Make Them Remember
It was late on a spring day, and the sun was beginning to dip into the depths of the evening. The last of the winter chill was still in the air, though the birds were just starting to emerge, the brooks gurgle, the first few purple flowers poke out from between tree roots, assurances that the earth was warming and life moving on to another phase.
And Robin of Locksley was fresh from the thatched huts on his father's estates, having heard that Old Jacob had been missing since the night before. He had grown up under the loyal bondsman's tutelage, learning much about fishing and hunting from him in his youth, and he figured that most likely he'd been out in the forest again, found himself trailed by the law for poaching, and spent the night hiding in the brush. Robin had tried to warn him off such risks, preferring to go after the large forest game himself. It would feed the estate just as well, whether it was serf or noble who fired the shot. But older men rarely change their ways…
And then Robin heard the sound of the beating rod, and muffled groans. He shot off in their direction, and saw Jacob tied up against a tree, receiving his lashes by an all-too-eager forester, with several of his cohorts laughing and jeering as they stood by. Then Robin saw the forester abandon his whip and draw out a knife, pressing it close to the serf's ear…
"Hold, forester!" Robin hailed him, and the man looked up from his work.
"Ah, be it the young sea dog from the Lincoln tourney, with nary a beard to show for himself?" the forester sneered.
"Why have you accosted my father's bondsmen? What do you accuse him of?"
The forester pointed to Jacob. "This lout was caught blood-red-handed, dragging off the carcass of one of the king's deer, and I'll have an ear and a tongue for it!"
"There's no need for this," Robin responded, trying hard to maintain his cool. "My father will pay for the man's kill, to have him returned to us whole…"
"Aw, come now, my young lord," the forester scoffed. "Don't think you'll be robbing me of the pleasure of doing the king's justice, do ya? A little blood helps deter other such scoundrels…"
"This is no justice, nor has it ever been," Robin growled. "It's butchery, as if a man were a beast, nay…of less worth than a beast, if it be marked off for a royal hunt. But this is my father's land, and that my father's bondsman and you shall commit no harm here!"
"And what will compel me to take heed, son of a fenswoman? You can't even win at sport. I fought Saracens in their cursed hell holes, while you were still a snotty-nosed boy playing with wooden swords!" He and the other foresters laughed mockingly in chorus.
In that instant, Robin whipped out an arrow, and drew back his bow, causing their laughter to silence and their faces to grow grim. "As you know, I have alternatives to swords," the young man reminded him. "And this time they haven't been tampered with, as at the tourney. You know that's how you were able to best me, to cheat my house of its rightful winnings."
"Master Robin, don't," Old Jacob panted, struggling to stand up against the tree lest he collapse from the pain of the whipping. "Don't do it…he's trying to drag you into it…"
"Hush, now, Jacob," Robin quieted him gently. "Just let me take care of it my way, hear?"
"You should listen to the peasant oaf," the forester spat. "He may have the brains of a barnyard beast, but next to you, he seems a fine scholar. You've too much cheek for your own good, noble Locksley fool…"
"Then you'd care to test this fool at arms, if he be so brainless?" Robin challenged. "I'll not stand upon the ceremony of my father's name, if you desire it…"
"I myself have an arrow for your heart, Saxon cur!"
"No." Robin drew back the bow further, and gritted his teeth, his eyes gleaming with deadly earnest. "This is no sport for me. I'll not let you butcher-cut a Locksley bondsmen. I warn you, upon God's tomb for which the king does battle, your life will be forfeit should you draw on me! That goes for your hirelings too!"
The forester's mouth twisted into a grim sneer, even as his men seemed to grow agitated. "Alright, then…play your little game, young pup," he spat. "The sheriff's gavel will checkmate you in short order."
"The sheriff's gavel has ceased to ring true," Robin shot back. "As such, it scares me not."
The forester cursed under his breath, cutting Jacob free and starting to walk toward the main road with his men. Robin exhaled the tense breath he had been holding, lowered his bow and turned to Jacob, wondering how badly his friend had been hurt.
Then Jacob's expression darkened in dread. "Lad, bow's up!" he cried out in warning.
Robin turned in one motion, glimpsed the forester's crossbow staring him in the face, and then the arrow from his longbow flew in the same motion, cutting the air swift and clean and shockingly fast, like the arrow of destiny. And it found the heart of the forester, and he fell forward, face down on the Locksley land.
For a long moment, Robin just stared at the body, his palms growing as cold as if death were claiming him too. The other foresters were running away, knowing how fast a shot their veteran leader had been, and not willing to go up against his killer. He knew they'd be off to alert the sheriff, and he also knew how fast Cavendish would make use of it to his own ends. Everything seemed to flash before his mind in an instant…what had been, what was, and what now had to be…everything was happening so fast…
Home. He had to get home. And after that…never go home again…
And so the young man made his way back to his father's hall, for the last time, beneath the descent of twilight, as the last sun of his youth sank into the shadows. When he entered and hurried his ailing father's room, Lord Locksley had seen through him at once, even before the fateful words were out of his mouth:
"I killed a man."
Yes, the lord must have seen in draining the color from his son's face, putting a spark of fear, like fleeing prey, in his eyes. And the father too seemed suddenly gripped to the core with fear. Oh, it was beginning…the beginning of the end for them all…
"Who?" was all the old man could ask, not so much in accusation as in quest of a clearer vision. He must have known full well his son had never been one to start fights to show off. Even when challenged multiple times in the past by jealous hot-heads, Robin had always managed to defuse things with good humor and the willingness to walk away. It was not his way to kill…
"'It was a royal forester," Robin answered. "He caught Old Jacob with a fresh killed stag. They were going to pillory him, on our land, father. I…I had to do something…"
"So you slew the king's man, like Moses did the Pharaoh's overseer?" the lord compared, darkly.
"He had a crossbow, pulled and cocked, beyond the edge of the forest, upon our own soil! He dared spill our people's blood on it, and I bade him come after mine first, if he had stomach enough for it! He had no right…"
"Try to make that hold up in a royal court!"
Robin turned his face down. "I'm sorry it came to this, but I'm not ashamed. I'd let no man cut into Old Jacob." He looked at his father again. "You knew it had to come, though. We both knew it did."
The elder man swallowed hard. "Get thee to the forest, to the deepest part, where you have yet to tread. Use all your skill and cunning, and stay alive! You have a better chance than many. So now, take your bow and quiver and hunting horn, and be gone from my sight, as one who is dead goes from the roof of his family!"
Something in his father's tone made Robin feel as if he'd been stabbed in the chest, and all his ribs broken. "My lord," he whispered. "Do not send me off as one dead to you…I beg of you, do not…"
"But you are as one dead," the old man choked, bitterly, "dead to me, dead to the world…there is nothing but death on us and a curse to our name…"
"Father…" The young man voice cracked, and his eyes glistened.
"But you…you are mine…and you will make them pay…you exact the toll, my lad, pillaged coin for pillaged coin, until justice is paid out to those beaten down…that is what you were born to do…I see it now…"
Robin pressed a hand to his face to hide himself within himself. "I can't…can't leave you like this…to their mercy. They'll make use of it…you know they will…I can't leave…"
"You must leave everything! Nothing remains of what you knew, except what is inside you…and even that must grow and change…yes, grow…and when you are grown there, in the wild, you will rule…" He forced himself to sit up in his bed. "My time has passed, lad…it's your turn of the wheel now, as every season has its turn. Make it count, my boy…make them all remember."
Robin stepped forward to the edge of the bed, went down on his shaking knees, and buried his face in his father's chest to shield the tears streaming down his face.
And he felt Lord Locksley's trembling hand touch on his head for a moment, in a final unspoken blessing.
And then that familiar, familial hand was off.
And then Robin forced himself up, not daring to look back lest his resolve crumble altogether, and he too was off.
He passed by the servants who had gathered on the stairs, meeting their eyes each in turn, for the last time, and he knew they knew it was the end, that all hell was about to break loose.
"None of you are bound to share what falls on us," he rasped. "I absolve you of your obligation to this hall. Shift as you will, in whatever way best serves you."
One of the men stepped forward. "We'll not leave our lord, young master," he stated firmly. "He's stood by us through the worst of times, and never sold us cheap. We'll not do so now."
A servant girl stepped forward. "I'll stay with him, no matter what befalls. He'll be nursed, whether in hall or hut, you can depend on it."
"You're young," Robin stated, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want you to risk…"
"It's a risk worth taking." She glanced down embarrassed. "I remember years back, when I was out in the woods, with an apron full up with mushrooms and hazelnuts. One of the forester's took to chasing me for robbing the grove of its fruits…said he'd take my virtue if he caught me. Then you showed up, and paid him off with your gold. I've not forgotten that debt."
"Nor have I, lest I forget how honey tastes..." He smiled sadly at the thought of fonder times, and the kiss she'd given him on that day. He brushed a hand across her face. "Bless you, child."
"There's a horse tied outside the stable, newly bought, a bit on the frisky side," another one of the men added. "No saddle has been put on him yet, but if you can reach him first…"
"I can manage bare-back," he assured. "My thanks…"
And so he hurried out the back passage and made his way to the stable, where he found the horse as promised. There was a fearsome fire in the eyes of that mount, and a snow-white star on its forehead distinguishing the rest of its coat, black as the night. It whinnied warily as Robin swung onto it, but soon quieted and adjusted to the weight of a sure and confident rider.
This was their moment, as the sound of the sheriff's men, mounted on their own saddled steeds, kicked up dust in the distance, and caused the ground to rumble.
The hour had come.
It was time to ride.
Ride, ride hard, ride and burn the past away, burn it away…
And it was only an hour later, on the high hill beyond the town, at the far side of the forest, that Robin dared to pause, dared to look over his shoulder, and saw the smoke curling, and the redness bloodying the ebony sky, hovering like the angel of death over the specter of his father's hall…of his hall…
And he dismounted from his horse, dumbstruck, and stared and stared, and then looked into that animal's knowing eyes, alight with the reflecting gleam, turning orange, turning gold, against the black…
Then he slapped the horse on the side and sent it racing away from the forest, away like the last vestige of his noble rank.
And Robin the outlaw adjusted his bow upon his shoulder, clutched his hunting horn at his side till he thought it might crack, and fought back the fierce tears stinging his ocean blue eyes…yes, they might have melted into the ocean, they were so flooded with saltwater…
"They'll remember, my lord," he choked. "They'll remember…"
Then he turned away from the shire, and become one with the forest forever.