Robin Hood

Climbing the rest of the way to the top of the gate, Jimoen set his hook, hung the naphtha bag, and after pumping his fist in celebration, leaped from the gate.

At least that was the plan.

Instead of dropping, though, the young fool just hung there. Somehow, he had managed to hook not only the leather sack, but also his cloak. He flailed his arms and kicked his feet, trying desperately to break free, but to no avail. Seeing this, several of the French archers leaned out over the wall again, and tried to finish him.

As Will and Allan fired at the bowmen, Robin dashed toward the castle. Halfway there, he scooped up a discarded shield, practically without breaking stride. When he reached the base of the gate, he shouted Jimoen's name and tossed the shield up to the lad.

Jimoen caught it, and put it over his head, barely in time to block a bolt that would have pierced his skull.

Robin began to climb, hearing cheers behind him.

“Look what they do for the Lionheart!” he heard the king call out.

The French archers were still firing, but as he drew closer to Jimoen, Robin caught the scent of something far worse than arrows and bolts. Boiling oil. The French were preparing to pour it over them. He reached the young soldier and after a moment's struggle managed to unhook him. They dropped to the ground and rolled away just as the oil splashed down the castle walls. Grabbing hold of the shield, Robin and Jimoen sprinted back to safety, bolts and arrows pelting the ground and the shield. More cheers greeted them when at last they ducked behind the barn door.

THE LONTOBYN CHRONICLE

Book 1: Children of Amarid

Book 2: The Outlanders

Book 3: Eagle-Sage

WINDS OF THE FORELANDS

Book 1: Rules of Ascension

Book 2: Seeds of Betrayal

Book 3: Bonds of Vengeance

Book 4: Shapers of Darkness

Book 5: Weavers of War

BLOOD OF THE SOUTHLANDS

Book 1: The Sorcerers' Plague

Book 2: The Horsemen's Gambit

Book 3: The Dark-Eyes' War

A novelization by

David B. Coe

Based on the screenplay by Brian Helgeland
and the story by Brian Helgeland
and Ethan Reiff & Cyrus Voris

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK

F
rom within the brooding shadows of Broceliande Forest, Robin Longstride could see the pale colors of dawn touching the morning sky; glimpses of pearl and pink and pale yellow sifted through branches and leaves. A wren sang from the shelter of a nearby thicket and a woodpecker drummed in the distance. A fox slinked through the underbrush, pausing to regard Robin and his companions with luminous eyes before slipping away into the darkness. A peaceful morning, the air still and cool. If not for the subtle scent of a hundred cooking fires lingering in the wood, and the faint murmur of a thousand voices not too far off, it would have been easy for Robin to forget that he was at war.

He had been up with the first hint of morning light, as had the two men walking with him, Will Scarlet and Allan A'Dayle: a hunt to begin their day. And a successful one it had been. They were carrying back
to their camp coneys and quail, a brace of pheasants, and two plump grouse that Allan had managed to kill. They couldn't know what the coming battle would bring, but at least they would start their day with a good meal.

Robin had grown fond of his two companions through their travels together. Will, with his fiery orange hair and beard, and a spirit to match; Allan, bearded and long-haired, less flamboyant in appearance than Will, more reserved and considered in manner. They were younger than Robin by several years, and both were prone to the foibles of youth. Will's exuberance occasionally landed him in fixes that a more seasoned soldier might avoid, and more often than not Allan blindly followed his friend into trouble. But they were brave and loyal, and good in a scrape. A man could hardly ask for more in his comrades.

As they drew nearer to the encampment of the English army, the forest around them thinned and brightened. They passed through a small camp of Moors and Gypsies. It was common for such bands to follow armies on the Continent, hoping to make some coin catering to the various appetites of fighting men. Though a few of the dark-skinned men looked up at Robin, Will, and Allan as they made their way through the camp, none of them offered much by way of greeting.

But a Gypsy girl sidled up to Robin, her hips swaying, dark eyes peering up seductively through long lashes.

“I tell your fortune?” she asked him sweetly. “Read your palm?”

Robin grinned but didn't break stride. “I've been in this army ten years. I've a fair idea what's going on.”

“You have a quest,” the woman said.

“Indeed I do: Breakfast.”

He continued past the girl, as did Allan. Will, however, eyed her with obvious interest.

“Tell me about our future, you and I,” he said. “Does it rhyme with luck?”

She took his hand, stared at his palm a moment, and then gasped. Robin and Allan stopped to listen.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “You will always find love … by your own hands.”

Robin and Allan burst out laughing and continued on. Will hurried after them. His face was still bright pink when he caught up.

The three men reached the edge of the forest and entered the enormous camp of King Richard Coeur de Lion's army. Beyond the army loomed the French castle to which they had been laying siege for the past seven days. The banners of the French lord still flew above the battlements, but the stone walls of the fortress were blackened and her gates scarred though still intact.

As the three men wound through the army camp, Robin began to distribute some of their kill from the morning's hunt. He gave a quail to one man who'd shared a meal with him a few nights before, and offered a rabbit to a fletcher, receiving a stack of arrows in return. Some of the meat he gave for no apparent reason, sharing a good word and a laugh with the surprised recipient. After ten years he had learned that there were two things an archer in the king's army should never have in short supply: arrows, and the good will of his fellow soldiers.