The soldiers marched at a good pace down the road. They were already three miles south of Nottingham and the morning dew was still heavy on the ground. The August sun would soon clear the trees of the Sherwood and there was still six days of marching until they reached London. The commander of the small unit turned in his saddle and looked back at the cart. It was being pulled by a single horse led by one of his men. The cart held their provisions, tents, and other supplies along with a heavy wooden box that had a stout iron lock. Three men walked on both sides of the cart and one man walked behind. The soldiers wore red tabards marking them as the king’s men and bright steel helms that were polished to a shine. They each carried a spear in their hand and had a short blade at their belt. The commander went back to watching the road and the woods on each side.
In May, the royal taxes from Nottingham never made it to London. The sheriff had reported that bandits from the Sherwood had attacked and killed the king’s men and stolen the money. Bandits were always a danger to normal travelers, but it was rare that many would take on armed and armored men. Particularly those who wore the king’s colors.
An owl hooted from the trees to the left of the road. As the commander turned to look towards the sound, the sharp twang of bowstrings broke the early morning silence. The commander hit the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He tried to stand, but the pain was too great. He saw the long arrow sticking out of his chest and saw the blood pooling around him. He looked over to see a hooded figure step out of the woods and raise his bow to fire. The release of the arrow ended the commander’s life.
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Twice more the sound of bowstrings reverberated in the morning air and then all was still. A hooded man raised his hand and eight more men, hooded the same, moved towards the cart and the nervous horses. They slung their bows over their backs and approached the cart which was now surrounded by dead men. Six of the king’s guards were each felled with a single arrow. Two arrows each had been needed to kill three others, including the commander. Each man worked in silence. Two of them picked up fallen spears and stabbed each of the guards in the chest, assuring that they were dead. Another man looked through the saddlebags of the commander’s horse. He littered the ground around the horse with their contents. The other five men pulled the heavy wooden box off the back of the cart and dropped it heavily to the ground. One man dragged it into the woods as the rest kept watch along the road in both directions. The heavy box made furrows in the soft ground as the man struggled to drag it. When he was inside the tree line, two of the other men helped him carry it about thirty feet into the forest.
One of the men pulled a hatchet from his belt and chopped the wood around the lock until he could open the box. Inside were bags of coins, taxes that the people of Nottingham and the surrounding farms and hamlets paid to King John. The other hooded men joined them, each taking a bag or two from the box. They made a quick check of the ground and started through the woods back to the town of Nottingham.
The trees thinned as they approached the town, and the men all handed their hoods to one of their number. He placed the hoods into a large sack and gave his bag of coins to a tall, lean man. The man with the sack of hoods headed off into the town through the south gate. After he had passed through the gate, three more of the men handed their bags of coins to the others and headed across the main road going into Nottingham and into the woods on the other side. The final five men waited until their companions had disappeared into the heavy trees, and then walked into the town through the south gate. They nodded to the guards at the gate and continued a short distance down the main street of the town until they reached a squat, stone building on their left. They went into the door and shut it firmly.
