The Wolfshead - a story of Robin Hood

‘Not any more. At the right hand follow the road and cross the old Roman bridge,’ the man said. ‘On the second day you find yourselves in the old hills where stands the castle at the summit.’

‘Castle?’

The man nodded. ‘A ruin to the north of the hills,’ he replied, ‘but I fear the men that attacked us came from that place.’ He shivered. ‘Ghosts haunt that place. Evil spirits.’

‘Bollocks,’ a voice said behind me. It was Will. ‘No such thing as ghosts, you old fart.’

‘Tis true,’ the old man squinted because Will was on horseback and the sun speared through the smoke. ‘Ever since the reeve and a dozen of our men disappeared up in the hills, evil has plagued us. We are doomed. Cursed!’

It was then I saw a shadow dart behind our sleeping quarters. It was a small man and I could see him through the cracks in the wall. He stopped, seeing the room plunge into darkness and waited. But I padded into the gloom and edged towards the wall where the man stayed hidden. I could see who it was and grimaced when he sniffed the air beside Mary like a dog. I could have taken my sword and ran it through the wall into his throat, but as he moved around to my door I decided to wait for him.

The door creaked open for we never locked our doors and the room filled with the chill of the evening. He crept in like an assassin. He sniffed the air again and as he stepped towards Mary he did not expect to be grabbed by the neck, have his legs kicked from under him and be beaten with a cudgel until he lost consciousness.

As I reached the crest of the hill a shadowy figure called to me from behind a wall of blackthorn and broken stone. I ignored him and he growled. I was in no mood for his threats so I drew my sword and beckoned him to come at me. I was angry and if the man wanted trouble, he would find that my sword had a very sharp bite. He stared at me and let out a long rasping laugh.

‘You seek your sister,’ he said knowingly, ‘not a fight.’

‘How do you know what I seek?’

‘She lives,’ he said letting the last word drag out.

‘How would you know that?’ I demanded.

He laughed again and shifted in the shade. ‘Because she brought me here,’ he said and stepped out into the sunlight so that I could see him.

I thought at first that he was another leper, because he wore remnants of clothes that hid his body, large gloves despite the heat, legs wrapped in rags and his tattered brown cloak draped over his shoulders. He was hooded so that I could not see his face, but I could see his pointed chin that was pink and looked odd. I thought he must be disfigured by some other cruel disease. He looked like a monk, but Wychard had said he was the only brother.

‘Are you from Clanfield?’

‘Yes.’

I strained to see who I was speaking with. ‘What’s your name?’

‘All in good time,’ the man said.

‘Why should I believe you?’ I said waving the blade at his face.

‘Because I speak the truth.’

I followed the roads east over the wide River Derwent across steep-sided valley’s where thickets of deep-green woods edged gently down to the river’s tumbling waters. The furthest hills and high crests were drenched by shafts of sun light, the fields shone rich gold and pale yellow. In the distance the horizon was tinted purple. After my meagre meal I continued my journey. I took Alfred down tracks and sunken roads lined with blackthorn, dog-roses, juniper and honeysuckle. Bees stirred in the autumn winds which blew fragrant and sweet. Fieldfares and wagtails flew and hopped on the paths in front of me, chirping and luring me away from their nests.

I passed fenced off fields and protected by ditches where villeins were reaping, gathering, binding, stacking and carrying their sheaves of wheat, barley and rye back to the piles for counting and eventual storing in barns ready for threshing and winnowing. Men with hard faces watched me with suspicious eyes as I waved them a cheerful greeting, happy that the back-breaking days of working in the fields was over for me.  I gave a long-legged girl of seventeen a grin – just as Robin would have done - as she cut wheat with a sickle. Her task along with the other women reapers was to cut the crop halfway or more up the stalk and lay them down for the binders who worked in echelon behind them to tie the spears into sheaves. The next field contained barley which was mown with scythes, close to the ground. A good team could clear two acres a day. I looked on in admiration for the land was steep and rocky, but full of large woods, plump meadows, fine rivers and swaying dales.

As I passed the last of the fields I could see a church crowning the top of the hill to my left, a large newly cut cross cast long shadows towards me. There was a drover’s track that led across the meadow to where I could see the roofs of the homes, cattle byres, sheds and pens. As always my thoughts turned to Clanfield. I stared at the homesteads and tears pricked at my eyes. I remembered my father proudly showing me the threshing flails that he had repaired over the winter, of the plough newly sharpened for the ploughing season which started on the first Monday after Epiphany. There always was a plough race which my father won three times. He hated mowing but my mother enjoyed it along with winnowing, which I helped her with my brother and two sisters separate the grain from the chaff and weevils that always infested the crops.

I was flattered that he had approached me and I was intrigued to know more. ‘Why do you need to go there?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Because there’s a bastard that lives there who is said to have been one of the men who broke into my tavern,’ he said, his eyes quickly darted to the left and right of me. He was acting suspiciously and I paused to consider his proposal.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Robin and I pay a local priest by the name of Father Edulf to be our eyes and he told us a man had come to Hampole for confession last Sunday. Edulf said he was one of the baron’s men who confessed to being one of the horsemen.’ Will picked at a morsel of food stuck in his front teeth with a knife. ‘If that’s the case then he had something to do with Elena’s death. He took a fall from his mount and returned to his parish to heal and the first thing he does is confess to Edulf like a good Christian,’ he let a sarcastic laugh erupt from the corner of his mouth. ‘Sounds like I need to go and have a word with him tonight.’

‘Why tonight?’ I asked. ‘Why not go now?’

Will grinned. ‘You can’t thread a needle in the dark.’

I nodded in understanding. ‘Is that all you want to do?’ I asked, wondering if he had other motives.

The corners of Will’s mouth twisted into a smile. ‘Does it worry you?’

I stiffened. ‘No.’

‘Good. Are you in?’ he said, his eyes were level with my own.

Dawn revealed a valley mist which was stirred by gusts of cold wind. It had rained heavily in the night. Trees dripped, leaves glistened and the air smelt of wet grass. The only noise I could hear was our footsteps, and the wind rustling in the stiff tall damp stalks of rye that stretched in the east as far as the eye could see.

A man with a cart full of cut timber approached us from the north and Robin asked if he knew where Wat lived. The man knew of him and directed us over to a home far off the road and screened by a thicket of hazel that bordered the rye field. It was a dirty, stinking hovel, surrounded by fresh animal dung, decomposing straw and other refuse. The roof was mossy, grimy and in desperate need of new thatch. Smoke lingered at the entrance. Robin bid us to halt with a hand gesture. A crow flapped noisily in the trees before flying away.

‘Trouble?’ I asked him, watching the bird depart.

‘There’s always trouble,’ Robin replied, casting an intense look over the fields and back across the road. ‘Be vigilant and your mouths quiet.’ He made his way over to the dwelling, silent and low, like a hunter. We trailed after him. My heart thumped loudly and a knot was in my belly.

In the first few weeks of our acquaintance I had been frightened of him. He was prone to drink, was argumentative and I harboured a suspicion he wanted to hurt me for taking his wife’s ring, but now I realised he had always been as blunt as the training swords. I wanted him to like me for I had a fondness for him so thought if I went with him he would accept me as a friend. And there was something about Wills honest grizzled demeanour that garnered respect and obedience.

We ran along tracks, our shoes crunching and slashing through frozen grass and ice-crusted leaves. I understood the fear a deer feels when the hounds are in pursuit, the hunters beating the bleached verdure with staves and the arrows that slash and whistle through the trees. I was scared. But this time Robin was not with me and I feared for my life. I jumped logs and skidded down frozen banks, tearing the skin from my heels for I lost my shoes somewhere in the snow, blood splattered my hose but I felt no pain and ran on.