they know we have no intention of accepting their ridiculous peace offer. We’ve gained nothing.” Turning away from the other two, he shouted for his men to load the bodies of the dead onto the backs of their horses and return to Saint Martin’s. He climbed into the saddle, then called, “Gysburne! I turn my duties over to you while I am away. Bailiff will assist you.”
De Glanville wheeled his horse.
“Where are you going?” demanded the marshal.
“To Londein,” came the answer. “I am the king’s man, and I require soldiers and supplies to deal with these outlaws.”
“We should discuss this,” Gysburne objected.
“There is nothing to discuss. We need more soldiers, and I’m going to get them. I should return within the fortnight.”
Marshal Guy looked to the abbot. “Let him go,” said Hugo. “He is right.”
“I would not linger here any longer if I were you,” called the sheriff. “We are finished, and it is not safe.” He snapped the reins, and the big horse bounded off.
“Do not underestimate me, Sheriff,” muttered Abbot Hugo, watching him go. “I am far from finished . . . very far from finished.”
Marshal Guy de Gysburne walked over to where a knight had been slain; there was blood in the grass. He picked up the dead man’s sword and stuck it in his belt. “You can stay if you like, Abbot, but they are probably watching from the forest.”
Casting a hasty glance over his shoulder, the abbot hurried to rejoin his bodyguard and scuttled back to the abbey in undignified retreat.
PART TWO
Came Little John through the forest that morn,
And chanc’d upon poor Rhiban Hud,
So high on his back he carries him to
A priest on the edge of the woode.
“God save you, Fryer Tuck,” quod John.
“A handsome fish I’ve here.
His length’s as longe from snout to tail
As any I’ve seen this yere.”
“Then don’t delay, friend John,” quod Tuck,
“But lay him here on the hearthe.
Let’s get him skinned and then get him cleaned
And warmed up quick and smart.”
Young Rhiban quickly mended himself
At Fryer Tuck’s strong, healing hands.
And when he had sense, the two hearde account
Of the change that had passed in those lands.
“For twenty long summers,” quoth Rhiban, “by God,
My arrows I here have let fly.
Methinks it quite strange, that within the march,
A reeve has more power than I.
“This forest and vale I consider my own,
And these folk a king think of me;
I therefore declare—and so solemnly swear:
I will live to see each of them free.”
“By t’rood, this is a most noble sport,”
John Little did him proclaim.
“I’ll stand with thee and fight ’til death!”
“And I,” quod Tuck, “The same!”
“Then send you bold captains to head up our men
And meet in the greenwoode hereon:
Mérian, Llech-ley, and Alan a’Dale,
Thomas, and Much Miller’s son.”
CHAPTER 8
Two riders picked their way carefully along the rock-lined riverbed, one in front of the other, silent, vigilant. Dressed in drab, faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed, shapeless hats, they might have been hunters hoping to raise some game along the river or, more likely, a party of merchants making for a distant market. Strange merchants, however—they shunned the nearby town, going out of their way to avoid it.
It was Bran’s idea to appear as wayfarers simply passing through, in the hopes of attracting as little notice as possible. He watched the hilltops and ridgeways on either side of the valley, while Tuck remained alert to anyone approaching from the rear. Overhead, a brown buzzard soared through the empty air, its shadow rippling over the smooth, cloud-dappled slopes. Ahead the river forked into two branches: one wide and shallow, one little more than a rill snaking through a narrow, brush-choked defile. Upon reaching the place where the two streams divided, Bran paused.
“Which way?” Tuck said, reining in beside him. Odo halted a few paces behind.
“You ask me that?” replied Bran with a grin. “And still you call yourself a priest?”
“I am a priest,” affirmed Tuck, “and I do ask you—for, all evidence to the contrary, I cannot read the minds of men, only their hearts.” He regarded the two courses. “Which way do we go?”
“The narrow way, of course,” answered Bran. “‘Narrow is the way and hard the road that leads to salvation . . .’ Isn’t that the way it goes?”
“‘Straight is the gate and narrow the way that leadeth to life, and there be few that find it,’” the friar corrected. “You should pay better attention when the Holy Script is read.”
“We’ll have to walk from here,” Bran said, climbing down from the saddle. “But when