Robin stepped into the light of the lamp, the brown hood low over his forehead. He nodded briefly to his companion from Blidworth. His gaze fastened on the newcomers. Took in their faces. Eyes. Hands. Clothes. Two quiet men, unarmed, waiting. Only the third, a young, muscular man, returned the leader’s gaze, demanding. He struck a flat hand against the sword at his side. “I thought you might need a little help. What is this place, anyway?”
Robin was silent.
“Aren’t you Robin Hood? Huh?”
“Perhaps.” A smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. He turned to his comrade. “You’re late getting back, Vincent. Why so?”
The harvest had been poor the previous year. And the lord sheriff’s men-at-arms had plundered the village three times. Hunger was rampant in Blidworth. There was only enough food for his sister and her child. That was why his brother-in-law and brother had come back with him. “I’d give my right hand for them.” Vincent pointed to the impatient fellow. “We met this one on the way. He says he was with the Nottingham City Watch. But the sheriff chased him away. He is strong and has no fear. So, that’s why so.”
The fellow reached out his hand to Robin. “I am Charles. Think I’ll be the best man you have.”
Robin ignored the hand. “Slow down.” He gestured at Vincent to come with him. At the door, he murmured, “Well, Vincent, from which direction did you come?”
“Nobody knows where we are. I took a turn, then I came back this way from the west. That’s why I’m so late.” He looked at his leader plainly. “And another thing. Charles has money . . . but he won’t say where from.”
“Vincent, what did you tell him?”
“Not anything. Because you told me not to. I didn’t even tell my family.”
A hard, searching look held Vincent’s eyes. After a moment: “Good.” Robin trusted him. “You go down to the camp. Tell Tom we’ll postpone training. Not until noon tomorrow, then all are to come up to the base. I don’t want to see anyone there before then.” Without a word, Vincent Blidworth left the tavern.
“Well, what do you say, John?” Robin crossed his arms.
“The brother and the brother-in-law are fine by me. The young fellow? I don’t know. He’s wild tempered. I’d guess he can fight. On the outside, he looks all right. But . . . I don’t know.”
“All right, John. I feel the same. That’s why we’re going to spend the night with these three here at the cobbler’s. And tomorrow we’re going to have a real thorough go at them.” Robin grew serious. He squeezed his friend’s arm. “You’ve learned quickly, John. That’s what I need. You know: if you don’t use your head, your eyes stay blind.”
By dawn, Robin and John had left with the new men. They had first equipped the three of them with protection for their hands, and bows, and arrows. “There’s a clearing in the forest. That’s our camp.” The strangers were not allowed to know more. Only after careful consideration was Robin going to initiate them. They were led to the training area by a detour, without passing the hideout’s stables and huts.
The lad, Charles, saw the two makeshift sheds and slapped his forehead. “That’s all?” The other two men also looked confusedly across the flat terrain. Clearly nobody had been there for a long time. Animal tracks ran crisscross on a thin, hardened blanket of snow. In the center, facing north, stood a wooden wall, thickly padded with straw. Nothing more. Ravens fluttered up sluggishly from the shed roofs and withdrew into the treetops at the edge of the wide field. “Thought there was more going on at your hideout,” moaned Charles.
“What do you mean?” Astonished, the leader raised his brows. His eyes remained cold.
“Oh, well, I thought—an army. Armory. Horses. And women and stuff. Just all the things you hear about.”
“Things you hear about.” Robin Hood waved it off and sighed a heavy sigh. “No, my friend. So far, we are little more than a handful. But they are brave, bold men.”
“What’s the use?” Charles struck his forehead again. “And to think you are feared by all. Especially the sheriff . . .”
“Stop whining, lad!” mumbled John.
The lad spun around. “What did you call me? I could knock any of you in the—”
“Enough.” Robin cut him off sharply. “In a moment, you’ll be able to prove everything you want.” To cool the lad’s temper, he asked Charles to get the target cloth from the shed and fasten it to the wooden wall.
“How about you?” Robin looked at the other two. “Can you handle a bow?”
Yes, they had shot before, as anyone would have, but not enough even to be good at hunting, they confessed openly. They preferred to set traps—much easier.
Robin nodded agreeably. “Don’t be ashamed. Archery is an art. You will learn it from me.”
Charles returned at a light trot. “Learn?” he mocked, bending and stretching his legs, loosely waving his arms, and testing the bow. “No need.” He pointed to the target cloth a good seventy paces away—three white rings and the small black center dot. “I think I’ll go ahead and earn a few coins now. I’ll bet three pennies against each of you. Well, how about it?”
Robin swayed in shock. “That much money?” He looked to Little John as if for advice. Twice he winked at him.
At last, the giant understood. Game time. That braggart deserved no better. With an embarrassed tone, John scratched his beard. “That is really a lot. It’s too much for me.”
“What are you, cowards?” exclaimed Charles. “I thought I was with Robin Hood!”
Robin took Charles aside. “Later, you can shoot against us. I’ll convince the giant. But first, I’ll practice with these two from Blidworth. Meanwhile, you show this meat pie what you can do with a sword.”
Battle lust flashed in the young man’s eyes. He confidentially nudged his elbow into Robin’s side. “But, the fool has no sword.”
“Nor should he. What are you thinking? A blade is too sharp. He might get hurt. That’s why he has the stick.” With great seriousness, Robin put his hands together in supplication. “I beg of you, let this be only a game. Attack him hard, but do not hurt him.”
Charles couldn’t hold back any longer. He drew his sword. “Hey, big guy, come on! Between the sheds where the sun won’t blind you. And where you won’t be able to run away from me.”
John growled and lumbered after the boy like a bear.
“By St. Cedric,” sighed Robin. When he saw the uncomprehending faces of the two men from Blidworth, he laughed. “Do not worry. It is really only a game. Come, let us begin.”
They slipped the leather guards over the fingers of their right hands. First, they learned the correct posture. No, not square on, they were to keep their body sideways to the target, legs slightly spread, and feet firmly flat on the ground. “Very good,” praised their teacher. Clasp the bow with the left hand, not in the middle, a little below. Place the arrow with the notch on the string. “Turn it! The fletching must not touch the bow when the arrow is fired. Otherwise, the arrow will spin away. Yes. Very good.” No reproach—Robin encouraged the clumsy men, guiding them painstakingly and with praise until they made their first shots.
Now and then, he stopped and listened over to the sheds. Iron and wood clashed, mixed in with gasps and angry shouts from the lad. Robin smiled. “Let us continue. Look closely here!” Robin took one of the short bows himself, nocked the arrow, straightened the weapon vertically, lifted it, and pulled back his arm. Slowly, his right hand drew back the sinew. “But not all the way to your ear, you understand? This is not a longbow.” Effortlessly he pulled the string until it touched his nose, lips, and chin at the same time. He did not shoot. Gently and slowly, he released the tension of the bow. “That’s how it works.”
The trainees made an effort. What seemed so easy for Robin Hood took all their strength. “Not so fast. Speed comes naturally with practice. With your eye, align the shadow of the string precisely with the point and the target. And now!” The arrows whizzed out. They flew high above t
he wall. “Not bad,” Robin cheered the shooters on. “Once more. Lower!” Only on the fourth shot did the arrows hit the straw. “And now try to hit the cloth. Think about the center! Only the black circle, nothing else.”
The men had beads of sweat on their foreheads. They pulled back their bow arms, they drew the bowstring.
A scream! A painful roar from between the sheds!
In shock, the men from Blidworth let the arrows fly. None hit the target. They didn’t even hit the straw. Despondent, the men lowered their bows. “You will learn, in time, from me.” Robin laughed. “Just wait and see! Soon nothing will distract you from the shot.”
Another scream! Even more shrill! Like a discarded doll, Charles flew into view from between the sheds and crashed backward into the snow. John clomped after him calmly, using the fighting club like a walking stick. “I didn’t hurt him,” he reassured Robin and the men. “I was just getting bored.”
Charles pulled himself up. “He’s a monster!” He spat in the snow. “But if I hadn’t lost hold of my sword—”
“I’d have broken it for you, boy.” John had a big grin.
The taunt stung. Charles limped to the men. “I’ll show you.” He reached for his short bow and shook it menacingly. “With this. With this, I am the best in our city guard. And better than any of you. Now it won’t be for just three pennies. I want five pennies.”
A quick glance between the leader and his lieutenant was enough. Wordlessly Robin took the cap off one of his trainees’ heads and held it out to Charles. “I find the wager unfair. But I keep my word. Place your stake.”
Charles threw five coins into the cap. “I’ll take everything you have off your hands. Five is just the beginning.”
Robin sighed deeply and counted his pennies. John frowned, ever so sadly. He picked one coin after another out of his pouch. “A good man should not compete with a bad one. That’s what I think.”
Charles looked like he already felt like a winner. Without waiting, he set the rules. Robin let him. Only one shot each. The best one was to receive the full prize money. The choice of bows? The lad patted the wood of the short bow. “I think this one will do.” Patronizingly, he allowed his opponents to use their larger weapons. “You begin!”
Robin fired. His arrow struck the white of the outer ring. The boy laughed. “That’s very poor. That’s too bad. Too bad.”
“Why did you . . . ?” the giant blurted out. At a warning look, he fell silent.
Robin whistled happily and tapped his nose with two fingers.
Don’t worry, Robin, I’ll play along. Cumbersomely, John pulled back the arrow, took aim. His shot landed in the second ring. “That’s fine.” He sighed. To hit the second ring exactly was an art too.
“You’re not bad.” Charles let loose his bow. His arrow whizzed off and hit the edge of the black dot. “But not better than me.” He snapped up the cap and emptied the silver into his coin purse.
“I want my money back.” Robin knit his brows.
“Sure. Gladly.” The lad jeered and capered happily around the losers. “But now . . .” He stopped. “Now the shot costs fifteen pennies.”
Robin groaned loudly. John moaned, “That’s everything I have.”
“What is it? Yes or no.” Charles made the coins tinkle. Reluctantly, his companions agreed. The boy won the prize, again.
“It’s not fair,” cried John.
“Hah, we shoot better than you!” In his triumph, he did not notice the quick glance between the two outlaw friends. “For thirty coins, you may try again.”
The men from Blidworth flinched. “I didn’t earn that much all summer,” whispered one.
Some ravens landed on the roof of the nearest shed. They flapped their wings and watched the men with interest.
“All right.” Agitatedly, Robin pulled a well-filled pouch from his belt. “I need to know what will happen. Here are ten pounds. I’ll bet you ten pounds, for my friend and me.”
The poor peasants pressed their hand against their chests. Filled with greed, the lad felt the bulging contents of the pouch. “Ten pounds,” he tasted the sum on his tongue. But then he lowered his hand. “But I only have four pounds.”
“That’s enough for me. When do we ever get to compete against such a marksman?” cried Robin as if in a fever of competitiveness. “Well, then, our ten pounds against everything you own.”
“If that’s how you want it.” Charles chuckled, flattered. “By St. Swibert. It’s a deal.” Quickly, he emptied his pouch into the cap. Robin put set his pouch on top.
“I think I’ll go first this time.” The lad chose his arrow, fired, and hit the edge of the black center spot again. “Yield! Then you won’t have to bother shooting.”
He bent to pick up the silver. John looked at Robin, who gave him a quick thumbs-up. Finally! With the tip of his arrow, the giant tapped the young man’s behind. “Wait a minute, little fellow!”
“Don’t call me that,” yelled the lad.
“Fine, then.” John waited patiently for Charles to stand up. Then John calmly raised his longbow and pulled the feathered shaft back to his right ear. The string whistled. An instant later, the bright feathers shone from the center of the black dot. “Not too bad. What do you think?” With difficulty, the giant tried to suppress a grin.
The boy stood frozen.
Robin reached into the quiver. Draw, aim, a single gliding movement, the shot! The arrow bore itself into the eye of the target right next to his lieutenant’s arrow’s feathers. “Not bad either,” John remarked.
Charles slapped both hands against his forehead. “Luck. That was nothing but luck.”
“That luck cost you everything you own.” Ice hardened in Robin’s voice. “And maybe your neck, too.”
Charles did not listen. Angrily, he puffed himself up in front of the freemen. “That wasn’t fair. Your weapons are better. I want to redo my shot. But with a good bow. Give me one of yours.”
“That’s all right, lad,” John replied with threatening calm. “I’ll let you shoot with mine . . . but only if you can draw it all the way.”
“Give it to me!”
The bow stood a good three inches taller than the lad’s head. He pulled, pulled again, tugged at the string. He didn’t have the strength. The arrow was barely drawn back. Charles could not even bend his right arm.
“Let me show you.” John took the bow from his hand. Without effort, he stretched the hemp-twisted string up to his ear and slowly guided it back again. “This is not a toy. Do you understand?”
“I can shoot! Better than anyone.” Charles did not give up. He had already raised his light bow again. He swung it toward the sheds and fired. The arrow went through a raven. The other birds fled, screaming in rage. The raven fell lifeless from the roof. “Try that!” Charles’ laugh sounded like bleating.
When he saw the faces of the freemen, he fell silent.
“Are you hungry?” John stretched and rolled his shoulders.
“Why?”
“Around here, we only shoot an animal when we’re hungry.” The giant hand reached out and grabbed him by the neck. John lifted the lad off his feet. Charles fidgeted, struggled against the grip. It was no use. Wordlessly the giant dragged him over to the shed and pushed him into the snow in front of the raven. “Pluck him!”
“You can’t ask that of me.”
Robin Hood placed himself wide-legged next to his lieutenant, sword in his hand. “Do as he says, or I’ll chop off your head!”
Black feathers scattered. Soon the naked bird lay before the kneeling lad.
“Good.” Robin sheathed his sword. “And now, boy, tell the truth! You have already given yourself away twice, so no lies! Who sent you?”
“Nobody.”
With his foot, John pushed the plucked raven closer to Charles’s knees. “Eat it!”
Charles shook his head. “Nobody.” Crying, he raised his hands. “By St. Swibert. I beg you, believe me!”
“Eat
it!”
“No. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you. Yes, the lord sheriff sent me. He sent me to look around your hideout.” The words bubbled up. He was a sergeant of the City Watch of Nottingham. The money he carried was the first half of his pay. The second half he was to receive on his return.
“I want to know one more thing.” Robin pulled back his hood. His red-blond hair shone in the sunlight. “What does the Sheriff intend to do with Robin Hood if he gets hold of him?”
Charles faltered. “Please don’t. Please let me live!”
“Answer me!”
“A trial in front of all the townspeople. And then the gallows. You are to hang until . . .” Charles faltered again and stared at the corpse of the bird in front of him. He choked. Finally, he blurted out: “Until the ravens eat you.”
Robin took John aside. “That’s no mere little louse, my friend. By the Virgin! A full-grown spy almost planted himself in our midst.” He clenched his fist. “The penalty has to be death.”
“What did he see? Our faces. Nothing more.” John scratched the scar in the thicket of his beard. “He knows nothing of the camp. He doesn’t even know where he is. So why . . . ?”
Robin stared steadfastly at the target wall, chin up, jaw muscles clenched. “I make the rules. Never forget that, my friend.” All of a sudden, his face softened. He nodded. “But you’re right. We do not kill defenseless people. Right. Take him away. Quickly. He cannot harm us.”
Charles was made to strip down to his boots and undergarments. He was allowed to put his belt back on. John stuffed the plucked raven into the collar of the trembling man’s undertunic. “So you won’t starve.”
The giant shoved him across the wide field. At the forest line, he urged him to hurry: “And now run. So you won’t freeze.”
Noon was long gone by the time John returned. He had chased the spy halfway across the forest. Charles was never allowed to turn around, never allowed to rest, no matter how much his sore legs hurt him. Moaning, he had had to hobble in front of the giant. Near the trade route, John had quietly fallen behind and had waited until the boy disappeared between the trees.
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