Free Path of the She Wolf by Theresa Tomlinson Page A

beasts.’
    Robert stared at her, puzzled. ‘But they are children and old folk!’
    Marian quickly picked up the way that Magda was thinking. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But there are so many of them. If we start marching towards Clipston, and beg the pig-herders to join us, we shall pass hundreds of them.’
    Robert hesitated. ‘But . . . will they be willing?’
    ‘Yes,’ Marian spoke with confidence. ‘They’ll be very angry and willing once they know that it is Isabel’s new husband that is at risk! How many of them received gifts of grain from Langden in the harshest days last winter? How many of them wear a warm cloak, woven with wool from Isabel’s sheep? The news of Isabel’s marriage has spread far and wide and brought much happiness with it!’
    Suddenly Robert laughed, and kissed Magda on the nose. ‘You are a clever lass! It is mad, but it just might save the man!’
    So though he felt a little unsure that they’d got the strength for this fight, Robert threw himself into action, gathering together all the bows and weapons that they could. They left the clearing soon after noon. Marian marched with them, insisting that Magda stay behind with Gerta and Brigit, the Forestwife’s girdle fastened carefully around her stomach.

11
Peasant, Fool or Rebel Lord

    Though Clipston was small compared to the great castle of Nottingham, the walls were solid and sturdy, built of strong, sandy-coloured local stone. The place was a hunting lodge, built to house the King comfortably when he chose to go chasing the fine Sherwood deer.
    Sheriff de Rue went out to meet the gang of returning soldiers. They were delighted with the prisoner that they’d found, though still uncertain exactly who he was. Will rode amongst them in silence, with his head held high, even though they’d bound his arms behind his back and fastened his legs to the saddle.
    ‘Who is this?’ the Sheriff demanded. ‘Haven’t you got the woman?’
    The men shook their heads and shuffled their feet. ‘No sign of her,’ they said. ‘Just this fellow, defending the place alone. We think we’ve maybe got the Hooded One for you.’
    ‘What makes you think that?’
    ‘The fellow killed two of our men before we managed to get him.’
    The Sheriff looked at Will with uncertainty. ‘Who are you?’ he asked quietly.
    Will smiled proudly, ‘’Tis as they say,’ he agreed. ‘I be the Hooded One.’
    The Sheriff was puzzled. The man bore himself with great dignity and wore a fine scarlet mantle but spoke like a peasant. ‘Who the devil is this Hooded One?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Is he peasant, fool, or rebel lord?’
    ‘Put him in the lock-up,’ at last he snarled. ‘Whoever he is, he’ll hang before the sun goes down.’
    Will did not flinch or tremble as they led him away.
    A gibbet was fast erected outside the walls of Clipston and a short while before the sun began to set, the great wooden gates opened and Will Stoutley was escorted outside, his hands still tied. The Sheriff came down from the ornate stateroom that he used himself while the king was not in residence. De Rue was still uncertain exactly who this prisoner was; but the man had killed two guards and that were a grievous enough offence to hang him without hesitation.
    As Will was led out towards the gibbet, a fair-haired man emerged from the sheltering trees, and dismounted quietly from his horse. He moved slowly towards the raised platform, limping slightly and gripping the handle of a dagger that was stuck into his belt. His other hand, apparently, rested carelessly on the hilt of his sword.
    The scarlet-coated figure of Will strode up the new-made steps. He glanced at the small crowd of forestersand soldiers and saw the face of a friend down there below him. No sign of recognition crossed his face; instead he turned to speak to the Sheriff. ‘Let me die an honourable death,’ he cried. ‘Let me die as befits the Hooded One with a sword in my hand.’
    A sneer touched the