Post of the Month

~ April 2006 ~

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Alan & Much ~ Written by Rhys & Gwyn. 

Posted on the HoS Yahoo group May 2005.

"We've walked miles," Much said. It wasn't a complaint, just an observation.

Alan where he walked beside Much, wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and sighed. The sun was hot.

They had not been travelling along the Lincoln Road itself, for fear of attracting unwelcome attention: "Robert told us not to take unnecessary risks," Much had reminded Alan, and Alan remembering Robert's instruction to gather whatever information they could unobtrusively, agreed.

So they had taken a route parallel to the Lincoln Road as it had wended its way out of the forest proper. And as they had come out from the cool shade of many trees clustered together and into more open spaces; hay meadows, cultivated fields and the occasional dwelling, they had started to follow the river than the Lincoln Road.

"River backs onto most of the villages anyway," Much had said.

Taking care to remain unobtrusive, they had visited each village and asked some questions. It had been easy enough. Most of the men were out in the fields anyway, cutting hay or tending crops. Alan had let Much do most of the approaching of these men and the questioning. They all knew Much far better than he, who had only been in Sherwood a year. In addition, Much was one of them; he spoke the way they did, he was a local lad.

_I am anything but local,_ Alan thought wryly now, thinking back. He wished, when he had trained himself to speak with an English accent he had trained himself to speak with a Nottinghamshire accent, and not the clearer, more precise tones of the higher class. But when training himself to speak with an English accent, he had only been very young, only ten or so, and had wished to imitate his lord, the who had been the first lord he had been in the employ of as apprentice minstrel, and whom he had respected as a good man.

Much now squinted up at the sun. "Midday."

Alan squinted up at the sun too. "You're right. Let's rest for a moment, Much."

They paused under the shade of a large oak on the banks of the river. Alan unslung his waterskin from his shoulder and drank thirstily.

"Haven't got very far, have we," said Much. "I mean, finding out anything."

"Well, there's still Elsdon, and that's the last village near the Lincoln Road," Alan replied. "Robert seemed to think we might find some information there."

Much scratched his head and fell to thought over the past morning. They hadstopped so far at four of the villages near the Lincoln road, always cautious about venturing in in case there had been soldiers around - but there had been none.

At least they had not had the problem of avoiding Gisbourne's men - but they had found out little about these supposed Lincoln outlaws.

The people from all the villages so far had given the same story - they hadheard that outlaws in the woods outside Lincoln had started to rob travellers bold - or foolish - enough to take certain roads and tracks through the woods to leave or enter Lincoln. Where these outlaws had suddenly sprung from, the villagers so far questioned had not known. And when exactly these particular outlaws had arrived was not known either. There had always been incidents of robbing of travellers in the woods, and occurrences of "summer outlaws" - men who lived outside the law and sheltered in the woods and forests during the summer season and then during winter went to ground and sheltered in the homes of family and friends who hid them.

"I don't think-" Much began to say, then jerked his head up startled as a sudden cry in the distance caught his ears. "Alan - did you hear that?

"What-?" Alan started to say - and then he too heard the scream echoing from up-river.

"Dear God, someone's in the river!" he exclaimed. He dropped his waterskin and raced along the top of the river-bank. Much followed in close pursuit.

Rounding the curve of the river, past the cluster of trees which had obscured their view, Much saw the scene - the terrified face of a little girl as she struggled against the current in what was well known as a deep and dangerous part of the river, her screams now stung to nothingness by the freezing water.

"Oh no..." Much gasped in fearful horror, sliding to a halt beside Alan and staring down into the river as the fair head went under the waters.

For one moment, Alan's heart froze, the awful dread in it telling him that he was standing here as if he was carved out of stone, watching someone drown. Then he swung into action. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself automatically shedding his cloak and kicking off his boots; his bare feet met the grass as he ran down the bank to the river, and Much's call echoed oddly in his ears: "Alan-!"

The river was deep at this point, and Alan meant to dive in as he ran to the edge, but his foot slipped on the grass as he launched himself off the edge of the bank, and he fell and hit the water awkwardly, winding himself painfully in the stomach. He resurfaced, gasping through the pain of being winded as he found he struggled in the water. His head spun; at the back of his mind he thought how awkward it would be to die at a time like this when he had been sent on a mission - then he recovered the clarity of his senses, and saw across the other side of the river the little girl, her arms feebly thrashing as she went under for the second time.

The cold of the water bit into Alan tensed his muscles, and he felt as though he could scarcely move, He gasped and shook his wet hair out of his eyes and then struck out across the river to the little girl.

He caught her by the waist as she went under for the third time. She sagged limply against him, whimpering with shock. "It's all right - I've - got you, don't struggle," he gasped to her. He kept his hand under her chin, lifting it clear of the water, and towing the little girl behind him, struck out fiercely against the flow of the current. But he felt it pull at him, and knew immediately that he was fighting a lost cause; he would never be able to tow the child back to the bank where Much was - and at this point in the river, both banks were sheer, too steep and high to climb up to safety. Alan's mind raced amongst the churn of froth and water and struggles that surrounded him in order to find a life-saving solution.

"Much, the tree!" Alan yelled out in a splutter to where his friend was on the bank.

Much knew instantly what Alan meant - the oak they had been standing in the shade of only moments previously, had large bare roots which extended in a tangle through the steep bank and out above the river. He immediately turned and
raced back the way he had come.

As he ran back along the bank, Much saw in a blur a stranger running to the river also from across the nearby scrubland - a man of middling height and build dressed in dusty clothes who had clearly heard the child's screams; briefly Much wondered if it was the child's father. He obviously had come to the same conclusion - the place by the oak was the best place to attempt a rescue, for he was making for the same place with intent.

Much reached the oak first and hurriedly slid down the steep bank, his heart in his mouth. At the very edge of the bank he wrapped one arm around one of the twisted oak roots which extended into the river and he leant out over the churning waters, with his free arm extended, all the time keeping his anxious eye on Alan as he was dragged in snatches downriver, whilst struggling to fight against the current with one arm and keeping the screaming child's chin above water with the other.

The child was struggling against him, which wasn't helping, pushing against his chest with her small fists and screaming as the waters dragged them downriver. Alan kept his hand clamped under her chin, her head tilted backwards above the surface of the water, shielding her small body as best he could as the strong current pulled them first into the impossibly steep side of the bank and then out into the middle of the river against rocks.

The water was like a wild animal, dragging him along like a fox drags a kill into its lair to consume. Its icy fingers bit into Alan's flesh and seemed to pierce his very bones, and at the back of his mind he still had the space to wonder how on earth water could be so cold in high summer.

The current had pulled them almost to the bend in the river where the oak was. Through the blur of noise, of struggles, of water slapping him in the face, Alan vaguely heard Much's voice yelling out to him, and knew his friend was in position. For a moment, he ceased struggling against the current, allowed its force to sweep him and the child out into the middle of the river and towards the other bank where Much was as they rounded the bend - and then he struck out fiercely again with all his might.

Much was suddenly there right above him, leaning down, his waiting arm extended; Alan, one arm still around the child's waist snatched out his free arm and they grabbed each other by the forearm, and Alan hung on for dear life, feeling his strength almost gone. His fingers were numb from the cold of the water and he fought to retain his grip on Much's arm. Horrified, he felt his numb fingers slipping on Much's sleeve.

For one dreadful moment, Much thought he could not hold onto both Alan and the child, but suddenly the stranger was looming over his shoulder, grabbing hold of Alan too. "All right, boy, I have them as well," the stranger's voice sounded in Much's ear, and a long arm reached out and grabbed Alan by the belt.

Alan felt his belt grabbed and the pull to one side, then a heave from both his helpers, Much's fingers digging into his forearm, so fierce was the grip that was determined not to let go - and suddenly Alan's feet found momentary purchase on bare slippery tree roots and he pushed at them, never matter that they cracked and splintered and gave way under his weight; they gave him enough impetus to launch himself further upwards out of the water and he and the little girl fell in a muddle together on the top of the riverbank, at the feet of Much and the other man. The little girl immediately struggled away from him, twisting away to get to her feet; now she was safe, Alan let her go and just lay there sprawled on his chest for a moment, as he coughed and attempted to recover his breath.

"You're all right," Much flew to comfort the little girl, wrapping his cloak around her as she shivered and cried from the shock. "We don't mean you any harm." She seemed no older than five or six years; he placed his arm around her and made an attempt to rub her long hair dry with his cloak, then glanced warily across at the stranger who had flown to their aid.

He was a man of average height, of strong but not over-muscular build, with short hair that had once been black but was now greying. He had dropped his pack on the bank as he had flown to assist with the rescue. Much warily eyed the stout and serviceable knife at his wide leather belt. His rough cloth cloak fell over one shoulder as he stood there and looked down at Alan as though he knew him.

"Well now, Alun ap Deniol, so we meet again."

The voice was instantly recognisable, but a somewhat dazed Alan could scarce believe it. "Gwydion," he gasped, still in the throes of coughing, "what are you doing here?"

Gwydion's hand pounded him on the back as he coughed, unfortunately smacking him straight face-down into the muddy bank. With his face against the earth, Alan heard Gwydion's reply. "Lucky for you I was walking along the track by here. I heard the child's screams."

"Alun....?" Much had registered the Welsh accent by now and stared bemused from Alan to Gwydion, and then back to Alan.

Gwydion shrugged his shoulders. "Alun..Alan...what matters it. It's only a name, boy."

Alan, having been pushed face-first into the muddy ground, wearily dragged himself up to hands and knees, bracing himself with his arms. "What of the child? - is she all right?"

Gwydion's voice was amused. "You gone deaf, boy? Water in your ears, perhaps?" He looked at the child wrapped in Much's cloak and clinging to him, still sobbing. "By the amount of noise she's making, I'd say she'll live a fair while yet," Gwydion said wryly.

"You're all right, we won't hurt you, we're Robin's men. Robin i the Hood," Much tried to console the child, wrapping his cloak more tightly around her, then faltered and looked suspiciously across at Gwydion, realising that for all he knew this stranger could be.

"You needn't worry, boy," said Gwydion, "I can keep my mouth shut. Might not be from one of Robin i the Hood's loyal villages, but I'm not going to sell information to the Sheriff of Nottingham. He's a bad sort, by all accounts, I hear."

The child ceased her loud cries and fell to hiccoughing, Much patted her consolingly on the back and looked across at Alan and gave a laugh, for mud was smeared all over his friend's face where Gwydion's well-intentioned pounding on the back had landed Alan face-down in the mud. "You look like you been rolling in Mad Mab's pigsty," Much said.

Alan rubbed his muddy hand over his equally muddy face, little caring what he looked like at present. His mind was on other things - primarily thanking the stars the child was safe and he had not drowned. "We should take the child back to her home."

"Get her back to her Mam before she freezes to death," Gwydion observed. "That is, if her Mam's anywhere near here. You know her?"

Much shrugged, staring curiously at the little girl. "Not seen her before. Mind you, there's plenty of children in all the villages around here."

He bent and looked enquiringly into the child's face. She had ceased her crying and now seemed far more composed. She had cornflower-blue eyes and her hair, when it wasn't muddied and wet and straggling across her tear-stained face, was fair. "Where're you from?" Much asked kindly. "We'll get you back to your home."

She stared solemnly back at him, trapping her trembling lower lip with her upper teeth and did not answer.

Alan moved to kneel on one knee before the bedraggled child and gently touched her cheek. He smiled at her and spoke softly.

"We really are from Robin i the Hood, you know, little maid. I'm Alan and this is Much. What's your name?"

The little girl scrubbed away the remaining tears from her face with a muddy fist and finally answered. "Nesta."

"Well, Nesta - where are you from?" Alan asked.

She pointed upriver. "Elsdon."

"Well, you're in luck. We happen to be going that way. We'll walk with you." Alan smiled at her afresh, stroked her hair, and rose to his feet, taking up his waterskin and cloak once more.

"Come on," Much said gently and took the child by the hand. After initialhesitation and a suspicious glance at Gwydion, she allowed herself to be led along the riverbank.

Shouldering his pack, Gwydion fell into pace beside Alan and Much. "I'll come with you."

"I thought you said at the alehouse yesterday you were looking for work?" Alan teased him.

"Well, I was coming this way anyway, on my hunt," Gwydion replied. "And who knows, Elsdon might be just the place to find it. Do they have a drinking place?"

They headed onwards.