Robyn and the Hoodettes (5 page)

Joan asked, “What’s this about ‘hoded men’?”

“
Hooded,” Marion corrected. “They’re saying the woods are full
of hooded men.”

“
Where?” Joan asked.

“
I think they mean us,” Robyn said, pressing her lips together
in thought. “They mustn’t have got a good look at our
faces.”

Joan looked offended. “They thought I was a man? Honestly, I
did a fine job of sorting them out and they’re not even giving me
the credit for it!”

“
Hang on a minute. This could work in our favour.” Robyn
said.

“
You’re thinking what I’m thinking then,” Marion
said.

Robyn nodded. “They’re looking for a band of men, not a couple
of girls.”

“
Young ladies, please.” Joan looked thoroughly annoyed at this
development.

“
A couple of very strong ladies that handed them their
backsides,” Marion added for good measure.

Nice save, Robyn thought.

Eleanor butted in. “And they’ve moved everyone
out?”

“
To Sheffield. They’re saying it’s for our own good, but
it’s bull–”

“–
Marion!” Eleanor said, sounding like everyone’s
mother.

“
Sorry. I meant to say it’s not the truth.”

Joan’s brows tented in the middle. “When the villages are
empty, you can bet they’ll come back and steal everything that
isn’t nailed down. And then they’ll say it was the thieves or
something.”

“
Lovely!” Eleanor said, dripping with sarcasm. “They move us
out because of thieves, but they’re the ones who are doing the
thieving!”

The breath flew out of Robyn. All that adventure and
excitement and fear . . . all that effort of getting back their
stolen food and clothing and tools . . . only to have them stolen
again. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind they’d take
everything they could from the village as sure as chickens laid
eggs.

At least their winter wheat was safely in the
ground.

The others kept talking and complaining for a while, which
gave Robyn time to set her worries into a stew.

In a clear, firm voice, Robyn said, “Everyone, be quiet, I
know what to do.” To her surprise, her mother, Joan and Marion all
stopped talking and turned to her.

What power!

“
Joan, I’m sorry about this but we need to take everything
of value
that’s left in the cottages and pile them into the
tower.”

Instead of questioning Robyn, Joan immediately nodded and
said, “Good idea!” Then she set off towards her cottage to raid her
parents’ belongings.

Eleanor looked at her expectantly, awaiting orders. If Robyn
weren’t careful, this power trip would give her delusions of
grandeur.

“
Mother, take Shadow down to the river, and keep her out the
way. We can’t risk them recognizing her. See if you can find the
chickens while you’re down there.”

“
Will do. Come on girl,” Eleanor clicked her tongue and guided
Shadow gently by the neck, leading her away from the
village.

“
What do you need from me?” Marion asked.

A lump formed in Robyn’s throat. Checking left and right to
make sure the others were out of the way, Robyn kept her voice low
and said, “I need you to tell me what this says.”

She steeled herself for laughter. Derision.
Confusion.

None of it came. Marion merely nodded and read the parchment,
his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard.

Shame flooded her. He must have known all along that she
couldn’t read.

Marion didn’t boast either. The very least he could do was
look smug; that way she could get properly cross with him. But no,
he was all understanding and compassion.

Damn him.

The moment he finished reading, he rolled the parchment up and
pointed to an empty cottage. “I’ll raid that one.”

“
Good, I’ll climb the tower and see if they’re
coming.”

“
Gotcha.” And off he raced.

Back up the tower Robyn charged, her heart pumping fast with
excitement and fear. She scrambled up the flights of ladders and
trapdoors until she was high above the world, looking back towards
Loxley.

With shoulders hitching towards her ears, Robyn tried to stay
calm. There was no sign of the Sheriff’s men, yet.

Cool autumn winds teased her neck as she scanned the
neighbourhood. She was grateful for the season of trees with bare
branches. If it were summer, the leaves would be so thick and lush
she wouldn’t be able to see the road.

Below, Joan and Marion raided each house and brought clothes,
pots and even three-legged stools out.

Joan tossed the pieces up, and one by one Robyn caught them
and shoved them over by the wall. Speed was the essence, not
neatness. Meanwhile, Marion raided the two remaining cottages, his
arms overflowing.

Get it done, then get safe.
“Is that all of them?” Robyn called out as
she caught a clay pot and placed it to the side.

“
Can’t see anything else,” Marion said.

“
That’s why we’re called Littleton,” Joan said, adding a
grin.

Marion pointed over his shoulder. “What about the cottages
back that way, around the bend?”

“
No, too far away, they could be here any moment,” Robyn said
as she caught a folded sheepskin. “Climb up to the top and keep
watch for us.”

Before Marion could place a hand on the ladder, Joan threw up
an axe.

Robyn yelped as the weapon made swoosh going past her
head.

Clangggggg!
The axe took a chunk out of the wall.

Robyn’s heart nearly scrambled out her throat in
fear.

“
Watchit!” Robyn and Marion yelled at the same time.

“
Sorry!” Joan said. “I did throw it handle first.”

“
Are you all right?” Marion asked as he clambered
up.

“
Yeah, course.”

“
Better we have the axes than they do,” Joan said from below.
“Keep back, I’m throwing another one up now.”

Robyn kept well back as the second axe sailed past.

Taking a quick stock take, they had plenty of pots and cloths
and small farming tools. But nothing to eat. Grabbing an
earthenware jug, Robyn tossed it down to Joan, who caught it in her
strong hands. “Fill this up from the river, then bring mother back
here as fast as you can. If the Sheriff’s men get here before then,
get out of town, all right?”

Joan gave Robyn a wink and a salute, “I’ll leave you two alone
if that’s what you mean.”

Heat tore through her. “Hey, what?” Robyn called after Joan,
but the rude girl only waved as she jogged away.

Robyn made ready to climb down the ladder and set Joan
straight when Marion called out from above, “They’re
coming!”

CHAPTER FOUR

Heart racing faster than galloping horses, Robyn hauled up
the ladder below her to cut off access. At least now they were safe
from the Sheriff’s men climbing after them.

“
Good thinking,” Marion said as he came down to
help.

“
But now Joan won’t be able to get up.”

Marion scratched his head for a moment. “She and Mother
Eleanor are smart. They’ll stay by the river. Let’s get the next
ladder up as well.” Marion said.

It was exhausting work.
Robyn welcomed the burn in her muscles, it
meant she was too busy to acknowledge the guilt swirling through
her. Guilt for not thinking properly when the taxmen had first come
to Loxley. For not thinking of some other way to save their grain
without getting everybody into trouble.

Every trapdoor they closed made the inside of the tower
that much darker. Dust scratched her throat and nose. As they
scrambled out the last hatch to the top of the tower, the air had
never smelled so crisp.

Marion pulled a loose stone block from the top of the
battlements and carried it over to the trap door, jamming it shut
from above.

“
Nice one, muscles,” Robyn said.

“
Thanks Robbie.”
Marion shrugged away the compliment.

Peeking from behind the walls, t
hey saw the Sheriff’s men. Their
horses leading a single carriage clip-clopped into Littleton. They
were wearing ordinary clothes and coats. Some had shiny long boots
with buckles that gleamed in the sun, others had laced-up shoes.
She hadn’t seen such a mismatched team since her father had marched
off with the village men to join the crusade.

The only motif signifying their team status was a brown
armband with a sheaf of wheat on it; the herald of Sheffield. Robyn
scratched her brain and concluded their liege lord in Sheffield had
to know about everything that had happened in Loxley–but only from
the taxmen’s point of view.

“
All stop,” the man in charge said.

Robyn whispered to Marion, “It’s the same man from the
yesterday.”

“
Come back to finish the job,” Marion said with an equally low
tone.

In silence, they watched as the men creaked and groaned
from their positions on the horses and carriage. They looked sore
and tired, moving stiffly. Robyn sent up a silent prayer of thanks
for Joan giving them so many bruises the evening before.

The men shucked their riding gloves off and sorted
themselves out at a leisurely pace.

Horror dawned on Robyn. “They’re not here to steal, they’re
here to settle in.” Maybe that’s why Littleton was empty when
they’d arrived?
“Perhaps last night . . .” worry spiked Robyn afresh. After
she and Joan had attacked them on the King’s Road, the men must
have been furious. Had they taken their anger out on the people of
Littleton?

No, wait. When she’d found Joan by the river, she’d said
they’d already been raided.

Then again, what if the Sheriff’s mob had gone back through
Littleton after the attack and made things worse?

Marion scrunched his face up. “Littleton’s so small. Why
wouldn’t they stay in Loxley? Our village is heaps
better.”

“
The great Loxley-Littleton rivalry.”

A whiff of smoke carried on the wind.
Sniffing Robyn said, “Do you
smell that?”

“
Have they lit a fire?”

Lighting a fire was a sure sign of settling in. Of keeping
warm over night, getting comfortable, drinking and telling
stories.

Why couldn’t they simply go away?

Robyn craned her neck and peered through the toothy square
gaps of the battlement. It was hard to get a good look because she
was trying desperately not to be seen from below. If she stuck her
head out too far, the tax collectors would only have to look up and
they’d see her.

“
I can’t see it, but the smell is getting
stronger.”

“
God in heaven. Look.” Marion put his hand under Robyn’s
chin and tilted her face upwards so she could see further up the
road.

F
ire.

Coming from Loxley.

Or, more accurately, the smoke of a fire, which puffed and
grew in size like a thundercloud growing from the earth.

“
I’m going to kill them.” Robyn’s hands clenched into
fists.

“
Get in line,” Marion said. He grabbed one of the ladder’s
they’d hauled up and kicked the rungs free. Then he grabbed one of
the axes and sharpened the rung into a fine dagger
point.

Robyn joined him. Their furious whittling soon produced a
short pile of pointy stakes.

“
Mister Roger,” somebody called out from below.

Robyn and Marion instantly stopped and craned their ears. So
Roger was the man in charge, was he? She made a mental note to
remember it.

“
What is it?” Roger said.

“
Someone’s been here. There used to be a sheepskin in this
cottage, now it’s gone.”

“
Aww, do you need something soft for your bottom?” Roger
said.

The air filled with raucous laughter, which quickly changed to
coughing fits as the smoke from Loxley’s fires carried in the wind
and coated them.

The smoke stung Robyn’s eyes. Marion too looked
uncomfortable. The knowledge the men below were bearing the same
pain gave her some satisfaction. Then the truth of the situation
made her angry all over again. They were burning her
village!

“
I’ll get you back, Roger,” she vowed. “You won’t even see it
coming.”

Eyes watering, Robyn and Marion held their hoods over their
mouths and noses, filtering out the smoke.

How strange that now, of all times, Robyn should notice how
long Marion’s eyelashes were. Had they always been like
that?

Below them, Roger’s men approached the nearest cottage and
yanked a broom’s worth of thatching from the roof.

A sharp metallic scratching filled the air. Robyn craned
her neck again to see Roger striking a blade against a flint.
Sparks flew out and caught the top of the thatching, turning it
into a fast-burning torch. They strolled from cottage to cottage
setting the roofs on fire.