“Yes, it does, my son. All the wolves in my enclosures have their fangs blunted. Only when that fails to bring them to their senses will their heads fall.”
“Sire, you must not delay any longer!” Hubert Walter finally decided to end the conversation. “Equal law and justice for Normans and Saxons. I will enforce that with an iron fist throughout England.” He looked down at Robin. “Is that promise enough for you?”
Beside him, John nodded. Fine. I’ll believe it. We still have to be careful. Better safe than sorry.
Robin Hood nodded to his king. “Thank you, my lord. Then I have achieved my goal, after all.”
“Par tous les saints.” Richard laughed, threatening him with a raised fist. “Tomorrow, in the castle hall, I expect a Robert of Loxley without a sword in his scabbard, and above all, a silent Loxley, who gratefully receives the honor and silently departs. Otherwise, my lands and castles in France will be lost before I even reach the mainland after my coronation.”
Robin returned the laughter. “I promise, my lord. Tomorrow I will submit to the custom of the court.”
The friends gazed after King Richard and his chancellor. Only after they had left the clearing did John grumble, “They just let those villains walk free. Instead, it’s nothing but talk. What kind of game is this?”
Half closing his eyelids, Robin propped his chin in his hand. After a while, he said, “Not a game, John. I don’t understand the rules, but they call it politics.”
Fanfare: Bells rang in the city. The citizens of Nottingham crowded the road to the fort. Their faces were drawn by deprivation. Children’s eyes sat deep in their sockets. There was no rejoicing. The siege had lasted too long. After the winter, the town’s supplies had been nearly depleted. Only the bellies of the armed men were kept filled. No one in the city had been able to get enough for weeks from what was left. There was not a cheer, not a waving hand.
Hastily and as solemnly as possible, the barons, abbots, and royal officials strode through the impassive crowd.
Fanfares: In the castle hall, the noble lords were silent. “Messieurs!” The chancellor opened the meeting in a harsh voice. King Richard himself announced new laws, harsher taxes, point by point. None of the nobles dared murmur an objection. Each feared for his post, for his coffers.
Outside in a corner, right next to the wide-open portal, John and Robin waited. The giant had rolled over an empty barrel for Robin to sit. Concerned, he looked into his friend’s pale face.
“Don’t be a wet nurse!” sneered Robin. “I’m not Marian.” The pain in his leg had grown overnight. And because Herbghost had stayed behind in Sherwood, John himself had tended to the blackening wounds torn by the triangular arrowhead. I know how bad it is, even if you try not to show it. The wait was taking too long for him. “By Dunstan. Best we just get out of here.”
“Patience, John!”
Out of the corner of his eye, the giant watched the hustle and bustle of the castle courtyard. Like a genteel chicken coop! Women and men stood together in groups. Others paced up and down. Whispering, quiet conversations. All were festively dressed. John grinned. Ah, my friend. We wanted to go to the king in the finest robes, too. And how do we look? Barely washed the dirt from our faces. Our green robes are torn from battle. If Beth saw us like this. She would be ashamed.
The bailiff stepped out of the hall into the open air, setting his staff gracefully in front of him. “Lady Beatrice!”
All heads turned in one direction. Accompanied by a maid, the emaciated, slightly bent woman slowly moved forward step by step. Whispers buzzed all around.
“Poor thing.”
“Five months down in the caves.”
“That bastard Thom de Fitz!”
“He threw his own wife into the dungeon.”
Without a glance for the onlookers, Lady Beatrice allowed herself to be led into the hall.
Robin tapped John’s arm. The giant leaned down to him. “I’m glad the swamp in Sherwood is so deep,” Robin murmured. “Not just for our sake. For the poor woman, too.”
“Even so.”
A knight appeared, his chain mail gleaming. His gray hair fell to his fur-trimmed coat collar. From the threshold, he looked searchingly over the crowds.
“Sir Richard!” Robin called softly.
The baron turned. “Thank the Virgin, you are on time!” He walked quickly over to the two men. “After Lady Beatrice, it’s your turn, Robin.” He gave them no joyful greeting, just a smile. “I, as your nearest neighbor, am to present you before the king.”
“How is Marian?” John could hardly wait to see her again.
Sir Richard’s eyes in his long, angular face showed nothing, dull. As if he had to think about it, he hesitated. “Yes, the girls are fine.”
“Excuse me, Sir Richard.” Robin touched his arm. “But you are so changed.”
“My son is . . .” His voice faltered. “The king is back from captivity. But my son. He was not in his company.” Richard at the Lea straightened his back. “According to a sergeant, he was last seen in the Holy Land during the storming of Jaffa. And that was almost two years ago now.”
John wanted to hug the gaunt man in sympathy, reconsidered it, and said only, “That damned crusade.”
“Quiet!” The baron looked around. “Don’t say that! Not here.”
Lady Beatrice was carefully led out of the hall by her maid. Her face was wet with tears, but her eyes were smiling.
They were followed by the bailiff. “Robert of Loxley!”
“That’s us,” John grumbled. He lifted his friend to his feet, carefully straightened his garments. He tried to give him his staff for support.
Determined, Robin refused. “Just make sure I get in there! I can manage the rest on my own.”
The bailiff strode forward. John and Sir Richard flanked Robin, staying close by his side. Robin dragged his right leg, only lightly planting his foot on the floor. John braced him as he limped ahead. Torches lined the walls. In the semidarkness of the hall, the light twitched across the faces of the noble assembly. “When I say so, you let me go on my own!” whispered Robin.
The central aisle ended at the stairs to the dais. Light fell through the high windows, spreading like a radiant ornament over the dais and reflected in the gold of king’s crown. Richard the Lionheart was enthroned among precious tapestries. Near him, at the broad oak table, sat the chancellor. In front of him, he had carefully arranged rolls of parchment and writing tablets.
Three times the bailiff pounded his staff on the stamped earth. “Robert of Loxley!” he announced in a resounding voice.
The murmur in the hall died away. All eyes were fixed on the baron. The men so incongruously dressed in his company were regarded with frowns.
At the halfway point, Robin halted the others. “You can let go now!” he murmured.
“If anything happens, I’ll catch you in a flash,” John grumbled. He remained standing where he was, like a shepherd leaning on his staff.
“Shall I?” Sir Richard offered his hand.
“No.” Robin clenched his jaw. He put the wounded leg forward. Only the first step was uncertain. After that, he stepped forward firmly. With a sure stride, he reached the raised platform beside his guide.
“Sire.” The baron bowed. “Richard at the Lea brings you the freedman Robert of Loxley.” Backing away, he did not straighten from his bow until he was beside Little John. Robin just stood where he was. Tense silence built in the hall.
King Richard arched his brows slightly. “You must come up to me!” he said half aloud. “It is the custom, mon ami.”
Robin nodded. With his sound foot first, he climbed the high step.
Richard rose from his throne. “Kneel!”
John suffered for his friend, watching him bend his left knee and angle his right leg outward. The gray bandage was soaked with blood. But warmth flooded the giant’s powerful chest to see Robin honored before the king.
Richard Lionheart touched both
of Robin’s shoulders with the blade of his sword. “Rise!” In a powerful voice, he announced, “Sir Robert of Loxley!” He continued, “We, your lord and king, expect from now on and for all time to come that you will be loyal to England, honor all women, and protect all places of worship, widows, and orphans.” The gray eyes smiled.
“Stand back!” commanded the chancellor.
Robin obeyed, and a without stumble he stepped off the dais, finding secure footing again on the hall’s stamped clay floor.
“Sir Robert of Loxley, receive the sword from the hand of your king.”
The bailiff brought the weapon on a cushion. Robin took the sword and slid it into the leather scabbard at his belt.
Restrained, polite murmurs arose in the hall.
“Messieurs!” With a lifted finger, Lionheart silenced the noble lords. “I gather from your meager applause that this man is unknown to you, and yet he has been a terror to many of you. We, King Richard, give him the territory of Barnsdale in fief. From this day forward, he may call himself Sir Robert of Loxley. But, Messieurs . . .” Lionheart relished the suspense “. . . before Us and you stands Robin Hood!”
There was breathless silence. Here and there, one of the gentlemen groaned. Suddenly a single voice shouted: “Magnifique! Bravo!” A gaunt figure pushed his way out of the ranks, hurrying forward. The dark blue coat swung. “Our hero of Nottingham!” With arms outstretched, Sir Roger of Doncaster strode toward Robin. “I will be the first to greet you thus.”
Little John slid his fist down to the center of his staff. “By Dunstan,” he rumbled, putting a foot forward.
At the last moment, Richard at the Lea yanked him back by the collar. “If you do this now, we are all lost,” he warned hastily, “Robin, you, and me too.”
The giant’s chest rose and fell. “Even so.” He subsided.
In front of the dais, Robin clenched his fists. But Baron Roger did not stop. Tapping the once-outlaw’s shoulders with the fingertips of both hands, he shouted enthusiastically, “To neighborly friendship!” He hissed between his teeth, “Maudit bâtard!” And then loudly again, “Visitez-moi! My castle is open to you!” Softly, without losing the smooth smile, he said nasally, “Today, you have won. Mais, sacre Dieu, I will never forget!”
Robin’s hand clasped the hilt of his sword. He struggled to keep silent.
Gallantly, Sir Roger of Doncaster took a step back, thumped his velvet-encased chest, and bowed to the king. “Sire. It will be my honor to assist the young lord of Barnsdale in all ways as he reclaims the wilderness you have given him as a fief.” With that, he hurried back to his seat. Robin stared after him in anger. He did not notice the bailiff beside him.
“Sir! You must move along now,” the dignified voice admonished.
Robin came back to himself. “Even so.” Straightening, he strode to Little John and Richard at the Lea.
“Mon ami!” As Robin turned back to his king, Richard called out, “Remember, the wolves’ teeth are blunted! Even in the wild. Now go! We have other things to worry about.”
“Yes, my lord,” Robin whispered. To the giant he murmured, “Take me away. Quickly! Before I split that wretched baron’s skull.”
“First I’ll break his back,” growled John.
“Silence!” admonished Sir Richard. He escorted his friends to the entryway. Despite his grief, he seemed visibly relieved. “You are always welcome in my castle.” Their farewell was short. Sir Richard returned to the assembly.
Robin now willingly took hold of the giant’s staff. He dragged his bloodied leg.
“Herbghost will make you a fresh bandage.”
They had tied their horses in front of the sheriff’s house. John helped his friend up. “Are you all right?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “With a nurse like you? How could I not be?”
They left Nottingham. At the grave beyond the valley, they took silent leave of Gilbert and their other fallen companion once more. Then they let the horses trot, heading north among the hills. “I told the others to meet us at the Great Oak,” said Robin.
In the early afternoon, they neared Edwinstowe. For a long time, Robin had been silent, hunched over the saddle horn. Shall we rest? John kept asking. Each time, his friend just shook his head. No, no rest.
The roadside shrubbery ahead at the turnoff moved. The giant raised his staff, ready to shout a warning. Too late. In front of them, behind them, and from the sides, figures jumped out onto the trade road. The horsemen were already surrounded. John lowered the staff. “By Dunstan!” These highwaymen wore green hoods pulled down low over their foreheads. “Enough!” he threatened them with a fist. “Bring Herbghost here!”
No one obeyed.
Grimacing, Tom Toad planted himself in front of Robin’s horse. “Sir Robert of Loxley. How much money do you carry?” He warned, “If you lie, you will lose everything you own!”
With tired eyes, Robin looked down at his lieutenant. “I share with you and with all.”
Horrified, Toad noticed the state of his leg. The hose was soaked with blood all the way down to his boots. “Damn! Didn’t know it was that bad!” He yelled to Herbghost.
The old man tended the wound with fresh herbs right there at the roadside and wrapped it with a new bandage. “You must lie still! Otherwise, the wound will tear again and again.”
Robin resisted. “First, I want to go to Barnsdale. Then I’ll have time enough for rest.” He brooked no argument. Quietly he asked John, “Put me on the horse!” Robin Hood braced himself in the saddle. “Come closer, all!”
His small army gathered in front of him. Their expressions were tense.
“I have a lot to say to each of you. But . . .” he pointed to his leg “. . . when it heals. But there’s one thing I want you to know right now.” He set his chin, his voice clear and strong. “There’s a piece of land for each of you in Barnsdale.” He laughed. “Even if the next few summers don’t bring in a crop, there’s money enough in the treasury. Those who have families shall come to us with their wives and children. Friends! We have fought injustice side by side. Now we will live together in freedom.”
There were exhalations of relief. Hands were squeezed. Joy shone in the bearded faces.
Friar Tuck pushed his way forward. “Behold my habit. It is the robe of the Cistercians. I know how to turn a wilderness into fertile . . .”
“Enough!” It wasn’t said as a command, but the monk fell indignantly silent.
“We will do this work together. You, too, will have your hands full.” Robin took a few deep breaths. “A chapel. I want to build my chapel, finally.”
“By all the saints . . .” Friar Tuck began.
“Later.” Robin’s voice grew fainter. “Tom, you take charge! You break up the summer encampment. Seal the caves and hide them well, even if we don’t need them anymore. Get some carts. Bring everything to Barnsdale!”
Tiredly, Robin turned to John. “Well, what do you say?”
“Nice.” The giant grinned.
“That’s right, nurse.”
John leaned over from his saddle, taking up his friend’s reins. “Better safe than sorry.” He clicked his tongue. The horses trotted off.
XXI
ENGLAND. WINCHESTER.
No time to spare!
Prince John had managed to escape his brother’s grasp at the last moment. His ally, King Philip of France, had invaded Normandy. It was war!
Richard had no time to spare. Right after Easter of 1194, on April seventeenth, Lionheart had England’s crown placed on his head for the second time. He hardly noticed the jubilation, the congratulations of the Queen Mother. In the weeks that followed, he stared impatiently at the sky. At last, the storm subsided. On the twelfth of May, Richard Plantagenet set sail with his fleet. A hundred sails billowed. The port of Portsmouth quickly receded into the fog.
And on the island kingdom, his chancellor tightened the reins with a firm hand. To the horror of the Norman barons and ec
clesiastical princes, and the delight of the Saxons so long subjugated and exploited, he restored law and order. Serfs, villagers, and freemen breathed a sigh of relief. Hubert Walter, Chancellor of England and Archbishop of Canterbury, kept the promise he had made to Robin Hood the night after the siege of Nottingham.
YORKSHIRE. FENWICK CASTLE.
In the autumn of the second year, a ragged man reached the moat of Fenwick Castle. He dragged himself across the drawbridge. Lowering his lance, the sentry barred his entry.
“Tell your lordship . . .” Spent, the man slid down to his knees by his crutch. His body sank forward. His face bent low over the planks of the bridge. He stammered, “It’s me . . .” He fell silent.
In the castle hall, the guard hurried to his lord. “Forgive me, sir! A stranger is waiting outside.”
A stranger? Sir Richard put his hand on his consort’s arm. “I’ll go alone.”
The lady at the Lea shook her head.
Together they hurried to the gate, then cautiously approached the cowering figure.
At the sound of footsteps, the man slowly raised his head. “Mother.” His eyes searched for his father. “I beg your pardon. I . . . I am late.”
And happiness returned to Fenwick. Two days of sleep and care. On the evening of the third day, Marian and Patricia stood before the festive table. They plucked the lute, and first sang artfully, and then, to the horror of their tutor and the delight of young Edward, performed an earthy minstrel’s song.
YORKSHIRE. BARNSDALE.
The Brotherhood of Freemen had put aside their bows and swords. With ax and plow, the men worked their land—grew grain, turnips, and fruit. In the third year, they brought a rich harvest to the common barns, and filled the storage cellars to the brim.
The bright ringing of bells resounded above the cottages at the former outlaw base.
“Deus, cujus misericordiae non est numerus et bonitatis infinitus est thesaurus . . .” For the first time, Friar Tuck celebrated mass in the completed chapel.
And there were guests! From under half-closed lids, John let his gaze wander along the front row. Marian! What a beautiful lady you are now. Her light hair curled around her fine collar. Beside her knelt her friend, Patricia. Tom Toad furtively held his Beth’s hand. Sir Richard, his lady, and their son seemed absorbed in prayer. Robin sat on a low stool at the end of the row, his right leg outstretched, his gaze fixed on the small carved Holy Virgin, a gift from Sir Richard.
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