Chapter 5 | Robin
Battle lines had been drawn in Ravenshead, likely before we even arrived. Through the thick morning fog that greeted us in the village, my sleepy eyes became alert when I heard raised voices. I sat up on my saddle, eyeing my allies.
It was much too early in the morning for people to be yelling.
The last time I had been to Ravenshead had been a failure. Memories of that time rushed over me—back when I had been trying to make a name and assert myself. Back when I had failed on a constant basis.
William Elder had all but ignored his son’s aid. Possibly didn’t even remember Will’s face. The hurt of that was doubled when the de facto leader of Ravenshead—Landon, I believed his name was—rebuffed our efforts to provide free goods to the village. He called us vagrants and dishonorable knaves. And while all that was true, it pained me to hear it said so openly to our faces.
It was the first time I realized the thin line we threaded, fighting against Prince John and his underlings. Even if people believed in our cause in their hearts, it was much easier to withhold assistance than to jump into the fire and join us. One of those choices often led to an early death.
I couldn’t blame the townsfolk for cowardice. It was more a sense of self-preservation, which any logical person would hold dear. These folk had families to consider. The Merry Men? We were a family. We essentially had no one else outside this group. This was all we had, and, in a sense, we fought because we had nothing left to lose.
Our people were vagrants and knaves not because of our thieving ways, but because everything had been stolen from us and we had no other options but resistance, which made us outlaws and criminals.
Little John, Friar Tuck, Alan-a-Dale, even Will Scarlet, were some of the best men I’d ever known. I was proud to call them lovers and allies and friends. We had grown so close during my time with them, after our rocky start.
If only the people of this village—and every other town and village in Sherwood Forest—knew the character of my mates, on the inside, they would sing a different tune about them.
Sadly, it was always easier to join the mob and point fingers and blame someone for your hard life than it was to realize the people you blamed were actually the people trying to help you rise above your station and life of poverty.
Besides the inherent danger of being an outlaw, there were many factors that made a life in the Merry Men difficult, and all of them seemed to be present at Ravenshead this morning.
Near the center of town, men and women had crowded together, speaking in hushed voices to one another. I recognized a few. While a couple men scowled at me, a woman gave me a small smile when she wasn’t being watched by her husband, and that gave me confidence that I was doing the right thing coming here.
I recalled trying to give that woman a shock of clothing before, which she’d gratefully accepted, only to then have it smacked out of her hand by Landon, and told she couldn’t accept any “gifts” from us because it always came with the expectation of a debt owed.
Landon had every right not to trust us. But to turn the entire town against us? It aggravated me to no end, and I hated him for it.
Robert and Friar Tuck took the head of our group, with me and John staying behind them, making ourselves small. Or at least as small as a mammoth of a man could make himself. It made sense having the man dressed as a priest up front, though I couldn’t imagine why Robert had any right—
“Oh, look, it’s Sir Robert! Thank goodness you’ve arrived!” a woman called out, pointing at us as our horses walked us toward the village center.
Something like jealousy or frustration clawed through me, seeing the woman’s excitement, and I stiffened. Why on earth does Robert get the accolades, hmm, while I’m thought of like a harlot and sinner?
It annoyed me. I knew it shouldn’t have—it was another childish backlash due to being raised alongside my brother. I couldn’t help it. Just what has Robert done to earn these people’s goodwill? I’ll have to find out so I can try and replicate it.
Robert dismounted, pulled his horse forward by the bit, and smiled at the older lady before putting a gentle hand on her bony shoulder. “Florence, dear, a pleasure to see you again. Why is everyone huddled here?”
“Because we’re too scared to go up there,” the lady whined, pointing north toward William Elder’s estate.
Robert cocked his head. “What is going on there?”
She shrugged. “No idea, sir—”
“Whatever it is doesn’t concern us,” a man behind her cut in, which was followed by half a dozen “ayes” of agreement.
“Daresay it don’t concern you lot, neither,” said another, jutting his chin at Robert.
There. That’s the response I expected.
The older lady Florence came to my brother’s defense. “Bellingham, hush your mouth. Sir Robert has been nothing but kind to us.”
Beside me, Little John muttered in a whisper, “Didn’t you tell me you and the Merry Men tried to be kind to the people here in my absence, too?”
I nodded, frowning. “Yes. They didn’t take to us, though.”
“Was it something Will did?”
“Oddly, no. It’s because of who we are, I think.”
John furrowed his brow, his handsome face flattening. “Robert leads a group of rebels and bandits also. What makes the Oak Boys different?”
“They’re not seen like us, John. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. They’re tidier than the Merry Men. Have more women—”
“Maybe not now after we retrieved those poor souls from the slave carriage.”
“—and are more connected. Let’s face it, love: Robert has outshone both of us as a leader. Maybe I would do well to let him lead the alliance.”
John’s hand fell roughly on my shoulder. He spun me so fast I gasped, and tilted my chin with his thumb—melting my insides immediately with the roughness and concern of his touch. “Oh no, little hope. I’m not letting you go down this road again.”
“This road?”
“The one leading to self-pity and doubt. You tried that once already with me, thinking you weren’t worthy to lead the Merry Men over me. Look how you won their respect. You will do the same with the Oak Boys. If your brother didn’t also see it, he would not have agreed to step aside in your favor.”
Surprise made my eyes widen, and a sting of tears made me blink rapidly as I stared into his sincere, dark eyes. I supposed I should have expected such a thing from my giant: kindness, understanding, and sincerity wafted off him in waves, at all times. At least when it came to me. He was the ultimate companion, and I couldn’t have been more privileged and happier to have him on my side.
His heartfelt words made me want to climb him like a tree. Instead, I settled for going on my tiptoes and kissing him lightly on the lips, with a quick smile. “Thank you, John.”
He nodded firmly, forehead still creased with wrinkles. “Don’t forget who you are, lass. You’re Robin Hood . . . and he’s just Robert.”
Color came to my cheeks. I gave him a tiny smile. “It’s not a competition.”
“It is until you stop thinking of it like one. And until you do, just know that you have the support of me and the rest of the Merry Men. We will love you until you are strong enough to love yourself in the way you need to.”
I nodded decisively. “Understood.”
“Now then,” John said, clearing his throat loud enough that Robert and Tuck heard him and turned to face us. “Should we go see what all this commotion is about at William Elder’s estate?”
TWO TALL MEN STOOD near the foot of the gentle incline leading up to William Elder’s estate. They wore white mantles, white garb, and heavy armor. Red crosses marked every piece of their equipment—stamped on their shields, their chests, their cloaks.
I was looking at two Templar Knights, in the flesh. They looked terribly impressive.
Across from them, twenty paces away near the front door of the estate, stood Will Scarlet and two other Merry Men—the young man Griff, and the wily guttersnipe, Rosco. Will had his dark leather armor on, with a scar of hate marring his beautiful face. The other two ragtag Merry Men looked entirely overwhelmed, eyes darting from one Templar Knight to the other.
Behind the standoff on the Templar’s side was another huddle of Ravenshead commoners, whispering amongst themselves.
Robert, John, and I pushed through the crowd to get to the front, behind the knights. One of the knights—an older man with a bald head and gray beard, lifted a scroll in front of him.
The knight spoke with a booming voice, for all to hear. “This property and its land have been repossessed by the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon. I have the writ of ownership right here, young man.”
Will flared his nostrils, dashing a quick look at me over the knight’s shoulder before narrowing his eyes on the older man. “This honey farm and its lodgings are the greatest source of commerce in Ravenshead. You cannot have it.”
The Templar cocked his head, and from my side profile, he seemed bemused. “We are claiming this land in the name of Pope Celestine the Third, son. You would go against the pope—the holiest man in all Christendom?”
“I would go against anyone trying to bully their way to ownership of this property. It does not belong to you.”
A few of the hushed whispers from the crowd rose at Will’s proclamation. Even though I knew he wasn’t well-loved here, William Elder was well-loved, and the people wanted their voices to be heard. Will Scarlet was a conduit for that.
The Templar frowned. “There is a lack of succession documentation.”
“I am the successor.” Will’s hands twitched at his sides, gloved and open. I knew he wanted to reach for the two swords across his back, yet he refrained. For now.
The Templar Knights had huge swords of their own on their backs. I recalled the memory of my first time here, when blood had nearly been spilled after we caught William Elder’s workers stealing from the elderly man.
Everything inside me told me to avoid getting to that point with these men. These weren’t two brigands trying to con an old man’s honey. These were Soldiers of God—associated with the most feared warriors in the world—and they had the backing of the King of England on their side, as well as the new pope.
I stepped forward, but John put an arm out to stop me. When I scowled at him, he shook his head, keeping his eyes on the situation.
“Is your name on the will?” the Templar asked.
“My name is Will. William Scadlock the Younger, son of William Scadlock the Elder. This land belonged to my father. If it doesn’t belong to me because my pa failed to put me in his last testament, then it will go to the people of Ravenshead.”
My heart soared to my throat at his announcement. He’d never claimed himself in such a way—dire, resolute, and earning firm nods and “ayes” from the townsfolk behind the knights.
An unexpected memory of Will Scarlet seared through my mind: Will ravaging me in the mud near the Grinning Oak, taking and claiming me. I found myself smiling at the lewd, raucous memory. He had come such a long way, yet he still showed sparks of his arrogant, powerful self, in times such as these.
Will Scarlet was a man who never backed down, even if he was half the age of these knights and severely outranked. For all intents and purposes, he was a peasant. An outlaw, if these men knew a thing or two about Will.
He was also the fiercest fighter I’d ever met, and a man I loved wholeheartedly, despite his violent ways. No, perhaps because of his violent ways.
These knights didn’t know the fire they were playing with by testing him.
In a word, Will was the perfect man to rise against these Knights Templar—these outsiders who thought they owned everything their holy feet touched.
I had to tamp down my arousal, biting my lip, as I continued watching.
The Templar Knight, hearing the grumbling behind him, grew agitated. He stuffed his scroll away, his voice indifferent. “Take your grievances up with the Sheriff of this land, whoever he is. Just know that our writ of ownership is absolute. We will not be deterred.”
These men don’t even know who the Sheriff of Nottingham is, yet they act so haughty and superior? It’s shameful.
Will stepped forward, hands bunching into fists. “My father’s body is still warm in the ground, and you would try me like this, knight?”
The Templar bellowed, hand rising to curl around the handle of his great sword over his shoulder. “Try you, knave?! We are the fucking Knights Templar, boy. You are the one testing the holy fires of wrath with your insolence and disrespect!”
Will’s bright eyes darkened like brimstone. A smirk curled one side of his mouth, as if he knew he had pushed the knight’s buttons past the point of breaking.
The younger knight, who had not spoken yet, stepped forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Shall I do away with this one, Sir Charles?”
“I would like to see you try,” Will growled, closing the gap between them until they were ten paces apart. Meanwhile, Rosco and Griff backpedaled a step, clearly frightened of this entire situation they’d found themselves in.
“Initiate Brandt, your holy resolve is admirable,” Sir Charles said, “and I daresay it’s a good—”
“Please, gentlemen!” A broad man stepped forward from the peasant group behind the knights. Landon was burly and thick, similar to Little John’s build, though not quite as extreme in height and physique. With a raised hand, everyone turned at the sound of his loud voice. “Let us not spill blood on this good morning. I am sure we can reconcile our differences with a simple meeting. Perhaps over some bread and honey?” He smiled.
I’d never seen Landon act anything other than brash and mean toward me, so this was a surprise. Seemed he could play the bureaucrat as well as anyone—probably why he was considered the leader of Ravenshead when the bishop was not around.
“Who speaks?” asked the older knight named Sir Charles, crossing his arms.
“My name is Landon. I help facilitate trade in Ravenshead, sir.” He gave a small bow. “We are a devout people. Fearful of God. Subjects to the holy Bishop Sutton. While he is away, I have been deputized with the arm of the law on my side.”
“Gentleman Landon.” The Knight stepped toward Landon, arms still crossed. “If you are Bishop Sutton’s subject and deputy, and consider yourself as devout as you claim, then you would know you have no standing here. You may have the law of the land on your side, but I have the law of God on mine. And the writ of ownership.” He tapped his chest, where the scroll was tucked away.
Landon frowned, dipping his head. “Sir, there must be a way—”
Sir Charles’ fist lashed out and caught Landon in the stomach, who doubled over and coughed, crumpling to his knees and grabbing his belly. “It seems you people have the idea this is a negotiation. It’s not.”
The townsfolk behind Landon gasped in unison, two women crying out.
A rasp of steel swung my head to Will Scarlet, who had quickly drawn his blades. Across from him, Initiate Brandt had his greatsword held in front of him, the giant blade gleaming with morning sunlight.
“That is quite enough,” Will Scarlet said in a brooding, dangerous tone. “You have proven who you really are.”
Sir Charles spun on him, nostrils flaring. “You defy God, William Scadlock the Younger.”
“So be it.” Will pointed his blades at the younger man. “I challenge your initiate to a duel for the land. Will you cower?”
Initiate Brandt eyed Charles. The older knight gave an almost-imperceptible nod.
“No, you godless rogue.” Brandt smiled cruelly at Will. “I will accept.”