“Nicely done.” Marion gave Joan a fist-bump.
“Little help?” Robyn called out, holding Roger by the feet and needing someone to carry the other end of him.
Georgia stepped over to her. “Leave it with me, love,” she said, putting down her tree branch weapon and hauling the floppy Roger over her shoulder in one scooping motion.
They loaded the knocked-about men into the back of their cut-off wagon. Wilfred sneezed so loudly it shook the last leaves from the trees.
What did they do with all these injured attackers? They couldn’t leave them here, they’d freeze. The only option was to take them back to Sheffield.
That’s when Madge struck a flint and lit a candle inside a dirty lantern. A lantern hanging inside a plush carriage with the Earl of Derby’s colours on the doors.
“I’ve got a plan,” Madge said with a beaming smile. “Let’s load the good stuff in this carriage, and hook Shadow and Plus-One up to it. Then we can haul Roger and his men in the wagon behind us?”
“I like it,” Robyn said. “We’ll head back towards Sheffield and leave these rotters by the gate. Then we’ll make our way in the other carriage to Nottingham and give it back to the Sheriff.”
“Can we give the horses back too?” Wilfred said, then sneezed.
That meant saying goodbye to Shadow. Unless Robyn could stay with the horse? After all, the Sheriff was also an earl, and earls probably had stables as big as the entire village of Loxley. Maybe one more peasant working in the stables wouldn’t be noticed?
Ellen held a tree branch in her hand. “Whose stick is this long-staff?”
“Mine,” Georgia said, taking it back and placing it across the driver’s seat of the carriage.
“I can drive the carriage if you want,” Wilfred said.
Madge put her hand to his arm. “No Will, you’re in here with me.” She dragged Wilfred inside with a giggle.
Robyn rolled her eyes and climbed up to the driver’s seat. Hang on. “Where’s Ellen?”
“I’m on this one,” she called out, indicating she was travelling with Joan and Georgia and Roger’s men.
“No Ellen, you’re with us,” Mother Eleanor said, dragging her off.
From below her seat, Robyn heard Madge groan her disappointment that she and Wilfred wouldn’t be left alone after all.
Ellen moaned, “But why can’t I go back to Sheffield?”
“Because,” Robyn said from her perch, “You’ll tell Maudlin we’re going to Nottingham, won’t you?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Yes you would.”
Ellen’s shoulders slumped. “Well, yes, I probably would. But I’d give you a day’s head start at least.”
“Sorry, can’t let you do it. You’re staying with us whether you like it or not,” Robyn said. “All right, is everyone on board?”
“Yes.” They answered.
Shadow didn’t want to move on without Robyn. “It’s OK, Shadow, I’m right behind you.” Robyn climbed down from the driver’s seat and made her way to the front. “Easy girl,” Robyn rubbed the horse’s nose and gave her a kiss. “I’ve been on my feet all day too and I’m ready for a nap. Once we take these varmints back to Sheffield, we’ll have a good rest, OK?”
Shadow seemed none too impressed as Robyn gently held her bridle and guided her in the right direction. “We’ll not go all the way to Nottingham tonight.”
She wasn’t sure if she were speaking for the horse’s benefit or her own.
“Er, Robyn?” Marion called out.
“What?” It was enough she had to put one foot in front of the other, much less answer Marion’s irritating questions.
“We should take the South Road.”
“We’re on it, aren’t we?”
Noisy creaks sounded behind her as Marion left his post and caught up. Soon enough, he fell in step beside her. “No, we were on the road going west from Sheffield, then we turned around, which means we’re now going east. Towards Sheffield.”
“Where is this South Road then, and how to we get on it?”
“We went past it as we left Sheffield. I don’t think we’ve come back to it yet, but we need to keep an eye out for it.”
“How are we going to see it? I can barely see my feet in front of me.”
“I was thinking. Horses always know their way home. Shadow belongs to the Earl of Derby, and he’s in Nottingham, so Shadow will know how to get to Nottingham.”
“Really?”
Marion dropped his voice even lower. “Maybe not. But I’ll keep an eye out for milestones because eventually we’ll find one that points to Nottingham.”
Milestones. Signposts. Another reminder that she couldn’t read. But also, Robyn found herself feeling grateful that he hadn’t been shouting the conversation from his seat on the carriage.
Oh, the carriage.
“Marion, who’s driving?”
“Nobody, but you’re leading Shadow anyway, so it hardly matters.”
“In which case, can you lead Shadow for a bit? I’m stuffed.”
Marion chuckled under his breath and let her go. Robyn timed it so she could climb up onto the front of the carriage while it was still moving. Her feet burned with relief as she lay horizontal across the driver’s seat. Every muscle cried in protest but she fell asleep almost before she’d closed her eyes.
***
Robyn woke but couldn’t move. Every limb felt like wood as it slowly creaked to life. Rubbing the crust from her eyes, she looked out to see they were in a glade in the middle of the forest. The sun made fingers of light through the bare trees. Her head felt cold and her neck had seven kinds of kinks in it, but she was rested, and for that she was grateful.
“Morning,” Marion said with a wink as he tented more branches over a fire.
“Morning.” With creaking bones and tight muscles, Robyn climbed down from the driver’s seat and reached the ground. “Where are we?”
“Not exactly sure. We left Roger and his men near the Sheffield Gates, then we took the South Road. Soon after that, Shadow cracked it with me and wouldn’t go any further.”
“How far are we from Sheffield?”
“Four milestones. The road’s over that way,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “This seemed as good a place as any to rest.”
A few stretches and yawns later, Robyn sat by the fire that Marion had made. He presented her with a tin plate piled high with fish for breakfast.
“This is amazing?” Manners be hanged, Robyn ate and talked at the same time. “How did these end up in the bags?”
“They didn’t. I caught them from the stream this morning,” he said with a prideful grin.
“Catch some more, they’re delicious!” Robyn held her plate out for Marion to refill.
“Already on it. I’ve got Joan and Georgia building us a shelter further in the woods, and your mother and Ellen are catching more fish as we speak.”
“What about Will and Madge?”
“They’re busy.” Marion turned bright red, showing Robyn exactly how busy those two must be.
“Right. So,” Robyn accepted the refill of food and shoved it in her mouth. It was so perfect and buttery and melty. She pulled a bone out.
“Sorry, thought I got them all out.”
“I like the bones, they’re good,” Robyn said, using it as a toothpick. “Heavens! I feel so much better. I’m sorry I’ve been snapping at you so much.”
“We’ve all been beyond hungry.”
“Yeah. That must be it.” Robyn shucked the last remnants from between her teeth. “Any more?”
“There will be when your mother and Ellen get back.”
The mention of the girl’s name was such a downer. “What are we going to do with her?”
“We can’t let her go, because she’ll run straight back to Maudlin and tell her what we’re up to.”
“Why can’t she be nice, like us?”
Marion laughed out loud.
> “Don’t mock me!” Robyn threw her empty plate at Marion, who caught it.
“I’m not making fun, I’m sorry. But Ellen probably thinks Maudlin is the nice one. She probably thinks she’s doing the right thing by sticking with her. Maybe she thinks we’re the bad ones here.”
“How can making sure other people don’t starve through winter be the wrong thing?” Robyn rose and wiped her hands on her tunic. Stretching again, she looked around their new surroundings. In this forest clearing, Shadow and her horsey friend Plus One chomped at the grassy tufts growing by the river. The water flowed bright and clear.
She took a few steps towards the damp shore and swished her hands in the icy stream. It was so cold her fingers could have cracked off, but she filled her palms and took a good slurp. Ice filled her chest and her head ached, but she slurped some more anyway.
“So I was thinking,” Marion said, coming up beside her and taking a few sips of his own. “This is a good spot. Plenty of fish, loads of fresh water. We’ve got supplies to keep us going for a while . . .”
“You didn’t think of that just then, did you?”
His face fell. “How could you tell?”
“Because I can see Joan and Georgia from here.” She waved at the women upstream who were building something against a tree. Something amazing and solid and potentially big enough to last them all through the winter. They had to have been working at that since sunrise.
Marion offered a compromise. “We could head straight to Nottingham if you want?”
Robyn sat on her heels. “You’re being far too nice. And I’ve been a right cow.”
Marion held back a smile.
Robyn slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You were supposed to say I haven’t been that bad.”
This time Marion laughed outright.
***
A stick of cold charcoal from the fire made an excellent crayon. Robyn drew a small circle on the trunk of a tree and coloured it in, then she drew a larger circle around it, and another, until the curve of the trunk made it difficult to create any more circles with any kind of accuracy.
“Looks dead easy,” Marion said.
“It’s supposed to be.” Robyn replied. “That’s why it’s called practice. We’ll get some shots in, then taking steps further and further back until we can’t hit it any more. Then we’ll move on to this.” She pointed upwards. Marion followed her pointed finger and saw a bag filled with mud and twigs, hanging from rope.
This bag also had a charcoal target drawn on it, but the folds in the bag wobbled the lines.
“I’ll tell you now, I don’t have a hope of landing an arrow on that.” Marion said.
Robyn couldn’t hold back a smirk. “You have so many other things on your ‘To do’ list?”
“Point taken,” Marion said, taking a look around.
They were in the Shire Wood, Sheffield was long behind them. They had food and temporary shelter, full bellies and nobody chasing them down this very minute.
“OK, so we start with the easy target on the tree?” He asked.
“You can stand as close as you like, get your eye in, then we can start moving further back.”
For the next long while–neither kept time, but it felt like a good session–they took turns at the bow and arrow, aiming for the tree, either hitting the target or hitting very close to it. Most of the time they hit the tree, which saved them searching the forest for lost arrows.
Later, the tree oozing sap from its wounds, they moved on to the mud bag. Arrow after arrow whizzed through the air. Some made a passing glance, most missed.
Robyn pierced the bag once, the arrow ripping a hole in it before falling to the ground.
“You are amazing at this,” Marion said as they searched for lost arrows along the forest floor. “When did you learn to shoot?”
“Father taught me.” Her shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. “A couple of springs ago. We caught rabbits in the Shire Wood and brought home the biggest we’d had in years.”
“I remember that! There was so much food, the only place big enough to cook it was the forge! My father grizzled about the smell in the smithy.”
Robyn laughed at the memory. “He didn’t complain about the food though.”
“Too right.” Marion licked his lips and his eyes drifted towards the trees as he recalled the memory. “Do you think we could catch some now?”
The relaxed banter between them felt right. Friends being friendly. Marion wasn’t making her feel remotely guilty about how badly things had turned out in Sheffield. In fact, he’d been a total gentleman and hadn’t mentioned it.
“Sure. How’s your shoulder feeling from the workout?”
He rolled a shrug to get his arm moving again. “Nothing a bit of roast rabbit can’t fix.”
“Let’s get one then.”
They collected oats to use for bait, then found a clearing near the stream and made sure they stayed down wind so they wouldn’t be sniffed out. They also stayed as quiet as possible so they wouldn’t be heard.
Clever things rabbits, they could hear for miles on account of those massive ears.
After an age of waiting, the only animals that took the bait were pigeons.
Bored and sore from crouching, Robyn loosed an arrow and pinned one bird with a perfect kill-shot.
“Better than nothing I guess,” she said with a shrug.
They cleaned and plucked the bird by the stream.
Marion sighed heavily. “I miss Father. And although they annoyed the tripe out of me, I’m starting to miss my brothers as well.”
“Me too. I wish the stupid Crusade was over. Then we’d go home.”
Marion rubbed his shoulder. It had been a long afternoon of target practise. Then again, he was used to wielding a hammer on the forge, so he shouldn’t be that sore.
Maybe he pretended to be injured? To save her feelings.
That time she’d seen him without sleeves at the forge, seen the definition in his arms. Yep, definitely fit. He had to be pretending for her sake.
“One pigeon won’t go far among eight of us. We should catch more to share.” He said at last.
“And waste more oats? We need to ration what we’ve got. We’ll try this one first and see if it’s any good before we hunt any more.”
“Save our resources. Good idea,” Marion said as they walked back.
As their camp came into view–the carriage to one side, a half-built shelter on the other, Robyn pulled up short. Regret clogged her throat. “We’re outlaws now, aren’t we?”
Marion scratched the back of his neck and then nodded. “Could be worse. At least we’re not homeless.”
Ahead of them, they heard singing. It was Ellen and Eleanor, making up songs as they sat around the campfire.
Robyn in a hood
Does a lot of good
Robs from the rich and gives to the poor
Lives in the Shire Wood
“I love it Mother Eleanor,” Ellen said, “you truly have a gift for lyrics.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said.
Robyn ground her teeth at how obviously Ellen was trying to get into her mother’s good graces.
“She’ll not replace you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Marion said.
Robyn glared at him. How dare he read her thoughts!
“Steady on,” Marion held his palms up in surrender. “It’s a good thing your eyes aren’t arrows, otherwise I’d be deader than the pigeon.”
The small bird didn’t take long to cook, and neither did the fish.
“Tastes like greasy chicken,” Joan said as she nibbled the pigeon drumstick.
Divided between eight of them, the bird offered no more than a bite each.
It was a tough and gamey bird, just like the season. In spring, fresh growth ensured rabbits and birds were fat and delicious. But now they were using up their fat reserves in the cold weather, and their muscles had turned to string.
“There are still
so many fish,” Ellen said. “I stood downstream where the water tumbles over rocks. As the fish swam near me, I flicked my hands under their bellies and tossed them onto the shore. Mother Eleanor sat on the shore and bagged them quick smart.”
Everyone except Robyn and Marion murmured their congratulations as they chewed the scant meat off the pigeon bones.
“It’s given me an idea,” Ellen said. “Why don’t we build a holding pen, here in the river? I can toss fish in there and we can feed them with oats, and then next time we need supper, we need only grab the fish we already have in the pen?”
It sounded like an excellent idea to Robyn, which made her instantly suspicious because the idea was Ellen’s. The girl had to be up to something.
“I like it,” Madge said. “Especially as the river’s only going to get colder as winter moves in.”
Ellen looked excited to have one person on board. “The river could freeze entirely. It’s only a stream to be honest. Bagging the fish now will stop us starving later.”
“But what if the fish freeze in the pen?” Robyn asked.
“Then they’ll take a little longer to cook,” Ellen said.
Mother Eleanor brightened. “Does that mean I won’t have to sit near the water any more?”
Right now, they had plenty of fish to share, so none of them would starve. But in a few weeks, would they still have food? As sure as night followed day, winter followed autumn. What would they do then?
As much as she hated to admit it, Marion was right. They needed a plan to survive the cold months ahead. Otherwise they’d all freeze and starve.
“Does anyone want that last bit of pigeon?” Joan asked.
“Help yourself,” Robyn handed over her half-eaten pigeon thigh. “How about you Georgia?”
“I’m fine thanks,” she said, picking her teeth with a wing bone. “I prefer the fish. I like Ellen’s idea. Could save us all a lot of heartache later.”
“Stomach ache, more like,” Wilfred said as he handed his uneaten pigeon to Joan.
“Fish is better for your skin at any rate,” Madge said, linking her arm with his.
Robyn and the Hoodettes Page 13
