CHAPTER TWENTY

The surly individual took a savage bite at the rancid piece of meat that lay grotesquely on the filthy platter in front of him. Hungry as he was he could barely stomach the taste and spat it out vehemently. With more relish he seized the goblet on the greasy table in front of him and poured the liquid contents down his throat. A twisted almost apoplectic expression transfixed his face as if he had been poisoned. Angrily he deposited the ale from his mouth as expeditiously as he had first commenced to drink it.

“Bile water, or else goat’s widdle, God damn me if I cannot get decent food or ale in these stinking parts.”

The inn-keeper scowled fiercely at his less than pleasant customer. What did these people expect for the small amount of coinage they gave him? This was not the King’s palace, some men were never satisfied no matter what you gave them. An ugly character this, one who would be vicious in a fight, someone to have as little to do with as possible.

“What sort of a tavern do you run here?” stormed the man throwing his goblet across the room “I’m not used to such lack of custom.”

“If you find us beneath you then try elsewhere” suggested the inn-keeper not unreasonably “there are several establishments like ours dotted all over the place in this locality.”

“God!” snapped the customer “I’ve a mind to go, this is one of the worst flea-holes that I’ve ever.... “

“Surely not Godric, even this place is far too superior for the likes of you. Why don’t you go away and lie under some boulder and hope it crushes you to death.”

Godric looked-up to see who the newcomer, who recognised him, was. Why yes an archer who had served under Rolf de Claimant. The former servant to William Longsword shivered slightly. The pain of that wound close to his shoulder-blades was still there. Only his innate ability to survive, and, he supposed, the lack of ruthlessness on the part of Rolf had saved him. A local apothecary had tended his wounds and with the help of his own low cunning and native wits he had eeked out a living of sorts.

“So one of Rolf’s men” snarled Godric diverting the conversation from himself “where is that one-time leader of ours?”

“Somewhere in France doubtless” shrugged the archer “he did not take all of us with him. He needed someone on the home front, although to be honest it was a fair bunch of scurvy rabble he took on board with him.”

“And what are you doing now?” enquired Godric.

“We all have to keep the wolf from the door” mused the archer “I’m serving as a recruiting officer for Robert Fitz-Walter.”

“Well, well a supporter of the rebel barons eh?” smiled Godric “anyway what’s your name? I feel a fool talking to you and not remembering who you are.”

“Call me Hal” responded the archer “I think you get the gist of my conversation. I thought you a rough unruly fellow when we served together but beggars cannot be choosers these days. You are a sturdy rogue, how about joining us, the pay and looted booty are quite good.”

“Eh-m” murmured Godric “alright I’ll follow you. After all I’ve nothing to lose, and, in fact, everything to gain. William Longsword supports King John and so there’s no place there on his side. That blasted abbot spilled the news to my master about my behaviour - at least his interpretation of it. It will have to be the rebel barons.”

Hal tossed a few well worn coins across the table. Godric seized the money with obvious relish and quickly stuffed it into the pouch he kept at the belt round his waist.

“That should be enough to keep you going for a while” smirked the archer “do you want another drink? If so we’ve plenty of time yet, then you can help me recruit some more rascals like yourself.”

“If the ale is as insipid as the bilge-water I’ve already tasted here then ‘no thanks’ I say. Is there an ale-house nearby where they serve a better brew? God above my guts are plaguing me beyond endurance. Even the rats would die in this hell-hole if they drank the liquid that the inn-keeper keeps dishing up.”

“Not an advocate for this grimy old tavern are you Godric old lad?” grinned Hal spitting vehemently on the ground “alright then follow-me and we will see if we
can find somewhere that suits your obviously very sensitive palate.”

Godric arose scowling from the rickety bench on which he had been seated and muttering a blasphemous oath lurched towards the main door of the premises. Hal winked side-ways at the inn-keeper and putting his arm round his new-found ally strode out into the dank late afternoon air. The two men wandered on for a good half-hour almost to the point when Godric wondered if they would see civilisation again. he was almost beginning to wish that he was back at the ale-house he had left. At long last they spied a building if anything more ram-shackled and run down than the one they had just left.

“What place is this?” muttered Godric.

“You know what they say” grinned the archer “taverns that have an excellent decor serve the worst ale. This one is such a mess in terms of appearance anyway that the brew must be good.”

“That’s a funny kind of logic” snapped the former servant of William Longsword “well at least it’s somewhere to rest our weary bones awhile. After you Hal.”

The two companions strode into the tavern and much to Godric’s surprise found that the place was bustling with life. A very large individual seemed to be holding court in the centre of the inn. He was of uncertain age but had a healthy ruddy complexion and the brightest gingery red head of hair that Godric had ever seen. His beard was scruffy and was showing signs of grey, or was it specks of ale that had become enmeshed? The stranger had two lively blue eyes that seemed to be continuously searching the room. Doubtless in his time he had been athletic and of a sturdy disposition but this effect was now spoilt by the appearance of a pot-belly. The gentleman was, however, obviously the life and soul of the party as he had two young serving wenches sat on his ample lap. The more buxom of the two was leaning over to whisper in his ear but at the same time accidentally spilling part of the contents of her goblet onto his hose. The big man seemed totally unabashed by this as he was gently stroking the young lady’s partly exposed bosom.

“Will, you old reprobate!” roared Hal. “Some men become old at twenty worn down by life’s cares. Bless me if you don’t put us all to shame. How old are you now
and yet you have the vitality of a young stag.”

“Tush man” laughed the giant “I live a quite severe life, surely you would not begrudge me my pleasure. I see you have brought a friend with you, both of you draw up a bench and we will exchange ditties together. Firstly, however, never let it be said that Will Scarlett failed to show hospitality to his guests. Allow me to get you both a flagon of real ale, until you sup this you can never have claimed to have imbibed true English brew,”

Hal and Godric did as they were bidden and almost in a trice two full goblets were placed in their grateful hands. This Will Scarlett had a presence about him that few people could ignore. Inspite of his friendly exterior one could tell that he would not suffer fools gladly and he had an imperious manner that spoke of one used to being obeyed.

“And what is your line of work, Will?” enquired Godric after first taking a swift draught of ale.

The giant fixed his enquirer with a steely gaze, at once threatening and yet overlaid with amused contempt.

“Ha, my fine fellow you did not hear tell of the trouble we gave to the Sheriff in these parts during the reign of the Lion-Heart?”

“I heard stories about a Robert of the Woods, or was it Locksley the Hooded One, God knows, all these tales that get distorted.”

“Yes, well” mused Will. “I’ll give you that. There was no Robert of the Woods, some blasted myth was that. There was a band, however, and I led it. Heaven forbid but I broke the jaw of the Sheriff’s man when he became overfond of persecuting a poor humble cottager for his taxes,”

“You don’t look like a man who would be squeamish about breaking a few bones” responded Godric “why did that trouble you?”

“Why man, at that time I was a Friar, and technically I suppose I still am. Still unusual times and unusual events produce strange results.”

“You cannot have become too popular with the authorities then?”

“More than that I was a wanted man. Still there were others like me who hated the rapacious Sheriff and all he stood for.”

“Did you rob the rich to feed the poor?”

“Hell, no man, we had to fend for ourselves most of the time. We certainly did not rob the poor, they didn’t have anything to take anyway. What squalor we lived in, sleeping rough among stinking leaves in the forest. That big fellow always used to see the funny side of it. You think I am of ample girth but big John was something else, he could split anyone’s skull with his quarter-staff.”

“Is he the man known as Little John?” questioned Godric.

“God’s blood, man. Fortune it is that he did not hear those words. Big John was a fierce Yorkshireman who had wandered from village to village, a quarrelsome chap, strong of arm and a noted lock-smith well practised in his trade. He could have settled down anywhere but for his fiendish temper. Still a great man to have when you have your back to the wall.”

“And what of the local Sheriff you speak so ill of?”

“He died a few years back, or so it seems. They say that if the Lion-Heart had spent more time in England such men as he would never have reached high office. Certainly Nottingham has never had such a covetous and grasping Sheriff as this man was. I certainly would be a hypocrite if I said that I mourned his death.”

“And were you responsible for his demise, my sturdy friend?”

Will was becoming increasingly irritated by the feigned camaraderie of this insolent rogue. Nevertheless he kept his temper and sought to answer as politely as he could.

“No, not I. In fact someone of better birth than myself. To be honest I am surprised that Hal here has not told you the tale, perhaps you and he are not as close as I have surmised.”

“Probably not” interjected Hal. “To answer your question Godric, the Sheriff of Nottingham Will has spoken of met his death at the hands of Sir Rolf de Claimont.”

Godric whistled softly. “A thousand torments” he gulped. “You mean the Rolf de Claimont that led our band. The two are the same?”

“Exactly” answered Will “and for exacting justice Rolf had his spurs of knighthood struck-off.”

“Did he not appeal to the Lion-Heart?”

“Richard was hardly ever in England when he was King” snarled Will. “In any case the sheriff was killed during this current reign when John Lackland was on the throne.”

“Well” mused Godric “I see Rolf in a different light now. What was the trouble that caused all this?”

“Oh the usual” snarled Will Scarlett “the Sheriff was determined to tax Nottingham to the hilt. I think that even King John would have drawn the line with some of the swine’s methods. He was haranguing an elderly man who had worked hard all his life and was a highly respected local tradesman. At the Sheriff’s orders the old gentleman was dragged through the streets to be taken for a flogging. Rolf interposed and when the Sheriff who was leading his men in this disgraceful treatment threatened to strike him he drew his sword. De Claimont always had a hot temper when roused or when he perceived a miscarriage of justice. With one fierce stroke he ran the Sheriff through. Just deserts for a foul tyrant, I say.”

“And what happened after that?” enquired Godric.

“Rolf was hauled before the Deputy Sheriff who would have flung him into the dungeons without further ado. However, as our brave friend indicated he was a knight with rights that had to be respected. The Deputy was incensed with rage and slashed Rolf across the face with his dagger. That deeply etched scar never seemed to heal from what I remember. Anyway to a filthy cell went de Claimont and King John was quick to sanction his loss of knighthood.”

“Anyway, Will, he did not stay long incarcerated, did he?” enquired Hal the archer.

“Why no, man!” retorted Scarlett “there were a lot of people sympathetic, who agreed with what he had done. I got together our old band of cut-throats and when he was being brought to trial, or sentence rather, we intervened in no uncertain manner. You should have seen the arrows fly. God, that was a day that Nottingham will remember for a long time.”

“So you served alongside Rolf, you and Hal, did you?” enquired Godric.

“He was with us but a while” spat-out Will “a good enough bloke but one with ideas of his own. Hal here left with him, but you have been a close associate of ours
for some years and never forget your origins and old mates do you my bonny eagle-eyed archer?”

Hal smirked slightly and took a long gulp on his goblet of ale. With a lusty wipe across his mouth with his tattered sleeve he turned to eye a busty serving wench who brushed by him.

“Yes you certainly have a sharp eye, my lad” grinned the street-wise Friar “I take it you will be partaking of more pleasures here in this humble tavern of ours, you reprobate?”

“Mayhap I will” grunted Hal. “How do you fancy some action yourself, Will. You look as sound of wind and limb as ever, is that stout arm of yours ready to lend us some aid.”

“Well any enemy of King John is a friend of mine.” mused Scarlett “Even so these rebel barons are a pretty unglamorous lot, hardly the stuff of which heroes are made. God half of them at least could do with a good wash, an illiterate bunch of turnip-heads if you ask me.”

“Still the offer is open if you should change your mind, old pal.”

“I’m grateful for that, I’ll keep my options open. These days you are better staying out of politics, show me an honest person mixed up in that lark and I’ll show you a remarkable individual. Nay to be straight with you Hal there’s only one person who ever lived that I would really trust and He died 1200 years ago on a cross at Calvary.”

“Well, Will I respect your views but you know where to find me if you ever change your mind.” smiled Hal.

The discussion was virtually at an end but before Hal and Godric could make their farewells there was something of a disturbance at the entrance to the tavern. Four fierce-looking soldiers had pushed their way in and were behaving as if they owned the place. The one seemingly in command had hold of a raggedly-dressed old man whom he was shaking over-violently.

“Do you specialise in beating-up old people?” Will Scarlett’s deep voice could be heard throughout the whole of the Inn “or possibly you are just as good striking women and young children as well? You are a brave fellow, what purposes do you
serve here?”

The brutish soldier could barely believe his ears. He had not expected such spirit from these down-trodden people. Who was this big fellow who issued such contemptuous comments in open defiance of the force of law.

“You insolent dolt” stormed the officer “I am under the command of your King, John of England who is here in Nottingham. I have been sent to root out his enemies, and gain intelligence about the rebel barons and their filthy adherents.”

“So” hissed Scarlett “and how does that square with pushing around an old man?”

“That is nothing to do with you” snapped the soldier “keep your mouth shut unless you have some useful information to impart.”

“Indeed I have “smiled Will grimly “you are a contemptible pig of a man, fit only to have your nose rubbed in manure, and your arse kicked till your cheeks are red.”

The scowling official stood momentarily nonplussed then in frenetic rage he drew his sword and advanced on the man who had insulted him beyond measure.

“Prepare to taste my steel!” snarled the bully.

“Those who speak never act” chortled Scarlett and rising swiftly he aimed a straight uncompromising kick straight between the man’s legs. Will’s adversary roared in pain sinking to the ground in sheer agony. The rogue soldier’s three companions moved to come to their leader’s aid. One of them, however, a more cautious fellow than his comrades pointed disconcernedly towards Hal who had fitted an arrow into his bow-string and was meticulously aiming it in their direction.

“Move just a few more yards” snapped the archer “and I will pinion the first man that disobeys against the tavern door.”

“Well Hal” laughed Scarlett “whether we like it or not we are allies once more. We look to be very much on the same side now.”

“Too true” mused Hal “let’s get out of here while the going is good.”

Destiny was not too kind in this respect as Hal misjudging his footing found himself sliding uncontrollably on a stream of spilt ale. That moment of disaster was enough for one of the braver soldiers to leap at the archer and bring him crashing to
the ground. Scarlett and Godric moved quickly to come to Hal’s aid and with their combined efforts were winning the struggle. Unfortunately some more of King John’s men had quickly arrived on the scene doubtless being alerted of the situation by the shouting and general uproar emanating from the tavern. Even Scarlett was eventually overpowered but not before giving a very good account of himself in the fracas. Barely one bully-boy officer escaped a bruised chin, a cracked rib, or a broken bone of some description due to the Friar’s ministrations.

The leader, now almost standing on two legs, spat vulgarly across the tavern floor. Limping towards Scarlett, who was being held by three colleagues, he lifted his right arm to deal the source of his injury a blow in the face. As he sought to strike Will he felt his muscles tighten. Try as he might his arm would not move as his wrist was held in a vice-like grip.

“What is the meaning of this coarse behaviour” barked out a determined voice into the soldier’s ear.

“Leave go of my arm, dolt!” snarled the irritated officer “It will be the worst for you if you do not desist.”

“No, my friend it will be injurious to your health if you resist me. I am a knight in the company of the King. My name is Sir Guy de Buissant. Your name, not only do I ask I demand.”

“Richard of Eastleigh” responded the soldier turning to face the athletic figure of the friend of Princess Eleanor of Brittany.

“Well, well” snapped Guy “King John would be very annoyed to hear that you were ill-treating his good subjects. The orders are to maintain good relations with the population hereabouts. You do not win support by bashing people about and treating them like dirt.”

“The King must have changed if he is now so considerate” whispered Hal to Will Scarlett “or else he has got a better quality of Knight following him.”

“We were ordered to root out anyone who seemed suspicious” muttered Richard of Eastleigh glancing in surly fashion at Guy. “We were but doing what we had been told to.”

“You are ill-deserving of the trust given to you Richard” commented de
Buissant. “Leadership brings with it responsibility. Behaving in a boorish manner is not the best way to win hearts and minds.”

“All the same, no-one has complained before” muttered the discredited soldier.

De Buissant turned his back on Richard of Eastleigh displaying maximum contempt. Quickly he waved his other followers to release the prisoners.

“Tell me, big fellow” he enquired of Scarlett “your name and background. I can see your quality already, I would know more about you.”

“Men, and women” smiled Will “call me Will Scarlett.”

“Ah yes” responded de Buissant. “That is a name I know well. The tales I have heard tell about a Robert of the Hood, a boisterous Friar, a John Little of quarter-staff fame, and Will of the scarlet clothes.”

Will Scarlett smiled broadly. It amused him to think about how reality had been expanded and indeed turned into semi-fable. There was no Robert Hood, unless it was Rolf de Claimont and he had joined later, for only a brief spell - his name was certainly not Robert or was it Robin this fabulous person. As for John Little well poor Big John had been dead these 9 or 10 years. It amused Will still further to hear that there was a Friar in the band. True there was but the Friar and Will were the one and the same. As for himself he had got his name from the colour of his hair and possibly his own high facial colour not from being a fashionable dresser in red garb.

“I have got the story right have I good Will?” enquired de Buissant. “You were a merry band under your leader, men of principle ready to uphold justice at the slightest need.”

“I am sure we were” grinned Will “I would not wish to contradict you, sir, stories do have a habit of being becoming slightly altered and added to over time, even, might I add when you hear stories about us Northern folk down in the South.”

Sir Guy bowed deeply and then proceeded to clap Will on the shoulder in kindly fashion.

“Will Scarlett” he announced “I would wish to cultivate such as you. If I can ever be of any assistance to your good self please make yourself known to me. I am leaving these parts shortly to advance with the King towards Newcastle upon the
River Tyne. We hear that that young cub Alexander King of Scots is causing trouble and taking advantage of this Nation’s current ills. His Liege the King is determined to make him pay for his temerity. If ever I am here again I would like to come and chat about your exploits. Meanwhile please feel free to go and take your two friends with you. On behalf of my King, and yours also, can I extend my sincere apologies for any inconvenience caused you.”

“Thank you Sir Guy” smiled Scarlett “I wish more of the King’s officers were like you, inspite of your relative youth you are very much one of the old school, a gentleman of quality and bearing.”

De Buissant again bowed low and turning on his heel was quickly out of the tavern motioning his followers to take similar action. Richard of Eastleigh also obeyed but the fierce intense look he gave Guy warned of a growing hatred for the knight already festering in his bosom.

Go to Chapter 21 | Back to Chapter 19 | Index

Front Page | Home Page for individuals | Business Services Index | Site contents & internal links | Email the Author