Chapter 45 | Robin
Of course, that blissful peace couldn’t last forever. We couldn’t stay in our carnal, surreal daydream for long.
A few weeks passed, and the Merry Men-Oak Boys fell into a rhythm. Our alliance had become permanent, after I’d spoken to Robert about his thoughts on breaking up the camp now that George was dead.
“We never know who’s going to take his place,” Robert complained. “Until we’re sure the taxes will abate and the tyranny will cease, I say we stick together.”
“Agreed,” I told him.
Now, things were better than ever. Our camp continued to grow as more refugees came. Landon and his people started working on rebuilding Ravenshead, with the help of dozens of Merry Men. We provided lumber from the forest, and Landon stopped seeing us as a threat and nuisance.
He finally saw that, together, we could accomplish great things.
And then another messenger came.
This man came dressed in armor, surrounded by Nottingham militia, and our people took up arms, ready to defend ourselves.
We had nearly two hundred people packed in these woods. The messenger entourage, meanwhile, numbered ten.
It was hardly a threat.
I met the man outside the fringes of our camp, in a meadow past some trees. My mates joined me, as well as twenty other veterans of battle.
I didn’t recognize the man, but he carried himself as a knight.
“My name is Sir Connor, captain of the Nottingham guard,” he announced, twenty paces from me. “I hold here a summons.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, eyes narrowing. Robert looked over at me, and I nodded to him.
Unless I was given fair treatment, I wouldn’t deign to speak to this man. It wasn’t that I thought I was superior to him, rather that we wanted to keep our numbers and our leadership somewhat hidden from prying eyes.
Robin Hood was an idea, a symbol, and a message. Now that we had countless women in camp, she could have been anyone. It was better to keep the legend concealed from dangerous eyes.
So Robert did the talking, striding forward from our group. “How did you find us?”
“That’s not important, sir . . .”
Robert said nothing. He didn’t give a name. He just stared at the stern soldier.
Connor frowned. “Sir Guy of Gisborne wrote notes before his untimely death. We’ve been aware of your location for some time.”
I frowned. That didn’t bode well. It meant these bastards could easily just be biding their time before unleashing another siege.
“Yet you haven’t attacked?” Robert asked.
“We’ve been asked to stay our hand.”
“By whom?”
“That is the crux of this summons, bandit. Prince John is arriving in Nottingham, next week. He has gotten wind of Sheriff George’s death, as well as Bishop Sutton’s mysterious disappearance.” Sir Connor’s eyes narrowed into slits. “And he is not happy about either.”
“I wouldn’t be, either, I were him.”
Connor spat on the ground. “Aye, well, he brings regiments of the king’s army. Thousands, fighting in the prince’s name. Your rebellion is quelled, knave.”
“Our rebellion hasn’t even begun,” Robert snapped back. “Let him show himself. It’s about time someone bigger than the Sheriff of Nottingham takes notice—”
“Robert,” I whispered in a voice inaudible to the enemies across the meadow. “Now’s not the time.”
My brother clamped his mouth shut and gathered himself. His shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath. “What does the summons demand from us?”
“An audience with the prince, in Nottingham.”
“You can’t be serious. We would never leave there alive.”
Connor shrugged. “That’s the risk you take, being an outlaw.”
My teeth crunched together, grinding hard. I disliked this knight’s flippant attitude. He was no different than all the others we’d fought.
Prince John was no different than the other lords, either. At least that’s what I told myself at first.
But I knew I was lying to myself. John Lackland was the regent-king of England while his brother Richard was away in the Crusade.
Once King Richard returned, our hope was that these diabolical countrywide taxes would cease, because there would be no more war.
Yet no one knew how long that would be. The Crusade had already dragged on for a couple years, and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.
And if Richard died abroad . . . we could very well be at the mercy of the contemptible King John for the foreseeable future.
I felt we had reached a new level in our revolution. We had caught the eye of the sovereign of the nation—the Crown itself.
It wasn’t good news, or anything to celebrate. Obviously.
“It’s either you come to Nottingham Castle,” Sir Connor said, “or Prince John comes here.” He let go of the missive in his hand and let it float to the grass beneath his feet. “I don’t care either way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, outlaw. Prince John is not Sheriff George.”
With that warning, Sir Connor turned around and left with his men.
We let out a collective breath and sighed.
“The would-be king has his eye on us,” Little John said, scratching the back of his neck. “John Lackland.”
A few men snickered wryly.
“Curmudgeonly bastard,” Will snapped.
“What should we do, sister?” Robert asked me.
I was at a loss. I blinked at him. “Well, we definitely aren’t sending anyone into Nottingham.”
“Then we will be raided. You heard the knight.”
“Fuck the knight.”
“Robin . . .” My brother took me by the shoulder and led me away from the group, before I could show my temper any further. “Let’s not get hasty, eh?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m scared, brother.”
“We all are. Prince John is not Sheriff—”
“I know what Sir Connor said. I heard him just as well as you.”
“Right.”
“I suppose we need to move,” I said.
“Or . . . we could surrender. Plead for mercy.”
My head reeled back. “Are you serious?”
He winked. “No.”
SIR CONNOR WAS NOT lying. A vast army arrived in Nottingham less than a week later, numbering close to a thousand. Evidently, he wanted to make this quick.
Even so many days after that meeting, we didn’t have an answer.
Another messenger came once Prince John arrived in our region and said the prince wanted to meet for a parley.
I was surprised at that. He could have easily quashed us, knowing where we stayed. We still hadn’t left, because where would we go? A royal with that many resources could scour the land until the end of time, if he saw it fit. His tendrils spread further than we could ever hope to run.
“We have to hear him out,” Little John said over a campfire one night. He had his hands clasped together, leaning forward over his knees. Stern and anxious. “At the very least, we must do that.”
“Could be a trap,” Tuck pointed out.
“Most likely is,” Will added.
“We’ve already rebuffed his summons to Nottingham,” Robert said next to me. “I agree with Little John: Perhaps we should try not to insult him again.”
“And what if he attacks us with his army? We’d never escape.”
“We’ll never escape now, either. We took too long. We tried to call their bluff and failed, sister, because it wasn’t a bluff. This is real.”
Slowly, I nodded. Robert was right, and so was Little John. We at least had to hear what the would-be king had to say.
WE brOUGHT A CARAVAN to the meeting spot designated by Prince John’s envoy. Our numbers were sizeable, yet not large enough to scare anyone into thinking we were going to lash out.
Over the past few days, I had resigned myself to our fate. Our short-lived dream of freedom was becoming just that: a dream.
Who was I to think we could withstand kings and princes? That I could go against the very grain of England and try to live a life against their rules and laws, without repercussions?
It was arrogant thinking. After George’s death, I hoped we would be able to start anew.
Clearly, that wasn’t meant to be.
I didn’t know exactly what the prince wanted, of course. I assumed he wished to have all of our heads on pikes outside the Nottingham gates.
Before joining the caravan, I spoke candidly with my mates. We all came to an agreement that, if it came down to it, we would die to preserve the lives of everyone else around us.
We would be the sacrificial lambs if it meant the rest of the Merry Men and Oak Boys were able to live without consequence.
The five of us for the hundreds of “outlaws” we had cultivated in our community over the past year.
Of course, I didn’t trust the word of any nobleman or prince. They had promised peace if we came in good faith. However, I understood the prince could easily have us killed on the spot, and then round up the rest of the rebels and hang them for treason once we were gone.
What else could we do?
When we arrived at the location northwest of Nottingham near the village of Newthorpe, Prince John’s army was already awaiting us.
He made a show of numbers, bringing no less than two hundred battle-hardened warriors with him to the negotiations. They stood in a jagged line along the outskirts of town.
Flags blew in the wind everywhere we looked. Red banners with the insignia of three golden lions.
Prince John was a blustery man with a big forehead that tapered down to a narrow chin. Large front teeth showed an overbite when he walked forth atop a small hill from the rest of his troop, adorned in battle regalia. His hair was a reddish hue, flat against the scalp where he wore his golden crown.
He didn’t strike a particularly intimidating pose. He wasn’t, by all accounts, a very imposing man. From this wide distance more than a stone’s throw away, I couldn’t make out his eyes.
The eyes told everything.
“The infamous Merry Men,” the prince announced in a nasally voice. He was flanked by armed men and a few Knights Templar—royal guards who didn’t go anywhere without him. “You have caused quite a stir in my realm.”
Our group stood in a huddle in front of our carriages. We showed no sign of force, and were at the complete mercy of this madman.
I had heard the stories of his cruelty and lust. The married noblewomen he impregnated while his gallant brother King Richard was away fighting for the “wellbeing” of the country.
He overtaxed the populace and was not beloved. He must have had a chip on his shoulder about that.
Though he had been too young to join in his brothers’ rebellion against his father King Henry, he seemed like type to welcome subterfuge and dishonesty among his ranks.
Father, Mama Joan, if only you could see me now.
Your daughter, speaking with the Prince of England.
My mother’s fabrics had once adorned the bodies of the nobility in England. They had been treasured by Henry’s court. Of course, that time had long passed, her garb had gone out of fashion, but that was the closest my family had ever got to touching royalty, even as lesser gentry ourselves.
“Your notoriety precedes you,” Prince John called out to us. “Though your actions have shaken the entire country. Have you no shame?”
We said nothing. No one knew who was supposed to speak—I supposed I was, as the leader. Yet I knew not to speak unless spoken to directly, and Prince John seemed ready to go on a rant. I wasn’t about to stop him.
The prince scoffed, shaking his head. “No, of course you don’t. You’re brigands, outlaws, and thieves. You’re no warriors of justice. You haven’t brought peace to your people—only the promise of bloodshed and generations of hate against the Royal Crown.”
I flared my nostrils. He couldn’t see. He was speaking to our group like we were all one person, rather than individuals fighting for a common cause.
“And yet,” he said, lifting a finger, “I do admire your audacity. Your battle has been hard-fought. Some might even say you’ve won!” He looked around as he said this, smiling, which drew out sneers and chuckling from his subordinates in a loud wave.
I felt we were about to be pelted by rotten vegetables. That we were already on our way to the gallows, this was just the first step to getting there.
“I wish to end this little farce, and rid myself of the headache, so I am going to offer you a one-time mercy.” Prince John puffed out his chest, breathing heavily. He was out of breath from climbing the hill where he stood, likely so he could be above us in more ways than one.
Our gang looked around at each other when he said that. We scarcely breathed under his scrutinizing gaze.
“Someone must be punished for your sins against the Crown and God,” Prince John said. “Hand over the fabled leader of your merry band, and I will let the rest of you walk with your lives. You shall never own land. Your kind will always be despised and ridiculed. Yet, you will have your miserable lives to do what you will in the woods. Not Sherwood Forest, of course, which is a royal hunting ground of the Crown. Anywhere else—outside of Nottinghamshire, preferably—and I don’t care where you insects go. But you will give me your leader, first.”
My heart stilled.
The prince was offering us a way out.
I looked to my mates. We had talked about this and come to the same conclusion.
But now, as he said it, and the truth weighed heavily on my shoulders, I saw the grim expressions on their faces. Little John, Will Scarlet, Alan-a-Dale, Friar Tuck—the men I loved were shaking their heads adamantly. They wouldn’t allow this.
My heart broke, and I put a hand to my chest.
“What will it be?” the prince called down. “I will have your decision now. One man, or woman in this case, for the lives of hundreds.”
“No,” Little John grunted to me. “Don’t you dare do it. Remember who you are, little hope.”
Yes. I am hope. And I can remain that way in death, if given the chance. Prince John is martyring me without even realizing it.
I didn’t want to die. Of course I didn’t.
But, it was the most sensible thing. In this situation, it was the easy solution to all of our problems.
I stepped forward, pushing past the broad shoulders of my protective mates. My stomach sank to my boots. A strange headiness swallowed me whole, and I walked forward in a daze, toward the front of our caravan.
I opened my mouth to speak.
“I am the one you are looking for.”
My heart squeezed. It wasn’t my voice that came out.
Another face stepped forward, haloed in red curls.
Maid Marian stood forward from the rest of the crew, defiant and steadfast. Chin lifted high, her beautiful face pale in the morning sun.
My eyes bulged. I dashed a look over. My face sank.
A small curl of her lip was all she gave me. A knowing smirk, with a sad tug to the corners of her eyes, before she faced Prince John up the hill.
“You are the one they call Robin Hood, woman? The whore queen of Sherwood Forest?” the prince asked.
Soldiers laughed and jeered, calling her every despicable name in the land.
Marian nodded and yelled over the din of sounds drowning her out. “Yes. I am Robin Hood!”
I was stunned still. I can’t let her take the blame—or the credit—for everything I’ve done. I just can’t let that—
Little John’s hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed. His huge, calming hand. The same one that consoled me after I killed my father. The same one that gutted a man for harming me, a few days after I’d met this behemoth.
He pulled me back with his strength, not allowing me to step forward. My other mates took hold, shielding my body by stepping in front of me.
Even if I didn’t want to allow Marian to take the blame, they would gladly do it. They would sacrifice the entire world if it meant protecting me, and that was exactly what they did now.
Prince John gave a small shrug, then curled a finger down the hill toward us. “Very well. Step forward, and the rest of you get out of my sight.”
My mates shuffled me into the carriage. I wanted so desperately to call out, but Will clasped a hand over my mouth to make sure I wouldn’t.
They were kidnapping me all over again.
Tears bit behind my eyes.
I hated Marian. She had betrayed us.
And yet . . . now she was trying to save us.
This is how she means to absolve herself of her sins.
I reached out to try and take Marian’s hand, so I could squeeze her palm, but she simply walked forward without seeing me. I was left grasping at air.
Once Marian was well enough away from us, she looked over her shoulder and gave us all an encouraging smile. “Thank you,” she muttered, before turning around to the soldiers descending the hill toward her.
With a snarl, Prince John yelled, “Seize the whore, and throw her in the darkest, dankest cell we have.”