“Drop it!” commanded Little John. The abbot jerked his head around. The giant stepped out of the bushes behind him, his arrow aimed at redbeard’s face. “Drop it!” he growled, taking two steps to the side so that he had all the monks lined up in front of him. “At this range, my shot will go right through your skull—” John drew the feathered shaft up to his right ear “—and through those three empty skulls beside you, too.”
The sword dropped into the moss. Robin dared to move again. “It’s all right.” John cautioned him back. He was not yet satisfied. “You others, too! Set your swords down in front of you!” They obeyed mutely. The giant relaxed his bow and grinned at Friar Tuck. “You know a few things about the mass, brother. But other than that . . . well, it’s all fine now. Gather up the weapons and rest yourself a bit!”
Now Threefinger also left cover. Smiling, he took the swords from Friar Tuck.
Robin shouldered his bow and drew his dagger. “And now for you scoundrels. You are Normans—that I can tell by your language. And you are up to something—that I can tell by your disguise. No matter what you have planned, you will not succeed against my king.”
In impotent rage, the stout monk clenched his fists, snarling, “Maudit bâtard.”
Redbeard ordered him to be silent.
Robin spun the knife around in his hand. “We’ve wasted enough time. From liars, and especially from lying monks, we take everything.” He bowed gallantly to the false abbot. “Such is our custom in Sherwood. Mind you, everything: horses, clothes, coin. But I will spare your naked lives.” Robin winked at John. “It’ll be days before these fellows stumble out of the woods naked and barefoot. Well, what do you say? If the wolves spare them. For the cause of our king—”
“Par tous les saints!” Despite the danger around him, the false abbot jumped to his feet. With both hands, he tore the robe off his chest, “I am your king!”
A dazzle of chain mail gleamed, the three leopards on his tabard shone. He threw back the black hood, and the chain-mail hood beneath it, too. Red hair flowed down to his shoulders. “I am your king!” he roared at Robin, holding him with his dark gray gaze.
Silence fell.
Friar Tuck’s shoulders slumped. “Kyrie Eleison.” He made the sign of the cross and fell to his knees, muttering, “What have I done?”
The gathered swords clanged to the ground. Threefinger knelt hunched beside the monk, hiding his face.
John felt the blood pounding in his neck. In his chest. All they had done—all in vain. There would be no mercy. He threw his bow into the moss. He dropped heavily to his knees.
Only Robin Hood still stood before his king. His eyelids twitched. He did not lower his gaze. It seemed as if he was absorbing every feature of the face before him.
“Will you not greet me?” demanded Richard the Lionheart.
“My lord,” Robin said in a raspy voice. He pushed the green hood down around his neck. His reddish-blond hair fell in straggly curls to his collar. He bent his knee. Unblinking, his light gray eyes locked with the king’s storm gray ones. “My lord.”
The king’s three attendants sprang to their feet, rushed to their weapons, and the stout sergeant returned his sword to Lionheart. Murder was in his voice. “Shall we—”
“Silence,” the king commanded gruffly. “Just silence, sieur.” A flick of his finger commanded the man and the others to move a few steps away.
With his sword, the king knocked the dagger out of Robin’s hand. “None of my subjects kneel before me with weapons ready to stab.”
“Pardon me!”
“You are forgiven.” Richard Lionheart smirked. “You have already demonstrated more than clearly to me and my captains just how uncouth the manners are in Sherwood.”
The sound of horses trotting, from the north—they were approaching fast. “Vite! Stop the troops!” the king ordered one of his attendants. “Tell them to wait!” Seeing Robin’s questioning look, he declared with a slight sneer, “Even had you sent me away without my clothes, my escort would not have ridden past their naked king. And the laughter that would cause tonight in the tents outside Nottingham? I would myself have ordered my scribes to record it for posterity.”
For the first time, Robin bowed his head.
“Look at me!”
The outlaw obeyed.
Richard turned serious again. “Time is of the essence. I rode out here to find you. Yes, you are the stag I wanted to hunt for, farther up Edwinstowe. I did not expect that you would find me first.”
“Why, my lord . . .?”
“Don’t interrupt me! I have things to say to you, you self-appointed steward of my Sherwood. Or should I say, you king of the outlaws?”
The corners of Robin’s mouth twitched.
“Bien.” Richard returned the smile. “Rise, then. One ruler to another.”
Tickhill had surrendered the day before. Early in the morning, Richard the Lionheart had joined the besiegers outside Nottingham with an army. Despite the royal banners, despite the fanfares, the fortress had not surrendered. He had even approached the walls himself, protected by shield bearers, to within shouting distance. He had been showered with jeers and taunts from the battlements. Lord Sheriff Walter de Monte believed it was a ruse. Faithful men had fallen dead to the ground on the king’s right and left in a hail of crossbow bolts. “I must force Nottingham to surrender,” he vowed. “I will take it! Now, and quickly. And I need your help to do it.”
Robin spread his arms. “Anything, my lord. I give you—”
“Don’t interrupt me!” At once his tone became calm and steady again. “A week after Easter, at the request of the Queen Mother, I will be crowned for the second time. At Winchester. By then, I must have settled all the affairs here in the north. Therefore, Nottingham must open its gates to me within the next few days.” He looked at Robin. “How many archers can you give me?”
“All my men, except for Friar Tuck. Twenty archers. Longbow and short bow.”
Disappointment darkened the king’s face. “I was told there were more.”
Robin lifted his chin. “Each of us is worth ten. So, in truth, I offer you two hundred bows.”
Richard smoothed his red beard. “That might be enough. When?”
“This very evening.”
The king laughed. “Tomorrow morning. Before first light.”
“We’ll be there. But . . .” Robin hesitated.
Coolly, Richard looked at him. “I understand. Bien. Only those who negotiate a price do not cheat.” He ordered his companions closer. “You, sieurs, will bear witness to my words.” Richard Lionheart hesitated. He asked, “What is your real name?”
“I’m from Loxley. Robert Loxley.”
“Bien.” The king raised his hand. “We, Richard Plantagenet, King of England, hereby assure you, Robert of Loxley, called Robin Hood, and each of your companions of our mercy. We promise: After assistance is rendered, you will all be granted a general pardon. No one shall dare to persecute nor punish you for past deeds. . . . Is that enough?”
A dull, slapping sound made Robin spin around. Little John was kneeling, but now he thumped his fist into the flat of his other hand, his bearded face beaming.
Robin bowed to Richard. “Thank you.” He raised his head. “But, forgive me, My Lord . . .”
“Bien, d’accord. I know what you would ask.” The king gave a sober look to his companions. “Moreover, it is decreed: Every one of your men shall be raised to the rank of a freedman. To no baron, to no monastery shall you be beholden, but to your king alone.”
There was a stifled cry. Little John pressed his hand over Threefinger’s mouth. Only Friar Tuck still stayed with bowed back.
“You are generous. Thank you!” Deeply moved, Robin placed his right hand on his heart. “But, forgive me, My Lord, who . . .”
“Par les saints!” Richard frowned. Measured respect resonated in his voice. “You are the equal of the Sultan’s negotiators. You know how to use your advantage.
Bien, d’accord.” Anew, Richard drew in his companions. “Furthermore, it is decreed: Barnsdale, in the county of York, the whole region to the left of the trade road, with forest, valley, and village, is given to you as a royal fief.”
“Nice,” Robin blurted out. Immediately he lowered his voice. “Thank you! But forgive me . . .”
“Don’t overplay this game!” the king snapped at him.
“I’m not playing . . .” Robin paused. “By the Holy Maiden, this day, it is not a game,” he amended. Resolutely he began again, speaking quickly. “Pardon me, My Lord, but who taught you so accurately about us? That is all I was trying to ask. From whom do you know of Robin Hood?”
Richard the Lionheart laughed.
With a bow, one of the attendants stepped in: “Forgive me, Sire. The time. You must reach Nottingham before . . .”
The king waved him off. “Un moment.” He slid his sword back into its silver-studded scabbard, looking at Robin, his eyes flashing, “You mean to say that you would have rushed to my aid even without asking anything in return?”
“I and every one of my men,” Robin replied simply.
Richard Lionheart beckoned him closer. “Now I know you even better.” Moved, he added, “Who is willing to give himself so freely to his king? I know none among my noble lords. And, my friend, a king knows how to give thanks.” His voice grew louder. “How did I know about you? The great merchant Solomon, who delivered your treasure chest, your share of the ransom. The Queen Mother invited him to an audience. And nothing remains hidden from her for long. You have chosen a wise advocate in him.”
Richard offered his hand to Robin. Robin reached to take it. “No, my friend.” Lionheart smiled. “This time, you must submit to courtly custom, as practice for the next few days. Simply bend over the ring and kiss it! Yes, like so, that is enough. And again, on behalf of your companions.”
Robin obeyed.
“Allons, sieurs!” With long strides, Richard followed his captains. When he reached Friar Tuck, he paused. “Stand up!”
The monk rose guiltily. “By St. Cedric, I am your servant, sire.”
A mighty blow snapped his head to the side. At a second blow, Friar Tuck crashed to the ground. “I hope so, holy father,” the king said. “For both our sakes.” With that, he continued on his way.
Little John helped the monk up. “No harm done,” he grumbled. “Luck is with us today.”
Tuck carefully fingered his chin. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” He gave a pained smile. “It seems our king knows the Scriptures.”
Only at Robin’s own command was Much willing to bring the captured horses back to the road. “Why?” he asked.
“Hush!” muttered John. “Not now.”
Lionheart settled into the saddle of the white stallion. He glanced briefly down at Robin Hood. “Tomorrow. Before daybreak! The camp guards will be informed.”
“We’ll be there.” Robin raised his hand, looked around at his companions, looked openly at the king. “I swear it by the Holy Virgin.”
Richard the Lionheart put his spurs to the horse. At a sharp gallop, his companions and escort strove to catch up with the king.
Much was displeased. “Why did you give away those good horses? I had them safely hidden.”
No one answered.
Much complained some more. “First you make me wait and wait. Then the iron men stop right under my nose, too. And then . . .” He saw that no one was listening to him, and that the others were only gazing after the riders. “Who . . . who is that fellow on the white horse?”
“Our king,” John muttered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Our king has come.”
XX
NOTTINGHAM SHIRE. NOTTINGHAM.
Dawn lay on the horizon. Ponderous clouds pushed eastward over the fortress and ramparts. From the northern hills down to the valley stood tent upon tent with leopards billowing on royal banners. It was cold. In front of his spacious pavilion, Richard the Lionheart knelt with his captains. The Archbishop of Canterbury was celebrating mass for his king.
At the edge of the camp, makeshift canvas tarps were stretched over poles. Robin and John also knelt, and behind them Whitehand and Tom Toad, and behind them the rest of the band of men. “Deus, qui conteris bella . . .” Friar Tuck implored God’s assistance on their behalf. “Alleluia!”
Fanfares sounded.
“Bonjour, mes amis!” the king greeted the king of outlaws and his lieutenant. With a grim face, Richard surveyed their bandit army. Three-times-six green-clad men, their hoods pulled over their heads, each bearing a longbow and a short bow. Each carried two quivers, stocked with arrows.
The stocky sergeant next to Lionheart pursed his lips, then blurted out, “Forgive me, sire.” Doubtingly, he pointed to the small gaggle of men. “This is supposed to be the miraculous weapon? These men are meant to turn the course of the siege? They’ve no helmets, no chain mail. Sire, no battle can be won with rabble like this.”
John roared, leaping forward. “Hush yourself!” He grabbed the scoffer by the iron shirt, lifted him over his head, shook him.
“Enough!” ordered Robin sharply. “Don’t break that doll! He may be needed.”
The giant put his victim down hard. “That’s all right.” He stepped back. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
All color had drained from the captain’s face. Smiling, the king admonished him. “The customs are rough in Sherwood. You had better guard your tongue, sieur!”
He turned to Robin, pointing to the fortress. “Alors. This is my castle. Built so that no enemy should ever conquer it. Little did I know that I would have to try it myself one day.” He pointed down to the valley. “From the battlements, the archers control the whole terrain.” Time and again, the besiegers had managed to work their way up to the knoll under their shields. But fifty paces from the garrison walls, if they chanced a sally, it would be halted by the unerring crossbowmen and bowmen. Under the deadly rain of arrows, the attackers would have to retreat again. “If I manage to advance ten catapults over there to the halfway point, only then will we have a chance at least to cause confusion in the fortress, with stones and incendiary bolts.”
The command to Robin Hood was clear: “I expect you and your men to stop those archers from firing on my men until the catapults are in position.”
Robin shaded his eyes and scanned the terrain. John rubbed the scar in his braided beard. There was no cover, not a single tree, no brush. We’re good in the woods. But by Dunstan, they’ll shoot us down like rabbits, here.
Robin conferred with his lieutenants. At last, they nodded.
“Yes.” Robin looked candidly at the king. “This game can be won—my lord, forgive me, but only by my rules.”
“Merde!” Again the captain objected. “How dare you speak to—”
“Taisez-vous!” Lionheart commanded him. He calmly demanded of Robin Hood, “Bien. Your plan?”
Robin listed his conditions. Without hesitation, King Richard agreed.
Additional quivers of arrows were to be kept ready in baskets. A broad, man-size shield and a shield bearer were assigned to each outlaw. Robin ordered slits to be pierced into each shield, to look through.
He laughed. “For our beloved England!” Louder, he shouted, “For King Richard!”
“For King Richard!”
And so, the little army moved down into the valley. John glanced behind him anxiously, looking for Much. As he had been ordered, the boy marched in the rearmost line. The first enemy bolts and arrows whizzed from the walls, slamming into the ground a few paces ahead of them. Robin paused, estimating the distance. Over his shoulder, he called to Threefinger. “Bill, you and your shield bearer stay between myself and them! But don’t you dare show those scoundrels up there so much as an ear. If you do and they don’t hit it, I’ll cut it off myself tonight. You’re our eyes. Understand me?”
Threefinger hissed through his teeth. “I understand.” His chin trembled.
“Tom and Gilbert! Watch the ranks. Wait for my command!”
Robin winked at his dearest friend. “Well, what do you say?”
“Ready to go,” John grumbled. He instructed his shield bearer to raise the shield enough to cover the giant’s head. “We’ll just have to watch out for our feet.” He grinned.
“Two more steps forward!” ordered Robin.
Up above, crossbowmen and archers stood, relaxed and open, among the battlements. They thought they were safe. Their arrows thudded into the ground close to the outlaws.
“You take the one to the right of the city gate!” decided Robin.
Both had their longbows in hand. The feathered shafts were set to the bowstring. Together, Robin and John stepped out of cover. The bowstrings sang as they loosed their arrows.
Two arrows flew to the wall. Two castle guards threw up their arms and fell howling backward from the battlements. In response, a rain of arrows pelted down, not quite reaching John and Robin. The two men fired steadily. Their movements were fast, each shot deadly. Four, then six, then eight archers fell. Only then did the archers on top of the wall duck behind the stone parapets. Now and then one emerged, ventured a wild shot, and immediately took cover again.
“Forward!” shouted Robin to his troop. Together with their shield bearers, the outlaws charged thirty more paces up the hill. The archers on the wall immediately seized the opportunity. Bolts pierced the shields—a terrible scream cried out. One of the outlaws staggered, a crossbow bolt lodged in his neck. A second bolt pierced his chest. The man must have been dead before he hit the ground, but the men to his right and left tried to help him. “Leave him!” Robin’s command was absolute. “Back in line! Shoot! Aim at anything moving up there!”
And shot after shot flew at the walls. “Well, what do you say?” Robin called over to John.
“We go on!” replied John, thinking just one of them was already too much for the archers above. He let loose one more arrow. Soon no helmet could be seen on the battlements. The besieged men fired blindly from behind cover, missing their targets.
Robin Hood Page 33
