The Band of Merry Kids

by David Skuy

“Work,” Fendral said.

  Lucy took a deep breath. “Do you work in the fields?”

  “Aye.”

  “Other places too?”

  “Aye.”

  Pip was ready to give up.

  “What’s Baron Geoffrey like?” Lucy said.

  Pip flicked his eyebrows at her — good question.

  “Don’t know,” Fendral said.

  “Don’t you … work for him?” Harold said.

  “I’ve never seen him,” Fendral said. “Saw his son once.”

  That was the longest answer yet, an encouraging sign. Pip jumped in.

  “Does the baron treat you well?”

  Fendral lowered his head and walked on ahead.

  “Let’s assume that’s a no,” Lucy said.

  They continued for a few hundred paces until they emerged out of the forest and into an open field. In the distance, a massive manor stood, towering above everything. Pip had never seen such an enormous building. It was sur-rounded on all sides by crops. The air was thick with the dusty, heavy smell of freshly cut barley. The baron’s peasants had tied it into bundles. Pip knew from the country kids that the bundles were called bales. A stream wound its way behind the manor and toward a mill, beside which were a tall barn, siding faded to a silvery grey, and, behind it, a second, smaller barn. A few dozen handcarts had been hoisted on their back wheels and leaned against the side of the big barn. Further off, Pip could see the dim outline of cattle grazing in a pasture.

  “That manor’s big enough for five hundred people,” Harold exclaimed. “Who lives there?”

  “The baron,” Fendral said.

  “The baron owns all this?” Lucy said.

  “The baron,” he repeated.

  Fendral turned down a path that led to a long row of shabby, rundown cottages. In front of one cottage sat a man on a rickety stool, his gnarled hands gripping his bony knees. His face was worn. Everything about him was dirty. He wore a long shirt that was belted at the waist and went down to his ankles. Strips of cloth wrapped around his feet served as shoes. But for all his poverty he seemed cheerful enough, and he waved. When they were twenty paces off, he got up.

  “Greetings, Master Fendral,” he called out.

  “Greetings, Kolby,” Fendral said.

  “You want to cut more barley for our lord and master, the Baron Geoffrey?” Kolby said.

  “We need food,” Fendral answered. “We have visitors.”

  Kolby crossed his arms, a smile playing across his lips. “We all need food, and I would love to give my dear Merec and Anne a larger share of this bountiful harvest. It grieves me to see you and tiny Barda do without. But the baron provides us with our daily rations and not a speck more — unless you have some silver to loosen the strings of our baron’s purse.”

  Fendral held out Aldwin’s money in the palm of his hand. Kolby’s eyes grew twice as big. He came over.

  “Where did you get three pounds?” Kolby said, his tone suspicious and bewildered.

  “This boy’s father gave it to me,” Fendral said, nodding at Pip.

  Fendral handed the coins to Kolby.

  “Who might your father be?” Kolby said to Pip.

  “Aldwin Draper of Nottinghamshire,” Pip said.

  “Is he of noble blood?” Kolby said. He looked down at the coins.

  “No … he is a merchant. He sells wool blankets,” Pip said. “This is Lucy and Harold. Our fathers are brothers. We’re going to the Bradford Fair.”

  As if by magic, their arrival brought everyone out of their homes. Normally, Pip was embarrassed by his father’s job. From what he saw around him, and compared to Kolby, his father was fantastically rich. Pip had never seen such people. They were so thin, their skin dry and brittle, like paper, their eyes dull and empty, rags for clothes, and incredibly dirty. Pip took an involuntary step back.

  One woman came out of the cottage where Kolby had been sitting. She limped badly, her right foot dragging behind, her back hunched. Her face was lined and drawn, and her hair was straw-like and spotted with mud.

  “Let me see the silver,” she croaked. “I must see it. Is it ours?”

  Pip felt a rage rise within him. The baron lived in that manor, and his people lived like animals.

  “What is it, Mother?” a young girl asked the woman, pull-ing on her shawl.

  “Hush, my child,” she said.

  Pip could not believe a woman who looked that old, whose body seemed so broken, was mother to a small girl.

  Kolby held the money out.

  “Where did you get such treasure?” she asked.

  “The father of this boy,” Kolby said.

  She seemed to shrink to nothing. “Then it is not ours.”

  The sadness in her voice broke Pip’s heart.

  “We need only enough food for tonight,” Pip said. “You can keep any extra food this money can buy. We are four people, plus Fendral’s family.”

  The woman seemed to grow, as if she’d been filled with air. A murmur of excitement spread.

  Kolby looked at the money and then cast an eye up to the sky. “Bring four bags of flour, eight chickens … the dried fish … and five bags of peas and beans,” he ordered.

  Some men walked off toward the two barns.

  Kolby rubbed the woman’s back with affection. “Stoke the fire, dear. Tonight we eat.”

  Pip thought he saw tears in her eyes.

  “God bless you, child,” she said to Pip.

  She bowed to him — as deeply as her stooped back allowed — and, reaching for her daughter’s hand, shuffled off, presumably to attend to the fire. The men returned quickly with the food. Fendral put one of the big bags of flour on his shoulder. Pip was impressed. Fendral looked like he could barely pick up a feather. A man handed Lucy two chickens, their feet tied together, and gave Harold some dried fish bound by rope. Lucy grinned and held the chickens up to Pip. A second man gave Pip a bag with peas and beans.

  They tossed three more bags of flour on the ground. A puff of dust flew in all directions. Another man had six chickens, and the last man carried four big bags of vegetables, two on each shoulder. People scurried in all directions. Women began opening the flour bags and filling bowls with water. Pip assumed they would make bread.

  “Please thank your father for his generosity,” Kolby said to Pip.

  Pip didn’t know how to respond. So much fuss over a little money.

  “Thank you for providing us with supper tonight,” Lucy said. “It was nice meeting you.”

  They said their goodbyes and followed Fendral back to the forest path.

  “The baron is a horrible person to make people live like that, even if they are his peasants,” Pip fumed. “They are starving to death. Did you see how hungry they were?”

  “We’re lucky to live as we do,” Harold said.

  “I wish we could do more for them,” Pip muttered. He thought of Robin Hood’s famous saying — steal from the rich and give to the poor. There were rich people who were good and kind. Then there were people like Baron Geoffrey or Sir Lanford or Johnson, cruel and evil men.

  Baron Geoffrey was rich beyond Pip’s wildest imagination, and he absolutely deserved to be stolen from.

  he cottage was not much more than a hut, barely standing, with animal skins for a door. Twenty paces off, the so-called shelter consisted of two logs lashed by a crosspiece and a roof of thatched branches and leaves. Pip didn’t look forward to sleeping there tonight. It was basically like sleeping outside — and it was starting to get cold. The wagon was parked to the left of the shelter, and to the right, tied to a tree, Garrick and Aubrey munched peace-fully on some thistles and grass. A second cottage, nestled not far behind the main one, was so old and crooked it seemed a miracle that it remained standing.

  Barda thrust the animal skin as
ide, rushed out of the cottage, and threw himself into Fendral’s arms. Pip saw Fendral smile for the first time.

  “Did you get it? Did you get some food?” Barda cried. He waved his doll over his head.

  “We did,” Fendral said.

  Merec and Anne came out next. Anne ran her hands over the bag of flour.

  “There’s so much,” she murmured.

  “We bought more and left it in the village,” Fendral said.

  Aldwin came over from the wagon.

  “We are grateful to you, kind sir,” Merec said to him. “The baron’s generosity appears only in the presence of silver.”

  “We are grateful for the lodgings and the good company,” Aldwin said.

  The two men bowed their heads to each other.

  Pip was marked by Merec’s dignity. He’d never spoken to a peasant before, a person who belonged to someone else and had to work the land and do what he was told. The country kids described peasants as barely more than brute animals. Pip had always believed them. Merec and his family and the peasants in the village were hardly like that. They had feelings and obviously loved each other — and their suffering was painful to witness.

  “We will prepare the food,” Merec said. “Fendral, help me with the fire.”

  “You have had a much longer day than we,” Aldwin said. “Allow me to start the fire.”

  Pip wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. He didn’t want to look lazy in front of his father, though.

  “Merec, would you like us to collect more firewood?” Pip said.

  “The trees in the forest are forbidden to us,” Merec said, “even what has fallen to the ground. We may burn only what Master Johnson and Sir Lanford give us, and that is very little, as you can see.”

  “This Sir Lanford, what does he look like?” Lucy said.

  Merec shrugged. “He is a big man, tall and broad, with hard eyes and long black hair that falls to his shoulders. Do you know him?”

  “I think we met him on the way here, at Ackerley’s Inn,” Pip said.

  Merec put his hand on Pip’s shoulder and leaned for-ward, his face etched with concern. “Stay away from him, child. He is a bad man, cruel and violent, especially when he is in drink — which is often.”

  Before long the fire was going strong. Anne used the flour to make flatbreads. Merec prepared the chickens, and soon they were roasting over the fire. The smell was hard to take. Pip was so hungry. He was also getting cold. He shivered and rubbed his arms.

  “The children should go inside the cottage to stay warm. I need more time,” Anne said to Merec.

  Merec nodded at Fendral. He pulled the animal skin aside. Pip didn’t like being called a child — but he sure was cold, and he followed the others. It was hard to see at first, the only light cast by a few glowing coals burning in a makeshift fireplace. Poor Barda was shivering uncontrollably.

  “You are so cold,” Lucy said to Barda. “Come here and I’ll keep you warm.”

  “Can Felix come too?” Barda said, his teeth chattering. He gave his doll a hug.

  “Of course,” Lucy said. “There’s room for you and Felix.”

  Barda patted Felix’s head a few times and then curled him-self into Lucy’s lap. The animal skin flipped aside and Aldwin came in. He carried some blankets.

  “I brought these for you,” Aldwin said softly.

  He gave one to Fendral, and then wrapped Lucy and Barda in another. “Harold and Pip, share this one. We will call you when it is time to eat.”

  “I’m okay, Father. Perhaps Anne or Merec need it,” Pip said. He tried to stop his lips from shaking.

  “We are moving about,” Aldwin said. “Please, keep warm, Little Pip.” He opened the blanket and put it around Harold and Pip’s shoulders.

  Harold pulled the blanket close to him. Pip pushed it off his shoulders.

  Always Little Pip.

  “We will call you when dinner is ready,” Aldwin said, and he left.

  Pip looked around. A few makeshift rags lay about, along with a couple piles of straw. Pip guessed they used the straw for bedding. An axe and a shovel hung from hooks on the wall. There were no other tools, apart from a wooden ladle sitting in a badly banged-up small metal pot.

  “It’s hard to believe they live like this,” Lucy whispered, nodding at Barda and Fendral, who had fallen asleep already.

  “It’s the baron. Robin Hood will make him pay,” Pip said.

  “You tell Robin Hood the next time you two meet,” Lucy said. She leaned back against the wall.

  In her arms, Barda looked like a bag of bones.

  “How do they survive without blankets and beds?” Pip said.

  “Or food,” Lucy said. “Did you see those peasants? They acted like they hadn’t eaten in weeks — and they’re so skinny.”

  “I bet the baron eats as much as he wants,” Pip said. “It’s so unfair. I also bet Robin Hood knows about Baron Geoffrey. He knows everything, and he has a plan. He and the Merry Men will take that food and give it to the baron’s peasants, just you wait. One day he’ll —”

  “Oh, Pip,” Lucy sighed. She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket across her. “You promised not to talk about Robin Hood. Remember?”

  “Sorry,” Pip said.

  Harold’s breathing was slow and steady. Pip was too angry at the baron to sleep, however. He balled his fists in frustration and squeezed them as hard as he could. Baron Geoffrey was the very kind of man Robin Hood hated. He taxed people until they had no choice but to become his pea-sants — then he worked them practically to death. All the while he grew richer and richer — and he ate to his heart’s content. Sir Lanford and Johnson were like Hugh, abusing people because the baron gave them power.

  Pip felt so helpless.

  Baby Robin! Little Pip!

  He’d show them.

  Pip shivered and wrapped his arms tightly against his stomach. He could hear voices. His father was speaking. He couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

  “The fair … blankets … Baron … harvest …”

  He could only catch snatches of the conversation. The miserable fire barely threw off any heat. Pip pulled the blanket back over his shoulder. A sudden drowsiness came over him.

  Pip was riding Garrick, who had transformed into a large white horse with the colors of King Richard draped across its back. Pip held a lance in his right hand, with a bronze knob at the tip and strips of green, blue, and red cloth wrapped around the shaft. A dirt path stretched out before him, divided in the middle by a wooden railing about ten hands high, and the right side of the path was lined by stands in which sat hundreds of lords and ladies dressed in the finest clothing. Enormous banners of red and white silk provided those in the stands with shade from the sweltering sun. Garrick snorted and stomped his feet, scuffing the sandy dirt. Two troubadours blasted their trumpets. At the opposite end of the path, a hundred paces away, Aubrey appeared, but he’d become a black stallion, a mighty warhorse, and upon him sat a knight in full armor, equally black, as if some giant shadow clung to him. Suddenly, the Black Knight’s helmet swung toward him and two eyes within flashed a fiery red. The Black Knight lowered his lance. He charged. Pip struggled to turn Garrick around. He wouldn’t budge, and he continued to scuff at the ground with his hoofs and snort and pluck at the grass. The Black Knight got closer and closer. Pip pulled violently on the reins, his stomach turning into knots. The Black Knight lowered his lance, his red eyes practically burning out of his helmet. Pip held out his shield. It was made of strips of thin wood bound together by rope, something a small child would make. He was defenseless. He tried to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. The gleaming red eyes got closer. The Black Knight’s lance struck his chest.

  “Time to eat,” Lucy said. She shook his shoulder.

  Pip started and stared at her, wide-eyed.<
br />
  She shook him again. “Hurry or there won’t be any left,” she said.

  He’d been dreaming. The Black Knight had been so real this time. He roused himself and went outside.

  “My Little Pip, come sit by me and eat,” Aldwin said. He held out a flatbread with a piece of chicken on it.

  Pip took the food and sat off to the side.

  Little Pip — useless Little Pip.

  He needed to help Merec and his family. His father wouldn’t do anything, other than buy this food. But they’d be hungry tomorrow! What would Robin Hood do? Of course, Pip didn’t have the Merry Men to help him. Still — he could do something — like steal from the rich and give to the poor?

  A plan came to him, faintly at first, and then, as he thought about it, the plan became more and more clear in his mind. He even let himself smile. The dream meant nothing. He wasn’t helpless. He would act — bravely — like Robin Hood.

  ip stumbled in the darkness. It was nearly impossible to see much more than the dim outline of the path. But he kept going, and finally he found the row of cottages where Kolby and the other peasants lived. A few torches lit the area, just enough to allow Pip to make out the barns in the distance.

  He went over to the firepit. The coals were cold, which meant everyone had finished eating and gone to sleep long ago. If Merec and his family were an example, they would’ve dropped off almost as soon as they were done. Aldwin said that they were probably not used to eating so much food and that it made them extra sleepy. Aldwin had stayed up and fussed over the blankets for what felt like forever. Finally, he’d lain down, and when Pip was sure everyone was asleep, he’d snuck off and made his way here.

  Merec and his family were going to eat well again, and the baron was going to give them the food — for free this time. Pip pulled a torch out of the ground and crept off to the two barns. He figured if anyone by the manor saw him they’d assume he was a peasant checking on things.

  He opened the big barn door and looked in. Bags of flour were piled in neat rows of ten bags each. There was enough to feed a thousand people — and the baron wouldn’t spare a few bags to feed the very people making him rich?