Olde Robin Hood

by Kate Danley

  The man's elderly face was drawn and haggard, his clothing stained and worn. His white hair hung in sweaty, greasy strings. He looked up as Little John stepped forward, his seven-foot frame too great to be ignored. The knight pulled his weary horse to a halt. There was a resignation in his movements.

  Little John found he could not raise his voice to be harsh. There was something about the emptiness in the man's eyes. It was an emptiness he recognized.

  Instead, he invited softly, "I think perhaps we were destined to meet. My friends and I have warm food and a fire close by. Come. Share in our feast."

  The knight's horse shied back. As the knight fought to keep it under control he asked, "And who is your friend?"

  "Robin Hood." John gripped his staff, readying for the knight to bolt away, but silently whispering a prayer that he would not have to fight this aged man for a handful of silver coins.

  Instead, the knight collapsed with relief. "I will go with you, and gladly. Everyone knows Robin Hood. Yes! Please! I would gladly break bread with you both."

  Little John was taken aback by the man's enthusiasm. He took the horse's reins and led the knight into the forest. As he picked through the undergrowth, he said, "You seem to have traveled a difficult road. Was it a hard journey?"

  "Aye." A soft, stifled sob escaped the man's lips before he could pull the sound back into his throat.

  "We are glad to have you as our guest," said Little John, feeling the wrongness of a knight, one who had seen hard truths on a battlefield, to crack under his emotions on an evening's ride. John did not press anymore, allowing the silence to carry the conversation.

  They emerged into the camp and Robin rose. He threw open his arms to welcome their guest, but Little John shook his head, giving Robin and Will a look that warned them to be respectful. As the knight emerged into the light, Robin swallowed back his boisterous greeting. The knight was a skeleton, a shade of sadness. The flickering fire cast the shadows of death across the hollows of his sunken cheeks. He had walked the earth too long, lost on his ride to Hades’ door.

  Will, however, threw up his hands. He glared at the coat of arms on the knight's chest, wordlessly impressing on his friends all the things that could go poorly if they offended this particular victim. This was a gentleman who, based upon his age and livery, owned land and holdings because he had fought at King Richard's, King John's, and perhaps even King Henry's side. He motioned to John to take care of the man's horse instead of just standing there while he scrambled over to the dirty tree stump, which was to serve as a chair, and swept away the spider webs and crumbling leaves.

  Robin placed his hand upon his heart and knelt.

  The knight dismounted, his old bones moving slowly as he slid down from his saddle. "God save thee, Robin Hood. Your kindness and hospitality precede you. My name is Sir Richard at the Lea and I gladly join you at your table."

  A strange thrill filled Robin as the knight held out his hand. Robin stepped forward to grasp his forearm in friendship. "You know who I am?"

  "Your tales of protection of the poor and most vulnerable are sung by the bards in every tavern from York to Nottingham," replied the knight.

  "Are they now?" Pleased, he turned to Will and John to make sure they heard it. "Us?"

  "I am surprised you have not heard them. I have been so moved by the accounts of your valor. A man like you would have been welcome at the table of King Arthur."

  Robin waved away the praise. "I fear you will find we are a great disappointment." He motioned again to the fire. "But come. Sit among us. Rest and enjoy the bounty of the forest."

  "Robin Hood... and Little John..." the knight noted. He heaved a groan and collapsed his aged body on the stump. "Just like the songs." He turned to Robin's cousin. "And what's your name?"

  "Will. Scarlocke. There are probably many tales about me, too," Will replied, leaning back to wait for the knight to heap upon him the same praise he made of Robin's name.

  The knight thought a moment. "Mmmm... not that I can recall. But I shall keep an ear out."

  A brief twinkle lit the knight's cavernous eyes. John gave Will a good-natured punch in the arm, and Robin could not help but laugh. Will flicked a twig at Robin's head.

  And so, the evening passed. The wine flowed and poached venison filled their bellies as the knight regaled them with tales of the Holy Land, fighting at the side of King Richard the Lionheart.

  Finally, as Little John took his empty plate, the knight closed his lids in contented pleasure. "I have not eaten this well in weeks," said Sir Richard, "I promise to the heavens above that if I should survive the ordeal before me, I will gladly repay this kindness."

  Robin furtively looked at Little John, and then the two exchanged glances with Will.

  Robin laced his fingers together, in dread. He tried to think of John's family and the spinster's family and so many of the poor who suffered. This was a good-hearted, generous man. He was a man who has served his country and wore the code of chivalry like a second skin rather than a cloak to impress. He hated the words, even as they came from his mouth. "We do not share our hospitality entirely from a place of kindness. If you have heard stories of us, you must know the question we are duty bound to ask next. Tell me, Sir Richard, how much money do you carry?"

  He gave Robin an understanding smile, not offended by the ask. "Ten schillings," stated the knight. "It is all I have, but you are welcome to it and I would be honored if you would share it with those in need. It shall be of no use to me by sunset tomorrow."

  Ten schillings.

  It was the amount of money the spinster needed to save her nephew.

  Robin paused.

  There was temptation here.

  Had this knight been brought to them with exactly what they needed for a reason? Was he the answer to a prayer?

  But by taking his money, money he admitted to honestly, they would violate their own compass of right and wrong. Robin knew they would find Sir Richard was telling the truth. He almost hoped they wouldn't, if only because it was too terrible to think of a knight so fallen from grace.

  They would be taking money from a good man.

  Albeit, money he willingly surrendered.

  But robbing a faithful man who had fought at King Richard's side. Did they take everything from a loyal warrior who had already given so much, to fill the coffers of a crooked sheriff who was extorting the poor?

  Even if this man had exactly what the spinster needed?

  "You shall keep the money you say you have," promised Robin. Little John and Will murmured assurances to Sir Richard. "If you tell the truth, it is yours to take with you. If you have lied, we shall take that which you said you do not own." Robin turned to Little John. "If you would politely examine his bags."

  Sir Richard held out his money pouch. Little John also checked the bags tied to the back of the horse. He nodded grimly. "Ten schillings. Half a pound."

  Will gave a low, shocked whistle. Robin sat close to Sir Richard, careful not to show any pity. Instead, he clapped him bracingly on the knee. "My friend, this should not be for a man such as you. What put you in such a state?"

  The tears sprang back into the man's eyes once again. The band of three politely looked away as the knight brushed his cheeks with the back of his liver-spotted hand. "My son, wanting to make me proud, took to the jousting field. There was no one better than him for years! But bad luck struck. He slew a knight of Lancaster. I mortgaged my home and lands, all I own to buy his freedom. I borrowed the money from an abbey but... now the abbey is asking for their due."

  "And how much do you owe?" Robin leaned forward.

  "Four hundred pounds," said the man. The weight of that debt hung in the air. He gave a sad smile. "To Abbot William Roundel at Saint Mary's Abbey. You see why I am in despair. It is a princely sum and one I do not have."

  "One no man has!" protested Will. "You would have to be King Henry himself—"

  Robin cut him off. "And if you cannot gather these
funds?"

  "All will be lost."

  Little John growled.

  Sir Richard said it so simply, with such acceptance of his fate. He even laughed as he pulled the edges of his threadbare shirt. "I used to fill this garment so the seams might burst. But without my home, without my lands, we are destitute." He waved away the concern that flitted between the three men. "It is worth it. If I had lost my son, my heart would have broken. I would have followed him to the great beyond as soon as this hand of mine could have taken me, even if it was a mortal stain upon my soul. He is alive, so I accept the price gladly." The knight lifted his chin with noble dignity. "I started with nothing and was awarded my lands for my service to the king. If fate has written I should leave the earth as I began, so be it. I shall inform the abbey I am not able to pay them back. No matter what their answer, my son is alive. And that is worth far more than any holdings I earned fighting with King Richard."

  Will asked, in case he had missed an important point, "But why would you go to the abbey when you have no funds? There's no good news waiting there for you."

  "I hope to beg for leniency. Perhaps to offer myself as an indentured servant. A knight does not shirk his duties. He honors his promises and faces his foes with bravery and strength. He tells the truth, no matter the consequences."

  "That is no place for a man of your age," John spoke up. "A man who has given loyal service to the king."

  "What choice do I have? If the abbot will not grant me leniency, I shall renounce my family, allowing them to continue their lives without the weight of my shame, and return to the Holy Lands to protect the pilgrims who make their trek across the sandy dunes."

  "You wouldn't last a month in the desert!" exclaimed Will. He turned to Robin. "Tell this fool that the sands of Jerusalem have taken men half his age, much less a graybeard like himself—"

  Robin wordlessly consulted his friends for approval of the idea he was considering. They came to a silent decision.

  An owl hooted in the distance as if in agreement.

  Robin slapped his legs and rose. "Sir, what you need is a sponsor."

  "What?" replied the knight, confused by this sudden change in mood.

  "A sponsor," restated Robin with a grin. "Someone to take on your debts and forgive them."

  "All my friends have abandoned me. It is hopeless. Unless you have the ear of Saint Jude, it seems the saints themselves have turned their back on my petitions." The knight held up his palms in defeat. "I must take responsibility for my actions."

  "We don't know many saints," said Robin, "but better sponsors who live and breathe you will not find."

  John heaved his bulky frame from the ground. He hiked up his tights and gave the knight a grin. "We don't quite float through the air strumming on the lute, but no angel flies faster than Robin to save a desperate soul."

  Robin motioned to their treasury. "Will? John? What do you say we give this man four hundred pounds to save his family home? I believe I may have a little something tucked away."

  The knight watched in confusion and amazement, unable to grasp what was going on, as Robin went over to a bound chest and opened it up.

  It was where he kept his precious things.

  He gently set aside the embroidered ribbon the spinster had given him to share with someone special.

  Beneath it lay the golden arrow he had won in the archery tournament so long ago.

  He placed his hands on the cold metal.

  He had carried it with them all this time, never knowing what to do with it. Too valuable to be used, too valuable to be disposed of, but every time he looked at it, it filled him with memories he did not want. It was worth well beyond four hundred pounds. It would easily cover the cost of the man's debts. But what better use for it than to save a family when it had been won on a day when a family had been torn apart?

  He wondered if he was ready to let go.

  And he realized, he was.

  He was if it could mean something good might come from it.

  A hush fell over the forest as he lifted it and passed it to Will. Will said nothing. A glimmer of a glance was the only sign he understood what it meant. Then, he loaded it into the knight's saddlebag like it was no more important than a wheel of cheese.

  John appraised the knight's appearance. Casually, he said to Robin, "He should have a new tunic and good shoes. The abbot will swear he stole the arrow, otherwise."

  The knight started to protest.

  But Robin nodded in agreement, going over to their ever-growing pile of disguises. "They'll swindle you and take all the money of a poor knight, Sir Richard, but they'd never act against a gentleman." He pulled out a shirt of red and tossed it over. "Try this on."

  As Sir Richard layered on the outfit of a fine merchant, Will sighed with resignation, "He can't go by himself. He may look more the part of a man they might respect, but no one will believe him to be of any importance if he travels alone."

  "That is a wise observation, Will," agreed Robin. He turned back to the knight to inform him of their other new decision. "We shall go to the abbey with you to ensure you are treated fair."

  "This is too much kindness..." The knight's eyes filled again.

  Robin gripped the good man's arm. "You have fought beside King Richard on behalf of the church. You protected us against the invasion of the French. And the thanks you receive for such good works? To have your son taken from you for a tragic accident and your land declared forfeit? And the very church that put you in harm's way in the Holy Land now thinks to profit from your misery? No."

  "I shall tell the balladeers to sing songs of your good works!" the knight declared.

  Robin stopped him. "Allow us to succeed first before declaring the victory."

  "You may tell them to sing a song or two about me!" said Will.

  Robin punched his cousin’s shoulder and then turned back to Sir Richard. "If it goes well, Abbot William Roundel shall treat you fair. But we shall rain down justice if this priest does not grant you leniency in light of your service."

  Sir Richard curled forward in relief, his head bent. "I shall gladly welcome you to ride by my side, to be my men at arms as I fight for that which I hold most dear. By Saint George, you are slaying the dragon I feared would consume me." He then stood, squaring his shoulders, as he cast aside his melancholy and took on the task with newfound strength. He peered through the branches at the faint stars twinkling their way across the night sky. "Despite the late hour, our time is already short. We should not tarry if this generosity is to be put to good use."

  Robin turned to Will. "Keep the bandits away from our camp, would you, Will? It is dangerous out here in Sherwood Forest."

  Will barked a laugh. "Stay here beside the warm fire? You have yourself a bargain, cousin." He went off to saddle their horses.

  "We shall send you out on the next adventure!" promised Robin with a wink. He walked over to their pile of clothes and pulled out two priestly robes of black. He threw one to John and donned the other himself.

  "Mine is a bit short," remarked John, gazing down where the cloak barely came to his mid-calf.

  "Then bend your knees, my good man, like a penitent sinner along a pilgrimage road."

  John chuckled. "I shall save my prayers until we get to the abbey."

  "Now," protested the knight, "do you think it is wise to impersonate God's clergy?"

  "Wear the uniform of your enemy and they won't know that you're there," replied Robin.

  The threesome mounted up and made their way down the road. Though the full moon lit the sky, the shadows of the trees were thick and pressing. They traveled for over half-a-week, through forests and fields, pausing only to rest their horses. They kept silent so as not to attract the attention of predators, both those of the two- and four-legged kind.

  Finally, on the appointed day of the hearing, they saw the towering walls of Saint Mary's Abbey in York.

  In sight of the gate, a black-robed monk ran out to greet them. H
is simple face was awash with relief when he saw the knight. "Oh, you came! You came, Sir Richard. I am so glad! Abbot William has already brought in a royal justice to declare your lands forfeit. He was sure you would not come. I shouldn't speak such things, but Abbot William would have your lands and gladly take all you have, but I, for one, hope you have the funds." He motioned. "Shall I stable your horse, Sir Richard? Make you up a bed?"

  The knight gave a wheezing cough. "The sun shall set upon this day, and when it does, hope is gone. We dare not rest. Instead, we go immediately to the Abbot and the justice to set things right." He motioned to Robin and John. "I bring these honest monks with me to act as witnesses to the fairness of the proceedings." Robin began to speak, but Sir Richard stopped him. "He has taken a vow of silence," he explained.

  Robin and Little John pressed their lips together and made the sign of the cross. The monk nodded and bowed, motioning for the knight, Robin, and Little John to enter. The men dismounted on a courtyard of cobblestones and a stable hand emerged to take care of their steeds. They followed the monk inside and he pointed towards the petition room at the far end. "I must return to my post. They are waiting for you in there."

  The abbey was richer than some palaces, Robin thought as they walked beneath carved ceilings and painted murals. He wondered how many of the poor had spent their time and energy, pouring all they had into these walls in the hopes of buying their salvation. A clergyman dressed in fine red cloth sauntered by. It would be one thing, Robin thought, if its beauty was a refuge where any could rest their weary souls and be uplifted by their surroundings and the art. But this was nothing more than a palace, used to gather wealth and hoard it.

  "I wonder how they treat their poor," Robin mused, before catching himself, realizing he spoke aloud.

  Sir Richard considered at him, the question seeming strange in light of the task before them. But the question was a gnawing worm. "Shall we see?" he asked with a cunning twinkle.

  He suddenly removed the fine clothes Robin and John had bestowed on him. He folded them neatly and handed them to the two men, revealing the threadbare, worn clothing he had been dressed in when he first arrived in their camp.