An Object Lesson
By JeanTre16
Chapter One
Collecting is So Hard to Do
Sheriff Vaizey of Nottingham strode into the assembly hall with a skip in his step. Seated at the table was his Master of Arms, Guy of Gisborne, in an usually dour mood. The contrast was stark. "Ah, Gisborne, you're here early this morning," the sheriff brightly announced. He went directly to the table and jubilantly studied the spread of food. Still standing, he took several choice pieces from the arrangement and gingerly placed them on his platter. With a side glance, he noticed his breakfast companion's empty plate, and his disposition shifted momentarily to intrigue. "Not eating?"
"Not hungry," Guy echoed darkly.
The sheriff smirked and returned his attention to selecting a palatable meal. "I don't like seeing my Master of Arms so glum. What's the matter, you didn't sleep well last night, eh?" Then, he tossed his finger upward and dropped his jaw as if he suddenly remembered something, and mocked, "Oh, I take that back. Perhaps you slept too well. That's right, you lost your woman." He leaned back over the platter of fruit, letting his fingers dance over it indecisively before making a last selection. Smiling smugly, he jabbed, "Couldn't convince her to stay for the wedding, was it? Tsk, tsk, tsk."
"I slighted her, betrayed her trust," Guy corrected, shifting about uncomfortably.
"Slighted! Trust! You babble like a woman, Gisborne." The ribbing man sat heavily in his chair and smiled. "A man takes what he wants; he doesn't sit around talking about it." With his words he plucked a plum off his plate. "If you want the pretty little thing, then take her. If you don't, then by all means let's make an example of her." Again his words were accompanied by a demonstration. Lifting a knife from the table, he showily sliced a wedge off the fruit and consumed it.
"Example?" Guy asked.
"Come now, Gisborne," the sheriff spoke sloppily between chewing, "she's had her chance to play nice." He paused to swallow, and then put his fingers to his mouth to smack the juice off them. "What would we be teaching the people if we allowed her to make a public humiliation of you, only to be welcomed with loving arms by all Nottingham? Hmm?"
"She will not make a public spectacle of me again," Guy hissed between his teeth.
Vaizey abruptly leaned forward, all pleasantness gone from his countenance, and slammed the knife and fruit down on the table. Fruit flesh splattered everywhere. "See that she does not," he graveled forcefully.
Gisborne did not reply, but wiped a slosh of blood-red plum off his face. It was a livid picture of the consequences the sheriff's wrath would warrant, and he did not miss its message.
"My Lord," a guard spoke from the doorway, interrupting their exchange, "the tax collector is here to see you."
The sheriff released the mess in his hands and stood, his hard gaze still fixed on the man across the table. "Show him in," he said, lifting his chin and facing the door. With a pious mask of pleasantry he wiped his hands in his clothes and waited.
A short, balding man entered the room and bowed. "My Lord, I have the results from the last tax collection," he announced. With that, he motioned for two men to carry in a large chest and place it before the sheriff.
Vaizey smiled and waved for the men to open the chest. "And, and, out with it," he prodded impatiently. "What are the results?" Without hearing the response, the opened chest spoke for itself – it remained half empty. A displeased frown replaced the sheriff's smile.
"And … it's low," the tax collector fumbled with the difficult news.
"Low, lo, lo-o," Vaizey madly countered, turning his taunt from the intimidated tax collector's face to Guy's. "Do you see what I mean Gisborne? Did I slight the people? Did I betray their trust, making them withhold what I wanted?" He walked about the table, finger-tips tapping together contemplatively. Pivoting back to the collector, he asked, "And tell me, why is it loooow?" he maniacally drew the word out.
Fearful of the unstable behavior, the tax man nervously stumbled for an explanation. "Your Excellency, we barely collected enough, but … but – "
"It's Robin," Guy muttered disdainfully.
"Arrah! Of course, it's Hood," the sheriff yelled, raising his hands and spinning around. Looking for something to vent his anger on, he slammed the coffer lid shut with a loud thud. All in the room flinched at the outburst and the uncertainty of what might follow it. "Go!" he raved. "Put this in the treasury and collect another tax, an additional tax. Call it the 'Hood Tax.' If Robin Hood wants to take my money, we'll have to ask the people to raise more to cover his portion." Seeing the trembling man still standing there, he yelled, "Go, you nincompoop! What are you waiting for?"
The tax collector half welcomed the orders, relieving him from the room. He bowed hastily and directed his men to gather the box and follow him out.
With their exit, the Sheriff of Nottingham and his Master of Arms were once again alone. "Robin?!" the sheriff fumed, deflating once again into his chair. "He breaks both of our hearts – mine for my money and yours for your female." In an off-handed, casual way he proceeded, "Well, at least one of us got our honeymoon. And I admit it was fun while it lasted. But now he's beginning to wear on me like an old nag."
Vaizey grinned and picked up his knife and fruit ensemble and continued peeling. "I think it's time we dealt with our little friend in the woods – Hood," he made the play on words. Pleased with himself, he stopped his paring. Stabbing the blade into the table top he maliciously stated, "It's time to collect. I bag the Hood; you bag the woman."
"How?" Guy did not look so convinced.
"It's quite simple, Gisborne, like those peasants. Simple minded people need a simple minded plan. The people hate the tax. I dutifully remind them it's for the King's war in the Holy Land. They hate the tax; they hate the war; they hate their king. Of course, they'd never say it or I'd have to execute them. But now – " he paused to wag a finger " – I offer them salvation on a silver platter." With those words he half-mindedly picked up his platter of half-mutilated fruit and extended it to his Master of Arms.
A cold nausea swept over Guy's face as he held up a gloved hand, declining the offer. "And what would that be?" Gisborne encouraged the sheriff to get to his point, his hardened gaze looking up from the corner of his eyes.
"Me!" Vaizey exclaimed. Extending his arms outward, he basked in his brilliance.