Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Twenty - Encounters

From where they stood, the sloping folds of the land stretched away in seeming endless succession to the north, their peaks draped in the lazing cloud-shadows of a still day. Below lay the king's camp, which Robin appraised with an experienced eye: easily defensible, a nearby oasis for water, clear lines in and out for messengers, reinforcements and supplies. Well hidden, too. Lying to the north of Acre, the surrounding hills and dunes kept the camp safe from casual observation.

As Djaq farewelled Bassam, Robin started down the hill. Marian was beside him; he was glad she couldn't read his tangled thoughts. This place – not just the camp, but Acre, all of it – fingered his mind with memories he wished to keep buried.

Impossible, here.

The mantle of crusader had slipped over him again, even though he no longer wore the cross of St George. In Sherwood, he could fool himself – sometimes – that the slain of a foreign war no longer had a hold on him. But this control slipped in his sleep. It was as if his subconscious mind mocked him, reminding him how close beneath the surface of his waking mind these horrors lay in ambush.

Here, the soldier in Robin responded, both in instinct and intent. He knew that none of the constraints he applied at home operated here: he would kill as needed, when needed. He'd known it since, to protect Gisborne, they'd needed to slay every member of the raiding party. The king's war had become his war again, in a very immediate and personal way.

Their path down from the ridge was a leisurely switchback, which now led towards a line of trees. Below, the king's camp lay in the bowl of an ancient, dried-up lake-bed. The smell of smoke from cook-fires drifted up to them; to feed an army this size, the cooks worked long hours. Robin supposed Much would be hoping for another meal, and glancing over his shoulder.....

"Master....is that the sentry?" A few jogging strides had brought Much alongside. He pointed towards the copse ahead of them. "And if so, why...."

"Scatter! Now!"

With one hand Robin shoved Much, with the other he grabbed Marian and they tumbled to earth as an arrow cleaved the air above their heads. Little John had acted on Robin's shout, diverting his course too; the arrow struck his pack.

Robin hauled Marian up and they ran in a crouch back across the slope.

"Will, go! Raise the alarm," he barked.

Will had been at the rear, the furthest out of range. He tore down the hill, a scrambling run that swiftly increased the distance between himself and the archer. Robin and the others rolled into the lee of a hump in the terrain, but seconds later Robin was up and running. He'd seen a figure dart from cover, further back into the trees. The attacker had decided not to risk another shot. Robin sprinted for the trees, the gang with him. Good. More eyes, if we don't catch him.

The beat of horse hooves ahead, and Robin knew they'd lost their man. He kept up his breakneck pace; even at a distance, any clue they might glean – build, hair colour, clothing –  could later help identify him. But as they charged through the copse and out the other side, the dun landscape yielded nothing but hoofprints. The gang came up beside him, all out of breath. Robin paced back and forth, frustrated.

"He tried to kill us!" Much exclaimed, between gulps of air. "You – he tried to kill you!"

"He would have, if you hadn't seen him," Robin acknowledged.

Much huffed this oblique thanks away.

"Was that the traitor, then?" he asked. "That dirty, filthy.....if I ever get my hands on him....."

Robin lay a calming hand on Much's shoulder.

"Hopefully you won't have to," he said grimly. "If all goes according to plan, the king will do it for us."