and bread, wine and ale aplenty had been laid out on trestle tables in the courtyard. But before I had a chance either to wash the dust from my throat or grab a morsel of food, Robin called me aside for a private conversation. There were certain things he wanted me to do while it was still light, he said; chores, you might say. I was to keep what I was doing very quiet and tell no one, not even my closest companions. I was to ask him no questions; just do what I was told. Of course, I agreed and set to my tasks; but it wasn’t until dusk that I was free to scrounge around for something to eat and drink.
With everyone fed and watered, Robin summoned all fifty of us, plus Sir Richard and his servants, into the hall of the manor for a war conference. I had seen him talking to one of Hugh’s shadowy messengers before the meeting and I knew he must have fresh intelligence about Marie-Anne. When everyone was in the hall, everyone, including even the sentries, who would normally patrol the walkway behind the wooden palisade, I slipped out through a back door to complete a final task that Robin had asked me to perform. When I re-entered the hall, Robin was saying: ‘. . and it seems that Murdac has hired a force of Flemish mercenaries, about two hundred crossbowmen and about the same number of cavalry, we believe, to help him eradicate the foul scourge of banditry in Sherwood Forest.’ There was a loud ironic cheer from the crowd of outlaws. ‘Mercifully, they are not at Nottingham yet. Our informants say that they are travelling up from Dover and they are not expected for at least a week or ten days. By the time they arrive, we’ll be long gone, safe and snug in the forest. We will never have the pleasure of their company because. . we are going to Nottingham tomorrow night.’ His eyes glinted savagely in the light of a dozen good beeswax candles. ‘We are going to rescue my lady and we are going to bring her back here; and we will slaughter anyone who stands in our way. Anyone. Is that understood? ’ There was a roar of approval. ‘Right,’ Robin continued, ‘everybody is to rest until then. You have been allocated your quarters. Get some sleep; look to your weapons. We depart at moonrise tomorrow night. Hugh, John, Sir Richard, if I could trouble you for a minute to go over the details. You too, Alan,’ he said, beckoning me from the back of the hall.
We gathered round Robin as he spread out a roughly drawn plan of the castle on an old oak money chest. ‘She is being held in this tower, part of the wall defences, in the north-west corner of the castle. Not far from this gatehouse here.’ He stabbed a finger into the parchment. ‘Apparently Murdac wants to keep her imprisonment a secret and so she is not being held in the keep, but separately, discretely in a wall tower, guarded only by his most trusted men. And that is very good news for us. Tomorrow night we will ride up to the gatehouse dressed in Murdac’s colours — you have enough captured surcoats, Hugh?’ Hugh nodded. ‘So, we’re wearing his colours, and we claim to be Murdac’s men who have been in France for several years serving Henry, and who are now, after the King’s death, returning to our master. Understood?’
Sir Richard, Hugh and John all nodded. But I notice John looked a little worried. ‘So they let us in. . and then what?’ the big man asked, frowning.
Robin gave him a hard stare. ‘We kill every single mother’s son in that gatehouse, as quickly and as quietly as we can. Then we scoop up Marie-Anne, and we are away before anyone notices. If the alarm is raised, we can hold that gatehouse against all comers for hours, and we only need, at most, a quarter of an hour to find Marie- Anne and get her away safely. Then, when she’s gone, we’re all in the saddle and off in as many different directions as we can think of. Rendezvous at the Caves.’
‘That’s your plan!’ said John, the scorn thick in his voice. ‘You call that a plan? Christ’s blistered fingers, it’s the worst idea I’ve heard all year. For a start. .’
‘Hush, John, hush,’ said Robin. ‘It will work, I promise. You just have to trust me.’ John looked unconvinced, he shook his head and continued more quietly: ‘But it’s sheer lunacy. .’
‘Just trust me, will you,’ said Robin with just a touch of iron in his voice. ‘You do trust me, don’t you, John?’ The big man shrugged, but he stayed quiet.
‘Well,’ said Sir Richard, ‘as I shall not be joining you on this. . escapade. . I don’t feel it’s right for me to make any comment, except to say that I wish you Godspeed. And now I will bid you goodnight.’ And with an uncertain smile he strode off in the direction of his private chamber.
‘I’ll leave the fine tuning to you, Hugh, weapons, horses, that sort of thing,’ said Robin, ‘and now I think we should all get some rest.’ John walked away shaking his big yellow head and Hugh went out to the stables to talk to one of his couriers, leaving me and Robin staring at the sketch of the castle.
Robin turned to me: ‘Want to know what we’re
‘They’re hidden in the wood, as you asked.’ I couldn’t help grinning back at him. I remembered the last time Robin and I had been in Nottingham, the hilarious jaunt to steal the armourer’s key.
‘And the doves?’ Robin said, his silver eyes shining.
‘It’s all done,’ I replied happily. ‘It’s all done.’
At about midnight, when all the world was asleep, I led Robin out of the back gate of the manor and south- east towards the thick woodland where I had hidden the horses that afternoon. We were dressed for fast travel; no armour, just swords, daggers and a cloak against the chill of the night. We also took a spare saddled horse with us; if we returned at all, we would not be returning alone. Regardless of the danger, I was bursting with pride and excitement to be riding with Robin on this mission: we were two knights errant, straight from the tales of King Arthur, riding through the night to rescue a damsel in distress.
Two hours later and we were crouching in a damp ditch, up to our ankles in slimy refuse, looking up at the imposing bulk of Nottingham Castle wall and trying not to breathe. Quite apart from not wanting to make any noise, the stench of a hundred years of dumped excrement and general household rubbish in that ditch was suffocating. More than a hundred feet above us I could dimly make out the crenellations at the top of the wall. Robin gave a low whistle. Nothing happened. We waited for a few heartbeats. Robin whistled again and then suddenly I could see a head outlined against the moonlit sky and the battlements. There was a faint thump and a slither and a rope appeared, hanging from the top of the wall and knotted at one-foot intervals. Robin said: ‘Up you go,’ and I was climbing the wall like a monkey. The strain on my arms was tremendous, and my burnt ribs, though almost healed, were paining me a good deal, but there was no way I was going to admit my weakness to Robin. Finally, I made it to the top. With a great heave, I got my stomach over the wall, and a leg, and I collapsed on to the broad stone walkway, panting with effort. I heard a voice cry ‘Hey,’ and saw to my horror a man-at-arms in Murdac’s red and black livery come striding towards me, sword in hand. I struggled to my feet and fumbled for my sword hilt but, before I could draw my weapon, a dark shadow rose out of the wall, from the lee of the battlements, and a hand was clasped hard round the soldier’s mouth from behind. There was a glint of steel as the hooded figure shoved a thin blade hard into the base of the unfortunate guard’s skull. He twitched once in the dark man’s arms and then collapsed without a sound. The man threw back his hood and said: ‘Are you all right, Alan?’ and I saw it was Reuben, the Jew. I nodded, looked up and down the empty walkway and peered down into the gloom of the big castle courtyard. Everywhere was deserted. To my right was the great bulk of the castle keep, with one or two points of light showing from small windows, perhaps where a clerk sat up late over his rolls, but there was no movement. Everything was as quiet as the grave.
Moments later, Robin’s head appeared over the parapet, followed lithely by the rest of him. Reuben cleaned his bloody knife on the soldier’s surcoat and between us we rolled the dead man over the wall and down into the darkness. Robin clasped Reuben’s arm and murmured: ‘Lead on, old friend,’ and we were hurrying along the walkway and down some steps into the entrance of a small guard tower, one of dozens built into the castle’s curtain walls. Robin had his sword out, the naked blade winking in the moonlight, and I saw that Reuben had his knife in his hand, so I hastily drew my own sword, too. We plunged down a spiral staircase into the heart of the guard tower, my heart beating like a blacksmith’s hammer, the pulse banging in my ears.
Down and down we went, in pitch darkness. And suddenly I blundered into the back of Reuben, who had paused before a wooden door. By the candlelight leaking out from the cracks in the door, I could see that it was occupied. We stood there in the gloom for a few moments, listening; me trying to control my pumping heart and ragged breathing; Robin and Reuben seemingly as calm as if they were on a summer’s picnic in Sherwood. Reuben held up two fingers, indicating that there were two men inside, and Robin nodded. And waved his hand forward. Before I knew what was happening Reuben had pulled the string that lifted the latch on the wooden door and both he and Robin burst through. I followed as fast as I could but only in time to see Reuben hurling his heavy knife with extraordinary force and accuracy five yards across the room to smack into a man-at-arms who had apparently been dozing on a stool. The thick knife punched straight into the man’s chest and into his heart, and the
