by Kate Danley
Finally, they stopped before a narrow hole in the ground.
"This is where we shall part company," said the Sheriff, unable to veil his glee. "Are you sure you won't tell us where you have hidden your ill-gotten riches?" He leaned forward and waited. "Speak up!" One of the guards hit Robin across the face with the back of his gauntlet-covered hand. "I wish nothing more than to return these funds to their rightful owners..."
Robin spat blood upon the earthen floor. He tried to stand tall but was met with a blow to the stomach. Doubled over, he gasped, but he made sure not to cry out. "It is exactly where you suppose it to be. In Sherwood Forest."
The Sheriff's face contorted with frustration. "Bah! Throw him into the oubliette!" cursed the Sheriff.
The two men beside Robin picked him up by the elbows and dangled him into the hole. Wordlessly, they let go.
It seemed he hung in the air forever. Unable to anticipate the bottom, when he struck, the pain was sharp and blinding. He groaned and rolled onto his back, wondering if he had broken both his legs and shattered his ankles. The opening was a flickering circle of light far above him. There was nothing else.
"Enjoy your stay. But do let us know if you change your mind," said the Sheriff. "We sometimes forget we have a guest in these quarters, so best if you let us know sooner rather than later. It is so difficult keeping track of people."
"You shall see the Reaper before you see me," Robin hurled back.
"We'll be here to take away your body when you're done with it," laughed the Sheriff. Far above, the light disappeared as a lid was placed on the opening. Robin was plunged into darkness.
He exhaled, suppressing the shiver that traveled down his spine. He needed to find a way out. He reached out with his hands, groping through the pitch-black. He felt a wall. He turned, continuing to use his fingers to find his way. Methodically, he mapped the room. Twenty minutes later, it felt like he had made his way around the entire expanse. There was not a nook or cranny or toehold in the entire round cell. Carved into the stone of Nottingham, the oubliette was shaped like a wine bottle. The ceiling curved in toward the opening, which tunneled up to the hole where he had been thrown down. There was not a bone or spoon or anything which might be used as a tool to climb out. There were not even rats for a doomed man to feast on to keep alive.
Robin curled his knees up to his chest and shivered.
There was no way out.
This was where they sent people to die.
He would starve to death here in this prison cell, forgotten by all, unless he betrayed his friends and told the Sheriff how to find their camp.
It was not a choice, he told himself, rubbing his eyes with his palms. It was not even an option.
But as he shivered in the damp and cold, thinking of the days to come before his body withered and died, he wondered if he would continue to have the resolve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He had no idea how much time had passed. In the blackness, there was only sleeping and not sleeping. There were no drafts, no bursts of air, yet the prison remained cold. The walls wept a slight film of damp moisture, and he pressed his lips against the rock, trying to suck it dry.
At some point, the next day or the next week, there was no way of telling, the opening to the cell opened.
"Have you thirty-two schillings and sixpence yet, Robin?" called the Sheriff from high above.
Robin's lips cracked as he shouted back. "Come down and see if I have!"
"Have you decided to barter your chattel and tell us how to find your camp?"
"Not today," replied Robin.
"I imagine you are quite parched," said the Sheriff. "Here, have some water." And then a stream of liquid came down from the opening as the Sheriff urinated into the hole.
More times of awake and sleeping came and passed. It became difficult to think. Laying in the dark, his senses began to play tricks on him. He heard sounds in the silence and saw shapes where there were none. He closed his eyes to shut everything out, allowing his mind to travel to his home in Barnsdale, to the happy days of tending his family's small flock and farming the fertile fields. In his memory, it was a verdant paradise. He spilled dry tears thinking of his father's death and how, for all his running, it did not matter that he escaped that day. The Sheriff now held his life. It would have been better for him to die in the smoke and flames with his father than to slowly wither to nothing, forgotten in a pit.
But just when his misery threatened to tear him apart, a face flitted across his mind's eye, a face that entranced him, a face that had returned to him in Sherwood Forest.
Marian.
He could almost feel her comforting hand as she stood next to him in the dappled woods.
He told her to cling to the weapon of her enemy to prove she could survive. He clung to her now, both hating and loving her.
She would never know her gentle encouragement to try a confession sent him to this end. For hours, he raged at her and the world, but soon the emotions were wrung out and all he was left with was the quiet beauty of her soul. He chose to spend the rest of the time remembering every detail of her – the sparkle in her eyes, the lilt of her words, the warm tug he felt in his heart when she smiled at him at the May Games. He wanted to drown in her, so when the end came, hers was the face that would guide him into the light.
And then, the entrance above him opened once again.
"Someone paid dearly for you to receive this," said a rough and distant voice. A round object attached to a rope was lowered. "Utter a noise and I'll drop it so fast it cracks before it touches your lips."
Robin's heart leaped as his slow-moving thoughts began to comprehend what was happening. It was a basket. His fingers fumbled around inside and found an earthen jug and a loaf of bread.
Robin suddenly understood the gratitude of the people he had left gifts for. To be staring into the face of death and then, almost from the heavens, to have the one thing you need to survive appear. Robin blessed whoever sent him the gift, vowing if he made it out alive, he would find his savior and repay him one hundredfold. He silently removed the items and tugged on the rope so the jailer could take it back up.
"I'll leave you with the bottle then," said the jailer. "I would recommend breaking the neck and using it to end yourself now. It will not get any better."
The water was sweeter than the finest wine to ever touch his lips, the bread more nourishing than the juiciest venison. He resisted the urge to down it all, knowing unless a miracle occurred, it would have to last him for the rest of his life.
Hands shaking, he put the stopper back on the bottle and carefully placed it across the room so he wouldn't be tempted to heed the jailer's advice.
He would not take that option until the last drop was gone.
More time of sleeping and not sleeping passed, but suddenly, he was roused by the sound of voices above.
One was a familiar voice.
A boisterous voice.
A deep, rumbling voice that made the rocks around him vibrate and sing with the echoes of his best friend.
It had to be a dream.
He closed his eyes, trying to figure out if it was real or another hallucination.
It was so hard to tell anymore.
But it sounded like the voice of Little John.
Robin wanted to cry that he was down in the hole as Little John's laugh tumbled in his ears. But he held his words back. If Little John was really here, if it wasn't a delusion, it meant Little John had a plan.
Hope.
For the first time since he had been dropped into the oubliette, hope sprang in Robin's chest.
He listened as John and the guard shared songs and jokes. Robin heard ale being poured into a cup. He heard the speech slur and become weary. And then he heard the unmistakable sound of the guard's voice being cut off. Forever.
"Here!" Robin croaked. His throat was so dry. The word hung in the air without the strength to fly to John. "Here!" he whispered again, terrified
his best friend would not find him.
There was the sound of rummaging, of careful footsteps, and then the cover twenty feet above him was lifted back. A hulking, looming, beautiful shape stood silhouetted in the lamplight.
Little John made the sound of a wolf and Robin tried to tweet like a bird.
"Close enough," said Little John, lowering a rope. "Step into the loop at the bottom and hold on. We're here to get you out."
Robin did as commanded, and Little John pulled him up, hand over hand. He wondered at the power of his friend's strength as he dangled in midair. "Keep going, John!" he weakly encouraged. "Almost there!"
His fingertips just grasped the lip of the hole as he felt Little John waver. Desperately, Robin crawled out onto the ground, the opening around the oubliette feeling like the shore to a drowning sailor. Little John grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him out.
They both lay on the floor together, gasping.
The sight of Little John's face caused Robin's heart to overflow. He wanted to fling his arms around this man who risked everything to save him, who came to the gates of this hell to drag him out. Little John looked like he wanted to do the same.
Instead, John used his foot to kick the lid back where it belonged. The chainmail he was wearing rattled. "I don't know how long we will have," he said roughly.
Robin forced himself to stand, but staggered and needed to lean against the wall. "How did you manage?"
"Much has been buying off every guard in town. Finally found someone who heard you had been thrown down here. Did you get his gift?"
If there was liquid left in his body to spill as tears, torrents of gratitude would have run down Robin's cheeks as he nodded.
"He's a good friend," said Little John, glancing outside the prison door. "Every time he freed someone for us from this prison, he added some extra to sweeten the relationship with the guards. Even covered their drinks in the brewhouse out of his own wages. He made some financial promises we shall have to fulfill, but you're alive, my friend." Little John hauled himself off the ground and got back to the matter at hand. He stretched out his weary arms as he asked, "We're not out yet, though. We need to get you into the guard's clothing. Can you manage?"
Robin tried to take a step to the table where the corpse was slumped, but stumbled. Little John grabbed him before he hit the floor.
Robin hung on tight, hugging Little John fiercely. He did not let go.
Little John beamed, ruffling Robin's hair as he would a younger brother. His eyes glinted in the lantern light. "Damn you. You're alive, and that's all that matters."
"I am grateful for the continual efforts to bring me back aboveground," Robin tried to quip. He stared at the lid to his prison. "I feel like you dragged me out of the mouth of Hades."
"You look like it, too." Little John sat Robin at the table while he undressed the guard. Robin grabbed food from the dead soldier's plate. He knew the sight of the corpse should have caused the bread to stick in his throat, that the horror of the murder should have sat wrong with him. But he was so hungry, he didn't care. He was so grateful, he didn't care.
"Don't eat so much you lose everything you just shoved down your gullet." Little John began dressing him, seeing between food and freedom, his friend was in no position to make a decision.
"How did you get in? And find a uniform to fit you?" asked Robin, in between bites and John's ministrations.
"I got an audience with King Henry and he wrote me a letter of introduction."
"Ha ha."
"Leftover from my time in the Sheriff's guard," replied Little John. "The cook who helped me escape has been keeping it in the kitchen ever since." He pointed at the crust on the plate. "Finish that off! It won't make us any friends if the cook sees a starved man has turned up his nose at his baking."
"Would hate to make another enemy," Robin replied, shoving the last of the bread in his mouth and downing the dregs of leftover wine.
"Will is waiting. Come on. Our window to escape is closing," said Little John, pushing Robin to go. "Act as if you belong. Try not to let on you're as weak as a kitten."
"As mighty as a lion is what I believe you meant to say," said Robin, his knees buckling for a moment.
They slowly and carefully began their ascent from the underworld of the gaol to the land of the living. Little John slowed as the footsteps of another soldier rang down the hall. Robin kept himself plodding with the dull boredom of a guard trapped in the bowels of a windowless prison as they made their ascent. Through the warren of dusty, earthen passageways, they managed to sneak past everyone.
They were within yards of the entrance.
The light from outside seeped around the edges of the front door.
Freedom was steps away.
Robin had to force himself not to run.
But then, the door opened and several guards entered. They grunted as they passed.
And then one stopped.
He turned and considered Robin and Little John. "You're a tall one, you are. You new here?"
Robin felt his heart pounding and his hands turn clammy. Another guard entered and Robin saw on the street outside, a redheaded man dressed in a forester's Lincoln green tunic was waiting.
Will tilted his head, as if to ask if everything was all right? Robin had just enough time to shake his head before the door closed, cutting them off.
Little John grunted. "Just joined."
"You look familiar... Who's your commander?" asked the guard, the others around him turning, sensing his suspicions.
It was at that moment, a great bell began clanging and a voice began clamoring, "PRISON BREAK! PRISON BREAK!"
Little John and Robin Hood looked at each other and then the guards. Everyone seemed shocked and unsure of what to do. No one was running towards the doors. Finally, the guard said, "Follow me! Into the cells!"
Robin and Little John stepped to the side as a stream of soldiers poured in from the street, far too many to fight against. They joined the mob, trying to blend in as the captain barked orders. "You! Look through the cell block! You, check the madhouse!"
The soldiers raced down the hallway. As the shouts continued, Little John got Robin's attention and jerked his chin towards the captain and the jangling keys he wore on his belt. Robin gave a nod. Little John dashed forward with the press of soldiers and planted his huge body between the captain and the narrow, sandstone passage. Mirroring the captain's movements Little John became a dam in the stream.
The captain yelled at Little John, getting more and more frustrated as he tried to get around the giant. "Get out of my way, you idiotic oaf!"
Meanwhile, Little John groveled and apologized while continuing to block him. "Sorry, sir! Sorry! I'm trying to get that way!"
In the chaos, Robin banged into the captain, as if caught in an eddy of people. Reaching around as he jostled against the man, he unbuckled the captain's belt. The captain's sword went clattering to the ground. Little John and Robin both dove to the floor to help the captain pick it up, full of apologies and groveling. Robin grabbed the strap and Little John grabbed the captain.
"So sorry, sir! Sorry!" Robin helpfully fastened the sword back onto the commander. "We'll just get this on. Stand still. Too many men dashing about."
The captain blustered and sputtered.
Little John pointed down the hallway. "The prisoner! I see him!"
The captain, distracted by this new development, ran down the hall. Before he disappeared down the stairs, he ordered Robin and Little John, "See me after this!"
Robin smiled at Little John and held up the ring of keys.
"Shall we show them what a real prison break looks like?" Little John asked, his eyes twinkling with cruel mirth.
Robin and John turned and ran down another passageway. Frightened prisoners cowered in their cells.
Robin leaned up against the bars and gave them a wink. "This is a rescue. As soon as we are gone, run like hell towards the door." Though his hands tremble
d, he unlatched the heavy lock and then moved to the next cell.
He made it through five cells before a guard turned the corner and caught him. "TRAITOR!" the guard cried.
Little John put his shoulder down and slammed the guard in the stomach before he could raise further alarm. But it was enough.
"To the door, Robin," said Little John. "We have our cover."
They raced out after the escaping people like they were moving to capture them. "Get back here!" Robin said as he jogged along.
"I've got one!" bellowed Little John as he aided an old woman to her feet and shooed her along.
The front door was open and they ran through. Will Scarlett stood ready. The moment he saw Little John and Robin, he leaped on the back of his horse, and rode south calling out, "They can't catch me! I am Robin Hood! Rise up, people! The Sheriff sleeps with swine!"
Little John pointed at Will and called to the guards, "I see him! The prisoner Robin Hood is escaping! That way! The green man on the horse!"
"Will means to offer himself as a decoy," said Robin, horrified that his cousin might be harmed.
"Next time I tell you to steer clear of Saint Mary's, listen to your friend, would you?" grumbled Little John. He put his hand on Robin's back and pushed him in the opposite direction of where Will rode. "Now, keep moving."
Robin and John ran down the street, trying to maintain the illusion that they were a part of the peace-keeping force. But as they neared the home of the spinster, she glanced up from her carding and gave them a toothless smile. "In you go, boys," she said, opening her door for them. She then moved her chair in front of the threshold and shut the door with a wink.
The home was squalid. It smelled of the stale urine the spinster used to clean the wool she spun. The windows were narrow and the walls were thick, though, and the shadows gave them shelter.
