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Sheriff James Brewer was ecstatic. No one had ever seen him so giddy. It was frightening. The sheriff would look wistfully up into the distance and talk longingly of Robin’s summary execution. Then his eyes would refocus and he would engage people around the room on what kind of tortures to subject Robin to first. They would have to start him out slow, they didn’t want to overdue it too quickly, his pain might become to intense to register further torture. He might expire. The sheriff wanted to see Robin weep. He wanted to see Robin lose control of his bowels, of all his bodily functions. He wanted to clear a field big enough for all of Nottinghamshire to gather to witness the humiliation, lest anyone think such behavior might be tolerated. he’d heard of such public tortures in London. Spies or traitors would be disemboweled in front of their families and the countryside would gather and buy souvenirs to mark the occasion.
There would be a public trial where the sheriff, an expert at trials, would explain how Robin had perpetrated these crimes on the people themselves. Which, when you stop to consider that the sheriff was a public servant and the money Robin stole was the public funds, was actually true. The public would be screaming for Robin’s head. Why, the sheriff would find himself in the awkward position of having to protect Robin from the people of Nottingham. He’d seen such things before with his own eyes.
This was call for a celebration. He would feed the entire shire for a day! He would send to his coffers and get enough petty cash to pay for a feast. He could recoup the cost by collecting a tax. It was all over. It had been a long slog, but there had never been any doubt that the side of law and order would win in the end.
He could dismiss that army of rabble. That was actually a relief. They were never quite under his absolute control. They were always going too far, causing trouble, raping killing. The sheriff was of the mind that a little of that went a long way.
And he had won! Now there would be no more opposition. Ever. The peasants of the shire would think twice before they risked life and limb to stand up to the sheriff of Nottingham! To think he had actually feared Robins numbers. It had been all too easy to capture him after all. Robin was foolhardy. That was the problem with most leaders. They were either too weak and timid, or foolhardy. Not Sheriff William Brewer. He had acted wisely on every count. Why he was undefeatable! He would impose new taxes. New tariffs. He would invent new names for new types of taxes. He would retire early and buy a title, it could be done after all. King John was sure to face rebellion at some point, he was such a weakling. He would simply back the winner, and he would have his title. Until then he could live like a king himself in one of his monasteries. This would actually turn out to favor his fortune in the long run.
It began to rain early before dawn the next morning. The clouds had gathered in a cold, biting breeze. Not a blistering wind, but a gentle breeze that curled around you so that you were chilled to the bone before you knew you were cold. The rain began the same way; a gathering mist, swirling and cold, growing heavy and collecting the folds of your clothes until they were damp and clinging to your gooseflesh. Then a slow gentle drizzle, which had grown by the time the sky had lightened, into a steady, unrelenting downpour.
By the time Tuck, Wulfhere and Marian arrived at the castle, the show was over. The ribald rivalry coming from within led little to the imagination as to what had happened. The bawdy songs about the capture of the famous Robin Hood were loud, lewd, drunken and none too clever. Tuck and Marian were furious over the complete absence of the outlaws, but Wulfhere correctly deduced that they had been routed and had to flee or be captured. It was impossible to tell in fact how many had been captured besides Robin. Wulfhere and Tuck had been told to check on Marian at the Orphanage or her nearby apartment and rendevoius at the castle in time for the attack, but they hadn’t planned on just missing her and tracking her through-out the night.
Inside, in the dark, against a cold, stone floor which smelled of urine, Robin awoke to the realization that he was severely beaten. Had they continued to pummel him after they’d beaten him unconscious? He remembered… being descended upon by a vast multitude. He given as good as he’d gotten for as long as he could. They had been expecting him. He knew they would be, but he had played it as a game. He should have been more careful. He had been so cocky. They weren’t going to get Marian a second time. He’d show them. He should have rallied all of Nottinghamshire. They would have come to save Marian, wouldn’t they? Now it was too late. It was all over. Without Robin to rally them, to lead them, they would submit to the sheriff. In fact, now that the sheriff had captured Robin, the sheriff would likely send the mercenaries on their way and leave the people to their meager lives. As for Robin himself, well, he was done for, that was a sure as the daily rise of the sun. Would he face a trial? Would he be tortured? Was he alive because the sheriff thought he could get his money back? Did old Sheriff Brewer really think that Robin had stashed away all the money he’d stolen? Probably not. Robin realized his breathing felt liquidy. He spat. He couldn’t see in the utter darkness, but he could taste the blood. The sheriff was probably planning on what to do with Robin now that he had finally gotten him.
Robin attempted to get to his knees. his legs felt like tenderized meat. Even in the dark, he was dizzy. His head ached. He could feel where it was matted with blood. He tentatively touched a wet patch to the left of his crown and swooned from the odd sensation in his head and the tactual squishiness that met his fingers. He broke his fall with his outstretched hands and realized they were raw and scraped. The sudden pitch in his upper body angle brought about a sudden nausea and he vomited on his hands and knees in the dark.
Sheriff James Brewer was ecstatic. No one had ever seen him so giddy. It was frightening. The sheriff would look wistfully up into the distance and talk longingly of Robin’s summary execution. Then his eyes would refocus and he would engage people around the room on what kind of tortures to subject Robin to first. They would have to start him out slow, they didn’t want to overdue it too quickly, his pain might become to intense to register further torture. He might expire. The sheriff wanted to see Robin weep. He wanted to see Robin lose control of his bowels, of all his bodily functions. He wanted to clear a field big enough for all of Nottinghamshire to gather to witness the humiliation, lest anyone think such behavior might be tolerated. he’d heard of such public tortures in London. Spies or traitors would be disemboweled in front of their families and the countryside would gather and buy souvenirs to mark the occasion.
There would be a public trial where the sheriff, an expert at trials, would explain how Robin had perpetrated these crimes on the people themselves. Which, when you stop to consider that the sheriff was a public servant and the money Robin stole was the public funds, was actually true. The public would be screaming for Robin’s head. Why, the sheriff would find himself in the awkward position of having to protect Robin from the people of Nottingham. He’d seen such things before with his own eyes.
Unable to carry on without getting lost or possibly fall asleep in midstride, Marian waited until she came upon a dense copse of alders and made a quick and hopefully silent turn to the east, hopefully straitening out her path. She had no idea how far behind her pursuers were, but she new tracking was harder at night, unless you were some kind of hunting animal. After about a quarter mile she found a tree that she could climb quickly. When she got high enough, she waited to see if her hunters would track her here. If they wanted to kill her, they could climb up after her, but she thought she could probably jump down on them, thus taking them with her. If they had bows, it would be harder, but not impossible. She would be a difficult target, straight up a tree in the dark was not an easy shot for anyone.
After a time, two men came by. They had a dog with them. So much for losing them. The hound stopped at the tree, sniffed it, pissed on it, and sniffed it some more. Essentially, the hound had masked her scent with his own piss. Now the dog was confused. it circled the area, and found the scent that had led them here. The dog wanted to go in this direction, and after circling around in the dark, the hunters didn’t seem to realize that they were going back the way they had come. If they were any good at tracking, they would take their bearings when they got to a clearing and could see the stars. At this point, they would realize they had doubled back and come back for her. Marian remembered a stream about a mile south. She climbed down and doubled back to the stream and took of down the shallow stream bed approximately going North by North East. She hoped she wouldn’t slip in the slick stream bed in the dark.
John approached the door to the heavily fortified manor house known throughout Nottingham as the Castle. There actually was a Nottingham Castle, but it belonged to King John, and only visiting royalty or their guests ever stayed there. The sheriff’s house was smaller than Lincoln’s manor house, but was bigger than most of the houses in Nottingham. It was structured like a castle, with heavy stone walls, and crenellated sentry towers, though they formed only a third story.
The heavy wooden door was barred but there were no guards in sight. Unsure how to proceed, John knocked at the door. After a time with no response, John knocked again. He half expected the sheriff to answer the door in his nightshirt. A small window opened at eye level in the door.
“Who goes there?” demanded a tired an angry voice. John couldn’t tell if it was the sheriff or not. John, unsure how to respond stepped back a little hoping that he couldn’t be seen in the dark. “Who the bloody hell is it? You pounded on the door loud enough a minute ago! What in bloody blazes on earth do you want?!”
“It’s Little John, of Sherwood forest!” John said with an air of authority he didn’t feel. “Open up in the name of Robin Hood! We’ve come for the hostage!”
“He says he’s here on behalf of Robin Hood!” said the voice to else someone inside.
“Well, that will mean Robin Hood’s around back waiting for us all to poor out the front!” said the second voice. The little window shut with a little slam on little John, and he could hear footsteps and shouts heading for the back of the house.
“No it doesn’t!” shouted John at the door. “Bloody Hell! They know Robin’s in the back! Get back there!” John yelled to his companions. He took off himself to get around the house. Will blew a horn, signaling trouble.
People storm castle’s but rarely does a castle storm people. The sheriff’s men came rushing out of the castle’s rear and side doors as if it was on fire. Except they had their swords out, their pikes raised, they were armed and armored. They were wildly incoherent. They hadn’t actually thought Robin Hood would come knocking on the sheriff’s door. Robin took one look at the oncoming hoard and turned and ran. He never had a chance. If the sheriff hadn’t repeatedly made it abundantly clear that he wanted Robin Hood taken alive, they would have killed him for sure. As it was they captured him to within an inch of his life. The surprise attack was on the other foot. All the men waiting to come to Robin’s aid rushed in alas too late. A few of them weren’t as lucky as Robin and met their makers that night. Guards on the towers picked off the outlaws easily. The retreat was sounded, and the merry men carried off their wounded and made their way back to Sherwood considerably less merry.
Marian was still some way off from the inn when she heard the hounds. To her credit, she never stopped. Beaten, hungry, bruised, scratched and scared, she stumbled on to the last. Only as they overcame her did she lose her nerve and fall to the ground, sobbing. There, covered in mud, shaking and spent, she gathered the last of her resolve, pulled her two daggers from their sheaths, struggled to her feet to face her pursuers; only to fall once again to her knees upon seeing who it was that had been on her heels all this way.
Tuck and Wulfhere the hermit stared in disbelief at the wraith at their feet. “Saints be praised!” Tuck said. “We thought we’d never find you. Come lass, the Sheriff has a hostage and if it isn’t you, then it’s probably a trap for Robin Hood.
When news reached the sheriff that there was a mole within his inner circle, he flew into a rage. To be sure, he was lately ready to fly into a rage a the drop of a hat, but this particular rage had some seething to sustain it. It wasn’t really a surprise, after all. Robin seemed to be able to handle the mercenaries in stride. He obviously had contacts in every village in the shire, why not among his trusted allies? The shire had revealed itself to be almost completely on Robin’s side anyway. The damage the mercenaries were doing both to the shire and to the sheriff’s reputation, his ability to get anything done; not to mention his coffers was becoming more irreparable every day. Yet, it was hard not to believe that if he just persevered with his current course, success was bound to be imminent. Robin would be dead, and all would be worth it. The shire might never return to normal, but the sheriff was planning on retiring within the decade, and living out his life at one of his well, appointed monasteries. The thing about rebellions was; they had to be crushed. The leader had to be made an example of. There was no other course to take.
Now, as to the business of the mole. Who could it be? They were all such sycophants, it could be any of them. Still, it would be unlike the gentry of Nottinghamshire to side with commoners. Robin Hood held a certain mystique that was attractive to various craven buffoons, but admiring the cut of someone’s jib and giving information to the enemy were two different things. When Cedric had posited the idea to him, the sheriff had to wonder how he himself had not seen it earlier. If a cretin like Cedric could see it, it must have been obvious. Cedric had not been especially helpful in this matter since he had become smitten by the Valkyrie, as she was known behind her back among the gentry of Nottingham. In fact, Cedric hadn’t been useful since arresting Marian. Ah, now that had been a stroke of genius. It had actually drawn Robin Hood right into the town square. …twice. If only there was some way of finding out who the mole was, perhaps that person could be used to draw Robin Hood back into town. The sheriff wouldn’t fail again. Of course, Robin Hood wasn’t fool enough to think he could stage another rescue, was he?
The sun raked through the summer leaves in the late afternoon, casting shadows through the forest that stretched out into the evening. Birdsong filled the air and was carried on the breeze. The messenger wasn’t out of breath, he had strolled in with the day’s news as if he had no more than idle gossip. The sheriff knew there was a mole and was setting a trap. Whoever it was, had not long to live. The gossip as to who it might be was all any could talk about. Robin didn’t see it as idle gossip. He had to get Marian out of there. If the sheriff found her out, he might kill her before he had a chance to think better of himself. In many ways, Marian was hated more than Robin himself, because she was from Nottingham. Robin had lived in Edwinstowe, though he had been born near Barnsdale, and still had kin there.
The townsfolk in Nottingham were better acquainted with Marian, and her work at the orphanage was well respected. The gentry saw her arrest and subsequent flight as a betrayal of trust. Never mind that until her arrest, she had done nothing wrong, and that her escape had been merely to save her innocent life.
Robin knew she was in grave danger. His first instinct was to fly down to Nottingham immediately and spirit her away, but he knew that he needed a plan. He gathered Tuck, Wulfhere, John, Will, and a few other trusted advisers.
The rumor was that after Marian’s escape last spring, the sheriff did not trust the gaol. It was said he had the traitor locked up in “the Castle.”
Marian didn’t know who had started the rumor that the sheriff had found and captured a spy who was feeding information to Robin Hood. She was pretty sure that she was the only spy feeding information to Robin. Cedric had been visiting the orphanage when he told her the news. He even took credit for deducing that there was a spy in the first place. He was clearly quite proud of himself. Hilde had gone more pale than usual and had to excuse herself. She had gone to her room, packed her things and left. Marian’s heart was beating so hard that she could barely think at all. In her room, she cut her hair to the nape of her neck, dyed it with henna and changed into her foresting clothes, which were basically the same breeches and tunic that all the foresters wore. They were dark and earthy and looked nothing like the Danish clothes Hilde wore. She walked out of her door and into the woods a hundred yards away. After about an hour walking steadily north towards Sherwood, she realized that she was being followed. She continued North but veered Eastward toward Derby. That was six hours ago. She had no food or water, but she dare not stop. She reckoned whomever was following her was hoping she would lead them to Robin Hood, and so probably wouldn’t molest her en route, but she couldn’t take that chance. She wanted desperately to get word to Robin that she wasn’t a captive of the sheriff, but she couldn’t see how to do that until she could get somewhere safe. She was thirsty and hungry and had gotten pretty scratched up trying to lose her pursuers in a thicket of thorn bushes. She had her daggers with her, but she doubted she’d be as successful with them this time around. It was going to be dark soon. She hoped whoever was following her would stop for the night, knowing that she would have to make camp also. She wasn’t going to. She was going to make for the inn in Worksop.
Robin, John, Tuck, Will Skarlett and several of the foresters had gathered in a thicket just outside Nottingham. They were making their final preparations for storming the sheriff’s castle. The plan was that John and Will would cause a diversion at the front of the castle and draw as many guards out as possible, and Robin would sneak in the back and rescue Marian. The remaining foresters would wait in the shadows and wait until the last minute before joining in. This would make for a double surprise attack. The only problem was, they didn’t know where in the castle Marian was being held. They didn’t even know the layout of the castle.
Robin looked over and saw that John was being kicked even though he was passed out. Unbeknownst to Gerard, he was the last of the demons standing. He was furious at the turn the night had taken and he wanted to make sure “Little John” never forgot it. A few more kicks give or take a dozen aught to finish him. A shadow passed over him He looked up just in time to see all the remaining outlaws of Sherwood converge on him.
It turned out to have been a much less fatal night than Chaucer had dared hope for. Every one of the demons that did live was a long way from consciousness. Gerard might never wake up. They were summarily loaded onto carts and carried out of town, like rubbish. It was hours before first light, and Robin had a few of the lads take the carts to Nottingham where they could be unloaded in front of the sheriff’s office. Robin wanted to send the sheriff a message. He wanted the sheriff to know that despite his carefully hidden plans, Robin Hood knew what he was up to and was more than up for it.
Chaucer had Robin’s men convalesce at the inn. Although it would take some time for these men to recover, only about six of them had been seriously wounded, including John. There were close to 200 men in the forest, ready to take the fight to the sheriff. The problem was, that number would soon be dwarfed by the sheriff’s mercenary army. Robin needed to rally the entire shire to his side, or act before the bulk of the enemy horde arrived, or both. The mercenaries might be doing Robin’s recruiting for him if what happened in Worksop was any indication.
As the year ripened and the days got warmer, families wandered in to Sherwood from all over the shire. People’s homes were being destroyed. The sheriff had been shaken by the pile of giant wounded at his doorstep and decided not to wait to put his plan into action. He wanted to show the people of the shire the price of lawlessness. He wanted them to beg him to make the attacks stop. His plan was that Robin’s outlaws would be blamed for the acts of the mercenaries who were instructed to pretend like they were themselves the outlaws of Sherwood. The sheriff felt that this would rally the people to the lawful representative of the shire. It would also enrage Robin Hood who it had been demonstrated would try to interject himself into every outbreak of pandemonium, the exhausting his forces and rendering him permanently on defense.
Although everyone knew that the mercenaries weren’t part of Robin’s band of outlaws, the news that it was the sheriff’s men was hard for people to swallow. Rumors began to circulate that Lincoln was gathering an army to take over Nottinghamshire. Other rumors claimed that there was treasure hidden in the shire, probably Robin Hood’s, and that the riff raff converging on the shire were treasure hunters in search of the gold.
The “Merry Men”, as the outlaws were referred to by the people of Nottinghamshire, would help people rebuild. They began an extensive underground network, connecting the various towns with Sherwood. They had to be careful as in addition to the mercenaries, there were deputies in every town reporting directly to the sheriff and anyone or any town caught co-operating with Robin Hood was putting his life in jeopardy. Tuck’s homing pigeons were distributed throughout the shire. Men from Sherwood were assigned to watch over towns where they wouldn’t be recognized. They would watch out for signs of invasion. Sometimes a scout would come and pretend to be a wandering soldier. He would get drunk at the tavern, and try to get a feel for the town’s defenses. If that were the case, and Robin’s man found out in time, he could make haste for Sherwood and bring a band of men to defend the town. Most times, though the mercenaries would just come riding in from where they had been hiding in a neighboring shire and attack a village, raping and pillaging, and then go back to where ever they came from.
In cases like this, the village could only rebuild, and hope it didn’t happen again. In some cases, the deputy of the village would be ignorant of the sheriff’s plan and help Robin fight the invaders. In others, The deputy’s loyalty would lay with the town they served and they would turn against the sheriff. Most deputies, however, had a fear of the sheriff that outweighed their desire to do the right thing. The same was true of many townspeople. Even after their town was attacked, they would stay loyal to the sheriff.
Sherwood itself began to swell with people who would rather live in the woods than in a town that was ruled by a sheriff that would exploit it as soon a destroy it. For the first time, Sherwood village had voluntary citizens.
The sheriff was sick of this game of cat and mouse. He had been trying to get Robin hood to leave himself open to attack by drawing him out to the various villages and towns of the shire. It was obvious to the sheriff, that the peasants of the shire were in cahoots with Robin Hood and so he cared not a fig if the mercenaries burned them all too the ground. Some of the gentry and nobility were beginning to suspect the sheriff was mad, but they dared not oppose him when he was so hell bent on catching Robin Hood. To do so might put even them in jeopardy. For his own part, the sheriff was convinced if he could just get rid of Robin Hood, life would return to normal, and no one need worry about any of this nastiness anymore. He felt he was right on the verge of capturing or killing Robin Hood. Nothing worked, however, and so the sheriff needed to change tactics once again. Instead of a raid on a town or village, the army would assemble en masse, and attack them in Sherwood. The forest lands were protected by the crown, and so the sheriff couldn’t just burn them down, or he would have done so long ago. But he now had enough of an army that he could surround the forest, and they could work their way towards the center, thus ensuring that there was no escape for Robin Hood.
For himself, Robin needed no conjurer to tell him of the coming carnage. It came to him in his dreams. The people of the forest, having built a home for themselves & redeemed themselves from their fall from grace and banishment from civilization, would be chased even into the wilderness by the madman who had placed them there in the first place, and finding them, would slay them all.
In the fever of sleep, Robin loosed every arrow, never missing his mark, and still they came, the invaders; choking the woods in the blood of his countrymen. And they did not stop with the outlaws, no. Onward they came. Punishing the whole of the shire, every man, woman and child. The children, with tomorrow’s bright promise of hope in their eyes, reaped like wheat, their dolls and toys falling to the dust, forgotten: a stuffed bear, a wooden deer, a toy archer.
Robin would awaken screaming silently, bathed in sweat. This coming war would destroy Nottinghamshire, and the sheriff would suffer not a scratch. Robin Hood would go down in history as the rat that caused the death of a generation. Heaven and eternal rest would be barred to him. In the eternal pit he would forever be tormented by the deaths he had facilitated by his rebellion. Robin could not allow it. He would take the fight to the sheriff. But how? The sheriff, now playing the role of general, was always surrounded by an entourage of lackeys waiting to be dispatched. Yet Robin determined to find a way.
The town of Worksop, in the North of the Shire, at the Inn, a band of surly fellows had been staying for about a fortnight, when the innkeeper began to despair of ever seeing a farthing in payment. He had provided the 12 strong and burly men his best rooms, and after they had run off all the other guests, they took all the rooms. He and his goodwife provided them with breakfast lunch and dinner, and no small amount of drink. They were obviously soldiers awaiting some orders from somewhere. They weren’t under orders from the crown or any of the Nobility, that the innkeepers could tell. They were closed mouthed about their employment, and mind you, that was the only thing they were close mouthed about. They quarreled with everyone, including themselves, and neither the maidens nor the livestock were safe from their attentions. The only thing they failed to make liberal use of in town was soap. England in the twelfth century wasn’t known for its hygiene, but these boys stood out as filthy among even the lowliest swine in the shire.
The innkeeper’s name was Chaucer; no relation. He complained bitterly by day and prayed fervently by night. His best plan, was to burn down his inn and start again somewhere else and hope the demons didn’t follow him. He had no way of knowing but one of the displaced guests had been on their way to Sherwood Forest. Worksop bordered the north of the Forest as Notthingham bound it on the south. When the folk of Sherwood needed a bed, a meal and most importantly, a roof, they often went up to Chaucer’s Inn to get a feel for civilization. It was also a good way to get gossip about the shire without being too conspicuous. Innkeepers love to gossip, especially to regular customers.
The guest in question, one Henry Fitzhume, loved the meals the innkeeper’s wife, Nan, prepared, and was none too happy about being bullied out of his room. The noise had been enough to irritate him and the smell had been enough for him to keep his distance from the boys, (the inn all referred to them as the demons and if the mercenaries had overheard… well, they probably would have approved. But, one night in the tavern of the inn, he had been persuaded to play a round of darts. The demons had of course, cheated at the scorekeeping, but on lean forester could hardly accuse twelve surly, burly demons of cheating and expect to sleep soundly that night, so he had conceded his room as payment, and considered himself lucky.
It was, as has been eluded to, expected of those visiting the inn to bring back gossip to the forest, and when Henry was asked what he learned on his sojourn into civilization, he confessed that he had been so harried by these ruffians, that he had failed to learn a single thing.
“You should have at least spoke to Chaucer in private” said Will Skarlett.
“Aye.” agreed Little John. “We are the outlaws of Sherwood, and we care not for some wayfarers who cheat at darts.” This was the way Little John formed his sentences when he had had a bit of ale.
“Actually,” said Robin, “Mr. Fitzhume has given us some vital information about the sheriff’s plans for Sherwood.”
“He sent the demons to beat me at darts?” answered Fitzhume.
“Aye.” said Robin. “The sheriff is gathering soldiers to root us out of our happy woodland home. These swine are the first to arrive.” Robin had been sitting at the table around which they were all gathered. He stood up. “Perhaps there have been one or two others, but not right on the forest’s edge, and not a nuisance to the foresters themselves. Um, ourselves? Well, regardless. I believe, Mr. Fitzhume, that you must return to the inn for a rematch.”
“Oh. I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” said Mr. Fitzhume.
It was a warm summer evening at the Chaucer Inn. The waning moon streamed into the tavern window giving a blue rim light to the faces of the ever rowdy demons. One, whose name was Ralph had done just that in the middle of the room. The townsfolk had liked to gather at the inn before the unruly pack of giant, square jawed, ham handed young psychopaths had moved in. But now, they stayed home after dark. Unless there was an emergency.
“Here! Look what I found out for a stroll this fine summer night!” said Gerard, an enthusiastic young lad with a patchy beard and hair cropped by sheep shears. He pulled in behind him a reluctant, though feisty lass whose name he had been unable to ascertain.
“You oaf!” she said. “I’m on my way to deliver a baby! I am a MIDWIFE! How many times do I have to tell you? Do you not know what a midwife is?”
“Oh that wee lad isn’t going anywhere is he?” said Gerard. His mates all cheered agreement.
“Stay and have a drink with us Lassie!” said Ralph. The boys all began to gather around. Things had gotten dull the past few days, and this could be hours of fun for them all before the poor girl’s heart gave out.
The midwife was neither young nor fetching in the eyes of the young mercenaries, yet those weren’t really requirements for their sport. They weren’t courting the girl. The lanterns in the room flickered, casting shadows across the boys faces at hellish angles.
Chaucer decided he could no longer just cower in the kitchen, waiting for them to pass out. He came into the room with a mind to fetch the girl out the back way. “Oh, good! It’s the innkeeper!” said James, the leader of the gang. “Another round, if you please, and bring a glass for the lady.” he said.
Chaucer screwed up all the courage he could muster. “This young lady is on an important errand and hasn’t time to dally with you lads this evening.” he said and took the midwife by the arm to lead her into the kitchen where there was another exit.
“Bosh!” said Ralph, “You just want her for yourself, you dirty old sot!” and he stumbled in between them and the kitchen door.
“Is that true?” said James. “You going to take away our plaything for your own selfish desires?” Chaucer found himself surrounded by the soldiers.
“No.” said the innkeeper. “I’m going to send her on her way. She has a baby to deliver.”
“You are not being very hospitable to your guests.” said Gerard, who was feeling proprietary towards the girl, since he had brought her.
“Now lads,” said the midwife, in a bit of a panic, “I promise I will come back just as soon the I deliver the baby.”
“Will you, now?” said Ralph, reeking of vomit. “We’ll just have a go at you first, just to give you a taste!” he said and grabbed her away from Chaucer roughly by the shoulder. Chaucer stepped forward in anger and Ralph smiled. Chaucer faltered, but stood his ground. James took hold of the midwife, so Ralph could concentrate on Chaucer.
“No!” screamed the midwife.
“It’s all right Jinny!” said Chaucer, “I can take care of this ruffian!” he put his fists in front of him, prepared to give it his best. Ralph simply raised his fist over his shoulder; it was the size of Chaucer’s head. As he brought down his massive fist, the door swung open and blew out the lanterns, blanketing the room in darkness. Only the dim glow of the moon came in through the window.
There was an “Oof!” as Ralph swung at a target that was no longer there. Then, from the dim glow of the coals burning in the fireplace, a flame lit upon a straw faggot, and Henry Fitzhume brought the flame to his pipe and set it blazing.
The sudden change in the room momentarily stunned the group of demons. They stood agog staring at Henry as if he were a ghost. “What are you doing back here?” said James.
“I’ve come for a rematch.” said Henry with calm he did not actually feel. He puffed his pipe and pretended he was in a play. “Jinny, run along, don’t you have a baby to see to?” he said casually, as if Jinny were the one to be scolded for delinquency.
“Aye.” she said, and shook free. Still stunned, James let her go and she walked out the door, her heart pounding.
“Oh, you should not have done that.” said Ralph. “Gerard, go and get her back.” Gerard moved to the door, but when he opened it, a large forester stood in his way.
“Evening.” said the new man. he came in the door and, lighting a straw by his own pipe, he began to light the lanterns through out the room. “Name’s John” he said to no one in particular.
“You lads have come at a bad time.” said James gravely. “We don’t like having out fun spoiled.”
“Is that a fact?” said a man who had come in unnoticed through the kitchen. He too was smoking a pipe and dressed as a forester: all in an earthy green with a hooded cape.
“Who are you?” said Ralph.
“Why we’re the Merry Men, of course.” said another man leading several more into the main entrance.
“Who in blazes are the “Merry Men”?” demanded James.
“We are the outlaws of Sherwood.” said Will Skarlett, appearing, pipe in hand at the kitchen door.
“Well, that’s grand!” said James. “That’s just who we’re here to find! If you’re the outlaws of Sherwood, which one of you is Robin Hood?”
“That would be me.” said Robin coming through the front door, smoking his pipe. The foresters now outnumbered the demons, but the demons were much bigger. Each of them was a giant from the fables, covered in grime, hungry for English blood.
“At them!” ordered James. He plunged at Robin, who sidestepped and pulled his dagger. Robin chose to fight these soldiers indoors as soldiers were used to doing battle outdoors and so would be at a disadvantage. They would also be drunk, but they might be drunk in battle so he wasn’t sure that that would be the advantage it should be.
Some of the soldiers were armed and some had left their swords in their room. They all had daggers at least as that was part of their everyday dress. Robin’s boys all had daggers and some had swords, so on that count it was fairly even. Robin himself had a sword, but left it in its scabbard for now because he thought that there might not be room to fully utilize it in close quarters.
James, having overshot his mark wheeled immediately and hit Robin in the back with a massive blow. Robin fell into a table immediately in front of him and grabbed a lantern as it toppled. He pivoted on his heel and slammed the lantern into James’ skull. The glass broke. The lantern fat splattered onto his face and the flame spread across James’ head.
Chaucer felt guilty for wanting to set his inn on fire because it looked like his wish was about to come true. Robin Hood! Right here in his own inn! He watched with equal parts wonder and horror as Robin Hood and his band of outlaws engaged the demons that had possessed his inn for so long. The biggest one, his name was Little John, Chaucer knew, was not as big as any of these giants. He was fist fighting with Gerard. They were going toe to toe. Gerard threw a punch that would have killed a horse if it had landed, but it didn’t. Little John was spry and bobbed out of the way. He used the momentum he built from straightening up to carry into a punch that caught Gerard on the ear. Gerard looked more irritated than hurt. He swatted John’s arm away and threw a jab that struck John right in the nose, whipping his head back. Chaucer turned away.
He saw Robin Hood had his dagger out, and so did James. James had recovered from having his face burned. He had somehow extinguished his face without setting the inn on fire. It was bloody and red. He swiped at Robin, who leaned back, dodging the cut. Robin brought his blade up, straight at James’ chin, but James pulled away as Robin had.
Chaucer looked for Henry. He had been surprised to see him here, and even more surprised that he was with Robin Hood. He thought that those outlaws were murderous thugs who lived like animals in the forest, but Henry was a well mannered young man; quite the opposite of what he had associated with Robin’s outlaws.
He was still by the fireplace having a swordfight with James’ lieutenant, Edward. Henry was holding his sword with two hands and blocking hammering strikes by Edward. Even among the din, Chaucer could hear the clang of the swords as they sparked together. Edward brought his sword up in preparation for an unstoppable blow, and Henry used the opportunity to swing his own sword from where it had been over his head, sideways into Edward’s ribs. It was a gruesome blow, but as Chaucer looked about him, it was hardly the first or bloodiest blow. There were men on both sides being butchered. Some were dead already, others lay dying as their life’s blood drained out of them.
Little John was down on his knees. Gerard was pummeling him repeatedly on the head. He looked as if he were in for it.
Robin received a cut to his left shoulder. The only acknowledgement he gave was the line of his mouth was set even grimmer than it had been. Robin swiveled his dagger into a stabbing position and swung at his opponent’s chest. James saw it coming and batted it away so ferociously that Robin dropped his dagger. James now stabbed at Robin and Robin caught James’ wrists in both his hands and held fast. Now it was a contest of strength and James was clearly the stronger. Slowly, he brought the dagger down toward Robin’s heart. The two looked each other in the eye, hoping for some clue, some sign of weakening to take advantage of. Suddenly, Robin kneed James in the grion with all the force he could muster. James’ eyes dialated, and then he loosened his grip on his dagger. Robin pushed James’ wrists up enough to allow him to butt James in the head. James dropped his dagger and fell unconscious.
She had been careful to avoid drinking excessively at the dinner. She had been glad of the company, but unprepared to answer so many questions. She basically modeled herself after the saint she had named herself for, leaving out the majority of her namesake’s accomplishments. She told them she came from Bingen and was schooled in a convent there. She feared Cedric would recognize her ruse, but he seemed to have little interest in the accomplishments of women. The others were happy to talk about themselves, and everyone was interested when Hilde questioned Whitehand about the sheriff’s pressing plans. Everyone had some gossip to add to the story which was that the sheriff had been shocked at the army of outlaws attending Robin Hood (whom they seemed to admire and fear simultaneously), and was making preparations for “rooting him out of his nest in the woods”. This involved gathering an army. since none seemed to be rallying around the sheriff out of local patriotism, he was hiring brigands and riff raff from all over England and even abroad. They were presently trickling into the shire, with the sheriff carefully keeping them spread out in various townships throughout the shire. This presumably would keep Robin Hood from finding out about them. The sheriff was going to great lengths to keep his plans secret from the general population for the same reason. The select few at the table tonight, it was thought could be trusted.
Soon, they would be flooding in and it would be a problem for the sheriff to keep the shirefolk from noticing. There had already been some incidents of drunken brawling and thievery attributed to these mercenaries, but it couldn’t be helped and would only get worse. Nottinghamshire was to become a warzone but first it would have to endure the ravages of its “protectors”. The nobles felt secure that the sheriff could keep the army from accosting the wealthy and merely harass the poor, which seemed acceptable to all at table.
After the dinner, Cedric had one of the monks escort Hilde to her room at the inn. Hilde was tired and had dropped her fake German accent earlier, but most of the guests were drunk and didn’t notice. She thanked the old friar and sent him back to St. Mary’s. Her plan was to collapse on the bed and fall to sleep before her head touched her pillow. There was a movement in the shadows, and with a start she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room! She was prepared to flee into the night, when Robin stepped into the light of the window. She was relieved but furious at him for putting such a fright into her. She flew at him in a rage as her resentment for being in this whole mess came to the surface. On some level she blamed Robin for her troubles. After all, it had been in pursuit of Robin Hood that she had been arrested in the first place! It had been his actions that had caused the sheriff to come after St. Anne’s coffers. She knew she had to keep silent or they would be found out, so she released her pent up anger at him by pummeling his chest with her balled up fists. Marian was no shrinking wallflower, she had stabbed two guards and had practiced armed and unarmed combat in secret since she was a child. Robin could only take it for the space of a few seconds before he grabbed her by the wrists to stop her. They stared at each other in the dark, in that strange room on that awful night in their silly costumes, chests heaving, blood pumping.
Suddenly, they were kissing. Nearly as violently as the interaction a moment before. After a moment they stepped back and looked at each other again. Marian burst into tears, and Robin pulled her close and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. He kissed her lips again, tenderly and briefly this time. She lay her head against his chest and he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. He smelled her hair, and felt her body against his. He felt her breathing. She looked up at him and they kissed again, and didn’t stop.
Afterwards, when they had discarded all disguises, they lay entangled on her bed. She told him about the dinner, and the gossip of the sheriff’s plans. Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing the room in a blue glow. Marian starred out through the window into the night and watched the moon make its lonely journey across the sky amid the innumerable stars.
Robin melted back into the forest well before dawn, silent as a ghost. He reached his home and his fellows just as the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky watery yellow and pink. A few were up starting fires for breakfast or getting water. They nodded to Robin as they went about their morning chores.
Marian was right about one thing: Robin did love disguises. While Marian was taking a short nap before her dinner with Father Cedric, Robin was meeting Tuck at the Lying Hart tavern. The name was a play on the name of King Richard the Lion Heart, King John’s deceased brother and predecessor. It was also a pun as a “hart” is a male deer, as well as a homonym for the internal organ considered the house of human courage. Nearby Sherwood Forest was famous for its plentiful venison, which was the private property of King John. Robin was dressed as a traveling monk, wearing a black monk’s robe with the hood up to hide his infamous features. Tuck (who, as you will recall was actually a monk) was dressed in his disguise as a bearded merchant. He was posing as his own estranged brother who had come to visit only to find his brother, Brother Tuck, on the lam and took up his position. He told everyone to call him James. He had also lost weight while away from the regular meals and desk work of St. Anne’s. Everyone he met said that they could see the resemblance.
When Robin heard of Marian’s dinner date, he became agitated. He wanted to intervene, but could see no way of doing so with giving themselves away. Though he couldn’t storm the rectory, Robin felt he would be remiss in his part as a traveling monk not to pay a visit to St. Mary’s to pray to the statue of the Virgin for guidance. This way, he would be close at hand if anything were to go awry and he could spring to Marian’s aid. Of course he would have to be doubly careful not to be found out, or he would be putting Marian in more jeopardy just by being there.
Robin made his way to St Mary’s at dusk. The sun had just set, and the sky began to take on a rich, luminous, deep blue towards the East and fades to an almost colorless white on the opposite horizon. The old Norman structure of the church dominating the skyline with a stark silhouette. A cool breeze played across Robin’s face as he looked up at the facade of the church he had known since his childhood. How much longer would he have to be a fugitive in his hometown? It was with genuine humility Robin entered the church through the Narthex. He chose a pew at the back of the nave and knelt to pray. The church was empty except for Robin himself. He felt the silence as a physical presence. It filled his ears with an otherworldly sense of calling. He remembered his dream of Mary in the hermit’s cave. The dream had metamorphosed from being Mary to Marian; the name itself a derivation of Mary. The Virgin Mary was now the Maid Marian. Had that been the case all along? It was impossible. He had not even met Marian when he’d had the dream. What had been the rest of it? He had been chased by the sheriff. The crowd had simultaneously tried to help him even as it held him back. Why did the sheriff relentlessly try to destroy the orphanage and even the people of the shire? Robin had thought it was just bald greed. He had thought the sheriff was the embodiment of evil, but then there had been that encounter with the Earl of Lincoln. He had seemed more the devil than any man Robin had ever met: amiable yet exuding a malice which he seemed to relish. That the sheriff had chosen to side with Robin over the Earl was a mystery that Robin could not fathom. Were they rivals?
What was Robin to do? He was not content to spend the rest of his life in the forest. The people were rallying to Robin, but how could he utilize them? He couldn’t just declare war on the sheriff and march on Nottingham. He needed a plan, some way to bring the fight to the sheriff before the sheriff brought an army to burn him out of Sherwood.
The old vicarage of St. Mary’s was located behind a small grove of oak trees that stood between it and the back of the church. Cedric had the monks to keep the place clean and in good repair and could call on them to act as servants whenever there were guests, though when he ate alone he usually prepared his own meals, and cleaned up after himself on a day to day basis. This afternoon, he had had a goose prepared and gone quite out of his way to see that a sumptuous feast consisting of a salad with fresh greens, boiled quail eggs, and steamed vegetables, followed by eel and fish soup, sausages with fennel and rosemary, then the goose, with a dessert of blackberry pie and clotted cream. Cedric only served visiting officials from Rome or Canterbury meals like this. Though he never dined this way himself, he wanted to give his guest the impression that he could provide any luxury. The monks had given him odd looks, but knew better than to question the expense. Cedric had always demanded to obeyed in his orders, but had grown especially self important since the sheriff had deputized him. Evensong had barely finished (Cedric had given the task of officiating to yet another monk as he wanted to oversee the preparations) When there was a knock on the door. Cedric, dressed in his finest frock, answered the door himself and was quite surprised to see Sir Guy of Gisborne, Mayor of Nottingham and his wife, Greta.
“Are we late?” Greta said ridiculously, as the bells of evensong had only just finished peeling. “Where is this new teacher everyone is talking about?” Sir Guy handed Cedric his coat as if Cedric were a common servant and the two strode in and held out their hands until one of the monks placed goblets of wine in them. Cedric was about to demand who on Earth had invited the Gisbornes, but he never got the chance to, because there came a knocking on the door again. Having no doubt that this time it had to be Hilde. He opened the door with a big smile which was returned by Richard Whitehand and his wife Margaret. The Whitehands were part of the gentry of Nottingham and traveled in the company of the Gisbornes and the sheriff. They traipsed in, adding their coats to the growing stack in Cedric’s arms, and joined the Gisbornes, picking up a conversation that had been ongoing. Quite angry now, Cedric said to no one in particullar, “What in the devil is the meaning of this?” His guests looked at him, and then at each other, and then back at him. Richard’s face brightened and he said, “Ah, the sheriff! Sorry old chap, I’m afraid the sheriff couldn’t come tonight, he is in the midst of planning something quite important and rather large scale, I must say. He sends his regards though; says carry on without him and all that.” Cedric did not like being called “old chap” as he felt it was some kind of slang for “chaplain”. There was another knock at the door, and completely at his wit’s end, and barely able to open the door for all the coats he was holding, he swung the door open, screaming as he did so; “What is it now for God’s sake?” only to find that it was, of course Hilde, looking a bit flushed and taken aback for being yelled at. “Hilde!” Cedric cried, dropping the coats summarily on the floor to the side of the door so he could greet Hilde with open arms. “Come in! Come in! Welcome! I am so glad you could make it!”
“Ja, well you said you wouldn’t take no for the answer.” she said, wishing she had said no.
“Ja, I am Hilde the math teacher. I am from, uh, Derby. Ja Derby is vere I am from, und I have come to be a substitution teacher for the children.” Cedric mistook Marian’s blushing for shyness. She wished she were better at dissembling.
“Well, I suppose I should let you take over so I can get back to St. Mary’s. Perhaps you will join me in the rectory for dinner this evening to welcome you to Nottingham? Now, I won’t take no for an answer. We English Vicars are used to being obeyed. In everything… heh, heh. Just a joke, really. See you after evensong, then? Good. Well, I’ll leave the little vermin in your capable hands, then. Be stern with them. Don’t spare the rod and all that. You can bet I haven’t.”
Marian was mortified. She was just getting ready to be relieved that she had gotten through that short introduction without being detected, and now she would have to sit through dinner with the despicable cleric. Her proud warrior heritage seemed to have abandoned her, laughing as it went. She had so been looking forward to seeing the children and catching up with them, and now that they were here, safe in front of her, she could barely acknowledge their presence. She took a deep breath. She looked up at the children. They seemed to regard her with the same open mouthed neck craning curiosity one might look upon an owl attacking a small rodent. Years of caring for her small charges kicked in. “Well, shut your traps, have you never seen a priest invite a lady to dine before?”
“Marian?” said a young, blonde girl in pigtails herself seated in the third row.
“It is her! I told you she’d come back!” agreed another.
“Marian! Marian!” rose the chorus of children so that children from the neighboring classrooms and the yard outside overheard and began flooding into the small classroom.
“Well, do you children not see that I am in disguise? Do you want the sheriff to come here and arrest me? Then you had better learn to keep quiet and not tell anyone!” This was why she had risked everything to come back. This is why she knew that she had done the right thing. these children needed her. What’s more she needed them. She had been lost without them.
“Tell me,” she said, once she had quieted them down. “What has gone on since I’ve been gone?”
The children spent the rest of the day telling Marian how the sheriff had levied a special tax on St Anne’s and arrived with armed guards to receive payment in person. Since then, the meals had been reduced to just a small bowl of gruel in the morning, and a thin broth accompanied by stale bread in the evening. Theirs clothes were more threadbare than usual and some of the teachers had left to go work in the fields in order to better sustain their families and avoid the obvious persecutory wrath of the sheriff. Many of the children had become sick due to the nutrition and care that had been withheld from them. There was little to be done as the supplies in the infirmary had run nearly out. There had been a garden in which Marian personally grew medicinal herbs for the sick children, but Father Cecil had had the entire garden pulled and burned on the grounds that herbology was a form of witchcraft, and had threatened to ad that to the list of crimes Marian was wanted for. Marian could have shown him St. Hildegard’s own writing on the subject, but the Benedictine Nun & saint would probably not have been able to persuade Father Cecil to spare the herbs, were she there in person. Most of the medicinal plants grew in the greenwood, and Marian had planted them in the garden for the sake of convenience, so even though the herb garden was gone, the plants were still relatively close at hand.
Even so, Marian’s blood boiled with anger at the way these two men treated the children as if they were themselves weeds to be pulled and thrown into the fire. It wasn’t just neglect, ignorance, greed and vice fuelling the persecution of the children, it was a prejudicial bias against them. The sheriff and Father Cecil believed that orphans should be drowned like feral kittens. The two men resented the community’s effort to provide a decent upbringing for the unwanted, parentless offspring, whom they viewed as liable to grow up to be beggars or outlaws. Marian and Tuck were doing their level best to make sure that didn’t happen. By educating the children and providing a nurturing environment, they hoped the children could overcome the strike fate had dealt them and become productive members of the shire. Marian felt that the actions of the sheriff and Father Cecil would guarantee that their predictions as to the fate of the orphans would bare out. By treating them as unwanted and less than deserving, the children would internalize these attitudes and become the villains they were expected to become.
After class, as Marian told Tuck about the testimony of the children, she got so wound up that she nearly flew into a rage. There was no way, she swore, that she could have dinner with Father Cecil without killing him! Tuck tried too calm her down, to warn her that she would give them both away if she behaved at all like Marian. He gave her a glass of strong wine to sooth her nerves. She downed it so fast that even Tuck was taken aback.
He had, of course, learned about the tax, but the tale of the herbs was news to him. The only way that he could get Marian to go through with the dinner was to tell her to act as their spy. Perhaps she could find out something useful about the sheriff’s plans. Something that the sheriff would rather Robin and his friends not find out. Perhaps something concerning the sheriff’s plans for Robin and his friends. Marian held out her glass for a refill. Robin loved this kind of thing. This whole disguise idea had been his. He could be so annoying. Why didn’t he wear his hair in braids and flirt with Father Cecil? Then he would see! Actually, he would probably love it. He was such a rogue! She remembered the first time she had laid eyes on him. He had been in the dress shop when she’d arrived and looked like a beggar. Then he had produced the coins and offered to pay for her dress. She had known right then that he was trouble! Now look at her! She was going to have dinner with the man who had imprisoned her (for having one of those damn coins!), dressed like an invading Viking woman and she was expected to spy? Well, she would show them! She would do it! She would pry secrets out of Cecil that he didn’t even know he had. He would promise to find out the things he didn’t know. She would have him eating out of her hand! But first she had to lie down; she felt quite dizzy.
