Robin O' Wood
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Part 3
Fytte the First: Hugh and Edward
The City of York on the River Ouse where trading ships tied up to unload bales of cotton, foreign spices, weather-beaten sailors and black rats.
Hawsers groaned as they were pulled tight by the tide. A sailor dressed in stained leggings and and woollen doublet came down the gang plank calling back to his mate still aboard.
"Back in England at last. And I'm for home. I'll be in Ferrybridge by the evening and between my doxy's legs. Perhaps she can fuck this ague away from me." He shivered and walked along the dockside. A rat ran nimbly along the hawser and reached ashore.
It seemed as if it too was intent on finding a safe lodging in York.
Hugh's wife, Mistress Goodyear, lived in Ferrybridge. Since her husband had fallen foul of the law by the taking of a deer, and as a consequence needs must take up residence in Barnsleydale Forest, Hugh had only been able to see his wife infrequently, sneaking back into the town when he thought it was safe, taking with him for her support some of the proceeds of any successful robbery that the outlaws had achieved.
The contents of the Abbot's (or at least the late Abbot's) wagon proved to be a rich haul, the coffers almost overflowing with jewelled pieces and silver florins stamped with Edward II's (by the Grace of God) head. The brass-bound chests stuffed with rich furs, cloaks, clothing made from the finest of brocaded materials.
"For holy brothers who have taken the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience," said Robin Hood, "this seems an over-provident store. It is perhaps good for their souls that we took it from them." His eyes gleamed with a sort of malicious amusement. He tried on a hat embellished with a feather. It sat with a rakish air over his chestnut curls before he discarded it with a laugh.
"The product of Church tithes, I assume," said John, "and supposed to be distributed amongst the poor."
"Well my lads," said Robin, "Charity begins at home. Take your pick. Warm clothing for the winter or money for your pocket, though there's little enough to spend it on, here in the forest."
"Can I take a thick fur for Will?" asked Much who was always thinking of his friend, young Will Scarlock, still suffering from the effects of the Abbot's treatment, still, in spite of Much's constant attention, weak, listless, and often in pain, still, though John's herbal skill was extensive, causing anxiety to the big man - though he always tried to hide it from the ever-anxious Much.
"Of course," said Robin. "I doubt whether any of us would object to your taking whatever you think would be helpful."
Hugh watched as Much carefully chose a coat made of soft red fox fur and scuttled off to the bothy where Will lay. Much had already fed him from a cup of nourishing venison broth that morning. "I think he has more appetite," Much had advised.
John to maintain his optimism had nodded and given a smile which hid his apprehensions.
"And you, Hugh, what will you pick?"
"I could do with a new bow for my fiddle," said Hugh, "but apart from that I want for very little. If I could take perhaps a few florins for Mary. To purchase provisions for the winter."
"Take all you need," said Robin, nodding understandingly. "And Edward?"
Limping Edward Coin also made a joke of it. "I could do with a new leg," he said.
"Here's an elegant pair of hose to cover them."
"Stout leggings would be more use in this mud," said Edward but he chose a green cloak which wouldn't stand out from the browns and greens under the greenwood trees.
Allan looked into the coffers. "A ring for my love," he said glancing at Piers. He chose one which was inscribed in French. "'A Vila Mon Coeur Gardi Li Mo' - 'Here is my heart. Guard it well.'" Hugh caught Edward's eye and smiled in tolerant amusement at the display of romantic attachment.
Robin turned to the newest member of the company. "Now Piers, you fought well. Take what you want." Piers scratched the shock of black hair on his head in concentration, sorting through the coffer looking for a like token to that which Allan had chosen. He found one where three strands of silver were interlinked in a true lover's knot. "This should fit," he said.
"Now John . . ."
"I noticed," said John, "that young Much chose nothing for himself - though no doubt both will share under the fur. But here . . " and he took out a pair of elegantly crafted but eminently serviceable daggers, in chased leather scabbards. "These will do for the two. I pray though that Will survives to bear his."
"Don‘t talk of that," said Edward crossing himself superstitiously and as he spoke a noisy group of black and white magpies chattered down into the glade and started quarrelling
"Look at that," said Edward before he could help himself. "Seven birds for a death." He limped over waving his arms to scare the birds away.
"Superstitious nonsense," said Allan though his fingers were crossed behind his back.
John looked doubtful. "And what will we do with the rest?" he asked. "That which we do not need."
"What think you of distributing them amongst the poor people of Ferrybridge and Nottingley?" suggested Hugh. "That way it will no doubt endear them to us, a fact which could prove useful on future occasions."
"A novel fancy," said Robin, "To rob the rich to feed the poor. Hmm. I'll think on it. It seems a not impractical idea at that." He shut the boxes. "But now to practical things. William a Trent has left us. I do not know the reason but would prefer to see it only as his becoming bored and dissatisfied with the life. However, if he is treachery bound, I think it best that we move the camp as far from here as possible. Regrettably it will also mean we will be far from Ferrybridge and our supply of both bread and news." He looked at Hugh as he said this and Hugh knew that he was also thinking of the rare visits to Mistress Goodyear which would of necessity, once the move were made, become even rarer.
"I shall go this evening," he said, "if that is convenient."
Robin nodded his permission but his thoughts were on other things. "I have a place in mind for our new camp. Well-sheltered, fresh running water. It will be even better than this." He walked over with John to discuss the move and more importantly how they could safely carry Will to his new lodging.
Hugh looked round at the camp-site, the chaotic tangles of sticks and leaves which were their homes, the black stain that was their hearth and the quagmire of mud that their feet had churned up . . . . In winter this was no place for men to live, he thought, and then recalled longingly his home which, though poor was at least dry and relatively warm. And then there was his wife, his son, now twelve years of age.
Edward, who seemed to have some sort of second-sight as far as his friend was concerned, put his arm round his shoulder. "It will not be for ever," he said though both knew that it probably would, and that only death would end this exclusion from their families and relations.
"I must see my Mary tonight," said Hugh. "For after this who knows when we shall meet again?"
Edward nodded sympathetically yet looked worried, seeming to debate within himself whether he should say something. "I have a bad feeling about the visit," he said at last.
"You and your forecasts!" Hugh said, dismissively. "None of Sir Guy's men are liable to be in Ferrybridge town in weather such as this."
"I wish Robin had not spared Sir Guy," said Edward, "when he had the chance to kill him - but allowed him instead to escape, to crawl back with news of Robin's 'clemency' . . . It was a mistake."
Hugh looked to see if Robin could overhear the criticism but their leader was in close conversation with his lieutenant.
"I will return safe, good friend. Have no fear," he said, smiling, "to keep thy back warm from the winter's chills."
Edward laughed, trying to make light of his dismal forebodings. "Make sure you do. Otherwise I will be but a stiffened corpse by the morning."
Fytte the Second: Medical Matters
It was late indeed in the night when Hugh returned and he had to make his way back by the light of the stars and a pale half moon. He did not expect anyone to be still up and was surprised to see the tall figure of John, with a lighted brand from the fire, emerging from the hut shared by Will and Much.
"Is the boy less well?" he asked.
"They are warm enough under the fur," said John, "but Will has developed a cough and I do not like the sound of it." To back up his words, there came the sound of a bout of hacking coughs from inside. "I have tried him with a syrop but it needs something stronger, I think."
"And Mary also has a cold," said Hugh with a smile which went unnoticed in the darkness. "Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze all night long. It interrupted our love making several times."
"Winter's chills, aching bones! It is the season for such ailments," said John. "Well, good night to you - if a cold one."
Hugh crawled into bed with Edward whose teeth were chattering and tried to warm him. It was indeed a bitterly cold night and they needed the warmth of each other's bodies. Edward turned. "Was Mary well?" he asked.
"Well enough," said Hugh, "apart from the sneezing."
There was a pause.
"You smell of woman," said Edward softly and sighed. Hugh understood. Edward had not had one himself for months. No wonder he was frustrated. Hugh felt down and touched his friend's fork. His cock stood out, hard and erect inside his leggings.
"Do you wish to . . . ?" he asked, leaving the actual question unsaid.
"Please," said Edward. They both pulled down their leggings to just above the knees and Edward pushed his cock between Hugh's legs, clamped close to give the maximum compression. He began to move in and out, his eyes tightly shut, imagining what he could. His thrusts grew more forceful until he gave a low cry and Hugh could feel the warm liquid running down the back of his legs. He held him until his spasms ceased.
As always they were a trifle embarrassed afterwards. "I hope I do not have to do that for you," said Edward, trying to make a joke, after they had cleaned themselves and drawn up their hose.
"Sleep now, my friend," said Hugh and soon Edward's regular breathing told him that he was asleep, though Hugh himself lay awake for some time, in fact until the dawn lightened the Eastern sky.
And only then did he fall into a troubled doze himself.
But in the morning Will was no better. The coughs still shook his thin frame and his eyes looked large and staring. He would not eat and Much was worried. John looked grave.
Fytte the Third: Cold Comfort
Under Robin's instructions they moved to another part of the forest and built their huts, sealing the walls and roofs with clay and moss. It was accomplished in a day and Will was carefully carried to his new home. But the move did him no good and the following morning his eyes were fever-bright and staring and he seemed not even to be able to recognise the face of Much.
"He needs an Electuary made of feverfew root and honey, which wonderfully cleans the chest of rotten phlegm, and helps an old strong cough," he said, "and I have none of it. But there could be some available in Nottingley and we have money enough to buy. Hugh and Edward could go there this morning and be back before sundown."
"Please hurry," said Much, his eyes begging.
When they reached Nottingley, they were surprised that the town seemed so empty. They were expecting the usual bustle of a Saturday morning with people trading in the market but the stalls were almost deserted and the one or two people who were out, passed them by with frightened glances and covered their faces as they sidled by.
One stall owner who was trying to sell turnips and other root crops looked almost terrified as Hugh and Edward approached to buy.
"Strangers," he said, "are you from York?"
"No," said Edward, "Why?"
The man looked relieved. "Just rumours. Of no import. Can I sell you some?" He indicated the produce laid in front of him.
"We really only require information," said Hugh but Edward, thinking that vegetables might not go amiss in their diet, bought a ha‘porth worth.
"We're looking for Crossguard Street," said Hugh to the stall holder. "The chirurgeon's house."
The man handed over half a dozen of the roots and then waved his hand across the square. "Up tha' street and take thee t' second turning right."
"I wonder what problem there is in York," said Hugh on the way
"Oh," said Edward. "There are always problems in York. Probably the Archbishop is increasing the tithes and everyone is afraid we are his emissaries, sent to gather in yet more of their meagre incomes."
Hugh nodded. "This is the place," he said pointing to a sign hanging from the first storey which depicted a painted pestle and mortar. "The chirurgeon's house."
The door stood open. There seemed to be almost more people inside the tiny room than in the Market Square that morning. Pomanders were on sale - citrus fruit stuffed with cloves and sprinkled with nutmeg, and dried flower posies - all doing brisk business Other packets were being passed across the counter for what seemed exorbitant rates.
When it was their turn Hugh asked for the powdered feverfew root.
"Is it for the chest?" asked the man, a taciturn sounding individual, with a few hairs scarcely covering his balding scalp. "No sneezes?"
"It is for the chest," said Hugh, then remembering Mary. "Why do you ask?"
"Only that the herb would be no good for the sneezes." He paused then continued. "You're not from these parts. Not from York?" Again that mention of York.
"No," said Edward. "We come from Ferrybridge way. What is the matter in York?"
"I just wondered whether you had any news from York," said the man, not meeting his eye.
They paid and left, pushing their way through the crowd who had come in after them..
"News from York?" pondered Hugh. "Something is certainly afoot. Perhaps if we go to the Inn we can find something out. Robin always welcomes news."
One inn they passed, The Sheaf and Barleycorn, but it seemed to be closed.
"Not a very welcoming town," observed Hugh.
And the next, the Drovers' Arms, was also shut. Hugh banged on the door and after a while a window opened upstairs and a woman leaned out.
"We're closed," she shouted down. "You'll not find an inn open today in Nottingley."
"Why?" shouted Hugh. "What is the matter?" But the window was shut, the woman gone.
And the woman was in fact wrong for when they were almost back at the Square they did find an inn whose sign proclaimed it to be 'The Mulberry Bush' and whose door stood open. There was though only one person inside drinking a mug of the ale, a tall, saturnine looking fellow with moustaches and black eyebrows that met each other over the top of his nose.
"William a Trent!" said Hugh, amazed. "I had thought you were many miles away."
The man squinted at them as they stood in the doorway - presumably not recognising the silhouettes against the rectangle of light.
"It's Hugh, Hugh Goodyear and Edward Coin, surely you haven't forgotten your old comrades so soon." They moved further in and as the light from the window fell on their faces, William a Trent - for it was he - knew them. Immediately his normally pale face turned even pastier and he looked as if he would turn and run except there was nowhere to run to.
It was a bare, blank room the only furnishings being a bench which ran round the walls and two tables. The ale-man had his barrels in one corner and Hugh bought three mugs full. Trent sipped his nervously but said nothing.
"So," said Edward, after a pause in which they waited in vain for some sort of explanation for William's disappearance from the camp.
"And is Robin well?" asked William eventually. He seemed genuinely interested waiting for their answer and Hugh and Edward, though temporarily taken aback at the question,
"But why did you leave?" asked Hugh. "We feared the worst."
"The worst?" queried William.
But Hugh was not prepared to elaborate.
"We speculated that you couldn't stand the life and had perhaps gone North out of Yorkshire. And here you are in Nottingley," said Edward.
"Was that the 'worst'?" asked William though he seemed almost to be talking to himself. Then he asked, "Was Robin upset at my going?"
"He missed you. Well he was perturbed at your going and he wondered at the reason for it."
William nodded. again seeming about to say more but then stopping himself and frowning, his black eyebrows low over his eyes so that he looked angry.
"Why did you leave?" said Hugh bluntly.
"It was as you said," said William. "I could not stand the life and planned to go further North but stayed for a while with relatives in Nottingley."
"Are you not in danger?" asked Edward. "Sir Guy returned from his foray into Barnsleydale Forest."
"Yes," said William. "I know. We have seen him but he does not know my face." Again he seemed unwilling to say more but looked as if he could but Hugh and Edward did not find this altogether odd, knowing him for a morose man who seldom was loquacious.
Edward changed the subject. "What is this problem with York which we have been hearing about?" he asked.
"Have you not heard? There's plague in York. Brought over from France it is thought on a trading ship."
"As long as it stays in York," said Hugh somewhat unfeelingly. He sneezed.
An expression of alarm went over WIlliam‘s face. "You have not been in touch with people from York?" he asked.
"Why do you ask?" said Edward. "What chance do we have for meet strangers from anywhere? You're more likely to meet them here in Nottingley."
"It is just that sneezing is one of the first signs of the black plague. Do you not remember the old children's game 'Atishoo atishoo we all fall down'?"
"My sneezing is just a winter cold," said Hugh, "brought on no doubt by the conditions in which we live." But suddenly he seemed anxious to leave. "We must return. We have some medicine for the boy."
"Oh yes," said William. "Brother Dominic. I heard he was . . . " he paused then continued ". . . rescued - and that the Abbot did not return to Doncaster Abbey."
He hears much news, thought Edward, for a man on the run - though he did not say anything.
Hugh said, "The Abbot will never return to Doncaster Abbey."
"I suspected as much," said William.
Hugh rose and went towards the door. At the doorway he sneezed again.
"We must get you back home," said Edward, "and cook up some broth which is always good for an ague."
"And no doubt I will have given the cold to you," said Hugh. "We were so close to each other in the nights." He meant no more than the truth. Then he said, "But first I would call in on Ferrybridge. I worry about Mary and Dickon, my son."
Edward went with him for company but even so the way seemed long. Hugh complained of a stiffness in his joints and a pain in his groin.
"Too much activity at night with Mary," joked Edward - but Hugh did not laugh. He picked up a branch from the woodland floor and used it as a stick to help him along.
It was well into the afternoon when they approached the outlying cottages of Ferrybridge. But whereas Nottingley had seemed deserted the road into Ferrybridge was blocked by a half a dozen citizens - though Hugh and Edward were pleased to see - not by their dress, soldiers.
They were scarcely within hailing distance when one of the men shouted to them to stop.
"I have business in Town," shouted Hugh. And went a little closer.
Suddenly three men drew bows and aimed them at the pair. "No one can come into Ferrybridge," called one, a brawny, thickset man with the complexion of a farmer. "Turn back!"
"But I have to see my wife!" He recognised the man. and said desperately "Robert Tomson, It is I Hugh, Hugh Goodyear. Let me in to see my wife."
"No one comes in! The plague is here. Your wife is dead."
Then Hugh saw the swirl of smoke from the fires at the back of the cottages. The plume of smoke dwindled, the bodies burned . . .
The suddenness of the news struck Hugh like a blow. He staggered and would have fallen if Edward had not been there to support him. He could scarcely believe what he had heard.
"But. . ." he said and stopped. "And Dickon, my son?"
"He also is taken ill with the plague," said Robert, "and is being tended. Whether he will recover is up to the Lord's will. But you and your companion, Turn back! For your own sake - and do not return until the plague has left."
Hugh could barely stand as the two turned back the way they had come. Edward tried to support him but feebly Hugh pushed him away.
"I have the plague," he said, his words sounding high and strained. "Get away from me."
"It may just be an ague," said Edward.
Hugh laughed, a high-piched, almost insane and mirthless guffaw. He wrenched at his tunic, tearing it down the middle so that it hung from his body exposing his chest. He raised his arms. "What do you think these are?" he asked and Edward could see the discoloured swellings in his armpits. "I have more here," cried Hugh, pointing to his groin. "Do you wish to see them too? These are the black buboes. When they burst I am a dead man."
"If you have the plague," said Edward, "then I have it too. We have been in close contact ever since you returned from Mary two days ago. Let me help you."
He held his still feebly protesting friend and together they retraced their steps, Hugh stumbling every so often, his face glistening with sweat, his body in turns radiating an intense heat and then shivering uncontrollably with the cold.
Edward did not know what to do. They could not take the plague back to Robin's camp but where else could he take his friend - and when he too became ill, what would the two of them do then?
But to the camp they eventually made their way back simply because there was no other place to go to. And at a safe distance, they stopped. Edward called. The burly figure of John emerged from his hut. He saw them through the gathering darkness and, as they made no attempt to enter the glade, he walked towards them but was stopped by a shout from Edward.
"There is plague in Ferrybridge. Mary Goodyear is dead and we both are infected. We will not come into the camp. Here is the medicine for Will." He laid the packet on a stone. "If you think it will be safe, then use it. At least that will not have been in vain. I will take Hugh into the forest. Do not follow us."
John's mouth moved. He could have been praying. Then they heard his voice. "The plague is spread by breath or bodily touch," he said. "I doubt whether the feverfew root will be affected. But I will not touch the outside covering with my bare hands. Is there anything we can do for you?"
Hugh tried to speak but he was too weak. Edward knelt beside him and caught his faltering words. He called across to John, "Hugh's son, Dickon, has the plague. If he should recover, will you do your best for him."
"Have no fear of that," said John, a catch in his voice. "God's blessing be upon you... and a curse on him who brought the plague."
Then as night fell, Hugh and Edward went off into the forest together
"I have heard that death from the plague though quick is painful," said Hugh through clenched teeth.
"I have heard it too," said Edward.
"But that falling asleep in the cold is kind."
Edward sneezed.
"Already the plague has passed from me to you," whispered Hugh. He sank down onto the woodland floor. "I can go no further."
"Just into the shelter of that tree," said Edward. I will carry you.
In his arms, Hugh feeling strangely light, Edward bore his friend to where the roots of a large beech tree, jutting from the ground, formed a resting place. There was leaf litter a-plenty for a soft bed though Hugh was past feeling any sort of comfort. In the windless still of the evening, the temperature dropped and the grass stalks whitened.
"See," said Edward, cradling his scarcely conscious friend in his arms, "Jack Frost paints our bedroom white."
"It is the colour of death," came a harsh rattle through Hugh's lips.
He was seized by an uncontrollable fit of shivering so that Edward could scarcely hold him still. But he wrapped his arms around him tightly and tried to warm him with his body. He remembered how they had held each other in the night and had made a sort of love together. He bent his head and kissed Hugh on the forehead.
Gradually the cold numbed their senses and Edward felt a calmness steal over him, a deadly tiredness creep into his limbs. His eyes shut.
Jack Frost danced around the trees and left his mark on branches and twigs. Tomorrow the rime would edge its lace making all through the forest. Two humans lay on the forest floor under an old beech tree and he touched their faces with his ice-cold fingers . . . gently . . . like a cold caress.
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