Robin Hood

by Roehrig Tilman

  After a little over an hour, Tom was back. He had sent the cellar master away toward the main road with a rough blow on the mule’s hindquarters.

  In good spirits, Robin and his men sat down at the now richly laid table. Fragrant mushroom soup. Roast wild boar. Sweetbreads.

  “A toast, friends!” Robin raised his silver goblet. “No woman is kinder than our Blessed Virgin.” At the inquisitive faces of his companions, he patiently explained to his disciples, “A year ago today, she stood surety for my four hundred pounds. So? The debtor didn’t return. But in exchange, she sent us the cellar master of her monastery and made him pay me back double.” Laughter rose. Enthusiastically, the men drank to the health of the generous Blessed Virgin.

  John set down his goblet. “At that interest, our friend Solomon would even agree to do business with her.”

  Later, Robin leaned, maudlin, toward the giant. “One more thing, friend, but keep it to yourself!” John nodded. Quietly, Robin continued, “That cellarer, he lied, but that was a good thing. No, not not telling about the gold. He gave me an idea.”

  Uncomprehending, John shook his head.

  “Friar Tuck. I hadn’t thought about it. But he could be our priest. Well, what do you say?”

  John struggled to hold in his thoughts. What do we need a friar for? But if Robin wants something, then . . . ah, never mind. Just the one can’t hurt. “I suppose.” But, seriously concerned, he added, “Only before we can—before that, we need to get some barrels of drink here. Otherwise, there’s no point to even ask Friar Tuck.” He turned his empty goblet upside down. “Otherwise, there won’t be enough wine. You understand?”

  Around about noon the next day, Pete Smiling led the knight’s steed across the clearing to the base. Sir Richard at the Lea sat upright in the saddle. His gray hair curled over the fur collar of his coat.

  “We’ll be right there, sir!” called Smiling to him. “Please. You may remove your blindfold now.”

  The knight untied the cloth. In front of the huts, Robin Hood and his men stood ready to receive him. Sir Richard turned to look behind him. The white stallion had followed the black horse without saddle or bridle. Behind that, the two outlaws pulled three heavily laden packhorses. Sir Richard looked ahead again.

  He did not return Robin’s smile. Still in the saddle, he pounded his fist accusingly against his own chest. “He who is late has robbed the waiting man of a piece of his liberty, no matter what good reasons he gives. But if a debtor is late, there is no excuse. Nevertheless, I first had to settle a dispute in one of my villages. Therefore, I beg your indulgence.”

  Before Robin Hood could answer, John patted his stomach. “Don’t mention it.”

  The men laughed, and Robin joined in. “Yes, enough of the formalities. Sir Richard. I greet you as a friend. The one-day delay has gained us all much. In more than one way.” He graciously helped his guest out of the saddle.

  Herbghost came storming out of the kitchen. “That’s rudeness for you,” he grumbled, planting his hands on his hips in front of Sir Richard. “Too early! You are far too early. Do you think we started cooking at sunrise? Storyteller and I, we’re not your personal chefs after all.” He stuck his index finger right under his guest’s nose. “Dinner won’t be until tonight.” With that, he turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  The knight stroked his elegantly trimmed beard. “A strict regimen.”

  “Let’s leave those old men to it.” Robin shrugged. “It’ll taste all the better for the wait.”

  Half sighing, half smiling, Sir Richard said, “Apparently conditions here are similar to mine at Fenwick Castle. Good cooks are rare. Therefore, my family and I live by the principle, never bite the hand that holds the wooden spoon.”

  “Nice. Although a little bite now and then wouldn’t hurt either of us.” They shared relaxed laughter. Little John kept on laughing until Robin poked him in the side. “Quiet, now! Or our guest will think you have nothing else but food on your mind.”

  There was plenty of time until evening. Robin called for drinks. “Wait,” the knight asked, pointing to the white stallion. The white horse pranced back and forth in front of the paddock gate. “First, I want to give you back the most precious item.”

  Robin’s eyes glittered. “He knows he’s back home.” He stepped up to the stallion, greeted him with gentle strokes over his nostrils, and let him out to pasture.

  The wine jug was passed around. Sir Richard reported a good year, a rich harvest. Above all, he had news from Palestine. “Lionheart wants to be back in England as early as next year. And with him, I hope my Edward will return.”

  Together they drank to the much-longed-for return of their king.

  The knight touched John’s arm. “Be once more my faithful squire! Please, bring me the two saddle chests!”

  “Don’t you dare give orders to my men!” Robin interjected.

  Startled, Sir Richard turned to him. The rest of the men frowned uncomprehendingly. For a moment, Robin held everyone’s gaze, then the corners of his mouth twitched. “Don’t bother with it, Sir Richard.”

  “I just want to pay back the four hundred pounds.”

  “Done. The debt has been repaid.”

  “But you can’t refuse. . .”

  “Forgive me, Sir Richard. But this is my game. Remember? I make the rules.” Sternly, Robin now looked at Little John, dropping his voice low. “Bring me four hundred pounds.” With his eyes, he indicated the hut next to the stable.

  This time John immediately saw through his friend’s plan. He obeyed and returned to set one gold pouch next to the other in front of the knight.

  Sir Richard pressed his lips together. He stared at the wealth, stared at Robin, at the others, and again at the gold. Finally, he stiffened his back. “I came too late. Good, I deserve this humiliation. But I will, by—”

  “Enough!” Robin swiped a hand through the air. “Enough, Sir Richard. I forgot how hard you find playing games.” He sat down opposite the gaunt man. Robin told his guest of the Virgin’s generosity, took Richard’s hands in his. “It is straightforward: I have my four hundred pounds. You brought me four hundred, and I don’t want it because I already have my four hundred. Follow me?” Seeing the knight’s raised brows, he didn’t even wait for the answer. “There are these four hundred pounds here now, and I have too much. I don’t want these either, because I . . . oh, I said that already. So, Sir Richard. You keep your four hundred, and I beg you to take these four hundred pounds off my hands. This is the interest that our Blessed Maiden in her kindness has given me. And I mean that you should distribute the interest to all who reaped the harvest for you this year.”

  Little John rubbed the scar in his beard. “Even I could have explained that more simply.”

  “Stay out of this!” threatened Robin.

  By now, Sir Richard had composed himself. “You always give me new riddles. But one thing I know: You are a true friend. And I say it freely: Were you not what you are, I would openly stand by your side.”

  Robin grew serious. “It is better if we fight in different camps for the same goal.”

  Moved, the knight asked Robin and the others to follow him to the packhorses. “Not knowing how richly I would be gifted again, I wanted to express my gratitude with these.” He flipped back the linen blankets. There were short and long bows of the best quality. A hundred bows of Spanish yew. And quivers! A hundred quivers loaded with arrows, with perfectly feathered shafts.

  “By Dunstan,” John whistled through pursed lips.

  Robin lifted his chin. “This will hold us until King Richard returns.”

  Marian and Beth had also come to the camp for the feast. They took seats to the right and left of the guest at the head of the table.

  “You’ve grown even more beautiful.” Sir Richard smiled at Marian. “Do you like to study? My Patricia hates her lessons. She prefers to play the lute.”

  The blush rushed to Marian’s cheeks. Beth came to her ai
d: “She’s good at handwork. The girl is very industrious.”

  “And riding. And shooting,” the girl blurted out. “And—”

  “Enough.” Beth squeezed the girl’s hand and smiled at Sir Richard. “She’s interested in all sorts of things. Yes, my princess is a quick and easy learner.”

  “I’m sure she is.” Sir Richard nodded at her approvingly.

  Silently, John had listened to the conversation. An idea was growing in his mind. But then the cooks served up. Every thought now belonged to the delicacies.

  The aroma of the game pie was surpassed only by its flavor. “Today—” John licked his lips “—today I’d beat up anyone who tried to bite our Herbghost or Paul Storyteller’s hand.”

  No sooner had the giant awakened the next morning than, despite his heavy head, his new thought returned.

  “Let me escort Sir Richard to the road,” he asked Robin. “Got something to talk to him about.”

  “But the yellow-striped cloak stays here.” Robin shook a fist in mock warning. “No walking away from me to squire with him.”

  “I know where I belong.”

  Robin took a good look at his friend’s solemn face. “All right, John.”

  Sir Richard made his farewells. “The gate of my castle is open to you and your brethren always.” He made his departure. “With the help of the gracious Virgin, we shall win the battle.”

  “God save our king in the Holy Land!” Robin replied.

  For a long time, John paced in silence beside the knight’s horse. Finally, he said, “That would be nice.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sir Richard.

  “You said earlier that we could go to the castle. And if it’s true, it would be nice.”

  “Are you doubting my word?”

  John shook his head hastily and sighed. A few words and he had offended the man. This isn’t getting me anywhere. “Lord. I have my Marian, is all.”

  “Any father would envy you.”

  “That’s just it. I want something better for the child. A solid home. Can’t she come to your castle? I mean, and learn. To write and to read. She should become a lady. Music and all that. I have enough—I’ll pay whatever it costs. No matter what.” Uneasily, John wiped sweat from his black hair.

  Sir Richard at the Lea reined in the horse. “It costs nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want your coin. On the contrary, because of the hostility shown to me by my neighbors, my daughter is often alone. She lacks companions of the same age. You would give me, my wife, and certainly my Patricia the greatest pleasure.”

  “You mean my Marian may come?”

  “She will be received with open arms. Shall we go back? I’m so delighted, I would be happy to take her right away.”

  The joy drained from John’s face. “First, I have to talk to Beth. Then I have to tell the girl. By Dunstan.” Now he felt a gnawing feeling in his gut. “It won’t happen so fast.”

  The Knight looked down at him searchingly. “I understand. This is your plan, and not Marian’s wish?”

  “Not yet,” John grumbled.

  From the saddle, Sir Richard held out his hand. “You have my word. When Marian comes, she will live with us as my own daughter. Just tell me, when may we expect the child, so we can prepare?”

  John thought it through. “For the Christmas feast. No, when the snow is gone. I’ll make it so by then.”

  “And don’t be shy, Little John! I saw how familiar that girl is with Tom Toad’s wife. Tears between them are unnecessary—there would be no problem if Mistress Beth comes to the castle, too. As her nursemaid.”

  “Yes, yes, that would be very fine. And . . .” No, he didn’t want to think about the conversation he would have to have with Marian and Beth now. “Thank you. It will be what’s best for the child.”

  YORKSHIRE. ON THE TRADE ROAD TO THE NORTH.

  They rode as simple Cistercians on the road northward. Two monks leading a packhorse. That was all.

  Usually, we lie in wait for them, now we’re ones ourselves. John scowled, tugging his too-small hood over his forehead. Although Beth had sewn two of the light gray tunics together for him, the fabric was stretched taut across his chest. Moreover, sitting in the saddle as he was, the hem had ridden up almost to his knees.

  “Suppose Friar Tuck doesn’t want to come along?” grumbled John.

  “That’s enough of that!” said Robin. “You wait and see, Brother Runt.”

  They rode side by side in silence. Hooves clacked on the stones. It was a cold, dry December day. Slowly they approached the edge of the plateau. Before the road dropped down toward the River Went, John’s brow furrowed. There to the right and left in the thicket, that’s where we usually wait for prey. He quickly checked the leather scabbard on his rope belt. If only he at least had a shield and sword! The other weapons—staff, quiver, and bow—lay rolled up in blankets behind them. Not ready to hand. Well hidden under their provisions.

  “Suppose someone attacks us?”

  “Who?”

  “Well, the likes of us.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Little John!” Robin gave him an irritated look. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you think will happen? Armed men? So what? Nobody would recognize us. We’re two brothers of the Cistercian order, on our way from the monastery in Canterbury to Fountains Abbey. We just want to visit our brothers in the wilderness over Christmastide.”

  John sighed. No, it had nothing to do with the priest. It was something else. Danger was looming. Ever since they’d left the camp this morning, he’d felt every hair on the back of his neck.

  “I have such a bad feeling.”

  Robin snapped his fingers. “It’s obvious. Nobody’s comfortable putting on a monk’s robe.” He laughed.

  “That’s right.” Now John was smirking, too. “That’ll be it. I only know how to take them off other people.”

  XVI

  They followed the wide sweeping bends of the road down into the valley. Robin pointed to the other side of the river. “We’ll have a drink at the inn. That’s what everyone who comes through here does.”

  They had almost crossed the high arched stone bridge when John reined in his horse. “Up ahead on that log,” he hissed. “Right next to the alehouse, by the stable.”

  Red—scarlet—from the cap to the doublet to the hose and even the boots. Only the cloak was woad blue. The man was sitting on the fallen trunk, his sword stuck into the ground in front of him, his hands relaxed on the cross guard, his chin resting on the pommel.

  “Some pompous squire,” Robin murmured. “We don’t care.”

  They let the horses go on at a leisurely pace. They dismounted in front of the inn. Out of the corner of his eye, John looked over at the log again. The scarlet was gone! Before Robin could hold him back, the giant was already around the corner of the inn. Nothing. There was no sign of the man anywhere. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered.

  “Dammit. That’s no way for a monk to behave.” Robin warned his friend, “Keep it up, and we won’t get far.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “Never mind, John. Don’t worry about it. We mustn’t attract attention now. Who knows who’s watching us from inside? Rangers. Men-at-arms from York. Maybe even some from Doncaster. They love to lurk around in the bridge taverns.”

  But the inn was empty. The innkeeper greeted the pious brothers with a silent nod and brought two jugs. No questions about where from and where to. The innkeeper bit down on the silver penny before pocketing it. He nodded a farewell.

  The ale tasted good. Satisfied, John climbed back into the saddle. He wasn’t that uncomfortable anymore. “He really thought we’re holy brothers,” he said.

  “They all will. If you don’t open your mouth.”

  Just beyond the inn, the road rose steeply from the Went valley to the ridge. Breath steamed from the horses’ nostrils. The lead line
of their trailing beast of burden tugged at John’s saddle horn. He glanced briefly over his shoulder—nothing out of the ordinary. The horse plodded along behind them, letting himself be pulled. But then, John twisted his head around again. “By Dunstan. There he is again.” Back down the road: Scarlet red, in the middle of the road he stood, shadowing his eyes, staring after the monks.

  “I’d better get him.”

  “Ride on!” Robin command sharply. More kindly, he added, “We’ve got better things to do today.”

  After a while, John looked back again. “He’s gone.”

  “By the Holy Virgin. Forget about that little red bird already!” Robin smirked. “Are you afraid of him? The way he’s dressed, we could spot that one from miles away, even if he flies from tree to tree.”

  “That’s all right.” John pressed his thumb against each nostril, blew each side, and wiped with his sleeve. Yes, Robin is right. Besides, I need to have a talk with him today. And that’s more important than Red Cap, really.

  On the hill, the two companions allowed the horses to amble along slowly for a while, then they lightly slapped their flanks and continued at a trot. They wanted to reach Fountains Abbey before sunset. Only after they had left Pontefract behind did John casually lead the conversation to Richard at the Lea.

  “If only there were more knights like him.” Robin sighed. “England would be saved.”

  “Yes, he’s a good man,” John muttered to himself. “And it’s best for Marian.”

  Puzzled, Robin looked at his friend. “What do you mean? What has our little condition to do with Sir Richard?”

  “Don’t you dare laugh,” the giant threatened. “And I’m not a giant wet nurse. Let’s be clear about that from the start.”

  Full of curiosity, Robin raised his hand to promise not to laugh.

  “All right, then.” John explained his plan hastily and asked, emulating Robin’s typical tone, “Well, what do you say?”

  “Our Marian, a little lady.” Robin clapped his hands. His horse sprang forward. Laughing, he reined it in again. When John caught up with him, he said enthusiastically, “Nice!” His expression turned serious. He looked up at the clear winter sky. “Ah, poor friend. Before this comes to pass, I see dark clouds for thee. You have two people to persuade—Marian and Beth.”