Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) (20 page)

* * * * *

A hanging was usually a festive occasion for Nottingham Town, one where its citizens could rejoice to see justice well wrought and could garner a little entertainment from the execution as well. But this time the crowd filing into the town square was strangely subdued. It was one thing for a man to hang when his crime was deserving of the sentence, but this condemned youngster had no warrant on his head, and if—as the Sheriff insisted—he was indeed one of those men who willingly served Robin Hood, then who here did not owe him their gratitude? Seed had been purchased and overdue taxes paid with the money that band had left for them. Their children played at being Robin Hood and begged to practice with their longbows every day, not just on Sunday as the law required. How could they rejoice to watch one of their heroes hang?

“’Tis a ruddy outrage,” one man said, scowling fiercely at the gallows.

“A shame—the Sheriff should be ashamed . . .”

“. . . hanging for nothing . . .”

“. . . had to leave my children at home—they would ne stop crying . . .”

“. . . an outrage . . .”

Robin heard the mutters floating around her and breathed them in like a balm. Though she had succeeded in repressing for the moment her trepidation for her friend, she had not been able to prevent recrimination’s dark voice from echoing through her mind. If Will had not been wearing her colors yesterday, the Sheriff would not have had an excuse to execute him. If she had lain low, had not robbed so many corrupt abbots or tyrannical lords, her friend might not even now be preparing to hang. Against this self-accusation, the crowd’s unwitting support was a solace, reminding Robin why she had done as she had in the first place.

No, she could not afford to doubt herself or her decisions—certainly not now when so many lives were depending on her. She needed composure; she needed to think. She had to prepare for every eventuality. If her plan today failed, Will Stutley would not be the only one to die.

Robin gazed out into the crowd, searching for familiar faces. David and Little John stood near the gallows, each clasping a cudgel like a walking stick. Further in the distance, Shane and Glenneth lingered near the town gate, talking innocently with the porter.

The others, however, she could not find. Panic began to rise up within her, but Robin fought it down.
They are here, surely they are here. It is only that they are so well hidden that I cannot find them
, she convinced herself.

She had come in disguise, as had the others, dressed in old peasant’s clothes that allowed them to blend in with the crowd. Those who carried swords had concealed them beneath their cloaks, and those who carried bows had been instructed to linger in the shadows near buildings and stalls, so as not to draw attention to themselves.

It troubled Robin that this venture to save one man’s life could end up costing so many others—both those of her people, and of the Sheriff’s. She had directed her band to use their weapons only to distract, but she knew that in the confusion of a fight, anything could happen. The guards would certainly believe they were being attacked, and what began as a distraction could in an instant become a fight to the death.

Once again, Robin searched the crowd for her men, but it was useless. She would just have to hope that they were in their positions, and that the information the prison guard had given her proved true.

She had not considered before that he might have lied.

* * * * *

She had arrived at Nottingham Town well before dawn, but had forced herself to wait until its gates had been open for at least an hour before ambling into the burg. Her purpose was to reconnoiter; her men would follow later, a few at a time so as not to excite suspicion. She hoped that by the time they started trickling into town, she would be able to present them with a solid plan. They would not be able to meet all together without drawing unwanted attention, so Robin intended to relay her instructions to the first group to arrive after she did, and trust each group to do the same.

The town square had not undergone any great change in the two weeks since the archery tournament, and Robin quickly memorized its layout, reflecting ruefully that the information would prove useless unless she knew the exact details of the execution. She needed to know where the Sheriff’s men would be stationed, how Will would enter the square, and how many guards there would be to interfere with their retreat. Somehow, she would have to find a way to obtain all these particulars, and right now she could think of only one way to do it.

Ducking into an alleyway, Robin pulled out a dress from her waist sack and donned her woman’s disguise, too intent on her mission to register the irony that she now thought of women’s garb as the guise, and not men’s. If she had considered it, the thought would have disturbed her, but all her attention was focused on Nottingham Castle.

Robin climbed the winding pathway up to the castle and stood in front of the gatehouse for several minutes, just staring at the portcullis. Finally, a guard came out and demanded to know her business there.

In a slightly awed voice, Robin explained that she had heard that a fearsome outlaw had been captured—could it possibly be Robin Hood? The soldier scoffed at her naiveté, saying it was merely one of his now not-so-merry men. How did he know? Robin inquired. Why, he had helped capture him.

Robin let her eyes grow big. “
You
captured him?” she breathed, intimating that she thought him solely responsible. She allowed her eyes to travel over the soldier the way she had seen a kitchen maid once flirt with the butler.

The soldier absorbed her admiration like a sponge, puffing out his chest and straightening his spine. A few more compliments from Robin and the man’s tongue began to flow like the River Severn as he boasted his knowledge with regards to the prisoner—how he would be conveyed to the gallows, the probable number of guards that would escort him there—even the dearth of defenses at the town gate.

As Robin fluttered her eyes and listened attentively to all he was saying, she could not help feeling a little surprised at the success of her wiles. She had never cared to study feminine charm, and it gratified her that her first real attempt was such an apparent success. At the same time, it made her feel a little ashamed of herself, but since the flirtation was done solely to save Will’s life, her contrition on the matter was brief.

Robin finally excused herself to the guard, coyly hinting that although she wanted to secure a good spot to watch the execution, she would not object to renewing their conversation at a later time. Turning her back on the guard’s smug expression, she weaved her way down the steep castle road and back to the town proper. Ducking into the shadowy crevice between two houses, she pulled off her dress so that her peasant’s attire was revealed once more. Stuffing the gown into the bag at her hip, Robin drew out her hood and pulled it on; then with a quick glance at the climbing sun, she hurried back to the town wall to await the arrival of her men.

* * * * *

Was the guard lying?
she wondered now. She had not questioned his veracity before, but the more she pondered their conversation, the more it seemed that he had divulged his information far too easily. Had he somehow sensed that something was amiss, and misled her? No one in the history of Nottinghamshire had ever attempted this sort of gallows rescue before, and Robin had assumed (reasonably, her mind defended) that such an action would not be anticipated. But if the guard had suspected her—if he had informed the Sheriff to be on the alert—then her people could be walking into a trap!

No sooner had Robin reached this discomforting conclusion than a cacophony of noontide bells erupted through the town. Over the sound of their resonant peals arose the blare of heraldic trumpets—at first barely discernable, but growing steadily louder as the Sheriff’s company drew near the square.

Robin unhooked her own trumpet from her belt; there was no time to change her plans now. Instead, she sent up a quick prayer asking that the Sheriff remain in ignorance of her plot, reciting her mental “Amen” a mere instant before the gallows party arrived.

The Sheriff came first, looking resplendent atop his dappled white stallion, his suit of purple-and-black satin enhancing the complacent expression on his face; his mouth was curled up in a victorious grin. His entire demeanor crowed that he had caught one of Robin Hood’s men, and it would only be a matter of time before he snared Robin Hood as well!

The Sheriff’s horse seemed to sense its master’s triumphant mood, and snorted loudly, tossing its head. With a dark chuckle, the Sheriff spurred his stallion on ahead of the guards, forcing people to throw themselves out of the way to avoid being trampled. At the very last second, he reined in his steed next to the scaffold not ten feet away from where Robin was standing.

Behind the Sheriff, two-dozen guards followed at a more sedate pace on foot. Although these soldiers wore swords, they kept their weapons sheathed, and their air was alert but unconcerned. In the middle of the escort, a large cart rumbled, its deep wooden frame lurching wildly with the hauling hackney’s every step.

Inside the cart stood Will, his hands lashed to the front rail. Even from a distance, Robin could see the way the ropes cut into his wrists and the deathly pallor of his face. The youth tried to stand tall, but a heavy noose hung around his neck and his shoulders slumped forward despondently. Will’s eyes as they swept over the crowd were devoid of hope; he did not see her.

Robin felt as though icy steel were replacing the blood in her veins, freezing her worry into hard determination: Will was not going to hang today!

The cart lurched to a halt. Two soldiers stepped forward to unhook the back wall of the wagon and lower it ramp-like to the ground, while a third waited patiently for them to finish so he could procure Will from the cart and lead him down to the gallows. But before he could do so, someone else got there first.

“It is not very nice to go off to die without telling your friends goodbye,” Little John quipped, leaping into the wagon. The boy gasped as the strange giant whipped out a dagger and slit the bonds that held him, but Will did not let his surprise slow him from pulling the noose off his neck or leaping out of the cart, his rescuer close behind him.

Little John’s brazen action had stunned the guards, as Robin had hoped it would, but they were quick to recover. As a unit, they drew their swords and advanced on her friends while the crowd watched in confusion. Robin saw Little John seize Will by the shoulder and pull him under the shelter of the cart; it was time—she sounded her horn.

Silver blades flashed in the sun as her bandsmen drew their swords and those nearest began engaging the soldiers. Up by the gate, the twins quickly overpowered the lone porter. A shower of clothyard arrows fell harmlessly upon the cart from all directions, the thud of their shafts making the guards run for cover.

Screams echoed throughout the square—screams of fear, Robin thought, until her ears registered that they were cheers. Someone knocked into her from behind, shouting, “A rescue! A rescue!” and another, “Hey for Robin! Loyal Robin!” and half the crowd now seemed to have joined the fray, pummeling the guards with their fists or whatever was at hand. More arrows fell from the sky, aiming for the empty cart, but the wind caught one shaft and it fell on the hackney’s rump; with a shrill squeal, the horse bolted down the street, the wagon fishtailing behind it and striking a guard to the ground.

It was chaos.

Robin could not see Little John or Will anymore, could not tell if they had been struck down by the guards or the wild cart. She could only pray that they had taken advantage of the confusion to duck away into the mass of fleeing people, and were not lying dead in the street.

Raising her bugle to her lips, she sounded the retreat. The Sheriff was in front of her before the first note could die away, hacking down at her with his sword, striving to fell the commanding bugler.

Robin threw herself backwards, and the Sheriff’s sword shrilled through the air above her head. But now she was on the ground and people were scrambling around her, and the Sheriff was reining his horse ever closer, its hooves flailing toward her with deadly accuracy.

A rescuing arrow whistled through the air towards the Sheriff, flying so close to his face that it left a thin red graze across one cheek. With a bellow of rage, the Sheriff reined back his horse, and in that instant Robin was on her feet and running through the crowd. When she reached the border of the square, she risked a glance behind her just in time to see the Sheriff wheel his horse around on its hindquarters and spur it toward the safety of his castle, not minding who got trampled along the way.

“Time to go,” Nicolas yelled, appearing suddenly at Robin’s side. Together, the two of them raced for the gate while a last flurry of arrows convinced any remaining guards not to try to follow their retreat.

* * * * *

It was an exhausted but exultant party that gathered in the greenwood that night, returning in twos and threes throughout the course of the evening. Many of them bore minor wounds from the fray, and Edra was kept busy plying them all with unguents, but miraculously, none of those who had gone had failed to come back.

“I am so sorry, Robin,” Will told her, shamefaced, as he nursed a swollen cut over one eyebrow. “I thought she wanted t’ run away with me, but she told ’er father ’bout me instead; ’tis ’ow ’e knew where t’ catch me. I ne’er ’oped ye would—I mean, I did ne expect—I thought I was done f’r.”

“I understand, Will,” Robin told him gently, and she did.

Now that the peril of the day was over and all her men were accounted for and being tended, Robin felt the cold calculation that had sustained her begin to melt away. She started to shake.

“Are you all right, Robin?” Nicolas asked with concern, pausing on his way to fetch Edra some hot water.