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Remi smiled at the professor. “Not your dream?”
“Mine?” he asked, smiling back at her. “Never gave it much thought. My fascination lies with the students facing me in the classroom. Seeing their expressions and hearing their theories. But you’re not here to talk about me. Unless I misunderstood, you’re looking for information on the origin of Wolf’s Head, or, as we call him around here, Robin Hood. According to some historians, he lived during the same time period as King John. According to others, centuries off—in both directions. Ever since my colleague Professor Percival Wendorf retired, I’ve added the history of Robin Hood to my syllabus. It’s one of my more popular classes. My students walk away with a greater understanding of the Middle Ages, using the hunt for Robin Hood as a backdrop.”
Remi had always admired professors who could muster interest with their students. “Definitely a class I would have taken. Was he as heroic as the movies have portrayed him?”
“A good question. This whole rob from the rich to give to the poor is legendary, but with an emphasis on legend. More pirate than hero, according to Percy. Hence the term Wolf’s Head.”
“How disappointing,” Remi said.
“Quite. The probable truth is that men like him were nothing more than highway robbers.”
“Landlocked pirate?” Sam asked. “Could he, or another like him, have set up the theft of King John’s Treasure?”
“An interesting theory, to be sure. That sort of secret would be hard to keep. Except the legends that have survived the centuries, via ballads or fireside tales, seem to be based on some kernel of truth, even Robin Hood. And the general consensus is that King John’s Treasure went down in the fens along with the men who were entrusted with it. It’s what became of the treasure afterward that leaves much to the imagination. Why hasn’t it been found? In fact, the only account of any physical trace of it was the rumor, several centuries later, that it had been found by Robert Tiptoft, Third Baron Tibetot.”
“Tibetot?” Remi asked. “What rumor is that?”
“That the baron is said to have come into a sudden and unexplained fortune quite possibly because he found the king’s treasure on his land. Most historians discount that telling.”
“Back to Robin Hood,” Sam said. “Is it possible that there’s some history relating to him that isn’t mainstream? Say, if he were to steal the treasure, would there be a place he might hide it? And any experts who might speculate on a location? Something called the four caverns?”
“There are two experts in the area that I know of offhand. The foremost is the retired professor I mentioned, Percy Wendorf. Back in the day, I would have pointed you to him in a heartbeat. Now . . .”
“Now?” Remi asked, wondering what he wasn’t saying.
“Just . . .” He gave a slight shrug, before meeting Remi’s gaze. “My friend is—was—a walking encyclopedia of anything to do with Nottinghamshire and the Middle Ages, including Robin Hood, the castles, King John, and, well, anything else you could think of. Lately, though, Percy’s been . . . a bit forgetful. It’s why he retired.”
Before Remi had a chance to comment, Sam asked, “And this other expert?”
“Malcolm Swift. Knowledgeable, to be sure. Just lacking that obscure knowledge that Percy always seemed to have a handle on. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend either. Being a bit prejudiced in his favor, I invited Percy to join us so that you could meet him yourself. Knowing Percy, I probably should have had someone pick him up. Like I said, his memory is getting a bit spotty.”
He looked at his watch, then took out his cell phone. “I’ll ring up his wife. He was supposed to meet her first, then walk over here after.” He made the call. “Agatha? It’s Cedric. Any chance Percy’s still there . . . ? I see. What sort of problem . . . ?” His brows went up as he listened. “No. We can drop by . . . It’s no trouble . . . Yes. I’ll ring you up as soon as I get there.”
He disconnected, his expression one of concern. “Apparently he left a message for his wife that he’ll have to reschedule. Bit of a problem.”
“What sort of problem?” Sam asked.
“That’s just it. He didn’t say. She hasn’t been able to get ahold of him since. Doesn’t answer his mobile or his texts.”
“We have a car,” Sam replied. “We’d be glad to give you a lift.”
“Brilliant. Thank you.”
Percy Wendorf lived about ten minutes from the university. Professor Aldridge, sitting in the backseat, leaned toward the center, pointing. “Just up there. Next turn.”
But when they arrived, a uniformed officer stood at the intersection. “Sorry. Road’s closed,” he told Sam through the open window. Unfortunately, the road curved, and they couldn’t see a thing except a thick cloud of black smoke swirling up above the rooftops before disappearing into the dark clouds that threatened more rain.
“What’s going on?”
“House fire.”
“We’re trying to get ahold of a friend who lives there. Can you tell us how long?”
“No idea. Once they have it under control, they’ll open up again.”
Which told them nothing. He looked back at the professor. “Sorry. I guess this is the best I can do.”
“There’s a footpath through the park that should get us closer. I doubt they’ll have it closed off. And if they do, we can at least see what’s going on from up there.” He directed them to the next street up the hill, where they eventually took a paved footpath between two cottages that allowed the area residents access to a small playground situated across the street from Percy’s house—which happened to be the one burning. A number of residents had gathered in the park to watch the firefighters in action, and the three joined them. The house, a two-story brick structure, appeared relatively intact from the outside, the rising smoke lighter than it had been when they first arrived. Remi hoped the fire was out.
