by Kate Danley
"Seems all right," grumbled a man. "Don't know why the Sheriff told us to check on the herd. Wasting my whole day..."
Two foresters dressed in green rode into sight. They dismounted, dismissively observing the king's deer. They tied the reins of their horses just a few yards from where Robin and Little John hid.
At the mention of the Sheriff's name, though, the happiness in Robin's breast snapped. The darkness returned like it had never been gone. Watching himself, as if he was floating above his own body, he wondered at the size of the roiling, uncontrollable wave as it engulfed him. The emotions he had wrestled under control not even an hour ago reared their heads like fanged monsters. Though a rational corner of his mind whispered these foresters were not at fault, a primitive, animalistic wrath roared that they were responsible for everything and he would make them pay. But all he could see was red.
"ROBIN!" Little John hissed, reaching out to pull him back as Robin scrambled over the fence.
The two foresters turned in shock as Robin drew back his bow, training his arrow on them. They reached immediately for their swords and daggers.
"Careful!" Robin threatened. "I would hate to lose my arrow in your chest."
Little John sighed and emerged from the undergrowth. "Makes it so messy to retrieve," he added, joining Robin's side and leaning on his quarterstaff.
"Why do you threaten us?" asked one of the foresters, his face filled with fear.
Robin's mind jerked.
Robin suddenly realized he was threatening two men's lives.
The rush of madness started to pass.
Sanity and horror at what he had been about to do washed away whatever had prompted the attack.
It was as if his mind and body were no longer his.
He wasn't going to kill them. He couldn't kill them. It was one thing to cull a deer from a herd to fill their empty bellies, another thing to murder a man in cold blood. They might be the Sheriff's men, but they weren't the Sheriff. They hadn't swung the blade that took his father's hand. They hadn't borne the torch that burned down his home and life.
He felt out of control.
He felt idiotic.
"How much money do you have on you?" he blurted. The words fell out before he even considered them. Was he now also a robber?
The foresters consulted each other. "Four pennies," one said. "We were coming into the forest on the king's duties, not planning a trip to a strong vault."
"Toss your moneybag this direction," Little John commanded.
A spark of rebellion arced between the men. The way they looked at Little John with contempt made Robin add, "And while you're fumbling with your belt, take off the rest of your things and throw your weapons and clothes over here, too!"
"You can't be serious—" one began to say.
Little John lifted his quarterstaff as if apologizing that he was going to have to brain them. As he rushed forward, the foresters stopped him.
"We're doing it!" the other one said. "We're doing it!"
Robin relaxed as they stripped down and threw everything in a pile. No one had died. There had been no bloodshed. His heart began to slow and the coursing adrenaline began to die down.
The foresters stood shivering in their linen undergarments as Little John made his way over and sorted through their belongings. He lifted the tunic, weighing it in his hand, and then peered inside. "Why, there appears to be a second purse with a bit more than four pennies in here." His voice was colored with disappointment that they would lie to him.
"Since it is four pennies they said they had, the other money must not be theirs," remarked Robin.
"Quite a bit of extra coin fell in," mused Little John, clanking it in his palm. He leaned forward to the men. "From places unknown, I'm sure. Magically appeared. A gift from the heavens. I bet you had no idea it was even there."
"You best keep it safe, John, so we can find its rightful owner," said Robin.
One of the foresters started to protest, but his friend silenced him. Little John tossed back four pennies. "Should have told us the truth," he said as the men scrambled on the ground. "We're just giving you back what you said belonged to you."
The forester opened and closed his mouth like an angry fish.
"Now, both of you, mount up on the one horse. Leave the other here," said Robin.
The forester was horrified. "We'll not leave my horse!"
"You will if you value your life," Robin growled. "Don't worry. The Sheriff will replace it."
"Stealing horses! Poaching the king's deer! We shall be back with forty knights to hunt you to the ends of the earth!"
"And we shall look forward to meeting each and every one if my name's not Robin Hood," he replied, inclining his head with a welcome smile. Then his smile grew cold. "Now, don't make me take the other beast too. Mount up and ride straight to Nottingham. Be glad we only relieved you of your valuables! There are bandits in these forests who might have felt the need to lighten your body from the load of your immortal soul!"
The two foresters got onto the remaining horse and took off at a quick pace. The one sitting behind glared over his shoulder, the hatred in his eyes was a stoked wildfire.
Robin and Little John watched them until they were out of sight. And then Robin collapsed onto the ground, spent. He shook his trembling hands and blew on his fingers, trying to bring back feeling. The horse nervously snorted.
Little John stepped close to Robin and crossed his arms. "Why did you send them off? Men who have seen our faces? Men who know your name because you felt the need to say it out loud?"
A little, red-breasted bird sat on a branch and trilled out Why?
Why?
Why?
Robin stared up at the boughs and wondered at the question, wondered at the force that had compelled him forward in the first place, wondered why.
But the answer when it came was simple. "It is not enough to just take from the king's herd."
"Speak for yourself. I'm more than happy to have my belly full tonight."
"Any ruffian can poach the king's deer. I wanted to make sure the Sheriff knew why—"
"Better to live anonymously than die spitefully."
"What would you have me do? Kill them?" Robin asked.
"I thought you might with that temper of yours."
Robin swallowed, pausing before he spoke. He did not know how to describe what was going on inside. "I am having trouble right now."
Little John rattled Robin's head gently, like an older brother trying to knock some sense into a sibling. "You don't have to fight these battles on your own. Let me know what you are doing and I will have your back." Little John jerked his chin in the direction the foresters left. "And don't send people away who have seen your face and know your name. That is the way a man gets reported to the Sheriff."
"What more could the Sheriff do to us?" sighed Robin. He stood up, putting his arrow and bow back into his quiver.
"Well, he could torture us. Throw us into a cell to die of starvation. Set every house in every village that has ever hosted us ablaze—"
"There was nothing else we could have done," said Robin. "I'll not have the weight of murder on my soul."
Little John looked seriously at Robin. A shadow crossed his face, and then he rested his meaty paw on Robin's shoulder. He seemed like he was about to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he said, "You're wise. It is a heavy burden to carry. A man should not carry it if he does not have to."
An understanding passed between them, an understanding that John was speaking from an experience, that he had witnessed more violence than any person should.
He carried such a burden. It was the legacy of his time in the Sheriff's service.
A lone dove cried from the branches of the trees.
"We shall keep each other from that fate." Robin gripped his friend's thick wrist with his callused hand. "Unless we are forced, we shall fight to keep each other from those dark places."
"So I swear."
John walked over and picked up the heavy purse from the foresters' discarded things. The clank of the coins signaled their survival. "I can speak from experience that the weight of silver is borne better than the weight of a man's life."
John spilled the pennies and handed half of them to Robin.
It was justice.
It was safety.
It was a single night where they knew they would not go hungry if they failed to find food, if the winter came and left them starving and wishing they could hibernate like a bear. There was no way of knowing what security they could buy with their windfall, but it marked their freedom. Though they had to live outside the law, they might not die.
As John belted the foresters' weapons to his waist, an idea spun in Robin's mind, an idea which brought with it a hint more of that justice and freedom he had felt when they had first gone to the king's pale.
He mused aloud as he felt the coins. "What if there was more of this? If we were to... 'charge'... those of the Sheriff's ilk for safe passage through our woods?"
Little John raised his eyebrows, unsure of what Robin was proposing. "Charge them?"
"We invite the 'loyal' subjects of King Henry, those with clear titles and appointments, to pay a tax to us on the Great North Road."
"Targeting title holders? You speak of treason," cautioned Little John. "Targeting the king's men?"
Robin walked over and patted the neck of the chestnut stallion. "The Sheriff is given free rein to take whatever salary he wants from us. The king does not pay him for his service. We merely take back that which was not his to begin with."
Little John was quiet.
"We will not take from the poor," said Robin, as if trying to anticipate his worries. "We would never take from those who are in as dire circumstances as ourselves. But from those who live in the lap of luxury, who won't even miss a bag of silver. It is money earned off the backs of their landholdings or stolen from the collection plate."
"So, the Sheriff's guards, the clergy, and the rich?" confirmed Little John, scratching his wiry beard and pondering Robin's proposal. "That's all?"
"That would be all." He paused. "And those who lie. If they tell the truth? We send them out of the forest with everything they own. If they don't, we send them out with everything they say they own. Just like the foresters."
John pointed to the heap of clothing beside Robin. "Those outfits belonged to the foresters."
"I was angry," admitted Robin. "I wanted to humiliate them."
"Done."
"But in addition to their swords and daggers and a horse, we now have disguises," he offered. "Going into a town, who would care about two filthy foresters coming in from a hard day's work?"
Little John smiled and touched his finger aside his nose. "Smart."
That slight concession buoyed Robin's spirit. He wanted to prove to Little John he wasn't going to be a burden. He had a moment of madness, but he could be a valuable partner.
"Think about it. But first," said Robin, turning back with his bow and arrow to face the herd. "Allow me to secure us a celebratory supper."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Robin Hood and Little John stood in the middle of the road in the foresters' green tunics. The one John wore was tight across his belly and barely came past his elbows, but Robin hoped everything would be over before anyone looked too closely. The sound of the horse's hooves announced the arrival of their prey. Robin drew his bow, stopping a man dressed in brown velvet robes and his chainmail-clad guard.
"Out of our way!" the guard commanded, staring at the arrow. His hand reached for the handle of his longsword, but he did not draw it.
"Good day to you!" Robin greeted, not lowering the weapon aimed at his master's heart. "We have come to collect a tax for safe passage along this road."
The wealthy merchant gazed down his long nose and sniffed. "Safe passage? Is that what you call this?" He motioned to his guard. "Well, are you going to do anything about this?"
"They have an arrow upon you, sir," the guard pointed out. "If I make a move to disarm them, they'll kill you."
The branches of the trees rattled in the wind and a wolf lifted his voice to howl in the distance.
Though the guard shivered at the forest's warning, the merchant rolled his eyes. "USELESS! I am dealing with useless help. I don't know why I even paid you for your services."
"Sir, we wish no harm," insisted Robin, still not lowering his bow. "We would ask how much money you carry."
The man snorted, the lie thick on his tongue. "I have the bare minimum for food and a bed. You caught me quite in a difficult spot. If you had robbed me going the other direction, I would have had plenty for you. Alas, you catch me on my return trip and my coin purse greatly lightened."
"How much, sir?" pressed Little John.
The merchant's lids narrowed with anger. His mouth tightened like he had smelled something vile. "Twenty pennies," he stated.
"Throw down your sword and hand us his purse," Robin commanded the guard. "Slowly. And no harm shall come to either one of you."
The merchant flicked his hand, giving the guard permission to grant Robin's request. The man's weapon hit the dirt road with a dull thud and then the merchant handed over his moneybag. Little John picked up the discarded sword and stood at the ready should the guard try to do anything. The man approached Robin and John, arms lifted to show he was no threat. He tossed the bag on the ground, opened it, and then stepped back. True enough, there were only twenty silver pennies.
But then Little John strode over and opened the merchant's saddlebags. There were four bags of silver equaling eighty schillings more. The merchant gasped at Little John's audacity. He turned to his guard for help, but the man was disarmed and far away. He could only shrug. Little John yanked the saddlebags off the horse and flung them towards his partner.
Robin relaxed his stance. "Return the coins this man says are his." He tossed the bag with twenty pennies at the guard's feet. "The rest is ours."
"WHAT!?" exploded the merchant at Little John and Robin. "But!"
"This other coins must have slipped in, otherwise such an honest man as yourself would have known it was there." Robin's voice dripped with sardonic goodwill.
The guard reluctantly walked back to the merchant with the money. He took it out of the guard's hand with a withering look. But instead of waiting for a sign from Robin that he was free to go, the merchant spurred on his horse, riding hard and fast, leaving the three men behind.
The guard turned to Robin and Little John with despair and disgust. He threw up his hands. "Might as well kill me. This would be it for me. That man can afford all this silver you stole, but you rob me of my employment. And with a wife and children to keep fed..."
Robin lowered his arrow, the fangs of guilt piercing with the guard's worded strike. He had been so focused on the merchant, he had not noticed the shabby cloth, the patched tunic, and worn shoes. But none was as threadbare as the guard's soul, the exhaustion in his defeat.
Robin pulled out one of the bags of silver from the saddlebag and threw it to him. "For your troubles. We do not rob honest men. Keep it for yourself if you'd like, or tell your employer that after a great struggle, you were able to recapture this sum. Perhaps he shall show some gratitude, but I doubt it. Personally, I would take the money and use it to make a new start."
The guard looked down at the money and opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn't find the words. It was more than a year's wages. He climbed onto his horse, his confusion growing with each passing moment. Finally, he gave up and said, "Thank you." He turned his mount and sped away.
Little John lowered his sword with affectionate hopelessness. "You didn't have to give him all that money."
"What? When a man is so close to joining our ranks here in the forest?" Robin said, watching the guard as he disappeared. There was a peace in the decision. "He could have easily been you or me. I shall keep him from a forest bed for as long as I can. It is not right to hate a ma
n for the duty he must do. Let us not steal food from the mouths of his family."
A cool wind swept through Sherwood Forest, bringing with it the smell of decaying earth.
Little John heaved a saddlebag over his shoulder, shaking off the twigs and detritus, the mood darkening. "And what of us? That money could have kept us fed." He looked off into the distance, his voice soft with regret. "It might have kept my own wife and children fed."
The longing in John's voice shook Robin's sense of righteousness. Had his act of impulsive generosity to a stranger brought harm to his friend? Was the tally always that one person's security must come at the cost of another? Did he doom their tomorrows because of an act of kindness today?
He trod gently as he remarked, "You are worried about them." He hoisted the other bag across his back.
Little John nodded, almost embarrassed to have been so easy to read. "My wife is a bright thing, smart enough to stretch her money to keep food on the table and a roof over everyone's head." The giant of a man's voice caught in his throat and Robin realized the cost his friend paid with every day spent in the woods. "But with my wages no longer going back to them..." He gave a long, low sigh. "It won't just be the money. I had no chance to warn her what was happening. She will fear I'm dead."
"You should let her know you are alive," Robin replied, his voice both soft with understanding and filled with command.
"It might be better if she thought I was dead," said John, trying to put on a brave face. "That way, she could move on, marry another man who can take care of her."
"No!" Robin replied with more force than he had intended, recoiling from John's suggestion with horror. That anyone should have their world cracked by death when they did not need to, that anyone should have to carry such heaviness in their heart under the misguided belief it would somehow be better for them. Every moment was a nightmare after losing his father and he would not be party to placing that burden on the shoulders of John's wife. "Abandon your family because of the Sheriff of Nottingham? A madman who pressed you to commit atrocities against your own people? His long arm has done enough harm. Do not be the instrument that extends his reach, that brings tragedy to your family. Do not break your wife's heart on his behalf. No."