Chapter Two
Allen always felt at peace when he entered camp. This was strange for camp was always beautifully chaotic. Shouting voices and the clashing of weapons drowned out all of Sherwood's peaceful sounds.
On that particular afternoon, Allen was nearly flattened as he almost walked straight into the sparring of Will and Benny. This was no surprise. Will spent every waking moment training, in the hopes of one day inflicting his revenge upon the Sheriff for the murder of his Father. Young Benny was only a slip of a lad, barely more than sixteen years of age. Robin had initially refused him entrance to the Merry Men but Benny refused to take no for an answer. He fought Will to prove his skill, although he was clearly losing. The small lad was bright red in the face, his brown hair slicked back with sweat.
"Watch it!" A strong hand grabbed Allen by the back of his tunic and pulled him away. Little John beamed down at him as he pulled him over to a nearby log.
"Benny still trying to prove himself?" Allen said.
Benny's eyes slitted as he yelled, "my name is Benjamin!"
John chuckled. "A wise man once said, 'the road to discovery is not easily attained.' I commend the lad for his continuous effort."
"And by chance, was this 'wise man,' you?"
John shrugged. "A wise man did in fact say those words. It was me, yes."
"John, you can't make up foolish sayings to prove your points."
"Incoming!" Allen was forced to duck quickly, as a rogue arrow flew drastically off course.
A tubby young man raced forward. His face was blushed from the effort of running and the embarrassment of everyone's laughter.
"Watch it, Much!" Allen said, handing him the arrow.
Luke stood back, snickering as he carved a line onto his scoreboard. "Congratulations Much! You managed to miss every single possible target. Quite the feat."
Luke's twin brother, Matthew, nudged him hard in the ribs. "Leave him alone," he said warningly.
"The sun was in my eyes!" Much whined as he ran back to them.
Allen walked on, seeing that once again, Thomas was one of the few Merry Men who thought himself exempt from all training exercises. He chose to delve into the fine art of drinking, something he had long since mastered, but liked to continue a strong practice.
"Quite the bunch, aren't they?"
Allen turned to see who spoke and found his target. Roger leant against a distant tree trunk, observing the group in the same way Allen had. "We picked some real winners, didn't we?"
Allen looked back into the rambunctious group and surprised himself by saying, "fine men, aren't they?"
Roger snorted quietly. "Quite. Oh and by the way, happy anniversary. I'm sure that this significant date has not gone unnoticed by you?"
"Of course, one whole year as outlaws. Tell the truth, did you think we would last this long?"
"I had a strong feeling about Robin, but I thought you would be dead in less than a fortnight."
Thinking this to be the end of their interaction, Roger nodded, turned and walked further into camp, in the general direction of his cabin.
This faired well for Allen as he easily found a way of getting him alone. So he followed along past the small scattering of shabbily built sleeping cabins.
Roger walked on to the small pond, kneeling down to wash his face until he finally noticed his company. He remained as staunch as ever, wearing a mask of no emotion. "Can I help you with something?"
But Allen remained. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's just that… Something happened a few nights ago."
Roger continued to show little interest. "Is this where I am forced to play the part of your big brother? Because if so, I suggest that you keep moving. Go talk to Robin or something."
Instead of speaking, Allen pulled something from his pocket and held it up for Roger to see. It was a small broach, forged of a dark metal that Allen had been unable to recognise. From what he could gather, it was in the shape of an outline of an eye. An arrow stretch from one side of the inner eye to the other, the point meeting with both creases. Somehow, the mere sight made Roger look as if he may faint. "What is that?" Roger said, trying to hide the alarm from his voice.
Allen flipped it around the palm of his hand. "It's a long story."
It had been a few nights previous. The Merry Men had been in Nottingham, dropping off spoils where they could. Allen had been paired with Matthew, a circumstance that pleased him. Matthew was a rare breed, being one of the few men who was not only skilled but did not have an ego or bad temper to match. Allen often found that, the more talented an outlaw was, the more he was either harsh or egotistical. Matthew was always pleasant, had a smile for everyone but was also a fierce contender with a blade. Hence forth, they had run into minimal troubles as they traveled about the north section of Nottingham; which was their assigned area. But a misfortunate event with some guards had separated them and left Allen sprinting away.
He ran on until his throat burned and his steps feet from contact with the ground. And even then, he knew that he had to carry on. His sack of spoils weighed heavily as he cursed himself for not getting caught after he had lightened his load slightly.
But finally, there seemed to be silence. Too much silence in fact. With a feeling of dread, he looked back to note that he had in fact lost Matthew in his mad dash. He was quickly reassured in the fact that Matthew was far superior in speed to him so the fact that he had not been running miles in front informed Allen that his friend must have simply taken an ulterior route. All the same, he knew that he should finish dropping off spoils with reckless abandon to head instantly to the meeting point, praying that Matthew would think the same.
As he heaved his sack over his shoulder, Allen felt the small hairs on the back of his neck prick up, as he was overwhelmed with a feeling of being watched. He was fairly certain that it must be his usual paranoia. But then again, he prided himself of worrying and thanked it for keeping him alive. Better to be over worrisome than dead.
So he turned to inspect his surroundings. Allen found himself at the end of a dark alleyway. Darkened stores stood before him with similarly dark windows in the lofts above. Every inhabitant would be deep in slumber. Tattered curtains were drawn though they blew slightly in the strong breeze. Each brick was ageing, some decaying away. Others were covered in vines or mould.
He turned and saw a dark hooded figure. Allen leapt back, drawing his sword in panic but the figure made no move to defend himself. He simply stood, watching Allen.
All Allen could make about him was that he was tall. He assumed him to be male, considering what he could see of height and build. The darkness made things even more difficult but Allen could see that the man wore a long black cloak. The hood was pulled forward, hiding his face completely.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Allen said, trying his best to sound dangerous. He did well; there was only a slight quiver in his words. The figure remained stationary. "Who are you and what do you want?" Allen asked again, this time with more force.
Finally, the figure moved. He outstretched his arm and opened his hand to Allen. In his palm was a small dark bundle.
Allen hesitated, assuming that he was meant to take this. But fear held him back. What if it was a distraction? What if, as soon as Allen reached out, the figure pulled forth a dagger and sent it slamming into Allen's heart?
The silence stretched on as neither men moved. Finally, Allen slowly stretched out his own hand. The other hand held the sword tightly, to show his unspoken threat. Once his fingers closed around the bundle he leapt back, never taking his eyes off the figure. He felt the bundle in his hands. A fine material was wrapped something small and circular. Unwrapping it, he let the broach fall into his open palm. Gingerly, he stroked his thumb along the cool metal, wondering what on earth it could be.
He was about to look up again when he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. Whilst Allen had been distracted, the figure had quickly stepping forward and jerked his knee up. As Allen doubled over, the other mans fist made contact with the bottom of his chin. Allen's teeth jutted up, sending his head snapping back with a feeling of pain and the taste of blood. He was disorientated, stumbling back and waving his sword about.
When he looked up, the figure was gone.
Roger listened to this tale with a blank face, remaining quiet even after Allen finished speaking for a long pause. "Strange," he finally said. "Very strange. But why are you telling me this?"
Allen gulped, standing his ground. "Because I knew that I had seen this symbol somewhere before. I have thought of nothing else since it happened. And then finally, I realised. Do you remember that night you were caught in that fire?"
At the mention of the event, Roger's face darkened. Allen felt greatly unnerved at the change in the man. There was suddenly fury behind his eyes. "Well, you were burned so badly that you were quickly rushed to the nearest physician and we all stayed. And I saw your back. You had this symbol tattooed there."
"It must have been soot. I have never had a tattoo."
But Allen had no intention of letting the issue slide. "No but, see, I am rather sure that you did."
"Well that is interesting now isn't it," Roger said as he took great quick strides. "Isn't it strange that you have a greater knowledge of my own body than I do? Fascinating that"
Rather than be distracted, Allen simply asked the questions he really wanted to know. "How did you join this cause? You served the first Robin Hood, yes?"
Roger gave him a glare that cause Allen to quickly lower his voice. The other Merry Men knew little of the idea of previous Robin Hoods and the original members had long ago deemed it appropriate to keep things that way. "I did."
"You always said it was the second," he said suspiciously. Good, he thought, the man was already slipping. "So you know so much more about our situation than the others. I know you met John at that bridge during the second Robin and Will tracked you down during the third. So I just want to know! Who was the first man? Why did he start this? Who was he?"
Roger stopped suddenly, looking Allen straight in the eye. "What is it that you are accusing me of Allen?"
Allen was startled at that. "Accusing? What would I have to accuse you of? Is there something I should be accusing you of?"
Both men silently looked at each other. "I don't trust you. There has always been something, off. I know each and every man in our gang. I know about their lives, their families. Each of them has a story, a reason for being here. Each has told this with pride. But you, you never say anything. You avoid us. You do enjoy helping those less fortunate, that is true, but not at the level of the others. Nor are you here for some deep set revenge. Nor are you here to prove yourself to anyone. So why? Why are you an outlaw? And why is there so much about our history that you will not tell us?"
Before Roger could answer, there was a crash. Followed by another. Followed by yelling and the clear sound of a struggle.
With a sense of dread, both men ran.
