The Outlaw and the Innkeeper's Daughter

"Here, drink a bit, it'll ease your throat." Allan set aside the pitcher and held the mug to her dry lips.

She swallowed several large gulps, then reached up to push the mug away.

"They're both dead." She said flatly, a statement, not a question.

"Aye, but your father got one of the bastards." Allan wasn't sure how much that would help. He could hear the tremor in his own voice and was having trouble fighting tears. "Be strong for her, for Kenneth's sake." He told himself silently.

But then Artemas suddenly dropped the half-empty tankard and threw herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably. Huge sobs of grief wracked the young woman's body as Allan's woolen hood soaked up the tears. Allan joined her, mingling their cries and tears.

After a long while, they were both tapped out of crying. Allan retrieved the pitcher of ale and between them they finished off the amber liquid.

"How badly are you hurt? I've got to get you back to the camp so Rachel can tend to you."

"Not too badly, I hope, I'm not sure. I can barely move and I feel kind of numb. I think its mostly bruises and scrapes." Her hands shook a bit when she re-lived the attack. "The whoreson tried to rape me, but I got Kenneth's dagger and ran out the back after I cut him up. You'll recognize him by the fresh scar down the side of his face. I think I got his eye but I'm sorry I missed his throat. Promise me you'll hunt him down and make him suffer."

"That I'll do, but first I have to get you off this cold ground and to someplace warm and safe."

He picked up his bow and tried to figure out how to move the injured woman. In her battered condition she wouldn't be able to walk far. In the end, Allan hoisted her up on his back with her arms around his neck. He wrapped his cloak around both of them to keep Artemas warm on the journey. Thus burdened it took almost two hours to get her to the outlaw camp. Most of the outlaws were asleep, but Rachel was still awake, sitting wrapped in her thick plaid blanket and wondering why Allan was taking so long.

"What's wrong, what's that ye got there?" In the darkness Rachel couldn't make out the burden on Allan's back, but could tell that he was struggling to handle the weight with care.

"It's Artemas, she's been hurt." Allan gently set her down on the blanket that his wife quickly spread on the ground. Artemas was nearly unconscious with shock and fatigue. Rachel knew a bit about the ways of herbs and kept infusions for bruises and other injuries handy. She took over care of Artemas, making sure she was well covered with the warm blanket to prevent further shock and giving her a draught of chamomile to help her sleep. Allan quickly told her what he had found at the inn.

"Allan, fuel up the fire. We'll have to warm some stones to keep her from the cold."

Allan nodded and bent to his task. After the fire was burning merrily, he moved a few rocks closer to the flames. One stone shifted on him and he staggered, nearly falling into the fire pit. He cursed roundly, attracting his wife's attention.

"You're exhausted, get some sleep or ye'll not be any use." Rachel forestalled any protest with a quick gesture. "I'll wake one of the other women if I need help. Off with you now."

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News traveled fast in the small camp of outlaws and nearly as fast between the camps. Next morning the small group of outlaw folk, along with several visitors from other camps, gathered around where Artemas lay on the blanket to hear her story. Innkeeper Ross was well liked, being a friend to almost all the outlaws of the forest. Artemas was still battered and shaky, but she insisted on telling everyone about the events of the previous night.

"There were seven of them. Out of work mercenaries just looking for trouble and spending a lot of silver. Da didn't want them to stay, but they were all armed and when they chased the other customers away, there was no one else around to help us." She paused a moment and sniffled, but gathered her strength and went on. "At first they were just drinking, but then their captain grabbed me and insisted on more sport. Da shouted at him to stop, but one of his men hit Da with a barstool. I went for my dagger then, but the captain grabbed it first and threw it across the room before he started pawing me. I yelled for Kenneth, but they just laughed at me. That's when Da jumped up and stuck his dagger in the neck of the one that hit him with the stool. It must have gotten stuck because he tugged but it didn't come out. It looked like Da was reaching for a sword, he must have thought he was back in the wars, when two others jumped him at once."

Sobs stopped her for a moment as she dabbed at her tears. Rachel gave her a small draught of ale laced with soothing herbs. Artemas drank it down completely before continuing. The outlaws were completely silent, waiting for the rest of the story.

"One of them came out of the big storeroom behind the common room with a bloody knife and was going to cut my dress off. But the one holding me stopped him. That's when he dragged me in to the storeroom, that's when I saw my dear Kenneth." She started sobbing again and her ale was refilled for another long sip before she could continue. "The bastard pushed up my skirts and pinned me down with his body. I tried to fight him but he just laughed at me. He said something about taking me right beside Kenneth's body and I hoped that he hadn't taken Kenneth's dagger. Oh God, I had to reach under my Kenneth while still under that son of a bitch but I found the dagger. I made a long cut down his face, I think I got his eye. He jumped off me and I went for the door. I hid in the thick bushes just inside the trees. Right near where everyone hides to watch the inn, yes I know about that spot. They only looked for me for a short while, they were too drunk to find me. They took our cart and mule, loaded it up with a barrel of our best ale." Her head hung down with fatigue, quiet tears dripped on the ground.

Allan stepped forward. Tired as he was, there were still necessary tasks to be done.

"My brother and the innkeeper need to be properly buried." He announced. "And I want to go after these bastards. Who's with me?" He looked around at the assembled faces.

Five other young outlaws stepped forward, ready with their bows and daggers. Without a word Allan headed away from the clearing towards the inn. They readily followed. It was late afternoon by the time they finished with the graves. The bodies of Ross and Kenneth were buried just inside the trees, the spot marked by small cairns of stones. They stripped the body of the brigand and tossed it in the inn's latrine. When the old inn reopened, somebody would have to dig a new one. Two of the outlaws volunteered to stay at the inn to keep any scavengers, human or animal, from breaking in. The other three gathered to decide what to do next.

"Take a look at the tracks. The cart headed off that direction. Let's go." Allan pointed down the road away from the village and towards Nottingham. The road passed through more forest in that direction, perfect for an ambush if they could find and catch them.

"Now? It's almost dark." One of the outlaws protested.

"But it's nearly a full moon." One of the stay-behinds observed. "You can travel by moonlight until you get tired."

The third outlaw chimed in. "We've only got hunting arrows, not bodkin heads. These are good for deer hide but won't pierce armor."

"Then we'll have to aim for their throats." Allan set off down the road at a brisk walk.

For the next two days, the trio pushed themselves at a hard pace, barely stopping to scrounge for food or pause for sleep. By late evening they caught sight of the soldiers and cart in the distance. One of the soldiers was mounted and another drove the cart. The rest were on foot. They all moved at the slow speed of the mule and cart. The outlaws struck off the road, taking the forest tracks so the brigands wouldn't see them. They slowly worked their way well ahead of the killers in the dark.

"Let's take them while they sleep." One of the outlaws suggested.

Allan shook his head. "They'll still be in armor while they sleep. We'll only be able to get three with our daggers before they're alerted and it'll be too dark to shoot, even with the moon. The rest will come at us with their swords. It'll be even worse if they've posted a watch. Better to take them while they're walking and not expecting it."

"There's enough moon for them to see us, but not enough to shoot by. In the daytime we can shoot them down from the forest without them even seeing us." The third outlaw added. "I'd rather not face an armored man with a sword when all I've got is this shirt and a dagger."

Once they found a decent spot for an ambush, they each took turns watching while the others slept. In the morning they found positions where they each had a clear shot to the road without being easily seen. At last they heard the voices of the approaching soldiers.

Allan stayed hidden in the undergrowth with an arrow nocked on his bowstring and waited for the brigands to draw even with him. He drew the string back all the way to his face, anchoring his finger in the corner of his mouth directly below his eye. Careful aim was needed, not much of his target was exposed outside the armor. Allan took full care with his shot and slid his fingers off the string, the powerful bow speeding the broadhead arrow in a low, hissing arc towards the mercenary. The arrow took him full in the neck, mortally wounding him before he could even cry out. Allan heard the twang of two other bowstrings as his fellows joined the attack. Another brigand fell dead with a gurgling noise, but the third target had spun around at the sound. This moved him barely out of the path of the third arrow, the sharp arrowhead scored his cheek and ear in passage, causing him to bellow in pain and alarm. The two remaining brigands on foot drew their swords and grabbed their helmets off of the cart. The leader swung his horse back towards the cart, drawing his own sword. They looked about in confusion, uncertain of just where the deadly swarm of arrows were coming from and ducking when one hissed near.

Allan had another arrow on the string in a trice, sending it at the brigand on the cart. His arrow slammed into the brigand's coat-of-plates as the man shifted position, the sharp but thin hunting head bouncing harmlessly off the iron under the leather. An arrow from another outlaw buried itself in the unprotected neck of the driver. Allan nocked again and his arrow transfixed the arm of the soldier with the clipped ear. The third outlaw managed to shoot the wounded man in the throat. The last man on foot turned and ran from the shower of arrows. An outlaw's arrow bounced off the back of his helmet, but Allan made a direct hit on the man's backside. With only thin layers of leather and cloth protecting his ass, there was hardly anything to stop the arrow from sinking deep into the sensitive flesh. The man howled and fell forward, but not fast enough to prevent another outlaw arrow from taking him on the inside of his leg. The deep wounds severed major blood vessels. He would be dead from loss of blood in mere moments.

Now the outlaws set their sights on the remaining man, the one on the horse. Allan saw that he had a raw gash down the side of his face, easily visible under the helm. This must be the rapist, Allan thought to himself. He took careful aim at the mercenary captain's face, but the man turned his horse just as Allan loosed his shot. The arrow clanged loudly against the soldier's helm. The sharp but thin arrowhead, meant only for shooting through deer hide, crumpled against the thick iron of the helm's rear plate, shattering the arrow. Allan cursed and let fly another shot, less carefully aimed. It flew narrowly past the galloping figure, missing his neck by mere inches. Several more outlaw arrows lodged in the wood surface of the mercenary's shield, still slung over his back. The speedy horse soon carried the brigand leader around a curve in the road and out of bowshot. None of the robber band had thought to shoot at the valuable horse.

All three outlaws quickly fell to work dragging the bodies into the underbrush and stripping them of their armor, weapons, cloaks, money pouches and anything else of value. The bodies were left for the scavengers. Vowing to divide the loot later, with a full share for Artemas, they piled everything onto the cart. The trip back took another three days and several tankards worth of the innkeeper's best ale were missing from the recovered keg by the time they arrived.

Before going into the inn, the three outlaws stopped at the graves in the forest to pay respects and whisper that they had taken revenge on the killers. Allan noticed that someone had taken the time to carve crude sun crosses, like the one on Artemas' pendant, on the largest stones set at the head of each grave.

Artemas and Rachel were waiting for them inside the main room at the inn. Though still not fully recovered, Artemas was using the busywork of cleaning and restoring the place to smother her grief. The little band of outlaws returned the somewhat diminished keg to its proper place and unhitched the mule to graze in its little corral. They all sat in the common room with more mugs of ale while Artemas gravely listened to them recount the hunting of the mercenaries. She wasn't happy when she learned of the escape of her would-be rapist. Moved by her tears, the outlaws agreed to double her share. Allan apologized that he didn't find her little cross pendant that Kenneth had given her, the brigand captain must have kept it. He promised to let the rest of the forest folk know that if that scarred face with the pendant ever showed up in the forest, the man was to die instantly and the necklace was to go to the inn.

With the help and patronage of the robber band, it wasn't long before the old inn was as prosperous as before. The forest folk visited freely and no one ever bothered the pretty innkeeper without facing several angry outlaws.