Chapter 7

It didn't take long at all for Robert to decide with growing certainty that perhaps once again he had acted unwisely out of impulse, rather than by deliberate calculated design. Whereas before, left to his own designs in the great royal forest of Essex, it had been the hunter's own skin and neck that he had risked, now he had imperiled another's. The former poacher was used to such risks and accepted them. It was only his due, to accept danger in the commission of his duties to Sir Lambert, the Sigillum Secretum, the keeper of the king's own privy or secret seal, and thus the very wishes of his king. Those were the oaths that the former poacher had taken, to spare his life from a certain hanging and then offering it to the whims of his new royal master. The young lass Emlyn had taken no such obligations or promises, save those of gratitude to her rescuer, and Robert was becoming increasingly alarmed and disturbed at her prolonged and now excessive absence.

Attired once more in her disguise as the young serving lad Ferri, albeit in somewhat more appropriate and suitable attire for that position now, the confident young woman had gone forth under the gloom of the misty and foggy shrouded street that night to the hedge-witch's house. Supplied with a reasonable purpose for her secretive nocturnal visit and a heavy purse of silver, the hunter had hoped that a more innocent sort of inquiry (and a much more direct initial attempt at bribery) would provide them with the desired results this time. From her furtive behavior earlier, Robert was certain that the foul wise-woman might indeed know something of Orabilia's recent passing and more importantly of Maud's current whereabouts.

He couldn't say just why he felt the need to so desperately acquire this knowledge, for indeed the young lady in question was of no tie to him, either by kinship or oath, and little even of common friendship. Still, something of this matter enticed his curiosity, making both of his thumbs prick and even his ears itch in irritation. Now, late on this cool wet and misty spring evening, the worried hunter's nerves were again on edge, and with growing concern and impatience for Emlyn's return.

They had planned for her furtive passage to and from the hedge-witch's hut on the outskirts of Maldun with some considerable care. The young 'manservant' would need to be seen coming from and returning towards the town proper, towards the central inn where the lad's 'master' would be awaiting, but the dark and narrow crooked town lanes and ill-kept streets of that area were well-suited for footpads. With the damp clouds of mist and the rising river fog becoming thicker by the moment, it was out of necessity that Robert had determined that the river road itself would provide the lass with the best hope for safety. With a number of small docks, fishing shacks and huts along the muddy bank roadway, the hunter hoped that even despite the thickening fog that his keen eyes could spot Emlyn's departure and return to and from the hedge-witch's house at a suitably safe and prudent distance. Well hidden himself behind a seemingly abandoned fishing hut and carefully secreted mostly underneath a small overturned rowboat, the hunter could see what there was to be seen and with little fear of being spotted himself. The thickening fog reduced his visibility significantly and obfuscated any sounds, making their source uncertain, but that could not be helped.

Despite the near total gloom, Robert kept his eyes and ears focused upon the muddy riverside pathway, straining his senses to encourage the soonest possible detection of the young lass's return, but there was still nothing. They had hoped that her errand could be accomplished in quite a short time, perhaps just a few minutes even or at most but a score or so, but already nearly an hour had passed. He had heard the church bells for 9 p.m. just shortly before Emlyn had left his side and already now he was expecting to hear the bells strike the next hour at any moment.

This was much too long of a wait! Perhaps the cagey wise-woman had seen through Emlyn né Ferri's disguise? Robert had certainly had his own suspicions about her true gender nearly at once, upon their first meeting, but he had that afternoon purchased better and more suitable apparel for her masquerade and with a bit of strategically placed leather affixed under the front of her hose he had to admit that the costume better suited her and her role this time. With her close-cropped haircut cut quite near to her skull she did quite appear to be a young lad who had not yet reached puberty. Still, there is always some danger with any deception and the hunter feared that some measure of ill-luck had befallen her despite their best planning and hasty preparations.

Robert had decided that upon the first bell stroke of ten, he'd arise up from his secure hiding place and hasten forth to make what rescue he could, but just as he anticipated the first striking of the church bell must be imminent, he now fancied that somewhere through the thick fog that now nearly enveloped the entire roadway in an impenetrable shroud, that he could hear the sounds of scampering boots, lightly but crisply trundling down the muddy riverside pathway. For the moment Robert could see nothing and as for the source of the sound itself the fog confused the direction for some moments until the traveler came closer and just into the range of discernible sight. The former poacher had excellent, perhaps even superb vision and hearing, and also a very keen sense of smell, but each of these senses was challenged to its utmost by the thickness of the rising river fog.

Rolling out from under the concealment of the overturned rowboat, the hunter crouched in alert readiness and even risked moving around the rear side of the fishing hut to dare snatch a quick and incautious closer look down the muddy pathway, and with a clearer unobstructed view he could in another moment make out the form of the returning young lass. Emlyn appeared obviously worried or concerned and appeared little at ease. She moving towards their planned rendezvous spot with some considerable haste, constantly turning her head behind her as if anticipating pursuit. The hunter's senses again focused towards the foggy gloom behind her, but for the moment he could see nothing amiss. Still, there was much about Emlyn's very apparent unease that disturbed him.

The disguised young lady failed to stop at their intended meeting place and with a glance the hunter could tell that Emlyn had indeed noticed him, lurking behind the side of the fishing hut, but she took no other overt notice of him except to abruptly shake her head from side to side. Having warned the hunter off from making any responding sound or movement she then scampered further on down the road towards the town. After passing another pair of fisherman's huts, Robert saw the lass hastily shrug off her green cloak onto the mud surface of the roadway and then with a look of alarm she darted off to the river side of the roadway, secreting herself behind a large woodpile.

It was then that Robert became assured of the cause of her unease, and her desire to not lead her pursuers directly to the hiding place of her master. Now he could hear the growing sounds of some group of men following behind her, apparently in quite considerable haste. Even while taking a spare moment to take up refuge again under the small row boat, the hunter could clearly now hear the sounds of at least four men, one perhaps wearing boots that seemingly ill-fit fit the wearer and the others in bare feet that could be clearly heard to scrunch and squish upon the wet mud of the river road.

It was an interval of less than a minute before the attackers came clearly into view, or rather made as much of a direct appearance as the murky swirling mists could permit. Indeed they were four in number, three of which appeared to be French sailors, if the former scrivener comprehended their muddled and indistinct words correctly. To the rear of his fellows was an ill-favored and rather portly round faced young man, of rather lowly dress and appearance. This might be the hedge-witch's son, Robert surmised. A less than remarkable young lad of allegedly little means or intellect. A would-be roaring boy, by some local accounts, eager to make his living by his fists as his wits were unsuited for more promising opportunities.

The quartet was ready and even eager for a fight, the sailors all bearing stout clubs and each had daggers at their belts. The wise-woman's son had a short sword and brandished a burning torch in his other hand but the hunter doubted whether either weapon could be used with any measure of skill. Still, the odds were not much in his favor. He would be outnumbered certainly, but with the fog, and certain surprise, the former poacher thought that he could rather quickly even the odds, but he would need to move into position quickly and make ready with considerable haste.

With a loud cry, it became clear that the gang had spotted their prey's green cloak lying up just ahead in the roadway and the sailors rushed up ahead to grasp and examine their prize, leaving their landsman fellow just a bit behind. This gave Robert the opportunity to begin winnowing out the attackers and as likely as not taking out the weakest of the threats first, quickly and perhaps even with minimal noise and confusion. Emlyn had proven that she was far from helpless in a fight, but taking on three sailors at once was undoubtedly an unwise risk that she would avoid taking unless necessary, or so Robert hoped. The keen eyed young huntress had other notions however.

Now the three sailors were at a fairly close range and more importantly out of the confusing glare of the torch, which in the swirling fog actually made her intended targets less precisely distinguishable than they appeared now in just the normal misty darkness. With the sounds of the church bell striking of the first notes of ten, she darted up from behind her nearby concealment and with a quick but measured shot, fired a bolt from her lady's hunting crossbow directly into the center of the lead sailor's chest, felling him mortally in an instant. The booming toll of the bell echoed in the fog, sounding from everywhere seemingly at once, completely covering the sound of Emlyn's small crossbow and Robert's swift charge to strike down the torch bearing young lad. She had stashed her small but lethal weapon behind this woodpile earlier, in cautious preparation and now her forethought just might help save them both! Ducking immediately back under the cover of the woodpile, she recocked the crossbow and began to reload, certain that the sailors had neither seen her nor even heard the twang of her small weapon over the sound of the ringing church bell.

Robert's own hasty attack upon the hedge-witch's son at the rear of their group was equally swift and successful. After a long winter of daily weapons training under the skilled eyes and hands of Lefan apGriffyth, the leader of the Earl's huntsmen, this ill-attired would-be roaring boy made for little practical sport. Wielding a sword and his long Welsh stabbing dagger in deadly concert, he had no difficulty at all striking the first blows with complete surprise, with both blades striking sure mortal wounds into the surprised young rogue, who dropped with hardly a squawk of either surprise or protest.

Now the odds were even, and while they marked the falling of their fellow from the quarrel bolt with considerable surprise, in the thickness of the fog they couldn't locate the exact position of the shooter. Instead, they had the wits about them to retreat away further, hoping (probably accurately) that Emlyn couldn't see them with any accuracy in the fog. With the last tolling of the bell for hour of ten, she had risked a final and rather hastily ill-aimed shot at her retreating foes, but it had missed, but not by much. Now at least one of the remaining two sailors had a decent idea from whence the shot had been fired, but he entirely lacked the enthusiasm to go haring after her and allow her a much closer and clearer shot. Instead, he backpedaled away even yet further, and quite into range of Robert's swinging blades.

Caught almost entirely by surprise, thinking that the former poacher was in fact their land's fellow, the French sailor caught his error barely in time to parry Robert's sword with his dagger, but thusly engaged he then found no solution to the problem of the long sharp Welsh dagger that was freely available to be at once thrusted into his upper abdomen and then with a upwards sharp twist of the hunter's wrist then into the vitals of his chest. With his sword now again free, Robert spared a moment to plunge it down into the neck of his fallen foe, ensuring his complete finish before turning to deal with the last of the Frenchmen.

Sensing himself surrounded, and rather entirely outmanned by either the young lady or her more veteran protector, the sailor quickly weighed his odds and chances and not liking them much, risked a bold escape into the thickest parts of the fog closest to the riverbank. Once there, if in one intact piece, his odds of just swimming away under the cover of the swirling foggy gloom were actually quite excellent. Emlyn was a touch faster on her trigger finger but both the swiftly fired bolt and Robert's expertly balanced throwing knife struck their targets, and both probably mortally so. The sailor hadn't quite made it even off from the roadway before expiring.

After a quick search that produced absolutely nothing of any interest or merit, his body completed the last few yards of his intended journey and he along with his two shipmates were consigned to graves within the swiftly rushing river. Although there was a great pool of blood where the hedge-witch's son had fallen next to the still sputtering torch now lying in the mud, he was now gone. In his wake however, an easily discerned trail of blood leading directly back to the wise-woman's house could be clearly followed.

"Follow me quickly, but stay back a few yards behind me and let the fog try and conceal you!" Robert quickly ordered. "Have you still another bolt or two for your bow? I fear we will find yet some more foes awaiting us back at the wise-woman's, but spare your discharge, save at great need ... for I should like to have at least one of these villains to speak with before this evening is over! I fear that we have now stirred up far more trouble than we had ever intended!"

Robert declined to admit that during his youthful education as a scrivener under the tutelage of his clerk master he had learned quite well the writing of the common English and Latin, and even some courtly Norman French, but his conversational skills with that continental tongue were negligible. Some of the King's knights only spoke that language and unlike their monarch himself, had little or no ability with the common English tongue or letters. Accordingly, Robert had attempted to gain a little skill with this as well over the long winter at the Earl's castle, but he felt himself ill-prepared indeed for a proper conversation in French, let alone an interrogation with an enemy.

"I have but three more, but I'll be ready. Shall I tell you what awaited me when I arrived at her house? She had these sailors already there with here and several more besides, including two much more important looking men. They had been asking about Orabilia and her daughter too. My very appearance was enough to give great suspicion and it was only when her son arrived back at her house, half soused with ale and leaving the back door wide open behind me that I could seize my chance and run for it! I think the leader of the men, who stayed behind and didn't join the chase after me wanted his ship's captain to take me back with them – to France! Along with whatever they were wanting to buy from the old witch, Hextilda, I think they called her. They had been talking English, when I first arrived, but after they seized me they instead all then spoke French so that I couldn't understand what their business was, but I think she was selling information ... something very, very important that the Frenchmen wanted badly and were willing to pay much for!"

"Then it's all that much more important that we get right back there and stop them. They'll wait for their crewmen, but perhaps not for too much longer. Let us trust to quickness and luck, not but what our luck has already been pushed a bit too far already this night!"

It didn't take the hunter long to return to the hedge-witch's shop at a swift loping run that he hoped would allow him to still catch any other guests of the evil woman by surprise, before the return of her mortally wounded son. In truth, he had struck the lad two deep and telling blows that must have struck vitals, if not his heart. The wounded young man had bled out a ponderous amount of hearts blood; the most recent traces were even still steaming slightly in the chilly night air. Although mortally wounded the witch's son had found the will or the sheer obstinacy to stagger nearly all of the way back home in a disturbingly short length of time. Near enough to home that he made his final collapse into death right into the helping arms of another young sailor that had been on guard at the back door that Emlyn had made her bold escape from less than ten minutes before.

Robert was charging for the door, prepared to cut down both men where they stood, but the boldness of his attack was entirely unnecessary. The wounded lad had exhausted the final slow pulsations of his blood, leaving his heart empty and dry and then nearly at once silent. With the lad now dead and falling out of his arms to the wet ground, the sailor yet somehow found a moment to express his own cry of surprise as the young huntress's ever accurate crossbow bolt then punctured his own chest and heart. In but a moment, the two young men now lay together on the ground forever in deathly silence, their lives, misspent or otherwise virtuous, now stilled.

With nothing left to bar his path inside, Robert burst into the small house and found himself in the rear smaller bedchamber and living quarters of the hedge-witch. The evil old crone had been loudly in disagreement with one of the two men who yet remained behind, a tall thin well-dressed man with a narrow face, short raven dark hair of a military cut and a weak thin mustache and beard that reminded the former poacher considerably of a weasel or perhaps a stoat. Caught not entirely by surprise, the man proved that the bejeweled dagger at his belt was not entirely for show and with a single swift swirling motion he cleanly cut the old witch's throat and darted out the doorway into the shop area of the house before Robert could even draw a throwing dagger, let alone have the time to hurl it.