‘I’d say no more ’n ten, possibly fewer.’
‘With Sir Gilbert, who is presumably a skilled fighting man, that is almost two to one, mon ami.’
Rob nodded in agreement, ‘But an unexpected ambush—’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I owe this to my father’s memory and to Walter. If I could take Sir Gilbert and hold him for ransom, I could recoup some of our losses.’
‘I’d do more ’n ’old ’im for ransom,’ growled Sym.
‘I agree entirely,’ Rob said smoothly, ‘but in these matters you have to do what is best. We need ready gold and Sir Gilbert could provide it.’
‘And for how long do you intend to lie about here, waiting to be caught?’ demanded Margery sourly. She made no bones about arguing with Master Rob.
Rob smiled again in her direction. ‘There is a risk, certainly,’ he acknowledged evenly, ‘but I consider it worth the taking. We can demand that Sir Gilbert send to his own manor, which is not too far away, while we hold him and any of his men who survive the attack. He can hardly inform on us and this hiding place has served us well up to now. How fast was he travelling?’ he asked Sym. ‘Can we cut through the woods to get ahead of him?’
‘Aye, Master Rob. The company was travelling slow, loaded down with two sumpters and one maid or p’raps a wounded man riding pillion, I didn’t stop to look too closely.’
Rob rose to his feet. ‘Then the sooner we are on his track, the better.’
Piers eyed him thoughtfully, ‘Mon ami, should you not…?’
His voice trailed off as he met the full scornful gaze of those blue-green eyes. He shrugged philosphically. ‘So be it, messire. We ’ave nevaire been afraid of taking the risks before, n’est ce pas?’
Despite her protests, Margery was left behind to tend their dinner and the little party set off led by Diggory, who, true to his brother’s word, was a fine woodsman and knew his way. Rob cursed his bad leg for the first half-mile—it had stiffened over the last few days due to enforced inactivity—but as they continued he found himself walking and even running over difficult ground more easily and well able to keep up with his men.
Diggory, ahead, stopped, keeping his head lowered, and signalled that they were now getting close to the road. Rob turned and cautioned his men with a gesture to silence and warily and quietly approached to squat behind Diggory.
They were now able to see clearly from cover the road to Brinklow Village. Diggory turned slightly as both of them heard the sound of considerable number of horsemen approaching. Rob turned and signalled again to his men. Silently, without the need for further instruction, they rose from their crouched positions and began to position themselves for ambush.
Sym and Diggory Fletcher, both fine archers, began to look to their long bows. Silas Whitcome and Piers Martine had both been with Rob for some time in service, both in London and Calais. Each was preparing himself for combat in his own way. Silas was easing his sword in its scabbard as Rob was his own weapon.
The Frenchmen had already found himself a suitable tree and sat astride a branch, giving him an excellent view of the road while still affording him some measure of bare branches for cover. His own deadly crossbow was ready for action.
The company of horsemen came steadily on. Rob could hear one female voice chattering on and judged Sym had been right in assuming it was a maidservant who was riding pillion. His whole body was tensed now, ready for action and, deliberately, he quietened his breathing. It was essential that each man of his company performed now to the best of his ability and experience.
He trusted all of them. The Frenchman was a fighting machine in his own right and Silas was steady and careful, not one to rush into danger without conscious thought. The Fletchers he had not seen in action recently, but knew they were experienced men-at-arms of his father’s company; he relied on them to do well in this coming engagement.
The first two men of the advancing escort were in sight now and Rob saw Diggory rise and nock his first arrow. He did not wait for orders. He knew well enough it was necessary for the company to come further into range before dispatching his fatal feathered missile.
Rob was waiting, half-stooped, his back hand ready to signal a message to Sym and Silas behind him. Piers, he knew, had a very clear view and, like Diggory, would take his own time.
The Hoyland escort came on, riding two by two. He could see the cold winter light glinting on their metal salets and the devices on their leather jacks were easily recognisable. He breathed a sigh of relief. It would not do to attack some other poor unsuspecting wight on the road going innocently about his business.
Behind the first two came one of the sumpter mules Diggory had spoken of and a single man-at-arms, with a woman clutching anxiously at his waist riding pillion. Rob cursed under his breath as he saw her. He would have preferred the wench to have been riding at the rear of the escort with the other mule he could see. He had no wish to see her fall victim to an arrow but, already, Diggory had loosed off his first shot.
The leading man, presumably the sergeant, gave a half-cry and fell forward over his horse’s head. The beast rose, forelegs in the air, whinnying in sudden panic, and reared across the path of the fellow who rode beside him.
The man bellowed a warning shout to those of his company behind and inexpertly tried to extricate his own mount from the oncoming hoofs of his erstwhile partner’s mount.
Pandemonium broke out in an instant. Arrows flew from cover and two other men screamed and fell. The road was now blocked by a company of plunging mounts and the noise of panicked bellows from those still in the saddle. It took only moments for Rob to establish control of the situation. He had only to emerge from cover, dash into the road and seize the reins of one of the plunging, frenzied horses, pulling the beast to a standstill.
He called a crisp, decisive command to the remaining men-at-arms to surrender.
‘Throw down your arms and dismount. You are my prisoners. My men have you all well in their sights.’
All of his men but Piers, who remained at his vantage point in the tree, emerged from cover and stood, bows full-stretched, threateningly. Silas had already dashed up to another of the men who gave signs of giving further trouble and neatly held his sword too close to the fellow’s throat.
A woman’s voice broke across the confused chaos. ‘Desist. There is no point in dooming yourselves. This outlaw robber has the upper hand. I’d have no more blood spilt on my behalf in a vain attempt to protect me.’
Rob looked up, startled to see that the palfrey which was bucking under his hand on the reins was carrying Mistress Clare Hoyland.
She leaned down to try and soothe her frightened mount with a reassuring pat and, recognising Rob immediately, said coldly, ‘I see you have so far escaped the King’s justice, Master Devane. Very fortunate for you, less lucky for my escort.’
The horse quietened as she spoke to it soothingly and Rob relaxed his tight grip on the rein and gave her a mocking half-bow. Behind them the men of her escort were sullenly obeying him and dismounting. Silas was efficiently collecting up their discarded weapons. Three men still lay on the ground, one very still and two others groaning and cursing from the pain of arrow wounds.
The woman mounted pillion was screaming shrilly and hysterically beating away the hands of the soldier behind whom she’d been riding as he vainly attempted to lift her down from the saddle.
‘Bridget, be quiet,’ Mistress Hoyland snapped. ‘You cannot be hurt badly, if at all, to be able to scream like that.’
She herself remained mounted, proudly looking down at her attacker.
Silas sidled up to Rob, carrying his toll of weapons, swords and daggers.
‘There’s no