XXXIII
"I wasn't scared!"
If there was one statement that pretty much summed up how things were for Will Scarlett of late, it was this one.
And not just Will Scarlett.
Horrific things were happening and as brave as the people of Nottingham were trying to be, as much as they might deny being afraid in the face of the strange, terrible and new, all was not well that much was clear.
Be it death trap mines, carts bringing slaves to do the dirty work in them or Vaisey making merry at archery contests after sacking the entire mining workforce, there was much to confuse and confound, one could try to turn a blind eye but sooner or later even the hardiest of souls was confronted with something to fear.
Bearing this in mind, was it any wonder that Will was so wary? Turk flu might just be an invention of ignorant and superstitious minds but then again it might not. Who could you trust these days? Nobody seemed to be who they said they were. Nuns were not nuns, taxmen were not taxmen, and a boy from the holy land who had agreed to help them was not a boy. Indeed, based on what he'd gotten an eyeful of before being hit in the face with a branch she wasn't a girl either.
Quit thinking about it you perv.
If only it was that simple.
Was it possible, as carpenter, to invent some sort of device to force lewd images and thoughts from the mind?
A mallet to the head might do it…
Allan or Much would oblige…
not John though, Christ I only want some sense knocking into me not my head caved in.
He sighed. It always came down to that didn't it? At the end of the day, it didn't take much to get a man excited and he doubted that the others were much better. In fact, if the looks on their faces whilst Robin was getting some action with that so-called nun were anything to go by, then his reaction to seeing the newest member of their gang in all her womanly glory was perfectly normal. And Much could protest all he liked about that sort of thing but he'd hardly been looking the other way whilst Robin was canoodling either.
That got him to wondering what she must make of it all, what she must make of them - a ragtag band of outlaws with their hearts in the right place but blood not always flowing to the brain. She could not think so unfavourably of them for she'd accepted Robin's offer to join the gang but then again what were the alternatives? Perhaps she'd been willing because she'd thus far known nothing but unkindness from people here in England, first and foremost as a slave but also as a saracen.
He swiftly dismissed the idea; she didn't seem like the type of person who would do anything she didn't want to, even when faced with hostility from ignorant and clueless sorts. She surely craved acceptance as did every man (or woman) but he couldn't see her settling for somewhere merely because she'd had a hard time elsewhere.
So perhaps it was their cause after all that had inspired her acceptance. The desire to go some good and help those in need. He admired her all the more for it and it was clear that she was going to be a great help to them.
Now he would just have to keep his mind out of the gutter and on the job.
I'll err… see if there's anything needs fixing.
If there was one thing Djaq could say for herself, it was that it had certainly been an interesting introduction to life in England and it's people.
For one, the man who'd brought her to these shores seemed utterly godless (unless one considered excessive consumption of alcohol a form of worship that is). Then there was the one who'd thought her diseased and had been too terrified to bring her and her companions water. Luckily, he got over this once the leader of their gang talked some sense into him but then went to the other extreme of following her like a shadow and ogling her jugs whilst she was trying to wash. Then there was the fellow who suggested she renounce her God and pretend to be a christian as if it was perfectly easy to just shrug off one's entire belief system and embrace that of the country she'd been brought to in chains.
No wonder things were in such a state really, if what she'd seen so far was anything to go by.
She liked what it was the gang were trying to do though and their passion for the cause was contagious. Their closeness was also interesting, suggesting that they had been through much together and she found it good that despite the difference in their personalities they managed to pull together to fight against injustice…
and there was a certain satisfaction to be had in showing the men a trick or two…
If only their king could be so receptive to all that my people could show him… think what we could achieve if we work together instead of fighting each other…
It is funny that just as Djaq was musing on the dream of peace in the holy land, Much was thinking along similar lines.
He'd long since had his fill of war. He'd devotedly followed his master to Acre and never regretted doing so but the longer they'd fought, the less he'd understood what exactly they were trying to achieve. He'd thought that in coming home they would be reminded of what they'd fought for but the place he'd come home to was nothing like the one he remembered.
All he'd thought of on the journey home was the peace of a simple life - Robin had promised him Bonchurch and he'd envisioned himself happy there - he didn't need much; a roof over his head, a warm hearth, good food…
And where was he now? Hiding in the forest, constantly looking over his shoulder for, or on the run from guards and wondering if there was a way to make squirrel meat more appetizing.
It was a mess. One it didn't look like they would be getting out of anytime soon and it exasperated him that Robin acted as if it was all a game. But still he followed him. The thought of doing any other hadn't even occurred to him.
So he dreamt of peace. He knew it was naïve, that nothing he had seen whilst in the holy land pointed to it... but... how wonderful would it be if they could somehow reach an agreement? Then King Richard could come home and put everything right again. God knows his people needed him - his absence was hurting them more and more each day.
How long could they keep living like this?
Roy was dead.
Murdered fighting for Robin Hood and their absent sovereign.
Is that what was to become of them?
Were they to die before peace would deliver them from their struggles?
Little John had not forgotten what had happened to Roy either.
He'd been a good man. John had liked him. He'd had a big mouth but a big heart too. The Sheriff had put him in an impossible position and yet even when faced with the death of his own mother, he'd not been able to kill Robin, instead he'd chosen to trust him – a move that saved the one he loved but ultimately cost him his own life.
It saddened John but made him proud. Roy had died so that his friends could live.
As he saw it, they owed it to him to keep fighting.
And not just him…
What of all the other poor souls suffering under Vaisey? What of people like his wife and son? Defenceless. Innocent. Just trying to get by. The hunt for Robin Hood had nearly cost his wife her tongue but it was also Robin he had to thank that she'd come through the ordeal unscathed. But what if the sheriff had taken his son instead of Roy's mother? What would he have done then?
He despised Vaisey for playing with people in this way. For getting to people where it hurt them the most. There would be no peace so long as he was around.
They would keep fighting. They had to.
Allan-a-Dale had never been the soft sort.
He'd had to keep things practical. Let's face it, there wasn't much room for feelings these days was there? One had to stay sharp, God help you if the Sheriff or Gisborne caught you napping. He'd learnt that one the hard way; Christ, all he'd done was aim at a deer and the next thing he knew he was up for hanging.
And now…
now things were worse… so much worse…
He closed his eyes… could feel tears prickling at the back of his eyeballs…
Tom.
One name. Three letters. That was all it took to wreck him these days.
"He lives on inside of you."
Yeh. Thanks Djaq, not sure how useful that's gonna be to us though eh?
His brother had been playing with fire, just as he always had – he'd been given ample opportunity to think the course of his actions through but had carried on with the usual shtick regardless. Nobody could be surprised at the end result really…
Except he was.
It was one thing to warn somebody of dire consequences; it was another to witness them. Despite knowing full well what Vaisey was capable of, (Roy's death and all that had led up to it still fresh in his mind), it had still been a shock of the worst kind to see the bodies of the hung men upon the ramparts and although Allan had known that in many ways his brother had had it coming, to actually see and know that he was dead had cut him to the bone.
A mean voice in his head wondered that it hadn't happened sooner. The same voice expressed surprise that he'd been alive to see it – how many scrapes had he gotten into over the years? How many of late? Jesus, he was practically asking for it too but somehow he carried on…
just like Tom…
How to turn it around though when you're in too deep? He'd be lying if he said that he'd never considered bailing on his friends; what they were doing was dangerous and he had keen sense of self-preservation but…
he couldn't…
Robin had saved his life…
and the thought of going it alone again made him choke…
especially now…
and why should Vaisey get away with it? Yes, his brother was an outlaw and a thief but what was Vaisey? How could it be that a man who stole from those could spare it was sentenced to death and yet a tyrant who took from those who had practically nothing was running the show?
The system was against them. The law was an ass. The game was rigged. It was just like cups except this time he was the witless punter.
Well he didn't want to be the punter. He was tired of watching himself and everyone else lose.
Never was one for the quiet life...
just like Tom.