‘Sergeant, wait!’ Hugh thundered—but it was too late.
The men out in front were thrown off their mounts as a rope tied across the path between two trees made their horses buckle and fall with a deafening thud.
‘Hell’s teeth, stop! Retreat! It’s a trap!’ Hugh bellowed as mayhem ensued.
He swivelled his neck and watched as chaos erupted at the rear of the entourage as well. Out of nowhere, ropes dropped and were pulled and tied together from one tree to another. Hugh knew he had to protect the strongbox, but it was no use. He couldn’t see his way out of the clearing. They were barricaded in.
At that very moment the hiss of an arrow flew past him and a succession of men in masks, with hoods drawn over their heads, swung between the trees and landed in every direction, surrounding them.
They were ambushed!
Hugh was yanked from his saddle from behind, landing on his back. But he got up on his feet as quickly as possible, despite the pain. Drawing his sword, Hugh watched in disgust as one after the other of his entourage threw down his armour in surrender. He would not. He had to protect the strongbox.
Just as he was about to engage in combat with a rather large outlaw a rapid array of arrows swished through the air, hitting the ground so close to him that he dropped his sword. He quickly retrieved it and flicked his head back to see who had executed the attack with such precision. He knew it could only be one person.
Hugh saw a slight, lean figure standing on a branch. The man put his bow behind him, grabbed a rope and swung from one tree to another before landing on the cart, hovering just in front of Hugh. He stood with his legs apart, dressed in green braies and tunic, his face hidden under a mask and a hood edged in fur covering his head and shoulders...
It was Le Renard—and he was no more than a boy!
‘So, you are the notorious Fox?’ Hugh drawled sardonically, daring to take a step closer to the cart, clutching the hilt of his sword.
The outlaw waved his hand and bowed in an exaggerated manner. ‘At your service, Lord Hugh. But please do not take another step forward.’
‘Oh? And why not?’ Hugh asked, edging closer.
‘Take a look. Your men have all but capitulated; you’re completely surrounded, my lord.’
There was a roar of laughter as Hugh looked around to see that his whole entourage had indeed surrendered. His most experienced men, save a few, had been sent ahead with Will and the decoy strongbox that had been meant to snare the outlaw group, but it had backfired...badly.
The plan had been such a good one—Hugh couldn’t understand how they had walked into this trap. These outlaws were organised, trained in combat, and they had known they were coming. He felt a cold fury running through his veins but knew he had to temper his emotions.
Instead, he shrugged nonchalantly and smiled.
Le Renard looked him up and down. ‘Come, now—yield, Lord Hugh. We’ve only come for this.’ The outlaw dragged off the sackcloth covering the strongbox and kicked the side of it as he spoke.
Hugh’s smile evaporated immediately. ‘I never yield.’ He scowled. ‘Especially to a boy.’
Le Renard jumped down from the cart and stood in front of Hugh. ‘Yield, my lord. You have no other choice.’
‘Never! You will have to kill me first. And whilst there is breath in my body, I will do my duty by my King and protect that strongbox.’ He stood tall and proud, emanating as much power and courage as he could muster, and for a moment the younger man stared at him.
‘That,’ Le Renard muttered, ‘is not necessary.’
Hugh knew that, but knew desperately he had to think of something. ‘Fight me, outlaw. Man to man. And the victor will keep the coin.’
‘Now why would I do something as ridiculous as that? I already have your men and your coin, my lord.’ He glanced down at his fingers. ‘Not bad for a boy, don’t you think?’
There was something about the way The Fox spoke that reminded Hugh of something, or someone, but his mind must be playing tricks on him.
He held his sword pointed at the outlaw and gave his head a mental shake. ‘So, you’re a coward? Is that it? You won’t fight with me?’
Le Renard snorted. ‘Despite what you think,’ he said, clicking his fingers at another outlaw, ‘we’re not savages bent on violence and destruction.’
The big, burly outlaw Le Renard had beckoned dragged over Balvoire, bound and gagged, and threw him on the ground in front of his leader.
‘Not like him,’ said The Fox.
Hugh’s knuckles were white, his sword arm clenched taut, and yet this outlaw was not interested in taking up arms against him. He was still talking, explaining himself.
‘So you see, my lord, we’re taking back what is ours.’
‘Who are you?’ Hugh asked.
‘No one of consequence, my lord.’
Was it Hugh’s imagination or had the timbre in the outlaw’s voice risen up a notch?
‘You must be deluded. How can the coin possibly be yours?’
‘This silver has been stolen from us for the coffers of King John and his cronies to pay for pointless wars,’ Le Renard growled, and his men roared their approval.
‘That’s treason!’ Hugh spat out, and found half a dozen blades suddenly pointing at him. He stood his ground, even though his heart was hammering relentlessly.
‘No, lower your blades,’ the leader of the outlaws chided. ‘Leave him to me!’
Le Renard glared at his men, but they still held their swords pointed at Hugh and Hugh, in turn, held his firmly pointed at The Fox.
‘That, Lord Hugh, is a matter of opinion.’ He shrugged as he moved and laid his hand over each of the swords of his fellow outlaws, who lowered them one by one.
‘We need to avenge our fallen friends, Fox!’ one of the outlaws cried.
‘Good, honourable men,’ the big, burly outlaw said.
‘Honour? You talk
