Outremer.
He had ridden out with Murdac’s men that spring morning on a whim, feeling a need for some exercise and excitement; he had believed he was going out on a jaunt to punish a rabble of outlaws and the last thing he expected was to be grievously wounded and taken prisoner for ransom.
‘But God always has a plan, Alan,’ he said to me when I asked if he cursed his fate. And I remembered that he, like all the Templars, was a monk as well as a soldier.
The autumn approached and, with Sir Richard’s help, I grew quick with a sword. I was making musical progress, too, with Bernard; and with his encouragement I was beginning to compose my own songs. They were embarrassing little ditties but Bernard was kind — on occasion he could be scathing, but he never made adverse comments about my attempts at composition, never. So I made love songs, picturing Robin’s beautiful lady Marie-Anne in my mind and pretending that I was her lover.
At first, I found it quite difficult to play the vielle. Bernard was introducing me to some of the simpler songs he had written. But even for an easy
A week later, Robin returned to Thangbrand’s.
Chapter Six
The Lord of Sherwood arrived at Thangbrand’s just after dawn on a bright September day, accompanied by half a dozen grim archers led by their captain Owain, and a string of thirty unladen packhorses. The whole community turned out to greet him and he and his brother Hugh embraced as if it had been five years rather than five months since they had seen each other. I felt rather shy around Robin; the few days we had spent in each other’s company seemed a long time ago and I wondered if he had changed, and even whether he would remember the callow boy he had sung with, and fought beside, and then left behind in the spring. So I hovered on the edge of the scrum of outlaws surrounding their returning master like eager hounds round a huntsman.
He saw me through the throng and pushed his way towards me. ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘I have missed your music,’ and I felt a great rush of warmth for the man. I immediately forgave him for leaving me at Thangbrand’s but felt an almost ungovernable urge to blurt out that I had missed him too. Thankfully, I controlled myself. ‘How are you keeping?’ he asked, clasping my shoulders with both hands and boring into my head with his silver eyes. ‘I hope Bernard has not led you astray from your studies with drink and loose women?’ He smiled at me. I grinned back.
‘Bernard is. .’ I began. ‘Bernard is. . well, he’s a great musician,’ I said foolishly. He laughed and said: ‘Well, I hope he can spare you from your music-making for a day or so. I have need of your famous light fingers. Pack a warm cloak and a deep hood, and get saddled up. We’re going to an ale house in Nottingham — just you and I — and leaving within the hour.’ Then he turned away to speak to Thangbrand.
I found this news, in my boyish way, tremendously exciting — and also slightly unnerving. The last time I had been in Nottingham, I’d been arrested as a thief, and nearly lost my arm. And a tavern seemed a strange destination as we had plenty of ale, and wine too, at Thangbrand’s. But just to be going on a journey alone with Robin made me feel special. Privileged. My master had picked out me as his travelling companion; we were going on an adventure together. I collected cloak and hood, strapped on my sword, and saddled a brown pony, the rouncey that Hugh had taught me to ride on. The horse was a placid creature, not worth much in terms of silver, but he had a lot of stamina, and could run all day and all night, if necessary. And he knew me and would not throw me off and cause me to be shamed in front of Robin.
Within the hour we were on the road, jogging along, apparently in no particular hurry, and Robin explained what was to be required of me. It all sounded simple enough, I was relieved to hear: an easy job for a cut-purse, and something I had done a hundred times before.
‘We are going to The Trip To Jerusalem, the new ale house just below the castle in Nottingham. You know it?’ said Robin as we trotted along in the September sunshine. I knew it: it was a lively place with good ale, hacked out of the sandstone rock that the castle was built on, and much frequented by armed pilgrims headed for the Holy Land and Sir Ralph Murdac’s off-duty men-at-arms. When I had been in Nottingham, I tended to avoid the place, not because it lacked conviviality, but because of the military clientele. But I knew it, right enough.
‘There is a man who drinks there every night,’ continued Robin. ‘Name of David. A sot. And he carries a key in a pouch at his waist all times. I want you to steal that pouch, that key, without him noticing. Can you do it?’
‘As easy as kiss my hand,’ I said. ‘That’s the simple part. But the difficult part is getting away afterwards. He will surely miss the purse sooner or later after I’ve lifted it; if luck is against us, perhaps only a few moments afterwards. Then there will the hue and cry, and we will be out in the streets of Nottingham after curfew, two thieves with no home to hide in and every man’s hand against us. They’ll catch us, sir. No doubt about it.’
‘They won’t. Trust me for that. We will not stop long in Nottingham; we shall be out of the gates and on the road before your victim knows what he is missing.’
‘But the gates are locked at sundown, and none may pass till dawn, by order of the sheriff.’
‘Trust me, Alan. I know another kind of key, a golden one, which will open any gate guarded by a poor man. But we must make haste now. We must be at The Trip an hour after sundown.’
We put spurs to our mounts and raised dust for many long miles until, by late afternoon, our horses lathered, our hoods pulled well forward, we were passing through the open gates of Nottingham and into the familiar crowded streets of my larcenous childhood.
We tied up our horses at a rail outside The Trip and, ordering a flagon of ale, we took our places at a rough table in the corner of the dimly lit place. My aching back — I was not used to such long rides — rested against the cool sandstone of the wall as I sipped my ale and looked around me.
The room was moderately full of drinkers; there were perhaps a dozen, seated at small tables or on benches around the wall. A large communal table dominated the place, at which simple food, soup or bread and cheese, was served by a full-fleshed wench with forearms as plump as my own legs. A tall, thin, dark man stood sipping a mug of ale and leaning against the wall by the fire. He looked a little foreign; sinister even. I saw him look at Robin, then stare round the room and then glance over to Robin again. He seemed unnaturally interested in us. I wondered if he were a spy, or an informer, for the sheriff, and a ripple of fear went through my body. We sat sipping quietly in the corner, saying little, minding our business. I hunched down and pulled my hood further forward to cover my face. When I looked up again, the dark man was still looking at us. He caught Robin’s eye and then indicated, with a very slight inclination of his head a hugely fat man seated at the communal table, half- stupefied with drink, his head lolling. Robin nodded almost imperceptibly at the dark man, and I felt a surge of relief rush into my stomach. The dark man finished his mug of ale, put it down on a nearby table and walked out of the door.
Robin put his head close to mine and said very quietly, ‘You see our mark?’
I nodded.
‘You are the master, in this situation,’ he said in a voice only a little above a whisper. ‘This is your work. How do you want to do it?’ I turned to look at him in utter astonishment. My cheeks flushed with pride. Robin Hood, Lord of Outlaws, was asking my advice on the execution of a crime. I quickly collected my wits and said: ‘Distraction. I need you to make a distraction while I’m taking the purse.’
‘Very good,’ said Robin. ‘What do you suggest?’
Again I was surprised and flattered by his confidence in my opinions. It was a novel sensation taking charge in the presence of my master. And, I found, a pleasurable one. Reflecting on this later, I realise that Robin knew exactly how to cut a purse — he had after all been living, thriving even, outside the law for many years. He was merely testing me. But at the time, his deference to my views gave my soul a great lift.
‘I will sit beside him on his left hand side, the side the pouch is on,’ I whispered. ‘You sit opposite, on the other side of the table. Take your cloak off and put it beside you on the table. Pretend to be drunk. We order food
