The Way Back

Chapter Twenty

He never made the second stride.

An arrow thumped through his neck, protruding grotesquely out the front. As the man toppled, Guy shuddered. If it had missed, he would have been directly in the arrow's path. But looking up, he saw the only other bowman he knew who would never miss.

"Get yourself a weapon, will you?" shouted Archer.

He made his way over to Guy.

"Alright, brother?"

Guy nodded.

"Thanks." He stooped down, grabbing the fallen man's sword.

Stepping to where Hubert and Raff fought, the four of them formed a ring and battered their assailants back. Guy fought doggedly, his energy flagging. He couldn't take the time to glance up, to see what was happening elsewhere, but he knew Felix' troops hadn't come and that, outnumbered as they were, defeat was probably inevitable.

"I need to - get....." parry, "to my...." slash, "horse...."

"What?"

"Come with me."

His opponent down, Archer began edging towards the slain animal. Guy followed, not sure what Archer was about until he reached down and plucked a hunting horn from the pommel of his saddle. Raising it to his lips, while Guy shielded him from attack, Archer blew a signal loud and clear enough to carry to where their reinforcements waited.

The ambushers knew what this meant, they set to with greater ferocity. Blood ran down Guy's arm. He couldn't recall taking the wound and fought on, both sides slipping on the wet surface. He'd lost his footing again, cursing, when his opponent showed a flicker of distraction. Guy heard it too: approaching riders.

"Fall back!" someone yelled, and their attackers abruptly withdrew, scrambling for the cover of the trees.

Felix' troops poured through the gaps between the wagons, an unstoppable force, scything men down. Hubert's men hunted the fleeing troops, cutting down stragglers where the brush slowed them, herding those who hadn't fled into a cluster.

"What took you so long?" demanded Hubert, when Felix dismounted beside him.

"They killed both my runner, and my reserve. So we had no way of knowing." He gazed around at the carnage, toeing a body with his boot. "Mon Dieu. These men wished to remain anonymous, certainement...."

"Indeed. No colours," observed Hubert. "Not even their leader. No matter, we'll get it out of them. Right – let's get this cleared and move on."

They moved amongst the fallen, separating out weapons, piling the bodies to one side. Hubert had sent back a rider and carts would come from Canterbury, taking the corpses for burning. The rain was filtered to a drizzle beneath the forest canopy. Guy and Archer slogged side by side, slinging men – most dead of horrific wounds – onto the pile. More than one, not quite dead but near enough, took a blade between the ribs without knowing whence death came. Life hissed out, along with the last of the shock and the pain.

"Don't know why we can't just leave 'em all," muttered Archer.

"Not Hubert's way," grunted Guy, lifting.

Others had loaded the portion of genuine silver onto two wagons; the remaining carts were left for the servants on their way. It was past noon when they set out again. With only two laden vehicles, their pace was quicker; they reached Dover late next morning.

Hubert sent Felix and his men back to Canterbury once it was clear there'd be no further incident; Guy saw this enviously, but he knew his duty. If it wasn't for the archbishop, he wouldn't have Meg waiting for him, or have the home they shared. By now Hubert had secured him with bands tight as any Vaisey had ever woven. But whereas he'd tried to kill the one, for the other, he had disarmed himself in combat. Which was the kind of reckless, stupid thing Robin would do, he told himself, expecting one of the gang to wade in to his rescue. Clearly he'd spent too much time among the outlaws.