Please note: I'm glossing over the fact that, in the film, Marion led some of the outlaw boys to fight the French. As much as I loved the movie, I found that whole scenario pretty ridiculous, so I'm just going to pretend it didn't happen.
The men heaved to lift up the doe, trussed and bound upon John's quarterstaff. Alan and John, now astride their horses, were to hold one end of the quarterstaff each, with the doe dangling between them. The horses could smell the blood, though, and they danced nervously from side to side, their ears held flat back against their heads.
"At least we'll eat well for a few nights, boys," said Robin, returning to his horse.
"That's well for you to say," grumbled Will. "We don't even have a place to sleep yet, and it's past sunset."
"There's bound to be a clearing close by. We'll make camp soon enough."
Robin mounted his horse, making his way over to where Marion sat upon hers, waiting.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine," she patiently replied. "She was just spooked, that's all. I'm more worried about this mythical clearing you're going to find. I hope it doesn't take half the night."
"Not to worry. If there's one thing I've learned as a soldier, it's how to find a decent place to sleep in the middle of the woods."
"In this, and all things, I yield to your vast experience, milord." She subserviently bowed her head, her lively eyes shining in the rising moonlight.
As darkness blanketed them, the six riders continued down the path, slowed somewhat by the added encumbrance of the deer. They had gone nearly into the heart of Sherwood.
"There we are, boys." Robin stopped, his hand pointing to an open space, surrounded by trees, several paces off to their right. "That's what we were looking for."
As they meandered through the trees, and into the open area, it became clear that they were not the first ones to have found it. Debris littered the ground: scraps of cloth and ripped clothing, overturned cooking pots, and broken iron tools. Off to one side, tree branches had been lashed together to form a small protective roof and blankets lay below it, covering padding full of straw. A cooking fire had just recently been put out.
Robin turned to Marion. "The village boys?"
"Looks like it. I wonder where they've gone."
"Not very far, I'd wager." He climbed down off his horse, walking around the clearing. "That fire's still warm."
"Should we leave, Robin?" Alan piped in. "Try to find them?"
Robin swiveled his head around, peering deep into the darkness beyond the trees.
"I think they might be watching us."
He walked over to where John and Alan stood, the doe still hanging between them. Cutting the ropes that bound it to the staff, he took the animal in his arms, and carried it to the center of the clearing.
"Young men of Sherwood," he cried, "We mean you no harm. We wish only to sit at your fire, and enjoy your hospitality. We have brought you this tribute. This is the honor we pay to you."
Slowly, he laid the doe upon the ground, and stepped back. The forest was silent.
Marion suddenly heard the sound of many footsteps, of whispering. From the spaces between the trees, dozens of boys stepped out, forming a ring around the travelers.
"And who are you, to offer us this gift?" A voice rang from the far side of the clearing, from a figure still shrouded in darkness.
"I am Robin Longstride, these are my men-at-arms, and, of course, Lady Marion Loxley. I must give you fair warning: we are outlaws from the king's justice."
"Lady Marion we well know. But the rest of you are strangers here. Why should we owe you our hospitality? Especially to an outlaw."
As he spoke, he moved closer into the clearing, and Marion could see that he was older than the other boys, but not yet a full-grown man. Perhaps sixteen or seventeen, she thought.
"It is the ancient right of travelers to request a fire and a place to rest their heads. It lies within your generosity to grant it."
The young man stepped out of the treeline and into the moonlight. Marion could see he was eyeing the doe. She looked at the younger boys. They were bony and gaunt, as if they hadn't eaten well in weeks. She could sense their hunger, and so could their leader. If he didn't give in, she thought, they might very well revolt.
"Very well, Longstride. We welcome you to our camp. But know this: you are here under my permission. Do not think to make yourself master here."
"I harbor no such intentions. We only wish to eat and rest."
Robin walked slowly over to the young man, his arms open, palms facing upward.
"To whom do I have the honor of making my request?"
The young man stood, unmoving, his face without expression.
"The ones under my charge, whom I feed and protect within these woods, call me King David."
Robin gave a half-smile.
"One would think you'd have quite enough of kings in these parts."
The young man was not amused.
"I am their protector, their leader. Is it not fitting I should be their king?"
"Of course. I meant no disrespect."
Robin looked around him. Everyone had been eyeing the conversation, trying to gauge where the wind might blow.
"Please excuse me, my lord, as we set up our camp. Some of my men-at-arms will help you dress and cook the deer, and I hope you enjoy it along with our gratitude."
Robin walked back to his party, leading them to an empty area at the edge of the clearing.
"What do you make of that, Robin?" asked Will, his voice lowered.
"Boys, playing at being men," he replied. "We should watch out for the older one. He could be trouble."
"So speaks the outlaw," chimed Marion.
Robin turned to her as he began to unlace one of the packs.
"You should be even more watchful. Didn't you say that an older boy led the raid on your grain house last winter?"
"Yes, but I couldn't be sure it's him. He was wearing a mask."
"Even so, keep your distance." He looked over to the center of the clearing, where the boys were beginning to circle around the doe.
"John and Will, can you get started on the deer? I wouldn't want our young king getting impatient."
After the bags had been unpacked and the horses unsaddled, they began to make camp. Alan and the friar then took the horses into the forest to graze, and Marion and Robin were left alone to start the fire.
He looked troubled, she thought, as she watched him feed greenwood into the sputtering flames. Leadership did not fall as easily on him as he pretended. She knew that he had taken on the responsibility of all of them, herself included, and it weighed on him. She wished she could take some of that burden from him, but she knew just as equally that he would never give it up.
He caught her staring at him, from across the fire, and he sighed.
"I'm sorry, Marion."
"For what?"
"You shouldn't have to live like this. You should be back in your home, with your feather mattress, with your hearth fire."
She smiled gently.
"This is my home now. You are my home."
She walked over to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Dropping the greenwood, he held her close, until she felt warm and protected.
"And perhaps we can work on getting a feather mattress," she whispered.