“Who would be out here at this time of night? No one knows we’re here—”
“Obviously, someone does! There are spies everywhere!”
“We will simply have to tell de Burgh we failed . . .”
Hubert de Burgh? Why would he send men after des Roches’ clerk? Was Walter a spy or turncoat? Then why not simply accuse him outright and have him arrested? This was some conspiracy. Kill des Roches’ clerk, but make it look like he was murdered or had some mishap on the road, with a letter planted on him . . . This was some conspiracy. And now there was a witness to it, whom they could not very well let go. Well, this was a nice puzzle, wasn’t it?
“Maybe he didn’t see anything—”
“They’ve taken that clerk away. They saw everything!”
John tumbled out of the hedgerow and ran.
“There he is!”
The crowd of de Burgh’s men chased him, which was what he wanted. If only he knew what to do next. He had a rake, a knife at his belt, and his own two legs. At least he was faster than them. He raced for the nearby river, away from the abbey. They charged after him. All of them, which meant none were chasing after Mary and the others.
Thank God they didn’t have arrows. However, they could pick up rocks just as easily as he could. One of them threw one, which hit John’s leg and skittered ahead.
The hit stung; he kept running.
If he could reach the river, he might jump in and swim for the other side. He suspected these men wouldn’t be eager to get wet and would let him go. But he feared now he wouldn’t reach the river in time. More rocks flew at him.
One struck his shoulder, and he stumbled. Lost some ground. The men fanned out, surrounding him. Hounds, bringing a fox to bay. John still had the rake; he could still fight, so he turned and held the rake like a quarterstaff, just like Little John had taught him.
Two of them had swords. The rest had knives, and half of them had rocks in their hands. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. “What’s this letter you spoke of? Something incriminating to the Bishop of Winchester, I gather. You leave it to be found with his dead clerk—”
“You see?” one of them hissed at the others. “You talked so much and he’s heard everything—”
“Quiet!” another answered.
John marked all their faces. Several clerks like Walter, a pair of common soldiers. Some clean-shaven, some with trimmed beards. But yes, he could recognize them again if he needed to. Which meant they’d be very eager to kill him now. He laughed, tried to think of something clever to say—his father would say something clever just now. But he couldn’t think of what so had to make do with the laughter.
“Kill him, dump his body in the river.”
“This is a bad idea, Philip.”
The other, presumably Philip, hissed at him to shut up.
“I know this boy,” yet another of them said. “He’s Robin of Locksley’s son.”
“Robin of Locksley! Why, we can hold him for ransom!”
“Better men than you have tried that,” John said. “They’re dead now.”
“Shut up, boy. You’ve doomed yourself.”
“I don’t think so,” he countered. He wished he could come up with something clever and cutting, but he just kept thinking, Wait until my father hears of this, and he refused to say that out loud.
They crept forward. He danced backward—he might still be able to throw himself in the river to escape—and swung the rake to keep a space around himself. He could only keep this up for so long. The minute they decided to all charge at once, he was done for.
But none of them wanted to be the first one to be struck. One of them would have to let himself be struck, to give the others the opening they needed. These men were not fighters and had no sense of tactics. Even the ones with the swords seemed uncertain.
Finally, the pair with swords lunged at him at the same time. John feinted with the rake, smacked one then the other on the wrists, moving faster than he ever had in his life. Swung the rake again; stumbled when he tried to back out.
An arrow struck the ground between two of the attackers, hitting with a sudden thunk. The line of cloaked men scattered. Another arrow struck, and another. The men turned to look for this new attack, but in the dark they could see nothing. The other side of the field was all shadow.
Then the lantern was struck, the glass bursting, the candle going out. Its bearer dropped it, jumped away, screamed.