The Death of Robin Hood Read Online Free Page B

asked.
    ‘South,’ said Robin. ‘To London first; we will receive further orders from Fitzwalter there.’
    Dinner was served by Robert and his massive servant Boot, a dark-skinned giant from the forests of Africa who had once been the sheriff’s executioner at Nottingham Castle, and we ate heartily – venison, roast goose and pigeon pie, fresh bread, cheese and preserves, for who could tell what privations the future might hold. At the table Robin introduced me to his new squire, a broad-shouldered, deep-chested, red-haired young fellow of good family in Kent named William of Cassingham, and known by all as Cass. He seemed an amiable sort, who clearly worshipped Robin. He was, for a squire, unusually armed. At his waist, on the left side, in a two-foot long, five-inch broad leather sheath, he wore a falchion, a crude, wide, single-bladed weapon that was more like a butcher’s cleaver than a proper sword. At the other side of his belt was an arrow bag filled with two dozen shafts topped with goose feathers; and it was very difficult to part him from the long yew bow that he carried as if it were an extra limb.
    ‘He’s a talented lad,’ said Robin quietly, as the squire took his place at the board, ‘if a little savage in his habits. But strong as a bull – and brave with it.’ My lord obviously had regard for the fellow and that was enough reason for me to like him. But beyond a few mumbled pleasantries, Cass said little at the feast and ate as if this were to be his last meal on earth, tearing at great chunks of meat with his teeth and barely chewing them before swallowing the lump down with vast draughts of red wine. He reminded me of the strange tales I had heard of the pagan cannibals of Africa – ferocious creatures who filed their teeth into points and craved human flesh. But, in truth, he was no wild man. He merely ate with a great determination, almost as if he were challenged, as if he were determined to vanquish all the meat and drink before him.
    When theyhad served the dishes and poured the wine, Boot and Robert joined us at the table and listened in silence while Robin regaled us with tales of Kirkton, the misadventures of Miles and all the doings in his Yorkshire lands. After the meal, while Robin was seeing to the comforts of his men-at-arms in the barns out in the courtyard, Sir Thomas took me aside.
    He seemed embarrassed but he clearly wished to speak to me alone.
    ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘have you received any visitors in the past few weeks, any visitors connected with the Church?’
    I told him about the appearance of Tilda and her tearful entreaties.
    ‘Yes, I heard that she was expelled from Kirklees,’ he said. ‘She upset the prioress somehow and Matilda was thrown out without a penny, just in the clothes she stood up in. We all laughed about it, to be honest. A bad woman come to a bad end. But that was not what I was aiming at. Have you received any visitors from, ah, the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon?’
    I looked at him more keenly then. Thomas, unasked, had done me a great service in the summer. A Templar knight, one Brother Geoffrey, a foul deviant who had had charge of the training of young squires in the Earl of Pembroke’s household, had pestered my son while he was there. I did not know the full details, Robert had never revealed them to me, and I did not like to press my enquiries, but I knew it was bad enough to warrant the knight’s death at my hands. However, Thomas had dispatched the wretch on my behalf, in secret, without my knowledge, and had even gone so far as to slice off his manhood and leave it in the corpse’s open mouth as a message to other men of his hideous kind.
    Thomas had been very discreet; indeed, he had never directly admitted his guilt to me, merely alluding to it. He still did not seem willing to own to the crime. But I knew what he had done and I was grateful. I also knew that the Templars had vowed to seek outthe killer