Joanna Makepeace - Stolen Heiress

Rob looked up sharply as his straining ears caught the sounds of approach through the undergrowth near the hut. Margery nodded imperceptibly and moved near to the door.

Sym and Diggory Fletcher knocked cautiously on the old warped door and, as warily, pushed their way in. Neither appeared to be carrying food for the pot. Margery sighed, then clucked her tongue in disapproval.

The two were brothers, men-at-arms who had served his father loyally and they had joined Piers Martine and Silas Whitcome, expressing their determination to join Rob and eventually see retribution exacted on those Hoyland men who had killed their master and damaged their home manor.

Sym crouched by Rob’s stool and his brother sauntered over to the pot and sniffed at its contents.

‘We heard some news we thought might interest you, Master Rob, and came straight back to tell you.’

‘Without so much as a pigeon for the pot,’ Margery sniffed.

Sym ignored her while Diggory simply grinned.

‘Sir Gilbert Hoyland set out this morning with an escort of about twenty men. He was making for the London road, I reckon, and though he’s got a sizeable company and won’t be expecting trouble, I think as ’ow we could give ’im some, ’specially as we could ambush the party from the scrubland. We ’eard it from a woodcutter who’d recognised the device on the men’s jacks. Most of the folk ’ereabout ’ave ’eard of our trouble and see ’ow we’d like to get even.

‘We managed to skirt the road and saw the party. I counted the men-at-arms and there seem to be fewer than was mentioned. P’raps he sent some of his men off to ’is own manor, anyway ’e’d be an easy target for us now.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘There’s five of us and me and Diggory’s expert archers. What does you say, Master Rob?’

‘I say the master’s got enough to do in his state to see himself safely to London and on his way to Calais,’ snapped Margery. ‘There’s time enough when he’s got more support from the Earl to think about getting even with them Hoylands.’

Rob’s lips parted in a slow smile. ‘Do you know where Piers is, Sym?’

‘’E’s near enough for one of us to find him. Diggory’s a good tracker.’

Rob pushed himself up. ‘We could do with some horses,’ he said thoughtfully and Margery snorted again. They had had some difficulty in releasing one from the Devane stables under the noses of the Hoyland guards left there. One was needed for Rob’s progress to London since walking had been difficult as his wound had pained him, but the rest could manage easily enough without. She considered this proposed attack madness but, catching her Rob’s eyes, saw it would do her no good at all to say so. His blue eyes were already shining with enthusiasm for the venture.

Diggory was dispatched and, sooner than expected, returned with the Frenchman and Silas Whitcome. Piers cheerfully brandished a brace of pigeons and the company sat on the earth floor near the fire near Rob’s stool while Margery plucked and prepared the pigeons for the cooking pot. Rob spelt out his proposed ambush and Piers Martine reflectively fingered a gold hoop which danged from one torn ear.

‘’Ow many men do you think there now are?’ he questioned Sym. The lanky shock-haired man-at-arms shook his head, pursed his lips, looked to his brother for confirmation and ventured an opinion.

‘I’d say no more ’n ten, possibly fewer.’

‘With Sir Gilbert, who is presumably a skilled fighting man, that is almost two to one, mon ami.’

Rob nodded in agreement, ‘But an unexpected ambush—’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I owe this to my father’s memory and to Walter. If I could take Sir Gilbert and hold him for ransom, I could recoup some of our losses.’

‘I’d do more ’n ’old ’im for ransom,’ growled Sym.

‘I agree entirely,’ Rob said smoothly, ‘but in these matters you have to do what is best. We need ready gold and Sir Gilbert could provide it.’

‘And for how long do you intend to lie about here, waiting to be caught?’ demanded Margery sourly. She made no bones about arguing with Master Rob.

Rob smiled again in her direction. ‘There is a risk, certainly,’ he acknowledged evenly, ‘but I consider it worth the taking. We can demand that Sir Gilbert send to his own manor, which is not too far away, while we hold him and any of his men who survive the attack. He can hardly inform on us and this hiding place has served us well up to now. How fast was he travelling?’ he asked Sym. ‘Can we cut through the woods to get ahead of him?’

‘Aye, Master Rob. The company was travelling slow, loaded down with two sumpters and one maid or p’raps a wounded man riding pillion, I didn’t stop to look too closely.’

Rob rose to his feet. ‘Then the sooner we are on his track, the better.’

Piers eyed him thoughtfully, ‘Mon ami, should you not…?’

His voice trailed off as he met the full scornful gaze of those blue-green eyes. He shrugged philosphically. ‘So be it, messire. We ’ave nevaire been afraid of taking the risks before, n’est ce pas?’

Despite her protests, Margery was left behind to tend their dinner and the little party set off led by Diggory, who, true to his brother’s word, was a fine woodsman and knew his way. Rob cursed his bad leg for the first half-mile—it had stiffened over the last few days due to enforced inactivity—but as they continued he found himself walking and even running over difficult ground more easily and well able to keep up with his men.

Diggory, ahead, stopped, keeping his head lowered, and signalled that they were now getting close to the road. Rob turned and cautioned his men with a gesture to silence and warily and quietly approached to squat behind Diggory.

They were now able to see clearly from cover the road to Brinklow Village. Diggory turned slightly as both of them heard the sound of considerable number of horsemen approaching. Rob turned and signalled again to his men. Silently, without the need for further instruction, they rose from their crouched positions and began to position themselves for ambush.

Sym and Diggory Fletcher, both fine archers, began to look to their long bows. Silas Whitcome and Piers Martine had both been with Rob for some time in service, both in London and Calais. Each was preparing himself for combat in his own way. Silas was easing his sword in its scabbard as Rob was his own weapon.

The Frenchmen had already found himself a suitable tree and sat astride a branch, giving him an excellent view of the road while still affording him some measure of bare branches for cover. His own deadly crossbow was ready for action.

The company of horsemen came steadily on. Rob could hear one female voice chattering on and judged Sym had been right in assuming it was a maidservant who was riding pillion. His whole body was tensed now, ready for action and, deliberately, he quietened his breathing. It was essential that each man of his company performed now to the best of his ability and experience.

He trusted all of them. The Frenchman was a fighting machine in his own right and Silas was steady and careful, not one to rush into danger without conscious thought. The Fletchers he had not seen in action recently, but knew they were experienced men-at-arms of his father’s company; he relied on them to do well in this coming engagement.

The first two men of the advancing escort were in sight now and Rob saw Diggory rise and nock his first arrow. He did not wait for orders. He knew well enough it was necessary for the company to come further into range before dispatching his fatal feathered missile.

Rob was waiting, half-stooped, his back hand ready to signal a message to Sym and Silas behind him. Piers, he knew, had a very clear view and, like Diggory, would take his own time.