Robyn Hood: Fight For Freedom

by Shea, K. M.

  “Let’s take him out,” Little John prompted.

  “Are you kidding? I’m not getting any closer to that freak,” I hissed.

  Little John frowned. “Come on, there is something entirely suspicious about wandering around in a horse pelt.”

  “No, no I refuse to go near such a barbarian,” I stubbornly shook my head.

  “Robyn, come on. You’re Robin Hood. That whacker is an intruder in your forest. You have to go fight him,” Little John insisted.

  “No, I don’t,” I hissed. “I’m going to continue with our patrol, looking for the fat Sheriff and George.”

  “Fine!” Little John said, turning to go back the way we had come from.

  “Where are you going?” I hissed after him.

  “To find Will Scarlet and go hunting. I can see there’s no talking to you whenever it’s that time for you,” Little John said before stamping off.

  “It is NOT that time for me!” I yowled before turning on my tail and stomping off. Unfortunately my not so hushed fight with Little John called the horse pelt wearing weirdo right to me. I didn’t know it yet, but this mentally disturbed individual was Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was combing the woods in hopes of finding and killing Robin Hood in order to free Maid Marian and claim the reward.

  “Hello there,” Sir Guy greeted.

  I worked hard to keep my features schooled in order to not show my fright or repulse. “Greetings… stranger,” I stiffly said. “Can I help you?”

  “I am trying to find my way around the woods,” Sir Guy confessed in his rumbling voice.

  “I know the woods quite well, sir. Is there some way I can assist you?” I asked.

  “I am seeking Robin Hood. He has stolen a great prize from me,” Sir Guy said.

  Instantly it clicked. Only Sir Guy of Gisborne, the broke, cunning, and newly revealed to be incredibly strange, knight would be wandering around Sherwood Forest, alone, looking for me due to recent events. I winced, wondering how Marian would like being referred to as a prize. “It is not wise to seek Robin Hood, sir. Especially in his forest,” I honestly said. My Merry Men were only a horn blow away after all, I could have as much false bravado as I wanted.

  Sir Guy tilted his head, making one of the horse’s ears flick. I wanted to punch him in the face at that exact moment, but Sir Guy continued to speak. “I see you carry a bow. In the spirit of Sherwood would you like try your hand at a contest?” he asked, holding up his own bow.

  I wearily sighed, were all men, not just my own Merry Men, obsessed with competitions and contests?

  “I would rather not,” I said, trying to squirm out of it. No use practically announcing to Sir Guy who I was.

  “Come now,” Sir Guy laughed. “What would Robin Hood say if he heard you?”

  “He’d agree with me,” I muttered, but all the same I strung my bow and tested the string’s tightness. “Please go first stranger. What shall our mark be?” I pleasantly asked.

  “How about that forked tree?” Sir Guy suggested.

  I squinted, looking off through the forest. “That one that was struck by lightning?” I asked. That tree was in my range, just barely though.

  “No,” Sir Guy said, sounding horrified underneath his horse hood. “The large one, right there,” Sir Guy said, motioning to a tree that was probably in the middle of my range.

  “Oh, sure. What are we aiming for on it. The seam of the left branch?” I suggested.

  “Fine,” Sir Guy agreed, notching his arrow. He released it, and it hit the tree with a thump. It was a decent hit, certainly not the seam of the branch, but it was several hand widths away. “Your turn, green stranger,” Sir Guy said.

  “Right,” I said, notching my arrow, moving into the correct stance, and drawing with practiced fluidity. I released the arrow, which flew straight and true, hitting the seam of the branch.

  “Nicely shot stranger! Why, you must be as good as Robin Hood,” Sir Guy praised.

  “Almost,” I agreed. No one was as good as my legendary self, not even me. The minstrels and storytellers had blown up my archery talent to be that of a Greek hero’s.

  “Has Robin Hood recruited you for his band of outlaws?” Sir Guy asked.

  “You could say that,” I shrugged. There was absolutely no use in lying to Sir Guy. I was going to call my Merry Men to beat him anyway. I needed him defeated in order to return Marian to Huntingdon Castle. And believe me, after enduring her constant presence for two weeks I was ready to see her leave. If she wasn’t rallying my men to perform a stupid deed for me, she was encouraging them to commit insubordination and find helpless tanners, knights, and butchers for me to fight.

  “Then let us put aside our bows for a more gallant weapon,” Sir Guy decided, tossing his bow aside.

  “What?” I stupidly asked.

  “Draw your blade… Robin Hood!” Sir Guy shouted before dashing at me, unsheathing his sword.

  Thankfully I hadn’t yet removed my sword from my side due to fear of Marian randomly popping out and bashing me over the head again. My muscles reacted on pure instinct, and I ripped my sword out of my scabbard, barely lifting it in time to block a blow to my head.

  “I knew it had to be you. Only you could wander through the King’s forest with such arrogance,” Sir Guy triumphantly said.

  I snorted. Just yesterday Much had accused me of slinking through the woods like a kicked dog. My snicker was cut short when Sir Guy leaned down on his blade, increasing the force I was holding back. My arms shook and I realized I would have to conserve as much energy as possible and blow my horn the second I got the chance. If I was lucky maybe Little John would return.

  Sir Guy drew back for a second to regroup before lunging at me. His blows were easy enough to deflect. The trick was to stay just far enough out of range so I would get the weakest part of the strike.

  We continued on this path for ten minutes. Sir Guy viciously attacked and I defended, never able to release one of my hands from my sword in order to blow my horn.

  I was considering dropping the sword and running to climb a tree when Sir Guy paused, panting. “You are fair with the sword,” he praised.

  I stared at the man as if he were crazed. By this point Will Scarlet would have thumped me several times for leaving holes in my defense. “Thanks?” I said between taking in gulps of air. I warily slipped my left hand off my sword and felt for my horn.

  “Truly, you are a worthy opponent. But I need Marian’s wealth, and I cannot allow to continue your general disregard for the rules, and disloyalty to Prince John,” Sir Guy said, taking a step towards me. “I’m going to have to kill you.”

  I tugged on my horn. Of course the straps holding my horn to my belt had to be tangled and twisted, not allowing me to pull the instrument free. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that,” I said, “Not only do I want to live, but I would never allow Marian to be whisked off and married to such an oafish barbarian like you,” I said, pulling harder on my horn.

  Sir Guy roared and ran towards me. I took several steps backwards, gliding right under a tree branch. Sir Guy had to hunch down to pass beneath the branch, which gave me the time to side step his thrust. He nearly charged past me, but I pulled my left hand out of the leather horn straps and instead lifted my arm up, clothes lining the knight.

  He choked around my arm, and but I continued to press, pushing my shoulder into the motion. I managed to throw him backwards. He hit the back of his head on the tree branch he had passed under, and fell to the ground with a gurgle.

  He landed face down, but I rolled him onto his back after stabbing my sword into the ground. He was senseless. I wasn’t completely sure he was unconscious, but he was gasping and his eyes wouldn’t focus on me. I plucked his sword from his limp grasp and tossed it away before moving to summon a few men with my horn.

  Before I could properly untangle the white horn, Much burst out of a bush right in front of me. “Robyn! Gilbert says the Sheriff and his apprentice are in the forest and
heading in the direction Will Scarlet left for, but he couldn’t find him—what happened?” Much asked.

  “Perfect, your arrival couldn’t be timed any better. Do you have any rope?” I asked.

  “There’s some at a supply nook a few trees back. I’ll go get some,” Much trailed off before wandering away, casting puzzled glances over his shoulder.

  Meanwhile I tugged the hideously horrible horse pelt off Sir Guy, practically ripping his arms out of the strange sleeves he had fashioned in the hide.

  “Who is this?” Much asked when he returned with a length of rope.

  “Sir Guy,” I grunted, kicking the large man off the horse tail, pulling the entire pelt free of the knight.

  “WHO?” Much squeaked.

  “Sir Guy. Would you hurry up and help me tie him? He’s starting to recover,” I hissed.

  Much, who was almost as big of a coward as I am, kneeled by my side. “Start with the arms,” Much advised before expertly starting to wrap rope around the fallen knight’s wrists. “Then wrap rope around his torso so his arms are pinned to his side,” Much continued.

  Sir Guy made several feeble attempts to wriggle out of the rope, but I kept a foot on his throat, pinning him to the ground in spite of his fussing while Much tied his legs.

  “See, now he can’t stand without losing his balance and falling over,” Much brilliantly said, straightening up.

  “Why are you so good at this?” I asked, nudging a glaring, gagged Sir Guy with the toe of my boot.

  “Um, er, you see Robyn, the new recruits have to be taught how to escape after being tied up,” Much stammered.

  “And they can escape this?” I asked, gesturing to the trussed up Sir Guy.

  “Well, not quite, but, umm.”

  “Why haven’t we taught this art of escaping to our older Merry Men as well?” I asked, tapping my foot on the ground.

  “Ah-hah-hah,” Much laughed, straightening up while scratching at his head. “So, what are you going to do with him?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, perfectly aware Much was changing the subject.

  “Why don’t you cut off his head?” Much suggested.

  “Oh gross,” I shuddered. My lunch rolled uneasily in my stomach. “No, never. I can skin and gut a deer, but kill an actual human? And by lopping off their head? Ew, no, oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” I said, gripping my stomach.

  “Wimp,” Much sniffed. “So what do we do with him then?”

  “Why don’t you figure it out?” I said, walking over to Sir Guy’s abandoned horse pelt. I picked it up with a grimace. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to put this terrible thing on,” I winced.

  “What?” Much asked, shuffling to my side.

  I shuddered and got goose bumps on my skin in spite of the warm summer air when I slipped my arms into the sleeves.

  “EWWW,” Much reacted. “So you’ll wear a dead horse but you won’t behead a man? Wow Robyn, you have double standards—“

  “Don’t talk about it,” I begged as the horse’s muzzle flopped over my face. “If I think about it I’m going to wretch. Here, take my sword and longbow. I’ll have to take Sir Guy’s,” I said, retrieving Sir Guy’s sword. I kept my quiver on my back, hidden beneath the horse pelt.

  The knight darkly glared at me and mumbled against his gag, a rag used to clean bows.

  “What are you doing?” Much sighed like a worn out mother as he followed me when I ventured further away to snatch up Sir Guy’s bow.

  “Disguising myself,” I replied, finding an ugly horn that also belonged to Sir Guy. “You said the Sheriff was headed for Will Scarlet, right? I’ll draw him away.”

  “Good plan, just one small problem. WHO IS GOING TO DRAW HIM AWAY FROM YOU?” Much bellowed in my face.

  “Release Crafty from his pen. When I blow my horn he’ll come for me. I can ride away and easily lose him in Sherwood,” I nonchalantly said, shouldering the quiver. (Really, I was more worried about George than the Sheriff.)

  “This is never going to work,” Much huffed.

  “Then drag Sir Guy back to camp and send some Merry Men after me. I’m not going to chance calling them to my side with the Sheriff about,” I said, strapping Sir Guy’s sword to my side.

  “I just told you Sir Guy can’t stand, how on earth am I supposed to transport him back to camp?” Much crossly asked.

  “Carry him like a beast of burden. You are an as—,”

  “Finish that naughty word Robyn and I’ll string you from the nearest tree by your feet,” Much sniffed.

  I sighed. “We’re wasting time. I’ve got to run. Thanks Much!” I called over my shoulder before jogging off through Sherwood, the black horse tail swishing with my movements.

  I moved in the direction Will Scarlet had headed for, praying I might be able to catch up with Little John. I did not doubt that Will Scarlet and the slew of Merry Men with him had found the Sheriff. They were most likely hiding and watching the fat aristocrat wander through the forest, crying. I had confidence in my men. We had learned our lesson when we were attacked in winter, none of the Merry Men would repeat that mistake. Panic hadn’t yet welled up in me because of that.

  At least, I tried to tell myself that I was not frightened beyond all belief as my heart thundered in my throat like a galloping horse.

  I reached the peak of a hill and tried to peer through the numerous trunks that blocked my view. There was a tiny meadow at the bottom of the hill. I blinked and squinted at it, but froze when the situation fully dawned on me.

  The fat Sheriff was mounted on a chestnut horse, and his men scurried around him and two trees like mice or swarming ants. George was there as well. Worse still, Lord Maxine was with him, both of them were mounted on fine looking geldings. And worst yet, tied to the trees were Will Scarlet and Little John.

  The Sheriff was laughing and George shouted orders at two soldiers who were standing in front of my men. Under his orders each one of the soldiers raised a sword to Little John and Will Scarlet’s throats.

  They swung their arms back, as though preparing to chop their heads off, and I fumbled with my horns. I had a choice to make. A very dangerous choice. Call for more Merry Men on my horn and hope it would startle and stop the Sheriff and his men, or blow on Sir Guy’s horn and pray it would stop them.

  As the soldiers started to swing their blades I made my choice.

  I blew one hard, high note on Sir Guy’s ugly brown horn.

  The Sheriff turned in his saddle and squinted up at me, spotting me between the forest undergrowth.

  I trotted down the hill, my heart pounding as George called for the soldiers to relax. The soldiers in front of Little John and Will Scarlet sheathed their swords and walked back to their formation.

  “Hail Sir Guy,” the Sheriff called. “So you found Robin Hood and killed him?”

  “Hah-hrum. Oh yes,” I said, coughing in my effort to lower my voice. “Robin Hood is dead,” I said, stopping next to the Sheriff’s tired horse.

  “LIAR!” Will Scarlet shouted, thrashing in spite of the ropes that held him against the tree trunk he was tied to.

  Little John was ghost white and looked like his world was crashing in on him. “It’s over,” he groaned, a noise that started from deep within his soul.

  “Did you bring proof?” the Sheriff laughed.

  “Yep. His horn,” I quickly replied, slipping it out from underneath the horse pelt. I held it up from the Sheriff to see and stifled the burning desire to pull the already drooping horse muzzle lower over my face. I couldn’t believe I was this close to the Sheriff and he hadn’t realized the truth yet!

  “You truly are a great knight, even if it is in title only,” the Sheriff laughed, making his belly jiggle. He slapped his fat thigh when he caught sight of my white horn.

  Will Scarlet, on the other hand, burned. “It’s a fake! It has to be! She would never let you have it!” he shouted. “GO TO BLOODY HELL!” he finished, straining against his bonds.
>
  I hoped the Sheriff hadn’t heard the ‘she’ part.

  “He’s quite upset,” I observed, pleasantly surprised that my voice didn’t shake like my quaking legs were. It was just as well I was wearing the horse pelt; with it wrapped around me you couldn’t see an inch of my shuddering body.

  I was frightened out of my mind. If the Sheriff got the merest glance at my face…

  “Yes. Hearing the death of his master must be quite the blow, even for an aristocratic blackguard like him. The giant seems to be taking it like an abandoned cur,” the Sheriff said, his squinty eyes landing on Little John.

  “Robyn isn’t dead!” Will Scarlet hissed.

  The Sheriff rolled his eyes, making George feel that it was necessary to step in.

  “For the last time, he is dead!” the young man shouted.

  Will Scarlet shook his head and stared at the ground, his eyes not focusing.

  “What will you do with them?” I asked.

  “Kill them,” was the Sheriff’s prompt reply. “Now.”

  “You won’t take them back and have them killed before Prince John?” I rumbled.

  The Sheriff frowned. “I told you before, if we catch any of those squirming vermin known as the Merry Men we were to kill them on sight. Holding them will only lure out hoards more and they’ll slip through our fingers.”

  I frowned and tried to consider the best option that would get me and my three men out of the situation, alive. My heart pounded in my throat and I croaked, “Instead of my reward for Robin Hood’s head… let me be the one to kill them.”

  The Sheriff stared down at me as though I had taken leave of my senses. “Are you mad? Robin’s death is worth 40 marks!”

  “But Robin’s death and the death of his two closest comrades, Little John and Will Scarlet, would be quite an accomplishment,” I said.

  The Sheriff stared at me for several quiet seconds before a fiendish grin settled on his lips. “So you still mean to go after Lady Marian then, even after she’s tarnished her reputation by crawling to this wretched forest? Who knows what Robin Hood has done to her. But even so, with her as your bride you would secure your future livelihood,” the Sheriff said, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I’ll accept your proposal. I’ll take in the 60 marks, and you can claim responsibility for the death of all three men,” he laughed.