The fair sun of spring shone brightly upon the forest of Sherwood, a brilliant light that danced upon the green branches of trees just recently called back to life, sap running freely within their veins as the forest awoke for another year. Spring was upon the world, and none could halt its advance as new life took the world, newborn leaves playing happily in the air and birds singing lustily in the treetops. Dusty was the lone road that ran beneath this lively portrait, nigh the sole trace of human presence that intruded upon this beautiful sight.
A merry whistle met the sun's beaming this fine morn: a fine song that pranced beneath the newborn leaves as they rustled their gentle melody far above the ground to the dusty road beneath their protective branches. A solitary figure traveled there, clothed in the distinctive Lincoln Green of the Rangers, men who patrolled the forests of the King and made sure that none poached upon the royal deer, yet no Ranger was he but one of the infamous outlaws of Sherwood. His weapons marked as much, a fine yew longbow and its clothyard shafts, fletched with distinctive peacock feathers, showing his true colors as an outlaw of Sherwood.
The man, a fellow called Robin o' th' Hood by those close to him, moved without a care in the world, a spring in his step, a staff twirling merrily in his hand, and confidence in his stride as he moved towards Nottingham and the Blue Boar. He had just had some merry sport with the Sheriff and his men, enriched a poor family by three pieces of gold not long from the Bishop of Hereford's purse, and gained a friend in a good knight, Sir Richard of Lea. He would have invited the Sheriff of Nottingham for a fine dinner as well, asking politely for the compliment of his company, but he had none of his merry band to help see the man safe to Sherwood and keep any from interrupting his travels. Such a grievous breach of etiquette, failing to see his honored guest safely into his domain, would be a blot upon his character and unforgivable unto death. 'Twas a pity, though, that the Sheriff would not be able to join him that day…but all things came in their own time, and so this too.
However, his thoughts were soon interrupted by a trio of fellows appearing from the fringe of the wood, broadswords and longbows in their hands and evil smiles on their faces. Robin paused, leaning upon the long oaken staff that he held in one hand, and greeted the newcomers with a jaunty smile. However, despite their garb of Lincoln Green, they were not men of the King, the distinction clear in the signs of wear and age upon their equipment, dirt and rust that would not have collected on any self-respecting Ranger's gear. Spalpeen they were called in the olden tongue – mischievous and cunning rascals.
"What brings ye fine fellows to me on this bright day?" His voice was a happy sound, his eyes dancing at the sight of the three men. Perhaps there might be some more sport to be had this day. The trio spread out before Robin, and its leader bowed deeply, mockingly, to the outlaw as he replied.
"Rather that we should be asking the same of thee, my fine friend. Thou hast come upon my road, and I ask but a pittance as a toll to keep us poor fellows in our meat and ale." Robin smiled – these might be men that could aid him, and play such merry sport with his dear friend the Sheriff. Now…how to turn them…
"Now, my dear friends," replied Robin in a friendly manner, his tone still light and merry, "What business would ye have with me, an honest man with barely a handful of farthings to his name? Did ye not see his Lordship the Sheriff of Nottingham pass by here not a moment past? Surely his purse would have been generous to such poor men as thyselves." The highwaymen laughed heartily at the statement before their leader replied with a chuckle on his lips, his sword lowering as he recognized the sarcasm behind the words.
"Friend, thou cannot be from Nottinghamshire to say such words!" Robin halted his words with a raised hand, replying swiftly.
"Aye, I am from these fine parts, from the fine forest of Sherwood – Robin o' th' Hood I am called, and I would be fain to have men as ye in my service. Ye shalt receive a suit of Lincoln Green, a fine longbow, and a quiver of shafts each. Also, ye shalt not go hungry, for the whole of Sherwood is to be thy hunting grounds. What say ye?" The men glanced amongst themselves, conferring silently as they considered the notion.
"How do we know that thou sayest this not out of fear, and that thou ist the true Robin Hood?" Robin gave him a nod and a wink, pulling the longbow from his back and stringing it in one deft motion, asking the ruffian to pick a mark for him to shoot at. The man laughed, but pointed out a tree more than fifty paces off, declaring, "If thou canst make that mark, thou art truly the master bowman that I know Robin Hood to be!" Robin simply smiled fairly, his eyes dancing with merry laughter, and fit a shaft to his string. He barely appeared to take time to sight upon the mark, drawing and firing the arrow in the blink of an eye, yet there it stood, quivering in the dead center of the bole that the man had declared as a fair target. Notching another arrow, Robin sent it speeding after the first before it could land, splitting the shaft in twain. The men stood in amazement, for never before had they seen such shooting. Within a heartbeat they had sworn themselves to Robin's band and were sent on their way towards Sherwood with one of Robin's arrows by way of a password to gain them safe entry.
Robin struck into the forest, keen to retrieve his arrows when a keening met his ears, drawing his eyes suddenly to the side as his staff moved to block an attack that never came, then relaxed. The scene that met his eyes was of a group of merry beggars, though ragged in their patchwork garments, one of their number shrieking in his glee as one of their number made sport of another. Apparently the dull staccato thunder of arrows upon wood had not alarmed them, and Robin watched them through the undergrowth, curious as to the source of their mirth. Watching one of them, a leper, peel sores from himself, a blind man – his eyes a milky white – carefully adjust the fire in the middle of a small clearing, and the lame one of their number unbind his leg, his injury healing in the blink of an eye. Truly, 'twas an amazing sight as blind men saw and lame men were made whole. The leper pulled a handful of copper and silver from his begging bag as the trio healed themselves, handing the coins to the lame man who then poured the merrily singing metal to a hidden pouch sewn to the inside of his robes where, from the sound of it, they joined with many of their comrades.
Suddenly seeing their scheme, Robin grew furious: the beggars would go into a city as those struck by the most terrible of afflictions, begging for money and storing it up, keeping up the pretense of poor folk who needed every scrap of copper or piece of silver that they could lay their hands upon. They would collect as much money as possible before moving on to the next town, where their presence was not known, perhaps changing their appearance or affliction mid-way in case word had spread of them. In short, they would amass great amounts of silver and copper through base trickery, naught more than thievery. His ire raised, the outlaw baron strode into the clearing, his oaken staff raised high, causing the beggars to scramble hastily to their feet as all trace of merriment fled their rough visages and hands jumped to cudgels hidden under their beggar's robes. The leper, only half disfigured now, was quick to take offense.
"Pray, give-" Robin cut him off with a cold glare.
"Nay! Ye hath taken too much already, and I would not be fain to give ye more than a fair beating around the pate for thy ill-gotten goods!" Already moving by the time that he had finished speaking, Robin swung his staff, scattering the fire as he dodged backward, deftly avoiding the leper's cudgel and rattling his pate with a mighty blow that felled him like an old oak under the axe. As the other two advanced, attempting to attack him from two sides at once, Robin dodged swiftly to the side, keeping them in front of him. Suddenly, he struck forward, striking at the lame man only to have his staff parried aside, but his recovery only took the staff into the back of blind man's knee, knocking his legs from under him as the stout staff met bone with a sharp CRACK and a sudden cry of agony as the staff twirled to meet with his head and sent him to sleep upon the grass with his comrade.
The lame man struck swiftly, sensing that his end would be swift against this demon fighter if he was not overcome, and swiftly so, but 'twas not to be. A swift series of strokes left him wanting for breath and then consciousness as the staff hammered his pate, rattling him and sending his mind for a walk in the realms of darkness.
Satisfied that his work was done, Robin reached for the leper's robes, feeling for the money pouch and taking it from him, bowing to the fallen thieves, bidding them a fair morn, and thanking them for such grand payment for a but a simple lesson in staff-work.