by Kate Danley
There was a bucket of water by the door and Robin crouched down, lifting it up to his lips and drinking his fill. Little John squatted beside him and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Slowly... Slowly, Robin..."
But it was bending down for that bucket that saved them. They heard the guards run past, and then come back to stop in front of the woman's house.
"See anyone go by?" one of the soldiers asked. "A giant and Robin Hood?"
The spinster's voice cracked, drifting into the open window as a shadowy form peered through to see if anyone was hiding. Robin and Little John tucked themselves tight beneath the sill, not even daring to breathe.
"There was a man in green riding on a horse," said the woman. "He went that way. Running at quite a clip! Better hurry if you hope to catch up!"
"This way men!" the soldier cried.
Robin and Little John waited as the chaos slowed to the normal pace of the city, and then slowly they stood. The spinster opened the door.
"Out you go then, dears," said the old woman, moving her chair once again to usher them onto the road to make their escape. "They're gone now."
"Thank you, mother," said Little John, dropping a bag of silver in her hand.
"Oh, you needn’t pay me," she said, refusing it. "You saved my nephew. Think of this as my way of slowly repaying my debt to you." She pushed them along their way. "Keep up the good fight, boys!"
They ran towards the forest, but as they made their way across the grassy clearing from the city wall to the tree line, their luck ran out.
"There they are!" came a cry from the castle battlements, pointing at Little John's seven-foot frame. Arrows began to fly.
The chainmail Robin and Little John wore gave them some protection as they ran, but not enough. One of the arrows pierced Little John's calf and he fell to his knees.
Robin stopped and turned back, fear clenching his throat. He grabbed his friend's arm and threw it over his shoulder, helping him to his feet. "Keep going, John," Robin urged. "We must keep going."
The arrows continued to speed at them as they stumbled towards the forest. The feathered shaft was still stuck in Little John's leg. It kept the blood from gushing out of the wound, but he was still leaving a huge trail. His face was turning ashen.
"Do not escape this world after you have sacrificed so much to set me free," said Robin, glancing behind. A mass of guards roared towards them with anger.
"Leave me," gasped Little John. "I must staunch the flow of blood if I am to survive.
"They will capture you before you even have time to bind the wound," said Robin as they staggered on.
"I am a big man," replied Little John, trying to laugh through the pain. "I would like to see them try to lift me and carry me to the prison."
"They would finish you off here and leave your body to be reclaimed by the woods you say you love so well."
"I never said I loved the woods," said Little John. He winced with every step. "It is an affinity forced upon me. All I ever wanted was to stay in my nice, warm bed with my wife while the children play in the village square."
Robin spotted the horses. The calls of the guards were getting closer. "Hold tight to your wife," said Robin. He thrust Little John's body against the beast. "Think of her and how she will hunt me down and kill me if I allowed anything to happen to you."
"Aye, that she would," said Little John. He tried to lift himself into the saddle and failed. The horse pranced anxiously, unsure of this unskilled man who was trying to take a seat. "She would hunt you down and skin you alive. You think that Sheriff has a taste for vengeance..."
Robin tried to quiet the animal down. "Don't leave me alone in this world to face that woman without you," said Robin. "A friend would never do that."
"Oh, you should leave me here," said John, trying to gather his strength. "I think the heavens wish me to answer for killing that guard." He heaved himself onto the back of the horse. He could barely keep himself upright. "They are coming," he said.
Robin scanned the way they came and saw that Little John told the truth. The Sheriff's men were dangerously close. But Little John swayed in the saddle. He was not going to be able to remain seated on his own.
Robin slapped the second horse's rump and sent him careening off into the forest.
"What did you do that for?" slurred Little John.
"Hopefully they will follow his trail and not ours," lied Robin, hoping he had not made a terrible mistake.
"But now we have only one horse."
Robin climbed up in the saddle behind Little John. "Suck in, Little John. My arms can barely reach around you to hold the reins."
"Your wee, puny limbs can barely reach the reins even when there is no one sitting in front of you." Little John's head lolled forward.
Robin clicked his tongue and the horse began walking forward. Robin clicked again and he picked up the pace, but just. The weight of two grown men, one of which was almost the size of two men himself, was doing them no favors. Even so, it was faster than the guards in their heavy mail could run and the sound of their pursuers faded.
"Are you still awake, John?" Robin asked.
Little John jerked up. "I'll be leaving blood spoor the entire way," he replied, glancing down with distant interest. "No place in the forest will be safe for us until the next rain. If they bring out their hounds, they'll be able to track me as easily as a training lure."
"Shut your mouth," said Robin, urging the slowing horse to step sprightly. "I have never met a more pessimistic man in my life. Gloom and doom. Convinced we are all going to die because of a little scratch on his leg."
"Only recognizing the fate before us," said Little John.
Five minutes later, Robin pulled the horse to a stop and slid off to examine Little John's leg. They needed a healer. Robin ripped off the tunic he had stolen from the dead guard and tore it into strips, daring to spend a few moments to bandage it around Little John's leg. He left the arrow in, knowing they would have to cauterize the wound if John was to survive. The red stain bloomed through the fabric. He ripped off another piece and tied it as a tourniquet, hoping it would buy them time until they could find help.
He looked for the guards, but the forest was still. The horse was panting, never meant to carry this much weight, and especially at that speed. Robin grabbed the reins. "This lazy beast is going to get us killed if he doesn’t speed up." And with that, Robin began stumbling along as fast as he could, and the horse jogged along beside him.
He was still horribly weak. His legs went at a quarter of the speed of healthy man. His lungs ached like they were being pierced by stabbing knives. Black dots swam before him. He wanted to die. But Little John was still fighting, so he would, too.
The horse's sides were heaving and his mouth was frothing when the animal stumbled. John slowly slipped from the saddle and fell to the ground.
"John?" asked Robin. He dropped the horse's reins and ran to his friend.
His face was ashen and the dirty bandage Robin had used was dripping. Robin leaned Little John against a trunk of the tree.
"John?" Robin said again, slapping his friend's cheeks. "You have to wake up, John. We have to keep going."
His eyes opened, but they rolled in their sockets as he fought to remain conscious. "I won't make it. Promise me, Robin," he said, clutching his friend's shirt. "Promise me you will not allow the Sheriff to take me. Kill me. Take my knife and slit my throat. But do not allow that man to take me alive... to take me back to Nottingham prison and submit me to the tortures of the dungeon."
"It will not come to that," said Robin. "We shall find shelter soon."
"I cannot go any farther."
"Yes, you can." Robin shook him to stay awake. "We will get you to safety if I have to carry you myself."
"You cannot carry me."
"I will carry you until my legs give out beneath me."
"Kill me. Then fly. It is the only way. Run!"
Little John's words brought b
ack the echoes of his father. They brought back the fear and pain of losing someone he loved so much, one who had fought to protect him.
Robin rose and clutched his black hair, wanting to scream at the heavens that he would not let them take his only family. "No. I will not kill you and I will not allow the Sheriff to kill you. You saved me to live, not so that you should die."
"A man knows when the end is near, Robin." John reached out his hand. "Let me go. Allow me to give cheerful greetings to my maker. Speed my path, my friend."
"I will not have your death place another stain on my soul," replied Robin.
"It would be a mercy for me," John murmured.
"I will not do it," Robin almost shouted, biting back the desperate words before they flew through the forest. He leaned back and called to the trees. "Old gods of Sherwood, do not abandon us!"
There was silence.
Only silence.
Had the gods here abandoned him, too?
And then just the lightest sound caught his ear.
"Robin—" started Little John.
His friend held up his hand to listen.
The sound came again.
It was a horse.
A single horse.
"Wait," Robin said, kneeling to remove the dagger from Little John's belt. "You'll not harm yourself until I get back. If the Sheriff takes you while I’m gone, I will hunt you down and kill you myself."
"I will keep you to that promise," John winced. "Although if we wait much longer, I may beat you both to the punch."
"Be strong," Robin said, grasping John's shoulder and then he took off into the woods.
His legs flew through the tall ferns and the prickling bramble.
His breath heaved in his chest as the emotion he could not allow to spill over, threatened to choke him.
He had to save his friend.
That was all that mattered.
He had to save his friend.
Finally, he reached the road.
Cautiously, he crept towards the edge of the trees.
He pulled out the dagger.
He would kill the rider if it meant he could get the horse to save Little John.
But his fingers went slack.
There was the face that had kept him fighting during his darkest hours. There was the face that kept him strong in the pit. And now here she was, unaware that she was, once more, the key to survival.
"Marian!" he gasped as he stepped out from the woods, gesturing wildly to catch her attention.
She had replaced her gowns and veils for tights and a surcoat and her dainty shoes with the pointed boots of a man. Her hair was pinned under a hat and fell in the style worn in court by the pageboys. Indeed, someone unfamiliar with her might have mistaken her for a smooth-cheeked lad.
She seemed shocked with surprise. "Robin!" she exclaimed.
"What are you doing on the road? Don't you know bandits frequent these parts?" he asked, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Her face was at first alight with joy, but then clouded with worry. "We are close to my uncle's estate," she replied, motioning behind herself and then peering closely into his distraught face. "What is it, Robin? What brings you so far this direction? Why are you dressed as one of the Nottingham guards?"
"Little John is in trouble. Please! We need your help," Robin begged.
Her face paled. "Little John?" Immediately the worry was replaced with resolve. "Climb up," she replied.
Robin vaulted behind her and circled his arms around her waist.
And she turned the horse into the forest.
By the time they reached him, Little John's eyes were closed. Beads of sweat pricked his brow and his face was slack. But he was alive.
Robin slid off and then gave Marian an arm to help her down. They hurried to their friend's side. "John. John? Can you hear me? I have found help!"
"Did they bring a brace of rabbit and a table full of roasted pheasant?" he mumbled.
"I shall put our kitchen to work immediately to cook you a feast," Marian replied, trying to keep her tone light as she crouched next to the burly man's side.
"Blimey..." sighed Little John as he opened his eyes. He gave Marian a weak smile. "You found us a guardian angel, Robin. And never a more lovely angel did I ever see."
"No flying off to heaven yourself before you help her earn her wings," said Robin, placing Little John's arm over his neck and hoisting him to his feet. "I shall need your help to float off the ground, though, John."
"Alas, my soul longs to lie where my soles do tread."
"None of that, my friend. Look! The good maid has brought you a horse! You would deprive her of the pleasure of seeing you enjoy her gift?" A noise in the distance caused the blood in Robin's veins to chill. "We must hurry. The Sheriff comes."
Marian led the horse to a tree stump and Robin used its height to help John onto the steed. He turned to Marian. "Will you take him to safety?"
"But what about you?" she asked with concern.
Robin turned back in the direction of the baying dogs. "I shall lead them astray, throw them off the scent. I shall join you later."
Marian grabbed Robin's forearm. "You cannot outrun the Sheriff and his men."
"The longer you stay, the easier you will make their hunt."
Marian took the reins and placed them in Robin's hand. "You are a wanted man. I am not."
"You are a woman alone in the forest."
"A young boy. Or if discovered? A poor maid who has been robbed of her horse by Robin Hood," she replied. She gripped her knife, the knife Robin had given her that terrible day on the road. "Go. My uncle's stronghold is a fifteen-minute ride away. Follow the road. GO!" Robin began to offer his thanks, but she stopped the words before they could escape his lips. "If the Sheriff catches me talking with you, all will be lost. GO!"
Robin ran to the horse and climbed in front of John's gigantic frame. "Thank you," he said. "I shall send one of your uncle's household to claim you."
She waved him away. "If you don't hurry, I'll beat you home to the castle gate on foot. Go!"
And Robin turned his horse and took off as quickly as the animal could take them without causing further damage to his friend.
"Bless that woman and keep her safe," Robin muttered to the trees. The leaves shivered in a wind that was not there. He hoped it was a sign he had been heard.
Fifteen minutes he rode, urging on his horse, feeling the frustration when the steed needed to slow. They were a heavy load.
Finally, the forest opened to the flat, cleared land of civilization. Cattle and sheep grazed in rolling fields. There were humble houses of stone at the corner of each plot where the farming families lived. Before him was a larger stone building. It was not the richest or finest, but it was a sturdy and solid fortress.
Robin steered the horse under the portcullis, much to the confusion of the people in the courtyard. "Lower the gate!" he swore at a man standing idly by the opening. "There are evil men who follow. Lower the gate if you want to live!"
"Who brings threats of life and death to my door?" boomed a voice.
Robin turned around and the color drained from his face.
"A friend!" Robin cried.
It was the knight he had aided, the knight he had given four hundred pounds to save his land, Sir Richard of Lea.
"Robin? Good fellow!" The knight's face was full of questions and wonder. He stepped forward, his arms open to embrace him. "Is that you? You're dressed in the livery of the Sheriff!"
Little John began to slump in the saddle once again. Robin cried, "Little John is dying. Please, will you help him?"
"Of course! Of COURSE!" Sir Richard turned to the page beside him. "Fetch the physician. Prepare a bed for John Little." He turned to the gatekeeper. "Close the gate, you fool! This man says there are evil men abroad! Close the gate!" It was then the knight recognized the horse John was riding on. He braced his hand on the stonewall. "My niece? What has become of Marian?"
&nb
sp; "Your niece?" Robin repeated, making sure he had heard Sir Richard correctly.
"Yes, a girl of your age with titian hair. Did you see her?" Sir Richard looked as if he might take off into the woods himself to tear every tree from the roots until he found her.
"She is in the forest," Robin said. "Marian sacrificed herself to save our lives. She promised to tell the Sheriff of Nottingham we had robbed her and stolen her horse. Allow me to go back and save her."
The knight brushed off Robin's words. "This horse will drop dead if you ride him back so soon. We'll get you another." He paused as the household staff swept past him to gather up Little John and carry him upstairs.
"I must go back now," said Robin, chasing after Sir Richard as the man directed the chaos. "If anything happens to her... after saving us..."
"We shall get her back!" said Sir Richard, gripping Robin's arm to calm him. "She did the right thing aiding you, Robin. We must pray that God preserves her. And if He won't, I know you will."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A fog had rolled in, covering the world in misty gray. The green of the forest was now ghostly shadows. Robin shivered in the damp.
"We'll spread out," directed Sir Richard to Robin and the two other soldiers who rode with them. "Don't draw too much attention to yourself. We want neither the Sheriff's men nor bandits to know there is a maid wandering alone in the woods. Meet back at the castle at sundown."
The two soldiers nodded in understanding. They rode into the tall undergrowth covering the floor of the forest.
Sir Richard turned to Robin with concern. "You are sure you are up for this? Truly, I would rather you stay at my home and regain your strength."
Robin gave him a bracing smile to cover the lie. "All I needed was a little food and drink, a moment to rest, and I am ready to take on the world."
"Are you sure?" Sir Richard pressed.
Robin nodded soberly. "This is my fault. It is my responsibility to set it right."
"You'll set yourself into an early grave if you are not careful."
"If in pursuit of helping a friend like Marian, it would be worth it."