after we had clasped right arms in greeting. ‘I meant to kill him for sure this time, and I honestly thought I had him, but once again it seems that I have failed.’
‘He may yet die from his wound,’ I said, smiling at him with affection. ‘Perhaps God intends for him to suffer a slow and hideously painful death, when the wound goes black and the pus runs thick and begins to smell of month-old rancid mutton …’
‘You’re just trying to cheer me up,’ said Robin with a wry laugh. ‘Or possibly make me feel peckish. Either way, thank you, Alan. No, I missed my mark with Murdac, and we shall have to deal with him again on some other occasion. Now, we have other matters to attend to; come, we’d better make sure these bastards are all dead, captured or gone from here.’
Robin turned away and was calling for his horse when William, Lord Edwinstowe, with a score of mounted men-at-arms behind him, trotted into the circle of torchlight around Murdac’s pavilion. I knew that Edwinstowe’s men had not charged with us when we rushed out of the castle gate to support Robin’s attack, and none of them carried the marks of battle – not a scratch nor a splash of blood on a single one of them.But the cautious baron must have seen the way the battle was going, that Murdac’s men were running, and come to the conclusion that he must join in if only for the sake of his knightly reputation. I realized then that, though he might be Robin’s brother, I thoroughly despised him.
‘Robert,’ Edwinstowe said curtly, nodding at my master. ‘William,’ came the equally terse reply. Then Robin, by now mounted, walked his horse over to his brother. He smiled at him without much warmth, and said: ‘I thank you for the great service you have rendered me over the past few weeks. I am in your debt.’
‘Well, Brother, when I got wind of Ralph Murdac’s plans to attack Kirkton, what else could I do but come here? I merely fulfilled my family duty,’ said Edwinstowe. ‘No more, no less. Duty to one’s family is a sacred trust, and it must supersede all other … considerations.’
‘And I am most grateful,’ said Robin. ‘I shall not forget what you have done for me here.’
Baron Edwinstowe half-smiled; he seemed pleased by Robin’s thanks. ‘It seems that I underestimated your battle plans. I must congratulate you on this scheme, this … ruse, and on your notable victory.’ His gauntleted hand described an arc that took in the shattered, smouldering enemy camp, now empty of Murdac’s men. Robin gave him a bright, gleaming smile. And for a moment the baron seemed to be about to say something more, but he merely nodded and then turned his horse and, leading his conroi of unmarked men-at-arms, he trotted back towards Kirkton Castle.
The prisoners looked tired and very frightened. Pale-faced and bound at the wrists and neck with stout ropes, a forlorn twodozen men, some lightly wounded – the very badly hurt had been mercifully dispatched to their Maker in the immediate aftermath of the battle – sat disconsolately with their backs to the wooden palisade, stripped nearly naked, and guarded by a handful of joyfully victorious archers, who were sharing flasks of mead and time-honoured army jokes. It was not long past dawn in the bailey courtyard of Kirkton Castle and Hanno was congratulating me on my kill the night before last. ‘I am very pleased with you, Alan,’ said my Bavarian friend, his round shaven head split with a grin to reveal his ragged assortment of broken grey teeth. ‘It is a beautiful killing, ah yes. Very nice, very quiet, and very nearly perfect.’
My bitten finger throbbed from misuse, even though I had strapped it tightly before the battle last night. I looked at my friend a little sourly and I marvelled at his use of the word ‘beautiful’ for such a sordid piece of butchery.
‘What do you mean, nearly perfect?’ I said. ‘I took him down without a sound.’ I was feeling the
‘He may yet die from his wound,’ I said, smiling at him with affection. ‘Perhaps God intends for him to suffer a slow and hideously painful death, when the wound goes black and the pus runs thick and begins to smell of month-old rancid mutton …’
‘You’re just trying to cheer me up,’ said Robin with a wry laugh. ‘Or possibly make me feel peckish. Either way, thank you, Alan. No, I missed my mark with Murdac, and we shall have to deal with him again on some other occasion. Now, we have other matters to attend to; come, we’d better make sure these bastards are all dead, captured or gone from here.’
Robin turned away and was calling for his horse when William, Lord Edwinstowe, with a score of mounted men-at-arms behind him, trotted into the circle of torchlight around Murdac’s pavilion. I knew that Edwinstowe’s men had not charged with us when we rushed out of the castle gate to support Robin’s attack, and none of them carried the marks of battle – not a scratch nor a splash of blood on a single one of them.But the cautious baron must have seen the way the battle was going, that Murdac’s men were running, and come to the conclusion that he must join in if only for the sake of his knightly reputation. I realized then that, though he might be Robin’s brother, I thoroughly despised him.
‘Robert,’ Edwinstowe said curtly, nodding at my master. ‘William,’ came the equally terse reply. Then Robin, by now mounted, walked his horse over to his brother. He smiled at him without much warmth, and said: ‘I thank you for the great service you have rendered me over the past few weeks. I am in your debt.’
‘Well, Brother, when I got wind of Ralph Murdac’s plans to attack Kirkton, what else could I do but come here? I merely fulfilled my family duty,’ said Edwinstowe. ‘No more, no less. Duty to one’s family is a sacred trust, and it must supersede all other … considerations.’
‘And I am most grateful,’ said Robin. ‘I shall not forget what you have done for me here.’
Baron Edwinstowe half-smiled; he seemed pleased by Robin’s thanks. ‘It seems that I underestimated your battle plans. I must congratulate you on this scheme, this … ruse, and on your notable victory.’ His gauntleted hand described an arc that took in the shattered, smouldering enemy camp, now empty of Murdac’s men. Robin gave him a bright, gleaming smile. And for a moment the baron seemed to be about to say something more, but he merely nodded and then turned his horse and, leading his conroi of unmarked men-at-arms, he trotted back towards Kirkton Castle.
The prisoners looked tired and very frightened. Pale-faced and bound at the wrists and neck with stout ropes, a forlorn twodozen men, some lightly wounded – the very badly hurt had been mercifully dispatched to their Maker in the immediate aftermath of the battle – sat disconsolately with their backs to the wooden palisade, stripped nearly naked, and guarded by a handful of joyfully victorious archers, who were sharing flasks of mead and time-honoured army jokes. It was not long past dawn in the bailey courtyard of Kirkton Castle and Hanno was congratulating me on my kill the night before last. ‘I am very pleased with you, Alan,’ said my Bavarian friend, his round shaven head split with a grin to reveal his ragged assortment of broken grey teeth. ‘It is a beautiful killing, ah yes. Very nice, very quiet, and very nearly perfect.’
My bitten finger throbbed from misuse, even though I had strapped it tightly before the battle last night. I looked at my friend a little sourly and I marvelled at his use of the word ‘beautiful’ for such a sordid piece of butchery.
‘What do you mean, nearly perfect?’ I said. ‘I took him down without a sound.’ I was feeling the
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