Lady of Sherwood

by Jennifer Roberson

  “What task?” Alan asked.

  “Killing Norman soldiers.” Scarlet said.

  “No.” Robin shook his head. “Killing them is not necessary. As I said, they shall be divided by the forest. We’ll be hidden in the trees, shielded by vegetation. It’s a simple matter for us to take them by surprise, rob them, then disappear again.”

  Alan was astonished. “Rob them? Soldiers? The ones seeking us?”

  “Aye,” Scarlet said dryly. “Ask John how ’tis done.”

  The minstrel stared at Little John. “You robbed a soldier?”

  “I robbed a peddler.”

  Alan was utterly baffled. “Why did you rob a peddler?”

  Scarlet rolled his eyes. “To get his money, lackwit!”

  “Wait,” Tuck said sharply. “There is something I must say.” He waited until he had their attention. “I think,” he said carefully, “if we are to do this, there should be rules.”

  Scarlet nearly gaped. “Rules?”

  Little John frowned. “How can there be rules in robbery?”

  Tuck squared his heavy shoulders. “You want this money for Marian, for the taxes, so she doesn’t lose her manor. Fair enough. But what about the poor? They haven’t anyone helping them, have they?” He fixed them all with a steady gaze. “If we take enough from the soldiers to pay Marian’s taxes, and there is coin left over, we shouldn’t keep it for ourselves.”

  Scarlet pointedly wanted to know why not.

  Tuck scowled at him. “Because we should use the money for good, Will! If we steal money for ourselves, we are no better than outlaws.”

  “We are outlaws,” Alan reminded him with pronounced irony.

  “We snatched the boy right away from the sheriff’s ‘justice,’ ” Scarlet pointed out. “We’ll be wanted for that—not that we weren’t wanted already, since the pardon’s revoked. The sheriff’ll likely put silver on our heads. If they mean to make money off us, why shouldn’t we make it off them?”

  But the monk was uncommonly stubborn. “We should do some good with it! Think of it, Will . . . what about the poor folk who can never pay all their taxes? What about in years where the harvest is poor? They pay in seed corn, and flour. But without seed corn to plant, without flour for bread, how are they to live? You said yourself that peasants are grateful for anything, even filthy rags to wear in winter. Well? If we help them with their taxes, then they’ll have seed corn to plant and wheat to mill and bread to bake. They can live, Will, like human beings instead of animals!”

  “We’ll need to live, too,” Alan said.

  Tuck nodded vigorously. “Some for us, yes. But the rest for the poor.”

  Idly, Robin said, “We stole that shipment for Richard’s ransom. We didn’t need it after all, as Richard came home—but neither did we keep it.”

  Tuck spread his hands. “We gave to those in need. ’Twas never for ” us.”

  “And when my taxes are paid twice over?” Marian shook her head.

  “There is no need to continue stealing. The point is to disgrace deLacey, to have him turned out of office. So long as no one learns who is responsible for the thieving, you may all come home to Ravenskeep. We’ll live as before.”

  As one, they looked at her. No one seemed willing to speak, until Robin did. “Marian,” he said, hating himself for the truth, “it may be that none of us but you can return to Ravenskeep.”

  The color bled out of her face.

  “King Richard pardoned us for stealing the tax shipment, but King Richard is dead. John rules now, and the pardon is revoked. All of us, save you, are now wanted for something.” He shrugged, smiling wryly. “I stole two horses myself only a matter of days ago, and deLacey came after me for one of them. He might have arrested me then, but my father and the others provided protection. That is over now.”

  Marian nodded determination. “And when deLacey is turned out of office—”

  “We will likely still be wanted,” he said steadily, shirking no part of the truth. “Circumstances will be different, yes, and we might hope for the best. It is even possible the new sheriff will have other matters to keep him busy for a fair amount of time, and he will lack the personal desire to have us caught and hanged, but we shall still be considered outlaws. Certainly by King John, who wants these taxes so badly.”

  “Unless John isn’t king anymore,” she observed pointedly. “You told me yourself the barons want him replaced.”

  He saw again the earls gathered with his father, heard again de Mandeville suggesting he steal the shipments so the money would not go to John, who needed it badly if he was to hold England. If Arthur of Brittany became king, Robin trusted de Mandeville to see to it they were pardoned once again. The man had promised it. There was hope. Some small hope. With deLacey dismissed and John overthrown, they might indeed return to Ravenskeep.

  “That may be,” he agreed cautiously. “But until John is dethroned, we must assume we will be hunted.”

  Despite her beauty, the bones were stark beneath flesh grown too pale, too taut. “Then why,” she said, “do we do this? Why save Ravenskeep if none of you will be there?”

  Tuck was shocked. “ ’Tis your home!”

  “It is only home,” she said flatly, “when all of you are there.”

  That prompted sidelong glances, abashed color in their faces; they had none of them expected her to state it so baldly, no matter what they believed, or hoped to believe, about her feelings for them.

  “Ravenskeep is your birthright,” Robin said gently. “We shall see that you keep it.”

  Her anger was obvious. “Huntington was yours. The earldom was yours. You gave it up, Robin. All of it. For me.” She glanced at the others in a scouring bitterness he hated to see. “Well, perhaps I should give up Ravenskeep for all of you!”

  “If we don’t steal enough to pay your taxes—again—you won’t have to give anything up,” Little John declared, clearly discomfited by her emotion. “The sheriff’ll simply take it.”

  Robin nodded. “So he will.”

  Alan sighed. “There really is no choice. We can’t live as we did, not now. Those days are ended—at least, for the time being. Even I recognize that.” He looked at Marian. “All I ever wanted to be was a minstrel, playing in noblemen’s halls, kissing their wives, their daughters.” He smiled ruefully. “ ’Tis my misfortune that I was caught kissing deLacey’s daughter—though she was the seducer, not I—but it might have been anyone. And had it not been for Robin, I would already be dead.” He shrugged. “This is at least a worthy cause.”

  Scarlet caught up his bow, shouldered his quiver. “We should be at it,” he said gruffly. “If ’tis Gisbourne leading them, they’ll be easy enough to stop.”

  Tuck startled them all by clamping a hand on Robin’s wrist. “For Marian,” he said. “But for the poor, as well. Tell them, Robin. They’ll listen to you.”

  Robin met the brown eyes he usually viewed as placid, and saw the strength of purpose there. He smiled, then glanced at the others. “When we come back,” he said, “we’ll pour our takings into Marian’s hood and divide everything up. Some for her, a little for us, but the rest for the poor.”

  “We’re poor,” Scarlet grumbled, but bobbed his head in agreement.

  Little John looked at Marian. “ ’Tis a good plan, lady.”

  Alan sighed deeply. “It wants my lute,” he mourned.

  All of them were gone, save for herself, the monk, and the boy. Marian stood stiffly, arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, and stared fixedly into the trees dividing the clearing from the road. Emotions frayed the logic of her mind, yet the logic still attempted comprehension, control. She feared to lose Ravenskeep, could not bear to lose her father’s lands, the manor gifted to her entirely by King Richard. But in that fear, in the fury that drove her to challenge deLacey to a battle of sheer will over the manor and lands, she had never once considered that the others might not be there.

  Five years. She had grown accustomed t
o them all. They were as much a part of her life as Ravenskeep itself. I cannot imagine living at Ravenskeep without them. Nor do I wish to!

  Tuck, who seemed to know her thoughts, said with characteristic diffidence, “Alan has the right of it. Our former lives are over. We are different people now. Even me. Do you believe I have a future in the Church?” He smiled sadly. “The sheriff will have seen to it my career is ended.”

  He sounded so secure in his decision. But Marian sensed an underlying apprehension. “Then we shall see to it the sheriff’s career is ended,” she said. With all good speed and dedication.

  “We shall harry him,” Tuck agreed, echoing her thought. “Steal from the wealthy, take the tax shipments, make it impossible for him to stop us. And when the merchants and noblemen scream about the sheriff’s incompetence, and King John realizes he gets no taxes from Nottinghamshire, deLacey shall lose his position.”

  “And if John loses his?”

  “With the lad from Brittany put in his place?” Tuck shrugged thoughtfully. “If he were made king in John’s place, there might be a pardon for us.”

  “Might.”

  “A new king might look kindly on men who made the old king’s life a living hell.”

  Marian smiled. “Might.”

  “Sins are forgiven,” Tuck said without equivocation, “when sinners confess before God and ask for absolution. Why should a new king be different when these ‘sinners’ have aided his cause?”

  “By harming John’s.” Marian nodded, beginning to feel a little better. “It is possible, Tuck. But we must be very careful not to harm anyone. Our goal is to undermine the sheriff’s authority, to undermine John’s ability to rule. If we harm anyone while taking their money, no one will pardon us. Ever.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Do you realize how odd it sounds for a monk to be advocating robbery?”

  “God will see what we are doing, and God will know why we do it,” Tuck said. “Oh, ’tis a sin; I don’t dispute that! But do you really think God wishes to punish the man who poaches to feed his family, who would otherwise starve?”

  “God may not punish him, Marian said darkly, looking at Much, “but the sheriff does.” And then she thrust up a silencing hand as she turned swiftly toward the road. It was not visible behind the friezework of trees and vegetation, but sound carried clearly. Mounted men were on the road, riding swiftly. She heard the faint clink of bits and fittings, the snorting of the horses, the pounding of the hooves.

  The pace was too steady. There was no hesitation, no slowing, no outcries to halt or turn aside. Marian felt safe in working her way carefully, quietly, through the trees, nearly to the verge between forest and road. Much came with her, and Tuck, melting into shadows, until they could see through a gauze of green fern.

  Soldiers.

  Tuck waited until they were gone, only dust marking their passing. Then he knelt ponderously beside Marian, who crouched in the brush. “Bound for Ravenskeep,” he said quietly. “ ’Tis a good thing we stayed here in Sherwood.”

  Marian stared after the sifting dust. “Gisbourne wasn’t with them.”

  Tuck shifted beside her, crackling brush. “Little John said Gisbourne was dividing up his men. Some to Locksley, some into the forest, some to Ravenskeep. Gisbourne either went to Locksley, or into Sherwood.”

  “There is no one at Locksley,” she murmured, “and no one at Ravenskeep. Gisbourne and his troop will never expect to be robbed by the others; they’ll be searching for men in hiding.”

  “Aye, lady. Should make it a simple thing for Robin and the others to take them one by one when the forest separates them. Likely they’ll take the horses, too, so the soldiers are afoot.”

  “Slow them down.” She nodded. “Keep them from going for help immediately.” She sighed, glanced at the monk, then found a more comfortable position. “We’ll wait here for these men to return from Ravenskeep. And then I shall go there.”

  “To Ravenskeep?” Tuck was shocked. “But, lady, what if—”

  “What if they leave men behind?” She shrugged. “Robin said I was not trained for stealth, but I daresay I could sneak back undetected. I am somewhat familiar with my own home! We need food, Tuck, and blankets. Our goal was to rescue Much, but there is more to it than that. Now we must find a way to survive in the forest.”

  “But ’tis dangerous—”

  “I will go,” she said firmly. “I want to see if they have destroyed the hall again. I want to let Joan and the others know we are all right, that Much is rescued. I want to make certain the outlaws I count as friends have food and blankets, so they need not poach quite yet.”$ She smiled to see the concern in his face. “I promise you, I shall be careful. I have no wish to be a hero.”

  “Me,” Much said.

  “You wish to be a hero?” Marian asked, amused.

  “I go with you,” he said. “To get in. Get out. No one will see.”

  “Robin will not be pleased,” Tuck warned her. “He wanted you to stay here.”

  She found that oddly amusing. “Ah, well. I do not ask Robin’s permission for my actions any more than he asks mine for his. Because if he did, I would never have let him go to rob Gisbourne.” She smiled at Much. “I shall be glad of the comp any.”

  Thirty-Six

  Arrow nocked, Robin stood very still behind a fat-bolled tree, screened by vine and hip-high fern. The lone soldier’s horse crashed on by him, flushing birds in a whirring of wings and very helpfully shredding limbs and greenery that might otherwise ruin his shot. Gisbourne, Robin noted with amusement. How appropriate. Then he slid out of the shadows, drew the bowstring, and pitched his voice to carry over the sound of the horse’s passage.

  “Were I you,” he called, “I should halt. Because from here I could put a clothyard arrow completely through your spine and out the other side. In fact, if there were another man before you, I daresay the same arrow would kill him as well.”

  He read Gisbourne easily, even from behind. The tension in the line of shoulders, the stiffening of his spine, spoke of incipient motion, not compliance. He meant to set spurs to the horse and leap out of range. Accordingly, Robin sped the arrow into the tree within a foot of Gisbourne’s head.

  “Now do you believe me?” He grinned; the tension in Gisbourne was abruptly entirely different. Brittle stillness had replaced intent to move. “Dismount,” Robin commanded, nocking another arrow. “Come here toward me. Don’t fret about the horse; we’ll send him home presently.”

  Gisbourne stepped down from his horse, but he did not move toward Robin. Instead, he yanked at the reins and attempted to swing the horse sideways, shielding himself behind the animal. But Robin, not in the least surprised, lowered the angle of the arrow and loosed. The shaft flew true beneath the horse’s belly and planted itself in the ground immediately next to Gisbourne’s foot.

  “Do try me,” Robin invited. “Next time I shall not be so discriminating with my aim. The sheriff lost his horse to an arrow; shall you lose yours?”

  Gisbourne, at last recognizing his assailant, cried out in incoherent fury. The loose horse, nonplussed by the arrow and shouting, crabbed away, intending to run, until its trailing reins caught on a tree limb and brought it up short.

  “I did warn you.” With elegant economy of motion, Robin drew a third arrow from the quiver over his shoulder and nocked it. “Now,” he said, “unsheath your sword and throw it—carefully!—toward me.” He gestured. “Here.”

  “You shall hang for this!” Gisbourne cried, white-faced in outrage.

  “Only if you catch me. And just now, I have caught you.” Robin jerked his chin sideways. “Your sword.”

  Gisbourne cursed him in Norman French until he ran out of breath, but complied. The two-handed broadsword, flung stiffly, landed with a heavy thump one pace away from Robin.

  “My thanks,” he said gravely, bending to pick it up. He rattled the arrow back home in its quiver and settled the bow slantwise across shoulder and chest. Then he unhooked th
e reins of the trapped horse, knotted them high on the animal’s neck, and brought the flat of the blade down in a noisy slap across the wide rump. Given its leave in so rude a fashion, the horse promptly bolted. “And now,” Robin said, “you are to reach under your surcoat and untie the purse attached to your belt.”

  Gisbourne blurted another vile oath. “You stole my horse, and now you steal my purse?”

  “Be accurate, Gisbourne: I stole your horse a number of days ago, yes, but not this horse. And why the shock? Am I not living down to your expectations? You and the sheriff have determined I am an outlaw, subject to punishment. Including, you say, hanging.”

  Gisbourne was livid. “You have in the past few weeks stolen two horses—now three!—delayed a royal messenger, taken a boy from the sheriff’s lawful custody, and now you rob me? What else are we to do with you? Thank you?”

  Robin laughed, giving him that. “But it seems I have no choice now but to be what you have made me. I am disinherited, have no roof-tree above my head, no means for earning a living, and the pardon is revoked. What else would you have me be?”

  “A prisoner,” Gisbourne spat. “In the dungeon!”

  “Ah. Well, I should prefer otherwise. Now, your purse.” But Gisbourne didn’t move. “Come, come,” Robin said in mild rebuke, then explained in elaborate detail how he had learned various creative ways of torturing a man from the Infidel Turks themselves. That earned him a blanch of Gisbourne’s saturnine face, who knew Robin had indeed cohabited with Turks, and a purse tossed at his feet. “Better.” He retrieved and tucked the purse behind his belt.

  “What do you mean to do with me?” Gisbourne demanded.

  “Well,” Robin said lightly, “we are not friends, so I doubt I shall invite you for a meal and a cup of wine.” He pondered it a moment. “Kneel.”

  It startled him. “Kneel?”

  “Pretend to pray.”

  Slowly, stiffly, Gisbourne lowered himself to his knees, head slightly inclined.