Rise of the Wolf Read Online Free PDF

women, Will had said.
    One of the things he'd taught her was how to thrust with the short-sword, directly at an opponent, before stepping quickly back into a defensive stance. Most people didn't expect it, since the common long-sword – never mind the axe or two-handed bastard sword – was too slow for such a manoeuvre. It simply wasn't done.
    That was why Matilda had shown the move to Marjorie. The girl was a fast learner she realised, clutching at her burning, agonized ribs.
    But no amount of training could make up for a weak body and Robin's young sibling was wheezing already, her sword by her side rather than held up defensively as Matilda had shown her.
    The girl would never be a match for a good swordsman in a fair fight, Matilda knew.
    But not all fights were fair...
    She waited until Marjorie had come to check she wasn't injured then slashed her own practice-sword around and into the girl's calf.
    “There's your next lesson,” Matilda grinned as she stood, glaring down at her fallen young foe. “Never underestimate your enemy!”
     
    * * *
     
    After Gisbourne's failed attack, Robin had led the men to a new camp-site, on the other side of Wakefield. As ever, it was well hidden by the foliage and terrain, and close enough to a stream that they could collect fresh water for cooking and washing.
    Friar Tuck had gathered his meagre possessions that morning and now he sat by the fire with the rest of the men, chewing a piece of bread. A few days earlier he had made the trip east to St Mary's church in Brandesburton where he'd met with Father Nicholas de Nottingham. The priest – 'rightful' owner of the holy relic Tuck was taking back to Lewes with him – had been peeved to be losing the artifact which he'd only loaned to Robin Hood. The friar had explained things to him, though, and donated a sizeable sum of money as compensation.
    Father de Nottingham had been impressed by the likeable Franciscan, and thought he might be right in thinking God had returned the holy relic to him for a purpose so, eventually, had given Tuck his blessing to take the exquisite little box back to Prior de Martini.
    A good man, de Nottingham. One the big friar would have liked to share a few ales with, but, with the rumours of Gisbourne being on the hunt again, he'd wanted to get safely back to camp as soon as possible. Maybe sometime in the future Tuck would get a chance to spend more time in Brandesburton with the priest. He'd like that...
    Robin had tried to persuade Tuck to stay but he would have none of it.
    “I must leave Robin, today. God has sent this relic as a sign. Maybe it was returned to me because I've to go back to Prior de Monte Martini and save his soul... I don't know. I do know my body can't take any more of this life though. I'm old” –
    “You're not much older than me!” Stephen, the former Hospitaller sergeant-at-arms muttered. He'd not been with the outlaws for as long as the rest of the men, but, like all of them, he'd grown to like and value Tuck's calming presence around the camp.
    “Maybe not in years,” Tuck agreed, with a small sigh. “But I feel old in my bones.”
    Will Scarlet shared a look with Robin. The Franciscan had been trapped in Nottingham with them just a few months ago – not long after he'd been shot by Gisbourne and almost drowned in the Don too – and he'd seemed hale and hearty then. In the months since he'd regained most of the weight he'd lost back then and, looking at him now, it seemed like he could offer any of them a challenge in a fight.
    Robin knew better than anyone how being close to death could alter a man's perception of the world, though. He had almost given up hope when Gisbourne had captured him, beaten him within an inch of his life, then thrown him in a cell under Nottingham Castle. Although the young wolf's head had come back stronger than ever, Tuck, with his advanced years, clearly felt the after-effects of his own ordeal more keenly than Robin did