Chapter 1

The snow had quit falling overnight so now with the very first light of dawn, Robert only took one quick fast look outside of his small wooden hut deep in the forest before grabbing his bow and quiver of arrows. He had not eaten for the last two days and with the snow having ceased for now, he knew this would be a good time to catch an early morning deer grazing unaware. They would be hungry as well and digging into the snow for their Christmas Eve morning meal of cold grass. Robert hoped that one of them might make his own holiday meal, and a much better feast than frozen autumn grass. At least now he had only himself to provide for himself, he thought sadly as he left his sheltered and quite hidden campsite.

Being an excellent woodsman and knowing every inch of his sheltering forest, Robert knew where to likely find his prey at this early hour. Travelling upwind to catch them grazing unawares, he was certain that he'd have no difficulty making a kill long before the sun rose more than a hand or two into the sky. He wanted to move fast, but he also had other concerns than the unsuspecting deer catching his scent. A brief patrol around the edges of the wood yesterday morning had cautioned him that some activity was still occurring near the fitzHenry estates and the Earl's castle.

For nearly a week there had been unusual activity in these quiet and seldomly hunted or travelled woods. He had seen traces of the passage of numerous horsemen and sometimes he had even heard their hunting horns blowing off in the distance. This was very extraordinary activity and the poacher had quickly decided that perhaps these hunters were looking for rather different game than deer. Perhaps hunting a fugitive? Or unfortunately, even hunting for him.

Robert had decided then that he would take no chances and he stayed put within his sheltered camp to wait out this disturbing atypical activity. Now, nearly a week later he was completely out of stored food. With strangers in the woods, the poacher hadn't even dared to set his usual rabbit snares, which provided him with much of his food stock. Smoking and preserving a large quantity of meat for the winter was much too dangerous an undertaking and except for a small carefully controlled cook fire inside of his ramshackle hut, the poacher couldn't ever dare to set any larger fires. This unfortunately meant that if he couldn't rely upon his rabbit snares, that he'd have to hunt for some larger game.

The poacher also had no coins saved that he could use to travel to a nearby village and buy provisions or even that rarest of treats, a hot meal served at an inn. He was alone in the world and nearly destitute, possessing only a few treasured mementos of his old, pre-poaching life, and a sturdy bow with good arrows to strike down his prey with, but that was enough to just barely get by in life with.

The old Earl rarely ever hunted himself, nor did he have a son to take up his reins. This ordinarily meant that the poacher's favorite parts of the woods were rarely entered by hunters and even the Earl's own forester hardly ever entered the woods during the winter, and truth be told was nearly equally lax with his duties during the kinder seasons. On the other hand, the old Earl was a favorite of the King, who kept a hunting lodge not far away from the Earl's castle. This made these woods a Royal Woods, and the deer that Robert occasionally poached, the King's Deer.

Surely, the King himself would not be visiting these parts this day, so very close to Christmas! Didn't the King hold court in his palace in London on Christmas Day?

Still the idea of strangers, guests of the Earl, possibly entering the forest again on this day made Robert uncomfortable. In his light sleep yesterday evening, he had even woke up suddenly and imagined that he had heard the sound of a horse quite near his little hidden timber shack! His firewood had been wet and his small fire had smoked a little. His bad dream though had helped to keep him cautious and he banked his small fire even further.

If he had but saved some extra scraps of food or even a few bent or worn coins, he would have resisted the dangerous impulse to hunt today or even tomorrow, until he was absolutely certain that the riders had left and the quiet status quo returned to these normally hushed woods.

But he had no such saved food or coins, and so he resolved to hunt ... quietly and with as little bustle as possible. He'd keep to the cover and try to remain hidden from any and all unfriendly eyes. He'd glide quietly through the snow and cover his passing tracks with a leafy branch, leaving virtually no trace of his passage. Cautiously, he'd try for a smaller deer; one he could easily dispatch with a single arrow without great alarm to the herd and small enough to be carried across his wiry but strong back, to be dressed back in the safety of his hidden forest hut.

As he moved cautiously through the snow covered forest, he stopped often to cautiously wait and listen keenly to the sounds around him. The wind was brisk enough to muffle the smaller sounds, but twice Robert thought he had heard the sounds of horses somewhere up ahead, but he couldn't be certain. His senses delivered no firm warning to him but his unease grew.

Now Robert was hesitant and nearly decided upon returning now in haste back to his camp to fast for yet another day or such, until acute hunger forced him to the hunt once more. The idea of early morning riders in the woods ahead of him so soon after sunrise disturbed him. If only he had been able to safely set his snares he might have captured a fine coney or two and already been safely back in his hut! The idea of this early morning hunt suddenly seemed much less appealing. The danger was simply not worth the benefits of a full stomach this morning! It is never quite entirely safe being a poacher living in one of the King's Forests, but certain obvious risks should never be taken, his head reasoned ... but his empty stomach complained otherwise.

After hiding in some thick brush, sitting and listening to the wind for a good ten minutes and hearing nothing, the poacher's courage began to return, just a little. He still didn't feel that it was safe to continue upwind anymore, but perhaps if he moved sideways off to his left, further west away from the Earl's castle and the King's hunting lodge, he could perhaps keep the danger to his right, giving him time and space to flee deeper into the woods for safety, if needs be.

Now traveling crosswind to his prey, Robert risked a faster pace. This was a good hunting area and with luck he'd soon find some game and then he could be quickly on his way back home. There would be a small clearing near a hollow at the foot of a small hill that often served as a favorite shelter in poor weather for the smaller younger Fallow deer. If luck was with him, he'd soon spy a small herd now grazing in that clearing, and as he peaked around a bush near its edge, his hopes were realized. Perhaps fifteen deer in total, all quite hungry and paying slightly less attention to their surroundings than they ordinarily would have been.

It would be a long shot from here, but if he moved around to the right of the clearing, to be closer to the herd, he risked passing into the wind such that his scent might be carried to his prey. It would have to be a long shot, well-over a hundred yards to the small deer that he had selected, but he knew he could make that shot ... even sideways into a gusty wind.

The idea that he might accidentally miss never even occurred to him. Pausing but a moment to select his target, a young buck yearling, he quickly gauged the angle and judged the crosswind and let his arrowshaft fly, catching the deer deep into the middle of its chest and pierced its heart instantly. It fell dead before it even knew what had struck it.

Wasting little time, Robert rushed into the clearing to claim his prize and pausing only pull his arrow from the deer's chest he at once hoisted up the deer onto his shoulders and began to shuffle towards the nearest cover of brush to then scamper on towards his home as fast as he could manage. The small deer was heavy, easily over a hundred pounds, and carrying it would make his footprints heavier and deeper into the snow. He wouldn't be able to brush these prints into obscurity, he'd have to take an oblique non-direct approach towards his hut and stop periodically to backtrack and cover up his boot prints. There was no snow likely to fall today to conceal them and the dangers of the horsemen in the forest couldn't be eliminated and it was far too risky to process the venison here.

On the other hand, quickly taking just a haunch now and burying the rest of the carcass in the snow for retrieval later might be a safer compromise and he paused for a moment to readjust his heavy load and consider this option just as he and his prize reentered the woods. Here once again under relative cover, he could quickly accomplish this task but he paused for a long moment before dropping his load to draw his belt knife, concerned that for an instant yet again he had heard the sounds of shifting brush on the other side of the clearing, very near where he had taken his desperate bowshot. Probably just one of the other startled Fallow deer returning to their feeding place, he assumed, but a return of the huntsmen couldn't be ruled out either.

In fact, Robert was just thinking about these phantom horsemen who were heard but never seen when heard the loud 'Hrmph' of a horse on the other side of the small clearing. He dropped the deer onto the snow fast and spun behind a tree to risk a look behind him. This time he saw the horseman, a hard-looking man still on his horse trying to bring a small short curved horse-bow into position. A moment later he fired off an arrow that hit square into a tree about twenty feet from where the poacher had been hiding, but Robert was no longer there. Then the hunter's horn sounded, close and nearby and was immediately answered by the sound of several other horns, some nearer and some further away. At least four groups of men were in the hunt for him and it would now take all of the poacher's hard learned skills to escape their gathering net!

His meal abandoned and already forgotten, Robert had to use every measure of his skill to move silently and unseen into the heavy early morning winter shadows of the woods. It was still just barely past dawn and the sun would not be above the trees for another hour or so yet. Once more with a leafy branch to cover his tracks in hand, Robert substituted stealth for speed.

The chase, if you could call it that, lasted for much of the day. The pursuers were talented and they had at least two most skilled and excellent woodsmen with them that could eventually trace even the most carefully obscured traces of his hidden tracks. Once in fact, Robert had to bury himself into the snow to hide from a group of three horsemen who searched the bushes and trees all around him for nearly half an hour before moving on.

This was not a simple hunting party, but an organized manhunt selected specifically to capture him, he decided. The poacher reckoned that his predications in this particular forest had been noted, and a select team of trained woodsman had then been assembled to dispose of him accordingly. There was only one penalty for poaching, and it was death. Robert wasn't especially afraid of death; it had already taken from him everything that he had loved in life, but he wasn't quite yet willing to be a lamb ready and eager to accept his fate to be slaughtered either.

By mid-afternoon, Robert felt certain that he had evaded every one of his would-be captors. He knew for certain that his life in this forest was now finished. It would be foolhardy, let alone quite unsafe to remain here any further, but he resisted the increasingly compelling urge to leave this forest forever ... now! One last little act of sentiment bound him here firmly, and he would be unable break his bounds to this land until he performed one last final act. For this he must return to his pitiful timber hut only for a moment so that he could reclaim the one last remaining tie that held him fast to the companionship of the human race.

The locket. The small tiny pewter locket that he had had made for his wife as his wedding day gift to her. It was under his bedroll in his hut. Maybe his hut had been found and or maybe it would be safe for a few more hours or days more, but that didn't matter at all to him. For life to be at all worth living, he needed to reclaim that locket. Then, perhaps he could start some new life in some hidden hole, safe and secure somewhere else ... far from here.

He had taken the long, extremely indirect and cautious route back to his hidden camp, taking great care and pains to cover his tracks as he passed. Nothing he knew could be perfect, but he'd still try to do the very best that he could. For her ... and her locket. Occasionally he heard horses or the sound of horns off in the distance, but never quite close enough to be worrisome. Soon he'd have his treasure and then he could run away to safety, deeper in the wild forests of Essex where even the most dangerous of wanted men could live in relative safety.

When he saw the shabby timbers of his small hut, hidden in the brush in one of the thickest parts of the forest, he was fairly certain that he was safe. The undergrowth of the forest here was too thick for horsemen and it would take an extremely keen eye to find his hut, even at a close distance. His nerves were still a bit highly tuned but becoming duller with the pains of relief, hunger and exhaustion. Things looked safe enough inside of his camp, but he wasn't quite sure and he waited, uncertain as how to proceed. He needed to hastily grab the necklace and make his escape but his instincts were warning him about something amiss.

The sound of another horn sounding not quite as far away as before helped the poacher make up his mind. Safe or not, he must enter the camp now and grab his wife's locket. Everything else after that was unimportant to him.

Without even trying for stealth, Robert trusted his luck to boldness, and in fact when he did wrench open the door he was less than surprised to find that someone was already waiting for him inside of his hut. In fact, the intruder, a hard faced huntsman had made himself a bit too comfortable while waiting and had been caught himself by surprise. With his sword resting bare upon a small roughly hewn table just out of convenient reach, the ambusher was quite ill-prepared to give the suddenly returning poacher a rather sharp unwelcoming to his own home.

With just a second to react, Robert sprang forward and grabbed the small iron cook pot he kept in the center fire pit of his hut. Swinging it quickly and sharply, the heavy pot struck the side of the huntsman's head before he could grab his weapon and the sword begin its deadly strike. The huntsman went down silent into a heap, knocked out but otherwise hale, and the poacher leapt over him to reclaim his precious locket from his bedroll, already carefully wrapped in her favorite linen handkerchief and kept for safety in a small skin pouch.

He debated taking the woodsman's sword but it was large and heavy and Robert had no particular skill or even any experience wielding a blade. True it was worth more gold than he would likely earn in his lifetime, but it was heavy and would also slow him down, and selling this item might create unwelcome inquiries later on.

Robert might be a skilled poacher but he certainly wasn't a thief. The sword remained on the ground inside the hut. Besides, the three hard men that were now standing outside of his hut waiting for him looked like they would have no compunction about immediately running him through, if he had been carrying an open blade.

He was cornered and he knew it.

"Come outside now and face the King's Justice with bare hands held open and held away from you now!"

It wasn't really a request. From the sound of things another horseman or two was arriving and someone just outside of his camp was having a merry time tooting on his hunting horn. The wild beast has been cornered and it was time to hurry to the kill!

The poacher briefly considered kicking out the back wall of his hut and making a run for it but decided that he didn't like the odds. From the smell of it, one under-bathed woodsman or soldier was already covering that escape route. Maybe he could evade that first axe or sword stroke, maybe not. In any case it all now just seemed futile.

He could still run ... but he'd just die tired with an arrow or crossbow bolt in his back. If he was going to die, it might as well be here ... and maybe he could be buried here as well, right next to Lana and their infant son.

"Come out in the name of the King!" The loud stern voice repeated.

"And who might I ask speaks for the King in this matter, so that I might request their word of protection for my safety should I deliver myself unreservedly into their hands?"

"I shall speak for him!" Another new voice bellowed. "But only briefly until his own word shall be heard. Deliver yourself to me now, and you shall suffer no hardship until you face his own direct justice from his royal personage. Shall you yield to me?"

His 'Royal Personage'? The almighty goddamned King himself was here? Now? In or near these woods? God fucking almighty but he was screwed! Robert thought, and not without reasonable cause. The local Earl would just string a rope around his neck and be done with it, but what would the King himself do to a poacher caught nearly red-handed in a Royal Forest? Was this treason? Were his limbs and entrails doomed to a one-way tour of the Welsh and Scottish lands while his head would be tarred and mounted upon Tower Bridge?

The poacher carefully tied his precious small sack with his wife's amulet inside of his trousers and let out a deep sigh.

"Yea, I shall surrender myself into your good and trustworthy hands without struggle and but ask that I can have your goodwill, so that at the time of my sentencing it can be said that I did cause little or no harm or inconvenience to his servants. Out I come now!"

Robert held his hands out from his body as he left his hut to show that he was weaponless and intended no breach of the peace. Two men, hard and lean ... skilled and trained veteran fighting men, came forward to take his arms and they expertly bound them tightly behind his back. Another came forward to assist the groaning huntsman that Robert had clubbed with his cook pot inside the hut. Several other hunting men soon also arrived each carrying drawn bows and they moved into something of a circle around the poacher with arrows notched, ready to cut him down in a moment if he fled.

Then the small man still on horseback spoke. It was an educated and cultured voice. The voice of an Earl or even a Duke; it was a voice that was used to issuing commands ... and having them instantly obeyed. Unfortunately the face it belonged to was that of the King, his Royal Majesty King John of England.

The miserable poacher fell on his own accord onto his knees and deeply bowed before the presence of his monarch. His neck was certain to be forfeit in some ghastly and unpleasant method of execution, but if he showed proper deference perhaps he could still plead for his life, or at least a quick death.

"Your Majesty, this humble servant and sinner craves your Peace ... or failing that he begs that he might be spared any elaborate sorts of entertainments for his just punishment and be instead just quickly and simply hanged here, near this very spot. If my King should feel disposed, this miserable captive would greatly desire that his grave be placed to join the other two mounds just over to his Majesties right side, where my wife and my infant son lay buried. I would, should it please your Highness, that my sins are not too mighty that I should be kept apart from them in death, after my life has been spent. This humble request completed, your prisoner will serve his Majesties justice without anger or regret."

This answer rather pleased but yet confused the King, because in truth he had not yet decided what sort of punishment should be met upon this poacher. True, when he first learned of this 'uncatchable' mysterious poacher from his old friend the Earl fitzHenry, he thought it would be simple sport for his trained Royal woodsmen and the miscreant would swing from a suitable tree within a matter of hours. Instead, the hunt had kept the King and his men busy for an entire week! Their prey indeed did move like a ghost and only the luckiest circumstance lead to the poacher's hut being found the previous evening, discovered quite entirely by happy chance. When their skilled quarry eluded the twenty men sent to hunt him down the King himself had ordered this ambush set for the poacher's hut that afternoon.

The end result was successful, but extremely anti-climactic. The King's sense of drama and excitement had hoped for a different sort of outcome. Now he had his prisoner ... but what to do with him?

"Is it true my fine young poacher that you made a direct strike on one of my deer, a perfect shot into the heart, at a distance of at least one hundred and fifty feet, and into the teeth of a strong wind in the gloom of the first light of dawn?"

"Quite untrue your Majesty. The shot was merely at a distance of perhaps a hundred feet and the wind was blowing from the side, not into my face and the morning light upon the fresh snow in the clearing was quite good."

"A lucky shot then? Perhaps not. Tell me young man, how many years have you hunted this forest?"

"About a full five years, your Highness, as of this coming spring. I had lost my apprenticeship due to the tragic demise of my Master, and my young wife was just with child at this unhappy moment. Upon her death in childbirth, my future goals for life became, unfortunately, less certain. I apologize for infringing upon your lands and privileges for such an extended time."

"Could you not have received another apprenticeship?" The King asked, already rather intrigued by the young poacher's story.

"Alas no, largely as it was my accusation that our town guild master himself had in fact murdered my master. Unfortunately, although I knew this truth to be a certainty, it could not be proven as such, and the shire coroner was paid to mark the death into the rolls as 'misadventure'. As I had been about to receive my full journeyman papers, I had just also engaged my wife into marriage believing that my future was secure. My loss of position thus endangered the two of us, rather than only myself."