Rise of the Wolf

RISE OF THE WOLF

Book 3 in
The Forest Lord
series

By Steven A. McKay

Copyright 2015 Steven A. McKay

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

Also by Steven A. McKay –

Wolf's Head

The Wolf and the Raven

Knight of the Cross

For my wife Yvonne,

and everything we've been through together.

Love you.

Acknowledgements

As always, lots of people have been a great help to me in writing this novel. Kathryn Warner, author and historian, provided me with invaluable information on King Edward II's movements in 1323. Her fantastic blog also provided much interesting information on the much-maligned king's character. He wasn't all bad despite what you may have read.

Archery expert Chris Verwijmeren, as always, proved invaluable when it came to both my cover design and technical details. The sections about fletching were made easier to write thanks to his help. I am greatly indebted to him for his time and patience.

My beta-readers gave much useful feedback when I was in the early stages of editing, so big thanks to them: Bill Moore, Bernadette McDade and Robin Carter.

Again, I have to thank the team at Amazon's KDP for their continued support and also the staff at Audible and ACX.

You, my readers, are the people that have most helped these books enjoy the success they have though, so cheers to everyone who's bought the books, left a review, joined in with me on Facebook or Twitter or at my website and generally been so kind and supportive to a humble lad from Scotland.

Now, sit back, and enjoy Rise of the Wolf. 

The two girls smiled at one another as they pushed their way through the sparse late-winter foliage and caught sight of the snares they'd set the day before. One of the traps had managed to catch a hare in mid-hop and its little brown body hung, dead and ready for the pot.

“Well done,” Matilda said, clapping her younger friend on the back. “That was one of your snares – you set it at just the right height and now,” she glanced down at her own empty hands, “we have at least something to contribute to dinner tonight.”

They moved forward to collect their prize but, as they reached it, a man pushed his way through the trees from the right, startling them with his sudden appearance and his size. Although he was a tall man, he wore light green and brown foresters garb which had allowed him to remain undetected by the two villagers.

“I think we've found our hunters, lads.”

As the man spoke, a satisfied smirk appearing on his lips, more men revealed themselves from amongst the branches and bushes of Barnsdale Forest.

Matilda mentally kicked herself – she'd lived with her husband, Robin Hood, and his men within this very greenwood not so long ago and had learned much in that time. “I should have seen them hiding there,” she muttered to her companion.

Marjorie was Robin's younger sister, a thin girl of fifteen, and her face twisted in fear at the prospect of arrest at the foresters' hands. “What will they do with us?”

“Well, now, that'll be for the warden to decide,” the tall man shrugged, overhearing her wavering voice. “But you only seem to have caught one tired-looking old hare. Probably just be a fine.”

Marjorie relaxed a little at that; her family had money enough thanks to her infamous brother's exploits. She'd been worried about losing a hand or even worse.

The man stepped in close, inspecting the two girls. “Or perhaps we could come to some other arrangement and we'll just forget this ever happened?”

As he raised a hand to touch Matilda's face the young woman suddenly lashed out, ramming the point of her knee into the forester's groin, and giving him a shove so hard that he fell, gasping, onto the damp ground.

Marjorie cowered, mouth open, eyes wide as her sister-in-law produced a wicked looking knife from somewhere inside her tunic and held it defensively in front of herself, daring the other lawmen to come for her.

“Any of you touch me or the girl here and I'll rip your bollocks off! Wouldn't be the first time I've done that.”

The downed forester pushed himself onto one knee, blowing hard, face scarlet with fury. “You bitch, there was no call for that. I'll make sure the warden deals with the pair of you harshly. Take them lads.”

His comrades didn't seem in any rush to challenge the confident girl with the blade whose stance suggested knowledge of fighting techniques so he pulled himself up with a growl and drew his own weapon. “Fine, I'll deal with her myself you cowards.”

“He's got a sword, Matilda.”

“I can see that, don't worry. I've beaten Little John and Will Scarlet; I can take this whoreson too, no problem.” Her words were spoken calmly, designed to soothe the younger girl, but Matilda's darting eyes betrayed her nervousness. She'd never beaten either of those famous outlaws, not really, but these foresters didn't know that.

One of the other men slowly circled his way around to stand a little way off to the side, looking intently at the girls before recognition flared in his eyes and he raised a hand just as his leader was about to strike.

“Wait.”

“Wait?” The big forester hesitated, glaring irritably at his mate. “Wait for what? It's two girls in God's name, I'm sure I can handle them even if you lot want to stand there gaping like landed trout.”

“That's Robin Hood's wife. I've seen her before.”

“So?”

There was silence as the implications of harming or arresting these two girls from nearby Wakefield hit the tall lawman and he stepped back, thoughtfully, sword still raised but obviously not intending to use it any time soon.

The forester that had recognised Matilda shook his head. “If we were to bring in Hood or one of his gang, aye, we'd be well rewarded. But I fear the only thanks we'll get for arresting these two is a sword in the guts from the wolf's head.”

The leader stood, hesitating, angry at being made to look like a craven but sharing his comrade's respect – and fear – of the notorious outlaw who always repaid those who crossed him or his friends with brutal, deadly violence.

“All right,” he grunted, sheathing his sword and waving the girls away. “You can go but –” He smirked and reached out to grab the hare from the little wire noose “– we're having this.”

Matilda nodded and grabbed Marjorie's arm, hauling her backwards into the bushes, happy enough to let the man have that one small victory. A single hare wasn't much of a price to pay for their freedom after all.

When they were hidden by the foliage they broke into a run.

Matilda's eyes sparkled, the excitement and joy at surviving the unexpected encounter coursing through her veins like fire.

Marjorie's face, though, was streaked with tears of humiliation.

WAKEFIELD, NORTHERN ENGLAND

MARCH 1323

“He's got me Will... gutted me like a fish. I'm done for...” Little John fell to the ground clutching his midriff, bearded face twisted in pain as he looked up in despair at his companion. “Avenge me...”

Will Scarlet cried out, racing over to his giant friend's side, weapon held aloft, ready to fend off any more blows.

Their attacker laughed and the outlaws shrank back, begging for mercy, their faces twisted in fear.

“Arthur! What are those two doing with you?” Matilda Hood strode into the  neatly-tended garden with its bright daffodils and snowdrops and scooped up her smiling infant. The boy waved the tiny wooden sword gleefully, almost hitting his mother in the face. “That's enough of that game,” she scolded John and Will who shrugged innocently and grinned at the baby when Matilda turned away. “Robin, will you tell these two? I don't want Arthur growing up to be a fighter.”

Her young husband wandered over to his two friends, smiling and tugging gently on his nine month-old son's chubby cheek as he passed. “Aye, all right, I will.”

Matilda carried their son back into the Fletcher's house where she still lived with her parents. In a perfect world she and Robin would have had a nice house of their own to live in but with her husband being an outlaw that was an impossible dream.

“Come on, let's go to the inn for a couple of ales,” John suggested, seeing the troubled look on his nineteen year-old leader's face and wondering at its cause.

Will agreed readily but Robin glanced towards the door his wife had just disappeared through, provoking an amused grunt from Scarlet. “You need to ask the wife for permission to go down to the inn, lad? I wonder what the men would think of that.”

Robin laughed along with his friends, cursing them, and, with a sheepish wave to Matilda who had appeared at the window with a knowing look, the three of them made their way along the road towards the local ale-house.

“Three ales, please, Alex,” Will shouted to the fat, purple-nosed inn-keep, who waved merrily in response and moved to fill the wooden mugs as ordered.

The room was cold and dim, the early afternoon sunlight not really penetrating the windows which were half-shuttered to keep out some of the chill spring breeze. The outlaws pulled their thick cloaks up around their necks and sat in silence until Alex had placed their drinks on the rickety table and, after accepting a coin in payment from Robin, disappeared discreetly into the kitchen.

“What's on your mind, lad?” Little John asked Robin, drying the froth from his beard with a grimy sleeve.

The young wolf's head lifted his own ale and took a drink, shrugging as he did so. “I'm just worried we've had things too easy recently, and it probably won't last.”

“It makes a nice change, having Gisbourne out of the way and the sheriff's men not making much of an effort to catch us,” John nodded. “I know what you mean though.”

“Aye,” Will agreed. “Some of the lads seem to have forgotten the fact we're still outlaws and fair game for anyone that might decide to stick a knife in our guts. And that includes you.” He pointed a thick, grubby finger at his leader with an earnest frown. “Playing happy families with Matilda and the little one.”

“I know!” Robin raised a placatory hand as he took another sip from his mug. “I'm as bad as any of them. It's been an easy life the past few months since I beat Gisbourne but we all know someone's going to come hunting us sooner or later. We have to be ready for it.”

Little John smiled, his open face almost childlike despite his great bushy beard. “What do you suggest? That we gather the men and go back to living in the forest? I'm not sure if they'll take too kindly to that idea.”

Some of the outlaw band maintained their camp deep in the Barnsdale greenwood, where the communal funds were stored, but most of the men had taken to spending their time in whatever town or village held most attraction for them. Little John had gone back to Holderness where his family lived, only coming today to visit his two friends, Will and Robin, who spent days at a time here in Wakefield with their own kin.

The bounty hunter, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, who had come to Yorkshire on the king's orders specifically to hunt down Robin and his outlaws, had been mutilated and almost killed in one-on-one combat with the young wolf's head the previous year. Without his single-minded leadership and the onset of another hard winter, the sense of danger that hung over the outlaws for so long had dissipated, as had the iron discipline that had kept them alive up until now.

It had been a wonderful period for Robin, who'd been able to spend the days and nights with Matilda, watching his little baby son grow. He offered a silent prayer of thanks to God and the Magdalene for his good fortune before returning John's smile.

“No, I don't want to go back to living in Barnsdale until we need to.”

“Good lad!” the giant boomed, raising his own mug to his lips. “I'll drink to that!”

“Aye, me too,” Will Scarlet nodded. “Although you really need to do more combat training, Robin – you're starting to get a paunch.”

“And jowls,” John laughed. “You're spending too much time in bed with your wife and drinking ale” –

Suddenly the front door burst open and one of the local men rushed in from the bright sunshine outside, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior. Finally, he spotted Robin and the other two outlaws.

“Come quick, one of your lads is getting a hiding from the fuller!”

Cursing, drinks forgotten, the three friends leapt up and hurried after the man.

It didn't take long for them to hear the commotion just a few streets away. A voice was raised in anger, while a small crowd of villagers had gathered to watch the entertainment and were laughing and shouting encouragement to the stocky little fuller who was grappling with a thin youngster with a bloody nose.

“It's Gareth,” John growled.

“Pissed no doubt,” Will replied. “Again.”

They pushed their way through the small crowd of onlookers until they were able to pull the fighting men apart. John held the fuller but the man was so enraged and filled with battle-fever that he kept swinging his fists, almost catching Robin before his giant friend hurled the small man onto the ground and held him there with a hand around his throat until he finally calmed down.

The skinny outlaw, Gareth, was also furious, but too dazed to even attempt fighting off Will who shoved him back and, with a menacing stare, ordered him to be silent. Gareth knew better than to cross Scarlet, so he stood, swaying slightly, glaring at the fuller who had bloodied his nose.

“What the hell's going on here?” Robin demanded, his eyes moving from the fuller to Gareth and back again.

“That little bastard was calling my wife an ugly old cow,” the fuller, Hugh, spat and struggled to his feet as John moved back to let him rise. “Drunk again he is – in the middle of the day, when honest people should be out earning a living!”

Robin winced at the barb, hearing a small ripple of muttered agreement at the fuller's words from the gathered villagers.

“Are you saying we're not fucking honest?” the volatile Will Scarlet moved towards Hugh threateningly, but the little man was so angry he didn't back down.

“Aye, I am!” the fuller retorted, pushing his chest out and waving a fist at the outlaws. “We're all out working to earn our keep, while you lot saunter around the village like lords, throwing coin about like it was nothing. You've outstayed your welcome here!”

Robin grabbed Scarlet, holding him back to prevent him from really hurting Hugh as the onlookers crowded in on them.

Although the villagers weren't openly hostile, it was clear they were ready to support the fuller, despite everything Robin and the other outlaws had done for Wakefield over the past two years. It was galling, but the wolf's head had learned not to take things like this too personally.

Life was hard and people had short memories, especially when they saw others apparently having an easier time of it than themselves.

“Outstayed our welcome, you little prick?” Will shouted at the fuller, before rounding on the other locals. “You lot must have forgotten what we did for you during the winters. The food we gave you when your bellies were shrinking!”

Robin grasped Gareth by the arm and hauled him away, gesturing for Little John to bring Will before any more trouble could develop, although Scarlet's angry words had mollified the crowd somewhat. Even the fuller had given up his rant and now stood, grumbling and shaking his head as the outlaws headed back towards the alehouse.

“What's the matter with you, boy?” Robin demanded of Gareth as they reached the low building and made their way back inside, seating themselves at the table they'd left not so long ago.

“I'll have an ale!” Gareth shouted across to Alexander, but Robin waved a hand at the inn-keep, telling him not to bother.

“No you won't, you've had more than enough.”

Despite his intoxication, Gareth knew it would be a mistake to argue with his young leader, angry and flanked as he was by his two loyal lieutenants.

“We've got an easy life here in Wakefield,” Robin said. “But your drinking's causing ill-feeling amongst the villagers.  What the hell's wrong with you?”

Until recently Gareth had barely touched strong drink. He'd been a tiny, malnourished child who had been outlawed and chased from his home in Wrangbrook  for stealing food for his sickly mother when he was barely into his teens. Despite that, he had become a valued member of the outlaw band, even saving Friar Tuck from drowning a few months previously.

Since then though, it seemed, the seventeen year-old had taken more and more to drinking and, like many men, he was an unpleasant companion when inebriated.

“It was that shit he got from the barber in Penyston,” Will said. “The grain drink the man made himself from some foreign recipe. Ever since the lad tasted it he's been a drunk.”

Gareth looked balefully at them but held his peace as his friends spoke about him as if he wasn't there.

John shook his head sadly. “It's true. He got a taste for it and he's not been the same since.”

Robin was in no mood to listen to excuses for their companion's behaviour, not when it jeopardised his own fine life here in Wakefield with Matilda and Arthur.

“I don't care what's wrong with him, he'd better get a fucking grip of himself soon or he's going back to live in the camp in the forest. We can't have the people turning against us.”

John shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe we
should
all head back into Barnsdale...”

Will snorted angrily and Robin gazed despondently into his mug.

Aye, he'd enjoyed the last few months with his family, living practically a normal life, but Will Scarlet had also been able to spend the time with his little daughter Beth, while John had greatly enjoyed his days in Holderness with his wife Amber and son John who he'd hardly seen in the years since he'd been outlawed for accidentally killing a man who was raping his own daughter.

Heading back into the greenwood was going to be hard on all of them and Robin vowed to hold off on their return for as long as possible.

Again, the front door was thrown open, sunlight flooding the dim interior of the ale-house and Will groaned as he placed his wooden mug back on the table with a thump. “For fuck sake, what now?”

As before, the newcomer gazed around the room, his eyes unused to the dim interior, and Robin shouted across, recognising the burly figure of Patrick Prudhomme, the village headman. “You're looking for us, no doubt. What's the matter?”

“Robin!” Prudhomme hurried over to their table breathlessly, his eyes wide. “You lads better gather your things. Gisbourne's here.”