Robin didn't anticipate that his confrontation with Scarlet would come so soon. The band had scurried through the forest – their forest – like squirrels on the run from some predator. The mercenary Alain of Mons had lost half a dozen men today, some killed and others wounded. Some would eventually die of their injuries. He wanted retribution and would have continued the hunt, except for the superstitions of his men. They had heard tales about Sherwood Forest: a place of magic, spirits and pagan secrets. Some claimed the trees themselves were possessed. Jacques crowed that they now had Robin Hood under heel because they had captured the "Lady of Sherwood", Marion of Leaford.
Marion's capture weighed heavily on the minds of the outlaws when they finally rested after dusk – deep within Sherwood, where not even the king's foresters dared to go. Sometimes, Robin believed the tavern tales: the forest was enchanted to him. His experiences with Herne the Hunter showed him that there was a world beyond the idle and indifferent life of a lord. There was the hardship: the daily labours of the commoners, the rapacious behaviour of their masters and the cruel indifference of bishops and barons. It would be too easy to dwell on the misery. Do not let the suffering dissuade you, Herne would say. Any man can see suffering; it takes courage to do something about it.
When Nasir cut out the arrowhead from Little John's leg, it took Tuck, Scarlet and Robin all their strength to hold the giant down. Little John bit firmly into a boiled leather strap and clenched his teeth, as Nasir retrieved the heated knife from the brazier and cut out the arrowhead. Tuck crossed himself when he sniffed the arrow and learned that it was not poisoned. When Little John finally fell asleep, Scarlet's attentions turned towards the afternoon's failures.
"How could you let them take her?" Scarlet exclaimed. He paced back and forth in front of the firepit. "We should have stood our ground – we could've taken them!"
"Alain of Mons is a soldier," Nasir said. "He knew how to defeat us, and that is on open ground with men-at-arms and his own archers." He placed a fur-lined cloak over Little John to keep him warm.
"He had longbows, Will," Robin added. "And horses. On open ground, we were outmatched."
"Outmatched?" Scarlet said. "The sheriff has crossbows and horses, too, and we know how to beat him. It don't matter if he fights us in the forest, on the road, in a meadow – we could take anything the Sheriff threw at us. And you … you let those land pirates beat us. Sherwood's ours! We could've drawn them into the woods and picked them off one by one."
"Scarlet, that's enough," Tuck said solemnly. He feared for Marion's safety, and the arguing was pointless to him.
"He has a point, Tuck," Robin admitted. "We allowed Alain to choose the battleground. We've seen how he fights. Next time, he won't be so fortunate."
"It's a little late for 'next time', don't ya think," Scarlet said. "This Alain fellow's got Marion. His men are filth who can't be trusted."
"Alain gave his word that Marion will come to no harm," Robin said, silently praying that the Flemish knight still placed value on honour. Scarlet scoffed at the remark and paced erratically again in front of the firepit. Little John let out a moan of pain and the men fell silent. Robin thought that was the last of it when Scarlet went off to the edge of camp. Nasir could hear Scarlet muttering something about the worth of a mercenary's word, but he let it pass.
Scarlet approached Robin an hour later. "So, that's it then. Alain gave his word – and you believe him?"
"You saw his gauntlet, Will," Robin replied. "It bears the crest of the House of Flanders. His men may be scoundrels, but it seems loyalty means something to him."
"I knew it!" Scarlet exclaimed. "You would take his word on faith – because you're just … like … him." Nasir stood up tentatively, sensing that Scarlet's temper was up.
"I'm nothing like him," Robin said, and he sat up and crossed to the other side of the camp. Scarlet followed him.
"Aren't you?" Scarlet challenged. "You and Alain are creatures of the court: yes, my lord, no my lord, would you like the serf's head on a plate, milord? You've never starved, never suffered. You think a change of clothes and poaching deer makes you just like one of us? Not a chance."
"That's enough, Will!" Tuck ordered, but Scarlet wasn't listening.
"He's broken his vows, the Flemish pirate," Scarlet continued. "His word's worthless. At least he knows he's scum. You're just a nobleman wearing an outlaw's hood … Robert." He had intentionally referred to Robin by his lordly name, and the rebuke stung the Hooded Man.
"My name is Robin, Scarlet," Robin stated.
"You haven't earned the right to use his name, Herne's Son or not," Scarlet said. "If anything happens to Marion tonight, if they lay one hand on her …so help me, I'll – " Scarlet's provocations had finally hit their mark. Robin stood up angrily and instinctively placed his hand on Albion's hilt. Scarlet reached for his dagger, but Tuck firmly swatted it out of his hand with a quarterstaff. Scarlet clutched his bruised hand while Nasir pushed Robin away from him.
"You would have the mercenary keep his honour – while you stain yours?" Nasir said curtly. The Saracen's remark was a blow to him because the words rang true. The Hooded Man fought for the dispossessed, and that included people like Will Scarlet. He immediately felt ashamed that he had contemplated drawing Albion against one of his own men. It was the reaction of an earl's son – not of Herne's Son.
"Loxley would never have let them capture Marion," Scarlet muttered bitterly.
"Loxley is dead, Will," Tuck said. "So is Robert of Huntingdon. He is Herne's chosen son now – Robin, the Hooded Man. The people's champion. He has kept the faith, time and again. We must keep the faith if we are to save Marion. Fighting amongst ourselves only plays into Alain and the sheriff's hands. We've got to stay together." Tuck tried to help Scarlet off the ground, but he brushed off the friar's hand and stormed into the darkness of the woods.
"Will, I'm sorry –" Robin said, but Scarlet was already out of earshot.
Robin clapped Nasir on the shoulder. "Thank you, Nasir. Salaam. You were right."
"I know," Nasir grinned mischievously.
"Scarlet's frustrated, that's all," Tuck said. "You won't lose him, Robin." Robin nodded a quiet thanks to Tuck and stood alone, away from the dimming firepit. I hope you're right, Tuck, he thought. We need Will Scarlet. To keep us honest.
Little John groaned again and Robin rushed to his side. The giant was in pain, but his fever had finally broken.
"Remind me to box Scarlet's ears when I'm better," Little John mumbled, as he placed a moist cloth over his eyes. Robin laughed quietly at the jest. He only wished that Marion could share in the laughter.
Alain of Mons gripped the ears of the two rabbits he had caught. He wanted a king's feast, but he could not find deer tonight. The Lady of Sherwood was his prisoner and venison would have been a fitting supper. His men made camp among the chestnuts and oaks surrounding Sherwood Forest; he could not persuade them to venture anywhere within the "haunted forest".
He heard his Flemish companion, Jacques, trample through the shrubs towards him.
"We have a problem at camp, Alain," he blurted, as he gasped for breath. He didn't want to spend more time than necessary in the evil woods.
Alain sighed. "Yes, yes, the wineskins are empty. When we bring the Hooded Man back to the sheriff, there'll be plenty of wine and mead."
"It's the lady," Jacques confessed. "Some of the men are upon her …" Alain dropped his rabbits, drew his sword and bounded into their camp in a rage. He did not expect to see what he did.
Marion's sleeve was torn, but one of the Scotsmen lay wounded on the ground – his leg was gashed. One of the Celts grappled with her from behind, but she elbowed him in the ribs and kicked him in the groin. A Dane lunged at her, but she punched him with one hand while drawing his sword from its scabbard with the other. She held the sword like a soldier, ready to parry any blow. The cohort backed away nervously, wary that the next attacker would find a sword in his belly.
The woman was terrified, but calm. Alain had heard the stories of Sherwood's outlaws: the giant, the priest, the madman, the miller's son, the infidel warrior, the one called Loxley (the sheriff had claimed to have killed him) and the nobleman-turned-outlaw. It was the tales about the Maid of Sherwood that he found far-fetched: a woman who fought like a man and strung a bow like an archer. Marion of Leaford was the legend come to life.
Two of Alain's Welsh archers notched arrows into their bows, but Jacques held them back.
"Enough of this!" Alain growled. He kicked the Dane on the ground angrily, turned around and punched the Celt who had attacked Marion. The Scot with the cut on his leg stood up slowly, leaning onto a tree trunk. Alain grabbed the man, who had been assigned to guard Marion.
"Are you hard of hearing?" Alain said. "I gave my word that Marion is not to be molested."
The Scot leered at Marion, who still had her sword drawn. "The girl is no lady. She's just the outlaw's wench. We just wanted to see if she was a maid."
Alain took off his gauntlet with the Flemish coat of arms and smacked him loudly across the face with it. The Scot spat gobs of blood onto the ground. He was a foul-looking man with missing teeth who joined the English cause for plunder, not glory. "Havin' that crest on your glove don't make you our lord," he said. "We came to Nottingham with a score of men, promised gold and royal favour. Now, we got less than a dozen – and for what?" The Dane and the Celt who had harassed Marion grunted in agreement.
Jacques placed his hand on his sword hilt, but Alain held his hand up. "Those of you who stand with me will have more gold than what you'll find in Normandy," he bellowed, "when we deliver the Hooded Man to the sheriff. Marion is not to be touched until then. If my terms are unpalatable, take your leave now. I will say no more." Alain rested his hand on his own sword hilt, which implied that the rebels would answer to him.
The foul Scotsman picked up his broadsword, sneering at the Flemish knight. "I'll take my chances with the English dogs in France." He limped angrily out of camp, heading south. The Dane and the Celt soon followed.
Alain turned to Marion, who still had the sword in her hand. He didn't look at her as he retrieved his rabbits and began to skin them with his dagger. "Come to the fire, my lady of Sherwood," he said. "Have some stew. And you can put that sword down. My Welsh archers will skewer you where you stand, if I wish it."
Marion realized that she had no other option. Marion yielded the sword to Alain, which prompted Jacques and the Welshmen to lower their guard at last. She warmed herself by the fire and glanced at the elaborate crest on one of Alain's gauntlets.
"You served the Count of Flanders," she said. "My father spoke well of Baldwin and the Countess Marie. Does your vow to them mean nothing to you, that you would forsake your honour for King John's gold?"
Alain did not answer for several minutes as he gutted the rabbits and chopped meat. When the stew was brewing, he sat on the ground beside Marion. "I consider myself a knight of Flanders, even now. I have sworn my service to the Count and Countess, but one of their vassals accused me of murder when my lord was away from the castle on a campaign. I fear the traitor still holds influence in the Flemish court and means to propose a separate peace with Philip Augustus, God curse his soul! Don't pass judgment on me, my lady, while you shame your father's own name with these woodland thieves."
Marion face flushed red with indignation. "We steal from those who have already stolen from the people of Sherwood. We are giving back what belongs to them. You know nothing about me, or of Robin Hood."
Alain thought of Marion's skirmish with the Scotsman. His men feared her because the day's skirmish had proven that the outlaws of Robin Hood were every bit as lethal as their legend. "On the contrary, Marion," he said. "Your encounter with the ugly Scot merely confirmed the tavern tales I have heard in Flanders, Anjou and Brittany. I have heard much about your exploits against the sheriff, the English king and the devil's cult in Ravenscar." He regretted the loss of three capable fighting men – he would miss their swords – but he had given his word to protect Marion's honour. And, with fewer men to pay, it would mean more gold for those who remained. "I mean to collect what the sheriff has promised to me for Robin Hood's capture," he continued, "despite the spirits in these woods. You will come to no harm tonight, but do not try to escape. I am merciful; my archers are not." He gave Marion a hearty bowl of stew, while he tore into a loaf of bread. The men snickered as the Lady of Sherwood slurped the meal ravenously like a commoner. With her rough-spun dress and simple boots, she hardly seemed like a crusader's highborn daughter. But she surely fights like one, Alain thought.
With the departure of the malcontents, Alain's cohort now numbered less than a dozen. Marion observed that about half of them – including his lieutenant Jacques and the Welsh archers – showed more deference to Alain. The remaining Scots, Danes and Celts did as they were told without much enthusiasm: the promise of gold alone bound them to Alain. She assumed that the men most loyal to the renegade knight were either Flemish kinsmen, or paid better than the other mercenaries. The Welshmen were likely better paid, since their archery skills were more useful.
As she slept by the fire, Marion silently called upon the gods: the Christian one who would protect her virtue and her soul, and the ancient ones of the forest who would defend Robin and her friends against Alain and the sheriff's schemes.
May the Lord guide you, Robin, she prayed. And may Herne protect you tomorrow.