by Kate Danley
He straightened up, though, trying to keep himself from surrendering to the feeling of powerlessness. He pulled out the bag. "The old spinster was not at her house. I could not leave this on a doorstep. It is ten schillings to get her nephew out of gaol."
"Oh, Robin..." said Much. He paused as a man carrying a clucking chicken passed by and then continued when they were out of earshot. "It's too dangerous right now. If I go in there and hand over this sort of money to free her family, they'll know for sure it isn't coming from my wages."
Robin motioned to the cockpit. "Well, say you won it gaming."
Much gave him a look suggesting the believability of that.
Robin sighed, defeated. He pulled out a bag filled with the abbot's coins. "Would you at least distribute this to the people who need it most?" he asked.
"And how do they explain if one of the Sheriff's men starts questioning them how they got a whole pound coin?" asked Much. "Maybe a penny or two we could hide, but his men are sure to figure it out."
Robin rubbed his stubbled cheek, a recent shave now growing out. He hoped it was enough of a change to give him a slight disguise. Disguises weren't going to be enough anymore. They needed some way to hide in plain sight, some way to justify the flow of coins. Suddenly, an epiphany struck him. He grabbed Much's arm. "What if you were to buy this brewhouse?"
"What?" Much pulled away, his eyes wide as a disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. "You're mad."
"Say your father sold his mill. Say that you inherited it from a rich uncle in London. But if you were the owner of the brewhouse and tavern, no one would question where you got the funds from. You could give out money to the people at will. You could be a sponsor of the entire town of Nottingham!"
He pressed the heavy bag into Much's hand. Much became still.
"Or I could buy back my family's mill..." he said slowly. "And be rid of this place forever."
He looked at Robin, his face awash with a sadness that Robin had never seen before.
"I could stop helping you rob people. Maybe... maybe the Sheriff would stop hurting people if we stopped. It could go back to the way it was. I could buy a mill and you could buy a farm, and we could just... stop."
The realization struck Robin like a lightning bolt, and the aftermath of his illuminated selfishness was just as destructive.
What am I doing? Robin wondered. Much had lost his family and home, too. Just because Much was cheerful and kindhearted did not mean he didn't carry around his own pain, a pain it had never even dawned on Robin to look for. He had been so caught up in his own tragedy, he had not thought how losing the mill affected Much.
Layers of horror began to crash around Robin as he realized the implications of what Much had said.
Much had never wanted to be involved. He never wanted anything but honest employment, and Robin and his friends talked him into putting himself into danger every day. Every favor they asked came with the possibility of destroying his gentle spirit. But Much did it. He risked his safety, his livelihood, even though he could be arrested at any moment for aiding Robin, John, and Will. He still did it.
And Robin had not even thought of the dangers when he proposed Much dive in even deeper with them.
The entire town was being hurt because of his vendetta. If he had just gone to Wales or Scotland, even crossed the Pennines, he would have been free of the Sheriff. But instead, he stayed to avenge his father. And though he had tricked himself into thinking he was helping, people were suffering, crushed under arbitrary taxes and tithes, all brought about because he had tried to push back against the natural order.
"Oh Much," he said, his eyes darting as the pieces came together. "What have I done?"
"Nothing..." said Much, confused by Robin's sudden change in spirit.
"Of course," said Robin, closed Much's fingers around the bag. "Of course you should buy back your mill. You should buy it back and get out of here. This town is no place for a man as good as you. I have been very foolish. You must save your family and your land." He gripped his friend's arm. "You must."
Robin turned and raced up the stairs. Every face was an accusation. Would this person die because of his thirst for revenge? How about that one? Did they have fathers and mothers? Were they parents themselves? How many had been ripped apart from their loved ones because he had chosen to rob a forester, a merchant, an abbot, and the countless others they had taken from? How many would suffer for the death of his father? It was only one man, albeit the most important man in his life, but how many was he robbing of the most important people in their lives?
"Wait!" Much shouted after him.
Robin walked swiftly out the door and onto the castle road, turning his feet and trying not to run towards the embrace of Sherwood Forest.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They ducked beneath the leafy fronds of the forest's gigantic ferns. Fall was stripping the oak and beech of their leaves. Finding a place to hide was becoming more and more difficult. The morning had not yet given way to midday, and the lingering chill of the early hours still clung to the air. The sound of hooves and coach wheels invaded the forest's natural rhythms.
Little John blew on his fingertips, trying to warm his hands. "What are they doing all the way out here?"
After everything that had happened with the abbot, they decided to move deeper into the forest. There was a smaller road infrequently used, and the sound of a carriage was strange.
"Trying to avoid us?" Will asked his two friends rhetorically. "I'll wager my dinner they're weighted down with more than just passengers."
Little John turned to Robin. "Nothing from Much about travelers taking alternate routes?"
Robin did not have the heart to say he had not asked Much about travelers during their exchange a few days ago, or that he didn't want to ask Much about people to rob anymore. "No."
"Do we stop them or let them pass?" asked Will.
There was no gift of intuition from the gods today. The wind only brought dead and dying leaves, the gold and yellow reminders of a once verdant season.
"Winter's not far off. We have a lot to do if we hope to survive." Little John elbowed Robin in the ribs. "And someone gave away a fair share of our windfall."
Robin had told his friends that he had given Much a sizable sum with the instructions to either buy the brewhouse or distribute it to the poor. He left out the part of the conversation where he had backtracked on everything and told Much to buy back his mill and get out of Nottingham. He would tell John and Will. Eventually. But there was a part of him that worried Will might try to talk Much out of it, and he wanted no part of that.
Will squeezed his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, thoughtfully. "What do you say we ask them to pay our toll?"
Robin felt sickened. Would this harm the people of Nottingham more? Would robbing this coach press the foot of power harder on their necks?
"Perhaps—" he began to suggest.
But Little John and Will were already up and running. It was too late. If he called, the carriage driver would know there were men in the forest.
Perhaps just this one last time, Robin whispered.
He rose and followed his friends, their bodies a steady flow as their legs ate the ground beneath them. There was a bend in the road the carriage would have to slow to navigate. Will and John picked up a long, heavy branch and placed it across the road. They had just completed their task when the carriage turned the corner and drew to a halt.
Robin forced down a strange sense of nausea and stepped forward, bow drawn. "Hand over your cash box! Tell your passengers to disembark!"
The door to the carriage swung open. Out came an angry lord, two guards, and a trembling young maiden.
Robin's arrow wavered, but not because of the number of the armed force.
It was the woman.
She was not just any woman.
Like the first time he saw her, everything else faded. There didn't seem to be enough air in the forest. The blo
od rose in his cheeks as his chest tightened.
"Marian?" Robin whispered.
Little John elbowed him in the ribs.
Robin pulled himself together. He tried not to notice the way the sun broke through the clouds, and fell upon her, as if beckoning him to notice how it fell on her curves, how it ignited her fiery mane. Dry-mouthed, he commanded, "Pour out your belongings! Make a pile of the worldly possessions you have wrongfully taken from the poor!"
But there was a terror in Marian's eyes. She looked from the lord to Robin, as if trying to speak, but someone had taken her words.
He hated it, hated the way she cowered. "Do not fear," Robin tried to reassure her. He did not want to be the reason she recoiled. "All women are safe here in Sherwood Forest," he insisted. He turned to the men of her party, trying to speak with great bravado. "And do not worry, men, you shall see your money again. As the rich steal from the poor, now the poor steal from the rich, so we might have the funds to pay you when you darken our door."
Suddenly, the angry lord grabbed Marian by the waist and flung her in front of him. He moved so fast, Robin had not even seen him pull out his weapon. But now, a glinting knife pressed against Marian's throat. She gave a gasp as the man growled, "You don't harm women, eh? Well, then, you'll forgive me if she must come between us."
The world began to slow, like the time he had found the Sheriff outside his burning home in Barnsdale. Everything became quiet and still and unreal.
"Hold steady, Robin," cautioned Little John.
"Now, now," interrupted the carriage driver, holding out his hands in protest to the lord. "This here is Robin Hood. He won't harm you. We might even get a warm meal out of it—"
"Are you in league with him?" shouted the lord, keeping his blade close to Marian. Faster than a blink, his other hand dropped to his side and grabbed a second knife from his belt. He flung it, and it hit the coach driver in the throat.
The man fell to his knees, blood spilling over his fingers. Marian screamed.
"You do not shoot your arrow," the lord noted as he turned to face Robin with a cunning gleam. "I thought it might be so." The lord flicked his eyes to his men. "Guards? Reload the carriage. These fools will do us no harm."
"Robin?" pressed Little John, waiting for the word to strike.
Robin's pulse pounded in his ears.
A cold sweat burst upon his brow.
"Robin?" Little John asked again as the guards began gathering up their goods.
Marian's face was awash with dread.
"Yes, Robin? Robin?" laughed the lord. He leaned forward, the sharp edge of his blade dangerously close to Marian's gentle pulse. "I have spilled blood in your forest, and you don't strike. Here you've had everyone on the run, talking about the green man of the forest, the devil, a spirit in the trees, but you're nothing more than a frightened little boy playing at the bandit, traipsing around the forest with his friends."
"I think it is just the three of them," laughed the guard, putting the chest back onto the carriage. "Even that big monster of theirs is not so large he can't be felled."
"I think we should see what mettle these men are made of," said the lord, leering at Marian. "Won't it be fun to tell our friends that today we slew the great hero of the peasants, to see their face when we deliver his severed head to the Sheriff of Nottingham and collect the reward?"
Marian's gasps begged Robin to help her.
"Take your things and leave in peace, just let her go," Robin commanded, but his voice shook.
"Oh, I don't think so," said one of the guards as he and his friend pulled out their swords. They began squaring off with Little John, Will, and Robin.
"Perhaps I should kill the girl and let the rabble believe we killed the great Robin Hood after finding him engaged in ungentlemanly behavior with a woman above his rank." The lord ran his tongue along Marian's temple. She pulled away from him as far as she dared, trying to be brave, trying not to be the reason he killed her.
Robin's face was the last thing the lord saw as the arrow lodged itself into his left socket and bored into his skull.
The man dropped to his knees, a cry of pain ripping itself from his lips before he fell prone to the earth. Another bowstring snapped and the guard closest to Little John dropped. But Will's arrow flew wide. The third man, the one Will had been covering, rushed towards Little John. All Robin could think was he would not hold his best friend's dead body as he had held his father's.
Little John flung aside his bow and lifted his sword.
Will pulled out his sword.
They were both too late.
Robin knew they would be too late.
He had already nocked a second arrow and let it fly before the man could reach his friends. The guard did not see it coming. It went through the man's ear, the target as precise as the bulls-eye Robin struck at the May Games when he had fought for Maid Marian once before.
It was as if it had been practice for this moment.
The man turned and looked at Robin in surprise as he hit the ground.
Without hesitation, Little John rushed forward and cleaved the man's skull from his shoulders.
Marian shivered, scarlet splattered on her dress.
She gazed down at the lord who had held her, his body still twitching.
"He meant to harm me," she spoke, her words empty in her mouth. Her hands spread in horror. Shattered.
"I could not let that happen," Robin tried to explain as he lowered his bow.
He was shaking.
He had never struck a man before.
He had killed a lord.
The Sheriff killed people for poaching a deer. What would he do to someone who slaughtered one of the king's kinsmen?
As the metallic scent of blood struck his senses, Robin could not stop the bile rising in his throat. He walked to the side of the road. Four men were dead. Not in battle, not in protecting land or country, but because he had tried to rob four people of their worldly possessions and it had gone horribly wrong.
His stomach lurched, threatening to erupt. He tried to pull himself together. And failed.
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "He meant to harm me," Marian repeated.
Robin nodded but did not turn towards her. He couldn't. He was a million miles away. The world was distant and muffled. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears.
The smell was the same as the day he lost his father.
The rust colored stains were the same.
Only this time, he was the one who had committed the act.
"I thank you for saving my life." She wiped the arrow on her skirt and held it out to Robin.
He studied it, at first unsure of what it was. It dawned on him it was an arrow. His arrow. She was holding his arrow out to him. He realized he should take it from her. He took it and placed it in his quiver.
She took his face, forcing him to look at her, to ground himself in her. He tried to still the shuddering in his soul.
He had killed a man.
He had killed two men.
She shook Robin's head as his gaze became unfocused, bringing him back again. "My uncle fought on many battlefields. It is a sad day for a man's soul when he must become so hardened, killing does not trouble him. It is a sad day when the slaughter of a human is no more troubling than butchering a pig or bear. It troubles you because your heart is good, Robin. You are good, Robin. Your heart is still good."
Robin slowly began to find his words again. "My soul is marked..." he murmured, the weight of murder smothering him. It felt like being buried alive. "It is a sin that can never be erased."
"You were protecting me. He and his men attacked my carriage up the road."
He swallowed, then gripped Marian's wrist like a sailor lashing himself to a mast in high seas. "You were attacked?"
"They kidnapped me, they said for ransom. They stole my uncle's carriage. They left my men and my traveling companion for dead... They are dead..." Her great strength
now stumbled. She looked at Little John, Will, and Robin as the shock gave way to reality. And then, she crumbled. She threw her arms around Robin's neck and clung to him. Robin slowly wrapped his arms around Marian to embrace her, her heartbeat breaking through the numbness and reminding him that he was here. That he was needed.
"I was powerless," she wept. "I could not speak. I did not fight back. I did not know if it would make it better or worse. I kept looking for a way to get away. I should have fought, but I just wanted to survive. I kept looking for a way to escape, but there was no getting away. Why didn't I stop him?"
They held each other, the emotions like buffeting waves on a craggy shore. But slowly, Marian detached herself and stepped away to gather her composure. She wiped her cheeks. A chill descended as she swore, as heartfelt as any knight taking an oath, "I will never be powerless again."
Robin needed to be strong. He knew what he must do. For Marian. For himself.
He walked over to the corpse of the once angry lord, stifling his revulsion, ignoring where Marian had yanked out the arrow to return it to him.
He took the knife from the dead man's limp hand. He pulled off the man's belt and sheath. He brought them both over to Marian. Gently, tenderly, he belted them around her waist. He closed her fingers around the hilt of the blade. "Keep this," he said, willing her to understand her power was hers again, saying it to remind himself he had his power, too. "Your enemy's weapon in your hand will remind you why you fight. Your enemy's weapon in your hand will remind you that you have survived and won before. You will survive and win again."
She blinked. The merry green eyes that had entranced him at the tournament, that held him when he thought he might go mad, were soft and liquid. "These events shall be the crucible that burns away my weakness. The woman forged in this fire shall be stronger than the steel in a blacksmith's hearth."
Little John stepped forward, his hulking form so soft. He spoke in that same way he spoke to Robin when the memories were too huge. "I was a blacksmith, milady, and without hesitation, you are stronger than anything I ever forged. But do not allow it to make you hard," he counseled.
