by K. M. Shea
Managing to open my eyes in the cold water, I saw something black clawing at me. I grabbed it and hauled my way upward, climbing it as it got thicker and longer. I surfaced and quickly grasped a solid black neck, thanking God as my mind registered Crafty swimming for the shore, dragging me with him.
The black horse had plunged in after me and kicked me until I had grabbed a hold of his leg and climbed up his body. Bless that bloody horse, I would never ever make another insult about his horrid temperament, and for the rest of his life he would be given apples, hay and every other luxury as far as I could afford.
My cold arms gave away on the shore and I fell into the frosty brush, coughing up the dangerously cold water that had filled my throat. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve as I grimly looked about, fear once again thumping in my chest. I had to get warm or I would be chilled to death.
My clothes were freezing in place, growing stiff as ice formed around them. Crafty shook and eyed me, walking towards me as though he was going to step on me again.
Coughing, I managed to move, rising to my feet as my stiff and icy clothes stuck to my skin. My teeth loudly chattered, jarring every bone in my face, and I made short, rigid movements while coughing violently. I slowly stepped on top of a rock before climbing onto Crafty. I nearly slid off his back, ice was forming in his fur too.
I dug my red, stiff fingers into his mane. My fingers were so numb I almost couldn’t tell if I was really clutching his hair or not. Crafty pushed into a gallop, tearing through the forest as I neatly collapsed on his neck. When I occasionally slid to the side the blessed horse would shift his wait and crow hop, sliding me back on him. I only fell off once.
I was in a stupor. The coldness, nor fear, really touched me. I wanted to sleep so badly, and the jarring motion of Crafty’s canter was keeping me from doing so.
Running warmed Crafty up, and he stopped shivering as he plunged through the forest while I continued with my hacking cough. Crafty jumped through the natural wall surrounding the camp and skid to a stop in the center.
“Much! Will?” I weakly called, twisting my frame around as Crafty danced in place, showing the whites of his eyes as he tossed his head. I coughed and shivered as I looked around the camp. The central fire had gone out. The coals were smoldering as a tiny trail of gray smoke rose through the air. It was eerily quiet and I didn’t see anyone.
“Much? Where are you? Little John, Scarlet?” I shouted, my voice cracking before I started coughing again. Crafty grunted and crow hopped, sending me to the ground. I landed next to the hut I had been using until mine would be finished. (It was Much’s but he said he would rather go without than see me out in the cold. Ironic, considering the situation I was in at the moment.)
I threw the wooden door open and dragged myself inside. When I managed to close the door behind me I sighed in relief. It was much warmer without the cold wind blowing on me. Shuddering, I ripped my clothes off, taking a few layers of skin off with the ice that had stuck to me. I quickly changed into my spare outfit and put on the gloves that Marian had made especially for me before wrapping myself up in my famous lincoln green cape. I wrapped all of my blankets around me and laid there for several minutes, huddling in a corner as my cough subsided and the chattering of my teeth lessened.
I eventually warmed up, my skin prickling painfully as the feeling returned to my limbs. Climbing out of my blanket cocoon I slipped on a few extra over clothes as well as an extra pair of stockings with my old pair of boots. I slipped on a hat and I did my best to dress as warm as I could. Although it was a mild day for January that little dip I took in the river was not the best thing for my health.
I exited the hut, thinking more clearly as the day’s events returned to my memory. “Little John, Hob, Scarlet?” I yelled, jogging around the camp. Everything was deserted. The only answer to my calls was the wind whistling through the trees. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over Crafty to warm the poor horse up before I walked around a bit more, screaming my men’s names as the tears started to run.
“Where are you Much?” I screamed. “You said they wouldn’t die!” I sobbed as I stomped my foot on the ground, throwing a temper tantrum as my shrieks filled the forest. I gave several heart wrenching sobs before I mounted Crafty, keeping his blanket in tact.
Within minutes we arrived at the spot where Will Scarlet had been teaching me swordsmanship less than an hour ago. The area was empty, not even a bird sat on the bare branches. No one answered my calls. I cried when I spotted several pools of blood.
Pounding my fists on snow covered forest floor, I screamed, “You promised me Much! You promised!” I sobbed, collapsing. “You said no one would get left behind, I thought you included me in that!” I cried harder, my voice growing hoarse as I called for my men and blew my horn. I waited for five minutes.
No one arrived.
I walked to the edge of the river, my hysteria uncontrollable, where I found another pool of blood. I knew from the placement of it that the blood was surely Will Scarlet’s. I continued to sift through the clearing, finding Much’s prized dagger and Will Stutely’s favorite bow among the ruin.
I sat on a log and I held my head in my hands, quietly crying as I clutched my friends’ things. My sorrow eventually passed and I was instead filled with resolve.
“Crafty!” I called.
The horse trotted over to me. I swooped onto his back and steered him back to the camp. As we rode I felt as though my face was freezing into a permanent frown. We stopped at camp, where I collected my longbow and my normal bow as well as three quivers full of arrows. “Hang on men,” I growled. “We’re coming.”
I tied leather reins onto Crafty’s rope halter, hoping Crafty would accept it as a badly made bridle, before pulling off his blanket. I slipped onto his back, fixing my weapons behind me and briskly clucked to Crafty.
He cantered through the forest, the thundering of his hooves the only sound among the trees. As the wind stung my face I prayed. The only thing that had kept me from going completely insane was that I couldn’t find any bodies. Perhaps my men were alive. I tried to keep that flickering flame of hope alive as I spurred Crafty on.
The hunters had been with my men for over an hour now, and I was pretty far behind them. As Crafty flew through the forest I continued to blow my horn and scream, hoping that at least a few of my Merry Men had managed to escape.
Crafty barreled through the forest at top speed. The trees started thinning out, and we were riding to the edge of the forest. We burst out of Sherwood and Crafty skid to a stop as he tossed his head. I stared down at the open space between Sherwood and Nottingham. I wanted to sing with joy when I spotted mass of green clothed men that were being herded toward Nottingham castle with about twenty men on horseback heckling them.
I shouted and heeled Crafty forward. We tore down the slope as I brought my horn to my lips and blew again and again. The notes echoed and drew the horsemen’s attention to me. I quickly swapped my horn for my longbow. In record time I notched and arrow and released it. I was too far away to hit anyone, but I thought it was fair to give them a warning shot.
Very few of them heeded, or were able to heed it, because my men were starting to grow rowdy since spotting me.
My eyes ran over the captured Merry Men as Crafty pounded closer. I estimated there were about twenty five of them… so where were my bloody other fifteen men?
I gave Crafty his head and let him run wherever he wished to as I fired off arrows, taking down the horsemen like I was swatting flies. Five of them broke off the hoard and galloped towards me. They carefully fixed arrows into their crossbows and fired.
Crafty snorted and weaved in between the arrows as I attempted to return the favor. It was harder than usual, Crafty kept making sharp turns to avoid being hit. One arrow grazed my right arm, and I grimaced in pain as I glanced at my torn sleeve. The wound wasn’t too deep, but it looked far more terrible than it was.
I shot off one more arrow before Crafty swung
around and took off in a full out gallop, making a mad dash for the tree line. Once there was a safe distance between us and the foresters he slowed to a prance and twisted around on his hind legs, giving me the time to shoot and take down two of the riders.
In the meantime the captured Merry Men went wild. They were hitting the restraining horsemen with whatever they could find. Rocks, pebbles, snow, branches, all of them were weapons in my men’s capable hands. The horsemen bashed them over the head, injuring a few, but the Merry Men continued to fight back.
Crafty fled again, the foresters were gaining on us. An arrow whistled in the air, nearly hitting me as Crafty ran for our lives.
Both Crafty and I jumped when the air was filled with eerie, bloodcurdling shrieks. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as Crafty wildly swung around, looking for the source of the noise.
It came from the forest, voiced by fifteen Merry Men who had arrows notched and trained on the riders that were chasing me. They took care of them with startling efficiency and excellent aim.
Like a green mob the captured Merry Men rose up and took out the rest of foresters, pulling them off their mounts before tossing them to the ground like sacks of grain.
I blew the horn and my forty Merry Men gathered into one large hoard. I cringed as I ran my eyes over them. Many of them were wounded, some gravely so.
“We have to take cover in the forest,” I said. “The Sheriff will send more men. We need to disappear before then.”
My men cheered before hurrying toward the forest. A few of the men automatically held back, creating a makeshift rearguard. I kept Crafty close to the group as I watched for the reinforcements that would pour out of Nottingham soon. We had to reach the forest before they left the castle.
I held my breath, and the castle was still.
I clucked to Crafty while looping my bow over my shoulder. He obediently trotted as I pulled him into a circle around the traveling Merry Men.
Only three men were completely unharmed, the majority of them had cuts and swiftly forming bruises as well as a limp to their gait. Five of them were severely injured: Will Scarlet, Much, Little John, and Will Stutely making up the worst of it.
“Will Scarlet passed out after getting shot by the crossbow at the river,” Much said, noticing that I was staring Scarlet’s unconscious body that was being hauled along by the unharmed Merry Men. “He hasn’t woken up since.”
“Little John did something to his right leg,” Much quietly continued as he walked next to Crafty. Little John was practically dragging his right foot, and one of his eyes was swelled shut. There was also a cut above his eyebrow that dripped with blood.
“I think Will Stutely twisted his wrist, but he’ll deny it,” Much confided, motioning to our deathly pale childhood friend.
“And what about you, Much?” I asked, looking down at my first Merry Man.
“Took a blow to the head. Didn’t hurt really, as you know I don’t have much in there to begin with,” Much winked. “My sight’s a little fuzzy, but then again it could just be that I’m exhausted.”
In spite of his cheerful words Much looked dead on his feet. I noticed his eyes had a hard time focusing, and he looked perpetually dizzy.
Tom was the fifth man to be severely injured. He had a bloody slash down the center of his chest where a hunter had gotten him with a sword.
The invasion had cost my men, but it wasn’t as terrible as I had pictured. It seemed like the hunters and foresters were trying to subdue my men, not kill them. They could have easily slaughtered the mass rather than try to take them to Nottingham. The idea was odd to me, nor did it seem to be the Sheriff’s style. One of his men or advisors must have come up with the plan.
I dismounted Crafty and hauled the horse up to the hobbling Little John and the men carrying Will Scarlet. “We’ll put Scarlet and Little John on Crafty,” I decided, seizing up the men.
“No,” Little John refused. “I can walk. Tom should ride.”
“No, Little John,” I said, shaking my head. “Tom isn’t strong enough to keep Scarlet from falling off, and it’s over a mile back to camp. You won’t be able to make it. Tom is light enough to carry, but there’s no one in this company who could haul your big carcass back to camp.”
Little John considered my words before mutely agreeing. Three men boosted Little John onto Crafty’s back. The black horse’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as Little John settled on his back. Crafty’s eyes grew bigger when Will Scarlet was carefully slung over his withers as well. I pat Crafty’s neck before clucking and dragging him forward. The black horse waddled after me, his ears flat against his skull.
It was a long procession home. Every man was ready to drop by the time we filed into camp. Crafty grunted with relief as his burdens were slipped off his back. He was so glad that he walked into his pen of his own accord. He slunk to the back corner and refused to get near the gate for the next week.
With the help of Hob and a few other Merry Men who were somewhat experienced with curing ailments, we set up a tent for the wounded. Most of my men took handfuls of snow and set it on their wounded limbs to help the swelling.
Hob set about making dinner—stew—for everyone. He muttered indignantly about expecting miracles when all he had to cook with was one pot. He had to make several batches, passing wooden bowls around to the men who abandoned the snow and huddled around the four fires we lit.
Meanwhile, I attempted to care for the more severely wounded in the tent. Much fell asleep, telling me he would feel better in the morning.
Tom pressed a rag to his chest to stop the bleeding, I took a damp cloth and I cleaned the wound out before bandaging his chest. He laid down on his cot, stirring occasionally when Much’s snores grew too loud to bear.
Will Stutely passed out with his wrist in a bucket of snow. I removed it shortly after and gently pushed him down into his bed.
Little John refused to be treated and instead watched my movements with his glistening green eyes, the firelight flickering in his face.
I spent most of my time with Will Scarlet, who still had yet to rouse. Hob and I pulled out the arrow protruding out of his side the moment we had reached camp. It was a gruesome business, and I won’t go into details except to tell you that we washed and bandaged the wound.
Around midnight the rest of the Merry Men went to sleep, a few of them slumbering around the fire. Tom drifted off, leaving only Little John and I alert. I lowly hummed under my breath as I shifted Will Scarlet into a more comfortable position. His face contorted for a moment before he gripped my hand and released a sigh, his body relaxing.
I let him clutch my hand as I sat on the ground near the fire, staring into the depths.
Little John was seated across from me, and I could feel his gaze on me. His green eyes glowing in the burning firelight.
“Well what do we have here?” Much briskly asked, waking me up the following morning. I wanted to open my eyes, but they felt gritty and the darkness was so nice.
Against my will I felt my body stir. I slowly peeled open my eyes to see Much and Will Stutely exchanging gazes. They looked grumpy. Much’s forehead was wrinkled like a dried grape, and Will wore the sour expression he used whenever someone suggested he go dig a latrine.
I yawned, ignoring their wry moods as pried my hand out of Scarlet’s. I flexed my wrist before standing up to stretch.
“How are you two?” I asked.
Will Stutely weakly smiled, slightly lifting up his arm to show me his bandaged wrist that was held in a splint. “Better, I’ll be much better though when my wrist heals.”
Much smiled. “I’m fantastic, thank you very much,” he said with a flourish, blinking when he abruptly straightened.
“You’re still dizzy aren’t you?” I said.
Much sighed. “We can’t keep anything from the little lady can we?”
“You’re just a horrible liar,” I grinned.
Much looked highly offended befor
e continuing. “Yes, I’m still a little dizzy, but my vision is clear again.”
I exited the tent, glancing around the camp. Most of the men were in motion, either stretching, practicing, or doing the daily chores. “How are we doing?” I asked as Much and Will caught up to me.
“Good. I’ve taken the liberty of giving a few of the men a day or two off,” Much said. “The rest I had continue with a less exhilarant schedule. It’s good for them to stretch and do other such things.”
Will snorted. “Never mind that you’re too lazy to do so yourself.”
“You were right there with me Will Stutely,” Much accused.
I walked away from my squabbling friends to join a few of the Merry Men in some warm up exercises. I then did some target practice, took a short run, and followed the mellow program for about two hours.
I was eating my lunch—deer meat again, surprise, surprise, surprise—when Tom and Hob found me.
I swallowed my food before speaking. “Tom, why are you up already, you could rip open that gash,” I scolded.
“Hello Robyn, we’re worried about Will Scarlet,” Hob said as he eased himself down onto a log next to me.
“He hasn’t woke up yet,” Tom added as he fell into a sitting position, grimacing slightly.
I frowned thoughtfully as they dished out their lunch. “If he doesn’t improve by nightfall I’ll try to contact Marian,” I said.
Hob nodded. “Good cause ‘e’s got a fever and it’s going up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tom shrugged. “Will and Much said not to worry you.”
I frowned, pausing to study the blazing fire before I stood. I reached down to grab my bowl when Hob released a terrified scream. He sounded much like the village girls when they discovered a snake in their bed.
(Not like Much or I had ever done that or experienced that scream before…)
“What?” I yelled bolting upright as Tom grabbed a bow and tossed it to me on pure reaction.
