Erasmus lay back against the wall of the dungeon, deep in thought. As a tourist in his own time, he’d visited the shells of many castles and seen their ruined dungeons, but nothing had really prepared him for the psychological impact of being imprisoned in one.
He’d heard the stories, of course: he knew well the tale of how prisoners in Carlisle Castle had been compelled to lick the walls to quench their thirst; he’d seen the waxworks that filled the dungeons of Warwick, hanging around in manacles or tied on racks. The trouble was that such images were so different to anything in his experience that it was hard to relate to them. You could understand the pain of torture as prisoners were interrogated; you could even try to comprehend the deprivations of an inadequate diet whilst they awaited their fate – something familiar to many poor university students – but what was difficult to handle was the simple torture of imprisonment itself. The greatest terror a dungeon could bring was not the application of thumbscrews to extract a confession, or even the cheerful banter of the hangman as he came to measure you up for your scaffold, it was the horrifying tricks the mind of an incarcerated man could play when there was nothing to do but think. And for someone who did a lot of thinking it could take a lot less time for the effects to kick in.
Oubliette. The word ran through Erasmus Hobart’s brain looking for a reason. Place of forgetting – oubliette. Forgetting what? Surely you only forget things when you’re preoccupied. If all I’ve got to do is think, I ought to have an eidetic memory by now. The time. What’s the time? See, you’ve forgotten that. No, I remember what the time was when I saw it last, I just don’t know how long ago it was. That’s not the same as forgetting. Is it day or night? How can you tell? It never changes in here. It can’t have been more than four or five hours, but what time did I arrive? Oubliette.
The distant sound of a grunt roused Erasmus from his thoughts and he looked around the room. Most of the prisoners were asleep, so perhaps mediaeval people had some internal body clock that told them whether it was day or night in the outside world. The old man wasn’t asleep, though, he seemed to be continuing his earlier argument with the wall, but even he was keeping his voice down.
Oubliette. Why did they call it that? Did they forget they’d shoved you in it perhaps? No, it couldn’t be that – they’d be popping round to have a look every five minutes, just to see what was there. Perhaps forgetting was a crime? Perhaps you could get locked up for forgetting. That wouldn’t go down very well back at school – every time someone handed their homework in late, they’d be struggling for an excuse other than ‘I forgot’. ‘The dog ate it’, ‘it got flushed down the toilet’, ‘Mulder and Scully came round and confiscated it because the FBI didn’t want it published’ – he’d heard some excuses since he’d started, but ‘I forgot’ was still the original and classic. Oubliette. Why oubliette?
There was a grating noise from above and the trapdoor slid back to reveal several hooded figures. For a moment, Erasmus thought the Oubliette Squad had come to take him, leaving him as just a memory in the minds of people who hadn’t been born yet. Maude, however, seemed less than worried and looked up expectantly.
‘There you are,’ said one of the hooded figures – Erasmus noted the voice was female. ‘I bet you thought we’d forgotten you.’
The corridors above the dungeon were in darkness and Erasmus concluded it was night. He wanted to ask the exact time, but Maude had told him not to speak unnecessarily and, besides, they didn’t have accurate clocks in these days. It had almost been tempting to keep his watch on, but it wouldn’t have helped – he had no way of getting the right time in the first place.
He looked at his rescuers: a small group of women, each wrapped in a black cloak, beneath which Erasmus could catch the occasional glimpse of green cloth or brown leather. The women paid little attention to him: once Maude had persuaded the aggressive, short-haired woman (Alice, Erasmus presumed) that Erasmus was from foreign and was, therefore, not the same as other men, they had reluctantly let him out, but they showed no interest in talking to him. Instead, Alice issued orders to her companions in hushed tones, and the three of them began to pull up the ladder from the dungeon floor. Alice busied herself with an unconscious guard in the corner, trying to make his posture look natural, so that people would assume he was asleep on duty. As she turned to pick up his helmet, she noticed one of the other male prisoners trying to climb out on the ladder.
‘Is he from foreign too?’ Alice asked Maude.
‘Don’t think so,’ said Maude.
Alice hefted the guard’s helmet and used it to hit the prisoner on the head. He gave a single, startled yelp then fell back into the dungeon with a thud. Maude and the other two women made a redoubled effort to pull up the ladder, then closed the trapdoor and locked it. Erasmus could do nothing except watch as Alice, apparently uninterested in the fate of the man she had brained, returned to her efforts with the guard, casually slitting his throat to make sure he didn’t wake up and spoil the effect. Erasmus wondered whether he really wanted to be rescued by these people: he might have been safer in the pit.
Once the trapdoor was closed, Alice led the way through the maze of passages that ran away from the dungeon. Erasmus looked around him in wonder – he’d known about the Nottingham caves, of course, but he hadn’t realised how extensive they were. With all the twists and turns he rapidly lost all sense of direction. Had Maude not been dragging him along by the arm, he could easily have become separated from the women. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he was going to find himself at the centre of the Earth, he found himself being bustled up some rough steps, hewn from the rock itself, and the party emerged through a door in the foot of the castle and into the outer bailey.
The night sky was scattered with wispy clouds and the light waxed and waned as drifts of cirrus passed across the face of the moon. They made their way across the bailey, keeping to the shadows of the outbuildings. As they passed the time machine, Erasmus felt a sudden desire to run, to get into it and go back to the safety of his own century. He paused and Maude looked at him questioningly.
‘What is it?’ she hissed.
‘He does exist, doesn’t he?’ said Erasmus.
‘Who?’
‘Robin Hood.’
Maude gave him a puzzled look. ‘Of course ’e does. Why are you asking me that now?’
Erasmus took one last look at the time machine and sighed. ‘I was just thinking about home,’ he said.
‘You’ll never get there if the guards catch you wandering round ’ere. Come on.’
Erasmus let himself be dragged along by the arm, noticing as they passed through the outer gatehouse that the two, apparently slumbering, guards seemed to have small puddles of blood forming on their tunics. Alice obviously took a lot of pride in her work.
The town of Nottingham was a far cry from the lively city of Erasmus’ experience. A clutch of primitive, timber-framed buildings huddled against the castle rock as if for protection, their whitewashed walls appearing faintly blue in the moonlight. There were no lights in the windows and the only sounds that could be heard were the occasional bleats of sheep, penned near the perimeter wall of the town.
Erasmus let the women guide him through the streets. Maude still held his arm tightly, despite the fact that the risk of getting lost had subsided as soon as they reached the surface. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to disentangle himself and quietly followed the group, catching the occasional glimpse of Alice as she slipped in and out of shadows further along the street. Had the cover been continuous, or had Erasmus not known she was there, he probably wouldn’t have seen her creeping along. He found that thought rather disquieting.
As they approached the gates of the town, the party came to an abrupt halt and Erasmus found himself staring at the back of Maude’s head. He craned his neck to see past and to find out why they had stopped.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Maude, letting go of his arm as she did so.
‘Why have we stopped?’ said Erasmus.
‘Gatehouse.’
‘Hasn’t Alice, you know…?’ Erasmus made slitting motions across his throat.
Maude shook her head. ‘They change the guards too often down ’ere. Someone would’ve found the bodies by now.’
‘Oh,’ said Erasmus, nodding understandingly. It did cross his mind to wonder how Alice had suppressed the urge to cut another couple of throats, but he decided not to think about it.
‘How are we going to get out?’ he said.
‘Over the wall.’
‘Over the wall?’
‘There’s a cart on the other side.’
‘Oh.’
Maude glanced forward then looked back at Erasmus. ‘We’re moving now. Don’t ask any more questions till we’re clear of the town.’ Erasmus nodded and followed nervously.
The outer walls of the town, much like those of the inner bailey, were tall, stone affairs. They were also lined with smaller buildings and it was into one of these that Alice led the group. Inside, an old crone nodded at each of them as they passed. She gave a start on seeing Erasmus and prodded at Maude, grunting urgently. Maude looked back at the teacher.
‘’E’s a friend, Molly,’ she whispered. ‘’E’s from foreign.’
Molly gave a toothless grin and grunted at Maude. The younger woman patted her on the shoulder and climbed on to Molly’s bed. A couple of seconds later, she disappeared through a hole in the ceiling and Erasmus found himself alone with the crone. He nodded nervously and glanced in the direction that Maude had departed. Molly grunted and led him gently over to the bed, mumbling incoherently as she did so. Erasmus climbed on to the bed and found himself looking out through a square hole cut into the thatch of the ceiling. He pulled himself up, using a roof beam as support, and clambered out on to the wall-walk above. Alice, standing by the hole, shoved him on to where Maude could be seen climbing over the battlements, then dropped a single gold coin through the roof, before replacing the square of thatch and following along behind.
Erasmus paused on the battlements and looked out beyond the town. All was dark and quiet, not a light was visible as far as the eye could see. He looked down – it was too dark to see where the cart was and he hung nervously on to the wall, afraid to step into the unknown. A sharp pain in the back made him let go and he fell, landing in a graceless heap in a cartload of straw. Maude hurriedly helped him from the cart just in time to avoid him being flattened by Alice as she dropped down behind, her dagger drawn and in her hand. Erasmus ran his hand over his back where he had felt the pain – he didn’t appear to have been cut. He glared at Alice, but she didn’t even look at him as she walked past him and resumed her place at the front of the party. Instead, she silently continued to lead the group, cutting across the open fields that surrounded the town until they reached the River Trent.
Once they reached the river, they turned to the left and followed the bank. Erasmus looked up at the stars. Maude followed his gaze, then pulled at his arm.
‘What’s up there?’ she said.
‘Stars,’ said Erasmus. ‘I was just trying to see which way we were going.’
‘We’re not going up there,’ said Maude. ‘Is that where you’re from?’
Erasmus chuckled. ‘No. You can tell where you’re going by looking at the stars. Didn’t you know that?’
Maude shook her head. ‘They’re just stars,’ she said. ‘’Ow do they know where we’re going?’
Erasmus looked ahead and noticed Alice and the others were beginning to get ahead of them. He took Maude gently by the arm and guided her along the riverbank. As he did so, he pointed at a particularly bright speck in the sky.
‘You see that one?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s called the Pole Star. If you keep that in front of you, then you’re heading north.’
Maude looked at the sky in wonderment. ‘Do you ’ave stars in foreign?’
‘Yes, but there’s so much light pollution, we can’t really see them as well.’
‘And do they all ’ave names?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Erasmus distractedly, ‘there’s Cassiopeia and Cirrus, Ursa Major and Betelgeuse. Where I’m from, we’ve named every star we can see… and a few we can’t.’
Maude looked at him in puzzlement. ‘’Ow can you name them if they aren’t there?’
‘Oh, they’re there,’ said Erasmus. ‘They’re just such a long way away that we have to have special ways to look at them. We don’t even see them – we hear them.’
‘’Ear them?’
‘They make a kind of noise.’
Maude stopped and listened. She couldn’t hear anything other than birds and insects and she said so. Erasmus smiled and patted her affectionately on the hand.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to let Alice get away from us.’
A mile or so from the town, the river began to wind its way through small copses of trees and, after a while, they came across a road. The rutted surface spoke of the regular passage of carts and, by the moonlight, Erasmus could see the indentations of hoof-prints, their edges emphasised by the deep-blue shadows. Clearly this was a busy thoroughfare by mediaeval standards.
‘Where are we?’ he said to Maude.
‘This is the Newark road,’ said Maude. ‘We’re not far from the forest now.’
The road was slightly easier going than the riverbank and, after ten minutes of silent march, they reached a small coaching inn. A sign, just visible in the moonlight, gave its name as The Feeding of the Five Thousand although, from glimpses of the firelit interior, Erasmus would personally have named it as The Gradual Inebriation of the Five Dozen. The inn’s low tables seemed to be filled with men, each with a road-weary face and a tankard of ale and, from the sound of it, a lot to say about themselves. The level of conversation was almost deafening, even from where Erasmus was standing. On a low wall outside the building, he could see that two drinkers must have shared his opinion, as they seemed to have brought their drinks out into the relative quiet of the night. Alice motioned for the group to stop, and then crossed the road to them. The taller of the two men looked her up and down appraisingly then, noticing the glare on her face, returned to his ale.
‘You seen anyone pass here?’ Alice asked the man brusquely.
The man shrugged. ‘Naa,’ he said sullenly.
‘Speak up, man,’ said Alice. ‘Have you or haven’t you?’
‘Naa,’ said the man, making no effort to raise his voice.
Alice fingered the dagger on her belt, then evidently thought better of it.
‘This is a rough area to be drinking outside,’ she said politely, the hint of steel in her voice emphasised by the fact that her hand was still within inches of the less subtle hint at her side.
‘Arr,’ said the man cordially. Alice took her hand away from her belt – she seemed convinced the man was either drunk or retarded. His tone sounded positive, though, so she decided to continue.
‘Have you business in these parts?’ she said.
‘Oh arr.’
‘Have you been out here long this evening?’
The man exchanged looks with his shorter companion, who shrugged. He turned back to Alice. ‘Aa-rr,’ he said non-committally.
‘Have you seen any soldiers ride this way?’
‘Naa.’
‘What about your friend?’
The taller man looked at his companion again. ‘Arr?’ he asked him.
‘Naa,’ said the shorter man.
Alice turned to leave, but an insistent ‘arr’ made her turn back to the men. The shorter man was holding out a hand, palm upturned. Alice’s hand hovered over her dagger once more, but she relented and took some coins from a pouch somewhere in the recess of her robe and handed them to the man. He tested the coins with his teeth then nodded. Alice, feeling her duty was discharged, crossed back over the road accompanied by a chorus of grateful ‘arr’s. The taller man took a deep drink of his beer and watched as they disappeared into the forest. Then he wiped the foam from his lips and turned to his companion.
‘Looks like another lot escaped from the castle,’ he said.
‘Arr.’
‘I don’t know why they don’t just hang ’em when they catch them.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘It’s not too tough. If the dungeon system in this country is going to work, they need dungeons people can’t get out of. These dungeons are like stables – anyone can just walk out.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Oh yes, the Tower’s good, I’ll give you that. You can’t exactly take every two-penny criminal down to London, though, can you?’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Well, I don’t know what the answer is, do I? I was just making a point. It’s a free country—’
‘Har.’
‘All right, it’s not a free country. It’s an expensive country, but I’m still allowed to say something’s a problem even if I don’t know what the answer is.’
‘Aa-rr.’
‘Well, it is a problem. That lot will be trouble, mark my words. They’ll wish they’d hanged them.’ He took the gold coins from his pocket and toyed with them. ‘Fancy another ale?’
The path Alice followed through the forest was narrow and winding and tree roots hung across it, tripping unwary passers-by like the legs of drunken louts in a nightclub full of cheerleaders. Attempting to match the pace of his companions, Erasmus stumbled with frightening regularity, but invariably his outstretched hand caught the branch of a tree and he was able to steady himself. After half an hour his hands felt raw from the continuous scratching of bark and he began to wish he’d taken the opportunity to leave when it had presented itself. He had no idea where he was or what time it was and he was beginning to yearn for the comforts of a quiet classroom and a mug of hot tea. He realised, with a sharp pang, this latter comfort wouldn’t be available for several hundred more years. He wasn’t a great fan of ale, real or otherwise.
Eventually, the pace slowed and Erasmus began to get the feeling they were arriving somewhere. There were subtle changes in Maude’s posture as she walked along in front of him and Erasmus felt that peculiar feeling of coming home, even though his own home had yet to be built. Feeling a burst of energy, he took a couple of brisk steps forward, tripped on a particularly large root and pitched forward. He stumbled and caught hold of a branch, but it snapped off in his hand and he continued to fall. Maude, disturbed by the noise of snapping wood, turned round and managed to catch the falling teacher’s shoulders and arrest his descent. For a moment the two held this position, then Maude looked down. Erasmus, following her gaze, realised his hands were on Maude’s breasts and he quickly adjusted his footing and stood upright, moving his hands away in embarrassment.
Maude smiled at him. ‘Not now, m’duck,’ she said. ‘There’ll be time for that later.’
Erasmus looked down at his feet, glad the poor light hid his flushed features. Maude patted him affectionately on the arm, then took his hand and led him into the camp.
The clearing was an awesome sight. The trees that ringed it were packed tightly and their outstretched branches formed an effective roof, giving the impression of a vaulted ceiling. A fire burnt in a carefully prepared hearth in the centre and, looking back at the narrow path through which they had entered, Erasmus realised how perfect this was as a hiding place for fugitives. It was like a sanctuary, a pagan cathedral in the forest where no soldier could reach you. He felt safe and, relieved of the tension that had driven him throughout the night, he sank down and sat at the edge of the clearing, leaning back on one of the trees and closing his eyes.
Presently, he got the odd sensation of being watched and he opened his eyes to see a woman staring at him. Her raven-black hair framed a face so round it seemed to be designed around her smile. She was dressed in a simple green robe, laced at the waist, and, under her arm, she carried a heavy, black cloak. Erasmus realised this was Maude – the firelight gave him the first clear view of the woman who had held his hand for most of the last two hours. It was clear she was examining him with the same degree of curiosity.
‘You’re not like I imagined,’ she said finally.
‘No? How not?’
‘You’ve got less ’air.’
Erasmus ran his fingers over his head self-consciously. His hair wasn’t exactly receding, but it was perhaps cut shorter than historic fashion prescribed. Television tended to portray its Merry Men as looking either modern or with long slick hair that was better placed in an advert for shampoo. Perhaps the shampoo advert look was closer to the truth than he’d realised.
He also realised he hadn’t said anything for several seconds. ‘It’s just cut short,’ he said eventually.
‘I don’t mind, like,’ said Maude.
‘Oh.’
‘But I don’t know what you think you’re wearing.’
Erasmus looked at his costume, suddenly worrying if his research on mediaeval dress had been equally flawed. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ he said.
‘It’s brown,’ said Maude.
Erasmus looked at her blankly.
‘Didn’t you know?’ said Maude.
‘Know what?’
‘Nobody wears brown any more. It’s so last season.’
Erasmus relaxed and Maude sat down next to him. ‘Is it because you’ve been travelling?’ she said.
‘I suppose it must be.’
‘Does it take long to get to foreign?’
Erasmus smiled with tired amusement. ‘Longer than you can imagine,’ he said.
‘Do I look like you imagined?’
Erasmus took another look at the woman who sat beside him. She was fairly short, round in the face and with a figure that seemed typical for the feminine form in the ages before gravity was discovered. This was probably more down to her dress than a suspension of the laws of physics. ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.’
Maude looked disappointed.
‘Oh, I’m not saying I’m not interested,’ Erasmus added hurriedly. ‘It’s just that, what with the fight with Gisburne and the escape from the dungeon, I haven’t really had time to think about anything.’
‘You’ve ’ad a busy day,’ said Maude. ‘You must be ’ungry.’
‘Ravenous.’
‘I’ll get you some stew if you like.’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘I’m afraid it’s only mutton.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
Maude rose and made her way over to where a pot was warming on the fire. Erasmus watched her spooning out some stew into a wooden bowl, then looked around. Alice seemed to have left the clearing with some of the party, leaving two other women besides Maude. The first woman, a young blonde, was sitting on the opposite side of the clearing, sewing; the other, an older woman, seemed to be rearranging the camp, moving rocks into tidy piles around the clearing.
‘What’s she doing?’ Erasmus said to Maude when she returned with his stew. He pointed to the older woman, who was now gathering up fallen leaves in the folds of her skirt.
‘Oh, don’t worry about Ethel,’ said Maude. ‘She’s a bit odd. We think it’s ’cause she’s spent so long cleaning up after other people.’
‘You mean it’s become a habit?’ said Erasmus, gratefully accepting his bowl of stew.
Maude sat down beside him and rested her own bowl on her lap. ‘It’s all she knows,’ she said sadly.
Erasmus braced himself and took a mouthful of the stew. It was actually surprisingly good: unfamiliar herbs and berries gave the meat an unusual, but not unpleasant, flavour.
‘What’s this herb?’ said Erasmus, picking out a parsley-like leaf that smelt strongly of celery.
‘Lovage,’ said Maude, taking a spoonful of her own stew and eating it hungrily.
Erasmus chewed thoughtfully on the leaf. It must be difficult to live on the run, he thought. Living rough in the forest, trying not to leave any sign of your passage. He looked around the clearing – there was no way a horse could get in. If a soldier found the camp, he’d know it for what it was, though. No matter how well the fire was hidden, human habitation would be given away by the neatly stacked rocks around the edge. He wondered briefly if Stonehenge had been built by Ethel’s ancestors – people who just couldn’t bear to leave slabs of stone lying around without a purpose.
‘Why did Ethel join your band?’ he said.
‘Well, she couldn’t very well stay where she was.’
Erasmus finished his stew. ‘Was it something she did?’
Maude put her bowl to her lips and drained the remaining stock, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘What, Ethel? No, ’course not. She wouldn’t do nothing to ’urt no one.’
‘Then why?’
‘Well, she couldn’t very well stay at ’ome when ’er mistress ran away into the night and pretend nothing ’appened, could she? She’s loyal.’
‘Is Alice her mistress, then?’
Maude laughed loudly, a sound not unlike the whinnying of a horse, and slapped Erasmus on the knees. ‘Alice, a lady,’ she choked between bursts of laughter. ‘Meg,’ she called across the clearing. The blonde woman looked up from her sewing.
‘You’ll never guess what ’e asked,’ said Maude, prodding at Erasmus as she did so. ‘’E asked if Ethel was Alice’s servant.’
Meg smiled indulgently then returned to her sewing.
‘Alice a lady!’ Maude chuckled. ‘Gawd, don’t let ’er ’ear you say that – she’ll ’ave your gizzard out before you could say sorry.’
‘Well, whose servant was she?’ said Erasmus.
‘Marian’s,’ said Maude.
Erasmus looked at Maude, his eyes wide like a rabbit trapped in headlights. ‘Marian!’ he said loudly.
Just at that point Alice entered the clearing from Meg’s side. With her was a tall, willowy woman with a lightly freckled face and hair the colour of chestnuts.
‘Hello,’ she said softly. ‘Alice told me we had a guest.’
Erasmus rose to his feet, hastily dusted himself down and bowed politely. Maude, standing up next to him, took Erasmus’ arm and gestured to the new arrival.
‘Marian, this is ’rasmus,’ she said. ‘’Rasmus, this is Lady Marian.’
‘Marian will be fine,’ said Marian.
Erasmus took a moment to compose himself, then stepped forward to shake the lady by the hand. Unfortunately, he failed to notice – in short succession – a tree root in front of his foot and a low-hanging branch behind his head. After briefly touching on both he failed to notice anything at all for some time.