quickly. And, if it is Guy, I want him dead. But not so quickly.’
Robin continued: ‘The next problem is what to do about Murdac. For many years we had a perfectly good working arrangement with our high sheriff: I didn’t molest his men, I allowed his servants to carry out their duties in peace, and he left what is my preserve untroubled. That arrangement is at an end. He has murdered my friends and stolen my property. He has ceased to show the proper respect for my operations and he has demonstrated, in a most barbaric fashion, that he does not fear my vengeance. So, gentlemen, any ideas? What shall we do about Sir Ralph Murdac, liegeman of our noble King Henry and constable of the royal castle of Nottingham?’
There was a silence for several heartbeats and then one of the outlaws, a big stupid man called Much, the son of a rich Nottingham miller who had been forced into outlawry after murdering a man in a tavern brawl, muttered: ‘Why don’t we kill the bastard?’
Robin smiled at him but without using his eyes and said: ‘I’m listening. .’
Much was clearly embarrassed to have the limelight — he ducked his large head and muttered: ‘Get a few men into Nottingham Castle, I know it well, I used to deliver flour there. . wait in dark passage in the keep, Murdac comes along, knife to the throat, no more problem.’ His words were greeted with the silence of incredulity. He stumbled on: ‘Or maybe a good archer on the battlements could. . a long shot, but with one arrow. .’
‘Stop your mouth, you fool,’ interrupted Little John. ‘We’d never get in there. Do you know there are more than three hundred men-at-arms in the castle? And what about afterwards? How would the men get out alive in the uproar that would follow? No, no, no. We must wait till he ventures out of his lair and then cut him down in Sherwood; we take him on our ground, not on his.’
Hugh cut in: ‘Do we really desire his death?’ There was another stunned silence. ‘I mean, is it not better merely to teach him a lesson? If we can take our revenge, and teach him a lesson at the same time, he may be more malleable. More amenable to making another arrangement with us, that would be to our mutual advantage.’ My head was still pounding. I took a sip of ale from a silver goblet and, as I looked at the beautiful vessel, it swam in and out of focus. I tried desperately to concentrate and listen to the arguments.
‘What about his family?’ said Will Scarlet, from his seat beside me.
‘We’re not going to be killing women and children,’ said Robin. ‘Whatever people may say, we are not monsters.’ He looked round the table to be sure that all present had taken this point. Will blushed: ‘I wasn’t thinking of Sir Ralph’s wife and little ones, sir — his wife died last year, and his children are in Scotland — merely of his cousin William Murdac, the tax collector. Do you know him? He lives out towards Southwell?’
‘That’s possible,’ said Robin.
‘Possible? He’s perfect!’ Hugh pounded the table with his fist. The blow echoed through my skull. ‘That man is hated, loathed by everyone — his zeal in collecting the Saladin Tithe has bordered on madness, and I doubt he handed over all the silver to his cousin. What tax collector does? We know that Murdac himself squirrels a good bit of silver away that is never passed on to the King. His cousin’s coffers are probably overflowing, too.’
Robin’s brother pushed his chair back and stood at the table, fists balled and resting on the wood. He radiated certainty. ‘His manor is fairly remote, I visited there once years ago,’ he continued, his voice booming painfully in my ears in the confines of the cave. ‘He has only a handful of men-at-arms living permanently in the place. And,’ he said with a flourish, like a gambler playing the winning card, ‘he’s unmarried. No wife and bairns to worry about.’ Hugh sat back down again looking at Robin in triumph.
‘Yes. Good. Well done, Will,’ Robin said, nodding down the table at the red-head, whose face split into an enormous gappy grin. To Little John, Robin said: ‘Can you handle this one?’ John nodded. Hugh frowned. And Robin added: ‘I want this William of Southwell’s head brought back here. I will have it delivered to Murdac with a personal message. Take Will Scarlet with you, as he knows the place.’ The big man nodded again. Robin turned to Hugh: ‘Peace, brother, I want you to organise something else for me, more important than a punishment raid. .’ Hugh nodded, but he seemed reluctant.
‘All right. Next,’ said Robin. ‘I want Selwyn’s Farm set up as a new training school, and I want guards posted day and night on all the roads approaching it. I do not want a repeat of Thangbrand’s.’ Then to Hugh: ‘You still have people inside the castle? Good. Make sure they give us plenty of warning when any force larger than, say, fifty men rides out of Nottingham. .’
The conference continued. But I began to feel seriously ill. My bitten arm was throbbing — it had not healed well despite being bound in a bandage soaked in Holy Water by Tuck. My head was banging and my vision came in and out of focus. I watched blearily as Robin listened to his men’s views, made a decision and moved on to the next point. He was unfailingly polite, even when the most ridiculous schemes were proposed, saying merely: ‘I don’t think that idea is the best we’ve had today.’ He didn’t need to be cruel: John was always ready to lambast a fool and Hugh’s analysis of an idiotic proposition was merciless, as I knew well from my days as his pupil.
Even though I was trying hard to concentrate, I found my attention wandering. The words blurred and I began, through my dizziness and pain, to ponder the relationships between these men. They all seemed to have well-defined roles within the band: Hugh, it seemed, controlled the money, and the intelligence side of the operation; he had a subtle mind, a philosophical approach to their business. John was the enforcer of Robin’s will, and responsible for training the men in the use of arms. Robin was the judge: he made decisions, gave orders, balanced the two competing forces of mind and body represented by his brother and John. And Tuck? Tuck was an enigma. What was he even doing associating with this rough company?
The conference came to a conclusion and, after dismissing the men, Robin remained at the table with Hugh, talking quietly with the clerk. I watched the two men talking. Hugh’s face was alight with pleasure as he listened to Robin’s quiet instructions. In that light they looked so alike, though Hugh’s face was longer and older and, in some way, sadder. But it was clear that Hugh worshipped his younger brother; his face had a look of total devotion as he listened. Robin put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder and they both rose from the table, Hugh hurrying off out of the cave, happy and purposeful. I didn’t see him again for weeks.
Robin came over to me as I loitered by the mouth of the cave, hoping that he would give me a mission as well or some difficult task to perform. He looked hard into my face, concerned. ‘You are not well,’ he said. ‘Let me see your wound.’ He led me back to the long table, my legs wobbling beneath me, and sat me down. As he gently unwrapped the layers of bandage, I noticed the smell for the first time, a waft of corruption, the stench of rotting meat. As he loosened the last layers of blood-and-pus-soaked cloth, he broke the half-formed scabs over the puncture marks made by the wolf’s teeth, and I screamed as a white agony rioted up my arm and howled into my brain. Then I knew no more.
I dreamed of women. And the wild wood. I was lying on my back in the sun-dappled forest, and I could hear singing: it was ‘The Maiden’s Song’. The singer was a girl of almost impossible beauty: lithe and slim as a young willow tree, with a white shift that clung to her young body and small sweet breasts. As she sang, she danced, weaving in and out of the trees as if they were her dancing partners. I scrambled to my feet and began to run after her, crying for her to wait for me. As I blundered through the woodland with the girl always just out of reach, the sky began to grow dark and I burst out of the forest into a wide stretch of empty moorland and stopped. My eye was drawn to a huge grey stone, almost man-height but canted over at an angle like a partially uprooted tree. The white girl danced on by the stone but her steps were slower, more solemn. She beckoned me but I could not move and, with a pretty shrug, she continued to dance around the grey rock, caressing it. Then she stepped astride the stone, mounting it as one might a horse, the massive grey rock thrusting out between her thighs. And the rock transformed into a great grey stallion, pawing the air with great plate-sized hooves. The girl gave a great howling cry and she and her mount took off into the sky. They flew above the clearing, wild shrieks bursting from the girl as they swooped above my head. And then, softly as a falling feather, they returned to earth and the horse became a stone again. The girl rolled smoothly off its back and lay curled at its base, seemingly asleep. As I watched her, her pale face began to flush with colour and she clutched her belly and started to moan. Again I tried to move, to go to her aid, but I could not. It was dawn and when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they had become the roots of trees. I looked again at the white girl: and saw that she was no longer a girl. She was lying on her back, naked, in a pool of blood that rippled and changed and became the folds of a red blanket under her body. Her breasts grew and filled and hung pendulously either side of her chest; her belly swelled too and now was massive, ripe; and then, as I stared at her, her vulva opened like an enormous flower and, with a long scream from the woman, a huge bloody baby squeezed out from between her legs. I held out my right arm to her, but found it almost impossible to lift — I saw that it had become a thin branch, ending in gnarled twigs where my fingers had been. The limb burst into flames and pain shot through my arm. The flames began to spread higher,
