Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) by R.M. ArceJaeger Page B
Authors: R.M. ArceJaeger
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be leader here, let it be me!”
He looked around the gathering for support, but no one met his eye. Gisborne was a strong man, both mentally and physically, a soldier outlawed for killing another in a brawl. His was the voice that most often opposed Robin’s in the gathered community; he was also a bully, and the people feared him. A few men shifted, but nobody stood.
Gisborne’s accusation took Robin aback. Leader? She did not want to be leader—at least, that had not been her intention. She just wanted to stop these people from hurting those who were already so oppressed. But Robin knew that if she allowed Gisborne to seize control of this moment—if she was seen to back down from his challenge—then he would sway the others to his selfish ways, and what began as juvenile pilfering would soon degenerate into utter mercenariness.
It would not be the first time Robin had taken charge, but when she had done so in the past, it had been because circumstances required it. It seemed they required it now, but was she the one these people needed? She was a girl, not a commander! But who better? Certainly not Gisborne! As for the rest, they were villeins, uneducated and simple, knowing only their own trade and their own affairs. Robin was of noble birth, and as such had grown up with tutors who fed her language, science, and strategy (much to Darah’s disapproval)! She could think in ways these men could not even begin to comprehend. Who better to lead them than her?
There is no one better, Robin realized. If I want to help these people, then I will have to take charge completely. It is up to me. I can do this.
Robin squared her shoulders, accepting the role that Gisborne had unwittingly assigned her. “If you want to continue living here, then you will have to accept my undisputed leadership,” she told the congregation slowly, her voice unconsciously taking on her father’s timbre of command. “There can be no more personal forays. Yes, we have a right to survive, and yes, we may need to steal to do that . . . but only for what we need to keep us fed and clothed; the rest we will give back to the populace to whom it rightfully belongs. Never again will we rob from the poor—only from the corrupt rich who have pilfered the people’s monies for far too long. We may be outlaws, but we will be outlaws with honor . . . a quality not many of the Sheriff’s soldiers can claim to possess!”
That assertion got a small chuckle.
“So we just have to rob from the rich instead of the poor? That does not sound so bad,” laughed Gavin o’ Dell.
“Honor is more than that,” Robin said firmly. “It is sharing what you have with those who have less. It is sheltering and caring for the widows, the orphans, and the sick. It is doing no woman harm,” she said, recalling the many bruised cheeks she had seen in her lifetime. Her gaze happened to alight at that moment on a pair of particularly randy twins, and on impulse, she added, “And that includes not spying on them when they bathe.”
Tessa, who was sitting on a log near the front of the assembly, gave a distressed cry at this insinuation. Several men chuckled—a knowing rumble that swept along the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw Will hang his head, smiling. Once again, she was glad that she bathed half a mile upstream, before anyone else was awake.
Robin waited until the laughter quieted down, her own expression serious. When she finally spoke, her words rang with an earnest conviction that seized the outlaws’ hearts. “If you feel you cannot live under my direction, than leave—no one will fault you. But if you stay, then you must swear to be more than a band of thieves: you must become a band with more integrity in your bows than all of the Sheriff’s servicemen, a band who will do more good for the people than any king. Choose to stay, and together we will create a legacy that your children’s children will acclaim.”
The crowd was
He looked around the gathering for support, but no one met his eye. Gisborne was a strong man, both mentally and physically, a soldier outlawed for killing another in a brawl. His was the voice that most often opposed Robin’s in the gathered community; he was also a bully, and the people feared him. A few men shifted, but nobody stood.
Gisborne’s accusation took Robin aback. Leader? She did not want to be leader—at least, that had not been her intention. She just wanted to stop these people from hurting those who were already so oppressed. But Robin knew that if she allowed Gisborne to seize control of this moment—if she was seen to back down from his challenge—then he would sway the others to his selfish ways, and what began as juvenile pilfering would soon degenerate into utter mercenariness.
It would not be the first time Robin had taken charge, but when she had done so in the past, it had been because circumstances required it. It seemed they required it now, but was she the one these people needed? She was a girl, not a commander! But who better? Certainly not Gisborne! As for the rest, they were villeins, uneducated and simple, knowing only their own trade and their own affairs. Robin was of noble birth, and as such had grown up with tutors who fed her language, science, and strategy (much to Darah’s disapproval)! She could think in ways these men could not even begin to comprehend. Who better to lead them than her?
There is no one better, Robin realized. If I want to help these people, then I will have to take charge completely. It is up to me. I can do this.
Robin squared her shoulders, accepting the role that Gisborne had unwittingly assigned her. “If you want to continue living here, then you will have to accept my undisputed leadership,” she told the congregation slowly, her voice unconsciously taking on her father’s timbre of command. “There can be no more personal forays. Yes, we have a right to survive, and yes, we may need to steal to do that . . . but only for what we need to keep us fed and clothed; the rest we will give back to the populace to whom it rightfully belongs. Never again will we rob from the poor—only from the corrupt rich who have pilfered the people’s monies for far too long. We may be outlaws, but we will be outlaws with honor . . . a quality not many of the Sheriff’s soldiers can claim to possess!”
That assertion got a small chuckle.
“So we just have to rob from the rich instead of the poor? That does not sound so bad,” laughed Gavin o’ Dell.
“Honor is more than that,” Robin said firmly. “It is sharing what you have with those who have less. It is sheltering and caring for the widows, the orphans, and the sick. It is doing no woman harm,” she said, recalling the many bruised cheeks she had seen in her lifetime. Her gaze happened to alight at that moment on a pair of particularly randy twins, and on impulse, she added, “And that includes not spying on them when they bathe.”
Tessa, who was sitting on a log near the front of the assembly, gave a distressed cry at this insinuation. Several men chuckled—a knowing rumble that swept along the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw Will hang his head, smiling. Once again, she was glad that she bathed half a mile upstream, before anyone else was awake.
Robin waited until the laughter quieted down, her own expression serious. When she finally spoke, her words rang with an earnest conviction that seized the outlaws’ hearts. “If you feel you cannot live under my direction, than leave—no one will fault you. But if you stay, then you must swear to be more than a band of thieves: you must become a band with more integrity in your bows than all of the Sheriff’s servicemen, a band who will do more good for the people than any king. Choose to stay, and together we will create a legacy that your children’s children will acclaim.”
The crowd was
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