How the Red Friar fared in Sherwood
THE BRIGHTNESS hurt his eyes, boring into his skull like torturers’ knives, and the sound of the near by stream turned his stomach. The Red Friar rolled onto his side in an attempt to shield his face from the brilliant sunlight spangling its way through the trees. He groaned as he moved, for he had never before felt so overwhelmingly weak, or so filled with lassitude that sapped his will along with his strength. As much as he wanted to be out of the direct sun, he was unable to urge himself to action.
He noticed the pyx still lying discarded on the road, and his first impulse was to reach for it to save the sacred vessel from further desecration. But when he attempted to touch the silver, chapel-shaped box, his fingers burned and blistered, and he was taken with a bout of queasiness that made him glad his stomach was empty. He drew his hand back, hissing as he did. Why should the pyx burn him? And why should he pull away from it? That troubled him. And he could not remember hissing before. He tried to put it down to his unaccountable weakness, telling himself that he would have sworn he was stronger, but this inner protestation seemed as feeble as his body was.
“He’s coming around,” said a voice not far away. “Should I—?”
“No,” said another, deeper, with greater authority. “He will need no prodding from any of us. He will come to himself shortly.”
The Red Friar looked up and saw the white-maned devil of the night before. “Welcome, little Brother, to our band.” He grinned, showing more of his sharp teeth than was strictly necessary. “Welcome.”
A peculiar lassitude took hold of the Red Friar, as if he had no will of his own. He felt his hand extend as if tugged by invisible strings, and though he wanted to scream when the outlaw’s fingers closed around his own, he could achieve nothing more than a whimper, which made his fright all the greater.
“Look at him,” said the white-haired creature. “He’s afraid of me.” The man laughed. It was a grating sound that had only the dreadful joy of battle to lend it merriment. “Never mind, Red Friar. You will get used to it. And when the thirst is on you, you will understand.” He tugged the Trinitarian abruptly to his feet. “We need you more than fodder, or you would be as dead as those crofters whose children you buried yesterday. We need someone who can read, someone who can approach travelers without rousing their suspicions. A Red Friar is perfect.”
The rest of the band made low sounds of agreement.
The Red Friar stared at the leader, fascinated by the evil emanating from him. “I don’t know ...”
“You will learn. We will teach you.” He signaled to one of his followers, the one who had first spoken when the Red Friar woke. “Come. This is my lieutenant. He is Will. Will Scarlet. We are blood relations, he and I.” The two outlaws shared their sinister amusement without any sound.
Will Scarlet bowed to the Red Friar. “It is good to have a monk among us.”
The Red Friar wished he could run, but there was no way to move that did not seem impossibly dangerous.
“And I am called Hood, for I never let open sunlight fall on me. My name is Robin. These are my men. All of my men are as I am. As you are now, Red Friar.” He went on as if addressing a child, as he gestured to the others. “That fellow there, the one in the smock, is the man you were planning to put to rest with his family. That is the crofter. We call him Hendy for he came so readily into our hands. His oldest son and his woman are with us as well, at our stronghold. They arrived there three nights since. The two men with the crossbows were men-at-arms, escorting merchants on the Great North Road. We took a few of the merchants, but they did not have anything useful, beyond their lives. We put them to rest. In case you were wondering what became of them.”
Suddenly, as he realized the enormity of his disaster, the Red Friar began to tremble, and he sat down quickly, his head bent toward his knees. He wanted to pray but all the words had fled him, and he could manage nothing more than “Pax vobiscum,” which he repeated several times, all the while fearing he would vomit.
“Prayers won’t help you now, Red Friar. You are seeking relief in the wrong quarter. In fact, they will serve to make you feel worse if you persist in them. Prayers are useless. They could be dangerous, as well, if you try to call upon those who are our sworn enemies.” He reached down, his long, white fingers like the legs of a tremendous spider. Gently he patted the Red Friar on the head. “Come. Get up. Up! You will feel better when all is explained to you.”
The Red Friar could not imagine that. He tried to crawl away from Hood only to discover that his will was insufficient to the task. He looked up at the sinister figure above him. “What have you done?”
“Made you one of mine,” said Hood, unable to keep from gloating. “My first Friar. I had hoped there would be something unusual in your blood, but there wasn’t.” He regarded the Red Friar narrowly. “Stand. We cannot remain here much longer, with the sun rising higher in the sky.”
For reasons that baffled him, the Red Friar made haste to agree, scrambling erect as if at the order of the Pope. As soon as he was on his feet once more he swayed, feeling light-headed. If he had been standing next to anyone but Hood he might have reached out for support, but he could not bring himself to do that.
Hood did it for him. “It will take time for you to recover your strength, and when you do, you will have more than ever you possessed before. You will, however, be mine from this day on. You will be one of my band, and you will obey me utterly.” He gave the Red Friar a direct look that could not be escaped.
“They will send men-at-arms against you. The garrison at Nottingham will come to end your power here.” He had hoped it would be a threat, but he listened to himself in despair, for there was nothing but subservience in his tone. Despair went through him like a hot wind.
“Men-at-arms. How frightening,” said Hood with no trace of fear about him. “We will have to be ready for them.”
“But—” the Red Friar could not keep himself from protesting.
“Let them send the garrison. We need their blood.” He howled with something that might have been laughter, and the rest echoed the sound, the ululation filling the forest and sending birds and game scattering for leagues around them.
“They are well-armed and will hunt you down,” said the Red Friar, seeking for a menace that would instill in Hood a tenth of the terror the outlaw leader instilled in him.
“Let them try,” said Hood, and started off into the deepest part of the forest, not bothering to look back to see if his men were following him.
The Red Friar told himself he would resist, he would not join the other at Hood’s heels. He would not become one of that devilish band. But as he issued these stern mental instructions, he could not keep from trudging off in the wake of the others, moved by a force he was unable to conquer.
Somewhat later they arrived at the heart of a dense tangle of thicket, and discovered three ancient oaks growing up and through a vast boulder. At the base of this stone a number of tie-beam huts had been erected, with a great fire-pit in the center of the huts. Two dozen men and half as many women waited beside the fire-pit, a deep, unending hunger stamped on every countenance.
“There is trouble coming,” Hood announced as he strode to the foot of the boulder. “We must be ready for it.”
The men and women listened in silence.
“Tonight, when we rise to hunt, I want every one of you to seek out a single place where you can go to ground, if you must. I want us to be able to scatter in an instant, and disappear into the forest when we are threatened. I will summon you from your lairs when it is safe. No man-at-arms can find us if each is hidden alone.”
Will Scarlet added, “If we are attacked, we must not be captured. Remember how terrible the craving is when it is denied. If they kill us, we have nothing to fear, but captivity must be avoided.”
“Only when we are able to fall on the men-at-arms and overpower them should we engage them in combat, and take what we need from them when we have triumphed. It is not to challenge their valor or honor. They are not our enemies. They are our food. They are livestock,” said Hood with very little emotion.
The Red Friar listened with growing dread.
“And in that regard,” Will Scarlet went on, “we now have two more mules to trade with the crofters who are willing to aid us. We can provide them with the things they need, if they will protect us.”
“If they refuse, or fail in their tasks, we will exact a price,” said Hood in the same flat voice as before. “And they will pay that price in blood.”
The people gathered around him howled again, and to his dismay, the Red Friar found that he, too, was howling.
“It is going to be a good night for hunting,” announced Hood. “There are crofters who have told their warden about us, and they must suffer for their insolence. The man has four sons and three daughters, and two sisters who live with his family. We will take them all, and kill them when we are done, so that others will know they will not become one of us if they betray us—they will die.”
Again the bestial chorus sounded.
“Sleep for the day, save for you who are to guard us. And at sundown we will march for the croft. It is six leagues away. They will be sleeping soon after sundown, and that will make our work easier. We will be there before midnight.” Hood’s satisfaction was compounded of arrogance and will. He did not look at any of his followers as he trod off toward the largest of the huts, closing himself away from the loud acclaim of his band.
“Come, Red Friar,” said Will Scarlet, amused and forbearing at once. “You will need rest. It is getting too bright for us.” He indicated the hut next to Hood’s. “You can share my roof for the time being.” He smiled. “Don’t touch my harp, though. I will tolerate many things, but not that.”
“Your harp?” asked the Red Friar, shocked afresh at this revelation. It was as if he had discovered that Belial was a gifted stone-cutter, or Asmodeus an orator.
“Yes.” He made a gesture of encouragement. “You see, I am a troubadour. Or I was, once. I came upon Hood in the dungeon of Ely Castle, and I was imprudent enough to let him out, being as we are remote kindred. I was told he was a killer, but the lord of the castle had not paid me as he had promised. I thought it would be a good idea to set my distant cousin and his enemy free, to show the lord I would not let him get away with fleecing me and remaining unscathed. Hood agreed, when I told him my plan.” He shook his head slowly. “He was on me like a cur on a rat.”
Stunned by this information, the Red Friar followed Will Scarlet into his hut.