Heart of Sherwood

by Edale Lane

  Robyn spoke with such charisma and confidence as to draw them all in. As one, the troop responded, "Me; I am!"

  John nodded in approval. "Listen, my friends. Robin may be young, but he is clever and God above knows he can shoot a bow! I say we follow Robin Hood and bring back some hope to this land. The Sheriff will try to stop us, he surely will. But shall we live our lives cowering in fear, hiding from a ruthless tyrant?"

  "No!" they shouted. "We are with you."

  John gave Robyn's shoulder a little pat and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You are a noble, you know, a natural leader; running away couldn't change that. You just exchanged Loxley for Sherwood." Then he scooped up Charles, slung him onto his shoulders, and reached out a hand to Alice who beamed at him with joy.

  *~*~*

  After Alan and Will had gone off to town and while the others were still buzzing with excitement, Robyn noticed the elderly Gilbert had returned to his lean-to. She walked up quietly and stood, waiting to be acknowledged.

  He sat on a stone whittling a shaft. Anon, he looked up at her. "So, you shot the deputy's arrow out of the sky?" he mused. "Did you know he was a tournament champion at archery?"

  "Aye, but in all honesty, it was either the luckiest of all shots or the hand of Providence," Robyn explained in humility. "I am good, but not that good… and I need to be." She knelt on the ground in front of him and he stopped whittling to look her in the face. "Sir Gilbert Whitehand, will you teach me?"

  He cocked his head to one side, deep-set brown eyes widening with astonishment. "I would expect a young buck like you to be so pleased with himself after scoring so, bragging and boasting, and yet you come to me and humble yourself seeking instruction. I don't know who you are, but you are not who everyone thinks you to be. Still, I find that I trust you, and I do not give my trust readily."

  "Mayhap I am just not as young as I seem, or not as foolish as most youths," Robyn replied.

  He nodded to her. "Very well; I will teach you."

  "Gramercy," Robyn said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Gilbert rose to his feet and Robyn stood with him. "Let me see your bow." He held out a hand, and she gave it to him. He scrutinized it carefully, rubbing long fingers across the wood. Then he tested the string by pulling against it several times and frowned. "You should string this tighter, then you will have more thrust, more power, longer range and better accuracy."

  Robyn sighed and lowered her head. "If I string it any tighter, I can't pull it back."

  Gilbert raised his gaze to the lanky youth and nodded. "Well, you should see Little John about that, lad. He will know how to put muscle on your bones." He handed the bow back to Robyn. "It is nigh about dark now, son, but come back in the morning and we'll begin. If we're going to be taking on the Sheriff, I'll probably have to train the whole lot of you ruffians."

  "Indeed," Robyn replied with a wink as she slipped the bow over her shoulder.

  *~*~*

  Nottingham, same day

  Deputy Edward Blanchard rode with his shoulders slumped through Goose Gate into the Old Saxon part of Nottingham leading his two wounded deputies who warranted a few stares from curious townsfolk. He absolutely dreaded facing the Sheriff with the bad news of the boy's escape and the new bandit on the loose. His brows furrowed as he wondered if he would be dismissed from his post, lowered in rank, whipped or caned or worse for his incompetence.

  While older and more experienced than Godfrey Giffard, he had not been born into as high of a house and held no illusions of one day being sheriff himself. No, Edward had risen as much as he had hoped and did not relish the thought of a downward spiral to foot-soldier, guard duty or the dungeon.

  Midtown was busy at noon in the bustling wool city of 1,500 residents as the deputy's procession plodded through the Old Market Square packed with vendors and merchants hawking cloth and cutlery, religious icons and playing-cards, crocks and cocks, and every conceivable tool, weapon and trinket. Few of the buyers and sellers even noticed the four as soldiers from the castle, injured or otherwise, were an ordinary sight. But one could detect a distinct contrast as they winded their way up the thoroughfare onto the higher ground of the Norman district. The houses were a bit sturdier, the taverns more boisterous, the aroma of baking bread more sumptuous, and the chatter of the citizens was in French rather than the native tongue. While a wooden rampart surrounded all of Nottingham, there was also a clear division between the low-lying Saxon and plateaued Norman parts of town with the market lying squarely in between.

  It seemed to Edward that everything in Nottingham blended into dull browns and grays save for the colorful stained glass of the church windows—St. Mary's in the Saxon district, and the larger St. Peter's Church in the Norman district. The sullen procession continued past bakers, brewers, carpenters, cobblers and blacksmiths until they neared the castle gates.

  "Alfred," he addressed the young page who had stood with the horses. "See they get to the apothecary."

  "Yes, milord," he dutifully replied. The two soldiers with pale and twisted faces seemed as though they may slip from their saddles to the ground at any moment. "This way," he motioned, and they turned down a side street.

  Edward took a deep breath, released it, and continued up a ramp and through the imposing gatehouse guarded by pikemen and two huge, round towers.

  Like Windsor, Nottingham Castle had first been built by William the Conqueror a century before and upgraded to a stone keep by King Henry. It held a commanding posture atop a natural promontory known as "Castle Rock" one hundred and thirty feet above the River Trent. The stronghold was of particular importance as it protected the bridge over the river on the road from York to London.

  As he rode through the outer bailey, Edward shot a glance toward the middle bailey where the royal apartments had been constructed. He knew Prince John and Sir Guy were currently in residence. Mayhap the presence of distinguished guests will soften the Sheriff's temper, he thought. Once he entered the upper bailey where the Sheriff's office, great hall, court and dungeons were situated, he dismounted, handed his courser off to a stable boy, and strode into the lion's den.

  *~*~*

  Sheriff Godfrey Giffard, most commonly known by his title, 'Nottingham,' was in a gleeful mood as he sorted through the documents on his desk. He had just dipped his quill into the inkwell to sign an order of execution when Blanchard stepped in.

  "My lord," he stated in somber greeting, tucking his head and appearing contrite.

  Nottingham finished signing the parchment, returned the quill to its holder, sprinkled fine sand over the wet ink and blew gently upon it. Even seated it was apparent that he was a tall man with a powerful, lean physique. Clean and combed black hair fell to the top of his broad shoulders and his matching beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. When he looked up at Blanchard with eyes as opaque as a moonless night, his smile faded, replaced by an impatient sneer. "Where is my poacher? In the dungeon already?"

  "No, my Lord Sheriff," he answered uneasily.

  Godfrey cocked his head to one side, eying his deputy with suspicion. "Did you let that fair-faced Maid Marian dissuade you from arresting him?" He raised his chiseled chin and crossed his black sleeved arms over his deep blue silk surcoat.

  "No sir. She did try, and had a few good points, if I may add," he started to over explain. "She threatened to appeal to Sir Guy, to call together a council of nobles to address you over reaching your authority, but…" One glance at the impatient expression on Nottingham's face halted his babble. "A bandit appeared and took him."

  "What?" Anger bellowed through his voice, while confusion worked its way through his features.

  "He was an amazing shot with a bow," the deputy continued. "He injured my two guards, both of whom I've sent to the apothecary."

  The Sheriff's eyes turned cold and hard. "I do not see your injuries."

  "I would've had the churl, but he struck my arrow in mid-flight." Blanchard lowered his shoulders and shifted his weight to
one foot shaking his head in dismay. "I have never seen anything like it."

  "What did this brigand want with my poacher?"

  "He said the lad worked for him, that he was the 'Lord of Sherwood,' or some such nonsense. Anyway, he held me at point while the boy made his escape. Sheriff, give me a unit of the garrison and at first light we will be in Sherwood tracking him down."

  "Hmmm." He furrowed his brow and squinted at his deputy. "Could this have been one of Marian's men, carrying out her orders? You say she fought with you over the boy."

  "My lord, I would think not. Why, she was as surprised to see him as I. Asides, he robbed her of a heavy purse."

  Godfrey let out an exasperated sigh. "So, then what did this boothaler look like? Did you get his name?"

  Blanchard lowered his chin and shook his head. "He was wearing a hood; I couldn't inspect his face, but," he added quickly raising his weary gray eyes. "He was young, beardless I think, average height and slight of build."

  "That's just sardin' grand!" Nottingham glared at his deputy with disgust as he slapped a palm on his desk. Rising to his feet, the daunting lawman bellowed, "So, what? We have a wanted poster drawn with the image of a hood and nail it all over town? No name, no description? And I want him caught—by God's bones, I want him dead or alive! Preferably alive so I can kill him."

  In two strides the Sheriff was around his desk and pacing with clenched fists. Although Blanchard was a stout, sturdy soldier, he edged a step backward out of his superior's path.

  Then Godfrey stopped and rubbed a hand down his bearded chin. He sighed and shook his head. "No," he stated emphatically. "I'll not be swerked. This is a day of celebration and I will not let so minor of an incident disrupt it. Tonight at dinner, Prince John will bestow upon me the official title Earl of Loxley, and no escaped boy or inconsequential thief is going to spoil my moment." He turned his shark's eyes onto the deputy. "Take a detachment of men in the morning, find this hooded archer, and bring him to me. Understood?"

  "Yes, my lord; he shall be caught!" Edward vowed.

  "See that he is," Godfrey replied, pinning him with an unyielding gaze. "You are dismissed."

  Blanchard lowered his head and took a few steps backward before turning to exit the room.

  *~*~*

  Maid Marian was an expected guest at the Sheriff's dinner that night. She did her best to look especially appealing for the evening, attired in a deep maroon bliaut with gold trim and sleeve linings and a golden silk cord wrapped around her waist. Her matching golden strands were arranged in two long braids interwoven with maroon ribbons. A gold necklace accented her throat, and she hoped it would draw Sir Guy's eyes up from her cleavage. Her seat was between Gisborne and his freckle-faced, red haired, unmarried daughter who was a year older than Marian. She knew Sir Guy was incensed when he felt Faye had been shunned at court due to her plain appearance, but the real reason none of the young noblemen courted her was out of fear and distrust of her father.

  What am I doing sitting at table with these vipers celebrating Nottingham's final insult as he claims Robyn's rightful estate? She couldn't help these thoughts crossing her mind. But knowing this was her best chance to hear important news and be of help to Robyn and Queen Eleanor did keep her nerves steady.

  She put on a peerless smile and pushed down the bile that churned in her gut.

  "Nottingham is honored to welcome Prince John, our presiding monarch, and by the grace of our Lord, my friend!" the Sheriff waxed eloquent as he raised his goblet and tilted it toward the Prince. The other lords and ladies and Bishop Stephen of Lincolnshire all lifted their glasses making such proclamations as, "to your health," "God bless," or "long life." Marian followed in the gesture. A server had already taste-tested the wine before pouring it, just to be on the safe side.

  Most of the conversation revolved around how wonderful John, Guy and Godfrey were, how worthy of their titles and lands, and how they undoubtedly deserved larger fortunes. When Robyn's name was brought up, the Sheriff shrugged and said it was better that she ran off; that way he could claim her estate without being stuck with a headstrong wife.

  Marian did not finish the perfectly prepared pheasant, or the delicate buttered truffles, or the flakey sweet pastry that remained half eaten on her plate.

  After an hour of celebration, Sir Guy seemed to remember she was there. "Why my dear, you have barely touched your food," he commented in surprise. "Are you not well?"

  "I am in good health, my lord," she replied. "I do not possess a large appetite, but everything is simply delicious." She shot him a dazzling smile. Marian granted the feast was delicious and under other circumstances she boasted a healthy appetite. Nonetheless this evening her stomach churned in painful knots.

  This is all so unfair, she thought. Never mind how unfair they are to commoners, they do not even treat nobility with respect if they don't cow to their whims. Her thoughts turned to Robyn, out there in the wood somewhere masquerading as a boy with a band of outlaws, and a pang of loneliness struck her heart. She missed Robyn! She had been away from her for years, but after their reunion she found herself longing to be in the company of her best friend. She found she hated the Sheriff for keeping them apart.

  Sir Guy patted her hand with his own, a spurious smile glued to his thin lips, and turned back to Nottingham. "What is this I hear of a new bandit lurking about in Sherwood?" he asked, retrieving his hand to pick up his drink.

  Marian's ears perked up at once while she tried to appear dispassionate.

  The Sheriff sighed and shook his head. "Nothing for you or the Prince to be concerned with," he said. "Just an insignificant ruffian who will soon be in my dungeon. In fact a whole detachment of the Nottingham guard will be marching into the forest on the morrow to hunt him down."

  Prince John titled his head toward the Sheriff while he chewed. "You didn't mention an encounter with a bandit."

  "Because it is of no consequence," Giffard assured him. "Just a young buck in a hood with a penchant for rescuing poachers. Likely another illegal hunter himself. We'll catch him too."

  Sir Guy put down his wine goblet and covered Marian's hand in feigned protection. He raised his chin and spoke to Nottingham. "Sherwood is near Marian's estate. If there is a dangerous brigand about, I think she should move here to be better protected. He has already robbed her once, from what I hear."

  "Really, milord, that is not necessary," Marian insisted. "I am confident the Sheriff's men will have him in custody in no time and feel perfectly safe at my manor."

  "I must agree with Maid Marian, Guy," Nottingham concurred. "We'll have this Hood in irons before this time tomorrow.

  "Aye," Guy fudged removing his hand from Marian's. "If you say so."

  Marian managed to make it through the awarding of the title without gagging or running off to the garderobe. She was incensed by how Guy talked about her rather than to her, and all of them thought so little of Robyn or her, or any woman for that matter. She was glad Gifford didn't actually want to marry Robyn, but how awful it would have been if he had done so! For the moment Robyn was free, and she herself was not in any imminent danger from Gisborne; but despite the facts, anxiety wormed around her insides.

  Chapter Six

  Sherwood Forest, the next morning

  Deputy Edward Blanchard sat stoically in the saddle atop his black steed leading a troop of twelve men-at-arms down the ten foot wide dirt road eastward into Sherwood Forest. The early morning light filtered through the dense growth of trees, occasionally scoring a blinding ray between leaves and branches into his eyes.

  He wore his black leather doublet with matching boots and gloves again, but had added a steel helm over his thin fuzz of hair. At his side were a short sword and dagger while his bow and quiver draped over his back. The soldiers wore matching uniforms of mail coifs and habergeons over padded gambesons with black woolen trousers and leather boots. The uniforms incorporated the red and yellow colors of the Nottingham crest in the form of waist
length capes that identified the castle to which the guards were bound.

  They all sat alert in their saddles, on bay, sorrel, and gray mounts, with swords sheathed, a secondary weapon in one hand, and the other guiding their reins. Riding two by two behind the deputy, the first set of four held halberds upright, their pole ends resting on a stirrup. The next set of four had crossbows with quivers of bolts, and the last quatrain steadied long pikes across their saddles lest the tips become tangled in low hanging branches.

  Edward refused to admit to his men that he had no idea where in the massive wood to search for the outlaw; instead he kept a sharp eye out for any sign of him or the boy. If they are even still in the forest, he thought.

  He felt like a blade would hang over his neck if he did not find this thief and the young poacher. Of course he had a heart and would prefer not to see the boy hang, but following the Sheriff's orders was his duty. Nottingham bore the moral responsibility for the execution, not him. Moreover, the lad had broken king's law by witness account, even if it was Prince John who currently claimed authority over the royal hunting ground.

  Maid Marian did have a point; how could a boy so small carry a large boar? Richard would not like this at all. His sharp cool-gray eyes scanned left and right and he cocked his head to listen for sounds. All he heard were the morning songbirds, the rustle of squirrels scampering about, and the horses hooves plodding ever onward. Richard isn't here, but Prince John and the Sheriff are; and what choice have I but to follow my orders? Still, I can't help but wonder about this new outlaw. Who is he? Why here and why now? What if…