by Kate Danley
Robin tried to give the clothing back. "He will dismiss your request, believing there is no possible way in a hundred centuries you could pay him back if you come to him as a beggar."
"Let us see," repeated the knight. "Let us see what generosity lies in men who have everything and compare it to you men who have nothing and gave me my liberty and life. Let us see if these men of God can look beyond the value of my dress and see the value of my deeds, see whether acts of service will be enough, or if they will demand nothing less than their gold. Let us see the compassion that lies in their hearts."
"You will find the hearts of men will fail you," cautioned Robin.
"Let us see," replied the knight, now resolute. "I will wager the second half of my life to either you or these men depending on who is able to look past my worldly poverty and behold the riches of my soul."
"It is a wager they will lose," rumbled Little John.
"Then a wager I gladly make," replied Sir Richard with a wink. He continued on, but there was a touch of mischievousness in his step.
Robin wondered if perhaps their time on the road together had caused a bit of the Sherwood spirit to rub off on the noble knight.
Two doors opened and the trio walked into a great hall. It smelled of beeswax and candle soot. The ceiling was covered with scenes from Genesis: Adam and Eve being thrown out of the Garden of Eden for daring to disobey.
At the far end was a dais draped in swathes of red and gold. Abbot William Roundel sat beneath the canopy in a gilt chair, the royal justice perched on a cushioned stool beside him.
It was almost like going to visit a king, thought Robin.
The knight kneeled on the hard flagstone, and Robin and John followed suit.
Sir Richard plainly entreated, "I ask, Father Abbot, for mercy and to grant me, a poor but honorable man in your debt, a little more time."
The abbot rolled his eyes and turned to the justice. "Do you see what I must put up with? I strike a fair bargain. I save this man from losing his property and lands. We set a date, and in he comes saying he does not have the money and asks me for more time." Abbot William turned back to the knight, his scarlet robes rustling. "No."
"Then will you allow me to become your loyal servant?" asked the knight. "Will you allow me to indenture myself to you until I have worked off the sum I owe?"
"A man of your age?" Abbot William laughing. "You would die before you paid off your due." He turned to the justice. "Surely you can see my point. This man comes to me saying he will not pay. He means to take advantage of my generosity. Pronounce that his lands and his property are rightfully mine and we can call this a day."
"What he offers is worth far more than four hundred pounds," replied the justice to the abbot. "To have an honorable knight of the court, a man who fought at the side of Richard the Lionheart, serve you here at the abbey?"
"No!" Abbot William's face flushed as bright as his robe. "He is ancient and weak! I'll end up having to play nursemaid to him in his infirmary within the year! I'll have my money or the land. I'll have nothing in between."
"Would you free him for one hundred pounds?" asked the justice, looking at Sir Richard with sympathy. "Or perhaps he can find two hundred pounds? Something is better than none. He could provide you with wisdom and counsel, insight on what he saw in the Holy Lands."
"I'll have the full four hundred pounds!" said the abbot, "or this man shall give up everything he owns! Those were the terms of our bargain."
It was the pronouncement Sir Richard had been waiting for.
"Very well." The knight rose from the ground. He drew himself to his full height and brushed off his knees. There was danger in his movements. He turned to Robin, who pulled his gift from inside his robes. Sir Richard stepped forward to present it. "Here is a gold arrow worth four hundred pounds. Every time you gaze upon it, may it strike you in your heart. My land is now my own." His stare at Abbot William Roundel was deadly and revealed the fierce spirit that had kept him alive in the desert. "And I, Father Abbot, am not yours. If you had treated me courteously, with sympathy, as a man of God should treat a soul steeped in poverty, as a knight who had protected this realm should have been treated, you would have had payment and an ally. Instead, you have an enemy."
"Now, sir..." Abbot William began to protest. "I merely asked you to fulfill the terms of our contract."
"Indeed. We shall keep to the cold, harsh terms of the agreement and that is all you shall have. No thanks or favor you will ever receive from me. I have paid, but as misfortune falls upon you in the coming days, as Heaven turns its back, know that the true payment has just begun." He turned to Robin and Little John. "We are done."
Sir Richard strode out of the hall to the outraged, sputtering sounds of the Abbot, who tried to find a sympathetic supporter in the justice. His words fell on deaf ears. Robin Hood and Little John bowed and followed behind. As the oak doors closed behind them, Robin carefully swiped two silver candlesticks from a table in the hallway, just for good measure.
The monk who had greeted them had their horses ready and waiting as they exited the abbey. He gave the knight a congratulatory nod as he offered him a leg up.
The three men rode towards home, but the moment they were out of earshot, a huge smile cracked Sir Richard's scowl. Woe and weariness were gone. "It is done!" he said. He reached out and touched Robin's arm and then Little John's. "It is done! And mark my word, I am your man from this day forward. Anything I can do to aid you! And this I swear here today, give me one year and I shall return the four hundred pounds."
Robin tried to tell him about the silver candlesticks, but the man continued. He shook his finger at Robin. "I'll not have you stop me. It is my duty and honor to pay you back. I am sworn! Now, allow me to be your humble servant tonight. We are all weary from so many days on the road. Let us stop by an inn. I still have a few schillings." He jangled the coins in his pouch. "They are worth more at this moment than a king's treasury! What do you say we get some warm food in our belly and a room for us to stay?"
Robin and John exchanged glances, but it was Little John who gently broke the silence. "We are outlaws, my friend. And every minute we spend in a place that falls under the rule of King Henry puts us in danger of being found."
"But you are masters of disguise!" said the knight, motioning to their robes. "If I had not known who you were, I would have believed you members of this very abbey!"
"And therein lies the danger," said Robin. "So close to the abbey, people will know who lives and works here. We cannot hide so near."
The knight squinted at them. "I will make you a wager: the price of tonight's room and board that you shall not be found out. And if you are? I shall rise to your defense! One night out of the cold! One night away from the hard earth! After your kindness, I could not sleep thinking of you among the trees." The knight leaned forward in his saddle. "You are a friend to these people, boys. You give them hope. They will not betray you."
"Even for the bounty on our head?" reminded Robin.
"Not even for that."
"Hungry bellies cause men to take desperate actions," John replied.
"You have been filling their bellies," said the knight. "And they know if they turn you over, it will be worse off than before. They know the moment the Sheriff puts that reward in their hands, he'll accuse them of colluding with you, and will take it away. And probably lock them up in the dungeon until they confess they were your partners all along. The Sheriff would never allow such a sum to be collected by these peasants, especially if he can claim the bounty for himself." The knight gave them a knowing look and then spurred his steed forward.
"He's not wrong," admitted Little John.
"Sadly, not," sighed Robin, urging his horse to follow the knight.
Sir Richard led them to a crossroads where an inn stood. A child with elbows too sharp and cheeks too hollow was sitting beneath the eaves. He ran up to take care of their horses as soon as they dismounted. Robin reminded himself
not to be so generous as to call attention to themselves. To just make sure the boy knew he would not go hungry tonight. Robin pulled out a farthing and gave it to the boy. The child's face lit up.
Inside, the ceiling was low, bringing a cozy warmth to the long room. The smoke of the crackling hearth darkened the whitewashed mud. There were a good dozen villagers enjoying tankards of ale. Their bearing was meager, but their spirits were light.
The innkeeper stepped forward, wiping his hands on his stained apron. "And what can I help you with?"
The knight motioned to Robin and John. "A bite to eat and a warm bed for poor men of the cloth, if you have one."
"All our rooms are taken, but we never turn aside a traveler. You can have a corner by the fire."
The money was haggled and exchanged, and the party sat down on benches worn smooth from the travelers who had come and gone over the years. The innkeeper's wife spooned out their meals onto three boards and put them on their laps. There was some pease porridge, hard bread, and ale.
A minstrel settled down by the flames. He pulled out his lute and began to tune the strings. From the first chord, the entire room stirred with interest. The young boy who took their horses scampered in and sat close to the musician's feet so he wouldn't miss a thing.
"Give us a song!" Sir Richard good-naturedly demanded.
"Perhaps something to honor the Lord our God," said Little John, mischievously, from beneath his priestly hood.
"Bah! How about a song as cheerful and bright as this day has chosen to shine?" insisted the knight, warning Little John not to overplay his hand.
The minstrel apologized. "I do not know my paternoster perfectly as the priest sings it, but I know rhymes of Robin Hood and Randolph, Earl of Chester."
"Sing us the song of Robin Hood!" shouted Sir Richard, giving his friends a nudge.
The minstrel finished tuning and made a dramatic strum. "Ah, the good thief Robin Hood, who benefits those who tell the truth and punishes those who lie. Who sits upon a throne in his woods! Better a king of Sherwood Forest than a peasant in this troubled land!" pronounced the minstrel. "A good tale to be told around the fire! Sit close my friends and I shall share the stories for as long as I have something to drink. A man's throat gets so parched singing a song." The minstrel gave the innkeeper's wife a wink and she, with a knowing roll of her eyes, came over with a tankard.
The night passed merrily for the travelers. Robin and Little John were amused to hear everything they had supposedly been up to. Robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, and always leaving a feather with their gift so everyone would know who it was from.
Now lying on the floor, chin resting on his fists, the stable boy asked with wonder, "Is he real? Is Robin really real?"
The minstrel leaned forward to the child. "I have met him myself and every word I speak is true." He ruffled the boy's hair. "We're best mates! I spend my days in Sherwood Forest recording the good they do and then come back to share their works with you. Now, I pass my hat and I swear all the money I collect will go straight to Robin to be given to the poor!"
Robin noted where the minstrel placed the funds once he was done collecting from the audience.
The innkeeper's wife began putting out the candles and banking the fire. The local villagers started saying their goodbyes and wandering back to their homes. The innkeeper pushed back the benches to make room for everyone who was bedding down in the main room, and the young boy ran a quick broom over the stones. Blankets were provided for those who wanted them. The knight, Robin, and John opted for their cloaks rather than risking lice and fleas.
As they lay there, warm in the dark, Robin wondered at how strange it was to sleep with a roof above.
He missed the song of the crickets, the sound of the wind through the leaves. The crackling flames cast the room in brown shadows and orange light, but Robin missed the silvery touch of the moon. And though the floor was warmer than the forest floor, he stared at the beamed ceiling, yearning strangely for the night sky.
The trio was up at dawn and made their way to the stable before the house stirred. The knight took them both by the arm. "Fair travels to you. And upon my oath as a knight, I say you are forever a friend to our family and I shall forever be in your debt. Mark the day! One year from now, I shall return that which I borrowed from you to gain back my land. And I shall pay it back with interest!"
Robin clapped him on the back. "We shall look forward to seeing you, my friend, no matter what the circumstance. But do you know what would fill my heart with the greatest joy? To hear that you have turned around your fortunes, to know there is one landholder out there treating his people kindly and protecting them from starvation. Serve your people well and you will have served us. We do not want anything more."
"I shall," promised the knight. He mounted his horse and waved goodbye. "Mark my words! A year! I shall bring treasure and peacocks! I am sworn!" And then he headed down the crossroads, making his way on a different path.
Robin wondered if they would ever see one another again.
"Are you ready to go?" asked Little John, holding his horse's halter rope.
"Almost," said Robin. He took a cloth-wrapped package from his saddlebag.
Little John realized what Robin was about to do. "You are tempting the fates..." warned Little John.
"They'll not remember our faces," said Robin with a wink. "But if the Sheriff shows up and they do, they'll remember this kindness, more."
Robin walked back into the room and laid the package before the hearth, placing a feather inside so, as sung in the songs, everyone would know who it was from.
And then, as he walked past the minstrel, he gently lifted the purse the man said he was going to deliver to Robin and replaced it with a feather.
Finally, using the thong that closed the bag, he bound the minstrel's feet lightly together.
An hour later, the innkeeper's wife wept when she discovered the silver candlestick from Robin Hood. Her sobs of surprise at such a windfall woke everyone in the room. And the peals of laughter when the minstrel discovered his purse had been taken and tried to rise to his bound feet only to fall, could be heard all the way to the heart of Sherwood Forest.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After several long days on the road, Robin reclined by the campfire as Little John entertained Will with their Saint Mary's adventure. He couldn't help but feel a little pleased with the way Will looked back and forth between them to confirm it was true. When Will heard the part about Robin stealing the silver candlesticks from under the abbot's nose, he bent over and laughed until he choked. When he heard Robin had given away one of the candlesticks to the innkeeper, he looked like he might choke for another reason.
"It will be like this from now until the end of our days, won't it?" Will asked Little John.
"He gets one taste of treating folks with kindness, and it is like a thirst that is never quenched." But there was a gentle smile on John's face, an unspoken gratitude. "Would have been far easier to walk away, but he had to go spreading rumors that we deal fairly with honest folks."
Will propped his arms behind and tilted his face up to the sky. "Well, what is there to do? We now have a reputation to keep."
Little John hauled his massive frame off the ground and grabbed another log for the fire. "As if being outlaws wasn't bad enough. Now we have to be outlaws with good manners." He let out a tremendous belch.
"You've given us away!" Will exclaimed, batting away the air. "The Sheriff's men will have heard that all the way in Nottingham. Zounds! They are probably on their way already." He pretended his eyes were watering. "You could take down the entire army."
Robin laughed, but while his friends bantered, his mind began to drift.
They had helped the knight, but the spinster's nephew was still in the gaol. She needed those ten schillings. Would a silver candlestick cause the Sheriff to suspect her? Could they sell it? Melt it down? For everything that had happened, he was still powerless
to help her. How could everything that had come to pass return them to the same point?
There was a whisper in the wind, a hint that something important was on the cusp of unfolding. A goldcrest with brown and yellow feathers flitted down and rested on a rock. He cocked his head as if asking, "Are you ready?"
Robin was pulled back to the world as he realized his friends had stopped talking.
"He has that look on his face," Little John remarked, crossing his beefy arms across his thick chest. "I always know we're in for it when he gets that look on his face."
Robin took a twig and began drawing patterns in the dirt. "I was just thinking of all the fortune I gave away instead of sharing it with you, my friends."
Little John threw up his hands. "Oh, now we're in for it! Taking the burden on himself!"
"No!" insisted Robin, as if aghast at the insinuation. "No, indeed! I gave away an arrow worth four hundred pounds."
"It was yours to give away," John reminded him.
"It was funds that could have changed our entire fortunes."
"This is true," said Will, picking something out of his front teeth suspiciously. "But we couldn't have exchanged it anywhere."
"And I stole two candlesticks. But despite coming home with one, I left another behind."
"A candlestick that will be worthless in Nottingham," said Little John. "What are you getting at confessing your sins to us? Did you spend too much time in the abbey and think that we have forgiveness to offer?"
Robin consulted once more with the bird. "Merely indicating my resolve to make amends." He tossed the twig into the flames. "I was just thinking, we had such luck the last time and I do so enjoy a dinner guest, I wonder if there is another hungry man on the road tonight like our knight who might wish to take part in our evening meal."
The little goldcrest sang.
Little John shook his fist good-naturedly and railed at the sky. "Just when a man thinks he'll have one evening to recover from his journey!"
