lowering his hood. ‘Why are you giving me this now?’
Warin removed his skullcap and gripped it in both hands. He and Mabel glanced at one another.
‘We’ve … I’ve come to a decision,’ Warin said. ‘You can’t come here, to Wodenhurst, any more. And Summerswood isn’t far enough. Every time you fight with those boys it gets worse. The ferocity, when you get like that, it’s frightening. It will end with one of you being killed. Unless I end it now.’
‘Warin is right,’ Mabel said, shuffling her feet in the straw. ‘I wish there was another way, but you’re not a child any more. There are scores of people in the city, of every sort, I’ve been there myself. You could find a place in the city, and build a life. You could—’
‘I am leaving,’ Robin said. ‘But not because you want me to. I’m leaving because I hate this place and everyone here. I’m going and you’ll never see me again.’
Mabel looked away and rubbed a hand at the back of her neck. Warin exhaled heavily.
‘Well … that’s … good,’ he said. ‘It’s … for the best.’
He looked at Mabel. She shuffled her feet, didn’t meet his gaze.
‘Well then, I suppose it’s now or never,’ Warin said. ‘We’ve put this off too long. Robin, there’s … something we need to tell you. Before you leave. The people here, they … we … haven’t always told you the full truth. Out there, wherever yougo, you will meet more fear, and more anger, of that I have no doubt. Wherever the road takes you, I want you to know—’
He was interrupted by sudden noises from somewhere down in the village. The barking of a dog, the jabbering of guard geese. The sounds grew louder. Children were running to look before being called away.
Warin left the cowshed. Robin followed, blinking into the sunlight.
As his eyes began to adjust he saw armed riders. A dozen square-shouldered men, swords and axes slung behind their saddles. The man in the lead was the most enormous person Robin had ever seen. He wore a bearskin that was as matted as his black-grey bush of a beard. The pommel of a broadsword protruded from a baldric at his back. His fingers were thick with rings.
Warlord
, Robin immediately thought of him, he looked so much like a Viking raider from one of Marian’s books.
‘You should leave,’ Warin said, turning to Robin. ‘Now is the time. Whatever this is, it’s our burden. You’ve no part in it.’
Robin kept watching. Stephen Younger was bustling his family back inside. Pagan Topcroft was calling for his daughter. Everywhere doors were closing and there were shuffling feet and whispers.
Most of the warriors had stopped near the mill, but the warlord and three of his thegns were continuing up Herne Hill, the hooves of their destriers slipping in the soft soil.
‘Robin, go,’ Warin said, sounding angry now. ‘This is for your own good, as well as for ours. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? If you ever come here again I cannot be responsible.’
Still Robin didn’t move. He watched the warlord say something to Robert Wyser, and he saw Robert point anunsteady finger towards Warin Felstone, headman of the village. The riders continued up through the lanes, the breath of men and horses heavy in the sunlight. The warlord grew and grew until he was towering over Warin.
Warin went to one knee, twisting his cap. ‘My lord, we—’
The warlord lifted one hand; Warin fell quiet.
And it was then that Robin understood: the warlord had not come to stand over Warin Felstone.
He had come to look down upon Robin.
And when he spoke it was to say Robin’s name.
‘Robin Loxley. I am Sir Bors. I have been searching for you for some time. I have come to offer you shelter, and guidance. You needn’t ask why. There will be a time for questions, and answers. For now it is enough you should understand this: you are being offered an extraordinary gift. Have the sense to accept it with good grace.’
Sir Bors
. Robin’s