by K. M. Shea
Robyn Hood:
A Girl’s Tale
By: K. M. Shea
Text copyright © 2013 K.M. Shea
All Rights Reserved
a Take Out The Trash! Publication
Contents
Chapter 1: A Legend is Born
Chapter 2: My First Merry Man
Chapter 3: Steal from the Rich
Chapter 4: John Little
Chapter 5: Scarlet Stranger
Chapter 6: New Camp
Chapter 7: Foresters Attack
Chapter 8: Princes and Friars
Chapter 9: Robbing Prince John
Chapter 10: Robin Hood No More
About the Author
Chapter 1
A Legend is Born
Curse you Alan-A-Dale, and your fruity ballads! I told you to make them catchy, not to make them last through the ages! This is all Alan’s fault. Although some of the blame should rest on Marian. She was the one who pushed me into this outlaw business after all.
Who am I to speak so casually of heroic legends? You would probably best know me as the Bold and Brave Outlaw of Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood.
The gossip filled city of Nottingham has spread my story near and far. Most of the tales, if not all of them, are wrong. I am the perfect example of incorrectly recorded history because not only am I more cowardly than brave, but I am also a woman.
Yes, I know, it must be a terrible shock to you.
I am Robyn Smith, the girl who was forced to hide her gender and become the famed outlaw of Sherwood Forest thanks to bossy tendencies of Maid Marian.
You can’t trust many of the ballads about me, mostly because they have either been blown out of proportion, or because I commissioned the falsities to be created in order to cover my tracks.
A perfect example of this is my relationship with Marian. I can assure you, we aren’t in love. We are, however, best friends.
Some of the ballads have an ounce of truth to them. For example, I do have a band of Merry Men. (Although most times they aren’t so merry.) I do live in Sherwood Forest, and I am an outlaw.
I’m an only child, and in the beginning of my woeful tale I lived in Nottinghamshire with my parents, who are peasants. (We moved there from Locksley when I was a baby.)
King Richard—bless him forever—was off crusading, only God knows where. The cruel and evil Prince John—curse him—was ruling in his place.
Prince John loved to tax the heart and soul out of us peasant folk. His servants and henchmen would come and collect taxes for him, and no servant more cheerfully served him than the Sheriff of Nottingham.
That was actually what started this Robin Hood business. I was only about 15 years old at the time.
“Robyn!” my father said, red faced and spitting with rage. “Where are yeh?”
I winced from my hidden perch in an oak tree.
“What did she do this time?” said my shrewish mother.
“She ran Fin the blacksmith off the farm!” he spat.
Fin. Another one of the ignorant men my father had tried to con into marrying me. My father dutifully searched for a husband for me day after day starting the month I turned 14. However, I wasn’t really keen on marrying, so I sabotaged his every attempt. Usually setting the boys on fire did the trick.
“ROBYN! Stop hiding!” my mother howled into the sky.
They walked under the tree I had climbed up, moving out to the high pastures I usually fled to if I was avoiding work. I waited until I could no longer hear them before I climbed down. I dusted off my hands while wandering towards the cottage, idly wondering where I should hide, when a nasally voice interrupted me.
“Oh Robyn!”
I froze and turned around before muffling a groan. It was Dan the Musician. The Dan was nice enough as far as lads go. The real problem lay in his musical talent, or lack of.
“I’ve composed a new ballad for you Robyn!” he said as he approached me, holding his hand harp.
“Oh huzzah,” I sighed as I switched directions and started walking toward Sherwood Forest. He took this as his signal to begin, and started singing.
“Oh Robyn my dear,
Your dark, brown hair is as shiny as a mirror.
You black colored eyes,
Strike fear in my cries.
Although you may be a bit too tall
You’re surely the most beautiful within call.”
Did I mention he was also the town flirt? “Go away Dan,” I said.
“But wasn’t that lovely?” he asked as he ran after me, plucking several strings on his out of tune harp.
“It might be, but you’ve already sung it to every girl in Nottinghamshire,” I reminded him. “Although,” I said as I crossed a small field that was directly in front of Sherwood. “It is an improvement from the last song in which you compared my nose to a rabbit.”
“A rabbit is a darling creature!” Dan declared. “And anyway, at least Ellie said she liked it.”
“Give it up, Dan,” I called over my shoulder before I broke into a run. I disappeared into the forest, leaving a ‘heartbroken’ Dan behind. He was utterly despondent for all of three moments before he made a miraculously recovery at the sight of Anne Greenfield coming down the road.
I weaved in and out of the trees, leaping over bushes and scampering across the forest floor. Ten minutes later I reached my desired destination, a small meadow.
Marian and I found the meadow when we were children. A bubbling stream flowed around the edge of it. The forest floor was soft and mossy, and huge boulders created a natural sort of wall.
I checked on my bow and my quiver, which were hidden in a hollow tree. My bow was wrapped in a woolen cloth to keep it from rotting, and my arrows were stored in their rabbit skin quiver. I was stringing my bow when my best friend rode into the meadow on her prancing mare.
“Robyn, I’m back from London, early too!” Marian called in a sing song voice. Her father, the Earl of Huntingdon, sent her to Queen Eleanor’s court in hopes of making her into a lady months ago. (Eleanor is King Richard’s mother.) I seriously doubted this would work, but Marian went anyway. She probably had the courts in an uproar during her visit. I was surprised they didn’t send her home sooner.
“Marian, it’s so good to see you!” I said as the small girl threw herself off her horse before giving me a spine splitting bear hug. “I take it you faired well on your holiday?”
Marian rolled her blue eyes. “Hardly, it was boring,” she complained as she flipped her soft, blonde hair over her shoulder. “The only things those blasted ladies wanted to do was spin, weave, and chatter,” she said, sounding disgusted.
“I can imagine that would be rather dull for a girl who prefers to ride horses and tearing across the countryside,” I said as I eyed my friend’s grey mare. I wasn’t very fond of horses, mainly because the only time I had ever ridden one was with Marian. I know all too well why the knights in Marian’s manor cross themselves whenever they’re assigned to her as guards.
Marian grunted and turned to stand on her tip toes so she could dig in her saddlebags. “Have you been working on your archery at all?” she questioned.
“Dan the Musician let me use his longbow once. In exchange I had to listen to his ballads for an hour. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again,” I shivered in horror.
“So you still have longbow envy?”
“I guess,” I frowned as Marian threw several parcels at my feet, along with a slender, thin package that was previously hooked across her mare’s rear. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it with my toe.
“Open it,” Marian smirked.
With great apprehension I opened the long package first. When I figured out what it was my j
aw dropped. “Marian, you didn’t!”
“I did!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.
I ripped off the woolen covering to reveal an elegantly crafted longbow. I quickly dug through the other packages and found several strings and a quiver full of arrows. I eagerly strung my new weapon, impatient to try it out.
“They told me only a full grown man would be able to use it,” Marian shrugged. “But you’re taller than the merchant who sold it to me. You should be fine,” Marian said as I fixed my eye on a tree that was over 150 yards away.
I smoothly notched the bow, took aim, and released the arrow. The string pleasantly twanged, and the arrow hit the tree, dead center. I galloped off to retrieve my arrow, thoroughly pleased.
I came back with a smile so wide my face started to hurt. “Thank you Marian!”
“My pleasure dear lady!” she said with a grave bow. “I am pleased that you have accepted my humble gift,” she continued in the rumbling voice of an old man. “And now, I implore you to turn around, notch your bow, and hit my suitors in their rumps.”
“That bad is it?” I asked.
“You have no idea,” Marian said as she struggled onto her mare. She finally arranged herself on her sidesaddle before extending her hand to me. “Stash your new treasures and climb up. I’ll give you a ride back to your cottage.”
“No thanks, I’ll walk,” I said.
“Oh don’t be ridiculous. I heard your parents roaring for you, you’ll need to get back to your house as speedily as possible.”
“I’m not yet desperate enough to ride with you,” I wisely said while I stowed my longbow and quiver in the tree.
“Oh stop being a cad,” Marian said as she reached down and pulled me halfway up. I struggled to get into a comfortable position behind her, already regretting my situation. “Are you ready?”
“No, I would like my last rites please—AH!” I screamed as Marian heeled her horse. We were off.
The mare leaped into a canter, tearing through the forest as if the Sheriff of Nottingham was on our heels. I held on to Marian as I silently repeated prayers, hoping that I would make it off the horse alive.
Several minutes later, which seemed like several hours to me, the horse halted. I threw myself without hesitation onto the familiar ground in front of my parent’s home.
Marian snorted in disgust. “I’ll be going now. It’s best to leave you alone in times like this,” she said.
I ignored her and crawled toward my home on my knees.
I heard the clip clop of Marian’s horse as she plodded away from my house, but I was surprised when I heard Marian speak sharply. I boosted myself to a standing position and turned around to see Marian quarrelling with two huntsmen. I frowned. No one halfway intelligent would stop an earl’s daughter, and Marian’s heritage was obvious with her dainty mare and bright colored clothing.
One of the men released a loud, ridiculous laugh, which made me realize they were drunk.
I watched them stumble towards Marian, who shouted at them before her mare reared and pawed the air.
They ignored her warning, and I scrambled into my family’s cottage to grab my father’s hunting bow and quiver. As I ran back outside I noticed my parents coming in from the fields behind our house. Perfect timing. Wouldn’t you want to see your daughter threatening a Sheriff’s man? (Although I hoped the duo would be too drunk to remember it, it would still be an instant death sentence.)
Marian beat one of the men over the head with her fist as he tried to drag her off of the struggling mare. The other man held the horse’s reins, grinning madly as he watched his friend.
“Halt, or I’ll shoot!” I yelled as I notched an arrow and fixed it on the forester that manhandled Marian.
He stupidly stared at me while his friend laughed and pointed. “A gurl’s gonna hit us!” he taunted.
I glared as they shrugged and continued to harass Marian. “I’m warning you!” I said, my voice catching. The bow creaked in my hands.
Marian screamed, “Robyn! Robyn help!”
I flinched and aimed for the attacker’s leg. I released the string and the arrow hit exactly where I wanted it to, deeply grazing the hunter’s leg before imbedding itself in the dusty road.
My parents reached me as the hunter fell to the ground, shrilly screaming. His friend was knocked away by Marian’s mare. The unharmed huntsman stood and took off for Nottingham, leaving his injured friend behind.
My parents stared at me while Marian rode up on her horse as the injured man screamed bloody murder.
“Robyn what ave ye done?” my parents asked in their thick accents. (I must say that being friends with Marian, who forced me to speak correctly, made me very different from my family.)
“She did it to protect the lady,” Mother said as she wearily eyed me. “I’ll go get yer clothes Robyn, you had best run,” she said, ignoring Marian.
I stared back and forth between my mother’s retreating back and my father’s grave face as he scratched his neck. “You aren’t mad?” I asked over the shouting forester.
“Well, of course I am!” my father said with a veritable river of spit. “Yeh didn’t kill ‘im!” Ah yes, my violent father as always.
Moments later my mother emerged and handed me a sack of clothes as well as a lincoln green cape with a hood.
“What ‘e mean’s Robyn, is that we will miss yer sorry rear end. Good luck,” she said as she kissed my cheek before stepping away.
I always knew my parents loved me, (Usually my father chuckled in private about lighting the village boys on fire thing.) but I was still touched by their demonstrations.
“Come on Robyn, I’ll give you a ride to Sherwood,” Marian said as I slipped the giant cape over my shoulders.
I paused and looked at my parents once more before I heaved myself up behind Marian. We were walking past the complaining, bellowing forester, who stopped shouting when we were directly in front of him.
“Robyn, hood!” Marian hissed at me as she motioned for me to pull up the hood of my cloak. I threw it on with a yelp.
“The Sheriff will have yer blood, Robin Hood!” he yelled before my father stomped over to the man.
“Shaddup,” he said as he punched the man, knocking him unconscious. It was the last thing I saw before Marian urged her mare into a gallop. We flew to the meadow, my mind in a daze as I dismounted.
Marian anxiously paced around, speaking quickly. “I’m sorry Robyn, I’m so sorry!” she cried. “You’re going to be marked as an outlaw because of me!” she wretchedly said, wringing her hands.
I sank into a sitting position on the ground. “It’s okay Marian. I’ll be fine for now. I’ll hide in Sherwood until the hubbub dies down. I doubt the Sheriff will want to advertise that one of his men was injured by a girl.”
Marian thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “You might be right. Well, you should try to explore the forest. It will soon be swarming with men and you’ll need to find a good spot to hide. Although the forest is the largest one around they could still find you,” she said. “I’ll bring you some supplies tomorrow; I’ll leave them in the tree here in our meadow,” she said before she mounted her horse. “I’m sorry Robyn, but I really have to leave.”
I waved her off. “Don’t worry about me. I know this place like the back of my hand,” I boasted.
Marian gave me an unbelieving look. “I find that highly unlikely,” she sourly said before she waved and rode off on her horse. Marian spoke the truth, Sherwood Forest wound around Nottinghamshire, from the castle to the village. The giant forest was a huge maze.
I shivered and hugged my green cape closer to myself before I set off with my clothes and new long bow, moving around the edge of the forest.
I was creeping along several hours later when I heard footsteps. I flattened myself against ground and peered around a tree to spy Much the miller’s son walking through Sherwood. Unfortunately my reaction was too slow, and Much caught a glimpse of me.
“Robyn?”
I started crawling away on my knees, attempting to blend in with the bushes as Much took a few steps and said, “Robyn, I saw you. It’s no use hiding, I’ll find you eventually.”
I glumly pushed myself off my knees and slowly stood up as Much popped around the bush I was hiding in. “Hello,” I said, stiffly pushing my shoulders back.
Much grinned at me. “Hullo! Want something to eat?” he said, sliding a sack off his back.
“What is it?” I cautiously asked. Much and I were good friends as children, but when we grew older we seemed to naturally grow apart. Much, the son of a miller, was born to work in the mill, whereas I worked in the fields with my parents. We hadn’t become total strangers. Often times we attended fairs together because Much was one of the few village men my father had not attempted to spring me upon. But still… It was very likely the news of my criminal activities had already spread.
“It’s deer meat. Caught it early this morning,” Much said with a half grin.
“A deer? Are you mad? That could get you killed!” I said, swiveling my head like a paranoid owl as I looked for the foresters that were bound to come for Much. (It was illegal to hunt the king’s deer—more commonly known as every deer in Sherwood Forest.)
“Guess I’m an outlaw too,” he said as he peered in the sack, pulled out a slab of wrapped meat, and set it on a rock. “Being taxed to starvation does that to people.”
I stared at him. “You aren’t starving.”
“You’re right, I’m not. But everyone else in Nottinghamshire is. Someone has to help them,” Much shrugged, clenching his hands into fists.
“You are mad,” I declared.
Much ignored me and retied his sack, swinging it over his shoulders once again. “That’s a fair trade, though, right? I’ve heard what you did, and you know what I did. So we’re still friends?”