Will and Much, you two will have to double up,” said Rob, jumping down from the rocks.

“What about Stout?” asked Will.

“He’ll have to ride with me.… Oh, blast it all!”

Will followed the other man’s gaze over to Stout’s tree, only there was no Stout.

“Must’ve run off when the dogs started.”

“We shouldn’t have turned our backs on him,” said John.

“Do we follow him?” asked Will.

“No time,” said Rob. “He’ll take his chances with the hounds like the rest of us. Only he’ll do it on foot!”

Will climbed atop his horse and helped Much take the saddle in front of him. As they rode out of the camp, Will felt the boy stiffen when he put his arms around his waist.

“You don’t have to hold me,” said Much. “I won’t fall.”

“Don’t be foolish,” said Will. But the boy still shoved his arms away.

“Fine,” said Will. “But if you tumble, I’m not stopping to pick you back up.”

The baying of hounds grew steadily louder as they left the shelter of the trees, and now Will could see the riders’ dust cloud in the distance. They were coming for them at full gallop, the hounds mad with the scent. Will remembered Geoff’s dogs and how they’d get when they caught a fox’s trail. Nothing could stop them.

“They’re on fresh horses,” said John. “We’ll never outride them!”

“We can make for the river,” suggested Much.

“Those are trained hunting hounds,” said Will. “They can track us downstream.”

“Then what do we do?” Much asked.

Rob looked up at the darkening sky. He kicked his heels into his horse and rode.

“We ride hard,” he shouted. “And pray for rain!”

Will didn’t know if any of the others had actually followed Rob’s advice, but the prayers worked. Or maybe they were just lucky. Either way, the combination of night falling and a sudden, soaking downpour threw the dogs off their scent. The rain started with a light drizzle but soon became a violent, blowing gale. For a time, they could still catch glimpses
of their pursuers outlined in the brief flashes of lightning, but eventually they outpaced them altogether, losing them in the crags and hollows of the moors and behind the sheets of rain.

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.”