Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) (28 page)

“Come on, then!” he snarled. “I may just be one man, but even if you prove as stout as this fellow turned out to be, I will fight you all to the bitter end! I will not cry ‘Mercy’ to anybody!”

“Enough!” Robin shouted, seizing the back of the twins’ tunics simultaneously. When it seemed as though they would ignore her command, she repeated it again with stern emphasis: “
Enough
.”

Reluctantly, they obeyed her, relaxing their aggressive postures and taking a step back—Glenneth first, and Shane a moment later. “Aye, Robin,” they submitted, the disappointment in their voices clear.

“Robin?” Arthur a Bland gasped. “Robin Hood?” His gaze passed from one Lincoln-clad man to the other, coming to rest on the flaxen-haired youth he had just fought, the boy the dark one had called, “Master.” Arthur’s grip on his staff grew weak as he made the connection, and the wooden pole clattered to the ground.

Robin flinched and winced, her shoulder and side still throbbing from the match. To add to her vexation, the man she had just fought was now gazing at her in disbelief and apparent awe. “What?” she demanded crossly.

“I did ne realize,” he began, his voice quivering a little. “I would never have wanted—never have dared—to raise my staff against
ye
. Forgive me.”

Bewildered by his abrupt change of demeanor, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, Robin seized the opportunity to salvage her reputation and her pride.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she informed the man. “We were wrong to accuse you of poaching, and there is no shame to admit it. I, for one, am glad of any soul who is stout enough to defend against injustice.”

The man beamed at her self-consciously. “’Twas nothing.”

“Indeed, it
was
something,” Robin said, barely masking the rueful note in her voice as she touched her tender ribs. “You keep fighting against injustice, Arthur a Bland, no matter how small it may be. We have great need of such men.”

Her words stunned Arthur, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, let me join ye!” he begged. “To live a life in the forest I love, to see the dun deer always and to have brave men like ye for my companions is the height of my desire! Yessir, and if ye will forgive me my impertinence, I would be most willing to join yer band!”

The force of his unexpected response took Robin aback. She had been speaking of society in general, not of her band, but this man had clearly misconstrued her meaning. Still, she could not very well take back her words—there had been enough misunderstanding between them for one day. Even so, she tried.

“No one in my band would be here if they had anyplace better to be. Either they have lost their homes due to taxes, or they cannot return to them because they are outlaws. You still have a place in society. Consider well the riches you possess before you abandon them.”

Arthur a Bland gave an indifferent shrug. “I have no family to miss, and what is a house to me? Merely a place to sleep, and I can do that here as well as anywhere else. Let me join ye!” he beseeched.

His choice baffled Robin, but she nodded.

Immediately, Shane and Glenneth came forward to clasp their new comrade on the shoulder, buffeting him with their accepting laughter, their natures as quick to forgive as they were to attack. They spent the rest of the return journey through the Sherwood tossing the tale of what had just happened back-and-forth between them as they walked, all the better to recount the occurrence once they reached the camp. Amazed by how the story was aggrandizing before her very ears, Robin followed the threesome at a more sedate pace, shaking her head in silent wonder.

* * * * *

Shane and Glenneth took to Arthur a Bland right away, for all that he was a cudgeller and a wrestler and not a bowman like they. He was brash and coarse, with a streak of naughty humor that other men seemed to delight in.

Not everyone attended to the new arrival, however.

“What is
his
problem?” Arthur asked the twins one day in a whisper meant to be overheard. He gestured to the ridge overlooking the river, where a man had been sitting all morning. It was Little John, staring silently into the distance and pondering many lonely and troubled thoughts. His back stiffened slightly at Arthur’s comment, but he ignored it.

Shane shrugged and glanced over at Little John. “Who knows? Ever since spring began, it has been like he is only half there.”

“Ah,” Arthur said wisely. “Of course.”

“Of course, what?” Glenneth demanded. It irritated him to have to guess at others’ thoughts.

Arthur paused for effect. “Yer friend is undoubtedly suffering from . . . spring fever!” he announced. When this diagnosis was met by blank looks, he expounded impatiently, “Spring fever—the feeling of hot vigor rushing through yer blood after a winter’s restraint; the desire to prove yer vitality again—to pursue, to conquer! The fever that can only be allayed by the tender ministrations and submission of the fairer sex.”

“In English?” Glenneth asked.

“Yer friend needs a girl,” Arthur exclaimed, exasperated. He strode over to where Little John sat and seized his shoulder. “Come, my good man. Let us take ye into town—I know a couple of wenches there who are always welcoming, and whose hospitality is everything a man could desire.”

“I have no need for such hospitality,” Little John told him coldly, brushing the man’s hand off his shoulder.

“Nonsense,” Arthur blustered, beckoning to the twins. “We will get ye a girl, or we will not return home tonight!” He seized one of Little John’s massive arms, and Shane and Glenneth impulsively seized the other, and between the three of them they managed to haul Little John to his feet.

Little John’s face turned red with anger and he was about to throw them off, but like a sword being doused in water, his ire abruptly cooled, giving way to a sense of exhaustion. He could not battle these men and his own thoughts, too. With a sigh of resignation that bespoke the turbulence of his mind more eloquently than any words, he allowed the trio to steer him towards the edge of the clearing.

* * * * *

Robin, just returning to camp from one of her forest rambles, gazed curiously at the quartet as they passed her by. Shane and Glenneth were chuckling boisterously at something Arthur had said and did not notice her; Little John, caught up in the midst of the group, faltered for a second when he saw her, but then averted his gaze and strode on.

It matters not
, Robin lied to herself, trying to brush off the hurt of his evasion. Seeking a diversion, her gaze fixed on Will Stutley, who was sitting with an air of utter dejection upon a nearby rock, his head bowed disconsolately.

“Anything the matter, Will?” she asked, walking over and sitting down beside him. “Why the long face?”

“Shane and Glenneth are takin’ Little John t’ town t’ get a girl, but Arthur will ne let me come along. ’E called me a little boy! I am ne little—I am a man, and I ’ave as much right to a girl as anyone!” he exclaimed defensively.

“Oh,” Robin said faintly. “Oh, I see.” She felt as if someone had just rammed a quarterstaff into her gut for the second time that week; all at once, she could not breathe.

“’Tis ne fair,” Will complained petulantly, not noticing her distress as he buried his chin in the palm of his hand.

An inexplicable anger filled Robin, pushing aside the pang in her stomach and releasing the constriction that bound her lungs, allowing her to breathe once more. She got to her feet. “No, it is
not
fair, and I for one will not sit here pouting while the others go out and have their fun. We will find an adventure of our own, shan’t we, Will?”

“Will there be girls?” he asked hopefully.

Robin gave a bitter laugh. “I will see what I can do.”

* * * * *

They made their way through the Sherwood, Will trusting that Robin had something wondrous in mind to soothe his wounded spirit, and Robin knowing only that she needed to find something to distract herself from Will’s dismaying news before it could overwhelm her.

How could Little John just go off like that? Had he no self-respect? Or was the lure of female flesh more important than their feelings?

“Oh, whom am I kidding?” she said aloud. There was no
their
.

“Wha’ were that, Robin?” queried Will from a few paces behind her.

She waved a dismissive hand to show that it was nothing.

Yes, nothing. John has made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with me—with the woman, Robin. And it is not as if I ever told him how I felt. I have no claim on him.

“It is his choice—his life,” she muttered angrily, her voice too soft for Will to hear. “I cannot—I mean, I have no
right
to stand in his way.”

The thought did not comfort her.

Eventually, Robin’s aimless trudging led the pair to the High Road. As she hesitated over where to go, a cart ambled down the highway. The smell of ham and mutton, steak and goat meat hit her nose hard—the driver was obviously a butcher on his way to Nottingham’s market to sell his wares.

On a whimsical impulse, Robin stepped out into the roadway. “Good sir, halt a moment,” she called; the surprised butcher obediently reined in his horse.

“Good morning, friends,” he called blithely, looking down at the pair with cheerful curiosity. “Why have you stopped me?”

“My name is Robin Hood—” she began, but she got no farther than that, for the butcher let out a low moan and dropped his reins, drawing back in his seat in fright.

“Please sir, I am an honest man!” he cried. “I am on my way to Nottingham to sell my meat so I can provide for the dear lass who has pledged to be my bride. I have done you no harm, sir, and I have cheated no one, so if you are the man I have heard tell about, I beg you, sir, take naught from me!”

“Calm down,” Robin implored, although the man seemed inclined to do no such thing. “You are to be wed?” she asked, trying to set him at ease.

“Next Thursday,” he replied, anxiety etching deeper into his face.

“Well, sir, I have never robbed an honest man, least of all one who was about to be married. I would like to buy your meat from you, and your cart and your horse, too, if you are willing. How much is their value?”

Will shot her a questioning look—was this part of the adventure?—but he did not interrupt.

The butcher was also puzzled. He stammered as he answered, “Four–four marks for everything, but less if I cannot sell all my meat.”

“I will give you six marks,” Robin told him, pulling from her purse more money than a common man could earn in a year. The butcher gaped at the silver coins. “Consider the balance a gift to help set you upon your married life.”

The butcher clambered down from his seat, stuttering his thanks. He took the coins from Robin and quickly slipped them into his own purse, shoving the pouch deep within his tunic. Robin climbed into the cart and helped Will up beside her. With a flick of the reins, the horse ambled off toward Nottingham, the incredulous butcher watching the outlaws depart with his mouth agape.

Robin flicked the reins again, inciting the horse into a trot; she was eager to get to Nottingham and to the diversion it promised.

* * * * *

An avid crowd had gathered around the butcher’s market, their necks craned in an attempt to catch sight of the wondrous new vendor. The other meat-sellers’ stalls were devoid of customers, and the butchers behind them glowered at the newcomer and muttered darkly to themselves.

From behind her butcher’s bench, Robin—clad in the bloodstained apron she had found in the back of the cart—cleaved contentedly at the butcher’s meat. When one slab was done, Will would whisk the pieces away for sale and lay another slab in its place.

Every now-and-again, Robin would pause in her cutting and cry out in a loud voice,

“Meat, meat, now who will buy my meat? Fat priests and greedy merchants stay away—I like you not and will make you pay twice what my meat is worth. The common man may choose to buy, it matters not to me—I will charge you three pennies for three pennies worth of meat. Now the goodwives among you have a friend in me—I will give you three pennies worth for just one penny. But the pretty maids among you will like us best—you get the choicest meat for the price of just one kiss.”

Laughter turned to astonishment as the crowd saw things were just as Robin said, for Will would hand a man his money’s worth of meat, but a lady would walk away with three times the meat she had paid for. As for the girls, they swarmed around the stall, accepting tender cuts from the handsome Will and giving his lips a savory kiss in return.

Robin was more than happy to let Will handle the exchange, laughing inside at how the lad’s eyes would light up with each maid he espied. Some of the girls were disappointed that the handsome butcher was letting his brother do all the work, but Will quickly made them forget their dismay.

“This is wonderful!” he told Robin during a brief lull. “Can we do this ag’in t’morrow?” He did not wait for an answer, for a fetching young woman had just approached the stall, and he turned to trade her some meat with a broad grin on his face. Robin chuckled and returned to cleaving the meat with a grin of her own. This charade was far more diverting than she had expected it to be, so much so that Robin soon forgot the bitter mood that had driven her out of the Sherwood.

It gave her a horrible start, therefore, the next time she glanced up, to recognize those waiting in line for her meat.

“Ye cleave a pretty bargain, Robin,” Arthur a Bland said cheerfully, “but as ye can see, I already have all the morsels I need.” He had his arms wrapped around two buxom ladies—one blonde, the other brunette. The brunette winked at Robin saucily.

Looking beyond him, Robin saw Shane and Glenneth, each with a lady clinging to their forearm. John, she noted with selfish relief, walked alone.

Catching her gaze, Arthur misinterpreted its meaning. “Yes, ’tis a fair shame, is it ne? Fool man refuses to have anything to do with these heavenly beauties. Oh well, the more for me and the merrier I shall be. An oath is an oath, and I shan’t be coming home tonight!”