by Kate Danley
"And what might that be?" asked Robin.
Will leaned his elbows on his knees. Though his tone was light, there was an undercurrent to his words. "Do you remember our old friend Much, the miller's son?"
"Much?"
"Who is Much?" asked Little John.
Robin explained. "We grew up together. He helped on our farm. He was always a bit slow on the uptake but quick with a laugh and to lend his strong back."
"Things didn't go so well for him or his family after that business with your father," replied Will. "The mill's gone."
The rabbit suddenly tasted like sawdust. It made no sense to have abandoned their business unless something horrible had taken place. "But the village needed the mill," said Robin.
"The Sheriff ran them out of town. The mill couldn't pay its protection fee — sorry, its 'taxes', so the Sheriff confiscated it. It lies in ruins. I don't know what the villagers are going to do when the wheat harvest comes in." Will sighed with frustration.
"Where did Much go?"
"He's taken a job at a brewhouse in Nottingham," Will stated. "They have a tavern attached to it. Busy place. Some say even the crusaders used to stop by before leaving for the Holy Lands. It is the last spot to get a drink before starting on the Great Road through Sherwood to York. There'll be a lot of men talking about their upcoming journeys there, even more so if their lips have been loosened by the finest ale in Nottingham."
"Would Much spy for us?" asked Little John, trying to suss out Will's plan.
"He'd get lost walking the distance from the tavern to the tree line," Robin replied dryly.
"But," said Will, pointedly staring at the two men. "He might know people willing to give certain persons employment. Employment which would ensure they could see and overhear any plans."
Robin and John realized at the same time that Will was talking about them.
"Employment?" reiterated Little John with an aghast laugh. "Have you not been paying attention? We are wanted men. Anyone spots our face, there's a bounty to bring us in dead or alive."
But Robin was warming to the idea. "Narrow Marsh is the poorest area in Nottingham. We extend our generosity there..."
"Take care of the poor and they will take care of you," Will replied, catching Robin's spark and fanning the flames of the idea.
"I don't like the two of you siding up together," said John, folding his arms and leaning back.
Robin reassured his friend. "We will be unanimous or not at all." The wheels in his head were spinning with this new plan, though. "If we go in disguise—"
"How is an outlaw who is almost seven feet tall supposed to 'go in disguise'?" John interrupted.
"Perhaps you should stay here in the forest. But if I were to go in..." Robin suggested.
"You?" barked Little John. "Lest you forget, it is your name that we have attached to all our deeds. You're a more wanted man than I, and many of the men we have relieved of excess coinage, men who have seen your face, they were on their way to Nottingham."
Will started laughing. "Oh, John, you don't know Robin very well, do you?"
Little John bristled. "We've spent a quarter of the year together. I think I know him."
"Robin is a master of disguise." Will hooked his thumb towards Robin conspiringly. "He's a mimic. Go on, Robin. Do an impression of me! You'll love it, John."
Little John folded his arms in doubt as Robin stood up. He coughed, embarrassed, and straightened his tunic. Then Robin's face shifted, his body rested differently, there was a change in the energy, and when Robin spoke, his patterns and tone sounded exactly like his cousin Will.
"See what I mean!" exclaimed Will.
Little John gave a low whistle. "If not for your coloring, I would have sworn you were the same person."
Will slapped his knee with delight. "It's a gift!" He leaped up and turned to Little John to explain. "There were traveling players who came to the Barnsdale fair every year with their pageant wagons to perform the Easter miracle plays. Robin fell in with them. Had a natural talent for mummery. They took him under their wing. He actually took part in the cycles when someone in the troupe was too deep in his cups to go on. No one even noticed! He's that good. He even considered running off to join the show."
"Now—" said Robin, holding up his hands to keep his cousin from getting carried away.
"All right, I tried to convince him to run away and join the show. But John? I tell you. Robin could have been one of the greats. And this... This will take some great acting." Will draped a casual arm across Robin's shoulder and then punched him good-naturedly in the chest. "What say you, coz? If we were to talk to Much about offering you a job, think you might be up for the role?"
Robin looked at Little John. "What say you? A calculated risk so that we don't have to stalk our prey blind?"
A raven lit on a branch and kraaed his approval.
"That damned bird." Little John resigned himself to defeat. "It is your neck in the noose, Robin. I'll stay here in the trees. But if you want to risk it, I'll not stand in your way."
Robin seized the opening before John could change his mind. "Thank you. It will work. I know it will. For the best." Robin held out his hand to Will. "My cousin? It is a deal."
CHAPTER TEN
They made their way through the forest to the outskirts of Nottingham. From the tree line to the city wall was a flat, green expanse of at least two-hundred yards.
Little John slid off his horse and gathered his reins in his hand. He gave Will and Robin a serious nod. "Come back safe." He pointed at the looming grey fortress on the hill. The jagged crenellations were like teeth biting at the sky. "Stay on the castle road. The brewhouse is at the base of the stronghold, built into the rock beneath it. You'll see the tower of Saint Mary's to the east—"
"You trying to get us in for evening vespers, John?" joked Will.
The giant glared at Will darkly before continuing, "Across the road from St. Mary's church is the prison. It will be crawling with the Sheriff's men. Do not get lost and stumble into their midst. Keep a watch on St. Mary's and stay as far away as you can. I'll wait in the camp for your return. "
Will clapped John on the back. "You fuss like a cat. I'll have Robin back before sundown."
"Do it. Traveling these roads at night is not safe for anyone. You remember the rendezvous camp I pointed out?"
"You spent the last half hour making us memorize every stick and shrub in Sherwood Forest to use as a marker in case we get lost, John," said Will.
"Did you mark them?"
"Yes!" replied Will, exasperated. "Yes, I remember where it is." He turned to Robin. "And here I thought I had lost my mother."
But Robin understood his friend's worry. John had spent terrible days in Nottingham Castle. He knew the streets of the city and the Sheriff's reach. Robin gripped John's forearm. "I'll be back. We'll be safe."
"Don't make me come in and rescue you."
"I promise."
Robin put the green, dusty forester's hood over his head, the same tunic he and John had stolen on their first adventure together, and shifted his balance on his horse. He curved his shoulders and slumped in the saddle, suggesting through his body language that he was no one special, no one to be noticed, just another weary traveler coming through. Will had more trouble taking the swagger out of his posture. Robin hoped his cousin's instinctive bravado would not get them killed. As he glanced back at Little John to nod goodbye, he suspected his friend was already worrying about where to dig their graves.
Will and Robin entered the city. A swine herder guided his pigs past them as the animals rooted in the garbage and waste for a late lunch. The smell mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread as a peddler strolled down the road, calling out her wares. In front of the half-timbered buildings where the light was better, a spinster spun her wool. The scent of urine wafted out of her house as they passed, the stale ammonia used to clean the fibers. As her gnarled, knobby hands dropped the wooden spindle, she lifted her aged, but clea
r and shrewd eyes.
Robin noted she had noted them.
She probably knew all the comings and goings of everyone in town. A woman like her could mean their rise or ruin. The smallest cut can break the strongest rope under pressure, and Robin knew as the spinster slowly looked down at her work with feigned attention, they would need to secure her friendship if their plan was to succeed.
The road curved to the base of the castle.
It was monstrous.
It loomed above them on its sandstone cliffs. Round towers stood on every corner, giving the archers a clear view across the horizon. Its 40-foot wall still bore the scars from King Richard's siege of thirty years ago to quash Prince John's rebellion. Though King Henry had spent a treasury to make it a luxurious palace for him and his court, it still seemed haunted by the twenty-eight young hostages his father, King John, had hung atop the walls to keep the rebelling Welsh princes in subjugation. All of them were younger than Robin. He couldn't help the cold shiver up his spine as he passed into the shadows, feeling like a mouse sneaking by the paw of a sleeping cat.
They passed the bailey gate. Just beyond, a white, plastered tavern jutted out from the bottom of the sandstone bluffs, its black, peaked roof buried into the earth behind it.
"That's it," said Will, being careful not to raise a finger or call attention to their destination, keeping his voice low so that only his cousin could hear it.
They took their horses to the stable and handed them over to the care of a scrawny lad. Robin wondered if his family owned the tavern, or if the boy was an orphan like himself. He had to fight the urge to open his purse and thrust every coin he had at the child. Generosity would be remembered in this part of town. His disguise could not be associated with kindness. It would only work if those around him didn't believe he cared.
Will and Robin walked into the tavern through a heavy, oak door, dark with age. The floors were sloped and smooth from thirty-five years of feet passing over their boards. The counter to the left was surrounded by men sipping ale.
But Will did not pause.
Instead, he led Robin deeper into the tavern. There were rooms carved into the striated rock, with tables huddled inside the dim caverns. Will moved to a quiet one in the back, tucked away. Robin ran his hand over the cool, damp walls. They were so soft, the stone brushed away at his fingertips.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Will remarked. "There's caves below used for brewing. Comes out better than anything you'll find in a cellar or barn."
"We should try some," Robin commented. "It has been a long time since I have had anything but river water."
Will's eyes gleamed. "Do you have any money?"
Robin reached knowingly into his pouch and pushed several penny pieces Will's way. "Spend it all in one place, would you?"
Will gave him a wink. "I'll see if our friend Much is about and if he might be up for a little reunion."
As Will stepped away, Robin suddenly felt strangely exposed. Little John's warnings began playing in his head. Robin settled into the shadows of the corner, careful to hide his face. The noises were so much louder than he remembered, the men so much more predatory and cruel.
He watched as Will spoke to the barkeeper. Will pushed the coins across the counter. The man nodded and then stepped away.
Paranoid, Robin wondered if the man was going to get Much or had recognized them and was off to get the Sheriff.
Robin's heart began to beat fast. A sheen of sweat broke out across his skin.
What if John had been right? What if this plan placed them all in unnecessary danger? What if he was arrested right here, right now, and dragged through the streets to the county prison?
He gasped and gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were white.
When had the simple act of a man leaving a room caused unwarranted fear to course through his veins?
When had he become so weak?
He could not fight back the torrent of thoughts.
He began marking the exit. There was only way out or in. They would be trapped.
A clatter from the other room caused him to jump.
Will returned, as if nothing was going on, and casually chose a seat next to Robin. "Much'll be over shortly," he said, placing two beakers on the table. "You can remember to breathe again."
"I had forgotten," said Robin, still not able to relax.
"Between you and John..." Will replied, noting the tension in Robin. He slapped his cousin on the shoulder. "You've been out in the forest too long."
"You'll have no argument from either of us."
"I told the bartender you were an old friend of Much's." Will folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "You just returned after a long day in the king's service. Protecting his deer and such from poachers. Said we were here to catch up with Much. Bought a whole round for our table of their best ale and food. Much will be bringing the meat. Also passed along a bit of something for the bartender's trouble." Will's face lit up as something caught his eye.
"What is it?" Robin asked, thinking Much must have stepped into the room.
"The loveliest alewife has just come in to work," Will noted. "At least the scenery won't be too bad if we end up employed here."
"Will..." Robin cautioned.
"What?" asked his cousin with innocence.
"No drawing attention to yourself to draw a girl into bed."
"Bah," said Will, waving Robin's worries away. The girl's tinkling laughter drifted across the room. "Nothing more than an idle fancy." He lifted his beaker to the girl and returned her friendly smile.
A familiar figure teetered in, interrupting Will's flirtation, laden with two plates of hot food. Much's average-sized frame had rounded out. His curly, brown hair was no longer dusted with flour or filled with bits of straw. His friendly face was without the telltale angles of his previous hunger. Truth be told, Much actually looked better than the last time Robin saw him.
"Here you are. And for your friend—" Much's lips formed into an 'O'. "Robin! Robin, is that you?"
"Hush!" Will said, glancing around to see if prying ears perked up. "Do you want the Sheriff to come barging in to lock him away? Just when he shows up for the first time in ages to say hello?"
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," Much replied, putting the earthenware plates before the two men and wiping his hands nervously with his apron. Darting like a vole, he sat down at the table, beaming at Robin. "I feared you were dead! Everyone said if you weren't dead yet, you'd be dead soon, living out there in that forest by yourself. It's been months! Oh, Robin!"
Robin just smiled and leaned forward. "And hello to you, too, Much."
Much breezed past the niceties. He pointed his finger at Robin as if telling him the facts. "Tisn't right what the Sheriff did to your father. 'Tisn't right at all. Burning down his house with him inside. Cutting off his hand for poaching the king's deer. He died, right there in your arms. No one should ever have to hold their father while his blood is pouring out into the dirt, watching him die, with nothing to be done. If you had been there instead of the May Games, I know it would have turned out different. It was bad timing is all—"
Robin knew there was no malice. He knew Much was trying to extend his own clumsy form of sympathy, but the way the words came out, the graphic details Much thoughtlessly rattled off in his outrage, were like blows. It was still too soon. Robin clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the reason they were at the tavern.
Will's face drained of color as Much went on and on and he glanced sharply at Robin. Robin realized Will had heard some, but not everything that had happened that day.
Will cut Much off smoothly to try and refocus the conversation. "Well, how about you help us set things right."
Robin gave his cousin a grateful look.
Much backed off, terrified by the suggestion he could play a role in avenging Adam Hood. "Oh... no... I'm afraid I have my job. As much as I'd like to help, I really should be getting back to work before my master
notices. It was good seeing you and such..." Much tried to rise.
But Will was having none of that. He reached out and grabbed Much's arm. "Much? Do you believe in right and wrong?"
Much's eyes shifted back and forth. "Course."
"Then you have to stand up sometimes," pronounced Will.
"I was trying—!" he said as he shook Will off.
Will growled as if he couldn't believe how dense Much could be. "By stand up, I mean put yourself in a position to help out those less fortunate."
Much rubbed the back of his neck defensively. "I give my tithing to the church to help the poor, and always offer the scraps we have to those in the street before I put them out for the pigs."
"That's what I'm talking about, Much!" said Will, slapping the table for emphasis. "And don't you feel better for it?"
"I do," Much agreed slowly, in case there was some trick.
"All we're asking is for you to help your friends in a tiny, slight, imperceptible way."
Much looked from Robin to Will and then back to Robin again. "How?" Much asked, the question tinged with fear.
"We need you to help Robin and me to get a job here."
Much's round eyes bugged out. "That's a lot more than giving scraps to hungry people rather than scattering them before pigs."
"But that's exactly what Robin is doing! He takes scraps from the rich, scraps they barely even notice are missing—"
Robin bit his tongue to keep from correcting Will that the rich did not exactly feel that way about the robberies.
But Will was spinning a fantasy for Much. "And then he takes these scraps, and he gives them to the poor. The unwanted and outcast. Those who the Sheriff sees as even lower than swine." Will draped his arm around Robin's shoulders and gave him an admiring shake. "And he does this out of the goodness of his heart. After everything that happened, all he wants to do is help people. But we can't do this without you, Much."
Much leaned forward, clasping his hands together in disbelief. "Me?"
Will whispered conspiringly, "Robin is gathering funds to buy people's freedom. As many as he can liberate from the prison." Will's voice caught. That single crack betrayed the worry he carried for his family beneath all the bravado. He collected himself. "You'd be helping them."