winning a silver arrow from his hated enemies would truly make him a legend. Could he pass up such an opportunity?
Maybe the young archer would turn up in person to enter the tournament after all. Only time would tell.
Sheriff de Faucumberg had, surprisingly, been quite open to the idea of a tournament with a silver arrow as the prize for the best archer when the bounty hunter had approached him in the great hall. Gisbourne had expected he'd have to persuade, argue or even fall back on the king's name to get the man to agree to Groves's plan, but de Faucumberg was almost as sick of the outlaws plaguing his jurisdiction as Gisbourne was. Anything that might get rid of them once and for all was worth a try. God knew, they'd tried everything else in the past few years, without much success.
“Yes, it seems like a reasonable idea. We can simply paint a normal arrow with silver paint; no one will be able to tell from a distance,” de Faucumberg had suggested, rolling up parchments on the great oak table that separated him from the Raven and taking a sip from the silver goblet by his right hand.
Gisbourne had been adamant though. “Out of the question, sheriff. People are going to come and see it before the tournament – they'll be able to tell immediately if we just paint a normal, wooden arrow. No, we must have the local smith make us the real thing if we're to entice the wolf's head into coming here for it.”
“And where are we going to find the silver to make this precious missile?” de Faucumberg wondered.
Gisbourne had laughed mirthlessly. “Come, now, sheriff. There's more than enough coin from taxes in your coffers to make something as small as an arrow. Melt some of it down. We're going to have a city full of soldiers on the lookout for Hood and his men, there's no chance they'll be able to ever get the arrow out of the city, so it's not like you'll be risking your silver.”
The sheriff snorted angrily. “We had a locked city full of soldiers looking for the bastard just a few months ago, yet he managed to escape from the dungeon and walk right out through the gates. I wouldn't be so confident if I were you.”
Gisbourne waved a hand dismissively but de Faucumberg carried on.
“Besides, what if none of the outlaws turn up? Or, say they do turn up, but someone else wins the competition? What then?”
“We give them a small bag of silver and send them on their fucking way!” Gisbourne barked, shaking his head. “You're the king's representative here, you wield more power than you seem to realise. Use it, man.”
De Faucumberg took the rebuke with a frown, realising the bounty hunter was right. Hood and his outlaws had been allowed to do as they pleased in his forests for too long. Maybe it was time to play a little dirty.
“Fine,” he agreed. “Take just enough silver to make your arrow. But you better make damn sure you and your men guard it with your lives, because if you don't... your lives won't be worth the dog shit I stepped in this morning, Gisbourne, trust me.”
The Raven threw the sheriff a smug grin, the scar tissue that had healed around his missing eye wrinkling horribly as he raised a hand in mocking salute and strode from the room with a laugh, his black boot-heels echoing as he went. “I trust you, de Faucumberg. It's time you placed some trust in me. The wolf's head is as good as dead.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Robin had ordered the men to move camp again on hearing Allan's news that Matt Groves might have taken up with the feared Gisbourne. Matt knew all of their usual camp-sites, having been a member of the outlaw gang for longer than most of them and Robin didn't want to make it easy for the turncoat to lead their doom straight to them.
Their usual hiding places had been chosen years ago by Adam Bell who, as an ex-Templar knight, had a great understanding and knowledge of how to use terrain to his advantage, be it to hide his own men or to mount attacks on others. But they
Maybe the young archer would turn up in person to enter the tournament after all. Only time would tell.
Sheriff de Faucumberg had, surprisingly, been quite open to the idea of a tournament with a silver arrow as the prize for the best archer when the bounty hunter had approached him in the great hall. Gisbourne had expected he'd have to persuade, argue or even fall back on the king's name to get the man to agree to Groves's plan, but de Faucumberg was almost as sick of the outlaws plaguing his jurisdiction as Gisbourne was. Anything that might get rid of them once and for all was worth a try. God knew, they'd tried everything else in the past few years, without much success.
“Yes, it seems like a reasonable idea. We can simply paint a normal arrow with silver paint; no one will be able to tell from a distance,” de Faucumberg had suggested, rolling up parchments on the great oak table that separated him from the Raven and taking a sip from the silver goblet by his right hand.
Gisbourne had been adamant though. “Out of the question, sheriff. People are going to come and see it before the tournament – they'll be able to tell immediately if we just paint a normal, wooden arrow. No, we must have the local smith make us the real thing if we're to entice the wolf's head into coming here for it.”
“And where are we going to find the silver to make this precious missile?” de Faucumberg wondered.
Gisbourne had laughed mirthlessly. “Come, now, sheriff. There's more than enough coin from taxes in your coffers to make something as small as an arrow. Melt some of it down. We're going to have a city full of soldiers on the lookout for Hood and his men, there's no chance they'll be able to ever get the arrow out of the city, so it's not like you'll be risking your silver.”
The sheriff snorted angrily. “We had a locked city full of soldiers looking for the bastard just a few months ago, yet he managed to escape from the dungeon and walk right out through the gates. I wouldn't be so confident if I were you.”
Gisbourne waved a hand dismissively but de Faucumberg carried on.
“Besides, what if none of the outlaws turn up? Or, say they do turn up, but someone else wins the competition? What then?”
“We give them a small bag of silver and send them on their fucking way!” Gisbourne barked, shaking his head. “You're the king's representative here, you wield more power than you seem to realise. Use it, man.”
De Faucumberg took the rebuke with a frown, realising the bounty hunter was right. Hood and his outlaws had been allowed to do as they pleased in his forests for too long. Maybe it was time to play a little dirty.
“Fine,” he agreed. “Take just enough silver to make your arrow. But you better make damn sure you and your men guard it with your lives, because if you don't... your lives won't be worth the dog shit I stepped in this morning, Gisbourne, trust me.”
The Raven threw the sheriff a smug grin, the scar tissue that had healed around his missing eye wrinkling horribly as he raised a hand in mocking salute and strode from the room with a laugh, his black boot-heels echoing as he went. “I trust you, de Faucumberg. It's time you placed some trust in me. The wolf's head is as good as dead.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Robin had ordered the men to move camp again on hearing Allan's news that Matt Groves might have taken up with the feared Gisbourne. Matt knew all of their usual camp-sites, having been a member of the outlaw gang for longer than most of them and Robin didn't want to make it easy for the turncoat to lead their doom straight to them.
Their usual hiding places had been chosen years ago by Adam Bell who, as an ex-Templar knight, had a great understanding and knowledge of how to use terrain to his advantage, be it to hide his own men or to mount attacks on others. But they
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