Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) by R.M. ArceJaeger Page A
Authors: R.M. ArceJaeger
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succeeded in siphoning away her thoughts after that, and she had almost managed to doze off when a commotion at the edge of the camp roused her awake.
A small pack of young men—ones that Will Stutley had adopted as his own special friends, she noted—were making their way into camp like a band of triumphant heroes. They were laden with sacks whose contents spilled out as they set them on the ground: dried foods, oats, patched woolen blankets, and even a couple live chickens. Robin watched, aghast, as outlaws converged on the items, carrying them away until not even a grain of barley remained.
“Ye want any, Robin?” Will asked, heaving a small sack in her direction. He opened it to show her a wheel of cheese and some pasties.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, incredulous.
“Oh, some farm o’er in Mansfield,” he said, surprised that she did not know. “’Twas Johnny’s idea. ’E decided ne t’ try Nottingham again cuz they only gots rotten stuff there af’er the Sheriff gets done wi’ them, but we made a good ’aul this time.”
Realization made Robin dizzy. Over the last couple of weeks, she had noticed some new items appearing among the outlaws—a pot here, a different pair of shoes there. She had assumed that some of the outlaws had risked going into town and had bought or traded for these things. Now she knew the truth.
“And everyone . . . knew?” she asked, still trying to comprehend.
“O’ course,” he said. “I thought ye did, too, or I woulda told ye.” Robin’s attitude puzzled him—was she not glad that the outlaws were providing for themselves? He continued to hold out the small sack.
“Put that down,” she ordered, the cold fury in her voice stunning the boy. “Go gather those friends of yours and their families—better yet, gather all and sundry. We are going to have ourselves a little talk.”
* * * * *
Robin waited for the last puzzled stragglers to find a place to sit, putting off the moment when she would have to address the crowd. She knew in her heart that what Will and his friends were doing was wrong, but it was one thing to know it, and another thing to convince everyone else of that . . . especially when they profited from the purloinment. How could she keep them from dismissing her as a meddling fool? Somehow, she would have to find a way, or else the community they had formed would become a monstrosity—wolf heads in reality, preying on those too weak to stop them.
“My friends,” she began, her mind still unsettled, gesturing with her hands for them to quiet. “When Will and I welcomed you here, it was because you had nowhere else to go. You had been thrown off your lands because you could not pay your taxes, or been branded as outlaws for stealing the bread you needed to eat. Some of you defended your families against assault, and as a reward found your likeness adorning the Sheriff’s bill.
“Great wrong had been done to you, and so we allowed you to build a life with us,” Robin stated. “Then today, I learned that you have become the very wrongdoers that you detest. You have stolen from people who need our help and our protection, not our larceny. What right have you to take from those who have nothing spare to give?”
“The right to survive!” one man shouted. There were loud cries of agreement. “We need supplies—grains and new clothes! How else are we supposed to get them? We have as much right to maintain our lives as anyone!”
“Yes,” Robin argued, “but not by depriving others of that right! I have a plan,” she continued, working through a nascent idea, “to ensure that we all get a diversity of provisions. Let me help you, and I promise you that hunger and deprivation will soon be only a memory.”
“You are nothing but a lad!” Guy of Gisborne cried, rising to his feet. “A whippersnapper who cannot even grow a beard upon his chin. What gives you the right to make yourself our leader? If anyone is to
A small pack of young men—ones that Will Stutley had adopted as his own special friends, she noted—were making their way into camp like a band of triumphant heroes. They were laden with sacks whose contents spilled out as they set them on the ground: dried foods, oats, patched woolen blankets, and even a couple live chickens. Robin watched, aghast, as outlaws converged on the items, carrying them away until not even a grain of barley remained.
“Ye want any, Robin?” Will asked, heaving a small sack in her direction. He opened it to show her a wheel of cheese and some pasties.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, incredulous.
“Oh, some farm o’er in Mansfield,” he said, surprised that she did not know. “’Twas Johnny’s idea. ’E decided ne t’ try Nottingham again cuz they only gots rotten stuff there af’er the Sheriff gets done wi’ them, but we made a good ’aul this time.”
Realization made Robin dizzy. Over the last couple of weeks, she had noticed some new items appearing among the outlaws—a pot here, a different pair of shoes there. She had assumed that some of the outlaws had risked going into town and had bought or traded for these things. Now she knew the truth.
“And everyone . . . knew?” she asked, still trying to comprehend.
“O’ course,” he said. “I thought ye did, too, or I woulda told ye.” Robin’s attitude puzzled him—was she not glad that the outlaws were providing for themselves? He continued to hold out the small sack.
“Put that down,” she ordered, the cold fury in her voice stunning the boy. “Go gather those friends of yours and their families—better yet, gather all and sundry. We are going to have ourselves a little talk.”
* * * * *
Robin waited for the last puzzled stragglers to find a place to sit, putting off the moment when she would have to address the crowd. She knew in her heart that what Will and his friends were doing was wrong, but it was one thing to know it, and another thing to convince everyone else of that . . . especially when they profited from the purloinment. How could she keep them from dismissing her as a meddling fool? Somehow, she would have to find a way, or else the community they had formed would become a monstrosity—wolf heads in reality, preying on those too weak to stop them.
“My friends,” she began, her mind still unsettled, gesturing with her hands for them to quiet. “When Will and I welcomed you here, it was because you had nowhere else to go. You had been thrown off your lands because you could not pay your taxes, or been branded as outlaws for stealing the bread you needed to eat. Some of you defended your families against assault, and as a reward found your likeness adorning the Sheriff’s bill.
“Great wrong had been done to you, and so we allowed you to build a life with us,” Robin stated. “Then today, I learned that you have become the very wrongdoers that you detest. You have stolen from people who need our help and our protection, not our larceny. What right have you to take from those who have nothing spare to give?”
“The right to survive!” one man shouted. There were loud cries of agreement. “We need supplies—grains and new clothes! How else are we supposed to get them? We have as much right to maintain our lives as anyone!”
“Yes,” Robin argued, “but not by depriving others of that right! I have a plan,” she continued, working through a nascent idea, “to ensure that we all get a diversity of provisions. Let me help you, and I promise you that hunger and deprivation will soon be only a memory.”
“You are nothing but a lad!” Guy of Gisborne cried, rising to his feet. “A whippersnapper who cannot even grow a beard upon his chin. What gives you the right to make yourself our leader? If anyone is to
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