His lips curled in disgust. “Even if you were a lord in your hall, I would not eat your food. Do you think I have fallen for this act? What sort of sadistic game is this, that you would taunt us with the semblance of kindness before you kill us and take what is ours?”
“You misunderstand,” Robin said, taken aback. “We have brought you here as guests of this, our greenwood inn. If we were going to kill you, we would have done it already.”
Glenneth chuckled; the merchant glared.
“You claim we are thieves, but how many times have you taken advantage of your customers?” Robin continued. “Can you honestly say that those robes on your back and the jewels on your hands were not paid for by selfish—if not fraudulent—dealings? We may take from you today, but only what you have taken unfairly first, and what we purloin will go to help those you have wronged. We do not take out of a misplaced desire for profit.”
The man was silent, but his face glowed red. The guards, delighting in their meal, did not notice the exchange.
Once everyone had consumed their fill, Robin stood to address her guests, raising her voice for all to hear. “Good sirs, you have supped with us and been entertained by us. You would find a less hospitable reception even in a lord’s hall.” She shot the merchant the briefest of glances. “It is only just that you replace the viands we have expended on you, and provide payment for your entertainment. I think . . . this . . . should cover it.”
She withdrew the iron strongbox she had seen under the wagon’s seat. One blow from the hilt of her sword broke its lock, and she opened the box to reveal a profusion of gold coins.
“You cannot take that!” the merchant cried, a note of panic arising in his voice for the first time. “Those are the taxes I owe the Sheriff! It will beggar me to replace those.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Robin remarked blandly. “But in the meantime, think on its absence, and consider well the impact of your greed.” She handed the chest off to David, who was standing close by. “Come, the hour grows late; men like yourselves should not spend the night in the Sherwood—you might fall into the company of truly dishonest persons. Mount your steeds—we will lead you back to the High Road.”
“What of our weapons?” asked a ginger-haired guard as he climbed onto the horse Glenneth held.
“A gift we are honored to accept,” came the shameless reply.
* * * * *
Robin drove the cart warily through the forest, trying to avoid the deeper brush that would snag the wheels as she led the group on a mazelike circuit back to the main road.
From now on, I think it would be wiser to simply blindfold our guests on the journey to and from camp; that way it is certain they cannot find their way back, and I will not have to waste so much time devising a detour!
By the time the group gained the road, the land was awash with the last rays of twilight. The instant Robin disembarked from the wagon, the merchant leapt up into the seat and whipped his horses into a canter, not waiting to be accompanied by his failed guards.
Shaking their heads, his escort started down the road after him, but after a moment, the head guard wheeled his mount back around and returned to address Robin.
“You are a strange one, Outlaw. You could have had our lives and all our goods many times this day—instead, you fed us and entertained us, and now you let us go. Why?”
Robin looked him solemnly in the eyes. “Because we are not murderers or selfish brigands—we are only humble men, trying to earn our living in a world that has stolen that living from us. Yes, we must put a price on our hospitality so that we and needful others might survive, but we bear you no ill will, and would not have you bear us ill will, either.”
“The Sheriff shall hear of this, you know.”
Was it Robin’s imagination, or were those words spoken less as a threat, and more as a warning?
“I hope that is true,” she told him. “And make sure he hears, too, that our inn will welcome any traveler who passes through the Sherwood with ill-gotten gains.”
The guard’s face was in shadow, so Robin might only have fancied that his mouth curved into a slight smile as he turned his horse back up the road, kicking it into an easy canter that quickly caught him up with the others.
* * * * *
Upon her return to camp, Robin found the outlaws surrounding the chest of gold, their eyes shining as bright in the firelight as the coins themselves. To her relief, David was standing guard in front of the chest, his watchful gaze ensuring that no eager person made off with so much as one coin.
“It is all here, Robin,” David told her when she approached.
She cast the crowd an easy smile, as if she had never doubted its restraint. “Wonderful. Give every man, woman, and child a piece of gold.”
Cheers greeted this instruction, and Shane and Glenneth had to step in quickly to keep the people from trampling David. Yet even once the monies had been handed out (the twins kept a stern watch to ensure that no one tried to come back for seconds—Alan Haxey had to be sent away three times), there was still a sizable amount left over.
Robin counted out ten gold coins and deposited them in the sack at her hip. The rest she left in the chest.
“David, in the morning I want you and Will to take the rest of these coins and go into town—Ancaster, this first time. Start at the outskirts, with the poorest hovels, and give each family twenty shillings worth until you run out of money. Be wary of trouble, and make sure no one follows you back.”
Will was shaking his head in amazement. “Twenty shillings?” he protested. “’Tis half a year’s wages! Ye only gave us one coin!”
“Those people need that money a lot more than you do,” Robin told him sternly. “They still have to pay the Sheriff’s exorbitant taxes, and for most they are nearly impossible to afford. Besides, if we have many more days like today, we will soon have more than enough money to meet our needs—even receiving only one coin each! Do not begrudge the poor their share of the yield.”
“What is your intention for those?” David asked, indicating Robin’s makeshift purse.
She glanced ruefully down at her patchy tunic. “It seems to me that our band’s most pressing need right now is new clothes. Tomorrow, I go to Lincoln Town to buy our uniforms.”
“Uniforms?” Will’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Ye ne’er said nothin’ ’bout uniforms!”
David grinned at the youth’s dismay. “I like the idea. Uniforms will tell the Sheriff that we are not just a bunch of discontents—we are Robin Hood’s men: champions of the poor, heroes to the needy, opponents of the greedy—”
“We get the idea,” she said, interrupting his teasing.
David chuckled and knelt by the chest. Taking off his cap, he began tucking into it the monies he was to disperse. “Just choose a color other than that hideous scarlet that is in style,” he enjoined, looking up. “We may be your men, but that does not mean we want to go around looking like a robin redbreast.”
“No, red is hardly the proper color to define an outlaw of Sherwood, is it?” Robin mused. “I will be sure to ask for something more appropriate.”
CHAPTER 9
LINCOLN GREEN
THE STREETS of Lincoln Town were still busy, even though the sun had begun to set in a blaze of crimson and gold. Robin glanced at the fiery sphere in rueful reflection; the sun had been at the same height, but on the uprise, when she had set out from Sherwood Forest that morning.
Nottingham would have been a much closer walk, or Radford, or any of the other small villages that dotted the landscape, but they did not have a tailor such as Lincoln Town was reputed to possess. This man did his own dyeing, and his expertise with hues was rumored to be so great that he could make a man practically disappear against the foliage of Sherwood! Such a valuable talent would be well worth Robin’s journey.
As she wandered through the streets in search of the tailor’s shop, Robin kept her eyes open for a quiet hostelry that would not object to her
ragged attire, and where she could—after her business was done—buy herself a few hours’ rest before starting back home once again. At last a dilapidated structure with a tawdry yard caught her eye. It was called The Pilgrim’s Rest, and from what Robin could glimpse of the inside, her shabby appearance would not give the innkeeper any qualms.
Robin managed to find the tailor’s shop just as the sun was winking its last rays upon the horizon. The store was an unassuming wood-and-stone structure, with a tiny dirt yard bordered by a post-and-rail fence. Robin stepped through the open door into a small room; a thin workbench laden with cloth clippings and steel shears lined one wall, opposed by a wooden model and shelves burdened with fabric on the other. A reed screen curtained off the back of the shop from what was most likely the house proper.
“Hello?” Robin called. “Is anyone here?”
“Be with ye in a moment,” a man’s voice shouted from the back.
“How can I help ye?” the tailor asked, materializing from behind the screen. He was a small, grizzled man, with a bent back and eyes creased into slits from years spent poring over cloth by dim tallowlight. Upon seeing Robin, his eyes narrowed further with suspicion.
In her threadbare tunic, her hose with too many holes, and her head hooded even indoors, Robin knew that she looked far from reputable. Indeed, the tailor’s expression gave voice to his doubts: Clearly this customer was in need of new clothes, but could he pay?
The tailor’s gaze took in the bow and quiver on Robin’s back, and the sword that hung at her waist; many men carried such weapons, but rarely was their attire so tattered. These observations spoke contradictory tales to his seasoned eye—a client to be treated with caution.
Robin read these misgivings in the man’s face, but she refused to let them disturb her. “That depends. I wish to place a large order, but I do not wish its existence to become public knowledge.” She let her hand rest for a moment upon the workbench. When she moved her hand away, the glint of gold remained behind.
The tailor’s gaze fell upon the coin she had laid down, and his mouth tightened.
“I do not take bribes,” he barked. “Pay me my due for the work I shall do, and ye need not fear what I may say.”
Robin took a deep breath, embarrassed by the rebuke, and returned the coin to her sack. “Very well, the order I wish to place is this: fifty-two outfits such as a forester might wear, four sets of ladies clothing, and seven sets of boys attire, all in that peculiar shade I hear is the very essence of Sherwood Forest.”
“Its name is Lincoln Green,” the tailor remarked absently, already tallying up supplies in his mind, “and I do not often receive requests for ladies clothing, not with a dressmaker in town.”
His gaze sharpened; Robin feared the tailor was about to question the need for such an uncommon order, but he did not. “It will be expensive,” he informed her instead. “I require payment first. You may settle in installments, if you choose.”
“That will not be necessary.”
Robin untied the sack of gold from her belt and handed it to him. Clearly dubious about her professed ability to pay, the tailor opened the bag; his eyes widened in surprise at the amount inside.
“I trust that will be enough?” Robin asked. She had guessed at the cost, using Darah’s lectures on prices and wares to forestall getting cheated. Some day I will have to thank Darah . . . her lessons have turned out to be far more useful than I could have ever imagined!
The tailor’s eyes turned inward as he performed some quick calculations; after a moment, he nodded that it was. Ever an honest man, he gave Robin back one gold coin before tucking the rest of the money into his tunic. More amiable now that he had been paid, he asked for the desired measure of the clothes she wanted, which Robin did her best to provide using the tailor and herself for a scale.
“I will need to send to London Town for more cloth, and then I will have to dye it before it can be sewn,” he apprised her. “It will take several weeks to finish an order of this size.”
“Then I will return every week to take what is ready,” Robin said, preparing to leave. She paused at the door, David’s remark flitting through her mind.
“Oh, and one more thing—throw in a suit of scarlet, will you? My size. To be completed first.”
* * * * *
Robin managed to keep a straight face until the moment she actually handed David the first batch of clothes, and he opened the bundle to see a vibrant red suit staring up at him.
“Lord have mercy,” he groaned, and Robin burst out laughing. He glared at her. “I mean it, Robin, if you did that with the whole ruddy lot . . . .”
Still laughing, Robin reached into the sack and pushed the outfit aside, revealing the layers of green underneath.
“You should have seen your face, David!” she gasped. “It matched that tunic perfectly.”
“Good ’un, Robin,” Will Stutley agreed, plucking the scarlet suit out of the bag. “Can I ’ave it?”
“No, this one is mine,” she answered, retrieving the outfit from him.
“Robin Redbreast,” Shane called from his perch high in the oak tree. “You will stick out like a sore thumb.”
“No, I shan’t wear this except on special occasions . . . like the day you finally beat me at archery, Shane.”
He shook his head in dismay, making those who had heard them laugh. The two youths had a casual rivalry going, which led to some good-natured gambling by the men whenever the two of them would practice together, though the stakes were never very high as Robin had yet to lose to the twin during an “official” match.
Shane pretended to scowl at this reminder. “Then you had best go change right now,” he warned. “I have a feeling that tonight is going to be my night.”
* * * * *
But as things turned out, Robin had no need to wear her red suit that night, nor any other night, much to Shane’s disappointment. Instead, she reveled in her green attire, rejoicing in the feel of the soft wool against her body and in the comfortable fit of the suit. Her cousin’s clothes had been just a little too tight in all the wrong places, but her new outfit was loose and airy—perfect now that it was summer, but still able to keep her warm on cooler nights.
Better still was the camouflage the new clothes provided; as long as the outlaws did not move, travelers and guards could stare straight at them without realizing they were there. One moment a caravan might be traveling down a deserted forest path, the next it would be surrounded by men in Lincoln Green, each with an arrow aimed at the guards. This shocking manifestation, combined with Robin’s diligent planning, left sojourners no choice but to surrender. The outlaws never again had to fire a shot.
While the rich soon grew to hate Robin and her band, the poor quickly learned that they need not fear to travel through Sherwood Forest. Robin permitted attacks only on the corrupt: the abbots wearing heavy gold crucifixes, robes of silk and satin, and vitreous carbuncle rings—their wealth funded by misdirecting the tithes of impoverished peasants; the lords perched upon purebred mounts, who prospered by levying unfair taxes, even while their people starved; the merchants clothed in opulence, who rigged their scales and sold their goods for far more than they were worth. Such travelers soon found themselves the unwilling guests of Robin and her band.
Unwilling, yes, but only at first, for many of these guests soon found their rage melting away in light of the outlaws’ courtesy—their captors would even apologize for having to blindfold them to and from camp! Upon their arrival, these visitors would be seated at the base of a giant oak—nicknamed the Trysting Tree for this reason—and laden with ale to drink and sport to entertain while a feast was prepared in their honor.
These repasts grew along with the band’s monies, until guests were regaled not only with venison, but also with oaten cakes laced with honey, and with sweetmeats, quail, and pasties. Wrestlers and cudgellers would battle for their visitors’ delight, but it was the archery exhibition at the close of the evening that
truly astonished with its skill. When the time later came to pay the outlaws’ tab, many patrons agreed that the price was equal to the experience.
Soon the band’s coffers were overflowing with pieces of silver and gold—farthings sometimes, but more often deniers and groats. Indeed, the outlaws were beginning to amass so much money that they had to convert one of the caves into a treasury to hold it all until the money could be properly divided amongst the poor.
Robin tried to spread the wealth as much as possible, sending purses first to Ancaster, then to Warsop, then to Mansfield—even to Nottingham. Initially, the peasants were suspicious of the gifts, and would sometimes chase off the men she sent with knives or other implements.
I suppose I cannot blame them, Robin mused after one such report. When has anyone ever just given them money? Always, people are trying to take it away.
To help keep her men safe while still enabling delivery, she directed them to hide the money where it could later be found, and began to do so herself. She hid coins amongst hen eggs, under doorways, and on the seats of carts. For the most part this tactic worked perfectly, but one day as she went to leave a few shillings on the windowsill of a daub-and-wattle cottage, one of the coins slipped off the thin ledge and tumbled to the floor, striking against a chamber pot as it fell.
The lady of the house whipped around at the noise, caught sight of the coins on the sill, and dashed over just in time to see Robin darting away.
“Wait!” she called. “Please wait!”
The woman’s tone was imploring rather than alarmed. Intrigued, Robin halted, fidgeting her weight onto her toes so she could leap into flight again at the slightest need.
“It is just as Frank Miller said,” the woman breathed, leaning out the window for a better look. “A man in green—you are one of the men of Sherwood! You might even be—” she gulped and made a miming motion with her hands, as though pulling something over her head, “—Robin Hood himself!”
Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) Page 10