by Kate Danley
Robin lowered his voice. "From time to time, there are travelers here in this tavern—"
"Bad people," added Will.
"People who may be traveling through Sherwood Forest to Yorkshire—"
"They may be crooked guards planning terrible things! Rich landlords who will crush their tenants when they arrive! We are asking you to help us protect our people!" Will interjected.
Robin stopped Will from laying it on too thick. He turned back to Much to explain what they needed. "We just want to be able to come in and help you with your duties. Pick up an odd job here or there."
"We could be your apprentices!" Will suggested.
"We just need to be able to listen to travelers, sometimes as patrons. Sometimes as... staff."
"I don't know," said Much. "If the Sheriff comes in and finds out I've been helping you... He has already come after my family. And if the owner finds out I'm in league with outlaws? I'll be lucky to have work!"
"Much, you've been a good friend to Will and me over the years. Do you remember when we were boys, you were always the first to offer to carry things for us? You cheered us on in our games. We always tried to look out for you because of it. Remember when that gang was walloping you pretty good? Every Sunday after church? Who stood up for you when no one else would?"
"You did, Robin."
"I did. I stood up for you and I stopped them."
"I was grateful," said Much, sincerely. "It meant a lot. It really did."
"Well, there are other people getting... walloped..." Robin continued. "Just like you. And we've been trying to find ways to stand up for them. I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important. But there are people starving, people who have had everything taken away from them."
"Like my father and the mill?" Much asked, his slow brain finally putting the pieces together.
"Just like your father and his mill!" Robin repeated. "Like that! You can help people like him. We can help. All of us seek justice, not vengeance."
Much seemed to ponder Robin's request. "So... you'd be helping others, the way you helped me. And if I helped you, that would help you help them. So... I would be helping them, in a roundabout way?"
"You'd be part of our merry crew," offered Robin with what he hoped was a welcoming smile.
"One of your men, huh?" repeated Much. He basked in the warmth of Robin's approval. He gave a shy shrug. "I'd like that."
"Then it's settled!" said Will, rapping on the table. "Us against the world!"
Much got up, and for all his protests earlier, it seemed like he stood a little straighter, a little prouder, like he was really happy to have this new reason for being. "When the Sheriff took my father's mill, there was nothing to be done about it. I'm just the son of a miller. So... it feels good to do... something," he admitted. "I'm glad. I'm glad to help. And I'm glad that I will see you, both of you. This is good. I'm glad."
"Us, too," said Robin warmly.
Much walked away and Robin downed his entire ale in one gulp. He set down his beaker and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve, then collapsed on the table with relief.
"Well played, cousin," said Will, clapping him on the back.
"It was your silvery tongue." Robin shook his head. "Poor, simple Much. We shouldn't have pushed him. I hope we don't get him killed."
Will waved off his concerns. "We got what we needed."
"I don't know if he is up for it. If the Sheriff's men put any pressure on him, he'll crumble. You saw how easily he agreed to our wild plan." Robin stood, needing to get away from what they had done. "We have to get back to the forest before night falls."
Will pointed to his plate. "Not until I finish this meal." He then nodded to the alewife. "And find out what her name is."
"Will, the Sheriff—" Robin warned.
"This is the last non-foraged meal we will have until our first shift here. And I want to make sure to get her name so I might have a bed to relax in between customers." Will laughed at the look on Robin's face. "I'm joking!"
But Robin knew he was not.
Will dove into his food. "Listen, if you're so worried, you should go back to John. I'll stay here, get ourselves on friendly terms with the locals, and I'll meet you at that campsite John seemed so determined for us to use."
"You need to disappear too. We are in the Sheriff's town."
"Trust me!" said Will, pointing at Robin with a carrot. "No one but Much knows who I am, and I'll make sure it stays that way."
Robin sat back down again, trying to get his cousin to understand the very real danger. "Don't join your family in that prison any sooner than you have to," Robin hissed.
Will reacted like Robin had cuffed him. He slowly wiped his fingers on his tunic. All bravado was gone, his face was still as he explained. "Why do you think I want to stay? Someone here will have worked at the prison. There might be a word about who is inside, where they are, what happened to them... this isn't just about what happened to you, Robin. It happened to me, too." He picked up his spoon. "I know how serious this all is. And I'm dealing with it the best way I know how."
Robin had always admired the way his cousin swam through life like the sparkling waters of a fast moving brook. Perhaps those waters were deeper than they looked on the surface.
Robin gathered everything from his plate that he could take for Little John, knowing that his friend would have waited all day without food or drink, ready to ride if there was any sign of trouble. He put a few more coins on the table for Will. "Join us as soon as you can. We'll wait at the camp."
"I know where to find you," he replied with his mouth full.
The shadows were stretching their sleepy limbs across the streets of Nottingham by the time Robin rode back to Sherwood Forest. He passed the swineherds now guiding their pigs home with touches of their staff. The smell of the fullers district, the reek of the stale urine they pounded into the sheering with their feet, stung Robin's nose. There was a time in his life that stepping foot in Nottingham would have been a dream. But if this was the dream, he was ready to wake up. Sherwood Forest, free from human voices, free from the stench and the grime, called.
The half-timbered house where the spinster sat was empty. She had left her basket on her stool, perhaps called away on some errand.
Robin dismounted, hoping he was making a wise choice. He walked over, taking a feather and several alms from the small, drawstring pouch on his belt. He deposited them gently on her skein of freshly spun yarn, hoping they would not just give her a moment of ease, but also seal her silence.
They needed friends.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cool, crisp air of Sherwood Forest embraced him. Robin found the trail to the camp and, joyfully, he began whistling like a bird. His horse was barely twenty paces in when he heard Little John howl back like a wolf. He turned towards the sound and gave a little wave as he tripped into the clearing and found his friend.
Little John almost leaped on him in relief. He pointed anxiously at the twilight sky. "Where have you been? Night is almost on us. Where is Will? Don't tell me we need to mount a rescue..."
"We have a plan." Robin tried to reassure him, but the words rang hollow the moment they left his lips. He slid off his horse and busied himself taking care of the animal. "Will has stayed in the tavern tonight. He'll be listening in and identifying travelers whose loads he feels are heavier than they should be for the road they are about to ride." Robin shook his head with rueful frustration. "Although, I am not entirely sure if his decision comes from wanting to help or wanting a warm bed with a pretty girl. He'll join us tomorrow and tell us of anything he's heard."
Little John groaned. "That cousin of yours will get us killed..."
"He is dealing with his problems the only way he knows how," apologized Robin. "He'll come around."
Little John had the good grace to leave it alone. They bedded down and did not have to wait long for Will in the morning. By the time they woke, their friend had already trot
ted into the camp.
"What news?" asked Robin, standing up swiftly. "Are there travelers coming?"
Will flung himself off his horse and down on the earth. He closed his eyes. "A man is not meant to ride a horse so early," he remarked.
"You could have come back with Robin instead of staying overnight to ride something else," stated John, shaking out his cloak.
"Touché," Will replied with a grin. "But then you would have to do without the breakfast I brought for us all." Will leaped up and went back to his mount, opening a bag hanging across the animal's hindquarters. He handed some food from the tavern to Robin and John with a smile. "And I bought a few bottles to wet your whistle, too." He stretched his arms above. "A quiet party of the Sheriff's men are expected to come through today on their way to York. And after hearing them talk, I feel we will be meting out more justice than larceny." He gave his friends a wink. "Aren't you glad I stayed?"
"Any word of your family?" Robin asked.
Will's careless demeanor became heavy, Robin's question cutting to the quick of the matter. "They're alive. In the prison. There are fines to be paid, but with the money this guard will be carrying, we should be able to set them free."
Little John was silent. He ripped off a hunk of bread and chewed it slowly.
"What is it?" Robin asked, seeing his friend's mind was far away.
Little John swallowed. "What will we do with these guards we waylay? If they are the devils Will believes them to be? Do we make them pay for their crimes?"
The question swirled in Robin's mind.
The temptation to mete out justice to these untouchables was as heady as a strong wine. To get revenge on the men who carried out the Sheriff's cruelty? To show these guards who wrapped themselves in godliness and rank what godless, rank monsters they created through their inhumane acts...
A small, delicate robin flew down to a nearby branch to stare at him.
"Every man we steal from becomes a witness, one more reason for the Sheriff to hunt us down. How long do you think our luck can last? A singular poaching from months ago has your name on the rolls of the royal justices, Robin. They will know our faces." John rolled a bit of his bread between his thumb and forefinger. "These are not good men. To them, compassion is a weakness and they will exploit it. If Will chose someone fit to be robbed, they only know one language and that is violence." John stared out into the distant path before them. The little bird began to sing. "I would like to see my wife's smile again. I would like to see my sons grown and my daughters wed. I don't want to die because we aren't willing to do what needs to be done to protect ourselves."
Will shifted uncomfortably.
Robin thought of John's family and the grinding poverty of their village, of what it would mean for his wife if John was killed because of some misplaced softness.
But then he thought back to that moment on the first day they met when they vowed to keep each other from falling into the darkness, when they vowed to keep each other safe, when they vowed to help each other survive.
He couldn't do it.
As much as he wanted to pretend he'd be punishing these guards for justice, for Will, and John, and John's family's safety, the truth was he would enjoy hurting the Sheriff's men. The truth was the anger and hatred still burned with white-hot rage.
He couldn't allow their hearts to go to that place.
He had made a promise.
"We're not murderers," Robin stated, reminding himself almost as much as he was cautioning Little John.
"We need only commit one act of violence," argued Little John, "and our reputation will carry weight. Ask any commander about a show of force. People will be less likely to fight us if they fear for their life."
"No," Robin said with finality, cutting his friend off. "They'll be less likely to fight us if they know they will be treated with dignity."
An explosion of disbelieving laughter burst out of Will's throat. "Not the men we're targeting. That's the sort of talk that gets a man killed, namely it will get us killed."
His horse snorted in agreement.
"I will not become that which we hate," Robin pushed back. "We have an entire country ruled by men who control through fear and oppression and lies. Their cruelty makes good men, men like you and me and John, men whom a wife like John's could fall in love with and want to raise a family with, contemplate sinning in the same way they have been sinned against. I will not be that man."
"So, we treat the cruel gently? Not with justice?"
"We'll leave justice to their God to sort out."
"Well, that sort of thinking has been going so well here in Barnsdale and Nottinghamshire. All of our friends and family accepting the Sheriff's policies with respectful understanding, excusing his behavior for 'the way things are'." Will picked up a pebble and threw it into the forest. "Once these men see there are only three of us, and we're attacking them with warm embraces, they'll laugh at us as they ride away."
Robin tried to come up with a solution. He turned to John for help as he improvised. "We'll trick them. Tie ropes to the trees and shake the leaves. Make them believe they're surrounded by a horde and have no chance of surviving if they resist."
"And then what?"
"Well," said Robin, scrambling for the rest of a plan. "We make them our guests."
"Guests?" asked Will. He leaned over to Little John for clarification. "Is he mad? He is. He is mad. This time in the woods has addled his brains."
"He must've fallen off of his branch in the middle of the night while I was asleep," said Little John, folding his arms and joining Will's sentiment.
Robin stopped them both. "How many of these men were just like Little John? Pressed into service?"
"How many of them are horrible humans who get far too much enjoyment from the work they are asked to do?" Will shot back.
"Very few men are born truly evil," Robin retorted.
"Well, all those 'very few' seem to have signed up to be in the service of the Sheriff."
"Listen, we present them with an option. We invite them to our campfire. Give them food. Drink." Robin could see John relenting, but Will was still far from won over. "Truly, if you were faced with the opportunity of comfort and a meal, albeit with a slightly lighter purse after, or certain death, which would you choose?"
"I would most likely go for supper," Will grudgingly admitted.
Robin held out his hand as if presenting the answer. "Why take an arrow through the shoulder when the alternative is a full belly and a chance to return home safe and sound? Everyone has someone they love, someone or something they want to see again, no matter how wicked they appear."
"Some men. I doubt the Sheriff's men have ever loved anyone but themselves."
"Please." Robin reached for the words to explain the dark horror, the gnawing ache that lived where his heart used to beat full and free. "I held my dying father. I have no desire to have to wash a man's blood from my hands again. To ambush a man, to slay him, no matter what his sins, and to then avail ourselves of his goods..." A shadow passed before the sun and cast a chill upon the clearing. "We are not in immediate danger. We are not defending ourselves in battle. Let us try my way first. Please?"
Will softened.
"I would never ask you to carry the sin of cold murder on your soul, Robin," said Little John.
"Did you have to spell it out in such detail?" asked Will. He shivered like someone had walked over his grave. "You have a way with words, my coz."
"Thank you, my friends," said Robin, grateful as they ceded to him. He hoped he had not gotten them killed. He stood and brushed off the seat of his tunic. "But if we are to put our plan into action, we have some things we must do. There is a lot of work before us."
Will turned to Little John. "Could we revisit the cold-blooded murder option again?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
The guards were not important enough to be given horses. Instead, they traveled on foot, walking alongside a donkey cart. The four men
did not know what they were in for when they came upon the log across the road.
"Halt!" said Robin, stepping out of the woods.
Immediately, the guards reached for their weapons, circling to protect each other's backs. Robin realized, except for one, all the men were his age and younger.
"STOP!" shouted Will from the other side of the road. "You are surrounded!"
"I only see two men!" shouted one of the guards. His adolescent voice cracked.
That was when the bushes surrounding the party began to shake and Little John, seven feet of brute muscle, stepped out onto the road like a nightmare. He raised his quarterstaff. The guards slowly lifted their hands from their sword pommels.
"We mean you no harm," Robin assured them. He tried not to see himself in their faces, tried not to note their untested fear. He jerked his head to Little John. "My friend will ask you to put your weapons on the ground and will then bind your eyes."
"He'll kill us!" said the older man. He reached down to grab his sword, but Little John swung and hit his hand away with his staff. The man cried and held his wrist.
"As I said," said Robin once again, hoping that no one else would test them further. "We mean to feed you supper."
At once, everything stopped.
Silence hung between the parties.
A cricket chirped.
"What?" asked one of the guards.
"It's true," said Little John with a dry incredulity that spoke only too clearly that Robin was telling the truth.
"Supper?" repeated another guard.
Robin shrugged. "We have meat and drink. You are to be our guests."
The guards looked at one another fearfully. The one with the injured hand cried, "He'll kill us!"
"Do what we say, and no one dies," said Little John, taking the sword from another man and throwing it to the ground. "Furthermore, do what we say and you'll not only not die, you'll get some meat."
