The Death of Robin Hood by Angus Donald Page A

King’s mercenaries out foraging no doubt, but managed to avoid them, dismounting behind hedges and spurring into small copses till they passed. I crossed the Medway at Aylesford and took the last miles to Boxley at a canter.
    I reached the abbey that afternoon after a hard ride in the midst of a driving rainstorm, my horse and I just about as miserable and wet as we could be.
    But the abbot’s welcome was once again as warm as a mother’s embrace. The abbey was still crowded with the townspeople from Rochester: almost every space conceivable seemed to contain a ragged family group. The church was filled to overflowing, the stables, even the rafters of the main barn had been planked over to forma high sleeping space beneath the roof. Nevertheless, the abbot was pleased to see me and fed me hot bean stew and listened with compassion to my tale of woe.
    ‘I applaud your mission,’ he said finally, ‘and you shall have all the help I can give. The sooner that peace is made with the King, the sooner these poor people can go home and pick up their lives again – and I do not speak purely from self-interest, although they do eat like hogs. God’s love is peace and our kingdom must not be subjected to the ravages of war if it can possibly be prevented.’
    I asked him a boon then. I wished him to hold my baggage, my armour and helm, my sword and my horse, for I knew I could not take them in the task at hand. Even so, I was loath to leave Fidelity in another man’s hands.
    ‘I mean to enter the castle by stealth,’ I said. ‘And if I approach arrayed for war, John’s men will kill me before I can deliver my message.’
    ‘God will guide your path, my son,’ the abbot said.
    I spent much of the next day sleeping, and in the afternoon spoke to some of the townspeople, gleaning their intimate knowledge of the area and what they knew about the dispositions of the King’s forces. In the evening, having bid farewell to the abbot, and dressed in dark hose and tunic, a long black countryman’s cloak and hood, I set off on foot for Rochester.
    Perhaps God really did guide my path for it was a bright and cloudless night, with a three-quarter moon that gave ample light to see the road before me. On the way, I ran over what I would say to Robin and d’Aubigny, when – if – I managed to find a way into the besieged castle. There was no joy in the message, all I could do was counsel immediate surrender. And I was dreading the prospect of admitting the failure of my mission and advancing such a dispiriting conclusion.
    Not long after midnight I found myself in the same small wood that had sheltered the townspeople on our escape two weeks before.As I peered into the darkness from the edge of the trees, I could see the campfires of King John’s army spread out before the walls – thousands of tiny pinpricks of orange light, like sparks from a bonfire, in a great sweep to the south of the castle and curling away eastwards. There was light too glimmering from the town itself, which I assumed meant that it was now occupied by the enemy. The spy had been correct: the forces arrayed against the castle had swollen from their original numbers. But some of the townspeople, those bold enough to venture to Rochester and steal a glimpse of the enemy host, had told me that the King’s army was mainly to the south and east. North and west of the castle, where the river curved round close to the walls of the outer bailey, was largely free of enemy troops. That made sense. Any King’s man between the walls and the river would be in easy range of a bowman on the walls, and with the bridge destroyed, there could be little chance of a relief force coming from that direction.
    I headed due north towards the river, keeping low and watching carefully for any sign of life. Although I had left my sword and mail with Abbot Boxley, I was not completely unarmed. A long, thin blade in a black leather sheath was strapped to my left forearm. It was a