“The . . . meadows. They’re blurring into the river.”
“It’s all right, nephew. The medicine is working.” She led him away from the window. His step became more sluggish, his muscles almost failing. Mathilda held him until he stretched out on the bed.
All at once, his pale face contorted again. “You must—” He coughed, trying to speak louder. “If you mean to . . .” His voice faded to a whisper.
“It’s all right, Robert.” Quickly, she laid the rope, cloths, and bandages beside him, sat on the stool, and pulled his left arm straight. She pushed the loose fabric of his shirt up to his armpit. Mathilda did not hesitate. She took the thin fleam and set its silver rose thorn against his skin. Her finger struck down on its end. Dark blood welled from the vein. Matilda’s eyes flinched. Her finger struck a second time, harder, a third time. Bright blood spurted. The jet splashed against the whitewashed stones. In bursts, new jets followed, again and again.
Robin lifted his head with difficulty, trying to see. “Red?” he whispered. “Is that my blood? There on the wall?”
“It’s all right, Robert.” With a hard grip, she held his arm. “You have a strong heart. That’s why the blood leaps like that.” Only when the flow weakened did she place a cloth over the opened veins. She rose swiftly, laying his arm on the stool. Under the linen, the blood continued to pulse steadily.
Robin looked up at the tall figure. For a moment, the veil lifted from his eyes. “My blood has stained you, venerable Aunt.” He smiled faintly. “On your breast.”
“It’s fine, Robert.” She strode to the door. “I’ll wash it off.” Mathilda left the room. She locked the door firmly, hiding the key behind a stone.
The prioress stepped out of the gate. In the shadow of the tower, Little John leaned against the wall. Indecisive at first, she walked quickly over to him. “Did you know Gamwell?” Her voice was brittle, so brittle. “My nephew?”
John was startled. His gaze lingered on the bloodstains; he dared not look into her face. “Will Scarlet? Yes, he used to be with us.”
“I loved him.” She turned and hurried away.
John looked after the prioress. The white-clad figure strode between the flower gardens toward the nuns’ residence.
By Dunstan. Why did she ask me that? We don’t talk about Gamwell, Robin said.
Robin? The giant stared up at the tower. Saw the blood on the nun’s robe again. Robin? It was going to take longer this time. Her words repeated in his head. And she’s leaving? So soon? Surely she can’t leave him alone while he’ s being bled!
“Robin!” John cried out.
Panic drove him forward. He rushed into the tower, running up the twisting stairs. “Robin!” His heart beat wildly. His roar echoed, rushed before him.
He did even try the door—with all his might, he threw his giant body against it. Wood splintered. John froze. There was blood on the wall. Robin lay still on the bed. So still.
He fell to his knees beside him. Gently stroked his forehead. “Robin?”
His eyes opened. “Yes, John. I hear you.” He spoke softly, struggling for each word. “My limbs . . . are heavy as iron.” With an effort, he sucked in his breath. “But that’s good, Mathilda said.”
John saw the blood-soaked cloth, saw the great dark pool on the floor. His fist gripped Robin’s left arm, squeezing closed the flesh over the open veins. “She wants to kill you. Kill you!”
“She has . . . she has already done it.”
“She can’t,” John stammered. His voice roared. “I’ll burn the convent. And the nun! And all of them! Till there’s nothing left!”
“Enough!” Softly, yet it was an order. Robin groped with his right hand for John’s big fist. “We don’t kill defenseless people. Remember that, John!”
“Because of Gamwell. And for that baron. That’s why she did this.”
“No one stays blameless. Tell Roderick that, too.” He brushed his fingertips over John’s hand. “Let the blood flow! It’s over, my friend. She gave me poison. Mathilda has already won the fight.” All at once, light returned to the gray eyes. “Quickly. The bow. Choose a good arrow!”
John nodded. He held them out to his friend.
“I can’t do it alone. Help me!”
And the giant sat down behind him, pulling Robin up to his chest. Robin’s weak hand wrapped around the bow. John clasped it tightly. He nocked the feathered shaft, guided Robin’s fingers to the string. John lent him his strength. The arrow sped out through the open window.
“A good shot.” Robin groaned, falling back against John’s broad chest. “Where you find the arrow. That’s where I want to lie.”
He held on to the bow. “It’s a shame, John.”
He was silent too long.
“What, Robin?” John lightly squeezed the hand in his. “Tell me. What?”
“Our little condition. Now . . . now you have to dance with her.” His head sank back.
John wept. Trembling shook his wide shoulders. As if afraid to wake him, John gently curled over Robin, burying his face in his friend’s hair.
The abbey bell rang out. The noon chime called the giant back into the world. He carried Robin in his arms down the stairs and stepped out of the dark confines. The light stung.
With great haste, the gate was opened for him.
John strode through it and out across the shorn meadows. He followed the arrow’s flight without stopping.
And he found the arrow.
Tilman Roehrig has been writing for over four decades. His historical novels have been his most successful, and have been translated into more than nine languages. Roehrig has received numerous awards for his work, including the Great Culture Prize of the Rhine area. He lives near Cologne, Germany.
W1-Media, Inc.
Arctis
Stamford, CT, USA
Copyright © 2021 by W1-Media Inc. for this edition
Text Copyright © 2010 by Tilman Röhrig
Robin Hood. Solange es Unrecht gibt first published in Germany by Dressler Verlag, 1994
First English language edition published by W1-Media Inc./Arctis, 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
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Author website at www.tilman-roehrig.de
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021937642
Translation by Oliver Latsch
English translation edited by Carol Klio Burrell
Cover design by Alexander Kopainski
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ISBN 978-1-64690-607-9
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Robin Hood Page 39
