Breathless silence.
“Yes.” There was a glint of light in the dark blue eyes. “I’ll take on that honor. No question about it. I’ll fight, even if I have to do it alone.”
“There are two of us already.” Determined, Malcolm brushed back his black hair.
“I . . .” Marian hesitated, then said, “You will win this! I know it.” Her hand bumped against her cup. The wine spilled across the table. Marian laughed. And it was like a spark. The old brotherhood slapped each other’s shoulders, joined in the laughter; they drummed their fists on the table.
“All right, now, enough!” The noise broke off. Coolly, Sir Robert took the measure of the brawny young man. “One more thing, young Robin Hood. You claim to have shot Malcolm off the rope as you turned? Are you really that good?”
“The best.”
“Even with the longbow?”
“Of course.” A confident smile.
“Don’t stuff your mouth too full, boy!” John huffed; he’d caught on to Robin’s game. “Tomorrow at the archery range, you’ll go up against us oldsters.” He grinned broadly. “Bring pennies to lose.”
“And get them from where?” For just a moment, Roderick hesitated, then he lifted his chin. “I won’t need any money.”
They rose early, while the others still asleep. John brought a saddled horse. But his ailing friend refused. “No, John. By the good Virgin, not today. I can walk that short distance on my own feet.” He clasped his hands. “I’ll manage. We should set out right away. We’ll be the first ones there.”
Immediately after the morning meal, the other old former outlaws set out with the young new outlaws. Roderick carried a longbow. His gait was light. He had tamed his golden mane with a headband.
Marian gazed after him.
“Why are you dawdling about?” Beth saw Marian’s expression, which made her admonish the girl all the more sternly. “Come along, princess! Otherwise, we’ll never finish the altar cloth.”
Friar Tuck unlocked the narrow door into the chapel. Marian could contain herself no longer. “I have to . . . oh, please, Beth.” Her eyes pleaded. “Can’t you go on working alone today?” Hastily she tried to explain, “I have to be there when they shoot, don’t I?”
“You have to?”
Marian nodded.
After a moment the nursemaid smiled. “You have it that bad?” The blood rushed to Marian’s cheeks. “Oh, princess.” Beth squeezed her hand. “Run along, then. You won’t be late.”
Marian ran, stopped, returned. Breathless, she asked for some coins. “Only a loan! But at least a shilling. Please!”
Friar Tuck was able to help out.
“Thank you, father!”
“Why do you want it, princess?”
“Because he doesn’t have any!” Already she was on her way out again. She called back over her shoulder, “But we won’t need it. I know that.”
Just in time, Marian reached the wide training area from the secret path outside the palisades.
The archers had taken their positions. A good hundred paces from them, Much pinned a target cloth to the straw-padded wall.
“What are you doing here, little girl?” John’s voice sounded gruff. The tension was plain in him, as well as the other men.
“I’ve come to see who’s the best.” Marian shrugged. “Why else?”
With a stick, Toad parted a straight furrow through the grass. He was in charge of the morning’s shooting contest. He collected five pennies each from John and Sir Robert then insistently he held out his hand to young Robin Hood. “The stake must be paid first.” He stretched out his little joke. “Or else, wee lad, you lose.”
“I can’t,” the blond man hissed. “You know I can’t.” He glared angrily at his opponents. “And so do all of you.”
“I’m covering the bet!” Marian announced, brightly and decisively.
Heads wheeled around. “For me?” asked Roderick, dumbfounded, face softening for a moment, smiling. “Just like that?”
“No.” Their eyes, Marian approached him. “Just because I want to. Just because.” Before she could hand Roderick her the silver pennies, John was at her elbow.
“It’s all right, boy,” John assured him. “You can pay the stakes later.” Gently but firmly, he steered the young woman away. “Little one, get back there with Malcolm and Threefinger.”
“Don’t tell me what to—” Marian caught herself. “Oh, right! Yes!”
She waved at Roderick and obeyed. “Thank you!” exclaimed Roderick after her.
Sir Robert had watched the scene intently. The corners of his mouth twitched.
“What?” the giant growled.
“Wait and see, my friend. Wait and see!”
Tom Toad ordered the archers to take their positions. They stretched their arm and back muscles, slipped a leather guard over their right hands. Then they stepped up to the line Tom had marked, standing sideways to the target, legs slightly spread.
Speed and marksmanship were required for the first pass. Each of the five white target circles had to be hit. Toad divided the target cloth: Sir Robert was to work his way down from the top, outer ring to inner, John was to shoot in a line on the right side, Roderick the left. “No mistakes. Whoever does it first gets the whole stake.”
“No contest.” Roderick pressed his lips together.
Silence. Focused only on the target, they waited for Toad’s signal. Tom snapped the stick with a loud crack.
Three arrows flew from the bowstrings. Three arrows struck the outer ring. The archers were swift. Hands whipped to the quiver, drew, fired. Second arrow, third. A show of power in matched rhythm! The fourth. Roderick drew the bowstring a fifth time. His arrow whizzed away. A heartbeat later, the more arrows flew through the air, hitting the fifth ring—a heartbeat too late.
The archers waited.
Marian pressed her hand over her mouth. Next to her, the swineherd clutched at his hair.
“How looks it, Bill?” asked Toad solemnly.
Threefinger shaded his eyes. “Good. All the arrows are right on target.”
Much ran to the target cloth. He pointed to the left side, raised his fist.
“Roderick!” blurted out Marian, exultant. “Yes! I knew it!”
Malcolm danced from foot to foot. “We were faster!”
But full of respect, the young Robin Hood turned to his opponents. “Just got lucky. By our Maiden, that was close.”
“You’re good,” said Sir Robert, in simple praise, with no mockery. He winked at the gray-bearded giant. “Remarkable! Nobody’s ever managed that but you and me.”
“At least his shooting matches his bragging.” Grinning broadly, John added, “Now he can prove how good he really is.”
The bet was ten pennies this time. Tom asked only John and Sir Robert to put in for the second round. He stopped briefly when he reached Roderick and stroked his shriveled scalp and tugged on his braid. “Anything I said was in jest. No one here seriously mocks each other. That’s just how it is with us.”
Roderick stretched. “So I see. I’m learning that fast.”
“All right, then.” Tom turned to his old companions. “As is proper, this time, the wee lad paid his bet beforehand.” He ordered the archers to the second target.
Before Roderick got into position, he waved at Marian. “Thank you again! For the bet.”
“That’s enough, wee lad,” John grumbled angrily into his beard. “One thank you will suffice.”
Sir Robert quietly teased, “I think our little condition has already hit her own target. Now, make an effort this time, so we can do the same.”
The giant frowned. Target? What did he mean? Don’t worry, Robin, we’ll show the lad a thing or two.
Dead center on the target was the aim this time. “One shot each,” Tom Toad announced. “One after the other. Winner takes all. John, you go first. Then Robin—” He corrected himself with a grin, “Then Sir Robert, and last, young Robin Hood.”
John stepped up to the line. He reached for the quiver. One gesture flowed into the next. The arrow buzzed through the air and a hundred paces away, it struck the black dot just above center.
No one made a sound.
Sir Robert shifted his bad leg back a little with his hands. He was ready. Clear gray eyes locked on the target. The string sang. A feathered shaft appeared in the dead center of the target.
Roderick’s brows knit. He lowered his bow. “Where do you expect me to shoot?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Toad pointed sternly toward the straw-padded wall. “In the middle. Where else?”
“There’s no room there.”
“Oh, I see.” Tom folded his arms. “So, you’re giving up? Then Sir Robert—”
“No! He’s not giving up!” Marian urged him on. “Go ahead, Roderick. Shoot!”
The young Robin Hood glanced over at her, looked at Tom. “Only jesting,” he apologized.
“Get on with it, boy!” urged John.
“No trouble at all.” His face turned serious. Roderick tightened and loosened his grip on the bow. He took an arrow from the quiver, weighed it, chose another. Satisfied, he moistened the notched end with his tongue and carefully set the arrow on the string. Eyes cold, a brief moment of calm, then he pulled back and released the arrow. The glinting point bored into the bright feathered shaft, splitting Sir Robert’s arrow and lodging in the middle of the target’s eye.
The Lord of Loxley was the first to break the silence. “Nice.” He laid his hand heavily on the young man’s shoulder. “Yesterday you showed me your head and your heart. And today . . .” His voice became hoarse. “Yes, you are the one. Find the right companions, and you will win the battle.”
The two locked eyes in silence. Little John stepped up to them. “You can handle a bow, boy.” He grinned. “But if you want to be Robin Hood, there’s more we old ruffians can teach you. You only have to . . .”
“. . . ask,” Roderick finished, grinning at himself. He looked candidly at the men. “I never want to be without your advice.”
Sir Robert poked his friend lightly in the side. “Lest you ever make a mistake.” The two laughed, and Roderick joined in.
The laughter attracted the others over.
“But who, who won?” Malcolm wanted to know.
“Robin Hood always wins, of course!” Marian brushed back the curls from her forehead. “The victory is yours.”
“The stakes, too?” Roderick asked tentatively.
The tall young woman nodded. “Yes. Yours, too.”
“Then I have . . .” he counted on his fingers “. . . thirty pennies!” He could hardly believe it.
With a slapping of shoulders, the congratulations, and coins, were given to the winner.
Sir Robert eyed the young men. “You may not stay here in the manor. But don’t worry. We have a safe place for you. No sheriff or iron soldier will find you there.” He motioned to Tom Toad. “Take Much and Threefinger, and show them our main camp down in the gorge!” He turned to Roderick. “From this day on, it’s yours.”
“I’ll take him.” Marian stood beside Roderick, hands on hips. She looked at John, daring him to object. “I want to show him, myself.” Her voice caught slightly, but the tone brooked no argument. “We’ll take the path through the rocks. It’s shorter. The others can go down the supply trail with Malcolm.”
Before the giant could compose himself, she called out, “Come on, Robin!” and led the way. Roderick quickly caught up with her, staying close to her side.
John froze in place. There she goes, just like that, with that young fellow!
At his back, Sir Robert signaled to the rest to move along. Quickly Toad headed off with Malcolm and the others. “Well, my friend?” With no hint of mockery, he said, “I like them.”
“Who?” John huffed.
“Well, those two. Our little condition and our young Robin.”
John swallowed, resistant, but the idea grew, pushed its way into his head. At last, the giant understood. He saw her angry eyes again, back on the road to Barnsdale Top. I’ll find a husband on my own. John wiped his forehead with his sleeve. First, she didn’t want one. Now she does? So quickly? “She knows her own mind,” he said at last.
“And I’m grateful for that.” Robin pressed a hand against the bandage on his right thigh. “You’d better take me to Kirklees. First thing in the morning. Before this swells up any bigger.” He clenched his jaw. “When Friar Tuck rings the bell for them, my friend, I’ll be the first to dance with the bride at the feast.” He poked his friend lightly in the side. “Well, what do you say?” Smirking, he demanded, “Just say it!”
“That’s all right,” John grumbled.
XXV
YORKSHIRE. KIRKLEES ABBEY.
The lad awaited the two horsemen far below the abbey. Swiftly they came nearer. Good customers. He knew the slender gentleman on the white stallion, the giant on the strong bay. Both carried bows. They had been coming here for years, and never rode by without buying something from him, too.
“Sir Robert!” The lad walked along beside the white horse. “I can make you well, sir.” With practiced ease, he pulled out his linen pouches one by one. “Bitter clover for fever? St. John’s wort for the cough? Bloodroot for the sick stomach? Each medicine costs only three pennies.”
“Three?” Little John scratched the scar in the gray tangle of his beard, looking stern, “Last time you only charged two pennies for your herbs.”
Robin played along. “Move on. We’re not buying from grifters.”
The two friends trotted along lightly. But the efficient peddler kept pace. “Don’t say that, Sir Robert! But everything has gotten more expensive.” He held out the bags to him. “Don’t pass it by. Up there in the abbey, herbs cost four times as much now.”
Robin reined in the stallion and counted out nine pennies. “Here, little one. You can’t help my leg. But once you know more about the healing arts, I’ll come only to you. Then we’ll ruin the prioress’s business.”
“Thank you, sir!” The lad clutched the silver pieces tightly in his fist, pressing them against the scar on his forehead. “And may the saints protect you!” He watched the men go until the monastery gate closed behind them.
“All is prepared.” Prioress Matilda stepped out of the gate of the infirmary tower, in her bright, pure robe and starched veil. “Come, Robert!” Only her mouth smiled in the white-framed face, not the eyes that looked coldly on her nephew.
“Oh, aunt!” Painfully, Robin dragged his leg. “How fortunate that you exist!”
John tried to support him. But his friend shook his head.
At once, the prioress asked for the fee. “I must ask you to give me twenty pounds this time. Because . . .”
“Yes yes yes,” Robin interrupted, pulling two bulging pouches from his belt, sighing. “Everything has gotten more expensive. John and I have already heard it.”
For a moment the smile disappeared, but returned immediately. Almost gently, she explained, “No, Robert, don’t think you’re paying me too much. Lately I’ve been pondering long and hard. And I know now how to relieve you of all your discomfort.”
“You mean . . . ?”
“Yes, Robert.” She clasped her hands together. “And such a cure comes at a price.”
Fiercely, John squeezed his friend’s arm. “If it’s true,” he murmured, “then I’ll pay ten pounds more on top of that.”
“Reverend Aunt,” Robin said frankly. “In all of England, you are the best healer.”
“I know.” The tall figure straightened. “Now come, Robert! It is time. We’ll begin with a physic and bloodletting.” She pointed up to the top of the tower. “The top room is prepared for you. Just below the sky.” She asked the giant for patience. “The medicine needs time to take effect. Also, the care of the wound will certainly take longer this time. Allow yourself to rest and enjoy our beautiful garden! The fruit is ripe.”
John objected. “Bet
ter to stay with Robin. All those stairs. I’ll take him up.”
“No!” In the next instant, her tone lost its edge again. Quietly, she continued. “Though I don’t appear to, I do have strength enough to carry my nephew up myself.”
“Enough!” Determinedly, Robin hobbled to the gate. “Neither of you will help me.” He swung his leg onto the first step. “Now come, Aunt! What are you waiting for?”
John stood back and folded his arms. Fine.
A light-filled room. In the middle, a raised straw bed, covered with gray linen. A rope, fresh cloths, and bandages lay carefully arranged over a stool. In the blood bowl on the floor gleamed the fleam, the silver instrument for opening the vein.
“A moment, Aunt!” Breathing heavily, Robin stepped to the window. He drew in the air. His gaze ran along the monastery wall, wandered through the cut meadows, across the river, and on to the distant edge of the forest. “How still everything lies.”
“Give me your weapons!” demanded the voice at his back. Robin unfastened his sword belt, slipped quiver and bow from his shoulder.
“The tunic, too, nephew,” she urged.
Robin obeyed. “How good the land smells.” He breathed deep.
Mathilda stepped up beside him. “Drink this, Robert!”
With the small bottle in his hand, he pointed out the window. “Even up here, I can still smell the hay.”
Her lips quivered. He did not perceive it. She pulled on his arm. “Drink, nephew!”
Robin emptied the vial in one gulp. He contorted his face briefly at the taste, shook himself. “I’d prefer a sip of malmsey,” he said.
“The bitter always comes before the sweet.” Her voice wavered slightly.
Robin looked to the far edge of the forest, “How wise you are. I have been fighting all my life. And at last, I prevailed. But my happiness did not last. You have forgotten one thing, venerable aunt. The fight goes on. As long as there is injustice, the sweetness is followed by bitterness. It comes around again . . . like . . .” Robin struggled to hold the thought. “Like summer . . .” He broke off, wiping his brow. “My eyes? I see . . .”
Mathilda grabbed his arm. “What, Robert? What do you see?”
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