“I am in possession of the entire shipment the merchant sold you. And you acknowledged receipt of the shipment.” Robin pulled the parchment out of the sheriff’s belt. He snapped his fingers. Little John snatched the matching document from the merchant as well and handed it to his leader. “These two lists are sharper than any sword. They will cut off your head, Thom de Fitz. That’s the only reason I’m letting you live today. I will give them as a gift to your oh-so-indulgent Prince John when he sits in front of empty bowls next month as his ladies weep for the silk scarves and furs he promised.”
“Mercy!” The sheriff sank to his knees in front of the barrels of useless fodder.
“Everyone knows what sort of judge you are. You’re heartless and cruel.” Robin’s voice grew rough. “If only all the innocent condemned could see you like this now. You deserve death a thousand times over! Still, I’ll give you one last chance.”
The sheriff rose, trembling. “What do you want me to . . .” In a panic, he turned this way and that. Robin slapped the delivery receipts on his head. Thom de Fitz winced.
“Listen! You will buy the goods from me at the same price you paid the merchant. I know you have gathered far more money than that in your house. But I only want three thousand pounds. And I want it now. Besides, you will make it clear to your iron puppets up there that the wagon will leave the camp today with your express permission. Moreover, you will say that you will be celebrating the successful conclusion of the trade for a few hours with the honorable merchant over good wine.”
“And . . . and . . .” Thom de Fitz swallowed hard. “How do I know you’re not cheating me?”
“This is my game. I make the rules.”
The sheriff complied. How else was he going to face Prince John? And avoid the ridicule of his citizens and peers? He feared that almost more than the deepest dungeon in the cavern under the fortress.
He mounted his horse, spurred it, and raced up the steep road. The outlaws watched him anxiously. When he disappeared from sight, they returned to the camp.
Sighing, the merchant took off his cap and wiped his sparse hair. “This kind of business would soon put me in my grave.” He frowned and looked up at Little John. “Two goats are more than one.”
“What?”
Thoughtfully, Solomon pointed at the outlaw leader. “Do the math, Goliath: pay the sheriff, and Robin Hood will have received three thousand pounds twice today.”
The giant grinned. “Fear not! We’re honest robbers. Robin gave his word, which means you’ll get your money back. You go ahead and worry, pray on it if you need to! But we keep our word.”
The sun had sunk. In the west, the sky was still glowing. Thom de Fitz returned alone. He drove his horse up to the merchant’s covered cart. Plump bags of money lay crosswise in front of the saddle horn. Instantly, Robin and his lieutenants were behind him. “Dismount!”
Gilbert quickly counted the gold and poured it back into the leather sacks. He nodded to Robin.
“Tie up our guests! Back-to-back. But not their feet.”
Pete Smiling pursed his lips. “This is going to be a feast for the sheriff. He never sat so close to a Jew before.” He tied the two men together.
“Where are my goods?” gasped Thom de Fitz. No one gave him an answer.
The wagon bumped out of the camp. Solomon cried out. The sheriff banged the back of the merchant’s head. “Ferme ta gueule, Jew!”
Silence all around. Without a sound, all the outlaws had dispersed. Thom de Fitz tugged at his shackles. “Where are the goods?”
Solomon moaned, “In the third wagon. The goods were there all the time. Except for the grain, the wretches merely reloaded everything. Why didn’t you come back with a superior force? Then nothing would have been lost.” He called again on Israel’s twelve fathers, lamenting his fate, the loss of the gold, and several other things he happened to think of.
“Enfer et damnation!” Thom de Fitz cursed; he cursed Robin Hood; he cursed Solomon. Solomon shouted louder and increasingly creatively. The mismatched pair stumbled around the campground back-to-back, their shouts filling the evening.
Late that night, the freemen reached Sherwood. They safely hid the wagon away.
“What a day!” Robin lay down under a bush near John. “You know, in a single day, we . . .” He trailed off at the sound of loud snoring. His friend was already sound asleep.
A boulder thumped on John’s chest. Again and again, the giant tried to roll it away, in vain. The troublesome stone bounced up and down.
“Hey, runt!”
John opened his eyelids. Beside him was Robin, squatting, making a large coin sack dance on his chest.
“What’s the idea?”
“Don’t you hear it?”
Not yet fully awake, John propped himself up on his elbows. He shook off the dream. It was dawn, cloudless between the treetops. “Gonna be a warm day,” the giant growled.
“The cuckoo, little man. He never calls this early.”
Now John heard it, too. “So what?”
An amused smile twitched around the corners of Robin’s mouth. The saying went: Whoever hears the cuckoo first, must shake his purse, and he’ll have enough for the whole year. Little John grimaced. “All I know is that the cuckoo shoves his egg into other birds’ nests. We’re more like the magpies.”
“We’re both, and yet much more.” Robin Hood cradled the bulging pouch in his palms. “We caught more yesterday than we did all of last year.”
“I wasn’t with you then, of course,” John mumbled. He scratched his beard.
Robin grabbed his friend’s arm and held tight. “But I’m glad you’re with me now.” After a while, Robin grinned. “That cuckoo. Always calling out his name.”
“Probably afraid no one will remember him.”
“Well, we needn’t worry about that.” Robin jumped up, “Move it, little man! We’ve got to get going. We’re the last ones out today.”
Pete Smiling was long since on his way to the Great Oak with half the gold and a strong escort. Gilbert Whitehand was waiting below Blidworth with the remaining men, the wagon, and the remaining three thousand pounds.
Everything was carefully planned. As they made their way at a comfortable stride across the woods toward the rendezvous point, John learned the details. “Well, what do you say?” Robin asked. “A good plan?”
“It is. Just hope the plan works out as planned.”
“You wait and see. And if it doesn’t. I’ll think of something new.”
The giant nodded. I can believe that. And yesterday! Selling the goods to the sheriff! I would never have thought of that. I would have taken the whole lot and disappeared.
Around noon, the merchant’s wagon train approached. The sun was burning down through the sky. Two armed men rode in front, two brought up the rear. Despite the heat, the oxen walked easily in their harness. The backs of the mules were empty. Solomon sat next to the driver of the second wagon. From the distance, the yellow of his cap showed brightly.
A shepherd drove his flock onto the road. Dogs circled them. The woolly animals shuffled toward each other, bleated, and finally stopped and milled about.
“Make way!” the merchant’s guards yelled.
The bulky shepherd leaned on his stick and looked the other way.
“Damn!” The armed men had no choice. They turned and called out a warning behind them. “Stop!” One by one, the reins were tightened. The wagon train halted.
Snorting with rage, one of the mercenary guards drove his horse through the herd. “Get your livestock off the road. Or—”
The shepherd wheeled around, his staff swinging. Just before connecting with the man’s head, Little John stopped the swing. The mercenary’s face contorted. “Not again!” He jumped away and tumbled out of the saddle. Startled, the sheep jumped too, bleated, and kicked up their hind legs. John set the blunt end of the weapon on the mercenary’s breastplate. “Hold it right there, lad, and I won’t dent you.”
He pe
ered over at the wagons. The second armed man stepped stiffly and carefully out of his saddle.
“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot!” the mercenary pleaded with a green-clad archer emerging from the trees. Farther back, the rear guard was already standing on the side of the road with their hands up.
Much easier than yesterday. John grinned and tapped his prisoner. “Stand up. Stand with your friend. And shut up!”
The merchant had climbed down from the coach. “Praise, and thanks. Shalom, Goliath!” He wore a loose, pleated robe today, his feet stuck in laced-up sandals. “I’m so very—”
“Leave it.” John took the old man’s arm. “You’ll have time for that later. I’m hot enough today as it is. Don’t feel like waiting for the sheriff’s soldiers.”
While the real shepherd appeared and drove his flock across the road to the nearby pasture, John quickly led the merchant through the low copse into a clearing. Solomon caught sight of the pouches in the open money box. He bowed slightly to Robin Hood. “You truly kept your word.”
“Come, sit with me in the shade for a moment!”
Robin offered Solomon a sip from the waterskin, then took a drink himself.
“You’re not afraid to drink from the same vessel as a Jew?”
Robin laughed. “I should ask you that the other way around, Solomon. You certainly pay more attention to cleanliness than I do.” Abruptly his face became serious. “I take it the sheriff does not suspect anything.”
“Nobody has had to learn how to shield themselves more than a Jew.” The merchant lightly tapped his robe. “And what’s more, my letter of protection keeps me from molestation. Too many nobles need me for money: to wage a little war with their neighbor. To cover tax debt. Buy a nice horse. Even royalty are among my clientele. The only thing the parchment doesn’t protect from is robbers.”
“Good, good.” Robin pointed to the money. “Do you want to count it?”
“What for? I trust my eyes and head. However, one thing does make me uncomfortable.” He hesitated. “As you know, I’m an old merchant, through and through.” He showed his empty palms, raised the right like one side of a scale, and lowered the left. “This is not a good deal. You’re giving to me. And I?”
Robin pushed back his hood and shook his reddish mane. “No, you shouldn’t get away this easily, in our game.”
He offered the villagers’ wares to the merchant to buy. Solomon narrowed his eyes. John poked the grass with his staff and hid a grin.
“What did you think?” Robin huffed indignantly. “Am I supposed to carry these bulky goods around to every village? No, distributing money is faster and more inconspicuous. All that grain is enough of a nuisance for us.”
Relieved, Solomon agreed. “I’m happy to buy. My wagons are empty. I’ll buy, but not for fifty—I’ll pay the fair value.” He opened a bag and counted out one hundred pounds in gold.
Robin waved Threefinger over. “Get some people, Bill. Take the wagon to the road and load up the merchant! Everything but the grain barrels. Hurry up!”
“You’re in no danger today,” Solomon assured him. “Thom de Fitz won’t give away that he was tricked. To all outward appearances, the deal went as planned. But tomorrow, when enough time has passed, he will be looking all over for you.”
“All right.” Robin frowned. “Then there is time for one more trade.” Every year, Solomon and his caravan made a stop at Blidworth on the way to York. “I’ll make sure the Sherwood villagers get there in time to offer you their goods.” In return, Robin promised to give the caravan safe passage in the future. “But you won’t get a written contract. My hand must be enough for you.”
“I trust . . .”
“. . . my eyes and my head,” Little John completed the sentence with a sigh. He wiped the sweat from his brow. And what if the sheriff doesn’t wait until tomorrow? By Dunstan, if I stand around here in the sun much longer, my eyes and head will boil.
Solomon was enjoying the copse’s supply of shade. He bared his head and smoothed down his sparse hair. “I had the dubious good fortune last night to be in close company with the sheriff for a very long time. I got to listen to his wrath. Aside from what you will face from him beginning tomorrow, he has prepared a great blow against you starting today.” At daybreak, the sheriff had sent out two messengers. The first to London, asking Prince John to bring troops with him when he visits. The other to Doncaster: Baron Roger was also to have armed men ready. “Next month, he intends to have Sherwood combed from two directions. He wants to drive you out and defeat you in a battle.”
Robin Hood laughed. “Sherwood is our fox’s hole.”
Alarmed, Little John lifted his fighting staff. “I don’t like that kind of war. When I think of all the dead—”
“Thank you, Solomon!” Robin cut off his friend. He asked the merchant to bring news with him the next time he passed through. “Especially from King Richard.”
“You ask for difficult news to report on, Christian!” Solomon stroked his gray beard. “Jerusalem—it is the city of my people.”
“I have nothing to do with the Crusade,” Robin replied. “I only want to know when our king will finally be back in England. England needs him. His throne is in danger.”
“That’s what I fear, too. All London is talking about a conspiracy of the nobility against him. Prince John grows more powerful by the month. As soon as Richard is back, I will send word to you.” Solomon shook his head. “This Baron of Doncaster . . .”
Robin and John locked gazes. “What do you know about him?” demanded Robin sharply.
“He is one of the conspirators. Nearly tore my letter of protection in half last summer, this fine gentleman.” Solomon had been on his way to York. An impoverished knight from the county had asked the merchant for credit. It was only four hundred pounds, but before Solomon could draw up the contract, Baron Roger had called on him personally. The old man sighed. “He forbade me. His reasoning was brief and impressive. He placed the letter of protection on my head and drew his sword. He threatened to split the parchment in half with one stroke.” Solomon put his cap back on. “What could I do?”
“Tell me the name of the knight.”
“Sir Richard at the Lea.”
The companions glanced at each other. Little John grinned broadly. Robin consoled Solomon. “Don’t fret. The man has found another moneylender.”
Solomon understood immediately. “That’s good.” The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. He threatened with a mock-indignant finger, “But this is not to become the norm in our new partnership. Remember, moneylending is meant to be my business.”
“Agreed.” Robin laughed. John also chuckled in amusement. Together they led the old man to the road.
The wagon’s load was stowed, the gold safely stored in the second covered cart. The mercenaries of the front and rear guard sat on their steeds again, relieved.
From the wagon seat, Solomon smiled at Robin. “Samson. By outward appearance, the name fits you and your wild mane, to be sure. But you are much more. Samson was only strong, but simple-minded. Still, watch out for your beautiful long hair!” He looked to Little John. “To you, I must apologize.”
“For what?”
“I called you Goliath. That was wrong. You are not a Philistine. Shalom!”
The merchant gave the order to drive on. The oxen strained into the harness.
“Who are Philistines, anyway?” asked John uncertainly.
Robin shrugged. “You know, my friend, these traders get around. Who knows where Solomon met them.”
Abruptly, Robin’s tone became sharp. “Now to you. I don’t want strangers to know our plans, remember that!”
John gulped. What is he talking about? Never told anyone anything. Fiercely, the giant thumped his staff on the ground.
Robin saw the offended expression. “Don’t be silly, John! I didn’t mean it that way. Earlier, I didn’t want us to talk about fighting the troops in front of the merchant. If he doesn’t kno
w about our plans, nobody can beat anything out of him. It’s better for the old man, and for us too.”
John was silent. After a while he said, “That’s sensible.”
“Yes, and you are sensible too, my friend.” Robin nodded. “No open battle. That’s not our game.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re getting out of Sherwood for the year. We’ve got plenty of loot. We smacked the lord sheriff in the face. What more do we need?”
In an instant, John was ready. “And when we’re gone, he can look for us until the worms crawl out of his nose.” Despite the new rush, there was one thing the giant wanted to clarify: “I just got upset because I thought you were being . . . a bit unfair . . .”
“That’s right,” Robin grumbled to match his friend’s tone, rolling his eyes. John laughed at the imitation. He would never be able to stay mad at Robin for long.
New orders were put forth. Vincent and Threefinger were to take the wagon with the grain, as fast as possible, down the side road to Blidworth. “Tell the elder I’ll give him the wagon to replace his cattle cart. But the grain will be collected. It belongs to the villages the sheriff robbed.”
Threefinger slapped the leather reins and Vincent cracked the whip.
“Don’t get caught!” Robin shouted after them. “We’ll meet tomorrow at the coal maker’s.”
Toward evening, fires flickered around the Great Oak. Herbghost was sweating and grumbling. “I never know anything ahead of time!” He rushed back and forth. He turned roasts on three skewers side by side.
“I’ll tear your head off if the meat gets burnt!” John had threatened him.
While Robin Hood and Smiling discussed how to bring the captured money to Barnsdale without too much risk, the giant organized a quick retreat from the summer encampment. The seized weapons, chain mail, shields, and boots had already been rubbed with grease against moisture and safely stowed in the storage caves. The men had wrapped the precious unstrung bow wood and arrows in tunics, robes, and embroidered cloaks, piled them at the bottom of the cart’s bed, and covered them with old, torn garments. Piled on top was a mountain of dented, greasy pots, jars, mugs, and ladles. As poor tinkers and scrap dealers, Herbghost and Smiling were to make the perilous journey up north first thing in the morning. “No man-at-arms is going to get his gloves dirty on that filthy lot.”
Robin Hood Page 21
