| Available again! ROBIN HOOD and the BEASTS OF SHERWOOD Read the blurb! Read the first chapter! Buy the ebook!  Reviews for Clayton Emery's TALES OF ROBIN HOOD Cover art by Larry Elmore TALES OF ROBIN HOOD Main Page |  |
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As Sherwood suffers a "starving spring", Robin Hood teaches the outlaw
children how to survive - and old enemies set murder in motion. A sorceress spins spells until the dead rise and storms crack. A hell-boar ravages the countryside. Cutthroats rape and pillage in Lincoln Green. Black-robed monks bear ill tidings, and even Herne and Puck, fairy lords of the forest, steer Robin toward peril. Attacked on all sides, by sorcery and swords and spirits, Robin Hood and His Merry Men and Women discover, too late, the trap has sprung. As Sherwood Forest explodes in fire, treachery, and blood, the only things that can save the band's children are... ROBIN HOOD and the BEASTS OF SHERWOOD. Buy the ebook! |
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Chapter 1 Pain from its leg woke the boar, and the animal remembered its hatred of men. The beast lifted its head and snuffled at the air. Birds in the bare branches made the woods ring with noise. It was dawn; time to hunt. It rose from its bed stiffly and shook off a coat of leaves. It banged its hide against an oak tree, scraping off the loose hair and popping the ticks. It slapped and ground its jaws, a gesture men called “nutcracking”. It yawned. The boar was round as a barrel, with a long conical head. Its coat was black. Long silver guard hairs stood out from its body to give it a frosted glow. The tail hung straight and undomesticated. As with Mars, an erect mane started between the leaf-shaped ears, traveled down across the shoulders and around to the chin. Nine-inch tusks dented the upper jaw to point forward past the snout. Six feet long and three feet high, the pig had wasted to five hundred pounds. It would lose more poundage unless it found food. A harsh winter meant a lean spring. Last autumn’s acorns and beechnuts were long eaten by the squirrels and deer that had survived the cold. Mushrooms were only spores. Frogs were still mushy eggs. Snakes had yet to crawl from their burrows. It would be weeks before fawns dropped, and mice and rabbits held their young until grass was abundant. In all the forest, the boar would find only scrawny deer, deep roots, and fledglings pushed out of the nest. The animal trotted out on its usual trail. Its nose sniffed the wind continuously. It reached the border of its territory and started to turn. It stopped. A whiff of marsh gas reached it. Curiosity and hunger stirred its brain. As much as was possible, it thought. This boar had a limp. Four years ago dogs and men had cornered it with long spears and arrows. It had escaped by tearing up three dogs and bowling past the men, but one lone huntsman had held position long enough to slash a rear tendon with a falchion. The boar had gotten away and the leg had held together. But it festered and healed improperly. As a consequence, the boar was no longer as fast as its brothers. It must starve, or rely on another skill. This one learned to think. The lame boar developed new approaches: it took the sly route, became more alert for a helpless cry, would lie waiting, trapped things. It survived. Now habit weighed against dim reason. Habit pointed it counterclockwise in its accustomed path while reason suggested a foray into unknown territory. The land before it was an older part of the forest. At the center, tall trees made a desert, for nothing could grow in their shade. Stinking bogs held only the most minute life. The boar stood and sniffed. What had stirred the marshes? It couldn’t tell. It clapped its jaws and acted. There might be no game in there, but there was certainly none here. The animal pressed off the path, cloven hooves chopping the bracken in a single line. Its stomach rolled and squeaked. The boar would kill anything it met. Chapter 2
“All right, lads and lasses, here’s what we do. We fasten these ropes to the tops of these two trees. Then we stand back in there. When a party comes along, we swoop down on ‘em like hawks on a chicken and knock them from the saddle. What do you think?” After a long pause,Will Scarlett said, “Rob, what are yer, daft?” The rest of Robin Hood’s band looked away. The road was wide here, perhaps four paces, and sandy and dry. The tall and round oaks on both sides met overhead, but leaves were still a misty suggestion. The sky was clear and blue, if pale, and one could see a long ways down the tinted tunnel of road. The outlaws stood in a hollow at the side of the road where a tree had fallen. In honor of spring, this morning Robin had bade the outlaws change their winter brown to summer green. The Fox of Sherwood had with him the bulk of his yeomen: Marian and Little John; the Crusader Gilbert; Bold Jane Downey and a new woman, Grace; Black Bart and Red Tom; Will Scarlett; Ben Barrel and Arthur A’Bland; a new man, Brian; and the loyal Much the Miller’s Son. In tiny Lincoln green were the older children: Katie, Polly, Tam, and Tub. The forest bristled with arrows and smelt of mildew. Robin Hood frowned at his cousin. “No, I’m not daft. No more than usual. What’s daft about it? If there are six of them and six of us and we swing out of the trees, we’ll bowl them over like ducks. There won’t be one can get an arrow off.” “No,” Will agreed, “They’d be laughing themselves sick. While you’re hanging there like a sausage on a string, it’d take ‘em at least three or four seconds to loose.” “Before then you’d have knocked them over.” “With arrows in your bum.” Black Bart put in, “They’d see the ropes coming and’d stop. The straight ropes stick right out.” Robin said, “I don’t think so. People never look up when they ride.” “But that’s looking sideways,” said Gilbert in his barbarous Scottish. Robin cocked his head to interpret his words, then replied, “I’d yell a signal, so we all got off at once.” Will countered, “If you’re going to shout, then why don’t we just stand in the bushes and peg a few past ‘em and shout ‘Stand and deliver.’ That’s always worked before.” “Give the man a chance,” rumbled Little John. Robin flailed his rope in the air. “Look. You always have to be trying new things. If the sheriff and his lot get used to what we do, they’ll come up with something on their own. And then we’ll be in strife.” Bold Jane Downey said, “Couldn’t we at least look for a muddy spot like we usually do?” “No, I want good footing for when we hit the ground.” “And break our ankles,” finished Will. Robin Hood glared at his cousin. Everyone was quiet. Little John sighed, “It won’t hurt to try. Let’s have someone in the trees to tie off.” Children clamored. Of the volunteers, he tolled off the more agile ones. Bold Jane Downey, Brian, Katie, Tam and Tub, and Red Tom shucked their quivers, took the lengths that Robin cut with his knife, then hopped and climbed through the great branches. The idiot Much looked so woebegone that Little John gave him a boost upwards, and Tom pulled him along. Robin called, “While you’re up there, keep a lookout for robins. I’ll give a gold crown to the first person to spot one.” Robin Hood then lined his followers up in the road. He made odd hand signals to his wife. Marian squatted so that Robin could shove his head between her knees and hoist her on his shoulders. He almost dropped her, but she clung to his hat, giggling. “Now. Marian is about the height of a man a-horseback. Let’s get some more people in the air. John, put Polly on your shoulders. Ben, pick up Tub. And, uhh...” There was a squawk as Will Scarlett grabbed Grace by the wrist. She was almost as big as Will, but he got up her on his shoulders, weaving. Flushed, Grace covered her face. Black Bart, Arthur, and Ben walked alone. “We’re ponies,” said Bart. Will Scarlett and Ben Barrel waved to their sons in the trees. “All right,” Robin continued. “String out in a line as if riding. I’ll shout, ‘Ro-bin Hood!’ You lot in the trees swoop down, and I want a lot of screaming. Gil, watch for trouble.” By now everyone was smiling. Robin, with Marian astride, started walking slowly. “Here we are, a party of fat barons, shuffling down the road, our horses so heavy with gold they can barely move. We’re cranky and tired from too much ale the night before, and we’re broody with sin. You got all that? C’mon, you slouch, you. Suddenly there’s a bloodcurdling cry, the most fearsome cry that a black-hearted tax-collecting bishop ever heard. ‘Ro-bin Hooo-oooood!’” With a crack of branches and cries like a fox in a hen house, the outlaws left their perches. Much crashed full into a tree trunk. Brian’s rope broke at the knot, and he traveled straight down. Red Tom left his branch carefully with his feet poised for the single men; he missed all three and disappeared into the branches on the opposite side of the road. Tam and Tub, each aiming for his father, leaped past one another and crossed ropes. They gyrated around each other for a few turns, tangled together, swore at one another in their father’s choicest words, and landed in a heap. Katie slammed full into Robin and Marian and toppled them to the turf. Bold Jane Downey skinned over Little John’s head, plucked off Polly’s hat, poised on the upswing, and dropped, to land facing the highway with the hat in one hand and her dagger in the other. By and by the bodies picked themselves up. These outlaws were all gristle and so mostly unharmed. Brian had a sprained finger and moss in his beard. Much was dizzy. Shamed-faced, people gathered around Robin Hood, but he clapped shoulders and announced, “A good first try, lads and lasses. A fine beginning. We can — ” He stopped as Gilbert tapped his shoulder. The knight pointed north, up the road, away from Nottingham. Beyond bowshot a party sat watching. There were a handful of men in red fur-trimmed cloaks and wide floppy hats. Their mules, more than ten, were tied nose to tail and stacked high with packs. As the outlaws turned, the distant men whipped their train around and galloped away. Robin looked at Gilbert’s grim face and raised his hands like a Frenchman. Then he started to laugh. At Gilbert’s stony expression, he punched him in the shoulder and laughed harder. Marian buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and shook silently. The infection carried to the rest of the party, and soon everyone was laughing (except Gilbert). Will Scarlett laughed so hard he pushed his son over. Tam grappled onto his father’s legs and the two wrestled in the road. Grace had to sit down or wet herself. Eventually Robin Hood wiped his eyes and pulled at his jaw and said,“Oh well, the next ones will be fatter. Jane, what say you get back up there and show us how you did that. Please?” The next few days brought little traffic, but Shrove Tuesday was approaching and people would be on the move before Lent. Robin took all his available people to the road. Early in the year he liked all his fighters with him. The robber barons of England had all winter to imagine Robin Hood’s army, and it grew in their minds through the dark days. The forest chieftain had no idea what arrangements the rich might make: how large a train they could gather, how many guards they might hire, and so on, but he liked to make a large showing. Often the intimidation of many drawn bows meant no fighting at all. Now from the southern reach of road came the chip-chip-chipchipchip of a warbler. Ben, on scout, had someone coming from Nottingham. A warbler’s call meant a large group. Silently Robin Hood and six others slunk into the trees. On the same side of the road the rest of the outlaws crouched down with bows ready. Little John commanded one end of the line and Marian the other. They got into position and sat still as snakes. Robin Hood peered through wispy leaves at the advancing chink and thud. Men laughed. Robin Hood smiled. The Sheriff of Nottingham himself rode with eighteen soldiers, going north. Robin wondered where. Each soldier had a conical Norman helmet with nasal, armor of leather with iron plates sewn on, a longsword and poinard, and a shield with the sheriff ’s blazon of a chalice. Half of them had longbows sticking straight up in saddle rests. The others had crossbows across their laps, which meant they were cocked. The sheriff, Rowland of Nottingham, Knight Templar, rode at the center of the party. He wore a velvet doublet brocaded with gold, a matching hat, and his old plain sword, but he resembled a stuffed owl that had fallen from the shelf and not been dusted off. Rowland had been a marked fighter in earlier years, but a king’s posting had been his ruin. Unlike the earlier sheriff (whom Robin had killed), Rowland was not altogether a bad administrator. He had the foresight to see that a starving peasant could neither cast seed nor pay taxes. As such, he saw the people had food — when there was any — but no gold. He had a Norman hand, and he walked a weaving line among the graspers in London, the usurpers in Cornwall, the local barons, and his own greed. He ate well but slept poorly. He was bad enough that Robin wanted to topple him from the saddle. The sheriff ’s horse walked into the clear. With a joyous cry of “Ro-bin Hoooooooood!” the outlaw chief launched himself from the tree. His arboreal followers had expected some quiet signal to get ready before the main attack, and thus they departed their trees at different rates. While the sheriff ’s party froze and cast about at ground level, Bold Jane Downey entered the clearing first. With a jolt that made them both grunt, she drove her heels into the shoulder of a man three times her size and knocked him from the saddle. She then twisted in the air and landed astride the saddle like a goshawk on a glove. Soldiers around her threw up their hands in the sign of the cross. Tam swung through the packed crowd, missed every man in it, and missed again on the back swing. Brian caught his foot and never left the tree. But as a surprise, Robin’s attack couldn’t have worked better. At that first weird cry, both men and animals jumped. Horses bolted and riders yelled. Four soldiers at the back hauled their mounts around and fled without looking back. No one from Nottingham got off a shot. Red Tom collided with a man who kept his seat and Tom landed on his back with a huff! Katie bounced off a man like a dandelion puff and kept swinging. Screaming like a banshee,Will Scarlett latched onto a large man’s head while still holding the rope. The two of them fought for control of the saddle while out-swearing one another. Will gained an advantage by biting the man on the nose, but he jerked on the reins so hard that rider, horse, and assailant all crashed onto the road. All three lay stunned. The Fox of Sherwood himself would have fared marvelously if his battle cry hadn’t been so effective. Sir Rowland had nightmares about Robin Hood, and at that shouted name his first reaction was to duck and cover his head. Robin Hood sailed clean over the fat man and collided with an oak tree. He lost his grip, fell from the branches, and hit the turf like a crippled duck. He lay dazed. Despite the mad milling, five crossbowmen spotted the man with the pheasant feather in his hat. (They’d heard enough about him.) They pulled pegs and sighted on the outlaw’s back. But the party was suddenly surrounded by footmen in green with bows that seemed to reach to the sky. There sounded twin cries of “Loose!” and nine arrows crashed into the soldiers. Most had not toppled from their saddles before they were struck again. The rest of the sheriff ’s men gave up. They had been spooked, swooped upon, banged into, and now shot. They threw their arms aloft and shouted,“Mercy! For God’s sake! We surrender!” When they looked for their leader, they saw him afoot behind his horse, empty-handed. Then the biggest man they had ever seen raised his hand and intoned, “Stand and deliver.” Robin Hood picked up his hat and dusted off his clothing. Rubbed a scratch on his nose that dripped blood. He looked over the sheriff ’s mauled party. “See? That worked fairly well.” Little John nodded solemnly. A man died crying in the road. A horse with an arrow in its back screamed and struggled to rise. Robin pointed Bart to the horse, then Gilbert and Marian to the wounded soldiers. He signaled the sheriff out from behind his mount. Rowland was fragrant with winter grime and old wine. Robin doffed his cap. “Good day, Sir Rowland. And how did you winter?” He poked the prisoner in his stomach. “You’ve not been hibernating, I see, since you’re yet to lose your winter fat. Hired any tall servants lately, or acquired any red cattle from wastrel sons?” While the red-faced sheriff remained silent, Robin went on. His people chuckled. “What hey, man? You’re not one to be Silent Sol. Nothing to say to the man who keeps you in business? I’d invite you to sup, but your silver plate is all melted and given to the poor, and your cook’s left us for greener pastures. Besides, we’ll be eating horse tonight. We’ve feasted on venison until it’s like ashes on our tongues.” The sheriff had come close to biting his own tongue off. Now he erupted, “Laugh while you may, jackal. I’ll have you yet. I’ll have your skull for a chamberpot.” Robin smiled. “I will get you. There are no end of loyal men who’ll hunt you down. Before this summer is out I’ll have made Robin Hood a subject for songs, dead as a rock and impotent as a breeze.” He went on and on. Robin accepted his bow from Polly, leaned on the top of it and contemplated his old enemy. A soldier sent out a wail as Gilbert hammered an arrow through his shoulder. Black Bart and Little John gutted the dead horse. The sheriff ran out of breath as Robin Hood looked on blandly. “T’is a fine song, Rowland, but one we’ve heard before. Will you indeed hunt us down? Think now. With some of your and your predecessor’s expeditions, we were hard-put to bury all the bodies. And what do we do here in the woods, after all, but follow God’s plan? We eat, we sleep, we gather a harvest. We take no more than rabbits from a garden.” He waved an arm around him. “We’re a part of the forest. We’ll always be here. So live and let live, Rowland. And loose no dogs who value their noses.” Robin replaced his feathered hat and bowed in mockery. The leader of Sherwood then spoke to the soldiers. “Stand away from your horses, you lot. Render your purses and belts and such wine and food as ye bear. Know you contribute to a good cause — our larder must be low indeed if we are reduced to soldiers’ rations. And soldiers’ mounts. We apologize for the inconvenience, and trust it will not happen again. Until the next time, anyway.” Robin himself took the sheriff ’s pouch and keys. Black Bart and Little John had quartered the fallen horse and lashed it over the back of a tall black, to that animal’s dismay. With the skittish beast under tow, the outlaws of Sherwood smiled, backed away from the soldiery with their loot, and melted into the brush. The sheriff cast about him. He had three dead, seven wounded, four gone, and all of them demoralized. He shook his fist at the greenery. “You bastard Saxon pig.” he shouted, “I’ll get you.” Robin’s laugh floated back. “Not inside Sherwood, you won’t.” The sheriff growled to himself, “Then we’ll see you out of Sherwood...” You've read the first chapter. Buy the ebook! |