Chapter 10

10

T he berries Ellyn had picked would, upon being boiled in water or broth, induce a deep sleep. As she rode along behind Roger Burke, she carefully removed the outer purple skin of each berry, revealing a clear pearl of jelly inside that would dissolve and vanish if added to a stoup of ale or wine.

Despite Roger's supposedly amiable nature, she had no reason to trust him any more than she trusted Rennwick de Beauvoir. Indeed, the ability to trust anyone had died long ago, consumed in the same flames that had taken her mother.

She had been held for two long months in the cold stone tower at Nottingham Castle awaiting word from the king as to her fate. And now she was riding on the back of a pack animal, heading toward a different unknown fate and wondering if she had been saved from the boiling pot only to fall into the fire?

After she had run from her burning village, she had spent a long time hiding in the forest on her own. Thanks to her mother's teachings, the hours spent wandering the forest learning which leaf could be crushed and made into a soothing salve for a burn, or which berry could be boiled into a tincture and sipped to ease cramping, she had known how to survive on roots, berries, and edible leaves.

When or if the opportunity arose, she could do so again.

It was late-afternoon when they heard the distant sound of dogs braying. They had been following a rutted trail that cut through the basin of a ravine, a path likely used by farmers and monks travelling between villages. With Terrowin scouting ahead, they had been able to cut a wide berth around any vills or farms although once, the smell of a cooking fire had wafted through the forest giving Baldor's belly a reason to rumble loud enough for them all to hear.

They had not encountered any other travellers in the woods, heard no other sounds than the titter of birds in the lacey boughs overhead and the occasional rustle of a squirrel or mole burrowing under the layers of dried leaves.

When the first hollow echo of the dogs reached them, Rennwick ordered the small party off the rutted path and up onto higher ground where the trees were thicker. He and Terrowin retraced their path through the forest to find the source of the braying.

"I hate dogs," Baldor announced to no one in particular. "Mangy, flea-bitten beasts, quick to take a chunk of flesh off a leg or an arm."

"Not easy to hide from either," said Roger, "once they have the scent. We had best be prepared."

He helped Ellyn off the packhorse then threw back the canvas coverings on their supplies. Among other assorted necessities strapped to the animal's rear quarters were spare quivers of iron bolts for the crossbows both men carried hooked on their saddles. Roger took one and tossed another to Baldor. He then put his good foot to the iron stirrup of the crossbow and wound the string until most of the slack was taken up. He fit one of the bolts into the channel and turned the crank again to seat it snuggly.

Something else on the pack animal had caught Ellyn's eye. It was the slender shaft of a longbow, and strapped in a quiver beside it, a sheaf of arrows.

"You must keep out of sight, my lady," Roger said to Ellyn. "If those are Nottingham's men, they likely have orders not to return without you in hand."

Falconard's weasel face flashed before Ellyn's eyes and she shook her head. "I will not go back."

"We shall do our best to see that you do not. Now if you please, stay well behind me."

After a brief discussion on strategy, Baldor descended the embankment and took up a position on the other side of the ravine.

They heard hoofbeats on the road and moments later Rennwick and Terrowin galloped around the bend in the path. Roger whistled and stood, waving a hand. Rennwick saw him the same time Baldor signalled from the trees on other side of the trail. Terrowin tossed his reins to Rennwick and dismounted before the beast had come to a full stop. He vanished into the dense brush, swinging his bow off his shoulder as he ran. Rennwick rode up the slope and dismounted fifty yards forward of where Roger crouched at the ready. By way of hand signals, Renn indicated there were sixteen guardsmen, two dogs, no more than five minutes behind.

Roger blew out a curse and turned to look over his shoulder, only to turn further and swear again, for Ellyn was rummaging in the canvas sack that held their food supplies .

"What the devil—? This is hardly the time to worry about your belly."

Ellyn found what she was looking for and crouch-walked back to Roger.

"Here. Cut this and throw the pieces down the hill," she said, handing him a chunk of solid pork fat. "It will distract the dogs and ruin their sense of smell."

Roger looked at the fat, then back at Ellyn, and grinned. "Well thought, lass!"

He hefted the chunk of fat, took out his dagger to carve it into several smaller pieces, then tossed them down the slope. He heard Ellyn moving away, back to where the horses were standing, and when he turned to give her a thumbs up sign, he saw that she had helped herself to something else off the donkey's back: the longbow and quiver of arrows were slung across her back as she ran away, soon swallowed into the woods.

"Ellyn!"

He tried to signal Rennwick, but the knight's attention was focussed on the trail below and the increasingly louder braying of the bloodhounds.

Unable to do more than swear again, Roger hunkered down behind the bushes and set the heavy nose of the crossbow on a stump to steady his aim.

The pack of hounds appeared first around the bend in the path. They were held on long leather ropes by two handlers who had to run to keep apace. As Ellyn had predicted, they picked up the scent of the pork fat and nosed their way in circles trying to find every last scrap. Their snouts full of grease, they continued to run and search but it was obvious they had forgotten what they were searching for.

Hoofbeats sounded behind them as four mounted knights and a dozen guardsmen on foot came into view. The knights wore mail hoods and hauberks, the guards were in bullhide armor and carried crossbows slung across their backs.

Something, a glimpse of movement in the bushes or just an instinct of a trap set caused one of the knights to rein his horse to a stop and draw his sword from its scabbard. The other three followed suit, prompting the guards to unsling their crossbows.

"Hold fast and drop your weapons," Renn shouted. "We have you surrounded."

The first knight scanned the dense tangles of brush on the slope. "Who dares to challenge the Sheriff of Nottingham's guard?"

"One who will skewer you like a stuck pig if you do not drop your weapon and order your men to do the same."

It was one of the other knights who roared a curse and spurred his horse in the direction of the shout. An eight-inch iron bolt struck him to the left of the elongated nasal on his helm, piercing his eye and skull with such force it sent him careening off his saddle, dead before he struck the ground.

"I'll not ask again," Renn shouted.

"Outlaws! Show yourselves!"

The remaining three knights held their swords aloft, their heads turning this way and that searching the greenwood, trying to locate their attackers. The guardsmen had formed a tight circle, some of them fumbling to wind their crossbows. One was knocked to the ground, hit by the flanks of a horse spun around by his rider who started to charge toward Renn's position. A second guard raised a ram's horn to his lips and blew a long, sonorous note, the purpose for which came clear a few moments later when a second troop of guardsmen came running through the forest, all of them armed with bows and pikes.

Roger swore aloud and let loose his bolt, catching one of the knights high on his shoulder. At no more than twenty yards distance, the tip of the bolt cut through the chain link armor and pierced through to the flesh, causing the man to drop his sword and spin in the saddle. While he fought to maintain his balance, Baldor and Terrowin fired from their hidden positions, downing two more of the guardsmen. Renn had reloaded and fired again, killing another of the knights who had charged up the slope toward him.

Dangerously outnumbered, but committed to their task, Rennwick and Roger drew swords and started down the slope. Baldor and Terrowin each managed another shot before they too, entered the skirmish, their swords flashing, taking on two, three guards at a time.

The wounded knight was barely able to keep to his saddle, his tunic soaked with blood. The fourth knight kicked his horse forward, his sword raised and set to slash across Renn's unprotected back. His shout was only half-formed when a slender ashwood arrow shoooshed out of the shadows and pierced his throat from one side to the other, slicing through the metal links of his chin-high camail like they were soft cheese.

Startled, Renn turned quickly and scanned the trees. He saw Ellyn perched on a high branch already nocking another arrow into the bow. Her hat was gone and her hair tumbled around her shoulders in such a profusion of pale white-gold even a blind man could pick her out of the surrounding greenwood. He could do little more than curse, however, before a brace of guardsmen drew his attention and his sword.

Ellyn, snug in the elbow of the tree, nocked another arrow and calmly fired. She had no qualms, no hesitation about shooting at the Sheriff's men. She only wished, as she had so many times before when she was practicing and honing her skills, that she could have sent flights of arrows into the crowd that had put her mother to the stake. She was not about to go quietly to that same fate. Not if she had to skin her fingers to the bone to keep firing.

While Renn and his men were doing bloody damage with their swords, Ellyn cut down two, three, four more guardsmen. With three of the knights dead and the fourth slumped over his saddle, the lack of leadership stripped the remaining men of their courage and they began to retreat back through the forest. The hounds and their handlers had already vanished into the woods, happy to leave the scene of carnage behind.

Baldor caught a straggler by the scruff of his neck and Ellyn felled another guard before the decimated group tucked tail and ran, taking the wounded knight with them.

Rennwick, Terrowin, and Roger converged on the road, barely a scratch between them, and stood in the midst of the fallen bodies, their faces and tunics splashed red with battle blood. As one, they turned to stare up into the trees at Ellyn.

Baldor, still holding the guard around the neck, realized after a moment he had squeezed too hard and cast the limp body to the ground.

Ellyn nocked another arrow into the longbow and pulled the string tight to her cheek. She had all four of her captors well within her sightline and enough skill to load and fire three more arrows before they could duck for cover. From the look on their upturned faces, she knew they were aware of it too.

Rennwick's gaze remained steady and calm. "You can do it. You can shoot all of us and run off into the forest if that is your wish. Chances are fair to good you might even elude Nottingham's men for another sennight or two. But as soon as he hears what has happened here, the woods will be swarming with more men, more hounds."

He bent over slowly, conscious of the tip of Ellyn's arrow following his movement as he pulled up a handful of grass. He used it to wipe the blood off his sword before sliding it back into its sheath.

"It would seem to me you have a choice to make, Ellyn the Fletcher. Stay with us and you live. Leave now, take your chances on your own, and you will likely be recaptured. Or die. Or both."

"How do I know you are not taking me to my death anyway?"

"Would the one who sent us to find you go to all this trouble just to kill you? If that was the intent, you would never have left your tower at Nottingham alive; I would have dispatched you then and there."

The admission was made so matter-of-factly, Ellyn had no doubt he meant it. Her gaze flicked from face to face and saw no reason to believe any of them were shocked by his words.

With a precise flexing of her fingers, she loosed the arrow, letting it fly straight and true toward Rennwick de Beauvoir. The point drove into the ground a scant finger's width from the toe of his boot.

His only reaction was to look down at where the arrow had landed, then to lean forward and pull it from the dirt.

"Damned fine shooting," Terrowin said under his breath.

"Fine enough to have saved our necks," Roger agreed.

"Gather up the weapons… and the arrows. We have a limited supply," Renn said brusquely. He stalked up the sl ope and stood at the base of the tree to wait for Ellyn to descend. When she did, he reached out and took the bow and quiver of arrows.

"The next time you are told to stay out of sight," he said, "stay out of sight or you might well be killed."

Ellyn tipped her head. "From where I sat it looked more like you were the ones who could have been killed."

Renn's dark eyes narrowed. Without saying anything more, he turned and walked away.

"Pay him no heed," Terrowin said through a crooked grin. "He dislikes being indebted to anyone for any reason. I, on the other hand, am most grateful for your keen eye and extraordinary skill."

He executed the low, exaggerated bow of a court jester and Ellyn was in too good of a mood not to return the gesture with one of her own. As she did so, the berries she had peeled so carefully and tucked into her shirt rolled out onto the ground and scattered across the dirt in a dozen directions.