Chapters X & XI (Eleanor's Side of the Story)

Chapter X
~The carving, Breath, Little John~

The wind seemed to caress my face as I left the yard of the house. The sun had only just come up and was still peeking halfway through the trees that abutted our land on the far left. I made my way to the right where two miles down the road was Sherwood Forest and a large hill that sloped steeply up to meet the dense green foliage. I didn’t care that I had on my best dress; my deepest desire was to be alone with no worries hanging over my head and the hill that rose to meet the Wood was my best bet for that.

It didn’t take me long to reach the hill, and I was soon climbing to gain the first row of trees that gave shade, for by now the sun had rose and was ascending still. Upon reaching the trees, I looked for the barely discernable deer path that my mother had pointed out to me early in my childhood. There… there it was; still leading into the dark foreboding forest that had been our haunt for many an outing. I wrapped my deep green and rich blue shawl tighter around me as I pushed back the hanging branches and ventured deep into Sherwood Forest. The Wood was ancient and I was not the first to dare step in, although it had been years since anyone had walked or hunted this area of the Wood. As I pushed on, I could see my destination with the help of the green and gold light that filtered through the trees high over head. A clearing was where the ancient deer path led. A small clearing with one tree centered in the middle as if holding court with all the other young trees that stood at attention beside it. An oak. Its trunk was so massive that I would never be able to reach my arms all the way around it. Neither could my father’s long war strengthened arms. As I approached the tree, I could still see the carving near the bottom: Eleanor, First Daughter of Wilhelm of Kenton Hall. My work worn fingers traced the deep groves in the tree. My mother had done it a week after I was born and had brought me up here year after year to remind me.

I sat down under the great royal tree and for a moment just allowed my eyes to remain closed as I sat and just breathed. When was the last time I had been able to just breathe? Ages it seemed. I felt as old as the tree I sat under. When finally I looked at the sky, the sun had risen to reach mid day. I smiled to myself as I remembered that I did not have to jump up and get anything done. If I wished it, I could sit here all day long.

Suddenly, I could hear the sound of steady breathing in the silent clearing. With no animals in sight I looked over the area to see what animal or man I had missed. There was nothing. The breathing continued and I shrank back till I could get no closer to the old giant of a tree. I stood there frozen, until I realized that the breathing was that of a man not stalking me, but that of a man asleep. I let myself pry my shaking fingers from the trunk of the tree and began walking around it to see who could be sleeping in my clearing. For yes, I did consider this to be my clearing.

I clutched a large branch in my hand as I began to circle the great Oak. My father had taught me self defense before he left for the Holy Land, and five years without a man’s protection had made me hard and able to fight back, although I had yet to come across anyone stupid enough to attack the daughter of a Lord.

I stopped in shock when I saw what, or who I should say, had been making that noise. There on the other side of the tree slept a man I had never seen before. He was a giant, his length nearing two of mine and I was no short woman. His jet black hair was drawn back behind him with a leather piece of rope. His clothes were all deep green and brown in color that only enforced the dark look of him. His brow was free of lines as he slept on contentedly, with no knowledge of me as I looked on. He seemed young and yet he also had the look of someone who had seen much. As I stood there like an eejit gazing at his angular nose and jaw line I soon realized that he reminded me of someone I had known long ago.

“Little John?” I spoke before I could help myself. I immediately slapped a hand over my mouth as I realized that I had spoken my thought out loud.

With a start the giant woke and before I could mutter another word he was up and had drawn the massive bow that had lain at his side. With sleep still in his eyes he looked shocked to find well dressed young women before him with a large tree branch in her hand.

Chapter 11
~John, Solider, Homecoming~


“Little John?” I stuttered again. It was such a shock. We had been told that he was dead long ago. His family had held a funeral. What on earth was he doing in Sherwood Forest? Was this even him? He was so tall! All these thought ran through my head like a wild horse, leaving marks but still not making sense.

“Little John, is it really you?” I questioned him while keeping a strong hold on my tree branch.

“Who… who are you?” He managed to ask as his deep voice reverberated though the small clearing.

“They… they told us you were dead, John. Dead. For three years you have been dead.”

“I… Eleanor? What are you doing here?”

“What? No one but dead people are allowed here? Is that it?” I realized that I had dropped my tree branch and was standing there with my arms crossed as I stood there looking daggers at John. We had been good friends all through childhood. Our parents had been close. But four years ago when he was eighteen, his best friend, Robin of Locksley, had decided to go to the Holy Land and fight in the war there. Young John had signed up to go along with him and gain the glory and prestige that came with going to war. But one year after he had gone we received word that he was dead. Killed by a Saracen arrow. His family had been devastated. And I was with them in their grief, for short spindly Little John had always been kind to me as a young girl, even when the other boys made fun of him. He was a warm and kind soul.

“Eleanor, I can’t believe it’s you!” His deep blue eyes crinkled in his warm smile as he lowered his bow and took a step towards me. I backed away.

“How long have you been in the country? A week? A month? Your family is sick with the knowledge that you are dead. How could you let them suffer whilst you sleep under a tree?” Although I mentioned family, my real anger was at him not telling me. We had been so close. But war changed men. I had already seen it in my father.

“I’ve been here for six months. I couldn't’t come to my family. You don’t understand. It’s complicated.”

“How can it be complicated? You’re back. And obviously not dead. What is so hard to explain about that?”

“Eleanor, will you sit with me?” He asked as he gestured to the ground beneath the tree, “It’s a bit of a story and may take time to tell.” And he sat his large frame down on the ground.

Although I was furious with him over the way he was treating the issue, I sat down with arms crossed and soon loosened as I listened to him talk. It took me back to sit there and listen to his smooth voice go over his past four years. He told of how Robin and he had joined the soldiers in the desert and had fought many battles even in the first few months of their time there. He then told of the one battle that had almost taken his life. Whilst he was still in the grips of a fever, a solider he knew who was going back to his homeland had asked Robin if he should give any message to John’s family back home. Robin had asked him to tell John’s family that John might not make it and to pray for him. But apparently the solider had taken it upon himself to tell the family that John was dead. John shook his head as I told him of the funeral and the deep grief of his family.

“When I meet Ron of Lexington again I shall kill him.” He muttered.

John then proceeded to tell of his last three years in service with Robin of Locksley. He tried to soften how horrid it had really been. But even after four years I could read him like a book and I knew that much had transpired that he might never tell me. He then spoke of when he and Robin returned to England. They soon realized that Prince John was ruining the people of England with his outrageous taxes while his brother was off fighting the war. Robin being the hot head that he is, decided that they should help a family while they were on the road home. They just happened to cross the wrong side of Prince John and had become wanted men. Little John explained that this was why he would not reveal himself to his family. It could cost them their land, wealth, and possibly their lives. He then began to excitedly tell me of what he and Robin had been doing in Sherwood Forest. Of the ‘good works’ as he called them, that they had been doing for the people of the surrounding areas.

~***~

As I walked up the road to my house, my mind was running wild with all that Little John (now Big John) had told me. I was so distracted that it didn’t faze me when Marian came running up to me all out of breath.

“Eleanor!” She gasped. “Where have you been?” And with that she grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the house.

Chapter 9 (Eleanor's View)

~Chapter Nine~

Father, The past, A gift

The fire was dying down with a crackling sound and the moon had been in the sky for hours by the time we had all finished talking that first night. We told Father of the past five years and all that had transpired in that time. Of the new sheriff and all that evil man had done. The taxation that had bled the county dry; the famines that had come and gone. And Father told us of the far desert country he had spent these long years in. The Saracens and their weapons; of battle fought and battles lost; of friends and enemies; and of his homesickness that dogged him at every turn. Father was sleeping by the time the fire was down. I had Cecily go and get blankets to cover him while Marian and I built up the fire again. I sent the girls up to bed, but I lingered down below watching the man that all our hopes were pinned on. In his sleep he twitched and his brow bunched into angry furrows. What had this war done to him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was up before dawn the next morning with the sky still dark and the last thought of night present. After going out for eggs I was in the kitchen beginning breakfast. Nan’s day off was every other Saturday, and so I was on my own today. I loved working in the kitchen early in the morning before everyone else was up. It gave me time to think without constant distractions.

I cracked an egg into a wooden bowl and began making biscuits. All of a sudden, Father walked into the kitchen. We said good morning to each other and I turned back to my cooking. He went to the corner and sat in the rocking chair that Nan used to knit when the weather was coming up on the colder months. For quite some time we both said nothing. I worked on content with the knowledge that he was home safe and sound.

Then he spoke, “Oh Eleanor, I should never have left you here with the girls.” He sighed.

“Father, there was a war,” I said stopping my work to look at him, “All able bodied men were called. You had to go.”

Rubbing a hand over his weary face he shook his head, “I could have paid to have another go in my place. I could have stayed and helped raise the girls. No little girl should be forced to become mother to her little sisters, when she herself was a child.”

I truly didn’t know what to say. It had been my secret thought for five years now that I should never have had to take over the care of my sisters. But the only way that could have been avoided would have been if my mother hadn’t died. But what was done was done. There was no going back. I didn’t want Father to regret what he had to do. Although he was blaming himself now, I knew that the blame would be pointed elsewhere soon enough.

“Father,” I walked over and laid my hand on his broad shoulder, “You did your duty to your country. Everyone had to make sacrifices. Even if you had stayed, we would have paid dearly in some way. And besides,” I said straitening up, “Raising the girls would have been my chore if you had stayed anyway.”

“You are a wise one, Eleanor.” Father said as he grasped my hand, “I owe you so much. How would we have gotten through these past five years without you?”

“You did your duty and I did mine.” I said with more courage than I felt. In truth, I wanted to cry.

Father let go of my hand and stared at the kitchen fire on the other side of the room. I walked over to the table and began cooking again. I wish he could throw off the dense fog of depression. It was a joyful day that he was now back home. Why keep looking at the bleak past?

“Eleanor,” he said breaking my thoughts, “Why don’t you take a day off. Go and have fun. Leave the house and go to town or something. I owe you that much at least.”

I turned to him in surprise. A day off? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a whole day to myself. With no cooking, cleaning, sewing or watching the girls and farm animals.

“Really?” I barely dared to breathe.

“Yes. Go and wake Marian to have her finish the breakfast. You go wash up and get dressed.”

I rushed over to Father and hugged him. This gift he had just given me was worth more than anything he could have brought back from the Holy Land. I went up the stairs two at a time to wake Marian. She normally got up right as dawn was coming. She seemed to have a fascination with watching the morning color rise. Going into her room I was not surprised to see her just waking.

“Hurry up, sleepy head.” I said as I brought her clothes for the day.

“What’s with you? I’ll be down in a few minutes.” She said a bit snappily. The first hour after she woke was not her best on terms of cheerfulness.

“Father needs you to finish making breakfast.”

And with that I had left the room and was in mine getting dressed for a day of no work. Seeing as I was not going to work, I chose my best dress and my oriental shawl that Father had brought back for me.

Chapter 8 of "Marian and Eleanor" Story (Marian)

-Chapter Eight- (Marian)

Sneaking Around, A Lecture, Father

“That’s a good girl,” I whispered to Nasya as she devoured her fresh hay. I had successfully escaped the view, and hopefully the earshot, of Eleanor and Cecily as I entered Kenton Hall’s stable with my new addition. Nasya had been so compliant—not once did she whinny. Just before stepping out of the stables, I noticed the empty stall once filled by father’s stallion, Achilles. Oh, how father loved that horse! So much so that he could not bear to leave home without him. I wondered if Achilles could withstand the struggles and pain that war brought. It had been a miracle that father had.

And it would be a miracle if I could get past my sisters and Nan without them shrieking about my appearance or my putrid smell! I rushed to the back door in the kitchen and started on tip-toe past Nan who was working her magic with herbs, spices, meat, and the vegetables I had gathered earlier that morning. Just then, the bold mouse who had decided to inhabit the kitchen for a month now scurried out of its hole in the wall and stared straight up at Cecily who was peeling apples. Dropping her apple, she belted out a shriek and I knew my chances of trying to remain unseen were slim and none. Nan whirled around, armed herself with a broom, only to stop her rodent-hunt and evaluate my freshly-stained frock.

At that moment, Eleanor sprinted into the kitchen.

“What in the world is going—?” Her ruthless eyes looked me up and down. And I was certain that another one of her “older-sister lectures” was coming on. I listened to it not as respectfully as I should have with eyes concentrating on a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling, arms firmly crossed, and a foot tapping. After her lecture, she had attempted to pry out of me all that had happened earlier in the day, but I would not and could not confide in her; if not for my sake, but for Robin’s.

~~~~~******~~~~~

As I hurriedly prepared myself for father’s return, Robin’s exploits, words, and most of all, his face echoed and lingered in my thoughts. I had to stop thinking about him! And then, there he was. There was that knock I had longed to hear for so long. He was finally here. Finally home.

“Father!” I gasped and nearly tripped over every flight of stairs that led to the main hall.

Nan, Eleanor, and Cecily were surrounding him with exclamations of joy and excitement, but the only person I could see was father, and I rushed toward him as fast as my feet could fly.

“And there’s my Marian, always late, but what a girl!” he shouted proudly.

I could not help myself and the tears flowed. It felt so good to hear his voice, to see his face, outlined with both laugh-lines and worry wrinkles, and be tucked safe in his paternal embrace.

Chapter 7 of "Marian and Eleanor" Story (Marian)

-Chapter Seven- (Marian)
Nasya, Childhood Games, An Old Friend

As Will and I headed, more like sped, back to Kenton Hall, I marveled at the beauty of the mare I was riding. The richness of her color, her sturdy, but not overworked, muscles and her thorough obedience—all these were what I had desired in a horse I would own someday. Will must have seen the look of awe,or stupidity, I expressed and let escape a small chuckle.

“Woooah,” he droned softly to his broad stallion and my mare to slacken their pace as home neared. “Her name is Nasya,” he explained staring straight ahead. Robin brought her back with him, to this commander’s disapproval, from the Holy Land. All the weak knights had given up on her; ‘said ‘she was too hard to train,’ and called her—well I won’t mention such names in front of you, m’lady,” and he turned the color that matched his surname. “To get to the point, Robin was the one, the only one, able of training her. And with that taming he christened her with a new, more suitable name—Nasya, the Saracen word for ‘miracle.’”

It intrigued me to learn of Robin’s skilled horse-taming and knowledge of the Saracen language. I smiled to myself; Robin always had a craving to study and experiment with new ideas. It seemed I had missed much of Robin’s life in the past several years, and the thought of it made me feel a twinge of hurt deep inside. As children, we had been innocent friends, playing innocent games. Now Robin’s path in life had led to no childlike games, but a head-on discord with the English government…not to say I did not blame him. The Sheriff of Locksley bled the townspeople and farmers of their earnings and everyone knew it. Even so, Robin’s ends certainly did not justify his means. My mind toyed back and forth with this new situation that had arisen. Robin was a vigilante; and yet, I wanted to fight alongside him…No! I wanted to “play”! I told myself. Just like one of those childhood games…

“M’lady? M’lady?” said Will, his eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts! Oh, you may call my ‘Marian’ if you wish. And if that doesn’t suit you, there’s always “Queen of All Things Beautiful and Good,” I smirked.

“A Queen? Ruling England? Not while I’m alive!” he laughed loudly.

“Shhh!” I whispered while trying to suppress my laughter and my amusement. “Our stables are just around the corner. Thank you for your help, Will. I can walk from here.”

“Oh, no, M’lady—Marian. It is Robin’s wish that you keep Nasya. She’s a gift.”
I smiled broadly, failing at my attempt to hide my ecstatic feelings. Nasya was mine.
“Tell the ‘King of Outlaws’ ‘thank you’ for me,” the sarcasm rang clear in my expression of gratitude. “You’d better hurry! It’s getting pretty dark.”

“Thanks for the warning, but I’ll be alright,” he smiled. “I’ve been no stranger to these woods ever since I could hold a walking stick.”

I squinted and gazed at his face and eyes for several seconds. “ ‘Big Will Scarlet’ I can’t believe I didn’t remember you! You’ve certainly changed…in good way.” He blushed again.

Eleanor's Side of the Story

Eleanor’s Side of the Story
~ Chapter 5 ~
Missing, Marian, a Mess

Where is that girl? I thought impatiently as my foot inadvertently tapped on the floor. Marian had gone off to the market with Cecily earlier in the day, but Cecily had just returned from Locksley. Without Marian. Marian had gone off to get candles only to not been seen since, said Cecily with a pout on her large red lips. After waiting forever, Cecily had decided that Marian could walk home by herself.

I shook my head, What was that girl thinking? Father was due home at any time now and there was much to do before he got here. After fighting in the Crusade for five years, Father was on his way home. Why would Marian choose now to go missing? Many prayers had been said and now that Father was on his way back, we had made preparations for a small feast in his honor. I had sent Marian out half to get her out of my hair and half because we really did need those candles. But now she was gone. Why must she always be so flighty? It was our Mother’s blood in her, that’s what. I went cold for a moment, allowing the hidden memories of my beloved Mother to surface for a small time. She had died ten years past and I had never truly gotten over it. I shook myself; time to get to work.

~

“Cecily!” I called out.

“What?” Answered my youngest sister from the other room where she was arranging wild flowers for Father, “I’m almost finished!”

“Cecily, has Marian come back yet?”

Cecily looked at me with her big green eyes. It was like seeing my Father look out at me, “I haven’t seen her.” Cecily shrugged, “Sorry.”

I sighed, “It’s not your fault. If only Marian could keep herself still for long enough to help us…” I let my thought trail off. My mind was roving over what could have possibly kept Marian away from a day like this. Suppose she was not just avoiding work, but truly in trouble?

Chapter Six
Father, Solider, Joy


As I went around the house tidying up for the hundredth time, a loud commotion soon reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and as I looked in, there was Marian. Knee deep in mud, her light brown hair cascading over her shoulders loose from it previous bond of a ribbon, and a deep brown smear on her back completed her ensemble. As I stepped in to the kitchen I could smell something permeating from her. It was…ew…dung! All my pleasure at seeing her alive and well rushed out of me at the sight of her stinking up my kitchen and looking like a village idiot as she stood there letting Cecily and Nan, our cook, clean her up.

“Where have you been all this time?” I said as I stepped into the warm kitchen, “Rolling with the pigs?”

“No!” Sputtered Marian, “I have not!” And her deep blue eyes turned the color of a sea tempest raging at the injustice of the world. How dare she make it sound like I did something wrong!

Continued to try and pry from her what had happened, but to no avail. She refused to explain. I soon set into her with all my elder sister might over what a proper young lady of the realm should look like after a day at market. But I was only met with indifference which I could not stand. But for all her raggle taggle appearance, she had a strange look in her eye. It was as if she held a secret and dared not share it with the world. I would have to work hard to reach this part of her.

“Go to your room and change this instant!” I told her a bit more severely than I meant to. Why must my temper always flare up with this young sister of mine?

~

I sat in the rocking chair near the fire stitching when the sound of a horse coming near was heard. I leapt off of the chair and nearly flew to the door to peer out praying that it was Father. Heavy boots could be heard tromping up the stairs to our front door. A weary knock soon tapped at the door. I flung it open to see Father standing there. He looked nothing like the man we had said good-bye to five years past. In his stead stood a weary solider.

I couldn’t help it as I flung myself into his arms, “Father!” I could hear myself squeal, but I cared not that it was un-lady like. His large muscled arm circled my and he seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief.

“Oh Eleanor, lass.” He said as I clutched him to me, “I’ve missed ya so!”

“And I’ve missed you, Father! Ever so much!” I said chokingly.

He let me down, “And where are my other little ladies?” He roared loudly in his deep voice. It was paradise to hear it ring in the halls again!

“Father!” Shrieked Cecily as she ran to him, her flaming red hair trailing behind her.

I stood and watched as my drained Father reached out to her and embraced her. I took the time to look at my Father and how much he had changed since I last saw him. His fiery red hair was now streaked with gray and dirt. His rough hands worn and bruised. His clothes seemed to hang on him, subjecting that he had lost weight over in the Holy Land.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 of "Marian and Eleanor" Story

-Chapter One-

Rosemary, A Trip into Town, and Questions

"Marrrriiian!"

I shuddered as I heard that piercing howl for the third time that hour. Not caring if the surplus of vegetables and herbs went flying everywhere, I let my basket fall to the ground, wiped my brow, and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Where is that rosemary?!" Eleanor, my older sister, raged as she viciously plucked the feathers from our precious chicken. It had been months since our small family had been blessed with a sumptuous feast, but today was an exception. Father was returning home from the Holy Land, and everything had to be perfect...even if it meant scraping together our last shillings to buy a plump chicken.

"Well? Have you found any?" she barked impatiently as she tapped her foot.

"Yes, I have," I managed to mumble. "I'll be back in a moment with it. Anything else 'Princess Eleanor'?"

She threw me a look too angry for words, and I scampered out of the threshold, hoping that another awful squeal would soon be out of earshot.

Once I reached the garden, the blazing sun reminded me that mid-afternoon was nearing. I never minded the sun. Cecily, my younger and kinder sister, always seemed to be fanning herself, no matter the weather, and she envied my tolerance of fiery temperatures. She even looked like the sun, with her flaming auburn mane, rosy cheeks exploding with freckles, and bold, opinionated temper already established at thirteen years of age.

Eleanor, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Blessed with rich, ebony tresses and a smile so sweet that every lad in Kenton longed to be shot a toothy grin from her, Eleanor was often visited by the shyest of suitors. But as the oldest, she insisted on putting Cecily and me "in our places," and although she could be quite charming, that was when she was the most dangerous. In her nineteen years, she had discovered the art of manipulation and had mastered its perfection thoroughly.

Ahhh, I thought with relief, here's that confounded rosemary! Plucking a handful of leaves from the precious herb, I scampered back into Kenton Hall, the home that had held four generations of Kentons and a myriad of memories for more than one hundred years. It was neither the grandest of homes, nor did it have the most breath-taking facade, but, nevertheless, it was my home, and I had lived in it and loved it for seventeen years.

"Oh, you're here just in time," Eleanor said with a fiendish smile as I entered the kitchen threshold for the second time that hour. "I was just about to send Cecily to Locksley market without you. She's already hitched Bran to the cart, and I've given her a list of all that is necessary for father's welcoming."

Little did Eleanor know that my heart skipped a beat at this invitation! It had been weeks since I was privileged with a visit to the market, and I my feet were itching to flee Kenton Hall for the least bit of excitement. Maybe I would even get the chance to ride Bran, my favorite stallion.

On the six-mile journey into Locksley, I thought of father, his responsibility for the men under his command, and the bloody war with the Saracens. Why were the poor men of England engaging in war when they had families to care for? Why was King Richard so bent on changing the Saracens' beliefs? Is not every soul entitled to its own views? These questions and others entered my perplexed mind, and before Cecily and I knew it, we were enveloped in the cries of the greedy vendors at Locksley market.

-Chapter Two-

Guy, The Candle Store, An Old Friend

After I had tethered Bran to a post outside the blacksmith's shop, I turned around and discovered that Cecily had already scampered off into the confusion of the square. Suddenly, a sharp yank on my mousy-brown braid made me shriek and whirl around to lay eyes on the culprit. Standing there with that big-headed smirk on his puny, little face was Guy of Gisbourne, the miller's son. Recently returned from Brighton as a soldier-in-training, Guy had assumed the role of braggart and held the belief that he could woo any young maiden...whether she liked it or not.

"Why are you snaking around the market today? Is today different from any other day?" I snapped as I turned away from him as I started a determined march to the candle-maker's shop.

"Todaaay is tha same as yester-tomorrow," he managed to sputter out as I realized that he had already paid a visit to the tavern that afternoon. "You are looking as striking as a rose today, Marian...thorns and all...," he spewed out.

I threw him a dirty look and strode into Bramwell of Locksley's candle store.

"God bless and keep you, Marian! How do you and your sisters fair?" smiled Bramwell.

"We are getting by. Father is returning from the Holy Land this eve," I said with a grin. After finally losing Guy and his horrid remarks and buying ten tallow candles, I overheard Kennera of Langdon speaking in a hushed tone with Delia, the baker's daughter.

"I hear that that Robin of Locksley has become an outlaw. He gave up that position of squire to become an outlaw! And he was on the brink of becoming a knight, too. What is in that boy's head?"

My heart leapt! I had not heard Robin's name for seven years! And now he had thrust aside the idea of fighting in the Holy Land with King Richard?! If I recalled, Robin had always been enthralled at the thought of waging war with King Richard. I had to see Robin as soon as I was able.

-Chapter Three-

Confusion, The Market Fight, Robin

Thoughts of Robin came rushing back to me as I walked briskly out of Bramwell's candle shop. After dreaming of picking off thousands of Saracens single-handedly in the "Unholy Land", as Robin called it, why had he suddenly stooped to the level of outlaw?

This confusing sea of thoughts was interrupted by a sudden tumult in the market square. Half a dozen of the Sheriff’s guards were screaming with faces the color of the tomatoes being crushed in the chaos. Another two guards were busying their swords and grinning wickedly as they fought back two young men, who seemed to be the source of the bedlam. One of the thieves was carrying five loaves of bread under one arm and a bulging sack of poultry in the other. Smirking and antagonizing the guards seemed to be his specialty, and although the young criminal was lanky, he had a unique way of defending himself. To my amazement, he was using only his feet to fight! He kicked here and parried there, his feet flying into a swift frenzy.

His partner in crime, a taller and bulkier specimen, carted three purses brimming with sterling on his deerskin belt. This man's weapon of choice did not appear to be an appendage. With the greatest of accuracy, he manipulated a recurve bow, shooting arrows with it at one moment and shirking the guards' blows with it in the next.

Soon the entire brigade of sentinels was lying in a defenseless heap of shame in the middle of the square. As if fire were at the criminals' heels, they sped straight in my direction, and the master of the recurve bow stumbled, sending my basket of candles and me soaring into the air. I landed in a pile of horse dung and muttered a small oath.

"What in St. William's name is the matter with y--?" The look in his eyes stayed my angry insult. We both paused. I had seen this look before. The market thief was Robin.

-Chapter Four-

The Chase, Explanations, Returning Home

Before I could think of anything to say, Robin grabbed my hand, summoned his comrade, and began sprinting with the alacrity of a stag. I stumbled unwillingly after him.

By this time another dozen of the Sheriff’s guards were ordered after us, which was not so terrible...but this time they came with vengeance for weapons and horses for shields.

"C'mon, Will!" Robin called to his partner in crime. "We'll head into the woods! The Sheriff’s minions will be too fearful to bring their horses into such a boggy terrain," he said with surprising energy.

Robin's guess about the "Sheriff’s minions" was as exact as his arrow shooting. When the three of us had run about a mile into Sherwood Forest, Robin finally allowed us to catch our breath.

"What," I panted, "is," I took another deep breath, "the matter with you?" I gawked at the face I had not seen in seven years. It was now half-covered with a thin, russet beard. Its eyes were piercing blue, and its lips flickered, always willing to smile. I gaped at Robin with probably the most puzzled look in the history of puzzled looks. He just laughed.

"Ah, Marian, you're just as I remember you." And he shot me a toothy grin.

"Is that a good or bad thing, Robin, King of Outlaws?" I had been flung into horse dung, had unwillingly run two miles, and was now sweating like one of the farm pigs. To make matters worse, Father would be arriving home with his convoy in less than an hour, and Cecily was most likely searching for me throughout the entire town of Locksley. If one could not guess, I was seething and probably would have scared myself if I had had a looking-glass.

"Oh, no need to be angry, Lady of Kenton!" Robin said, lifting his hands in defense. "I just remember you as being completely out of breath when we played 'tag' as children. And in that sense, you appear exactly as I recall you. And for future reference, I am not 'King of the Outlaws' as you so quaintly put it."

"Then, why in St. Paul's name were you and your friend stealing from Locksley market?!" I wanted to know once for all.

"His friend's name is Will. Will Scarlet, if you please," interjected the man who had so proficiently fought with his feet.

"I was stealing from those rich merchants for the poor, helpless families of Locksley, Welham, Aslackby, Nettlestone, and Metheringham," Robin said with a look of genuine earnest in his eyes. "They have nothing while the greedy, ring-fingered merchants have everything and more!" he scowled. "While they sit in their fine brocade armchairs at their rich mahogany tables and eat the most luxurious foods with spices imported from the Holy Land, these destitute souls are lucky if they have chairs, tables, or any food at all!"

I was definitely able to see his point.

"But there is still no need to steal. There are other ways...," I said meekly.

"What other ways, Marian! If you know, please enlighten me," he grumbled coldly. "I am sorry. I did not mean to appear so callous. But as you know, Prince John raises taxes, sends orders to do so to the Sheriff, who practically kneels at his feet, and the people of England are left to starve. They have no money or stamina left for taxes. What money they scrape together is left for a meager meal," he said with sorrow reflecting in his piercing-blue eyes.

"What about your dream to wage war in the Holy Land? Doesn't that mean something to you?"

"I left my vocation for the knighthood for reasons. When my stupid ways of childhood dreaming were replaced by sensibility and reality, I saw how aloof and uncaring each knight was. Why had I ever wanted to represent, ride with, fight alongside, and imitate these uncouth men?" He shook his head and then became silent. While thoughts raced inside my head and my mouth struggled to free at least one word, Robin said:

" 'Best take her home, Will. It's almost dusk. She lives at Kenton Hall, three miles north of Brighton Abbey. Goodbye, Marian. Give your father my regards."

I was too dumbfounded by everything that had happened to me in less than three hours; I could not give Robin a reply. I smiled weakly and mounted a mare that Will had prepared.

Some form of adventure and excitement had come at last, and I was so used to my monotonous life that I had not accepted it as readily as I thought I would be able. Suddenly, Robin's last words to me replayed in my head. "Give your father my regards." How did he know father was returning home from his campaign?

And then a bolt of panic struck me. Father had probably been home for at least an hour! I was supposed to have returned home hours ago myself, and here I was smelling of horse and its excrements and looking like a regular milk-maid. What would Eleanor and Cecily say?