Olde Robin Hood

by Kate Danley

  "Meat?" said one. "I haven't had meat in ages..." He blinked and then tossed down his sword. "I'll take you at your word. I'm unarmed. Only a coward would kill an unarmed man."

  "There you go, my good sir," said Robin, still not lowering his bow and arrow. "Now the rest of you."

  Fearfully, the others removed their daggers and placed their swords on the ground. Little John blindfolded them, told them each to grip each other's hands, and led them into the forest. Robin followed behind, turning back to give Will the signal to gather up the weapons and hide them away.

  They reached the banquet that Robin had set up and Little John took off their blindfolds. A table was spread across the tops of large boulders. Bread and wine, berries and cooked rabbit waited for them.

  The guards looked as if they could not believe what they were seeing. In disbelief, they took the plates as Robin served out healthy helpings to each of them.

  But the suspicious guard asked, "Are you going to be eating? I'll not take a bite. It's probably poisoned with mushrooms!"

  Robin reached out, took a piece of the man's share of meat, and then put the remaining portion back on the plate. "Nothing but supper."

  It was the last bit of encouragement the men needed. They dug in as if they hadn't eaten in ages, topping it off with a healthy cup of wine to relax their senses and help them see they were among friends. The tense silence faded into conversation and laughter. Rather than hardened criminals, they seemed to just be men.

  In a different world, perhaps they may have found commonalities, found some understanding in our shared humanity, Robin reflected.

  As they finished up, Will arrived with the strongbox upon the back of the donkey. He glared at Robin like he couldn't believe his cousin left him to wrestle the thing by himself.

  Robin pointed at it and asked, "How much was the Sheriff paying you to transport that?"

  "Just our salary," said one of the guards.

  "Who has the key?" asked Robin.

  The other guards glared at the grumpy guard, who said nothing as Little John removed the key ring from his belt. As Little John opened the strongbox, he found his voice just enough to protest, "That belongs to the Sheriff of Nottingham!"

  "With no offense to you, our supper guests, I am overjoyed that he will miss it." Robin stepped forward as Little John pulled back the lid. Robin grabbed a handful of silver. "Here is a pound for each of you," he said, placing it in their palms, "to cover your wages. And here is another pound as the price for your donkey. And another pound for the weapons which, I am sorry to say, we will not be returning today. I am sure you understand."

  "This is more than a knight is paid in a year," one of the soldiers muttered to another.

  "More than a knight earns in three years."

  "My honor cannot be bought!" declared the angry guard, his weathered face screwed in rage.

  "Very well," said Robin, handing the coins over to one of the other men. "Hold it for him, would you? And give it over if he asks. If he doesn't, share it with your friends." Robin gave him a wink and a clap on the back. "Now, get home! There are ruffians and thieves on this road! Would you take these men back to their cart?" asked Robin.

  "With pleasure," said John, getting up.

  The men whispered happily as they were lead back to the road, and even shook Robin and John's hand when their commander wasn't looking. They picked up the ends of the cart and began running back towards Nottingham. The final guard glowered at the trio of Robin, Will, and John. The insult to his honor seemed greater than the theft, but Robin hoped the man would find some solace in the recompense he received.

  Robin watched the guards to ensure no one turned back to do them harm as Will and John faded into the forest. He waited until they were out of sight and the forest absent from man's noises once more.

  He joined his friends who were dismantling their camp and packing up the horses to move. "It worked," said Little John, with disbelief. "We'll starve tonight, but it appears to have worked."

  "The forest is filled with bounty," said Robin, holding his arms out. "And all I can hope is that what we have done has made us some friends rather than enemies."

  "Let us hope," said John.

  But Robin walked up to Will and placed his hand upon his cousin's shoulder. "We should have enough to free your family." He motioned to the strongbox. "We'll get Much to take it. Dress him in fine clothes with enough bottles of ale that the jailor won't ask questions."

  Will's lighthearted breeziness dropped, replaced by naked, fearful relief. He swallowed down his emotions and nodded. "Thank you, cousin."

  Robin shrugged. "Merely giving to the Sheriff the coin that was his, in return for the people who are ours."

  Will's family was freed and as the days passed into weeks and months, rumors flew that if a person was taken hostage by Robin Hood and went willingly, the only danger was drinking too much during a merry night with him and his men. Only thieves and liars were punished. There were some who resisted. An angry thump from Little John's quarterstaff taught them the error of their choice, though.

  Lips became loose. People began to seek Robin and his men out, hoping to be taken in and fed, exchanging information on where the Sheriff's men were coming from and where they were going. They revealed where the Sheriff's men were squeezing the inhabitants worst, and Robin would make sure to pay a visit to those villages and leave a gift, topped with a feather as a sign that the forces of Sherwood Forest were watching and they would provide.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Sheriff pounded his fist on his oak desk. "He stole how much?"

  The guard bowed his head in shame. He tried to be brave as he spoke, but it came out as a low mumble. "They were waiting for us, Sheriff. Like ghosts in the forest. They knew we were coming."

  The Sheriff stood and strode across the petition room. His hard-soled shoes rang out on the flagstone. He spun back to the beleaguered soldier. "How did they know you were coming?" asked the Sheriff through gritted teeth. "We arranged that shipment to be done in the dead of the night. No one should have known."

  The guard straightened his back, trying not to shrink back with fear. "Someone must've seen us, sir. Word spreads fast, it does. If the people of Nottingham saw us loadin' up the cart, any one of them could've reported our movements to Robin Hood."

  The Sheriff picked up his dinner plate and threw the silver disc across the room. The guard winced as it hit the wall, leaving a streak of grease down the white plaster. It clattered loudly to the floor.

  The Sheriff straightened his black tunic and swept his straight, blond locks into place, trying to regain his poise. "I want you to find anyone out there sharing this information and throw them in the gaol."

  The guard held out his hands in a gesture that expressed the futility of the command. "That might be the entire town of Nottingham, Sheriff."

  The Sheriff's pale face twisted and turned beet red. "If it takes throwing the entire town of Nottingham into the prison, then I want you to throw the entire town of Nottingham into prison," he roared. "If you have even the suspicion, a whiff of a hint of a rumor that someone might have so much as smiled at a Robin Hood tale, I want you to take that person and throw them into a pit so dark and so dank, they never see the light of day."

  "Sir—"

  The Sheriff slowed and moved toward the guard like a viper preparing to strike. "Are you in league with him?"

  "No, sir! No! I would never!" said the guard, protesting. He backed away, stumbling as his foot twisted on the edge of a flagstone.

  "Then I don't know why you would even bring up these concerns. If people have nothing to hide, they have nothing to fear."

  "Yes, sir," said the man, bowing with meek understanding.

  The Sheriff walked to the window. Outside, the birds were singing like no one had robbed him of his wealth. The sun was shining as if his carefully executed plan had not just been foiled by some enemy of the state. He stared across the horizon, sending out curs
es on every disrespectful, disobedient citizen of Nottingham. "Double the taxes."

  "Sir?"

  "It will cost a great deal of money for my men to track down this outlaw. I want people to know the reason they are suffering is because of this Robin Hood. I want them to know their support of him forces us to take these extreme measures. I want them to understand every penny we spend protecting ourselves against his robberies is money that once was theirs. Make them aware," the Sheriff barked.

  "Yes, sir," said the guard, bowing once more.

  The Sheriff gave him a dismissive wave of one hand. The guard backed out of the room.

  From the black shadows in the corner of the room, a figure emerged.

  "Sir Guy," stated the Sheriff, calming himself and returning to his desk to sign the warrants he had been working on prior to being so rudely interrupted. "You were saying."

  "The land, Sheriff," Sir Guy reminded him.

  "What about the land?" The Sheriff picked up his quill and dipped it into his inkwell. The long, flight feather of an owl scratched across the parchment.

  "Many of the men we have arrested, their families are unable to pay their taxes. We have confiscated their land and assigned it to local landlords, whom they can work for to pay off their debt."

  "Good." The Sheriff sprinkled pounce on the ink.

  "But I fear it may cause some instability. The barons may believe some of it is available for them to lay claim. King Henry will not be happy."

  There was a hint of something more than idle concern to Sir Guy's words.

  The Sheriff sat back and laced his fingers together, suddenly very interested in his warning. "Well, we couldn't have that, could we?"

  "No, Sheriff. It would lead to instability."

  "I appreciate you bringing this matter to my attention. Let us draw up the papers to assign the land to me until the crown decides what to do with these abandoned properties."

  "I would not mind overseeing some of these farms..." mentioned Sir Guy.

  The Sheriff appraised his right-hand man. Coming to a sad conclusion, he waggled his finger at Sir Guy. "The thing is, while you have a knighthood, you're not quite landholder material." But then he smiled. "We shall have to petition our esteemed majesty to bestow the proper title upon you. I'm sure that with your current record of loyal service, as long as it continues, this should be no problem."

  A slow smile crossed Sir Guy's face. He placed his fist upon his chest. "I swear that I shall always continue to serve God, King, and Country, always at your will."

  "Good," replied the Sheriff. He picked his quill back up and gave it a twirl. "We love those who love the proper order. Now, what do you say you round up some treasonous peasants for me while I compose the letter?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Robin walked from the brewhouse toward the city gate. The tavern had been silent and sullen. The normally raucous conversations were suspicious and guarded. There were no travelers planning to use the Great Road.

  He peered up from beneath his deep, green hood. Buildings sat empty, their owners rumored to be held in the Nottingham prison. The busy marketplace was almost empty. People who knew who he was, barely acknowledged him now.

  He heard the bread seller calling out. There was a weary resignation to her tone. He liked to buy her wares, especially at the end of the day when she might have believed her luck was gone. But this time, when he turned to her, her face drained of all color and she crossed to the other side of the road.

  What had happened in Nottingham?

  He kept going, and surreptitiously pressed coins into the palm of a blind man. "A little something from Sherwood Forest."

  But rather than joy lighting his face, the man clutched his tunic and whispered, "Careful, sir... I may not see, but I hear plenty. The Sheriff... He's locking up anyone who is suspected of helping you. Making sure everyone knows what he does with them, too. I bless you for your generosity, but if anyone hears I took it from you..."

  Robin gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "I won't tell if you won't."

  The blind man could not help a little half smile, revealing his blackened and missing teeth. "God save you, Robin." He touched the tip of his cap.

  Robin felt sick to his stomach as he walked away.

  The Sheriff had made examples of anyone who might aid him. The entire town now hunkered down in fear because Robin might extend them aid.

  Soft fingers tugged at his sleeve. He turned and was surprised to find the spinster had crept up behind him.

  "What can I do for you today, mother?" Robin asked.

  She held his hand in her bony grip, pressing it against her forehead in supplication. "He's a good boy. You must help him."

  Robin dragged her into an alleyway, the warning of the blind man still fresh in his ears. "Who?" Robin asked.

  "My nephew's son. The Sheriff has him. And he does not deserve to rot in prison. Could not pay his tithe to Saint Mary's. Ten percent of his annual earnings in goods or kind," explained the crone. "He paid in his seeds last year and this year, he did not have the crops to cover the cost of feeding his family, paying the Sheriff, and offering up money for his place in heaven."

  "And how much to buy his freedom?" Robin asked.

  "Ten schillings," she replied. She held up her knobby hands. "I could spin wool until my fingers bled and still I would not have enough to pay for it."

  Robin placed a silver penny in her palm. It was not much, but he had given the rest to the beggar. "You have friends in the forest. We will help."

  Tears filled her rheumy eyes. "Bless you, good sir," said the woman. "The Sheriff is arresting anyone who won't denounce you, but I know who you are. You've got a good soul. Know you'll always have a friend in me."

  "You must pretend not to know me," warned Robin, glancing over his shoulder. "You'll only get yourself in trouble."

  The old woman placed the coin into a linen purse hanging from her belt. "Bah. What can the Sheriff do? Crumble my bones? Shorten my life? The God Almighty is threatening me with the same every day. All I care about is my nephew." She pulled out a small, embroidered ribbon. The threads made an image of the forest and the bird flying through the trees were bright and strong. She tucked it into his fist. "Give it to your sweetheart, dearie. With my thanks. She'll love a little bit of lovely."

  Robin tried not to push it back, knowing he had no one to share such a precious gift. Instead, he delicately folded it and placed it safely away. "She'll think herself the queen of the forest."

  "That she will. And from a handsome prince who reigns in Sherwood! Tell her I'll know her by that bit of embroidery if she ever gets herself into trouble." She hugged her shawl around her shoulders as if readying for a storm. "You are the only bit of light. Don't ever stop, little bird, flitting from place to place with your song of hope. You're the only one keeping us alive. Never forget it."

  She patted his hand then made her way back to her house. Robin gave her a few minutes so that no one would suspect their conversation, and then he made his way out of town and into the woods. His horse was where he had left it and he rode hard back to the hollow in the rocks. John and Will got up quickly on his return.

  "Dark days coming," Robin warned them. He informed them of the pall cast upon Nottingham, as well as the request from the spinster.

  "Well," sighed Will, scratching his red mane vigorously as if he could scrub the troubles of the Sheriff from his head. "Much was able to get in and free my family. Think he's up for it again?"

  "I'm sure the jailor would be happy for some extra spending money," replied Little John, leaning his massive frame on his quarterstaff. "Might even buy us some favor in town..."

  "No one is coming through, though," said Robin. He considered his store of things. He had the golden arrow from the May Games tournament. There was no one rich enough to sell it to, no one to exchange the gold to silver coin. And to give it to the spinster to deliver to the prison would not go unnoticed. The jailor would probably throw h
er into one of the cells with accusations of either theft or friendship with Robin Hood. Or both.

  Noticing his friend's defeat, Little John tried to assure him. "There will be someone on the road. We may not know if they are on the Sheriff's side, but there will be someone."

  Robin reminded himself that they never used to target specific travelers. They picked from those who appeared laden with extra coin and hoped luck was on their side. He didn't like it, even when a small robin came to sing soft words of encouragement, he didn't like it. But finally, he nodded in agreement. "Go on, John. Will and I will fix things here. Find the next person on the road."

  "The next person?" Little John confirmed. "You don't want me to wait for the wealthy?"

  Robin Hood balled his fists and paused for a moment, wrestling for the answer. It went against everything they stood for to rob the poor and the good. But then the face of the old spinster filled his mind, the desperation as she turned to him, and her promise of friendship in a town where they needed people on their side. A more chilling threat crossed his mind as his friends waited for his decision.

  What would she do if they did not provide her with aid?

  "The first man you find," Robin said. "We'll trust that fate has crossed our paths. Bring him to us with words that a warm meal is waiting for him. We shall exchange our food for whatever his wealth. She needs ten schillings. Surely we can cobble that together."

  Will moved to begin clearing their camp for a guest while John gave Robin a nod before taking off into the forest towards the main road. Robin stoked the fire and pulled out meat and wine. At least whoever their guest was would not be able to complain about their hospitality.

  The robin flitted away.

  He hoped it was a messenger and not just some bird.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Little John did not hide. Instead, he stood in the middle of the road, leaning against his quarterstaff. It was dusk as the soft, tripping steps of a horse came down the road. Seated upon the animal's back was a knight.