3 The Outlaw's Tale

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  The Outlaw’s Tale

  A Dame Frevisse Novel

  by

  Margaret Frazer

  O hateful harm, condicion of poverte!

  With thurst, with coold, with hunger so confoundid!

  To asken help thee shameth in thyn herte;

  If thou noon aske, with nede artow so woundid

  That verray nede unwrappeth al thy wounde hid!

  Maugree thyn heed, thou most for indigence or stele,

  Or begge, or borwe by despence!

  The Man of Law’s Prologue – Canterbury Tales

  Geoffrey Chaucer

  Chapter One

  The green shade of the forest was streaked and flecked with shifting gold sunlight. In the patterns of shadow and light, the dozen men sat or leaned or lay at ease against the great boles of the trees and their high-humped roots. Only their leader stood straight, his arms folded across his chest, his weathered, not unhandsome face creased deeply by his smile. “So,” he said, “we’re agreed we must not dine this day without an unexpected guest come to our table?” His men’s grins answered his own at the jest.

  Their leader eyed them all, considering; then said, “Will Scarlet, Little John and… uh, Hal, Evan, you bring our guest from the greenwood road.”

  Will stood and swept his filthy red hat off in a bow that was far more elegant than his ragged-hemmed green tunic and patched-out brown hosen. “My lord Robin, as you say, so shall it be.”

  But among the other men who had risen two were shoving at each other, trying to shoulder one another out of the way. “I’m Little John this time,” the smaller of them claimed. “It was me he looked at.”

  The other, hardly medium-tall, made a rude noise. “Sit down, lack-inches. John is the big one. This is for me.”

  A third man lounged upright from a tree, broad-shouldered but no taller than either of them. “Now there you’re both wrong. If anyone’s Little John, it’s me. And aside from the fact I can butt both your heads together when I want, I’m the best of us at quarter-staving.”

  “For which there won’t be much use on this ‘adventure’,” called one of the men still leaning against another tree. “Come on, Nicholas. Before it comes to blows. Which one is Little John?”

  Their leader pointed at the medium-tall man. “You.” And added to the broad-shouldered man over the general laughter and comments, “You can go fetch the venison with Tom.”

  There was a groan from both Tom and the erstwhile Little John at that, and jeers at them from everyone else.

  The chosen Little John went to join Will and Hal where they waited at the clearing’s edge.

  The fourth man, still stretched on his back with a root for a pillow, his eyes closed to the pleasure of a sunbeam on his face, said without moving, “Maybe someone else instead of me. I might be recognized. She’s not a fool, and neither is the steward.”

  Nicholas considered that and nodded. “Right enough. If this fails us, we’ll need you for later. Cullum, go instead.”

  With a pleased chuckle, a short, freckled, brawny fellow rose to join Will and John and Hal. In a falsetto that went but poorly with his wide chest he sang a cheerful parody of a maidservant’s holiday song. “‘I’ve waited long for today: Spindle, bobbin, and spool away! In joy and bliss I’m off to play, Upon the King’s highway!’”

  The four of them disappeared by a faint path into the leaf-shadowed forest, leaving more laughter behind them. Quietly Evan said, from where he still lay beneath the tree, “You know, Nicholas, you play that jest overmuch sometimes. I think there are days you really believe you’re bold Robin and we’re his merry band.”

  * * * * *

  The winter of the year of our Lord’s grace 1434 had been cruel with frost and snow, and the spring had been harsh, and cold. There had been fears of a famine year like the last, but May was come and fair weather with it. Frevisse still wore the cloak she had put on at dawn when they left the priory, but it was thrown back over her shoulders. Sister Emma had long since shed hers, with much fussing and bundling and wondering whatever could be down with it, until Master Naylor had taken it and strapped it with his own behind his saddle.

  The three of them rode in no great haste, abreast across the crown of the road to avoid each other’s dust. Frevisse had long since relaxed into the pleasure of the journey and the warm day, lulled by her horse’s easy rhythm and soothed by the sweet air. She was even past being bothered by Sister Emma’s chatter. Summer flowers arrayed the wayside grass and hedgerows with their rich yellows, purples, whites, and sometimes reds and sky-caught blues. Birds sang as if making up for their lost spring. Everywhere was green – fields and pastures and rough road edges well into their summer growth. Here along the uplands to where the road had climbed were flocks of sheep and their leggy, bright-faced lambs; the hollow clappering of their wooden bells kept company with the birdsong. The summer-smelling air was warm on Frevisse’s face where it was free of her white wimple and black veil, and she had found that after so long confinement to nunnery walls, she had forgotten how wide the sky could be - deep blue today and adrift with mounded, shining clouds. And this afternoon they would ride through a forest. How long had it been since she had ridden through a wood?

  They would be five days away from St. Frideswide’s, Frevisse thought. Or more if the weather changed and they were delayed. She felt a little guilty at the pleasure in that thought, but reminded herself that she was come not because she’d sought to, but as Domina Edith’s choice for Sister Emma’s companion.

  But then, in all honesty, she suspected the prioress had chosen her to accompany Sister Emma to her niece’s christening because Frevisse’s winter restlessness had grown past hiding as spring came on.

  The journey would have its trials. Sister Emma was a constant chatterbox whose tongue ran as if on wheels whenever freed from the nunnery’s rule of silence.

  But at the prioress’ order to accompany her, Frevisse’s winter longing had risen free in her like a fire blown upon. Sister Emma’s chatter had seemed nothing when set against the chance of riding out from St. Frideswide’s into everything that had been calling to her all this while from beyond the priory walls.

  Now, though, she had been in Sister Emma’s company five hours and the pleasures of travel were already dimming under the constant flow of her voice and the knowledge that there would be four more days of it. They would reach Sister Emma’s cousin’s house before Vespers today, and tomorrow ride on in company with the family to her brother’s house in Burford. The christening would be the day after that, and then two days to return to St. Frideswide’s. She closed her eyes: Five days of Sister Emma’s unabated chatter.

  “And it’s so hot. I never thought it would be this hot. And it’s only May. Still, that will help the hay along, I daresay, and that’s to the good. Are the priory’s meadows doing as well as they should be, Master Naylor? We nuns pay more attention to such things than you’d think, you know. And we notice when things
go ill, and there’s been enough of that lately, hasn’t there? But it’s all to the better now, I trust.”

  Master Roger Naylor, the priory steward, nodded. He had come with them as their necessary escort, and would ride on alone from Sister Emma’s cousin’s to tend to priory business in Oxford and return for them after the christening. He was not given to talk at the best of times, and his long, lined face rarely showed more than concentration on the task at hand. Frevisse suspected he had stopped actually heeding anything Sister Emma said miles ago.

  “And the dust! Really, should the roads be this dusty so early in the summer? Are we short of rain? Hasn’t it rained enough of late? I should think it had except this road is so dusty. And such heat. I could almost wish it were raining. It would be pleasant to ride in the rain, don’t you think? A cool, gentle rain.” She sighed at the blissful thought. “And I’ve read somewhere that rain is good for the complexion. Or maybe my sister told me that. Not my sister-in-law, who has the new baby – another girl, but they’ve had two boys, too, so it isn’t so bad – but my sister, Bertille. Yes, I’m sure she told me a gentle rain is good for the complexion. She always rinses her hair in rain water and she’s always had beautiful hair. It’s a pity her nose is shiny pink. It’s all those colds she has, not that I don’t catch colds easily but not so easily as she does. You remember her, don’t you, Dame Frevisse? She came to visit me Easter before last and brought me new handkerchiefs. I do go through handkerchiefs like a wastrel through his inheritance and was so grateful for them. But at least there’s no danger of catching cold today, it’s so hot!”

  “It will be cooler in the woods,” Frevisse offered.

  “Yes, yes, it will. I do love the forest. I always have. All my family does. Oh, we did love to go Maying in the woods when I was a girl. Everything so beautiful ….”

  Frevisse did her best to stop listening.

  The road dropped from the sheep-grazed uplands in long, easy slopes. There was a village, and they paused to buy ale and eat some of the food the kitchener had packed for their going. Familiar, nunnery food of brown, unbuttered bread and some withered apples left from last autumn’s harvest, tasting the better for being eaten sitting on an unfamiliar well-curb. There were few villagers about, everyone too busy in the fields this time of year to have spare interest for casual passers-by. Only a threesome of small urchins in loose tunics, bare-footed and bare-headed, came to scuffle and stare at them from a safe distance, and skittered off giggling when Frevisse turned to stare back.

  When they had finished eating, Frevisse found she could have gone on sitting there a while in the pleasant sunshine. It had been rather too long since she had been riding, and there were already twinges of the stiffness she would have tomorrow. Besides, the place was pleasant, the day was hardly half gone, and they were already more than half way to Sister Emma’s cousin’s.

  But Master Naylor rose and said, firm and sensible, “So let’s be on then.”

  “Neither fair weather nor daylight last forever,” Sister Emma agreed, “So journey while you may.”

  Sometime in her girlhood she had read a book of Wise Sayings, and was fond of showing how many she remembered. Now she bounced to her feet and set about tidying her black habit, brushing away crumbs real and imaginary and straightening her wimple and veil. More slowly, Frevisse followed suit, knowing what was coming. They had already been through putting Sister Emma on her horse this morning in the nunnery’s stableyard; now the ordeal would have to be gone through again.

  At Sister Emma’s fussy insistance, Master Naylor first checked all her horse’s girths and bridle straps to be sure they were secure, and then that the horse was well tied and could not sidle. She had chosen to have a box-saddle that let her ride sitting sideways and lady-like; but since she was somewhat short and round she could not mount it by herself without an especially tall mounting block. St. Frideswide’s had had one, the village did not, and so Master Naylor was going to have to take her by the waist and lift her into her saddle.

  Frevisse expected Sister Emma would manage a lengthy session of false starts, reprimands, instructions, and fits of giggling at the impropriety of it all before letting Master Naylor accomplish his simple task. But Master Naylor grasped her firmly between his two hands, lifted her swiftly, and plopped her ungracefully into her seat before she had barely begun to squirm. Surprised and somewhat jarred, Sister Emma stared at him, words momentarily failing her.

  Master Naylor turned away to Frevisse who had been standing beside her own horse, watching with unseemly amusement. She shook her head. A stableboy had held her bridle when she mounted this morning, but she was more confident now; old skills had come back to her. She had asked for an ordinary saddle, one that let her ride astride, the way she had ridden both in her childhoold and after she had come into the care of her uncle Thomas Chaucer who knew more than many about the manners of the best-born of England and agreed that safety and ease of riding were to be preferred over fashion. Now, with her reins gathered in her hand, she swung herself up into the saddle, ignoring Sister Emma’s tut-tutting as completely as she had ignored it this morning. She smiled down at Master Naylor, and caught the trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth before he nodded to her and went away to his own horse.

  The forest was not much further on. They approached it gladly and were thankful for its shade as they entered. Sister Emma exclaimed, “Such a blessing to be out of that dreadful sun. Oh, it’s lovely here, so green and cool. Is the way short or long through here, Master Naylor? I hate to think we’ll just be comfortable and have to go out again. Which way is it, Master Naylor?”

  With an effort, the steward stirred himself to ask, “Which way is what, my lady?”

  “Is this way long or short through the woods? I really don’t want to be out in the sun again.”

  “There’ll be woods until almost the end.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing,” Sister Emma said. “All the same, a dry May and a dripping June makes all things come into tune. Or so I remember it…”

  Frevisse stopped listening again. There were the new savors of the forest to enjoy, and she did. By law the undergrowth was cleared well back on either side of the road, to leave no concealment for any one who might mean trouble. But the great trees had been left to throw shade across the road for travelers’ comfort. The sunlight was gentled under the green branches, the horses’ hoof-falls and creak of their harness softened. Woodbine grew in the long grass of the verge, and though there was no birdsong now in early afternoon, the flash of wings crossed their way now and again, and there were rustlings in the leaves.

  They were somewhere several miles into the wood and had just crossed a stream when Master Naylor’s head lifted a little higher with alertness and his hand went to his sword. “Other travelers.”

  “Oh, wonderful!” Sister Emma exclaimed. “We’ve seen nearly no one. Won’t it be pleasant to see someone and wish them good-day and God’s blessing? A soft answer turns away wrath where a harsh word stirs up anger, so they say.”

  Frevisse sighed at this inapt quote and thought that they also said that a wise man conceals his wisdom while a fool announces his foolishness.

  A bend and trees had hidden the other wayfarers until they were nearly met, but they were in sight now. Four men, all on foot, no more than peasants by the look of them, bound for somewhere bearing bundles on their backs and trudging as if they had come miles already and had miles more to go. Probably sent by their lord on an errand that did not warrant better service, Frevisse thought. She was aware of Master Naylor eying them as he and she edged their horses sideways to give the men their share of the road. The men themselves also gave way, dropping into single file on their own side, their heads still down.

  Sister Emma, never a steady hand on the reins and worse for her awkward seat, had fallen back as Frevisse drew aside but could not manage her horse sideways out of the men’s way. Frevisse turned in her saddle to frown at her as the first man passed her
own horse. He would need to crowd to the roadside to avoid Sister Emma’s.

  But too suddenly for any warning, he dropped his bundle, straightened, and grabbed hold of Sister Emma’s bridle. In almost the same moment, the other three men were in sharp motion with him, their bundles in the dust, one of them grabbing for Frevisse’s reins, the other two leaping for Master Naylor. Frevisse jerked her horse’s head away and tried to kick it forward, to ride the man down. But the horse was nunnery-bred, gentle to a fault; it balked and sidled and the man had her reins. Frevisse tried to kick at him but her skirts hampered her. He dodged without loosing his grip, grinning up at her.

  Master Naylor, with two against him, was out of his saddle. One man had gripped his leg and heaved him sideways and over in a single motion, pitching him to the ground on the far side of his horse. The fourth man ducked under the horse’s upthrown neck to fall on him. Sister Emma, eyes shut and hands pressed to her cheeks, began to shriek, “Help, oh, Jesu, help, help, sweet Virgin, help, help!”

  The man gripping Frevisse’s bridle cried out as he grabbed her kicking foot, “Hold, sister, hold! We’re don’t mean harm! Hold, for God’s pity!”

  He was ill-dressed and dirty, his red hat filthy, but his voice betrayed he was no peasant. Because of that, and because he had no weapon in his hand, Frevisse hesitated in her struggle. As she did, Sister Emma’s shrieking ended abruptly and Frevisse wrenched around to see her slumping limply from her saddle. The man beside her looked with panic from her to the horse, not certain if he should let go of it to catch her. Belatedly he tried to do both but too late. Sister Emma slipped through his hold and fell to the ground with an untidy thump and lay still.

  Frevisse’s man seized her moment of distraction to let go her horse, grab her instead by the skirts, and drag her from the saddle. Freed and at last frightened, the horse shied away, tossing its head to clear the reins from its feet. Frevisse, clutching at the man to keep from falling headlong, got her feet under her, shoved back, and tried to strike him. He caught her wrists. “Stand!” he ordered. “We have your steward and the other nun. Where can you run? Stand!”