Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) (12 page)

“Aww, stop it, Robin, yer makin’ us blush,” Will quipped, pretending to wave off her concern. The others laughed, and that was the end of the speech. For Robin, though, it was far from a laughing matter. She hoped they would remember her words.

She could see the caravan now—four men-at-arms, and a large, laden wagon. A yellow canvas sheet was thrown over the top of the cart and bound by thick ropes. Whatever lay underneath must be heavy, for two tawny horses were needed to pull it.

The man driving the cart was clearly a merchant: his green-and-yellow silk jacket was cut in the mercantile style and trimmed with fur, and a blue silk cap perched upon his head to match his bright blue hose.

Like all nobility, Robin had an instinctive dislike for the merchant class, who frequently profited through the use of faulty scales, and who sold their goods to a needy public for far more than they were worth. True, some merchants were honest, but in poor Nottinghamshire, such men were few and far between, and they often had to struggle to maintain their existence against their more ruthless competitors. This merchant’s clothes and guards attested to his wealth—only a rich man could afford four men to escort him through the Sherwood.

Those guards—two at front and two at back—were sitting comfortably upon their horses and peering into the forest as they rode, their expressions reflecting their tedium.

Of course they look bored
, Robin mused.
Four guards are more than enough to deter an outlaw or two.
Suspicion and distrust kept most outlaws from joining together; these guards had clearly never encountered the sort of unified band that currently lay in wait for them. The thought made Robin smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Murray nock an arrow. “Wait,” she hissed, knowing full well that he could not hear her. The words were more a prayer than an honest command.

The caravan was below her now, the gaze of the guards skimming right over the green-leafed ash in which Lot was hiding, past the bracken where Nicolas lurked, and beyond the trees where she and Murray dwelt.

The twins were still hidden from view in the their own ash trees several rods ahead, but Will was leaning dangerously far forward out of his. If the guards chanced to look up . . . .

A few more seconds
, Robin pleaded.
Just let the wagon get a little bit further . . . .

“Now!” she cried, leaping from her tree. Lot and Nicolas quickly followed, echoed by Glenneth and Shane. As per her plan, Murray and Will stayed where they were, covering the ambush from above.

The horses, startled by the abrupt appearance of half-a-dozen men, reared up in consternation, squealing loudly as their riders tried to wheel them around. Three of the guards drew their swords; one of them raised a large crossbow, aiming for Lot. Robin placed an arrow through his shoulder before he could shoot, causing him to drop his weapon.

The other guards turned in their saddles, cursing loudly as they examined the ambush. Robin had planned it well. Shane and Glenneth stood several yards ahead of the caravan, and Nicolas several yards behind, their drawn bows allowing them to threaten the guards while their distance kept them out of danger from horse and blade. Murray and Will covered the ambush from the treetops, their whoops of glee marking their positions, but their height keeping them out of jeopardy. Lot and Robin were by far the closest to the caravan, but the guards did not dare attack them with so many arrows aimed in their direction.

“What are you waiting for?” the merchant blustered. “Kill them!”

The guards ignored him.

“What do you want, archer?” their leader demanded, still struggling to control his mount.

Robin gave him an amicable smile. “To help you. It is clear that you have traveled far and are no doubt weary. Good yeomen that we are, we are here to relieve you of your burden.”

“And of our lives?” he asked, stone-faced.

“Just your weapons. Unless you prove difficult. I do hope you do not prove difficult.”

The guard considered, but he was in no position to defend against this ambush, and he knew it. With a grunt of assent, he tossed his sword onto the ground.

At Robin’s signal, Shane and Glenneth darted over to pick up the weapon, and those of the other guards as they followed suit.

“I should stomp you flat,” one of them muttered rebelliously, flinging his blade to the ground.

Shane mirrored Robin’s grin, his eyes gleaming in merriment as he indicated the ready archers with a sweep of his hand. “You are welcome to try.”

Meanwhile, Robin approached the merchant, who glared at her fiercely and primed his horses to bolt.

“I would not do that if I were you,” she advised as he raised his whip. “Unless you want a sheaf of arrows in your back.”

“Churl!” the man bellowed. “Brigand! You are nothing but an honorless, gutless, low-account thief!”

“Did you hear that, men?” Robin asked, pitching her voice to carry.

“We heard, Robin!” Murray shouted from the trees. “Shall we teach this varlet a lesson?”

The merchant squared his back, steeling himself for the arrow that would end his life. He did not look the least bit repentant.

“Aye, we shall,” she agreed, after a moment’s consideration. “But not in the way he expects. Gentlemen, let it never be said that Robin o’ the Hood and his men are honorless thieves. You will dine with us tonight. Come!”

Robin hopped into the wagon and seized the reins from the startled merchant. “I am afraid there is not room up here for two. You, my good sir, will have to walk.”

For a moment, he looked like he was going to refuse—then with a loud oath, he dismounted, glaring dourly.

Turning her gaze from the merchant to the rest of the assemblage, Robin saw that the guard she had wounded was reeling in his saddle. In the stress of the moment, she had forgotten about him!

At her direct, Lot helped the man dismount from his horse and cut the arrow from his shoulder, using the guard’s tunic as a rude bandage. Then he and Glenneth settled the wounded man onto the back of the wagon; the guard gave a small groan but made no other sound, his lips locked white against the blood loss and pain.

A queasy feeling of guilt settled into Robin’s stomach.
Blast him anyway for making me shoot him,
she thought defensively.
Why could he not just surrender
peacefully?

With a nod, Lot indicated that he had done everything he could for the man—further aid would have to wait until they got to camp. Robin nodded back to show that she understood, and turned the cart into the forest, leading the way; the others followed closely behind her.

* * * * *

All activity stopped in the camp when Robin rode in accompanied by four guards, a disgruntled merchant, and her cadre of archers.

“A feast!” she ordered blithely, leaping down from the cart. “Set a beast to cook. We have guests!”

With a bow of welcome, she indicated for the confused convoy to settle themselves at the base of the central oak. This they did with laudable self-possession, refusing to show overt discomfort at finding themselves in what was clearly an outlaw camp.

“What is going on, Robin?” David asked, appearing at her side. “I thought you were going to bring us a pretty purse, not a whole caravan.”

“Now, David, would you have me refuse them our hospitality?” she asked, clapping him on the shoulder. “After all, we are not common thieves who take what has not been earned. Trust me,” she said, lowering her voice. “We will get their purses yet. But I will not have it said that we are nothing but disgraceful brigands who prey on others for sheer profit. We must be more than that, or we will quickly go the way of Guy of Gisborne.”

Shifting her attention, she snatched a gaping lad by the elbow as he edged in for a look. “Fetch Edra and tell her one of our guests has an arrow in his shoulder—ask her to tend to it, please.”

“Now gentlemen,” Robin said, striding over to the seated men. “You have had a trying journey, I am sure. Perhaps some entertainment to help you relax?”

Not waiting for an answer, she beckoned over John Logan and Richard Bentworth, who agreed to her request to wrestle for the pleasure of their “guests.”

At first, it seemed that Logan would win without difficulty, for he was a big, burly man whose large stature lent him strength; but though Bentworth was smaller, he was also craftier, and he shrewdly evaded his opponent’s clutch time and again.

Such was the skill of the two wrestlers that the guards soon forgot their situation and found themselves cheering on the powerful display; even the wounded man managed a ragged whoop, startling Edra, who was in the process of dressing his wound, and earning himself a stern rebuke. Only the merchant appeared unaffected.

With one last tumble, the wrestlers stopped, and the approving guards shouted their acclaim as the sportsmen helped each other to their feet and bowed.

“Shane, Glenneth! Show these men what you can do with a longbow,” Robin called before the applause had a chance to die down.

A young boy scampered to mark a piece of bark on a birch tree at the far edge of the glade, and the twins took turns shooting at the target, their arrows breaking off pieces of the bark until all that was left was a sliver of mark; they unstrung their bows with satisfied smiles.

“There is but an inch left,” Robin said, gazing at her guests with a neutral expression. “Do any of you care to try and mar the mark?”

The head guard stood up. Without hesitation, Shane handed him his bow and stepped back to watch.

“You can barely see the target!” one of the guards protested. Their leader ignored him and restrung the bow. Accepting an arrow from Glenneth, he nocked it to the string, and with one smooth motion, pulled back the bow and shot.

“Just shy!” called the boy who still lingered by the mark.

“No one can make that shot,” the leader averred, returning the bow to Shane.

“No one?” he asked lightly, looking at Robin with an expectant smirk. Pride fluttered through her at his unspoken assumption, and she obligingly stepped forward and strung her yew bow. Giving the target the briefest of glances, she drew back an arrow and loosed.

“God’s Teeth!” cried the skeptical serviceman in amazement as her shaft split the faint white mark in twain; two shards of pale bark fluttered their surrender to the ground.

Robin allowed herself a small smile as her men cheered her shot, joined after a moment by the astounded acclamation of the guards. Though her face flushed hot with pleasure, she did her best to appear unaffected by the praise.

“Now, we eat!” she cried to mask her emotion, indicating with a sweep of her hand that viands should be brought.

The guards, ravenous after the excitement of the afternoon, seized eagerly at the meat they were given, delighting in its consumption and ignoring the hot juices that burned their hands. The merchant alone turned his head away from the food, although he could not keep from licking his lips as the delicious aroma wafted around him.

“Surely you are hungry?” Robin asked. “I know this is not the sort of fare you are accustomed to, but it will do you good to eat.”

His lips curled in disgust. “Even if you were a lord in your hall, I would not eat your food. Do you think I have fallen for this act? What sort of sadistic game is this, that you would taunt us with the semblance of kindness before you kill us and take what is ours?”

“You misunderstand,” Robin said, taken aback. “We have brought you here as guests of this, our greenwood inn. If we were going to kill you, we would have done it already.”

Glenneth chuckled; the merchant glared.

“You claim we are thieves, but how many times have you taken advantage of your customers?” Robin continued. “Can you honestly say that those robes on your back and the jewels on your hands were not paid for by selfish—if not fraudulent—dealings? We may take from you today, but only what you have taken unfairly first, and what we purloin will go to help those you have wronged. We do not take out of a misplaced desire for profit.”

The man was silent, but his face glowed red. The guards, delighting in their meal, did not notice the exchange.

Once everyone had consumed their fill, Robin stood to address her guests, raising her voice for all to hear. “Good sirs, you have supped with us and been entertained by us. You would find a less hospitable reception even in a lord’s hall.” She shot the merchant the briefest of glances. “It is only just that you replace the viands we have expended on you, and provide payment for your entertainment. I think . . . this . . . should cover it.”

She withdrew the iron strongbox she had seen under the wagon’s seat. One blow from the hilt of her sword broke its lock, and she opened the box to reveal a profusion of gold coins.

“You cannot take that!” the merchant cried, a note of panic arising in his voice for the first time. “Those are the taxes I owe the Sheriff! It will beggar me to replace those.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Robin remarked blandly. “But in the meantime, think on its absence, and consider well the impact of your greed.” She handed the chest off to David, who was standing close by. “Come, the hour grows late; men like yourselves should not spend the night in the Sherwood—you might fall into the company of truly dishonest persons. Mount your steeds—we will lead you back to the High Road.”

“What of our weapons?” asked a ginger-haired guard as he climbed onto the horse Glenneth held.

“A gift we are honored to accept,” came the shameless reply.

* * * * *

Robin drove the cart warily through the forest, trying to avoid the deeper brush that would snag the wheels as she led the group on a mazelike circuit back to the main road.

From now on, I think it would be wiser to simply blindfold our guests on the journey to and from camp; that way it is certain they cannot find their way back, and I will not have to waste so much time devising a detour!

By the time the group gained the road, the land was awash with the last rays of twilight. The instant Robin disembarked from the wagon, the merchant leapt up into the seat and whipped his horses into a canter, not waiting to be accompanied by his failed guards.