by Kate Danley
Robin felt the saddlebag carefully.
When it came down to it, it was filled with metal.
Nothing more.
These things called coins that people were willing to live and die for, small circles of ore pressed with a design from a man's hand. Until a day John could build a forge and pound them into arrow tips or axes, they were useless in the forest. They could not be burned for warmth or eaten. They were nothing but added weight.
"There will be other travelers on this road," Robin said slowly.
Little John listened to the clink of the bag as Robin played with it. "What are you suggesting?"
Robin put down his load and reached inside, pulling out the schillings. "We will have plenty of opportunities to lighten the purses of others who pass through our domain." Robin held out the silver to John. "This should be hers. All of it."
Little John drew to a stop.
And the giant's strength crumbled.
He stepped off the path and turned away. His head bowed forward and his shoulders shook, then he lifted his face and stared for a long time at the sky. Finally, his hands wiped something from his cheeks and he turned back around. His eyes red and his featured screwed in controlled emotion, he asked brusquely, "Are you sure? It may be all we ever have."
Robin shrugged it off. "There will be others."
"Every robbery places us in danger," Little John pressed, trying to be responsible. But his voice betrayed he was also fearful Robin might take back his offer.
Robin tried to give John a carefree smile, the kind of brash grin his cousin Will might flash in a tough situation. "Danger is part of the fun," Robin replied. The ash leaves above shivered, flashing more silver and green than a treasury heaped with emeralds and coin. "Anything we gained would be cursed if bought at the expense of your own family's safety. Take it."
A soft little bird began singing John a song.
Little John clapped Robin's shoulder. The weight was like Atlas sharing what it felt like to carry the world. "I shall never forget. I will remain by your side until the end of my days for this kindness."
"Then, let us hope those days are long, because there is a great deal of silver in this purse," joked Robin with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.
Little John laughed and gave him a friendly shove, having to pause another moment to wipe the moisture that kept inexplicably leaking from his eyes. "Upon my word, I shall be by your side for eternity."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Twilight was falling. Robin and Little John crouched in the cool shadows of the forest. Their horse, laden with their meager belongings, snuffled in the thicket behind them. Over forty miles and many days, they had traveled to Hathersage. They now overlooked John's old home. It was a small, cruck house, plastered with wattle and daub. Beside it stood the cold forge where John had once made his trade as a nail maker. He flexed his mighty hands, as if they longed for the feel of the hammer and tongs once again.
"Is she in there?" asked Robin.
Little John's face was awash with worry and hope. "She has no place else to be."
"How long have you been apart, my friend?"
"Since the harvest festival last autumn, but it feels like years. I hope she still wants to see me." He chuckled ruefully. "This wait may kill me before the Sherriff does."
"Make sure all is clear," Robin cautioned, scanning the fallow fields and grassy clearings that stood between John and his wife. "We have come this far. To be spotted now would do no one any good."
Little John weighed the heavy purse nervously. "Hopefully, this will be enough to keep the Sheriff from taking our home. Hopefully enough to keep the little ones' bellies fed." He paused for a moment and then added softly, "Hopefully enough to make up for the fact that I am gone."
All was quiet as the last of the sun's rays disappeared from the sky, casting the world into purples and blues.
"Hope no more. Go find out," said Robin. "I'll sing like a wolf if the Sheriff's hounds come sniffing around."
"And I'll whistle like a robin if I can't find you," replied Little John.
"Don't worry, I'll be here."
Little John steeled his courage and dashed forward. His large body hunched as he loped across the distance. He ducked under the low doorframe and gently knocked. He quickly smoothed his black hair and pulled on his tunic like a nervous suitor. When the door opened, there was a startled cry from Little John's wife and then hushed, secret voices. Her arms clutched at him desperately and John disappeared inside.
Robin took the packs off the horse and gave the animal a kind pat. Then Robin grasped a tree trunk and clambered up into the branches. He settled back comfortably in the bough to keep watch. The horse grazed and then began dozing on his feet. Robin counted the stars as they came out, one by one, and drew pictures across the heavens of a land far away.
Several hours later, Little John emerged. He ran to Robin. His face shone with joy, but his eyes were cloudy with the sadness of having to say goodbye. In his arms was a stuffed burlap bag. Robin jumped down to the ground, took the horse's halter and their things, and fell in step beside his friend. They did not speak until they were far into the forest, the silvery full moon lighting their way.
Safe within the trees, Robin clasped Little John's shoulder. "And how was it?"
"Heaven and hell," John replied, his voice thick with longing.
"Was she pleased to see you?"
"She said her prayers had been answered." Worry eclipsed Little John's words. "But the town is not well, Robin. The Sheriff is taxing our friends into starvation, claiming that enforcing law and order is costly. But then he's coming around again to gather the ten-percent tithe for the church. Whether it is all going to the Sheriff or is being passed along to the clergy, I do not know. But my wife and the children are hungry. She says it is the same with the neighbors." John lifted his bag. "Even so, she insisted I take my clothes and tools. She could have sold them all to take care of herself, but she said it was a greater comfort to believe I would return for them someday. She said it was a greater comfort knowing they might keep me alive now." John turned to Robin, his voice tinged with desperation. "We must do something."
"Aye," said Robin, aghast at how dire it was. "Of course. Anything she needs."
Little John chewed his lower lip, nervous at the words that were about to come out.
"What is it, John?" asked Robin.
"To protect her..." he began. He then paused, allowing a hooting owl to interrupt him, as if willing the bird to say the words he did not wish to speak.
"Go on," Robin prodded, wondering with sinking horror what terrible thing had happened in the hut.
Little John steeled his courage. "I gave her the money, but we realized that for her to come into such wealth, if it was rumored to come from her husband John Little, the Sheriff might take a revenge tithe. She's thought to be a widow. There's no one to speak up for her if the Sheriff believed he could hurt her to get to me, so..." John glanced at Robin. "I told her to keep it secret, but if anyone asks, to say it was a gift from a man named Robin Hood."
Robin began to laugh. "Is that all?"
"You're not angry with me?"
"I own nothing more than my name," Robin reassured. "And you have caused it to be tied to an act of kindness. Why should I be angry?"
"It paints a target on your back for the Sheriff's men," cautioned Little John. "I placed you in harm's way."
Robin stopped him. "It fulfills my deepest wish, my friend. It lets the Sheriff know they were wrong to come after the family Hood." Robin's tone deepened as they made their way to that evening's campsite. "It lets them know which yeoman they crushed, which loyal freeman is now their sworn enemy. And since they have taken everything from me, there is nothing more they can do to harm me apart from death. Keep yourself and your family safe, John. Tell them to spread it far and wide that the outlaw Robin Hood steals back their money from the Sheriff and returns it to them. You have given me the greatest gift. From this
day forward, the name Robin Hood means something."
"Even if it means your doom?"
The heaviness that sat on Robin's heart winked its ugly eye at him. But this time, Robin smiled back into the darkness. "I welcome it gladly."
CHAPTER NINE
Robin crouched as he dashed from the tree line across the anemic, unharvested crops to the hut.
The smell of burning dung hung heavy in the smoke.
Not even allowed to go into the forest to collect wood, reflected Robin. Without firewood, they would freeze. Those who were rich enough could buy it from the sanctioned woodcutters. For those who weren't, all that was left was to set fire to their refuse.
A baby's hacking cough came from inside the home.
Robin looked down at the purse of silver in his hand then set it quietly on the doorstep. He paused, knowing they might fear it was stolen and that its owner might come knocking on their door. And true, it was stolen, but its owner would not be troubling them. Robin pulled out a robin's red feather he had gathered from an abandoned nest after the fledglings flew. Gently, tenderly, he placed it in the bag on top of the silver and hoped the family would know it was a gift from Sherwood Forest.
He ran into the woods and trotted along the path. He and John had been doing this for over three months. It was an insignificant amount in the face of the Sheriff's coffers, but it was an act of rebellion and he always left with the sense that he was doing something.
And that felt good.
Robin turned onto a hidden trail and came to the small clearing where he and John set up a camp. They kept most of their belongings, the gathered weapons and treasures, hidden in the sandstone caves of their permanent hideaway, but from there they made their way out into the Sherwood and Barnsdale Forests. They had taken another horse from a particularly ornery lord, so now they could both ride. The beast seemed as happy to be rid of his old master as they were to have him. They changed their location nightly, backtracking and switching directions to stay ahead of anyone who might hunt them. They even left dried meat and stores in the hollows of trees so they could hide indefinitely if their home was discovered. Though only August was upon them, they were almost prepared to survive the coming winter.
John had a fire going and the smell of the roasting rabbit made Robin's mouth water.
"Everything go all right?" John asked, searching Robin's face for any sign that they should abandon their spot and move on.
"Everyone was asleep," replied Robin, sitting down and warming his hands above the flames. He grinned. "They'll wake to something sweeter than the dreams they had in their bed."
John returned Robin's smile. He got as much a thrill from it as his friend. "Good."
The sound of crashing, unnatural feet came bounding towards them through the underbrush. They both sprang to the defensive. Little John's bow was already raised and trained on the direction of the noise. But Robin reached up and touched his arm to stay his arrow as the figure broke into the clearing.
Robin couldn't believe it. He stepped forward in disbelief. "Will?"
Will skidded to a halt. Though he wore a tunic and tights of green, Will's shocking red hair stood out like a flag against the ferns of the forest.
"Will Scarlocke?" Robin practically shouted. He threw his arms around his cousin, pounding him on the back, then realized Will's usually cheerful face was gaunt and sunken. His fair, freckled skin was covered in a layer of dirt and bloodied scrapes. "What happened to you? How did you find us?"
Will broke away, but gripped Robin's arms as if he was almost afraid to let go. "I track game through the forest, Robin, just like your father taught us. It's a wonder all the Sheriff's guards aren't here to join us for breakfast with the trails you've been leaving." A glint of his old self twinkled. He pointed to the fire where the rabbit roasted on a crude spit. "Oh, and the smell of that after so many days on the road... I think my stomach could have found you anywhere."
"You know this man?" Little John asked, his immediate fear giving way to the joy of the reunion.
"John Little, meet my cousin, Will Scarlocke." Robin clapped his cousin's now bony shoulder. "I can't believe you found us! In this whole forest!"
"That is not a good thing—" Little John pressed, looking into the woods nervously. "Were you followed? Perhaps we should move farther from the path."
But Robin waved his concerns away. The sight of Will was like a balm to the ever-present wound in his heart. The appearance of his kinsman, a man he was convinced he would never see again... It was like getting back a bit of the home that had been lost to him forever. "What are you doing here?" he asked, trying not to betray his welling emotions.
Will's face turned scarlet and the friendliness of the reunion shifted to something else. "He came after my family."
Robin knew the answer before he even asked the question, but he asked it anyway, just in the hope he was wrong. "Who?"
"The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests. Our old friend, Philip Marc. The same villain who killed your father and took your land. You were called before the royal justices in York five times, Robin. Two foresters accused you of poaching a deer from the king's herd."
Robin's stomach sank. It had seemed so long since that first day when he and John had robbed the foresters. He had been fueled with rage and impotence, and the emotions of losing his father the day before. He had been rash and hungry, but had also been a fool.
"Should never have taken their horse," tutted Will. "A man gets tetchy when you steal his horse. They've been out to settle the score ever since. Every time you failed to show up before the justices, the Sheriff tracked down anyone related to you for payment. Said like father, like son, and he started saying that if we protested or tried to defend you that we were criminals cut of the same cloth."
Robin paled. He hadn’t even considered the Sheriff would come after his aunt, his uncle, and cousins. He should have. He should have known the Sheriff would never ignore such a such a slight.
Will seemed to be able to read Robin's mind and held up his hands to stop those ideas. "It started long before some pointless deer was killed, a deer that the king probably never would have missed. As soon as the Sheriff murdered your father, and banished you, he's been darkening our door for 'restitution.' It is a financial opportunity. My family refused to pay the fees he demanded, so he arrested them all." Will eyes became vacant as he stared off into the distance. "There's nothing to be done about it." His voice cracked as his truth came out. "I ran, Robin. I ran. My mother told me to run. I should have been brave enough to stand up and fight him, but I ran..."
The forest became silent, his confession stilling its voice.
Robin remembered his own guilt when he ran from the Sheriff, too. And he remembered how Little John gave him strength and let him know he was not craven. They were all survivors in this shared nightmare.
"A single man taking a stand against an armed guard of the Sheriff's troops would have been a death sentence," spoke Robin gently. "Both yours and your family's. At least they are alive, even if they are imprisoned."
"All I could think was that you were here in Sherwood Forest. Word's gotten round that you... help people. I thought perhaps you would know what to do."
Robin and Little John exchanged glances. They both knew this pain. They both knew this powerlessness against the Sheriff of Nottingham. And they both came to a decision.
"If you had fought, no amount of money would have been able to get them back. Don't worry, coz. We'll buy their freedom."
Will shook his head, blinking back the relief. The wind rattled the leaves above. "Thank you. It does not make my cowardice any easier to bear, but thank you."
"Come, sit at our fire," Robin urged. "Little John, we'll move after he's had a chance to eat and rest."
"Good," said Little John. He motioned apologetically to Will. "Not that I’m not glad you're here, but if you could find us, it is just a matter of time until the Sheriff finds us, too."
Will sat down by the fire and helped himself to the rabbit without waiting. It was a comfortable movement repeated a hundred times in the Hood home during a gathering. It was an act of such familiar, familial casualness that Robin had to push down the tightness it caused in his chest.
Will dove into the meal, tearing the meat ravenously with his teeth. Robin had known that starvation, had known the ecstasy of the first bite of food after days without anything more than berries and grass.
Robin tore off pieces of the rabbit for himself and John, leaving some of his own share in case he could convince Will to take another helping. "When did all this happen?"
"A few weeks ago," Will replied between bites, pausing with great willpower as if remembering not to make himself sick. "I've been searching for you since. You've been doing all sorts of kind deeds for villagers. I tracked your path through their word of mouth."
"We need to change the pattern," said John, finishing his food and picking up his quarterstaff. "If he could piece together where we were from the locations of our kindness, we're going to have to rethink our plan. At least retreat deeper into the forest."
"But how are we to know when someone comes down the road if we're miles in, John?" worried Robin. "Yes, we'll be safer, but safer doesn't keep the people of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire fed. If we stop... People may die if we stop."
"If only we could find out when the Sheriff's men were coming through." John tossed dirt onto the fire to bury the embers. "Not have to stay by the road, waiting for random travelers to grace us with their presence."
Will wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I might have a solution for that."
Little John and Robin looked at him with surprise.
