by M. C. Frank
“I am here, father.”
He was seated in front of a generous fire, a couple of council men around him, their eyes gleaming with snobbery and greed. Rosa was grateful for the darkness, as the dull glow of the fire was not enough for them to take notice of her strange appearance. Her stomach turned with disgust at all those eyes ogling her figure, but she tried to appear calm and brave.
“What have you been about?” her father began. “While we have been discussing serious matters of the country, you are sneaking out in traitorous quests, is that it? Oh, sweet mother Mary, why have I been cursed with such a useless daughter?”
Rosa turned her face away, so that he wouldn’t see her expression. Her father always included holy names in his speeches, for he thought it endeared him to the people. Even now, in the same sentence that called his daughter a curse.
“I only took a stroll in the gardens”, she said innocently but firmly. “I am fatigued now and will leave you good sirs to conclude your business.”
No one stopped her and she practically ran to her chamber. She opened the west window and tried to discern the fringes of the Sherwood Forest among the darkness. It had contained all her hopes for a long time. It also contained an outlaw whose eyes nightly haunted her dreams, but who had just this evening crushed all of them, with just a toss of his handsome head and an enchanting laugh that still rang in her ears.
A tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t notice.
Morning came much too soon after a restless night. Rosa woke before dawn, and, wrapping a warm quilt around her shoulders she sat quiet and still in the coldness of the early light, thinking. A few hours later her maidservant came in to announce that her father had gone hunting.
That was what she’d been waiting for. Immediately, without stopping to get properly dressed, Rosa leaped up and ran up the stairs to the terrace, taking with her a spyglass she had pilfered a few days previously from her father’s desk. Her naked feet slapped the cold, hard floor, but her cheeks were burning red with excitement, her heart beating like a drum. She lifted her gaze in the direction of the small village of Lewes and waited in dismay for the thin column of smoke to tell her that her father’s business in it had been successful. A cold breeze ruffled her hair, and her nightgown flapped behind her in the wind, but she concentrated on not turning her eyes to the forest that stood in the distance, proud and lush and green, right ahead.
A few long minutes passed, however, and she saw nothing. Helena, her maid, called to her several times to come inside or she would catch her death, but she waited another hour or so, and still no sign of fire met her anxious gaze. Chilled, she decided to come down and ask if there had been any news from town. She had never remembered her father ever taking so long once he had made up his mind. Usually, the village was burnt to the ground almost as soon as his missionaries got there.
Downstairs, chaos greeted her. Servants were hurrying about, carrying water and other utensils, some of them running in panic down the stairs that led to the Sheriff’s large bedchamber, where the Sheriff himself could be heard, shouting profanities and throwing things every which way. Rosa quickly stepped out of the way for her favorite maid Helena was rushing to her father’s room, carrying white cloths. Helena gave her a look that told her things were bad right now, but she would explain afterwards.
Suddenly, Rosa understood.
This scene had been played out many times of late in her father’s castle.
Whenever the Sheriff returned from similar expeditions, or even from an outing in the forest, he would invariably come back wounded or humiliated or thwarted -most frequently all three. And the reason was one man. One man, outlawed and hunted, one man and his band of merry men.
Rosa could barely contain her delight and happiness. She raised a hand to still her racing heart, but she couldn’t suppress the wide smile that spread across her face. He had believed her after all!
“I knew your heart would win out in the end, sweet Robin”, she whispered, as her eyes misted.
…
After the foiled raid at Lewes, Robin Hood and Rosa became some sort of partners. Rosa would ride out in the forest at twilight, exchange information and warnings with him, and perhaps a cup of golden ale.
By and by she learned a bit more about Robin Hood: a man who, in another lifetime, under a different name, had been a young lad about to inherit his father’s lands and titles, for he was descended from no less noble a line than her own. But then, the true kind of England gone, his father’s life was cut short by a savage sword, men under the orders of Prince John usurping his lands. Robin was given the choice of staying on with the new lord, as his son and heir, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he took a knife in his hand and spilt his father’s murderer’s blood.
He didn’t wait for the Sheriff’s guards to come arrest him; instead he fled, his weary footsteps soon bringing him to a green forest gleaming with shadows like a paradise in the slanting rays of the sun. Once there he was suddenly ravenously hungry, for sorrow and anger had deprived him of an appetite for many a day.
The canopy of soft leaves that enclosed him gave him his first glimpse of peace in a long time. Deep silence enveloped him and soothed his troubled spirit. Then, a pair of antlers rustled the dry twigs in the distance.
And that was how, by killing one of the Sheriff’s deer for his lunch, Robin Hood became officially an outlaw when he was already one in his heart.
A few days hence he discovered three men, one of them a giant, survivors of the Sheriff’s wrath which had claimed their families and homes. He became their leader, and had been so for almost five years now. Two years ago, he’d taken to robbing fat abbots of their stolen goods and thus slowly amassing a rather respectable amount of wealth. The gold was sacred to his men, for it was meant to ransom the true king of England, a prisoner of the infidels these several years -or so it was rumored. Robin had no hope of it ever coming to anything of import, however as the months passed it appeared that the coffers of the kingdom were little by little drained by greedy priests who could well have used a portion of their ill-begotten wealth towards freeing their beloved king. And so it came to pass that more and more of this gold was gradually being held hostage in Robin’s camp, as he sought to remedy this evil, among others, and his men loved him all the more for it.
He was in his twenty-second year, but his men respected him as they would their own fathers, for he inspired in them a loyalty and a love fierce beyond the fear the Sheriff’s torture threatened.
…
The most exciting day for Rosa was the day she overheard of her father’s plans to set a trap for him at the forest: he planned on injuring a young girl on purpose and leaving her to cry for help for hours on end. Rosa had ridden to the forest and warned him about it the night before, and it took all of Robin Hood’s willpower not to answer those heart-wrenching cries, but he was assured the girl’s wounds were not of a serious nature, so he gritted his teeth and waited the wailing out.
Eventually night fell and the Sheriff’s men had to come out of their hiding and carry a crying, thrashing about child all the way to her indignant mother. Robin’s men kept watch all day, finally arriving back at the camp to report the Sheriff’s men’s failure with much laughter and slapping of shoulders.
“The lad was right, Chief,” Much the Miller’s son told him. “There were more than twenty men hid behind the trees all around the babe. If you, or any of us had come to the child’s aid, we would for certain be meat in their hands right now.”
Robin turned his eyes to the direction of the castle and, with a smile, sent Stuart a silent word of thanks.
They talked about it two evenings hence, and he thanked ‘Stuart’ personally for his aid. The same happened many more times, until the seasons changed and the forest bloomed green and blue with the promise of spring.
Those few stolen moments, when they all sat laughing around the fire in Robin’s merry camp and the men took turns relating to her the humiliation of the Sheriff
’s men, were the best of Rosa’s life. She had come to know most of the men, now. She knew all of their names, some strange-sounding and hinting at great adventures behind them, and longed to get to know each and every one of them better.
There was Will Scarlet, a handsome man of Robin’s age, who also seemed to be like a brother to him, and Will Stutely, a mature man who had once been wealthy but had lost everything when he and his family had been branded traitors to the crown. Then Gilbert of the White Hand, a fun-loving lad of twenty, Alan-a-Dale, who also played the harp, and Paul the Healer. Both the Miller’s sons: Matt, who was often Robin’s right-hand man in the absence of Little John and Much, the youngest of the company. And of course that bear of a man, Little John, who never once left his beloved Master’s side. He was nearing forty and his hair was peppered with white, but his step had an elastic spring to it and his strength was second to none. He never spoke of the family he’d left behind when he couldn’t come up with the monies to pay the Sheriff’s taxes, but he went alone from time to time to see his wife and three children, and to bring them meat, a luxury for which he blessed Robin daily.
They all called their leader by his name, and a few called him Chief, or such. But Rosa could never bring herself to call him anything but ‘sir’. He seemed to her much more of a noble gentleman than the men who frequented her father’s home. Indeed he was a prince compared to every other man.
There were many more men, of course, for the band of outlaws Robin Hood had gathered in the forest superseded five and thirty. These were men who had lost their lands and homes to the Sheriff’s taxes, and had been rescued from prison or the noose to hide until England was restored to some form of justice by its rightful king. Robin kept them clothed and fed and free, and they lived in his camp in small tents or wooden cabins they had built with their own hands, for there were not only old men, but young and capable ones as well.
The band of warriors Robin took with him on dangerous expeditions consisted of no more than eight men, including himself, and he was happy to keep it this way, for his trusted robbers were strong, swift and well-trained in the arts of archery and swordsmanship. The rest were considered outlaws as well, but they were the ones to protect and care for, and that’s what Robin did.
There was a friar among the company, a middle-aged but youngish looking man of rather plump stature, whom Robin seemed to respect and revere almost as a father. They called him Father Tuck, and he still wore his monk’s habit, although he appeared to be mostly in charge of the delicious meals. His small, laughing eyes looked at her sharply only once when she had first met him, but Rosa knew that that one glance had taken her full measure, for nothing escaped his intelligent gaze.
She was sure Robin trusted his opinion for good reasons, and soon enough she saw that he was both pious and fun-loving in equal measure, and the men loved him to death, almost second to their chief.
Rosa enjoyed her time at the forest more and more every time she went there, but always came back before they had eaten and always Robin rode with her until the castle came in sight and no further.
It seemed to her in those days that she was living two lives -and definitely the one she lived as Stuart of the Castle was the better of the two. For as Stuart she could walk beside Robin Hood, listen to his incredible tales, watch his eyes sadden as he heard of the peril his men ran into daily, drink in his whole-hearted laugh and be of very small and yet significant help to him.
Every time she entered the small clearing the smoke of the small fires all around the camp met her nose, and the busy sounds of men lounging on sturdy moss-covered logs that served as seats for their meal greeted her ears, and she felt that this was a true palace fit for kings, and a lump rose in her throat to think of the cold, hard castle walls that awaited her. This hidden kingdom of green leaves and clear skies, this was a gift beyond the touch of her father’s ill-begotten gold, and it calmed her spirit merely to be in the presence of such beauty.
Then, as soon as the meal was over, Alan whipped out his lyre and they twirled in merry dance under the watchful eye of the moon, spitting in the face of their enemies who imagined them cowering in fear and misery.
Rosa didn’t worry about her secret becoming known to the band of outlaws, for she never stayed long enough in their camp. She constantly told herself not to become careless, however, as familiarity with them took the place of her former awkwardness. She knew she would lose all of this if they ever found out she was a woman.
And Robin’s fragile trust in her would surely vanish forever if it became known she was the daughter of his worst enemy.
…
Rosa turned on her side and covered herself carefully with the coarse, woolen blanket. She had no idea sleeping on the ground was so wonderful. The grass smelled so fresh forming the softest pillow beneath her head.
She had somehow managed to settle down a little further from the sleeping men, although in her identity as ‘Stuart’ there really wasn’t a good excuse for it, except perhaps that she was unaccustomed and scared of their strange ways. So that’s what she pretended to be. She hated that Robin should think her timid, but it was safer for her like this.
She still didn’t know how she had managed to get herself in this situation.
Getting attacked by two burly thieves on her way to Robin’s camp and having to exchange blows with them was not exactly in keeping with her need to remain inconspicuous. She was thankful that two of Robin’s men had rescued her from her attackers just as they were about to overpower her, although she had held them at bay for more than half an hour.
However she was badly bruised and barely conscious by the time they brought her to Robin, and he flatly refused to let her go until he had seen with his own eyes that ‘Stuart’ was unharmed. This seemed a bit strange to her, seeing that in Robin Hood’s eyes she was just a ‘green boy’, as he himself had called her on their first encounter. Why did he take such trouble over a mere youth?
Secretly, of course, she was glad for the opportunity to prolong her delicious adventure until morning. It was of course uncomfortable to go to sleep without even having washed her face first, but she wouldn’t do anything that might expose her, the risk was simply not worth it. Anyway, as soon as she lay down and opened her eyes to the star-studded canopy of dark heavens above her, she forgot all about her dirty clothes.
She glanced a few yards away to where she had seen Robin Hood make his pallet and saw that he was looking in her direction, frowning.
She quickly turned away, wiggling her back to find a comfortable spot on the hard earth. Her body ached almost everywhere, but otherwise she felt better than she had done in her entire life, lying in the soft grass like that, the night sounds of the forest gently lulling her to sleep. It seemed like there had never been a problem in the whole world. Nor would there ever be any in the future.
The next morning she awoke to a feeling of deep contentment. She was earlier than everybody else, for despite her exhaustion, her ears were unaccustomed to the sound of chirping birds out in the open. She took a quick look around and saw that everyone was indeed sleeping, rather loudly too for that matter, except for the nightly guards.
Suddenly, she couldn’t stay in this dirty state a moment longer.
Even if riding and then sleeping in her clothes hadn’t taken its toll on her, then surely rolling around on the ground when she’d struggled with those dirty villains had left her feeling as though there was actually a layer of dirt between her clothes and her skin.
Yesterday Robin had showed her a little stream where the men washed. It ran alongside the camp a short distance from where she had slept and it was conveniently concealed by a thick growth of trees.
As soon as she reached it, she slipped off her clothes as well as the horrid, itchy cap that concealed her hair and stepped into the cold, clear water. She closed her eyes at the sheer pleasure of the water running from her skin and started washing herself with slow, rhythmical movements, venturing a bit further fr
om the bank, so that she could completely submerge herself, for the feeling was heavenly.
Robin hadn’t slept well. It was disturbing him greatly the way his mind, even his heart, responded to this strange boy. He felt so fiercely protective of the lad, since the very first day he had seen him. Many weeks had passed since then, and he had gotten to know the boy better, only to be further impressed by his honesty and wit.
When they had brought him to the camp yesterday, Robin had taken one look at his limp form and his heart had stopped.
Later, even though it had become clear that the youth was absolutely fine, he had insisted on keeping him nearby to ensure his safety -at least that was what he had said. But the truth was he hoped that the sight of Stuart laughing and eating, hearty and hale, would dispel from his mind the disturbing image of him lying unconscious and beaten while Paul attempted to revive him.
Finally deciding that it was useless to try to reclaim his elusive sleep, Robin got up and headed for the stream to wash himself, as he did infallibly every morning.
He saw her as soon as he stepped clear of the trees.
A girl stood naked in the water, bathing. She was impossibly beautiful, that was his first thought. Her hair was a torrent of golden, copper-colored tresses, rich with water, gleaming down her back as it reached down to the still surface of the stream; her finely-boned form rose tantalizingly out of the water, glowing white in the misty morning light, and her skin appeared exquisite and fragile even from a distance. He couldn’t see her face, as she was turned away from him, but for a minute he thought she must be a nymph of the forest, or a vision come alive from his dreams to haunt him. That was part of the reason that he spoke: to break the spell.
He was so shocked that his lips opened of their own volition, and addressed her before he himself knew what he was about.