Free Tuck by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

one. The foremost knight seemed to rise and dangle on his tiptoes, as if jerked upright by a rope, only to crumple when his feet touched earth again. He collapsed in the grass, three arrows in his back.
    A second knight threw his arms wide, his sword spinning from his grasp as he crashed to his knees and flopped face-first to the ground. A third knight paused in midstroke and glanced down at his chest, where he saw a rose-coloured stain spreading across his pale tunic; in the centre of the crimson stain, the steel tip of an arrowhead protruded. With a cry of pain and disbelief, he threw down his sword, grabbed at the lethal missile, and tried to pull it free even as he toppled.
    The fourth knight took an arrow on his shield and was thrown onto his back as two more arrows ripped the autumn air, one of them striking the soldier a step or two ahead of him. The knight faltered, his legs tangling in midstep as the missile jolted into him, twisting his shoulders awkwardly. His shield banged against his knees, and he plunged onto his side at Bran’s feet.
    The sole remaining knight, still on the ground, covered his helmeted head with his shield and lay unmoving as the dead around him. Nocking another arrow to the string, Bran surveyed the battleground with a rapid sweep to the right and left. Several of the monks with Abbot Hugo had thrown off their robes to reveal mail shirts and swords, and others—five mounted soldiers including Sheriff Richard de Glanville—charged out from the nearest trees.
    Stooping swiftly, Bran picked up Odo, dragging the frightened monk to his feet and driving him headlong into the safety of the greenwood. There came the sound of leaves rustling and branches thrashing in the forest nearby, and they were gone.
    The mounted knights galloped to the edge of the wood and halted, listening.
    All that could be heard were the groans of the wounded and dying. The marshal and Sergeant Jeremias ventured slowly out from behind their shields. “See to those men, Sergeant,” ordered Gysburne. To the knight who lay unharmed among the bodies, he called, “Get up and find the horses.”
    “Are we going after the outlaws, Sire?” inquired the knight.
    “Why, by the bloody rood?” cried the marshal. “To let them continue to practice their cursed archery on us? Think, man! They’re hiding in the trees!”
    “But I thought the abbot said—” began the knight.
    “Obey your orders, de Tourneau!” snapped the marshal irritably. “Forget what the abbot said. Just do as you’re told—and take Racienne with you.”
    The two knights clumped off together, and Gysburne turned to see Sheriff de Glanville and his bailiff turning back from the edge of the wood. “Have no fear,” called the marshal. “The outlaws have gone. You are safe now.”
    The sheriff stiffened at the insinuation. “It was not for fear that we held back.”
    “No,” granted the marshal, “of course not. Why would I think that? You merely mislaid your sword, perhaps, or I am certain you would have been in the fore rank, leading the charge.”
    “Enough, Gysburne,” snarled the sheriff. “The last time I looked, you were crawling on your hands and knees like a baby.”
    The abbot shouted from the clearing, cutting short what promised to be a lively discussion. “De Glanville! Gysburne! Did you get him? Is he dead?”
    “No,” answered the marshal, “he got away.” He promptly amended this, adding, “They got away. It was a trap; they were waiting for us.”
    Abbot Hugo turned his gaze to the bodies lying in the long grass. His face darkened. “Are you telling me you’ve lost four men and the outlaws have escaped again?” He swung around to face the marshal. “How did this happen?” he shouted.
    “You ask the wrong man, Abbot,” replied Gysburne coolly. “We did our part. It was the sheriff who failed to attack.”
    “ You were supposed to draw them from hiding, Abbot, remember?” said the sheriff darkly. “Since you failed