John was determined.
The two friends trudged across the pastures in the rain, between wet grain fields. “What is it?” Robin was getting impatient.
“You once told me to tell you when something seems wrong. Lest you make a mistake.”
Robin grinned uneasily. “So, come on then, tell me!”
Wordlessly, John handed him the halves of the broken bow wood. Robin looked at them. Abruptly his face changed. “Notched. With a knife.”
“Do you remember who brought us the weapons that night?” Robin struck the pieces of wood against each other; he was silent.
John watched him out of the corner of his eye. So, you do know. He prepared each of his next sentences carefully, wanting to go lightly on his friend. “I just want to tell you how it was.”
Robin grabbed him by the arm. “Do you? Why should my cousin, of all people . . . Oh, come now, that’s no evidence. You’ve had something against Scarlet ever since we met him.”
John didn’t answer.
Robin took a deep breath. Struggling to control himself, he asked, “And what was his plan? What if I hadn’t sent him ahead that day myself? What then? Do you think my cousin would have stood by calmly while that monster stabbed me? No, never. He would have fought! By my side!”
“Then it was a coincidence,” John said. “All of it coincidence. Even that Guy of Gisborne knew full well we’d split up in the valley.”
“Because he’d been following us.”
“You know this forest, and so do I. Were we asleep all the way through, then? Why didn’t we spot him?”
To this, Robin had nothing to say.
“And what about the net? The iron soldiers were waiting right where I would come back. Only there. Not on the other paths.”
Robin stopped, pulled back his hood, held his bare face up to the rain.
Quickly, John counted off: Who had told the sheriff where the camp was? Who had fed Friar Tuck’s dogs the night before? They had not barked a warning, because they had been still soundly slumbering when the iron soldiers speared them through. Who had been drinking wine with the pious gentleman and the mercenaries by the road? There was only one answer: Will Scarlet!
“Never!” cried Robin. “He’s my flesh and blood. Can’t you get that through your skull! A family stands together, faithfully.”
John wanted to wrap his arm around his friend. But he didn’t. He simply said, “It’s all right, Robin. It’s all right. Even in a family, sometimes wicked deeds are done. Such things do happen.”
Robin hurled the bow into the field. He laughed bitterly, breaking off abruptly. Somberly, he looked up at the giant. “If that’s the way of it, Little John, and I’m so wrong, then I’m not worthy of any of this.” He held out his hand to him. “You are the leader of our brotherhood from now on. Go on! Take my hand on it! You know everything, better than I! You’re a smart giant after all!”
John turned away.
Behind him, Robin hissed, “Well, well, going off with his tail between his legs? What’s the matter? Don’t have the nerve to take on my job? Is your courage deserting you?” Robin laughed. “Nice. Ah, Little John: you’ll never learn to play the game. All right, then: I stay what I am, and you stay you, just another one of my men.”
“Why are you talking like that?” John’s shoulders shook. “I-I thought you were . . . my friend.”
Harshly, Robin replied, “You know, to a man in my position, friendship means something different.”
“What are you saying?” John clenched both fists over his chest. “We’re not friends?”
Robin’s face fell, and he ran at once to him. “No—I don’t mean . . . I’m your friend, and I have none better in you. But—but I also must be a leader to them all, that’s what I mean.” He laid his hands over John’s large fists, and looked up at him.
The warmth between them returned. “It’s just as well,” John sighed. “If I had to take over, it’d be bad for everyone.”
As they walked back, they decided: not a word to Will Scarlet for now. But they would remain vigilant. Robin wanted one more clear proof of it. “Then I’ll see. Maybe we’ll just send him away. To London, maybe. Somewhere he can’t hurt us.”
John nodded. “Fine.” If Scarlet knows all about us, then he can do harm no matter where he goes. But I won’t say that until the time comes.
Poor petty traders in gray cloaks, their heads covered with squared-off yellow caps, Robin Hood and Little John strode toward the merchant’s caravan. They used their staffs as walking sticks. The giant carried a sack over his shoulder.
“Out of the way!” warned the riders at the front. “Come on, get a move on!”
The two men stopped in the middle of the road. Politely, Robin offered a greeting, “Shalom, gentlemen. Me and him here, we ask to wish the grand merchant a good day.”
“Who’s asking?” snorted one of the four mercenaries.
“Samson and Goliath from Worksop.”
“Does our lord know you?”
Robin put his hand to his chest, indignantly. “We’re his nephews! His brother’s sister has another sister, and she married my mother’s sister’s father. I’m Uncle Solomon’s little nephew. This is his big nephew. Uncle Solomon’s sister’s brother married the sister of—”
“Stop it. Just shut up!” The mercenary waved him off. The first covered cart had almost reached them. He quickly consulted with his comrades. “What do you think? It’ll be fine. These Jews have such huge tangled families.” The others nodded indifferently. “All right, then,” the mercenary told Robin. “But make way first. Our oxen must not stop.”
John and Robin obeyed.
“What were your names?”
“Samson and Goliath.”
They were told to wait. The mercenary rode back, informed the guards on the flank, and spoke to the driver of the second team of oxen.
The canvas flaps were folded aside. As soon as the old merchant saw the two men at the roadside, his face beamed. “What a surprise!” Hastily, he sent the rider forward again. Like a beneficent uncle, he spread his arms. “Shalom, my nephews. Come up—what a joy!”
Solomon leaned back in his chair, his goods piled up behind him. Robin and John sat on the floor in front of him. Sweet wine was shared in greeting. But the joy of reunion quickly gave way. Gravely, Solomon plucked at his gray beard. “In these months, England is coming apart at the seams.”
Robin straightened his back. “But the sheriff is no more . . .”
“Hush. I don’t want to know the details.” The dark eyes looked soberly from one to the other. “Yes, vain Thom de Fitz disappeared with a whole troop of men. Nobody knew what he was up to that morning. They’ve been looking for him all over Sherwood. To no avail. It seems as if the earth swallowed him up. But who benefits?”
“All of us, I say.” John frowned. “I mean, all the poor people in the shire. With that scoundrel gone, it stands to reason—”
“Don’t be a fool, my good Goliath. Within a month at the most, Prince John will appoint a new lord sheriff. Nothing will get better. Nothing will change but the name.”
The giant stared blankly. “Then, it will never end, this fight?”
“Enough of this.” Robin clapped loudly. “Since when are you so gloomy? Last time we met, you said your people never give up hope. That it was the secret of your strength. That’s how we live in the Brotherhood, too. We hope. That’s why we fight.” He took the small wooden box out of his sack and opened the lid. “This is what we want to sell you. And when our king returns from the Holy Land—”
“Richard the Lionheart was captured.”
Robin’s face stiffened. John set his cup down. The merchant continued grimly. “Until the ransom is paid, Richard the Lionheart remains a prisoner of the Emperor. A hundred thousand pounds in silver! Who knows whether the Queen Mother will ever be able to raise the ransom?”
No word had yet reached the Brotherhood of this misfortune. They listened silently to Sol
omon. New taxes, levies. Courtiers and noblemen, artisans and bishops, Norman, Saxon, Christian and Jew, everyone in the country had to give up some of his property.
“But then the sum should soon be raised,” Robin interrupted excitedly.
“You forget the king’s brother.” The old man lowered his voice. “I have it on good authority that Prince John is playing an insidious game. He is collecting the levies in his shire’s monasteries and castles with the king’s forged seal. The levies never reach London. John robs and hoards jewelry and coins with his allies. One of these scoundrels is Sir Roger of Doncaster. Heavens lament. How could it be otherwise? No, my friends. I fear it will be a long time before Queen Eleanor can buy Richard back from the Emperor.”
Robin ran his finger over the rim of his cup. All at once, his countenance brightened. “At last, I can do something for my king.” He grabbed John’s arm. “Well, what do you say?”
“What, now? Without our people? We can’t just go to Doncaster . . .”
“We’ll talk about the details later,” Robin cut him off. He laughed and pointed at the twinkling and glittering contents of the small box. “I mean this.” He set the wealth before the merchant’s velvet boots.
“I see.” John had caught on. “I like it.”
“I don’t mean to be rude.” Solomon raised his hands slightly. “But I’m too tired to solve riddles. If it’s a business matter, let me know.”
“We’re not selling.” The leader looked frankly into the old man’s eyes. “Take the box into your possession. As soon as you return to London, could you take it to the queen? Say this is the share Robin Hood and his Brotherhood will contribute to the ransom.” He paused, corrected himself. “No. Not my name. Just say King Richard’s most loyal followers gave it.”
Solomon breathed heavily. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “You trust such a fortune to an old moneylender, a Jew, no less? Without surety?”
Quietly, Robin said, “When I see a man’s eyes, I know him. And I am never—” Sensing John’s gaze, he hesitated and then added, “I am seldom mistaken.”
Solomon poured a parting drink. “I usually only trust my head.” He smiled. “From you, in my old age, I may yet to learn to trust the heart as well. Shalom, my friends!”
Scarlet was immediately enthusiastic. “Yes, we will gut Sir Roger like a goose. I’ve waited a long time for this. And I know how we can get into the castle secretly, too. I know of two underground passages. They are unguarded. And if you want—” he jumped up, squared his shoulders, and clapped his hands like Robin “—we’ll not only take that bastard’s money. No, we’ll rob him of his greatest treasure.” With relish, he stretched out the pause. “We’ll free the roi de neige!”
John, Much, and Threefinger stared at Robin’s cousin in silence.
“Slowly. Slowly.” Robin tamped down the young man’s enthusiasm, giving a sober assessment of the situation. “There are but five of us. Sir Roger has well-trained men. More than enough to nail us to a beam three times over.”
“What else do you have me for?” Scarlet squatted down close to Robin. “Send me out first thing in the morning. And tomorrow night, I’ll bring you the plan: Where they hid the ransom. When the guards will change.”
John grumbled, “I thought you weren’t allowed to show your face in the castle anymore?”
“Don’t need to, giant,” Scarlet scoffed. “I know a fellow in Doncaster. He always has free entry to the castle.”
“And who is that?”
“The blacksmith. He supplies all the weapons. Sir Roger trusts him, but in reality, the blacksmith is his enemy.” He looked frankly at Robin. “I’ll bring you the plan, and then we’ll strike.”
John propped his forehead on his fist. The blacksmith? That scoundrel. I asked him for work that day. He didn’t want Marian there. “Sell her to a beggar!” John could still hear the greasy voice. No, that blacksmith was loyal to the Baron.
“Nice, cousin.” Robin seemed to agree with Will. Lightly, he nudged his foot against John’s boot. “Hey, are you asleep?”
“What?” The giant looked up. “No. Just tired.”
“Well, what do you say?”
“It’s all right. If it works, it’s good.”
For a long time, John stood outside the barn. The weather had cleared. Misty vapors rose from the wet meadows. Silently, Robin stepped up to his friend’s side. When he noticed him, John murmured, “Think I’ll go hunting with Much tomorrow—heading north. Pheasant or duck. Got an appetite for it.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No.”
Robin was silent. Then he said, “Good.”
They stood together in silence. Above them, little by little, the stars rose.
“Here.” Robin swung a small string of pearls between his fingers. “For our little condition.” He smiled. “I’m sure King Richard would approve.”
Mushrooms and grains, boiled with water, early in the morning. Robin Hood sat alone with a bowl and his cousin by the fire. They spooned their porridge in silence. Their companions still lay quietly in the back of the barn, their cloaks pulled over their faces.
John was not asleep. He had spent half the night brooding, then finally dozed off, but Scarlet’s first movement had awakened him again. Since then, he’d been lying there, watching the two cousins through half-closed eyelids. Scarlet munched unconcernedly, eating his fill. Robin took little, poked about in the pot with his spoon. Oh, my friend. I wish I had been wrong!
Scarlet jumped up, bouncing on his feet. He squared his shoulders and threw on his blue cloak with a flourish. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“Think it over, Will!” It was an offer, almost a plea. “You’re riding right into Satan’s lair. If it’s too dangerous, just say so! No one will hold it against you.”
“Oh, come, cousin. I can handle this easily.” Scarlet waved off the plea. “And in any case, I’m sure I won’t even need to go into Doncaster myself. I’ll send some boy to the blacksmith with a message: Gamwell is waiting at the mill.”
“Mill?” asked Robin harshly. “Where our Much comes from? Do you mean that one?”
“Yes, the one in the south. It’s the best meeting place. It’s been standing idle since the miller and his people died.” Will embraced his cousin, not noticing that Robin did not hug him back. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll learn everything I need to know from the blacksmith.” He mounted his horse. “A fat haul it will be.” He clicked the horse into a short trot, then spurred it to a gallop.
John stepped out of the barn. “Fat haul?” he growled. “The only question is for whom.”
Both of them looked after the rider.
“He’s lying.” Robin rubbed his knuckles against his teeth.
“That’s right.”
At the far side of the meadow, the blue cloak disappeared into the brush.
“No, John. Not about what you told me yesterday. I still want proof of that. But now, just now.” Anger flashed in his gray eyes. “He brazenly lied to me. Who does he think I am? The mill! He gave himself away with that. It belongs to the baron. He needs it for flour. Why would it stand idle?”
Little John said quietly, “It’s time for the hunt.”
Staff. Daggers. A short bow. Arrows full in the quiver. When Much and the giant had laced their light sandal straps, Robin once again called his friend aside. “Just remember, Will is my cousin. Maybe he is telling the truth after all.”
“We’ll know tonight,” John replied, nothing more.
They ran cross-country, jumping streams, avoiding any homesteads. A good five miles lay behind them. “Hey, Much!” Only now did John enlighten the boy. There was to be no hunting for pheasants that day. The hunting ground was the mill. The prey was Scarlet.
“And what . . . what if we see . . .?”
“Then nothing, lad. What we see, we report to Robin.”
They ran northward at a brisker speed, and Much was always a good th
ree paces ahead. Sometimes he would smirk over his shoulder. “Should I slow down?”
“Save your breath, lad!” Sweat shone on John’s forehead. John still felt the sheriff’s hard blows. On his ribs, in his stomach.
By late morning they reached the creek above the mill valley, waded through the ford, and rested among the birch trees. “No matter what we see, you stay by my side,” John cautioned the boy. “That’s not your home anymore over there.”
Much swallowed. “I . . . But my mother and father are lying . . .”
“No, boy!” The giant continued sternly: “Another miller is living in the house now. And the grave is probably no more. Do you understand me?”
The boy’s chin quivered; only after a long while did Much nod.
“It’s all right, son.” John firmly planted his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Now go on ahead. You know your way around this place better than anyone.”
They took advantage of the shelter of the riverbank willows. Along the edge of the narrow depression, they made their way upward, close to the buildings. There they stayed in the bushes.
The water rushed through the millrace. The wheel turned evenly. The sound of heavy stones scraping came from the millhouse.
“Robin was right.” John nodded grimly. Though Scarlet was nowhere to be seen, his horse stood in the shadow of the house. They waited. Now and then a farmhand shuffled to the barn, returned with a sack over his shoulder, and hauled it into the millhouse. The sun was rising. It was getting hot.
Hoofbeats approached from the direction of Doncaster. John carefully parted the hazel branches. Two riders. Their faces could not yet be made out. Yet he recognized one by his leather apron, the other by his plume of feathers, his dark velvet tunic, and his billowing dark cloak.
“Thought so,” he growled. “The devil comes himself. And his blacksmith brings him here.”
The riders had barely reached the courtyard when Scarlet, followed by the miller, emerged from the house. It was impossible to make out any words. Much and John only saw Will bow politely.
With a wave of his hand, Sir Roger dismissed the blacksmith. At once, the fellow turned his horse and trotted back. The baron tossed the miller a purse. The man bowed low and continued to bow until he had disappeared backward into the house.
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