Chapter 32 | Robin
“They rode in on their warhorses, dozens aplenty,” Landon said. His wrists rolled as he told his tale over a twilight campfire. Twenty men and women from our alliance listened intently, eyes wide open.
Landon was a natural storyteller. He spoke severely, dramatically, and I would have rolled my eyes if his story wasn’t so drastic and damning. So frightening.
“White cloaks flowing in the wind,” he continued, hands pantomiming the look of the fluttering breeze. “These were not knights in shining armor. They were harbingers of death and destruction.”
Our bandits gasped at the story. How cruel were these religious zealots, to strike so heartlessly on an unsuspecting village?
“They came too quickly for us to respond. All we could do was flee, lest we lose our lives. We had women and children to think of.”
Everyone nodded at that. It was understandable.
“Ravenshead was a place, your home,” Little John said. “Yet it was still just a place. You have your lives. We can help you rebuild.”
“What if we don’t want your help, bandit?” Landon sneered.
Now I did roll my eyes. This fucking man.
“Landon, friend,” Robert said. He was sitting closest to the big lout next to the fire, and put a hand on his arm. “We are not your enemies. If you did not wish for our help, why did you come to us?”
Landon clamped his jaw. He bowed his head, either in shame or anger, and then looked up at the flame, which sputtered righteously and reflected his rage in its fiery tendrils. “My apologies. I am not used to being considered an outlaw. It pains me greatly.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said, and quickly earned a jab from Friar Tuck.
I supposed I wasn’t being very cordial, but neither was he.
Trying to put my childish retort behind, I let out a heavy sigh. “You did the right thing coming here, Landon. With your people. We can protect you, at least as much as we can protect ourselves.”
He stared at me over the fire, eyes narrowing. “We’ve heard tale of your own attack on the eastern pass from Nottingham to Ravenshead. Dead soldiers scattered across the road. I’m assuming you didn’t get out unscathed.”
“Nay. We did not.”
“Then how can you say you’ll protect us when you can’t even protect yourselves?”
My mouth opened to react. I chanced a look at Tuck, who shook his head, and then closed my lips. Folded them into my mouth, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “I suppose you make a good point.”
“What did the Templar Knights come for?” Uncle Gregory asked. “Did they say?”
“Well, sir . . .” Landon trailed off. He only spoke to Robert and Gregory—former soldiers—with any kind of respect. I tried not to hold it against him. “Only that it was holy retribution for Bishop Sutton. As if we had something to do with it. We only found out about Sutton and the dead soldiers during the Templars’ attack.”
I sat back on my log, bending my knee and wrapping my hands around it. “These are vicious men we’re dealing with.”
Landon’s eyes blinked slowly at me. “Would you happen to know the whereabouts or state of Bishop Sutton, woman?”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Landon.”
His nostrils flared. “It’s your fault our village is gone, far as I’m concerned.”
“Robin didn’t burn your houses or topple your buildings, you fucking dolt,” Will Scarlet said, standing from around the fire. He earned everyone’s eyes when he stood.
He’d always been good at deflecting attention away from me, and I appreciated it none more than now. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I lied to Landon. Everyone in camp heard me lie, too, which didn’t bode well.
If the leader of the Merry Men couldn’t be truthful with potential new recruits, what did that say about the rest of us? Our trustworthiness in general?
I was ashamed about Sutton’s grim fate. No doubt about that. Yet I didn’t want to cause more strife than was already brimming between us and Ravenshead’s leader.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Will said, lifting a finger as he began to pace behind the backs of the countless people sitting around the fire. “There is only one man to blame for this: Sheriff George of Nottingham.”
I noticed the sea of nodding heads around the fire.
Little John could give a rousing speech to put valor in a man’s heart, Alan-a-Dale could lift spirits and morale with his music, and Friar Tuck could create an atmosphere of solemn understanding and hopefulness.
But Will Scarlet? He could make everyone fucking irate, and that was one of his greatest powers.
The young man’s unruly temper was infectious.
At times, it was utterly useful. I couldn’t deny the pulse of lust that shot through me when I imagined that sharp tongue and spiteful tone directed at me.
Our relationship seemed complicated and poisoned to outsiders, but to us, it was really quite simple: Will Scarlet hated to love, and I loved to hate. Mashed together, you got an explosion of carnal savagery.
“He won’t stop at Ravenshead,” Will announced, redrawing my focus. “He will rip down every village in Sherwood Forest if he thinks it will hurt us. If he truly thinks we are responsible for Bishop Sutton’s disappearance or death, he will stop at nothing to bring us down. To snuff us out, finally, and rid himself of the bandit scourge in Nottinghamshire once and for all.”
Voices rose, pumping out “ayes” and groans of understanding.
This wasn’t the Merry Men and Oak Boys shrinking from our obligations to the wronged citizens of Sherwood Forest. This was us coming to terms with what we must do, which, in this case, was to fight.
“If it’s not Sheriff George directly, it will be the Knights Templar at his side leading the charge,” Will continued. “As it was in Ravenshead. They are formidable, frightening, and filled with zealous lust for death. Many of them have just returned from the King’s Crusade, with nothing on their mind but raping and pillaging.”
“As they’ve done abroad,” Robert cut in.
“Aye.” Will nodded sternly. “I have no doubt George would create a shield between any danger to himself and the outside world. The Knights Templar are the perfect weapon to do that.”
Will paused. The fire in the center of us crackled and snapped. The boiling anger from moments ago simmered a bit once he mentioned the strength and formidableness of the Knights Templar.
I thought he might have misspoken there, deadening his own message. Yet he had to be honest with everyone: This was a losing fight. Will Scarlet wanted us to understand what we were up against . . . and it wasn’t pretty.
“You’re wrong, Scarlet. George will be front and center in this attack.”
Heads whipped around to Maid Marian, who stood three or four rows back from the fire, amid the orphan girls she had taken to.
I raised my brow. This is unexpected. It’s not every day someone disagrees with Will Scarlet in the middle of one of his angry diatribes.
If there was anyone to do it, and match energies with Will, it was Marian, whose hair whipped around her face with the same fervor as the flames in the fire pit.
“What makes you say that, Marian?” Little John asked for Will. When a few bystanders grunted at Marian’s interruption, and waved annoyed hands at her, John held up his palm. “Let her speak, everyone. Her voice is just as important as the rest of ours. We’re a free people, free to speak our minds, are we not?”
More gripes, but they relented after a moment.
Marian glanced around at the glaring faces. She seemed a bit nervous, which was rare for her.
“The accolades,” she said simply. “George needs Nottingham to know he’s responsible for quashing the Merry Men rebellion. Not Amadeus Montford and the Knights Templar. That’s his name, by the way—the leader of the Templar in this region.”
My forehead wrinkled when my brow lifted even higher. She knows more than anyone here. We can use her inside information, surely.
“Amadeus Montford?” Alan-a-Dale quipped, scoffing. “What a pretentious fucking name. Doesn’t even sound real.”
A smattering of chuckles swept through the camp.
Leave it to Alan to lighten the mood when things seem most dire, I thought. The man has a special power just as important as Will’s anger.
When more voices stirred, drowning out Marian and forgetting her, she began to sit, evidently pleased her time in the sun was over.
Then I called out, “Say more, Marian. I want to hear your thoughts.”
She froze halfway to sitting. Glowered at me like I’d splashed water on her.
I didn’t smirk or press, however. I wasn’t trying to goad the woman. I was genuinely curious, and I hoped she could see that on my face.
Clearing her throat, Marian stood taller. “According to my sources, Sir Montford and Sheriff George do not get along. With Bishop Sutton gone—the buffer between the two blowhards—perhaps there is a way to pit them against each other.”
“That would be brilliant,” I drawled, “if we had any idea how that would work.”
Marian tilted her head. “You’re clever and resourceful, Robin Hood. Why don’t we pull out a map and look it over?”
I pursed my lips. People looked back and forth between us, as if she was challenging me with that slightly curled tilt to her lips.
How could I deny such a challenge?
OUR LEADERSHIP GROUP split off from the main band, leaving the Merry Men, Oak Boys, and Ravenshead folk to get some sleep and prepare for the morning.
The size of our camp was getting unwieldy. With Landon’s people added in, our chances of keeping our location a secret—even hidden in the gorge of Robert’s secluded Oak Boys camp—was nearly impossible. Especially with how easy it was to infiltrate us now that we couldn’t keep a stern eye on every man and woman who showed up at camp. The Muddy Meddlers were perfect examples of that.
In the tent was me, Robert, Uncle Gregory, Maid Marian, John, Will, Tuck, and Alan. Everyone I needed, and everyone worthy of making a decision. All eight of us came from different walks of life, and had had different experiences, so we could provide varying opinions and plans worth considering.
Marian pored over a map on the table, which was held down by four small stones in each corner. It was a map of part of Sherwood Forest—the northern and western regions we frequented. Even though we were in the east, near Lincolnshire, Ravenshead was closer to our usual haunts.
“If George and Montford are currently garrisoned in Ravenshead, then they’ve taken over the village as their base of operations,” Marian pointed out.
“Garrisoned? Base of operations?” Robert popped his eyebrows at her. “Look at you, madam. Where did you get your military education?”
He spoke with a thread of heat and jest behind his words, and I stared directly at him and shook my head. “Not now, Robert.”
He could try and woo Marian later. Now, it was time to get serious. I needed his mind on the matter at hand, not on the woman at hand.
To her credit, Marian flashed a quick smile at him and then ignored his comment. She traced the map with her finger. “There are many options where George will strike next near Ravenshead: Ashfield, Blidworth, Newstead Village, Rainworth, perhaps even Mansfield.”
“Nay,” Little John said. “He will not strike Mansfield. It’s too large, with its own militia, and he has prior connections with the people there.”
Right. Baron Melwin, deceased chief of Mansfield and associate of George’s in the sex-slaving trade.
“Plus, he doesn’t need to attack them. He’s the Sheriff of Nottingham, not Mansfield. His authority is vast in this region.” John tapped his cheek and stroked his beard, staring down at the map. “What he might do, however, is pull soldiers from there for his hunt.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Even worse. A never-ending stream of fighters at his disposal. We don’t have the numbers to take him on.”
“No, we don’t,” John said bleakly. “If what Landon is saying is true—which I have no reason to mistrust him—then we are contending with two separate armies. Either of them, independent of one another, could stamp us out.”
“Then we need to play it smart,” Will said. “Use the forest to our advantage, as we know how to do. Sherwood has been our hunting ground for years. This is our home, remember.”
“How long do you think we have to prepare?” Friar Tuck asked the tent.
Marian said, “I’d give it days. If that.”
“Why would George attack all these small villages that are, no offense intended, worthless to him?” Alan-a-Dale asked.
It was a fair question.
“Because he’s on a quest for blood,” Will answered, peeling his upper lip back in a snarl. “He may not raze the villages like he did Ravenshead—a place he thinks might have had something to do with Sutton’s end. But he will speak to the people there, plant informants, and eventually find us out.”
“Aye, agreed,” Little John said.
“I agree, too,” I said. “We have to imagine George is sending scouts in every direction from Ravenshead. They’ll be popping up all over Sherwood, in all the villages Marian pointed out. Hell, they could already be in our ranks as we speak. Not every villager will be willing to keep our hideout a secret. Not when their own lives are at risk. And all it takes is one to give us up.”
It was grim tidings, yet true. No one could deny it.
“Which is why,” Marian spoke up, “we must act preemptively. Get ahead of the bastard, before we’re surrounded by Sir Montford and his horsemen. At that point, it’ll be too late, and we’ll all be dead in the water.”
I gave her an impressed pout, saying, “What are you implying, Marian?”
“I’m not implying anything, Robin. I’m saying we must kill Sheriff George before his army can swell.”
My jaw flexed. “Cut the head off the snake . . .”
“And the body will follow.” Marian smirked at me.
I couldn’t help but smirk back at her.
“It’s a risky gambit,” Robert said. “Like, utterly-insane risky.” He paused. Then: “I love it.”
They smiled at each other, mischievous as a couple of rogues.
I shook my head, snorting. God above. Maybe they’re perfect for each other. Good for you, Rob. You’ve found your whelp-giver.
I scratched my forehead. “So, erm, what’s the plan, then? If George is staying in Ravenshead, as we imagine he is, then our best time to strike is . . . now. Is it not?”
As I looked around the tent, everyone slowly nodded.
Uncle Gregory said, “I can’t find fault with it. And I’m nothing if not a fault-finder for a poor battle strategy. The way I see it, we have our backs against the wall. A precise strike may be the only thing that wins us the war. We don’t have the numbers for many prolonged battles.”
“I think we’ve only got one in us, old man,” Robert said, clapping our uncle on the shoulder.
“Aye,” Little John grunted. “Our people are too untrained, too uncoordinated, and we haven’t enough time to get them where we need them to be.”
“What are you saying, John?” I asked.
“I’m saying, little hope, in order to cut down on potential casualties, we need to make this a well-coordinated attack from a tight group. Small numbers. We must rely on stealth and quick maneuvers to win this.”
Friar Tuck threw up his arms. “For the tactician of the group, that sounds incredibly vague and, offense intended, like a fucking death sentence.”
“Have you any better ideas, Tuck?”
Marian said, “John isn’t wrong. I know how Sheriff George will set himself up, if I know George at all.”
“And do you?” I asked. “Know George at all?”
Her smile turned cruel when directed at me. “Sir Guy may have catapulted me into my station in Nottingham, but it was George who held out the initial olive branch. I wouldn’t have been able to take your family estate without Sheriff George’s go-ahead. He relished the idea.”
I pouted. Good to know. “Very well,” I said, gesturing down at the map with a sweeping hand. “Where would you suggest we go in?”
She drummed her fingers on the map, bending over, narrowing her eyes. After a moment, she tapped a specific spot near the southern edge of Ravenshead. “Here, given all the entrances and exits to the village. It’s situated closest to Nottingham—a straight southern shot—should anything go wrong for him. It provides an area where he can easily put his tail between his legs and run. I know these hills well. If his army camps at the base of them”—she jabbed the spot again, harder this time—“this is where the Sheriff’s command tent will be.”
There was a unified holding of breath after Marian finished her spiel. I looked left to right, to all my mates, my uncle, my brother. Asking for their assistance, because this was too big of a decision for one person to make. Too much at stake. Our very survival was at stake.
“I can’t say I disagree,” Will Scarlet said at last. He let out a huff. “I know Ravenshead better than anyone here, little thorn. I was reared there. I know every tree, lake, and hillock surrounding that village. The area Marian points to provides solid cover from a north, east, or west attack, especially if George keeps his regiment in front of him. Behind him, well, he wouldn’t want to choke the supply line from Nottingham, or stuff the access point with too many campsites or fires. He’ll need a large meadow or pasture for the Templar steeds to graze and sleep. The southern base of this hill provides it. It also gives him a good visual in every direction, being on top of the hill. There are a few thick wooded areas we could use to our advantage nearby but, generally, they’re a deterrent for any fast-moving invaders. Which would include us.” He finished his report with a long sigh, then a shrug directed at me. “It’s as solid a campsite as any for the leader of a military operation. Especially one as finicky and frightened as Sir George is.”
To hear Will confident gave me everything I needed. I looked to my mates: first Alan, then Tuck, then John. I wanted their opinions.
None of them said a thing. They gave me small nods. Tuck was the slowest of all, because he was the most cautious. Alan nodded because it seemed like the right thing to do. John, well, he seemed the most assured.
“If you go, we go, Robin,” he said.
“Keep the group small,” Robert added, “but Gregory and I will be joining you, sister. Don’t try to stop us.”
“Aye,” Gregory agreed, crossing his arms. “I’ve been waiting to be made useful again.”
Robert snorted and shouldered our uncle. “Again? When were you ever useful, old man?”
Gregory’s gray beard twitched as he smiled. “Fuck you, dear nephew.”
Everyone inside the tent chuckled. It was nervous laughter. Perhaps the last time we’d get to laugh together, if we went through with this.
“We’re all in agreement, then,” I said. “Which means there’s one final question to pose.” When eyebrows lifted, veering to me, I stood tall. “When do we go?”
A pause.
My brother put his hand on the bow slung across his shoulder. “There’s no time like the present, Robin. Let’s get this fucking bastard before we lose his location, and before he can terrorize more of our people.”