by Edale Lane
"Begging your pardon, Maid Marian." Blanchard shifted uneasily, his voice becoming apologetic as he continued. "With all the money going to Prince John's new tax drive to pay the King's ransom, Sheriff Giffard has determined that holding trials for serfs and peasants is not a good use of Nottingham's resources. It would be a waste of time and money."
"Here, here," she scolded, finding it near impossible to hold back the fiery eruption building inside her. "This is one of my people you are attempting to condemn. He falls under my jurisdiction. I feel I must remind you that nobles have the right to carry out the discipline of their own serfs."
"Yes, Milady, that is frequently the case; but poaching on royal hunting grounds is a crime against the state and thus the Sheriff's domain." He held out his open palms in a gesture of humility as he explained, his hard features melting under the heat of her scrutiny.
A sudden dread rose from Marian's gut. Surely he will listen to reason, she thought, then tried a different approach. "Mayhap you are unaware I am King Richard's goddaughter; verily, I am in a position to speak for the King on this matter."
The deputy's slate gray eyes wavered from impassiveness and began to plead with her. "But the Sheriff says Prince John is acting in place of King Richard while he is away, and because of a new rash of criminal activity, the Prince has granted Nottingham broad discretion to bring it to a halt. The Sheriff contends justice must be swift and harsh to deter future crimes, and that is why the boy has to hang."
"Hang!" Marian proclaimed in utter disbelief. "A day in the stocks or a caning is sufficient for this offense. What do you mean 'hang'?" The anger she had been holding under a thin veil of control burst forth. "Wait 'till Sir Guy hears of this! He will be most displeased indeed. And I shall send word to the other nobles that the Sheriff of Nottingham is now taking it upon himself to march his deputy and soldiers right onto anyone's estate, grab up any of their serfs that they so choose, charge them with false crimes having no substantial evidence against the accused, and haul them off for execution without a trial, all the while wanting to raise our taxes whilst depleting our work forces in this absurd show of power!" Heat radiated off her flushed face as if from a torch.
Marian knew that Giffard was clever and conniving enough to produce false witnesses and evidence if need be. Even through her anger, she could see the pain in the deputy's eyes. He was not the enemy, simply someone following orders. He lowered his head, and a sigh escaped his lips. "I do apologize, Maid Marian, for the intrusion onto your estate and for the duty of which I am required to perform. But your boy must return to Nottingham with us."
Richard could bear this insult no longer and rushed forward to his sister's side. He raised his chin with his most dignified air and proclaimed, "I, Master Richard FitzWalter, am in charge of this estate in the baron's absence, and I demand you stop browbeating my sister and release my serf so he can go back about his business."
Marian placed a hand on his arm and whispered in his ear, "Richard, it won't work. We must think of something else."
Richard's frightened eyes darted to Charles, a boy only two years his junior; a boy he had played with not so long ago; a boy who, despite their difference in station, Marian knew to be his friend. Then his gaze passed over the granite soldiers and raised to the deputy's daunting face. "Right, sister. We shall set forth at once to seek the aid of our neighbors. We will bring the council of nobles down upon Nottingham and see what they have to say about this usurpation of our authority!" With fists clinched at his sides, the youth stretched to his fullest height and tried to appear intimidating; but beside the colossal deputy, he only looked like a mouse.
Marian cast an inconsolable gaze over Charles. He looked so small and helpless and she desperately wanted to save him, but feared she could not. She took her brother's arm allowing him to escort her back to the house. Her eyes were drawn to the tear-streaked face of the boy's traumatized mother and she had to turn away. It was then she spied in her peripheral vision a cloaked and hooded figure striding around the side of the manor with a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. Instantly her stomach leapt into her throat and she froze in her tracks. Terror seized her heart, squeezing it until every fiber of her being reverberated with its beats.
The tall, lean individual whose face was obscured by a dark green hood took several more steps then planted booted feet. A commanding voice rang out drawing all eyes. "Let that child go–now!"
*~*~*
Deputy Blanchard was surprised but not shaken by the stranger's demand. "And who might you be?" he asked crossing thick arms over his brawny chest and narrowing his bushy brows.
Realizing she was not ready to reveal a name Robyn creatively answered, "I am the Lord of Sherwood. The lad was on my land with my permission, and if you will be so kind as to instruct your guard to release him, no one need be harmed this day."
Blanchard, in no mood to be toyed with, uncrossed his arms and huffed out an impatient growl. "There is no 'Lord of Sherwood' save Prince John, and I do not take orders from highwaymen in hoods. Take him!" he ordered motioning to the two soldiers. The one on his right released Charles as they both pulled their swords and dashed toward the hooded stranger.
Marian appeared to stop breathing, her eyes wide in stunned disbelief, but Robyn easily notched the arrow in her bow, drew back and fired. The shaft spiraled through the air and hit its mark in the first man's shoulder, piercing his mail and spinning him around with the force and shock of impact. Before his knee struck the ground, she had drawn and shot a second arrow into the other man's thigh. He cried out as he stumbled, pain twisting his mouth.
No sooner had Robyn released the projectile, she drew a third, shifting her aim to the deputy. But in the few seconds that she spent focused on the advancing swordsmen, Blanchard had armed his own bow. The adversaries stood poised in an instant of mutually assured destruction, each assessing the other. She knew Edward Blanchard to be an excellent marksman since he had won many tournaments over the years. Without blinking, he let loose his arrow, and it raced straight toward its mark.
Robyn's keen focus perceived the deputy's intention at the first twitch of his firing fingers and released her shot almost simultaneously. She knew his aim had been to her heart and had adjusted hers to match. Her intent had not been to take a life, rather to save one; now it appeared she and the deputy would both die on Marian's front lawn.
Time stopped for Robyn as images flashed through her mind's eye, remembrances of her family around the hearth, Christmas pudding, and two carefree girls dancing over a field of spring clover. I love you, Marian–the words she never dared say.
One heartbeat passed without a breath and then the unimaginable happened. Robyn's arrow struck the deputy's in midair, and like straw in a breeze they both fell harmlessly to the earth. Robyn had automatically reached for her next shaft and she stood with weapon cocked, aimed, and ready while Blanchard's jaw dropped in stupefied amazement, an empty bow in his hand. His gray eyes widened to twice their normal size as he marveled at the impossible.
Charles seized the moment and ran to his mother who hugged him and shed more tears. Marian, as awestruck as the rest, breathed at last.
"Who?" Blanchard stammered, trying to fit words together. "Who are you?"
Robyn had no explanation for the fortune that had just befallen her, and took no time to search for it, but immediately replied with authority, "I am the shadow in the corner, the monster under your bed, the wolf in the woods, the noise behind you in the dark; I am your worst nightmare." She imagined Blanchard waited for the killing strike while she still could not believe the one in a million shot that saved them both. But Robyn held her stance. "Come on, lad," she called to Charles without diverting her eyes from the deputy. "I'm taking you to a safe place."
He looked at her with awe in his gaze and spoke with hope. "But what about Mum?"
"Bid her farewell or bring her along."
"Just let me collect my cloak," she answered. "We will go wi
th you."
"Meet us by the back gate straight away," Robyn instructed. Then the tone of her voice shifted from command to near playful amusement. "Maid Marian, if you will be so kind as to give your purse to the boy."
*~*~*
Marian felt as astonished as everyone else. Her heart pounded like a race horse threatening to leap from her chest, and her face radiated with exultation that Robyn had been spared. She had not yet fully comprehended what just transpired; she was too filled with gratitude and relief that Charles was to be spared.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked with a blink, trying to regain her wits.
"Your coin pouch," Robyn repeated, her eyes trained on Blanchard who was frozen in place. "Toss it to the lad. I am robbing you, my dear. We will need means for our escape. Quick, now. My arm grows weary and we wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to the good deputy, would we?"
Suddenly her words clicked in Marian's befuddled brain, and she understood what Robyn was doing. In order to keep Marian safe, and hide her true identity, she wanted the deputy and his guards to think there was no connection between them and that she was not acting with Marian's knowledge or consent. Asides, Marian thought, I told her I was planning to donate to her cause.
"Why you scoundrel!" She tried to sound more outraged than amused, but she was just so damned happy Robyn wasn't hurt.
"Oh, Milady–you wound me with your words!" Robyn feigned insult, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Marian unfastened her coin purse and handed it to Charles who gave her an uncertain gaze. Facing away from Blanchard, she smiled at the boy. "All is well," she assured him. "You will be safe."
"Gramercy, Milady," he offered as he took the pouch. "An' thanks for tryin' to help me."
Marian nodded and then turned to track her eyes from Robyn to the deputy and back while Charles trotted over to Robyn's side.
"Squire," Robyn addressed in a deep, demanding voice. The young man jumped as one roused from sleep. "Unsaddle those horses."
"Huh?" he uttered in confusion. The two injured guards had regained their footing and stood gripping their wounds unsure what to do.
"Holding back this arrow is a tiring task indeed; I suggest you act with haste," Robyn replied.
"Do it!" Blanchard commanded, then explained as he kept his gaze fixed on his foe. "He wants time to make an escape, which he will not have if we simply mount our steeds and dash after him."
Robyn inclined a slight nod to the deputy in acknowledgement and the squire uncinched girths and lowered saddles to the ground as rapidly as he dared without spooking the chargers.
As soon as the squire's task was complete, Robyn prepared to depart. "Get your mother and meet me at the back gate," she instructed Charles, who nodded admiringly at his new hero and scampered off. "Deputy Blanchard, I know you will give a full report to the Sheriff and I pray he does not hold you responsible. Do not bother to try and make chase, as I know the forest like the back of my hand, and you need to see to your injured men. I feel sure we will meet again one day. Maid Marian, thank you for your hospitality and your gold. I bid you all adieu."
She kept her bow aimed as she took several backward steps, then lowered it, turned, and ran. She met Charles and his mother and together they disappeared into the woods.
Chapter Five
Sherwood Forest, later that day
Robyn found comfort in the lush seclusion the dense forest offered as she escorted her charges back to camp. Popular wisdom was to always avoid the dark, mysterious forests of England. There were wolves and bandits and possibly banshees or evil spirits. But even as a child Robyn had treasured the beauty and serenity of the woods and saw no reason to fear them. She reassured Charles and his mother as they marched deeper and deeper into the heart of Sherwood.
As if trying to keep her mind off of the tales of woe regarding the wilds, the woman talked almost nonstop about her life at FitzWalter Manor, her son and her husband who had been declared an outlaw by the Sheriff. "No doubt he is the reason the Sheriff is so determined to punish my boy," she explained. "Two years and he has yet to find and apprehend my John."
Robyn could hear the pride in Alice's voice as in her mind she connected the dots. Joy surged through her soul at the imminent reunion. She smelled the camp a good half mile before they arrived. Smoke rose from the fire, something yummy was boiling in the kettle, and there was the faintest whiff from the latrine. Their sounds also echoed through the trees: Friar Tuck's booming laugh, Alan strumming his mandolin, swords clinking in practice—Tuck and Will, she imagined.
Young David of Doncaster was on watch, perched precariously high in a tree, when he spotted their approach. With the agility and speed of a squirrel, he scampered down to tell the camp. "Robin's back, and he's got more people with him," he reported excitedly. Struck with curiosity, the men gathered under Grandma Oak, near the fire and its iron cauldron simmering with stew.
"Papa!" rang out Charles in animated exuberance as he stampeded up to the bear of a man and leapt into Little John's arms. Overwhelmed with joy, Alice followed right behind him to embrace her husband. A stunned and elated father opened his embrace wide and enveloped them both.
"Surprise," Robyn said with playful amusement as she winked at Little John.
"Alice, Charles!" Little John kissed them both, then asked, "But why are you here?"
Robyn strolled past as they told him the story. She stopped in front of the gathering who smiled and whispered amongst themselves as they watched Little John with his family. 'Tis now or never, she thought, and lowered her hood.
Expressions of disbelief abounded and Will leapt up from his seat, pointing with one hand as he pushed the black flow of hair from his big, round eyes with the other. "You!" he uttered in amazement. Robyn held her breath, hoping for the best. "Why you're-" Will hesitated.
Robyn bit her lower lip, unable to breathe while Will's expression mirrored the comprehension of what his eyes beheld.
"You're much younger than we thought you were," he managed to blurt out, to Robyn's great relief. "David, you aren't the baby anymore!"
"Robin," David chimed in, "you can't be more than fourteen! Not a single hair on your whole face—not even a wisp on your upper lip!"
Arthur Bland elbowed his way to the center of the group of lads holding out a hand. "I win the bet," he said with a wide grin.
"Maybe not such a baby," she answered wryly.
"You joshing us?" Alan joined in with the others, swinging his instrument over his back by its cord. "I'm surprised you've left your mother's breast," he teased, a twinkle in his green eyes.
Robyn laughed and shook her head, relieved with wildest delight that her identity remained secret. "Alright, fellows, so I've been hiding a baby face. Not everyone sprouts whiskers before they can climb trees!"
Just then Charles dashed up to Robyn's side, his countenance beaming and his eyes all aglow to tell the story.
"You should have seen Robin!" he exclaimed. "Why, he's got to be the best shot in all of England. He struck the deputy's arrow and knocked it clean out of the sky—it was amaaaaazing!"
The lads all stopped their laughing and eyed Robyn with newfound respect. "Truly, Robin? You hit a flying arrow with—an arrow?" Will asked, slack jawed.
"What is this?" Tuck inquired as he waddled to the front of the crowd, rubbing his ample belly. "I knew you were a fair shot with a bow, but Robin-"
"It was nothing," she said with a shrug, trying to downplay the near impossible feat. Then she turned her attention to Alan. "Think quick!" she called and tossed the pouch of coins at him.
Alan hurriedly brought up his hands and fumbled to make an awkward catch. Then, if possible, his eyes grew even wider upon feeling the weight of the purse.
"You seem to have an easy enough time getting in and out of town unseen," she said to Alan. "Now, run buy us all some food, will you? Be sure to bring back bread, mutton, cabbages, some vegetables and apples—lots of apples," Robyn added with a t
winkle in her eye.
Alan's gaze moved from the bag of coins to Robyn's earthy eyes. "You, you trust me with all this blunt? You don't think I'll just run off with it?"
"You may have resorted to thievery to stay alive, Alan A Dale," she conceded, "but you are a good lad at heart. I have faith in you. You'll do the right thing."
Alan put his shoulders back and stood a little straighter. Then he swallowed and tucked the pouch into his tunic. "No one has e'er thought me more than a scroggling. You can count on me, Robin. I won't let me mates down. But," he added with a scratch to his head. "All that may be more than I can carry alone."
"I'll go with him," Will volunteered with a grin. "That way we'll be sure he don't run off."
"Could we add some wine to that list?" Tuck asked.
Robin laughed. "Without a doubt." She felt a large hand come to rest on her shoulder and crooked to peer at Little John.
His cheeks were flushed, his eyes moistened and his lips trembled. Then he grabbed her in a powerful embrace. "You saved my boy's life, Robin! How can I ever repay you?"
She briefly returned the hug and then squeaked out, "By letting me breathe, for starters."
Loosening his hold, he stepped back, an expression of awe and reverence on his face. "I am your man. Whatever you say, I will do. What you did today…" John was so choked up that he could no longer speak without releasing a flood of tears.
Robin placed a hand on his shoulder. "I did what was right, what had to be done. Don't pledge an oath to me, my friend, or I will take you up on it."
"I do pledge my oath," Little John declared.
Robyn nodded, then turned to the rest of the group. "There is more from whence this money came. For years we have been robbed, cheated, and mistreated by the nobles, rich merchants, and crooked sheriffs. I say it is time that we take back what should have been ours by rights, to feed ourselves and care for these unfortunates who have come to us, not because they committed grave crimes, but because grave crimes were committed against them. I do not propose that we enact any revenge, for vengeance is the Lord's. We must try not to harm anyone, save in self-defense, but I have some plans and strategies as to how we can rob the rich, not for selfish gain, but for equity alone. Can any amount of silver restore Roger's tongue? Can any number coins return Christina's honor? And Friar Tuck's pulpit or Gilbert's title and lands? No. But they owe us, and we will take back what is owed. Above that, what spoils we acquire will be distributed to the poor and needy of Nottingham and the surrounding villages. Who is with me?"
