by Steve Barlow
They fought upon the muddy road, they fought among the trees,
They fought and fought until they brought each other to their knees,
Then Robin cried, “Hang on a tick! Let’s settle for a draw,
I’ve never met a potter with a punch like yours before.”
With that, bold Robin blew his horn – the woods rang with the sound,
Til all his men came running in from miles and miles around,
And Robin said, “Sir Potter, you have matched me blow for blow!
So let’s be friends, and come and have a drink before you go.”
The potter said he’d pots to sell in Nottingham that day,
Besides, he’d miss the contest if he lingered on the way,
For all the bowmen in the shire were called on to appear
To win the Silver Arrow as the Archer of the Year.
“By George,” cried Robin, “I should like to go and see that sport,
But if I go in Lincoln green, I’ll certainly be caught,
That contest I will enter as a potter, in disguise –
I’ll win that Silver Arrow right before the Sheriff’s eyes?”
They made a bargain – Robin took the potter’s pots to sell, He borrowed…
I don’t believe it! I caught Alan A’Dale writing in my diary AGAIN! If he wants to write his stupid poetry, why doesn’t he buy his own diary?
If you want to know what happened when Robin went to Nottingham disguised as the Potter, I’ll tell you. He set up a stall in the market. Having the business sense of a duck, he started selling pots for about half what all the other traders were asking. He sold his last five pots to the Sheriff’s wife, and she was so chuffed she asked him back to the castle for a cuppa.
He ended up drinking ale with the Sheriff, and asked if he could shoot in the archery contest. The Sheriff roared with laughter at the idea of a potter shooting against his best men, and even lent Robin a bow.
The Sheriff’s best archer, Gilbert of the White Hand, stepped up to shoot:
Then the “potter” stepped up:
The Sheriff was a sick as mud. He’d only set the contest up to lure Robin Hood into his clutches. Robin Hood hadn’t turned up and now the Sheriff had to give his famous Silver Arrow away to a mere potter! He demanded to know who had taught a potter to shoot like that.
With a straight face, Robin said, “Robin Hood taught me.” He offered to take the Sheriff to meet Robin Hood to prove he was telling the truth.
So next day, the Sheriff and his men-at-arms followed the potter into the wood – and right into an ambush.
The lads took all the soldiers’ weapons and armour and made them walk back to town in their undies. They took the Sheriff back to our camp and took it in turns to shoot apples off his head for a laugh, and then Robin made him promise to leave us alone (I’ll believe that when I see it!) and let him go.
Well, I’m glad Robin’s been enjoying himself, but how am I supposed to put that Silver Arrow down in Robin’s expenses? Is it income, capital gains or gratuities? Some people are so wrapped up in their own little world they never think about anybody else!
* * *
MICROHARD CHAIN MAIL MESSAGE
From Basil Count de Money ([email protected])
Date 5 December 1192, 8.16am
To [email protected]
Subject Lost – one King!
Put the goose on hold! We’re not going to be home for Christmas. Our trip home has gone seriously pear-shaped.
Richard didn’t want to sail all the way back to England (he gets sea sick) so he sent the English fleet home. The rest of us then disguised ourselves as travelling pilgrims and set off across Europe. This meant we had to pass through territory that belongs to Richard’s enemies (and he’s got a lot of those).
When we arrived in Austria, we decided to lay low in Vienna for a bit – but as soon as I turned my back for two minutes, Richard disappeared!
Of course, the ruler of Austria is Duke Leopold, whose banner Richard threw in the moat at Acre. You don’t need a calculator to work out that Leo’s probably getting his own back!
I suppose I’d better try and find where Richard’s gone.
Yours, as worried as a pig in a pie shop,
Basil
* * *
30th December 1192
A message arrived at camp today by carrier pigeon.
It went, “Coo, coo… coo-coo… coo.”
It was one of Marian’s pigeons, the ones that Robin gave her in case she needed to get in touch with him quickly. She thinks that if she says to it, “Tell Wobin to come wight away!” and sends it off, Robin will get the message.
I’ve tried to explain to her that she needs to write the message and tie it to the pigeon’s leg. Still, if she sent a pigeon at all, she must want something. Robin and most of the lads were out looking for rich travellers to nobble, so I strolled over to her dad’s manor to find out.
I had to sneak past a couple of men-at-arms lounging by the gate. I crept up to the minstrels’ gallery above the main hall. Down below me, I could see Sir Guy of Gisborne. He was wearing several bottles of hair-oil, holding a king-sized bunch of mistletoe and trying to get a kiss from Marian, who was having none of it.
“Unhand me, you wetch!” she snapped. “Wotter! Wuffian! Wogue! Wascal!”
Gisborne said he was going to marry her.
Gisborne gave an oily chuckle and said he liked a wench with spirit.
“Wench?” cried Marion. “Who are you calling a spanner?”
Then Gisborne buzzed off to arrange the wedding reception, but he left his men on guard.
As soon as he’d gone, I slipped out of hiding. Marian was positively dancing with rage. I told her I’d come to take her to Robin, but she’d better disguise herself as a page.
“Oh, wight ho!” she cried, clapping her hands in girlish glee. “I can make myself a paper wobe, and wite words all over it…”
“Not a page from a book!” I told her, exasperated. “A page-boy!”
So Marian got dressed up as a page-boy, and as soon as it got dark, we nipped over the back wall of the manor and legged it. Marian shouted, “Yoicks! Tally ho!” and went sprinting off through the woods while I tried to keep up, tripping over brambles and falling in streams. By the time we got back to camp, she was as fresh as a daisy and I was completely wiped out.
To be fair, she gave me full credit. “Len wescued me,” she told Robin. “He was so bwave!”, which was stretching the truth a little. If that’s outlawing, you can keep it. Robin can rescue his own girls in future. I’m off to find some nice money to count.
* * *
MICROHARD CHAIN MAIL MESSAGE
From Basil Count de Money ([email protected])
Date 20 February 1193, 8.22am
To [email protected]
Subject I’ve found the King!
Well, it took some time, but I’ve found the King!
King Richard’s favourite minstrel, Blondel, had a bright idea. He reckoned there was a song that only he and Richard knew. If he and I went around singing the first verse of the song and we heard anyone singing the second verse, that would be Richard. So for the past few weeks, Blondel and I have been visiting the castles of Germany singing “Fa la la” more times than I want to remember.
Amazingly enough, after weeks of singing our throats out, we finally found Richard! (Thank goodness! If I have to sing that song again I’ll go completely nonny no!) It was Leo of Austria that locked him up, but Richard reckons that he’s going to be handed over to the German Emperor Henry VI any day.
Let everyone know the King is safe!
Yours, with a voice like a squeaky door,
Basil
* * *
* In today’s money, this works out at about a HUNDRED BILLION pounds!
10th July 1193
The ransom taxes are squeezing everyone dry!
Robin’s doing his best to collect the ransom – he’s even
been checking his tax returns to make sure I’m not fiddling them (as if I would!) and then sending double what he actually owes.
Meanwhile, we’re starving! Being outlaws, we have to keep moving about, so we can’t grow our own vegetables which is what most people do. We have to buy them to make our pottage.
I’m not saying pottage is to die for, but at least it’s a change from venison. We can’t buy bread or ale either, so we have to drink water and eat humble pie (which is made from all the bits of deer, like the intestines, that even the dogs turn their noses up at).
* spring onions.
12th August 1193
Apparently, all the King’s ransom money is being kept in huge cash boxes in St Paul’s Cathedral, Some of the outlaws said that we ought to nip down to London and nick it.
Robin went doolally! He said, how on earth could we think of such a wicked thing? There were dozens of reasons why such an idea was out of the question (although he could only name four):
The money would be heavily guarded
We’d never be able to carry it all back
We didn’t steal from the King
If we took the money, King Richard wouldn’t be released.
I thought of answering:
Fair point
We could give it a good go
Yes we do – what about all the venison we’ve scoffed?
So what?
But then I thought better of it. As far as Robin is concerned, King Richard can do no wrong.
This is a bit of a poser and no mistake. Little John’s been going round crying his eyes out and moaning that it’s all his fault. Apparently he told Robin not to go to Nottingham, and Robin said he hadn’t been to church in ages and he jolly well would go, so there. They had a row and Little John went off in a sulk. So now Little John is blaming himself for Robin’s capture, and Marian’s going spare at him for letting Robin get into trouble.
Ah well, I suppose someone will just have to go and rescue the silly idiot.
27th September 1193
When I said someone would have to go and rescue Robin, I didn’t mean me!
Little John and I were lying in wait on the road to London, trying to think what to do, when who should come by but the monk from St Mary’s Abbey who’d put the finger on Robin!
As soon as he saw us, he screeched, “I know you! You’re Little Jim!”
Little John doesn’t like people making fun of his name. He lost his temper a bit.
A letter fell out of the monk’s habit. It was addressed to Prince John.
“Well,” I said, “we’d better deliver this ourselves, hadn’t we?”
27th October 1193
Do my feet ache!
I’ve just got back from London. We took the monk’s letter to Prince John at Westminster. He read it and asked what had happened to the monk? I said he had died suddenly on the road, which was true enough.
Prince John wrote a letter back to the Sheriff.
We delivered Prince John’s letter to the Sheriff this morning. He wanted to know where the monk was, too.
“Oh,” I said, “Prince John was so pleased with him for helping catch Robin Hood, he made him Abbot of Westminster."
Alan A’Dale says that the Sheriff had “an arrow escape”. His jokes are worse than his songs!
3rd November 1193
I hear the Sheriff is going to London tomorrow to explain to Prince John how Robin Hood escaped. I’d give a pound to see their faces when they realise that Little John and I carried all their messages and knew all their plans.
Robin nearly gave the whole thing away, of course. I managed to kick his shin before he could blurt out something like, “Little John! How jolly nice to see you!” which would have been a bit of a giveaway – but he still kept bursting into roars of laughter and winking at me until I was sure the Sheriff would rumble us.
Anyway, he was really pleased to be rescued and gave me a kiss on both cheeks, just as if I was an earl like him.
It’s good to have him back, the big soft twit.
* * *
MICROHARD CHAIN MAIL MESSAGE
From Basil Count de Money ([email protected])
Date 4 February 1194, 12.33pm
To [email protected]
Subject Richard free! (or rather, very expensive)
Richard was released today! The German Emperor said, “Thanks for the dosh, Auf Wiedersehenl” (I think that’s German for “buzz off”.)
But it nearly didn’t happen. Prince John and Philip of France offered to give the Emperor a bundle of cash to keep Richard imprisoned. The Emperor said “Nein.” John said he couldn’t afford nine bundles of cash and the Emperor went off muttering something about “Englischer Schweinhund” and let Richard go.
I wouldn’t like to be in John’s shoes when Richard gets hold of him!
Yours, finally homeward bound!
Basil
* * *
20th March 1194
Marian came dashing through the wood, waving a newspaper in the air.
“Wobin, Wichard has weturned!” she hooted. Here we go, I thought. Richard will want more money, and when he’s got it, he’ll pack off back to France to teach brother John and King Philip a lesson.
Of course, Marian’s mind was on something else.
“Wobin” she trilled, “we can get mawwied!”
Robin went all goofy. “Yes bunnikins, we can!”
“Mrs Wobin Hood of the Gweenwood,” giggled Marian.
Oh gweat, I thought.
26th March 1194
Well, it’s been an interesting day!
This morning, I showed Robin the books and said that he needed to do some robbing as he’d got a wedding to pay for. He agreed and went off to find a kind “donor”.
He came back with an abbot and a monk. He’d found them wandering through Sherwood. I though the abbot looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him before.
After we’d feasted (whaddaya know – venison), Robin challenged the abbot to a shooting contest. “If I hit the target, I hit you on the head. If I miss, you hit me!”
Robin was just about to shoot when I sneezed.
He missed.
“Oops,” I said. “Bless me!”
The abbot said that Robin could try again, but Robin refused.
“That’s wight, wules are wules,” said Marian.
“All right then!” said the abbot, rolling up his sleeve. It was then that I noticed how big his muscles were!
As Robin lay dazed on the floor, I thought I’d better give the abbot his bill, before he punched us all and did a runner.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t any money,” said the abbot.
“Ha,” I laughed. “You and everyone else! No one has got any money thanks to King Richard.”
The monk stared at me. The abbot said, “And what do you mean by that?”
I took a deep breath:
As I ran out of breath, I noticed the monk was shaking his head at me. He pulled his hood back. I gawped. It was my cousin Basil!
I stared at the abbot. His face was going as red as his hair.
Red hair?
I looked around. All the outlaws were kneeling down and bowing their heads.
Oops, I thought. That’s no abbot, that’s the King.
So Richard the Lionheart spent the evening laughing, drinking and feasting with Robin and the outlaws. I spent the evening tied up and hanging upside-down from a tree.
8th April 1194
King Richard stayed for the wedding. It was Robin’s idea to have the wedding in Sherwood Forest, but Marian insisted on having another service in Edwinstowe Church (otherwise she wouldn’t feel “pwoperly mawwied”, she said). Here’s one of the wedding photos:
The reception cost a fortune! I came over all wobbly when I saw the bill, and had to sit down. Robin doesn’t care, and nor does Marian. There can’t be many girls who can say that the King of England danced at their wedding.
* Aga
in: he nipped round the back and got on twice.
17th April 1194
What a repeat coronation!
Everyone was there! Dukes, earls, lords, ladies, knights, bishops and us!
After Richard had been crowned, he called Robin forward. The King told Robin that he could have his title back and all the lands as well.
Wonderful. No more forest floor!
11th May 1194
I’ve had about as much of King Richard the Lionheart as I can take. He stomps about the place yelling orders, laughing one minute, losing his temper the next, and generally being loud. It’s enough to give anyone a headache.
The good news is that he’s off to France tomorrow to sort out Prince John and King Philip. The bad news is that now Robin is Earl of Huntingdon, he has to go and fight for Richard. Little John, Will Scarlet and some of the other lads are going with him. Cousin Basil’s going as well (I thought he’d have more sense than to get involved in another of Richard’s “trips”).
I’m not going. I’ve got to sort out Robin’s estate. I’ve got money to collect, accounts to deal with and a proper bed to sleep in.
The rest of Robin’s men are all slipping away, back to their farms and villages, and Marian’s having hysterics.
It’s all very sad.
* * *
MICROHARD CHAIN MAIL MESSAGE
From Basil Count de Money ([email protected])
