The other's story
Cedric son of Flaxton
As the outlaws walked away with the silver, Cedric stood with his father and the false abbess who'd been so essential to their plan. He didn't understand why they'd rather stay in England when everything was so hopeless than take the offer of coming to Holland. His cheek was still burning from where the youngest outlaw, the one who'd taken his place into Nottingham, had slapped him, accusing them for being just like tax collectors. What did he mean? The tax collectors took money from the poor; he and his father took money from the sheriff
Yeah… but where do the sheriff's money come from?
Even though he tried to shake the thought off he couldn't stop thinking about it. As they walked through the waste forest he couldn't help thinking that maybe those outlaws where right.
"What's the matter son? Still skulking because that boy slapped you?"
"No… that doesn't hurt anymore… it's just… what if they're right… I mean… we can't all flee to Holland… someone maybe needs to stay back… to help!"
"Oh Cedric… you are… I don't know what you are… let those outlaws help the poor as much as they like… we're going to Holland!
"They still took our silver!"
"Perhaps living as peasants in Holland isn't as bad as in England!"
No, perhaps it wasn't! There was no king in war and a greedy brother controlling the country in his place!