Lady Marian

Chapter 24

Clusters of burly and haggard yeoman huddled around their pints, roasting in the sweltering heat of the tavern fire. Hushed voices grew softer still as we entered. A few backs straightened, as if they expected to see the sheriff's crossed sword crest on soldier's uniforms. The quiet chatter resumed at the sight of a band of pilgrims. Still, curious and wary eyes alike followed us as we made our way through the crowd to the tavern keeper. I kept my hand on the hilt of my dagger. Will turned his back to the tavern keeper, his dark eyes roving the room.

Robin rested both his elbows on the bar, head down.

"A pint apiece for the pilgrims?" The tavern keeper asked.

"We're here to see Simon, the brew master," Robin said.

The tavern keeper set down the tankard he had been polishing.

"You have the wrong tavern, pilgrim. Me wife, Phyllis, looks after the brewing here."

"Simon," Robin repeated, raising his head to stare at the tavern keeper. Little John took a step forward, his grip on his staff tightening.

"We don't want no trouble here, sir," the tavern keeper whispered, his face drained of its rosy flush.

"You would not want it to be known that you were consorting with outlaws," Robin replied.

The tavern keeper nodded. "Through the kitchen and around the back. Phyllis will show ye the way."

Robin lay a few coins on the bar. "I know the way. For your trouble, good sir."

We followed Robin through the kitchen doors, passed a pile of rotting vegetables and roasting pork, down dank, wet stairs into the cellar. The reek of stale hops grew stronger the further we descended.

We alighted in a low sandstone chamber, lit by a roaring fire and a few ill-placed torches. A woman stood over the blaze, perspiration running down her brow as she tended a boiling vat. She dabbed her neck with a discoloured handkerchief and looked up unconcerned.

"Who are you here for?" The alewife never ceased from stirring her pot as she asked, nor did she look up.

"Simon," Robin responded.

"Of course." She laid aside her ladle. "Follow me, then."

The woman strolled to the far wall of the brewery. Row upon row of barrels were stacked up to the ceiling. We stood back as the alewife heaved all her weight against the barrels. The wall gave way with an ominous groan, swinging forward to reveal a cavern extending from the cellar.

"Look at that." Will whistled. "They have nailed the barrels to the wall. I bet the sheriff's soldiers would never guess what was behind here."

"That's the point, young man." The alewife smoothed out her faded yellow gown. "And the passage ain't free."

Robin dropped a small bag of coins into her outstretched hand.

"Will you be making a return trip?"

Robin shrugged. "We shall see, Phyllis, we shall see." He took a torch from its sconce in the wall and, ducking his head, entered the tunnel. "Send my regards to your master, Phyllis."

I scurried into the tunnel after Robin, intent on staying close to him in the circle of torchlight. Little John and Will ducked in after me.

"Adieu, Robin Hood, and best of luck." The false wall clanged shut.