Olde Robin Hood

by Kate Danley

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Robin rode the horse hard towards the bailey of Nottingham Castle, blowing the horn as Guy had bragged would signal the death of Robin Hood.

  The gates opened and Robin urged his horse onto the castle green, praying it was not too late. Little John stood on the gallows, the noose around his neck. The hangman's tools of torture were spread out across the platform for the populace to behold and delight in. They were not yet stained.

  The Sheriff was standing excitedly in the royal box at the far end of the green, unable to keep his seat as he strained to see if Sir Guy had brought him Robin's skull. Maid Marian stood beside him, her face pale and wan, in dread.

  Robin did not lower his hood as he dismounted from his horse. He pulled Guy's head from his saddlebag by the hair, grateful that it was the same color as his own, and held it up before the crowd. A hungry cheer rose from the bloodthirsty people. Robin flashed back to the moments he had been with Guy, remembering his stance, his walk, his stoop. There was a broad swagger to his steps, space that he took up with his stride. His voice was low and gravely.

  Robin stood in the center of the field next to the scaffold. He opened his mouth and let the words fly so they carried across the press of onlookers. "I, Sir Guy of Gisborne, have killed the outlaw Robin Hood. I hold him here for all to see!"

  Robin tried not to pay attention to the people who shrank back in horror to hear Robin was dead. He tried not to notice the hope leave them. He tried not to see the tears they shoved down before one of the Sheriff's men detected their grief.

  Marian swooned. A rippling gasp echoed through the audience as she fell. Little John looked neither right nor left. His face remained stony and defiant, but the soft, uncontrollable shaking of his shoulders gave him away.

  The Sheriff was loving it. "Indeed?" said the Sheriff, clasping his hands together. He motioned to his guards. "Someone! Please! You must bring me the head of Robin Hood! Place it on a pike and parade it before these peasants so they know what happens to those who defy the law of good King Henry!"

  A soldier crept forward. His eyes met Robin's and he blenched as he took the skull. His other friends were not so squeamish, though, and grabbed it roughly, dropping and kicking it to one another, disfiguring it even more, before placing it upon a pike and marching it across the field to the Sheriff.

  The Sheriff smiled, leering at Maid Marian in her distress. "Why, it appears your Robin put up quite the fight. His face is so cut and disfigured, I can barely recognize him." He called back to Robin. "I hope he didn't suffer too much."

  Robin let loose a cackling laugh. "Oh, that depends on your definition of 'too much'."

  The company of soldiers broke into a wave of glee that would chill a man's soul.

  But one brave voice called out. "Long live Robin Hood!"

  The Sheriff's face turned red with fury. "Who was that! Bring him to me!"

  It was Much.

  Robin's heart fell at the sight of his goodhearted friend. He had needlessly stood up and placed himself in danger. But Robin also felt his soul warm as he realized the depths of Much's love. Much was frog-marched up to the dais where the Sheriff stood. Much was blinking back his tears.

  The Sheriff's lids narrowed. "Ah, you are the one who has provided the refreshments for my guards," noted the Sheriff. "Well, the only thing worse than death is to have to live penniless and broken." He turned to the crowd. "Open the taps on all the ale! Since this man holds with someone who robs from the rich and gives to the poor, why he must want to give away all his riches to my poor, parched guards! Let it be known this man has ruined himself. In honor of his dear friend, Robin Hood!"

  An alewife stepped forward with brimming tankards for the Sheriff's entire party. Her lips were pursed as she looked at Much and the Sheriff in fear. The Sheriff took the largest cup and impressed his men by drinking it down with one draught.

  Robin had been hoping for such a thing. Another barmaid brought Robin a tankard and Robin raised it towards the Sheriff. "Race you to the bottom, good sir!"

  The Sheriff, delighted in turn, snatched another tankard and began gulping it down. He stopped, though, when he noted Robin was not drinking.

  "Do you back down from your own challenge?" asked the Sheriff.

  "Not at all!" said Robin. "I was just thinking there was someone who was thirstier than me!" Laughing, Robin walked over, stole the pike from the soldier and, mockingly, pretended to make Guy's head drink.

  The Sheriff howled with laughter as he raced to drink faster than Robin could pour ale down the dead man's open mouth, gasping for breath as the ale came out of the bloody stump.

  "And another race!" said Robin. "But this time with a man who had better drink fast because pretty soon the hangman's noose will make it difficult to swallow!" Robin lifted a tankard and marched up the wooden steps to Little John.

  His friend, unable to see Robin beneath the shadows of his hood, struggled as Robin grabbed his hair and tilted him back. "Are you ready Sheriff?" bellowed Robin, playing to the crowd. "Wouldn't want to turn down the hospitality of your tavern keeping host!"

  The Sheriff snapped his fingers at the page to bring him and everyone around him another cup, giggling at the fun. He lifted the ale to his lips, ready to down it on Robin's word.

  Little John fought, but then his eyes grew wide as they locked on Robin's. He began choking and gasping as Robin poured the ale in the general vicinity of his mouth, spilling more on the ground than in his friend.

  As the Sheriff finished his cup, he wiped his chin with the back of his sleeve. "Did he not like the taste?"

  "His throat seems to be bothering him!" said Robin, shaking the noose. This, again, sent the Sheriff into gales of laughter.

  By now, the Sheriff's face had turned beet red from the drink, which was exactly how Robin wanted him. He rested his hand on the gallows and shouted, "I demand my prize for killing Robin Hood!"

  "Whatever you like!" said the Sheriff, waving his cup with joy. "I'll bring you pails of gold from my treasury!"

  "BAH!" said Robin Hood. "What use have I for money?" He licked his bottom lip hungrily as he eyed up Little John. "The funny thing about killing a man is that it makes you remember how much fun it is."

  The Sheriff burst out into a roar. He pounded his knee and called for another drink. "There you are! How right you are, Sir Guy of Gisborne!"

  "Give me this one!" said Robin, pulling out his Irish knife and running the flat along Little John's cheek.

  Little John gave him a look, warning him he might be getting into the character a little too much. Robin gave him a look to play along before he blew his cover.

  The Sheriff stood once more, lifting his cup. "Do us the honor! I'm sure the king would be pleased to learn a fine knight such as yourself graciously granted mercy to his treasury and spared him the cost of the hangman's fee!"

  The hangman bowed and stepped back, but not before peering up at Robin and giving him a wink.

  Robin took the noose from Little John's neck and freed the tall man's hands.

  "Like to play with your prey, do you, Sir Guy?"

  "No fun if there isn't a fight!" Robin hollered back. "Shall we start with the emasculation?" He then placed his hand on Little John's shoulder and pulled his face close to Little John's ear. He whispered, "Get ready to bend down."

  Robin pulled his hand back to show off the knife, then brought it forward with terrible force and plunged it into Little John's groin.

  A cry of horror rose from the crowd.

  But as Robin had swung his hand forward, he hid the knife between his body and Little John. Little John reached up and grasped the hilt as if stabbed. Gasping, concealing the knife with his frame, Little John coughed and cried, but by leaning over, he cleared the shot for Robin.

  Marian had turned, unable to watch the torture of her friend, and the Sheriff revelled lustily at her distress. He was not looking at the gallows as Robin pulled his bow from his back.

 
He only needed one arrow.

  He chose the one fletched with the feather the owl had left him the night his father died, the night the Sheriff chased him from Barnsdale into Sherwood Forest, the night his entire life changed.

  Before anyone could see what was happening, great cries erupted from the throng.

  "I AM ROBIN HOOD!" The merry men Robin had met in the forest fell upon the drunken soldiers, whose senses were so bleary and impaired, they had no idea what was going on.

  Robin nocked his arrow, just as the Sheriff began to realize something was wrong.

  Robin pulled back his string.

  And let his arrow fly.

  It landed true, impaling itself half up the shaft into the Sheriff's heart.

  Maid Marian watched in shock, slowly comprehending the Sheriff had been shot. She then looked at the man she believed was Sir Guy of Gisborne and saw it was not him at all.

  It was Robin Hood.

  Hate and rage filled her face as she turned back to the Sheriff. He was still gasping, still grasping at the arrow as if he couldn't figure out whether to rip it out or leave it in. She made sure the choice was taken from him.

  She pulled from her sleeve the dagger of her enemy, the one Robin had given to her so she might never be a victim again, and before Robin could pull another arrow to finish him off, Marian slit the Sheriff's throat from ear-to-ear. He died, pitifully, gurgling and gasping as the blood bubbled from his neck.

  Much held out his hand and called Marian to come to him.

  The hangman removed his hood to reveal the bright red mane of Will Scarlocke.

  No matter what, no one would have allowed Little John to die.

  Robin caught the sword Will threw to him, even as Will felled soldiers with the executioner's tools. Little John grabbed the pike with Guy's head and used it as a grisly quarterstaff to keep people away.

  The three men fought their way towards the edges of the castle, but the tide had turned. On seeing their hero still alive, and that this was all part of a great plan to free his friend, the people of Nottingham rose up, fueled by this miracle. The mob beat back the Sheriff's guards with whatever objects they had upon them, assailing them with rotten fruit and clay tankards until the soldiers were in retreat.

  Robin couldn't help but smile.

  The bailey had been closed. There would be no way out through the front gate. Robin, Will, and John skirted the castle's keep until they came to the dirt staircase in the side of the hill.

  Quickly, they descended into the sandstone tunnels that were used to carry goods and ale. Much was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps with Marian. She threw herself into Robin's arms, taking his face in her bloody hands and kissing him with such desperation, it seemed her life depended upon his touch.

  "I thought you were dead," she cried through the kisses. "You damned fool, I thought you were dead."

  "We may be soon enough," said Robin, disentangling himself, although ending her affection was the last thing in the world he wanted. Little John, Will, and Much were staring at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating view they had ever seen. Robin, with great willpower, took Marian's wrists. "We must run."

  "Well, stop your blathering then," said Marian with a smile of relief and hope. "And get us out of here."

  Much motioned for them to follow him down the tunnel. "We'll have to pass by the dovecote," Much warned. "It is halfway down the hill. There could be soldiers watching. They may have run off, but there's usually some stationed there."

  The tunnel emptied out onto an open ledge. Into the cliffside were hollows filled with caged carrier birds.

  "Wait..." said Much, holding out his arms. His face was thoughtful.

  "What is it?" asked Little John.

  "The Magna Carta," said Much, suddenly excited. The others looked at him curiously. "You always listened to the wrong things when you were eavesdropping in my tavern," he chided. "We spoke about it in the council meetings. It says that we, the townspeople, will appoint the sheriffs, that only men who know the law of the realm will know how to keep it well. It says if evil and wrongdoing is done by a sheriff, twelve sworn knights of the county shall investigate, and within forty days of their inquiry the evil customs are to be abolished completely and irrevocably." He saw that his friends did not understand a word he just said. "It means twelve knights from around here just need to report the bad things the Sheriff did and the local people can choose a new sheriff."

  The corners of Marian's mouth quirked. "I believe I know one good knight of the realm."

  "The outlaws of Sherwood Forest," Much explained, motioning to the streets of Nottingham as the people surged with violent revolt and the soldiers were pushed down the streets. "They rose up against an evil king to give us these rights. And the present king swore he would abide by them when the barons ceded to his rule." Much motioned to the birds. "Bring several different cages. Some will be trained to go to London. Some to York. I'll send messages in the morning letting them all know that we, the people of Nottingham, will be abiding by the rule of law and demand the king do the same."

  Marian grabbed Much's face and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Bless you, Much. Bless you for learning the law."

  The man blushed as red as the abbot's silk robe Will Scarlett had stolen so many months ago. Marian, Robin, Will, and Little John each picked up a cage and followed Much down the second leg of the sandstone tunnels. They emerged onto a grassy lawn where Much's tavern stood tantalizingly before them.

  "Go," said Much, taking the bird cages and setting them on the ground. "Go, my friends, before someone recognizes you." He pointed at a cart filled with ale casks. He smiled. "Something for your evening celebration."

  "You are a good friend," said Robin, clasping Much to his chest. "You'll come and see us?"

  "As soon as I can," replied Much. He stared off at his tavern. "Have to make up for lost profits. All that free ale... You may have ruined me, Robin," he joked, then lightly punched his friend on the arm with a soft, affectionate fist. "But it was worth it."

  "Well, who knows?" Marian gave him a wink. "Maybe you'll have a surprise visit from Robin Hood. I hear he gives to the poor."

  Little John ruffled Much's hair. Much laughed and waved as they made their way to the cart. Will took the reins and soon had them trotting at a brisk pace through the city. Little John collapsed beside Robin and Marian and winced. He had been beaten, but had escaped the worst of what could have been. He slapped Robin's knee in gratitude, and then closed his eyes, knowing he was finally safe to rest.

  As they drove, their cart began filling with familiar faces who ran along to catch a ride. The old woman spinning her wool lifted a gnarly hand as they passed. The page swung his cap overhead and cheered. By the time they reached the forest's edge, there were more men than casks of ale. Robin took Marian's hand in his and didn't let go. Bruised, weary, but exuberant, their merry crew sang as they made their way home to the heart of Sherwood Forest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Robin and Marian stood in Edwinstowe Church, hand clasped in hand. Beneath the stone arches, Marian wore a gown of scarlet red trimmed with the spinster's delicately embroidered ribbon. The modest chapel was empty except for Little John who bore witness.

  The fat friar, a poor man from the newly formed Franciscan order, read through the prayers in Latin, and bound their wrists together with a cloth, placing his blessings upon the happy couple.

  "Do you, Robert Hode take Matilda," asked the friar, "for thy wife?"

  "I do," said Robin, his heart overflowing with love for his bride.

  "And do you, Matilda, take this Robert to be thy husband?"

  "I do," she answered, gazing up at Robin's eyes while her own threatened to spill over with happiness.

  "Then I pronounce you, man and wife," said the friar with a smile. He closed his book and held out his hand.

  Robin reached into his purse and pulled out the money for the marriage ceremony. He folded the friar's finger
s around it. "Use it for the poor, would you?"

  He then took Marian by the crook of her arm and they raced down the aisle and through the front door.

  Little John came around with a horse for the couple, its mane and tail braided with heather from Sherwood Forest.

  "There is a merry party awaiting thee," said Little John, giving Robin a leg up.

  Robin reached down and rested his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Do you think the friar suspected?"

  "Naw," said Little John, glancing behind him at the door as the friar came out of the church. "Now up you go, Matilda."

  Robin reached down and grabbed Marian's waist while Little John gave her a leg up behind Robin. She clung tightly to his frame, beaming with joy. Little John waved at the happy couple as they rode off, then wandered back into the graveyard to his own mount. But before he passed, the friar reached out and tugged on Little John's robe.

  "Good friends with the couple?" asked the friar.

  "What? Old Robert Hode and Matilda? Known them for years!"

  "Ah," he replied. "They reminded me of someone I think I once saw." The pastor rubbed his chin. "Are you sure his name isn't Robin?"

  Little John shook his head. "No. Upon my word. Been a Robert since the day I met him and will be a Robert until he lies within his grave."

  "Perhaps related or something?" he mused.

  "Everyone sort of looks alike after a while, don't they?" remarked Little John, clapping the friar on the shoulder. "Never know what is a trick of the shadows and light."

  Little John could not help chuckling as he mounted up and rode away.

  Robin pulled the horse off the path, guiding the animal until they came to an ancient oak whose gnarled limbs seemed to stretch for eternity.

  Robin slid off, then grasped Marian's waist and helped her to the ground. They allowed the horse to graze as they stepped beneath the tree's canopy.