Robin Hood

by Roehrig Tilman

  “I give up. You win.” Laughing, the man raised his hands. “I surrender.”

  John was silent.

  “You are on the other side,” the man pointed out. “What more do you want?”

  Marian was still lying in hiding. John needed to make sure the stranger stayed where he was until he could get away with the girl. “Stay in the water. And shut up!” John hissed. Now what? The best thing would be I smash his skull in. He dismissed the idea in an instant. The stranger no longer had a weapon.

  “Hey! You, giant! Until you figure things out, may I at least play something on my hunting horn for you?”

  “Blow all you want! As long as you keep your mouth shut.”

  The stranger put the horn to his lips. A long, bright tone, then two fast ones, followed by a long, deep tone rolled through the valley and came back as an echo.

  No sooner had the sound faded away than arrows struck the ground to the right and left of John. “A trap,” he gasped as he spun around.

  Two men with raised bows broke free from the riverbank shrubs. They were dressed in green like the stranger. Shouts! John leapt back. From the nearby oaks and beeches, four green figures came flying toward him. They swung on long ropes, landed on the riverbank simultaneously, and were already drawing back the feathered arrow shafts on their bows.

  “Well, Robin,” one of them shouted to the stranger in the river, without letting John out of his sight, “were you at the blacksmith’s? Did he heat you up and stretch you thin?”

  John narrowed his eyes. Was the man grinning? He could not tell. Both corners of his mouth ended in scars that stretched up to his ears.

  “By Willick,” another declared, “then he doused you, as any proper blacksmith would.” That man’s head was almost bare, the skin over his skull shriveled like old tree bark. Only at the back of the head did hair grow, into a long braid tied at the back of his neck.

  “What now, Robin?” a third man asked. John saw that the man’s bow hand was as white as snow.

  What are these people? There was no time to figure it out. John was not deceived by the cheerful chatter. The men’s eyes all gleamed with the same hard determination. Oh, Marian. I tried to protect you.

  “Wait, friends!” their leader called back. “No one shoots without my order. But keep this bear well in check!” He stomped to the shore. He shook himself like a wet wolf in front of John. He dabbed at the wound under his reddish-blond hair and then looked at the traces of blood on his fingertips. “You’ve got a fine punch, mate. I thought my head was going to burst.”

  “I wish I had smashed my staff into your mouth earlier.”

  “Be glad you didn’t! You’d have been dead before it struck. None of my friends would’ve missed you.” The gray gaze scrutinized the prisoner. “Tell me your name.”

  “John.”

  “John what?”

  The giant swallowed and poked at the soft ground with his staff. “Little. John Little.”

  Laughter. The green man silenced his men. “Who sent you? Sir Roger of Doncaster?”

  John shook his head. Nobody. He told them he was headed north, wanted to go move along, nothing more. Oh, Marian, hold on! As long as they let me talk, they won’t shoot. Maybe I can still get us out of here.

  “Who’s your master?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You lie.”

  No. It was the truth. John told them about the village near Newstead Abbey, down in Nottingham shire, about the stag, about the raid by the Lord Sheriff’s men-at-arms. He reported the murders with faltering words.

  The green figures lowered their bows, one by one.

  “And what next, John?” the leader asked softly. “I must know everything.”

  “I took care of four of the murderers. One escaped. He fled as soon as the fight turned. And this damn sheriff believes his hired killer more than an innocent man.”

  “But I believe you.” The leader clenched his fist. “We all know of this miserable Norman scoundrel, this Thom de Fitz. But after the winter, I swear, he will know us well.” His people nodded.

  “One more thing.” The gray eyes froze to ice. “And you’d better not lie.” He came closer, his left hand slowly grasping the giant’s heavy fighting staff. John let it happen. “How did you find our valley? Why did you come from that direction? Only the initiated know the path.”

  John looked first at the leader, then at the faces of the others. What was suddenly so important? Suddenly the valley seemed to fall silent, despite the roaring waterfall, despite the rushing river. “Coincidence. Because I have good eyes, I saw the roofs of the village somewhere up there. And the path? Well, because I’m a hunter.”

  The leader let go of John’s staff and walked thoughtfully up and down in front of the giant. Finally, he turned to his men. “What do you think, friends?”

  The man with the shriveled scalp was first to respond. He took the arrow from his bowstring and lifted it in the air. The others followed suit.

  The leader laughed. All tension had disappeared from his face. “John Little,” he shouted loudly, like a herald, smoothing his wet, torn jacket. Finally, he tilted his head back, overdoing it, to look up into the giant’s face. “Before you stands Robert Loxley, called Robin Hood. And these—” his arm swung with a flourish toward the men “—are some of my brave friends. There are more, and by next spring, we will be even more.”

  “I do not understand.” John remained cautious. “Another game?”

  “By the Virgin Mary, this is no game. In short, we are all outlaws. Outlaws, convicts, hunted down, you know how quickly it happens. I know of no judge in the whole of England who protects us simple, Godfearing Saxons from those Norman high-and-mighties. When it suits them, they crush us like beetles between their fingers. Those who are lucky enough to escape flee into the woods. Where else? There is no other choice. Until now, many of them lived alone or in small groups, hunting royal game, robbing a merchant here and there, or plundering a priest. Out of necessity, out of fear, they have become vagabonds. But I want more. I want an army—a brotherhood of outlaws. No lumbering, iron-clad men! Instead, we are quick, invisible, and honed like the tip of an arrow.” Inspired by his own enthusiasm, Robin Hood ran his hand through his hair, forgetting the wound, and winced. “By the Virgin!”

  “Sorry for that . . .”

  “It’s all right, John—old William’s spearwort will heal it quickly. I want you to know one more thing: We’re not bandits. I declared us free men, and I gave us this territory as a gift. We’re free men! And we no longer bow down to greedy Normans, bow to no abbot, no earl, and no lord sheriff. We bow only to our king. And when Richard the Lionheart returns, let him judge us. But until then, by the Blessed Virgin, we shall fight for ourselves.” Robin Hood took a deep breath. After a while, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, what do you say?”

  John again poked his stick into the soft ground. No one had ever given him such a long speech before. Some of it sounded good, some he had even understood. But Marian was waiting. “You mean, I can go?”

  Robin Hood openly laughed at him. “I’m not holding you any longer. You are free.”

  “Good. Then—”

  “Stop, wait! I ask you as a free man: John Little, will you stay with us? I offer you twenty pounds a year. Enough meat. Ale and wine, all you want. Plus, free battle gear for summer and winter. And a dry roof, such as it is. If you join us, you will truly be a free man.”

  “Never been free,” muttered John.

  “Very well.” Robin Hood showed him the hunting horn. “Then follow my signal, take up our green garb, and become my friend!”

  Where else can I go? It’s better than fleeing, John supposed, better than being chased away. And Marian needs a roof for winter. Where did he expect her to go? No, little one, don’t be afraid! He had made his decision. “Fine, then. I am your man. On one condition.”

  “Whatever it may be, John Little, I give you my hand on it. It’s already d
one.”

  And the giant smiled and took his hand. The handshake was firm. The deal was struck. The outlaws rushed to the two of them. Everyone wanted to shake the hand of their new companion.

  Robin Hood sounded the horn. “To the camp!”

  “Wait!” Astonished, they all turned back to John. “Over on the other side of the river, there’s . . . something else, something I must carry with me always.” He scratched the scar in his beard and grinned. “That’s my condition.”

  Generously, Robin clapped his hands. “Go on. Go get it, and then we’ll celebrate!”

  As a sign of his trust, John left the fighting staff behind, jumped onto the tree bridge, and ran to the other side. Beyond the bend, he pushed himself into the bushes.

  Marian was crouched on the ground.

  “It took a long time, girl.” John looked at her and faltered. “What’s the matter?”

  The ground in front of her was dug into a shallow hollow. Her face was covered with earth, dirt all over her. Streaks of tears ran down her cheeks. Marian bravely shook her curls and smiled. She stretched out her dirt-covered hands to him.

  “You waited for me and hid yourself, that’s good.” John reached for the waterskin and the food sack. “Come on! These men are good people, I think. We’ll stay there if they want us. Both of us.”

  He looked hard into her eyes. “And if they don’t, that’s fine, too. We’ll just move on.”

  He crouched down on the path. “Come on, let’s go. Don’t want you to slip.” Marian climbed up over his knee and arm and sat astride the neck of the giant.

  Again John hummed his song, as he walked to the riverbank. Humming, he climbed the tree bridge and walked onward slowly.

  On the other side of the river, all laughter and talking ceased. Robin Hood and his companions crowded to the end of the bridge. Jaws dropped.

  Step by step, John approached with his ward. He stopped, still on the trunk. “Marian is her name. She must stay with me. That is my condition.” Scanning their faces, he looked from one to the other and added, “I’ll tell you right away: She is mute. Ever since the sheriff’s men killed the woman who . . .” He breathed heavily. “I am not her father. They stabbed her brother and mother. Damn it, don’t look at me like that! What is it? Yes or no?”

  Robin Hood caught himself and asked quietly, “But where is the girl going to live?”

  “With me. I’ll build her something.”

  “Nobody is sending her away. But wouldn’t it be better if she lived in the village?” Robin pointed up the hill, “In Barnsdale Top.” Some of the outlaws’ wives and children were already living there. “The village is under our protection. No one will betray us. Nothing will happen to your Marian up there.”

  John felt the girl pull his beard violently. “I believe you. But for now, she stays with me.”

  Robin Hood looked at John, looked upward to a higher power, and frowned. “I can’t see much of your little ‘condition’ underneath all that dirt.” He laughed. “I gave my promise. All right, men, to the camp! We have double reason to celebrate today.”

  As they followed the outlaws downstream through the dense brushwood, John pulled his ward’s foot. “Well, little one?” She pressed her face into his hair.

  The valley became narrower, darker. Hills moved in on both sides of the riverbank, and soon there were only smooth cliffs to the right and left of the riverbed. The water shot through them, and at the banks it surged and foamed over large boulders.

  John felt his ward tense up. “It’s all right. They know their way.”

  At the front, Robin Hood sounded the hunting horn: deep and long, high and short. Immediately another horn responded with two quick deep notes.

  The man in green jumped up to a slab protruding far above the water and disappeared around the sharp rock nose. One after another his men followed. The last one waved to their new companion, and then he was gone.

  “Another one of those tests?” John hesitated. The man who had just waved him on—with the white hand. It was still as white as before? And I thought it was because he was pulling hard on the bow . . .

  “Fine.” He had to keep up with the others. He carefully climbed up the stone slab, made sure his feet stood secure, and bent his upper body forward. Marian peered around the rocky outcrop. “Can we make it?” he asked her.

  Her body relaxed, and she spurred him on with her heels—two more steps to the farther edge. The water roared beneath him. John turned sideways as the slab narrowed and skirted the rock like a high castle battlement. Iron wedges were driven into the stone as handholds.

  Onward. A path now meandered close to the bank, between ten-foot-high boulders and directly toward a cliff face. There was no sight of the men. John followed their noises. All at once, the voices changed, echoing dully, and then they became quieter.

  There was a cave! The last of the troop was again waiting for John at the entrance, waving his pale hand briefly, grinning before diving into the darkness.

  “We’re much too big for this.” The giant let the girl down. He ducked his head and went forward. Before the darkness swallowed them completely, they made a turn, and the end of the tunnel gleamed before them like an eye.

  They stepped outside.

  Marian took his hand. John breathed in deeply. A valley spread before them. More than that—it was a garden, bordered by high cliffs, and stretching down to the riverbank. On the other side of the river, the cliff rose directly out of the water. Mighty groups of trees lined the edges of the valley all around. Under their protection, solidly built huts crouched between the trunks. To the front, all was meadow! Flowers, blue and red, dotted it all the way to the river. And in the middle of this colorful carpet rose an ancient, sprawling linden tree. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  Marian squeezed his big hand more firmly.

  The man with the white hand waved to them again and again. What was the matter? He pointed impatiently to the firepit behind the linden tree. There Robin Hood and two cooks were loudly defending the soup pot and the roast game on the spit from attack. “If you don’t hurry, they will start without us.”

  Only now did John smell the scent. His stomach clenched. In a flash, the smell became more intoxicating than the sight of the valley. Food! There was nothing more wonderful.

  And there was meat, indeed—for the giant a whole deer leg, and broth, which he scooped from the pot with a tin bowl. The fatty broth dripped into John’s bushy beard.

  Marian had long since eaten her fill, Robin Hood and the outlaws had long since stretched out in the grass, the ale jug wandered from hand to hand. The men watched their new comrade speechlessly. No one dared to interrupt him. The afternoon sun sank behind the western hill. With knife in hand, John circled the deer carcass. He scraped every last bit of meat from the bones. Finally, he patted his belly soundly, and a loud belch answered.

  “Hey, John Little!” Robin Hood sat up. “Now I know why you would have to be a good hunter.” It took a moment for everyone to catch his meaning; then, they laughed and slapped each other on the shoulders.

  Even John understood. “Fine, then.” His gaze found Marian. She sat upright, a bit away from the men. Gray dirt stuck to her cheeks. She stared at the sky above the cliffs.

  “I need a place for the night,” John told the men. “For us.”

  Without hesitation, each of the freemen offered their own lodgings. No, no one was to vacate their hut, Robin Hood decreed. “We have room enough.” The guards who were assigned for the night or the day would be away from their huts anyway. They were positioned in Barnsdale Top, and up at the post by the stables and the caves, and one each on the rock walls to guard the three paths down to the main camp. “Until you have built your own, you and the girl can use one of the huts that are currently vacant.”

  “Thank you,” said John.

  The man with the scars up to his ears led John and Marian over to the trees. He stopped in front of one of the shelters and lifted the crossbeam from
the door. “In there. The boy won’t come back until morning.”

  John could not tell if it was really a smile, but he grinned himself. “Thank you. Go on back.”

  A block of wood, a straw bed upon it, and a blanket of sheepskin—what riches! “We haven’t had anything like this for a long time. Lie down, little one!” Marian obeyed and moved close to the wall. Carefully John pulled the sheepskin up to her chin. Suddenly her fingers clawed into his sleeve.

  “Don’t worry! I won’t be far.”

  She held him tight. Her eyes were glistening wet.

  “Understand, girl! It will be all right now. I’m just a little thirsty.” She reluctantly let him go. He straightened up. He could only stand hunched over in the little hut. At the door, he looked back into the semidarkness. “I’ll take care of you. I promise. I’ll never leave you.”

  And John drank. Only after he was handed the overflowing pitcher to empty for a second time did he pass it on, after a deep draught. The past days and nights fell off his shoulders. But neither the ale nor the stories of his new friends could banish all of the pain and misery from his chest. But it became easier. As the logs collapsed into embers, John spoke about Sherwood’s foresters and how he and Marian had escaped them. “And then, I took one of the rabbits with me.”

  Robin Hood interrupted. In excitement, he cried, “John Little! What kind of a name is that?”

  The laughter around them quieted.

  The giant wiped his sleeve over his mouth. “Don’t, Robin! Don’t start. I like—”

  “Calm yourself!” The leader of the band smiled slightly, adjusting the dagger in his belt. “No, no truly, I don’t think I like your name.”

  The anger in John drove away the ale haze. He growled low.

  Robin seemed not to notice. “Friends. I think it’s time to rename the giant. So that he truly belongs to us. What name comes to mind?”

  The two men next to John stealthily moved out of reach of the giant’s mighty arms. Only then did they nod their heads in agreement and laugh expectantly like the others.