Robyn and the Hoodettes

by Ebony McKenna

  Four humans and two horses peered into the well.

  “Is there any water in it?” Marion asked.

  Joan shrugged. “Doesn’t need to be. The river’s always reliable.

  “I can’t see the bottom though.” Marion’s knuckles whitened as he held on to the stones around the top of the well.

  Robyn swallowed, recognising his fear. “I can climb down, but I don’t know how I’ll carry anything out.”

  “Smart thinking.” Eleanor took off her apron and ripped it into strips, then tied each strip together to make a rope. “It won’t be strong enough for you, but whatever you find you can tie at the end and we’ll haul it up.”

  Robyn began to climb, feet first, down the well. The diameter was narrow enough for her to anchor her feet and hands either side to support her weight as she shuffled down. It became darker and darker, so she had to stop a while and let her eyes adjust.

  Breathe, it’s not scary, everything is OK.

  Her breaths echoed off the stone walls. Her thighs cramped with effort and she wanted to jump the rest of the way, but she still couldn’t see the bottom. If she let go of the walls, how far would she fall before she hit the floor?

  And what would be on the floor to break her fall?

  The answer came a minute later when her foot squelched into soft mud.

  “I’m at the bottom,” She called up to the faces looking down at her.

  It stank something putrid down here, but she had a job to do so she felt her way about.

  “I found a rope!” She called out.

  A moment later, Mother Eleanor’s torn fabric fluttered down. Robyn tied the rope to the end of it. At least now they had something stronger to haul things out of the well.

  The climb down was tiring enough. The climb up would be a total cow.

  Using her hands to see, Robyn found a small bucket. It was already tied to the end of the rope she’d found. Hugely convenient. Next her foot tripped over a piece of wood. Shlucking it out of the mud, she saw that the wood was bent in the shape of a bow. It still had the string attached, although it too was slimed in mud. The string broke the moment she tried to pluck it. Great.

  She slotted the bow into the bucket and dropped to her knees, sloshing through the stinky gloop in the hope of finding more goodies. A few coins in the mud made the effort worthwhile.

  By the saints! She found the mother load. Wrapped in thick fabric was a quiver full of arrows.

  She wiped her hands on her tunic and placed everything in the bucket. “Haul away!” she called up. They would find something to restring that bow. Maybe Shadow would donate some of her tail hairs?

  While the three above pulled the bucket up, Robyn slip-slopped away, finding a hammer and a large knife in the ooze.

  A gasp of relief leapt out. The knife was in a leather sheath, otherwise she might have sliced her fingers off.

  The stench from the mud made her gag. The sooner she finished finding things, the sooner she could get out of here. Then head straight to the river for a wash.

  “This is really disgusting,” she called up.

  “Doing great, darling,” Eleanor called down.

  “Keep looking.” Joan added encouragement. “I’m sure there’s more stuff.”

  Urgh. Slop, slap, slip, squelch, stink. Breathing through the mouth was the only way to cope. With no choice but to keep on searching, Robyn spread her hands wide. Sludge oozed through her fingers.

  They touched something soft, wrapped around something hard. Robyn picked it up–it was heavy–and unwrapped the putrid leather.

  All breathing stopped as she boggled at a lump of gold as big as a fist.

  ***

  The smoking ruins of three peasant villages lay behind them as Roger of Doncaster and his men headed toward Sheffield after a successful few days’ tax collecting.

  The stress began to ease out of his shoulders. His carriage groaning with goods should satisfy Maudlin this time. Perhaps after that, she’d finally be done with him and he could return to his family in Doncaster. He hadn’t seen them for four seasons.

  “Whoa there,” he pulled on the reins and the carriage came to a stop.

  “Why are we stopping?” One of the men called out. “Are there highwaymen?”

  Highwaymen? Not such a bad idea. After all, how was Maudlin to know how much they’d collected? “We have risked our health and our souls, for little payment.” He said to his rag-tag team. “We have collected above and beyond that required by Maudlin. Here is where we take our commission.”

  The men–he used the term loosely as some of them were barely old enough to grow whiskers–wore confused expressions. Roger sighed. Did he have to explain everything to these cloth-heads?

  “I’m creating a back-up plan,” Roger said. “We deposit items here, just as if we were depositing it in the holdfast in Sheffield. The next time Maudlin sends us on a mission, we come here, collect the items and take them back. No risk of attack or injury.”

  The men nodded and muttered their agreement.

  Half an hour later, they’d stashed nearly one third of their “taxes”, all the smaller more easily transported items at any rate, in a strongbox hidden in the shrubbery.

  Roger looked at their efforts and was pleased. “Good work. Now, I need a volunteer to stay here and guard it.”

  At first, nobody wanted the job, until the smallest of his men wordlessly put his hand up.

  “Yes, you’ll do.” Roger tossed him a loaf of bread they’d taken from the hamlet of Hillfoot. “Sleep tight, we’ll be back later.”

  With a flick of the reigns, Roger was on his way to face Maudlin. For what he hoped would be the last time. He had to get back to Doncaster with fresh supplies before winter closed in.

  When they arrived in Sheffield, Roger and his team spread the goods from one end of Maudlin’s banquet room to the other. It gave the impression of an almighty haul. She’d have no idea there was more deposited in a hiding spot in the Shire Wood.

  Tureens of soup and wooden trays piled with freshly baked bread sat on the long table. The men stood behind Roger, waiting for the go-ahead.

  Rumbles from their stomachs reverberated around the room as the men shifted their feet.

  A slow clap sounded at the far end. Maudlin strolled in, a small raven on her shoulder. “Nice work.” She said, casting her gaze from one end to the other. “I’m sure The Earl of Derby, our Lord Sheriff of Nottingham, will be well-pleased. You may eat.”

  The men fell upon the food, ripping the warm bread into chunks and ladling soup into their bowls.

  It was almost too good to be true. Roger bowed to Maudlin and made a small cough. “My Lady, there is, of course, the small matter of payment for our endeavours,” he said, raising his eyes to hers to see if he’d pushed his luck too far.

  “Of course. You have done well. You shall be paid by sundown. For now, you may eat with your men.”

  Forcing a smile back, Roger bowed again and took his seat with as much patience as his salivating mouth would allow.

  Don’t smile, whatever you do.

  They’d gotten away with it. He’d tricked the witch and now he was helping himself to her food. And on top of all that, she’d pay him.

  “It seems,” Maudlin said, approaching the table. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the slurping of soup. “You are a man down.”

  Gulp. Roger looked at the table and noticed the empty seat.

  Of course Maudlin would notice. She wasn’t stupid.

  “We were set upon, by more highwaymen,” Roger said. “Unfortunately we lost one of our team. We had to leave him where he fell, such a pity. But I shall personally return to retrieve his body.”

  “I see,” Maudlin tilted her head to the side. “So the thieves are still at large?”

  “No my lady.” Needing time to think, Roger dabbed at his mouth with his tunic sleeve. “We defeated them. In any case, there is no way they can attack the villages of Loxley, Littleton or Hillfoo
t again, as those villages are no longer there.”

  Maudlin’s eyebrows creased together, “That explains the dozens of peasants arriving at the gatehouse earlier today.”

  Roger continued. “We had to burn the villages. In order to save them. Now they can never be attacked again and the thieves have lost their base.”

  Maudlin look a breath and smiled as she turned to the bird on her shoulder. “Did you hear that Rook? I used to think Roger was an idiot. But lo, even an idiot can be full of surprises.” She turned again to the men snaffling food as if it were their last supper. “Eat up everyone. You’ve earned it.”

  The bread wedged in Roger’s throat as he tried to swallow. Maudlin made him uneasy at the best of times. He might be a paranoid man by nature, but that didn’t mean the witch wasn’t out to get him.

  ***

  Maudlin watched the men greedily take her food as if it were their right. They were one down, and she knew exactly which one because she’d placed her in the group. Disguised as a boy, of course, and in those heavy tunics and shapeless clothes the journeymen wore, who would be able to tell? But still, if Ellen were dead, more deaths would follow, starting with Roger.

  She left the men eating and marched to the top of her tower, eager to look west and see the smoky ruins of the villages for herself. Rook cawed on her shoulder as she reached the lookout. The strong wind brought the smell of ash and smoke towards her. Gazing west, smoke rose from Hillfoot’s general direction. Two more plumes arose from villages further west.

  Her fingers curled into fists at how stupid Roger had been. Burning the villages had done nothing but create a false economy. Now she had extra mouths to feed and no future source of income. The fields would lie fallow. Where would their food come from now?

  Holding her arm outwards, Maudlin clicked her tongue and Rook obeyed her instruction to climb out on her limb.

  “Find Ellen, my darling. Find her for me.”

  With a flap and a caw, Rook took wing, following the Kings Road towards Hillfoot, Littleton and Loxley, as the crow flies.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Long shadows fell over Loxley as Robin, Joan, Marion and Eleanor turned the final corner into town. Ay least the sun was nearly gone for the day, it meant Robyn wouldn’t have to see how badly her home village had burned.

  “First thing. Let’s go to the forge,” she said. A new idea had grown on the walk back, and maybe if she kept busy she wouldn’t have time to dwell on the horrible guilt growing inside her. “That is, if the forge is still there.”

  “I reckon it will be,” Marion said, “It’s designed for burning things in it, not being burnt.”

  Every cottage that used to have a thatched roof no longer had one. The walls had held at least. Perhaps one day soon everyone could return and rebuild?

  The horses sauntered about, sniffing out food.

  “I’m off to see if there’s anything we can salvage,” Eleanor said.

  Misery leached Robyn’s bones to dust. She ached to lie down but she couldn’t rest. The village was little more than piles of embers. And it was all her fault.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the tax collectors, and what she could have done differently so that none of this would have happened. Her mother had told her to run, she could have run into the Shire Wood and hidden. Then she could have walked back into town with her bag of wheat and they would have been so thankful to have something to run through the mill and make bread.

  And the village would still be whole.

  “Everyone get shovels or spades or whatever we have so we can bring the hot coals to the forge. It will all help, right?” She said to Marion and Joan.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Joan said. “By the way, why didn’t the forge roof burn?”

  “It’s slate,” Marion said. But instead of walking into the smithy, he walked over towards the well, grabbed the rope and hauled up a bucket that made metallic clunking noises, revealing his tool kit.

  “That is pretty smart,” Robyn admitted.

  “Glad you noticed, Robbie,” Marion said.

  The air fled Robyn’s lungs. It felt . . . weird and strange . . . and for a moment she stood there saying nothing, her mind trying to work out the source of the strangeness.

  But there wasn’t time for that luxury. She had bigger issues to deal with, including whether there was anything left of her village to salvage, and the really, really, really big issue of–

  “Where is everyone?” Joan asked.

  Sickness rose in Robyn as she took in her surroundings. Really took them in. Not merely burning embers and destroyed houses, but an eerily empty village. A day earlier, she and Joan had returned triumphant with their stolen belongings and food. Hailed as heroes.

  “They’re all gone,” Marion spoke the words Robyn couldn’t bring herself to say.

  “What, everyone?” Joan turned to Marion, as if he were somehow responsible for this. “Those taxmen must have turned up as soon as our backs were turned.”

  A heavy sigh from Marion. “Pretty much. Roger and his men came in, nailed up the warning sign about outlaws in the Shire Wood, then rounded everyone up.”

  “The bastards.” Anger and guilt warred with each other in Robyn.

  “Where did they take them?” Joan asked.

  Clever, sensible, smart Joan. This was the kind of question Robyn should be asking instead of stewing in her own bile. Littleton had suffered as much as Loxley. Joan had to be crazy with worry about her doddering parents, but she hadn’t let it cloud her judgment.

  Unlike Robyn.

  Marion’s broad shoulders slumped. “Sheffield.”

  “Yes, but . . . where in Sheffield? Are they relocating them or have they all been arrested and thrown in the dungeons? How many wagons did they have?” Robyn felt a spike of pride at being able to ask something sensible.

  “Only one extra carriage. They loaded it with everything they stole back from us . . . and made everyone walk back to Sheffield ahead of it.”

  “And where were you all this time?” Joan asked.

  “Steady on,” Robyn said.

  “No, she’s right to be cross.” Marion said. “I ran and hid. Then ripped the sign off when they weren’t looking and ran to Littleton to find you.”

  “Wait a minute,” Robyn’s mind stopped spinning for long enough to make sense of all this. “They nail up a sign, knowing full well hardly anyone in the village can read.”

  “Except us, of course,” Marion said.

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t think anyone noticed. “Of course, but . . . they pack the rest of us off, and leave a sign up in an empty village, which they then set fire to.”

  “They think we’re blokes, remember?” Joan said with a wicked grin. “Everyone knows most girls can’t read. But some men can. My dad can . . . a bit. So they put the sign up to let us know they’re on to us. Figuring we’ll have to come back at some point.”

  Again Joan had it all worked out. The girl may look a brute, but she had a fine mind.

  “OK, so they’re sending us a message. Let’s send them one back,” Robyn said. The words poured out of her before she could chicken out. “We take the fight to them. We take back what’s ours.”

  “How?” Marion asked.

  “I’ll figure the details on the way. For now, let’s salvage what we can from here, then we go to Sheffield.”

  A broad grin split Joan’s face. “I like it.”

  “I don’t,” Marion said. “We should think this through some more. Have a more detailed plan.”

  Robyn threw her hands up in frustration. “I’ve already given us a plan. Sure as the sun comes up in the morning, Roger and his men will be back here, raiding the village and the Shire Wood looking for us. But they won’t catch us napping, because we’ll already be in Sheffield.”

  Marion scratched at his top lip, as if the few soft whiskers there itched him. Was this his way of trying to remind them he was the man of the village? That he should be in
charge?

  Robyn wasn’t buying it. She had her blood up and her mind fixed. “They’ve taken everything from us, we have nothing left to lose.”

  ***

  In her hiding place beside the King’s Road, Ellen took a woollen blanket from the strong box and wrapped it around herself. No way could she set a fire for warmth; the light would provide a beacon for anyone else to find her here.

  She didn’t mind the cold. She’d grown up in the valleys and dales and had spent many nights sleeping under the stars. Watching over sheep and making sure most of them got back to the village. She only ever took what she could eat, mind. Especially when one of the ewes had twins. Twins were bad luck, weren’t they? They drained the mother of energy and took so much longer to grow. So to be honest, she was doing the farmers a favor when she weeded out a spindly twin to feed her belly. Or the male lambs. After all, the males would only be sorted out later so they didn’t cause trouble for the flock in the long run.

  Shepherding was always good while it lasted and she could usually last in one place for a few months until the locals wised up to her and ran her out of their valley.

  Alas, she’d run out of so many valleys, moved on so many times she wasn’t sure if she knew know how to get back. And to be honest, she didn’t know if she really wanted to. It didn’t rain here half as much as it had in the valleys.

  And she’d eaten enough lamb to last her a lifetime.

  Maudlin was a cracking woman. What a day it had been when their paths had crossed. She and Maudlin could have been sisters they were so alike in the way they viewed the world.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Maudlin about Roger. He was hopeless, to be honest. Leaving the smallest of his team to look after . . . what had he called it? Their commission? There was no way one strong girl could defend it if a band of thieves really did show up. Still, if she stayed quiet and kept herself warm by means other than a fire, the chances of real thieves stumbling across her were slight.

  Ellen rubbed the bruise on the back of her head from the right thwacking that giantess had given her. A giantess-pretending-to-be-a-strong-man-pretending-to-be-an-old-crone with a wayward nag.