Sherwood Rogue

Chapter Twelve

Nottingham was silent as we ran along shadowed alleyways. We had entered town through the east gate after tricking the guard into opening it. The east gate was the smallest and the hardest to get to, and therefore the most vulnerable. We overpowered and tied up the four soldiers in the gatehouse, then left two men to defend our escape.

The sun was coming up, the gray sky beginning to grow light through the rain. As we passed homes, we heard people moving around inside, though no one moved out of doors, and we blessed the rain that kept shutters closed. In the center of town, the marketplace was deserted, but we could see they had strung the hangman's gallows with five new ropes.

Robin and I exchanged looks. "You were right," was all he said.

Beyond him, Phillip looked at me, too. He knew I had insisted we leave during the night, and I could see he wondered how I had known.

I wasn't sure if it had been anxiety for Will or true presentiment, but Robin had been wrong. If we had waited, Will and the others would have died long before we could have arrived.

According to the plan, the men deployed themselves into hiding places around the marketplace. Robin and I hid under the hanging platform, flat against the wall of the building with straw pulled close around us.

It wasn't long before the town stirred, and as the bells in the tower pealed three times to summon the populace, people began to gather. Shortly after, the prisoners were led into the square. It was hard not to move when I saw them—still muddy and all with wounds left untreated.

"Wait for the signal," Robin cautioned in a muffled voice, reading my abortive movement correctly. "Little John will know when to do it." He looked up as the boots of the guards clomped across the platform. The prisoners' steps were soft, almost soundless.

I would have looked holes through the platform if I could.

Someone started making a speech about the evils of outlawry—the Chief Forester, no doubt. We heard the stools creak as the prisoners were pushed up on them, the ropes slipped over their heads and tightened. There was a brief scuffle, heard over the speaker's voice, then a thud on the platform.

"Get up, scum," a guard jeered. "No more of your witless fussing. Die like a man."

We heard somebody get up and spit on the guard.

"Bravo," I whispered, then winced at the crack of the guard's blow. I knew even before I heard the string of curses that it had been Will.

Robin and I edged forward, each to separate sides of the platform.

The crowd milled about, jostling for a better view. Many held cloaks over their heads to keep off the rain. The speechmaker droned on about the justice of the high sheriff.

Then it came. The crowd in the far corner burst into shouts and curses. Several guards jumped from the platform and pushed through the crowd to the disturbance.

Robin and I scrambled out and hoisted ourselves u p to find six guards had remained at their posts. All attention was focused on the corner and the shouting men. I reached around and cut one guard's throat. Before the man hit the platform, I cut the rope around Walter's neck. He jumped when he felt me touch him, but when the rope fell and I began to cut his hands free, he helped by stretching the bonds tightly. Once his hands were free, I shoved a knife at him and moved to Will, who was next in line.

Walter stabbed one of the guards, who still stood at the edge of the platform watching the crowd, and he cried out as he fell to the ground.

I cut the rope around Will's hands and gave him my sword. He slipped out of the noose as I moved to the next guard. They knew what was happening now, and the platform was a mass of struggling bodies. Someone shouted for reinforcements.