A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest (9 page)

"Here's to Christian!" says Will Scarlet, raising his own mug. "And his plan to defeat the evil Sheriff of Nottingham!"

"To Christian!" the men chorus, raising their cups and downing their brew.

"This inspires me to song," Allan a Dale threatens.

"Good Christian came to Sherwood land,

His ideas 'twere sharp, though he 'twas not quite man.

He suggested we go and rob from the rich.

If only I didn't have that pesky groin—"

"Stop. Stop all this nonsense at once!" Robin cries, suddenly scrambling to his feet, anger flashing in his eyes. "This talk is madness.'' He paces toward the waning fire and back again,
then turns to face his men. "When I found you lot, you were a sorry sight to be had. Starving, outlawed, nothing to call your own. I brought you here to this haven and we made a life for ourselves. We may not be rich, we may still be outlaws, but we have fresh meat every night and no longer fear for our lives at every turn." He places his hands on his hips and scans the crowd. "Do you really wish to abandon everything we've worked for just because a stranger suggests it? It sounds a grand plan, to be sure, but is any one of you willing to die like that? To risk all we've gained?"

"You may be safe and sound here, Robin," I say, furious that he's undermining me again. Selfish bastard. "But what about these men's wives?
Their children? Heck, what about their father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommates?" (Yes, I've seen Space-balls three too many times.) "They're starving. Dying. And we have a means to stop that. How can you just sit back and not do anything?"

Robin shakes his head. "The church has sheltered you from reality, young Christian. You do not know what the Sheriff is capable of. He will hang every man here, and their limp bodies and broken necks will not slacken his appetite for the morning meal."

"But—"

"I will hear no more of this," Robin says. "You have disrespected me once, pleading for the woman. And you nearly made me lose my own neck by defending the Miller's son earlier this day. You are lucky I do not throw you out of the forest or deliver you to the Sheriff of Nottingham myself. So be still and enjoy this night of sanctuary I offer you, or fend for yourself out in the wilds. I do not care which."

And with that, he storms off into the night. I stare after him, extremely pissed. How dare he? No one talks to me like that. What a jerk!

"Do not mind him, lad," Little John says, interrupting my internal rant. "He will come back."

"What's his problem?" I growl.

"He is angry because he knows you speak true," Little John says with a shrug. "But he is afraid."

Afraid? The big bad outlaw is afraid? I'm in the freaking 12th century here and I'm not scared. Well, maybe a little, but still. "He doesn't seem afraid. He just seems like a stubborn old goat to me," I complain, hoping they won't take offense to me bashing their head guy, even though he obviously deserves it.

Luckily the men just laugh. "Aye," Friar Tuck says, raising his glass. "He can be at that!"

"A right bastard at times," agrees Allan aDale. "I've penned many a song about it."

I shake my head. "So why do you guys follow him? I mean, he is your leader, right?"

The laughter dies away and Little John turns to me with a serious expression on his burly face. "Because, young Christian, beneath that prickly shell lies a truly great man. A man who saved us all."

"We were nothing before Robin came along," Will Scarlet continues. "Penniless outlaws who'd all but lost the will to live. We roamed the countryside, starving and alone, unable to show our faces in the villages for more than a day or two, lest the sheriff get wind of our location. But Robin saw the good in us."

"He pulled us from the taverns where we drowned our sorrows in watery brews and bade us follow him," chimes in Friar Tuck. "He offered us sanctuary here in this forest—a simple hideaway where we can live freely and without fear of being caught. Here we can await the true king's return, and there is always enough to eat and, of course, to drink." He holds up his mug with a smirk. "In Sherwood Forest we work together and never want for any creature comfort."

"So you see, Christian, Robin may seem as unbending as a mighty oak, but his heart is true," Little John concludes. "He cares more for us then he does his own life. And he will gladly die to protect what he has built here."

Wow. And here I just thought he was a pig-headed jerk. Serves me right for jumping to conclusions. "I'm going to go talk to him," I say.

"Perhaps 'tis better to wait," Little John suggests gently. "He is a good man and will see that you are right once he thinks upon it a bit."

"Meh, I've never been one to let the sun go down on an argument," I say. "I’ll be right back."

I head away from the fire, its warmth fading with its glow. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they do, I see that there is a small pond not
far from the camp. I walk toward it, pulling branches away and letting them snap back behind me. I hope there are no ticks in Sherwood Forest. Or that lyme disease has yet to be invented.

I find Robin seated on a rock by the shoreline. The full moon illuminates half of his face. He's throwing pebbles into the water, watching them skip before sinking into the depths of the pond.

I walk over and sit down on an adjacent rock. It's not the most comfortable seat in the universe, but better than the damp ground, I guess. Seriously, my kingdom for a La-Z Boy recliner.

"I'm sorry," I say in my sweetest voice—the non-threatening one I used to reserve for calming my third foster father down when he was in one of his drunken rages. "I was out of line. I'm a guest here and I overstepped my bounds."

"Aye," Robin says, kicking at the muddy ground with his leather-clad toe. "But you said only what needed to be said. And bravely too, I might add. With little thought to your own situation. I admire your courage."

"Huh?" I was not expecting this. Was he actually apologizing?

He sighs before speaking. "Do not think for one moment I am unaware of the poverty and injustice that surrounds this forest, lad. I am not blind. ‘Twere it in my power to make a difference—to do something good—I'd be the first to attempt it."

"Then why not? Why not give my idea a try?"

"It sounds simple, but there is risk," he says. "I have seen what Prince John is capable of, and 'tis not pretty. I want to protect my men, and I do not like the idea of putting them in danger."

"They're grown men, Robin. Surely they should decide for themselves,''

Robin stares up at the moon, as if lost in thought.

"I fought overseas during the Third Crusade," he says at last, turning back to look at me, though his green eyes still seem distant, "with many a valiant English knight and our brave King Richard. We fought hard and long, and were in sight of the Holy City of Jerusalem. We thought God had given us victory."

"But... not so much, I take it?"

"The climate is unmercifully harsh.
And water, scarce. We ran out of food and had no way to replenish our stores. We weakened day by day, until one morning our band was attacked and those not killed were captured. I spent three months in a Muslim prison. Tortured. Barely fed. I thought I would die there."

"But you didn't."

"Nay, I managed to escape and make my way back to England. When I got here, I realized I should have allowed them to kill me back in the East."

"What do you mean?"

"I introduced myself to you as Robin of Locksley, and so I am—by birth, lord of that land. But when I arrived back from the Crusades, weary and ready to return to the comfort of my castle and people, I realized I had neither left to me.

"My father was killed, hung as a traitor in his own castle courtyard. A loyal subject to King Richard to his dying breath, he was too outspoken for his own good. Prince John felt threatened by my father's loyalty, his unwavering support for our brave true king and his rash words against the injustices of the current rule. So the prince had him executed." Robin squeezes his hands into lists, a scowl washing over
his otherwise handsome face. "The bastard prince then seized our lands, ruling that a traitor's kingdom should be handed over to the throne."

"That's terrible," I cry. No wonder the guy's so bitter.

"Yes. When I returned and found my lands taken and my father murdered, I flew into a rage. I was blind with fury—my only thoughts were those of revenge. I gathered up a small army of men who had returned from the crusades with me. Many of them had also lost their lands and were as bloodthirsty as I. We planned an attack on a small castle south of here, where it was rumored Prince John had taken up residence after growing bored of the court at Nottingham. Our spies said he had only a handful of guards watching him, and we thought 'twould be an easy victory."

"But again not so much, right?"

Robin's face darkens as he relives what must have been a nightmare for him. "Nay. We were betrayed. Two nights before we planned to attack, I allowed the men to go home to their villages—to lie with their wives and play with their children. I thought 'twould do them good, give them a reason to fight. But 'twas just the opposite. Robert of Appleby, one of my best men and a good friend throughout the crusades, met up with his mistress, and after she plied him with ale he confessed to our plan—aiming to impress her, he said. And impress her he did. Enough to send her straight to the sheriff. When we arrived at the castle two mornings later, they were waiting to ambush us."

"Wow." That sucks. No wonder Robin's so pissed off at females.

"For lust of a woman, dozens of fine Englishmen were lost that day," Robin continues bitterly." "Twas a massacre, and I barely escaped with my life. Most of the others were killed."

"And that's when you became an outlaw."

"Aye. For weeks I wandered, half dead in my sorrow. I drank too much and barely ate. But then I began to meet men—lost men, like me, outlawed for remaining loyal to King Richard. Unable to go home to their families, or to work to earn their bread. It dawned on me that while alone we were all weak and powerless, together we might create some sort of life. So I gathered them to me and we set up this small village deep in Sherwood Forest. No one knows that we are here, and thus we can live safely, gathering from the land what we need to survive."

"You do have a sweet setup, I must say."

"So you see, Christian, while I think your ideas are noble and brave and good, I worry that by becoming champions of the poor, we will lose the little peace we have created for ourselves. And with no hope of victory."

"I understand," I say. "But I'm not talking an all-out war on Nottingham this time.
Just a few small robberies here and there. I mean, sure, you and your men are all hooked up here in the forest. But what about the others? Your men's families? The little girl we saw earlier in that cottage? The little boy who almost had his hand cut off? It's in your power to ease their suffering. Do you want to just sit around in the woods, chowing on deer and letting them suffer?"

He stares out into the water for another moment, grabbing another rock in his fist and flipping it into the pond. It skims the surface a moment before sinking.

"Mayhap you are right," he says at last. "Those who lived in Locksley, peasants who were always loyal and true, now die of starvation and disease. And I sit, a coward in the forest allowing it to happen." He hangs his head. "My father would be ashamed."

"So let's do something about it," I urge. "Let's give the sheriff a run for his money. I'll help. It'll be fun, in a way. Outwitting the bad guys and making them look like fools. Showing up in the villages armed with bread and meat. Showering the children with silver."

Robin smiles a little. "You are right. I can no longer sit by selfishly and watch my people suffer. I am not that man." He turns to look at me, and if I didn't know better, I'd say his eyes look a bit moist. "Thank you, young Christian," he says. "You come to my camp a stranger, but teach me more truth in one night than I have been willing to hear in a year."

I'm glad it's dark, 'cause I know I'm blushing. And the worst part is, he's looking at me all goofy and grateful. Like, if I were a girl, I bet this is the point where he'd kiss me. But he can't. He thinks I'm a boy. And while some legends have been proven wrong, I’m still guessing Robin probably digs chicks.

He shakes his head and the intimate moment breaks. He scrambles to his feet.

"We had better get some sleep," he says, back to his old cocky self, "
if in the morn we are going to outwit the sheriff and Prince John."

I grin. "Sounds like a plan."

Chapter Six

Whoooooosh
!

The arrow whistling through the trees announces the arrival of the carriage.
We'd been tipped off of their schedule by some friends of Will Scarlet's, and now we're all in place. Ready to rob. I, myself, am lodged quite uncomfortably in a nearby tree, small sword in hand. I've been practicing alongside the men for the last three days, but I don't think this blade will be a deadly weapon in my hands anytime soon. Ah well. We're not out to kill anyway. Just to scare. And rob.