Robin Hood

by Roehrig Tilman

  “Only to spare you, dear friend. You had enough to do with the expansion of the abbey. Besides, we all suffered under King Richard’s rule.” Sir Roger made of show of having to wrestle the words from his mouth. “I took Gamwell to my heart as a son. I prepared him for a great task. But, dear friend, I will conceal it no longer. Your nephew was chosen to hunt down Robin Hood. For the good of England! In return, I promised to raise him to the rank of a squire. More than that, with my influence, he would be a valued man in King John’s court today.” Chagrined, the baron continued. “Moreover, I promised Gamwell a thousand pounds in gold for the head of this filth.”

  “So much?” The prioress’ eyes gleamed. “I beseech you, sir, give my nephew another chance!”

  “Attendez, dear friend. You do not know everything yet.” Sir Roger struck the final sting. “Gamwell is dead.”

  The blood drained from her white-framed face. Mathilda took two steps away, to escape the baron’s gaze. “Dead?” she whispered. “How I loved him.”

  “Yes, dead. Disgracefully murdered. More than six years ago.”

  Behind her back, Sir Roger flicked some dust off his sleeve. He raised his voice, lamenting, “My miller found his body on the shore of the lake. He sent word to me—what a gruesome sight. Too many wounds in his back to count. But that is not all . . .” He trailed off.

  “Go on, sir,” Mathilda pleaded. Her strength returned. “I want to know everything.”

  “The body was mutilated. His hands and feet were missing.”

  The prioress turned. “Who? Who did this?”

  “Gamwell was living with the outlaws as my spy at the time. And he was found out.” The baron raised his hands. “Robin Hood. He slaughtered your nephew. Forgive me, dear friend, there is no kinder word, he slaughtered Gamwell.” Sir Roger pressed his fingertips together. “And today, he lives safely as Sir Robert of Loxley on his estates.”

  Chillingly, Mathilda replied, “He is ill. You know this, sir. His leg will not heal. He comes to Kirklees monthly.”

  Sir Roger did not take his eyes off her. “And you will continue to treat him?”

  “With all diligence.” Like scales, she held out her open hands. “When one gives, the other shall be filled. That is how I see it, sir.”

  Sir Roger smiled. “D’accord, dear friend. A thousand pounds.”

  For a long time, the two gazed at each other. Neither lowered their eyes.

  XXIV

  YORKSHIRE. BARNSDALE.

  Marian and Beth had come two days earlier. They would not reveal the reason.

  “It’s to be a surprise,” Beth told Tom late the first night. “So don’t ask any more questions!”

  “I don’t care.” Toad leaned over his wife. “Things aren’t as fine here at the estates as they are at your castle at Fenwick.” He smiled at her. “You’re there. And that’s best of all.”

  The next morning, Marian set her hands on her hips. “I told you yesterday, John. It’s all right!” She wore her hair down. Curls cascaded over her shoulders.

  Full of pride, the giant looked at the slender young woman in her dress of soft dark leather. “You are beautiful, little one,” he began, “Isn’t it about time—”

  “No! Please, John.” Her blue eyes flashed. “I’ll find a husband on my own. That’s what we agreed.”

  The giant sighed. He stroked the scar in his graying beard. “Still, I’d like to know why you and Beth—”

  “Wait and see. It’s going to be a surprise for Robin. And until it’s ready, we’ll stay here. Will that do?”

  “Very much.”

  Marian looked anxiously toward the estate’s large manor house. “How is he today?”

  “He’s gotten worse. He’s dragging his leg again.”

  “Can’t Herbghost help?”

  “The old man’s trying. He’s been trying for years, when the pain comes.” But what good were michelwort and fleawort? The wound was festering deep inside his thigh. And only at the very beginning had William’s herbs provided some relief for the sick man. No longer.

  “Why don’t you take him to Mathilda at Kirklees?”

  “It’s not my decision.” John shrugged. “Robin is like you. ‘Wait and see,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell you when it’s time.’ So, I have to wait.”

  “Oh, John.” Marian nestled against his arm. “You’re the best man I know.”

  “Indeed, little one.” He didn’t give up: “But surely there are others.”

  She winked up at him. “Don’t start that again!”

  The second day, right after morning porridge together in the hall of the spacious manor house, Friar Tuck rose. “If our ladies are ready?” He clasped his hands. “I am at your disposal.”

  “You sound like my tutor,” Marian scoffed.

  “Hush, Princess!”

  Only Robin, John, and the three closest friends—Friar Tuck and the two old cooks—lived together the old base’s main building. Those who had families lived with their wives and children in Barnsdale Top, or on their land around the heavily fortified manor. Marian smiled from one to the other, demurely asking: “Forgive me, Brother Tuck.” Mockery rippled through her voice. “I understand. We are the only ladies in this men’s household.” She pushed her stool back hard. “Come on, Beth. To work!”

  Toad’s wife sighed in dismay at her charge. She took the narrow wooden box. “Holy father, you lead the way!”

  After they left the room, Robin leaned toward John. “I don’t like this.” His pale face perked up; feigning outrage, he continued, “Why go to the chapel? What are the ladies up to with our poor brother Tuck?”

  “Don’t ask me!” groaned John. Much and Threefinger grinned. Tom grinned across the table. “Let it go, Robin. All of us have tried. None of us got anything out of the women.”

  At the chapel, Tuck bolted the narrow door carefully from the inside.

  “Clear everything off the altar, princess!” Only now did Beth flip open the lid of the box. With pinched fingers, she removed a white cloth of the finest silk. She spread it across the altar.

  “By all the saints!” Friar Tuck approached full of awe, not daring to touch the cloth. A wide, embroidered border lined the edges. Roses and crosses wrought of gold and silver threads. “Truly, this is a surprise.”

  Beth smiled. Marian shook her head. “We’re not done yet.” Quickly, she stooped to the box, laid glittering strands of thread over the edge. She lifted a sharpened charcoal pencil. “I still want words on it, reverend. Beth and I thought it over. But we couldn’t agree. You know best what words are right for Robin—I mean Sir Robert . . . never mind. What holy words are appropriate for Robin? After all, you are the priest here and also the confessor.”

  Friar Tuck glanced at the carved Madonna above the altar. “I don’t have to think long about that.” “Ave Maria gratia plena,” he said.

  “So it will be!” Marian was triumphant. “I was right, I told you, Beth!”

  “Hush, princess!” Toad’s wife pushed the silk cloth back a bit, smoothed it over the side of the altar stone. “Here. We’ll embroider it above these roses.”

  Obligingly, Friar Tuck asked for the charcoal pencil. “Good, I’ll write out the text.”

  Marian huffed. “I can write fine myself, if you please. You just make sure I don’t forget a letter!”

  Ave Maria gratia plena.

  They sent the priest away. He was not to come knocking until dinnertime.

  Was that a horn call? Long, short, short. Strangers, the sentry from the tower above the palisades reported.

  Much rushed ahead of the strangers into the hall. “Robin! John!” Frantic, he pointed to the door.

  The two young men behind him halted after a few steps. Their faces were filthy, their hair greasy, their tunics torn in many places. Each had a bow and two quivers at his back.

  Sir Robert of Loxley frowned, looking from one to the other. Finally, his gray eyes returned to the tall, dark fellow. “I know you.”

 
; Before he could answer, Much blurted out, “That . . . That’s Malcolm! Remember? The swineherd from Edwinstowe!”

  “Shut up, boy!” growled John.

  As quickly as his pain would allow, Robin lifted his ailing leg from the stool and put his foot down. “Welcome to Barnsdale, Malcolm.”

  “Sir Robert.” The swineherd gulped. “It was like this—Roderick and me—we had to get away from Sherwood. There was the ranger, and the farmhands—”

  “I killed them!” Roderick spoke out clearly, firmly. “I had to kill them.”

  The way he spoke . . . John took in a breath. I know that tone. But he pushed the thought aside.

  “You had to?” asked Robin.

  “Yes.” The young man pressed his lips together.

  “Because I was hanging from a tree,” Malcolm explained hastily. “I caught a rabbit in a snare. But they were on me. And when I balancing was on the stick—”

  “Enough!” Robin slammed his fist down on the table. With a glance at John, he demanded, “One thing at a time, Malcolm. The whole story, but from the beginning.”

  And the swineherd told them: about Edwinstowe, about the raid by the lord sheriff’s soldiers. Even though the villagers paid all their taxes on time, soldiers had stolen the crops. As just a warning! The iron men had laughed. Nothing had been left for the villagers. Hunger reigned in Edwinstowe. “That’s the only reason I went hunting.”

  John listened with clenched fists. Just like it had been in days long before. He saw the hungry eyes of the children in his village again. Oh, Robin, it’s starting all over again. As the swineherd recounted Roderick’s fight, the two friends sat at attention. From the corners of their eyes, they eyed the young man’s powerful figure.

  “And that’s what happened. And if he hadn’t come along . . .” Malcolm wiped his hands on his torn tunic.

  “Why?” Robin’s expression was stony. “Roderick, what did you care about some naked poacher hanging from on a tree?”

  “Did you expect me to just move on?” Indignation sparked in his dark blue eyes. “I hate injustice! That’s why, Sir Robert.”

  “And for that, you have given up the competition?” the Lord of Loxley probed further.

  John tried to calm him. He lightly touched his friend’s arm.

  “No.” Robin shook him off. He continued, teasing, “And the beautiful milk cow? You wanted to buy it for your people, didn’t you? Such a fine cow is worth more than five Malcolms. You’re an idiot, Roderick. What do you care about injustice if it doesn’t affect you?”

  “Enough!” the young man yelled. His bow leaped into his fist.

  Already John was on his feet, yanking up the stool. “Dare me!” he roared. Beside him, Much held his knife, ready to throw.

  Roderick faltered in midmotion. “I don’t want to break the rules of hospitality. But tell him to shut up!”

  “Enough!” Sharp and cutting. Robin spread his arms. “Easy, friends, easy! Much, put away the dagger! Sit down, John!”

  A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “And you, Roderick,” he said softly, “set down your bow and tell me where you’re from.”

  “Crossway.” After a while he added, “Sir Robert.”

  “I like you, Roderick from Crossway. Welcome to Barnsdale.” He looked at his wound dressing, soberly summarizing. “You killed a forester and his servants. Through necessity, you took a stand. True, you were in the right. But no one will believe you, my boy. And you, Malcolm, you hunted royal game. Who cares about hunger in Edwinstowe? I’m sure Lord Sheriff Walter de Monte has long since passed sentence on you both.” Robin raised his head. “He will hunt you, and not only him. You are outlaws.”

  “That’s why, Sir Robert . . .” Malcolm took a step forward. “That’s why we came here. Because we need help.”

  “I can provide protection.” Robin added harshly, “But only you can help yourselves. You’ll have to fight.”

  “No question.” Roderick brushed the tangled strands from his forehead.

  “He always says that, Sir Robert.” The swineherd extended his open hands helplessly. “Fight? That’s what the people at Blidworth tried to do. And now . . .”

  “What happened in Blidworth?” John snapped at him. “I was there only a month ago with Solomon. We bought wool, pots. Everything was fine.” He raised his fist. “Tell me! What happened at Blidworth?”

  Shortly after the trader’s wagons train had moved on, the sheriff’s men-at-arms had closed in on the village. They had demanded all the proceeds. Desperate, the residents tried to fight back. The elder’s head was cut from his shoulders by the soldiers, then another villager. “Nobody’s alive there anymore,” Malcolm whispered. “And we’re supposed to fight that?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Roderick said cockily. “Not of the sheriff or his iron puppets. Nor of the foresters.”

  “Do you even understand what you’re saying?” growled John.

  “You have to fight!” cried Roderick passionately. “By the Virgin, these fellows will eat us up if we don’t.”

  “That’s right, lad.”

  Coolly, Robin smiled. “To truly win a fight like this, it takes a lot more than hate. You seem to have that.” He snapped his fingers. “Much, give them both a bedchamber! And make sure they wash up! After all, we have ladies visiting.”

  Closing his eyes, Robin leaned back in his armchair. John waited. After a while, John murmured, “By Dunstan. We divided up the money for each village. The elder from Blidworth was a good man.”

  “You heard their story. ‘Robin Hood,’ the woodsmen shouted. The sheriff will get that name stuck in his craw.” Robin lifted his eyelids. His pale face became animated. “And by now, everyone in Sherwood knows it, too: Robin Hood is back! You see, John? That alone gives hope to the people!”

  “What?” John stared at his friend in disbelief. “What do you expect to do? You with your leg? And me with my gray hair. Look at the pair of us!”

  “This is the game. Wait and see!” Robin laughed.

  Candles flickered on the long oak table. For the ladies, the two old cooks had outdone themselves: crispy fish, roast in bread dough, fragrant pheasant pie. And malmsey to go with it.

  Beth watched her princess. Her food stood untouched before the young woman. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispered.

  “Nothing.” And as if caught in a lie, Marian hastily explained, “I’m not hungry. Nothing else.”

  The ladies had been the last to enter the hall.

  “These are Malcolm and Roderick,” Robin had announced. “Visitors from Sherwood.”

  The young man had smiled. For a moment, Marian faltered, as if startled by his open, bright face.

  A stern look from Beth was enough to bring her back to herself. A polite nod of greeting and the women had settled into the seats of honor.

  Ever since the beginning of the feast, Marian had just sat there, upright, her fingers stroking the rim of her wine cup.

  Roderick and Malcolm enjoyed themselves. Starved, they gobbled up the delicacies—no time for conversation. Sir Robert, the other men, and Friar Tuck also ate with great appetite. Such a feast came only ever so often. And yet, there was an oppressive silence in the hall. Everyone already knew what news the visitors had brought from Sherwood.

  John poked at the pie on his plate with his knife. His throat was tight. Is it going to start again? By Dunstan—sleeping every night under a different bush?

  And all that running? Oh, my friend, even if you don’t want to admit it, we’re too old for all that.

  Sir Robert of Loxley raised his silver goblet. “Not only our ladies have something for us—I also have a surprise!” Everyone, even Marian, turned eagerly to the head of the table. “But first, drink with me!”

  Robin waited until everyone had put down their goblets. Then he set his hands on the table and braced himself. He looked at Roderick and Malcolm. “Six years ago, it was, when King Richard gave my men and me a general pardon. Our fight was ove
r. Not only for us in Barnsdale, no—law and order were also extended to the villagers in Sherwood. But those six good years are over. John sits on the throne of England! And all his noble rats are coming out of their holes again. Oppression. Cruel despotism. You two have reported it to us: They bleed the villagers in Sherwood without mercy, more terribly than ever.”

  Beth reached for Marian’s hand, squeezed it. All around in the faces of the old band of outlaws, the memories were revived. Heavily, Malcolm propped his head in both hands. Roderick tensed. He listened with a blank expression.

  Robin’s voice grew hard. “Fight back! Only our resistance can keep these rats from the people’s houses and cottages.”

  Don’t. John crushed the rim of his cup. Don’t say it, Robin!

  “But for me and my loyal friends, the fight in the forest is over. We cannot go back to it. Many of us have families. Protecting their lives has to be my task now.”

  Easing, John let out a sigh of relief.

  Robin’s gaze fixed on Roderick. “I’ve made a decision. If you consent, I can give you more than just protection in a safe place.”

  “What?” The young man waited.

  “In that time, I called myself Robin Hood. That was the name my men followed. The innocent rallied around Robin Hood, not Robert of Loxley. The name alone terrified my enemies and gave the villagers of our shires new courage to resist. And today? All over Sherwood, the word is out again: Robin Hood has returned. But it wasn’t I who killed the rangers. It was you.”

  Roderick placed his clenched fists on the oak slab in front of him. His face flushed.

  Robin took note. “I see you’re catching on quickly.” After a pause, he turned to the others, and spoke clearly and forcefully, “My friends, beginning today, Robin Hood is no longer a name. It is an honor. As long as there is injustice in England, there will be a Robin Hood!” Sir Robert offered both hands to the young man. “Take this title from me, Roderick! You can win this fight. Take it, be a new Robin Hood for the desperate! Let hope return.” Sir Robert of Loxley fell silent.