The first snow fell across the ground in a white blanket, transforming the wasteland of the barony to a forbidden frozen landscape. The ground was unmarred by animal prints and the air was silent, without even the whispers of animals to give the night a backdrop.
As Robin stared out at the silver-gilded night, she was glad they had finished the permanent camp three days before. They had found a spot in a cleared area where two hills rose up and inbetween it they had layered planks of wood and covered it with a tarp and leaves, which made the two hills blend together into one. A make-shift door that was given away only by a crack in the earth revealed the unfinished interior, with cut wood on the floor to keep the mud away. Three to four inch logs were tied together into several rectangles with a cloth webbing to make cots, and were propped up around the little den. A roughly made shelf set leaned against one "wall" and a wobbly table that Little John had tried very hard to make sat in the middle. They didn't normally eat at the table, though; normally they ate outside, because they couldn't figure out how to put a fireplace into their den without a chimney to give them away.
They generally ate breakfast around the table, with dried meat and bread that they had stored up in the shelves. They also kept some pitchers of clean water on those shelves, and now that it was cold enough outside they started keeping milk. Any personal items they had were under their cots.
Of course, there was the matter of what to do with their horses. The Ranger horses were very well trained, as well as Robin's farm gelding, so they just grazed around freely. Little John and Alan's horses weren't as well trained, so they tied a rope between two trees and slipped their reigns around the rope so that the horses could walk the length of the rope and a few yards in either direction.
Halt said that their make-shift camp would never fool a Ranger, but Robin thought they had done pretty well off of that one coin that they had had. Maybe it was just her untrained eyes, but it was pretty convincing to her. The fresh layer of snow over the whole thing helped with the illusion, too.
They had robbed three more carts, and she was nearly certain that the Baron had heard of them by now. All of the poor folk had been given four coins now, and when Robin went into town the other day she had come across a skinny little boy eating a roll. When he saw her he smiled and waved, showing off a missing front-tooth. It had made her feel warm inside, and she knew she was doing the right thing.
But she wasn't sure if she was doing enough of the right thing. Was stealing from the rich to give to the poor enough? The people were still living under the tyranny of the Baron and she wasn't sure what else she could do to alleviate their suffering. She was quickly coming to realize that money was not the only problem these people faced; disease had stricken them, and their food stores were down. They had sold all their food earlier trying to pay off their taxes, but now they didn't have the food they needed and they couldn't harvest more. A few coins wouldn't do them much good if there was no food left to buy.
What these people needed was for the Baron to be gone. If only King Duncan returned...
Duncan swept between the tents, snow crunching under his boots. He rearranged his cloak on his shoulders, trying to preserve what warmth he had left. He didn't have much; every time he saw a blood splatter in the trodden snow, a little bit more of a chill leaked into his bones. Every so often he would hear a heart-sinking moan from a tent, and he hated to know his people were suffering as they were.
"Excuse me! King Duncan!" a voice said, and he turned to see a squire running up to him. "A message," the boy panted, out of breath. His face was pale but he had roses in his cheeks and a bright red nose, and in his hand was a crumpled letter sealed with bright red wax. Stamped into the wax was an oak-leaf, and Duncan reached out a hand for the letter. "From the Ranger Halt."
Duncan nodded and popped the seal, not minding too much if the boy saw what was written on the letter.
Duncan,
I am writing to you to inform you of rather upsetting news. A Baron has taken advantage of your absence and has raised taxes for his own benefit- to twelve times the rate they should be.
I am in the barony with Will, Gilan, and two apprentices; Mauch and Robin Hood. When you return, I would like to speak with you about the latter, but that is not of the up most concern at the moment. Our main concern is the Baron and his unjust actions.
As I'm sure you're aware, it would be a simple matter for five Rangers to capture and remove the Baron from the throne – the real matter is what to do with him once we have him. It would be improper to kill him, and yet it would also be improper to keep him locked in a cell for an indefinite period of time without trial. And, as I'm sure you are aware, the only judge that can rule over a Baron's life is the King – who just so happens to be you, and who just so happens to be several hundred miles away.
In essence, my question is this: when will you plan on returning? We will capture him with this in mind for our time-line, and everything will be arranged accordingly.
I hope you are well,
Halt.
Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead as though he thought his fingers could banish the headache that was pounding at his temples, and then dropped his hand. He skimmed the letter a second time, and a third time. Halt had given him more problems to deal with; a corrupt baron, unfair taxes that would have to be returned to the people, and a problem without a name: who was Robin Hood, and what could Halt possibly need to talk with him about? The Rangers had never required the King's approval before, it had just kind of... happened.
He pushed the mention of the apprentice aside, deciding that whatever was wrong with the boy could wait. When WOULD he have the opportunity to return? He didn't want to leave his people to fight without him to give his support, but he knew that in staying he was condemning his people back home to more days in poverty.
He smiled at the boy who had brought him the letter, who was now shivering in the falling snow.
"Thank you," Duncan said, bowing his head ever so slightly in the boy's direction before turning back and continuing in the direction he had originally been heading. His tent appeared in front of him, hardly larger and more grandiose than any of the tents around it; in fact, it was only a few inches taller than the others, which Duncan had requested to accommodate his height. The only real differences between his tent and the surrounding tents was its width, which was to accommodate desks, chairs and beds for when he had to speak with an adviser immediately or write letters.
He swept into his tent and sat down, pulling out a fresh square of parchment, a quill, and some ink. He thought for a moment, wet his quill, and began to write.
Halt,
Winter is fast encroaching and I intend to return for the winter months to see to the affairs of my kingdom on a home-stead. I also intend to bring the majority of my army back with me, leaving a rotation on look-out, but the Eastern Steppes would be near impossible to navigate for a large army.
I plan on leaving in three weeks time, and I will take on the case of this Baron immediately upon my return.
Thank you for the information,
Duncan.
He blew lightly on the paper, sanded it to get off the excess ink and insure that it wouldn't smudge, and then he folded it. He lit a candle and stared into its flame for a few minutes, and then dripped the accumulated wax onto the letter to seal it. He pressed his ring into the wax and then sat back, watching the wax grow cloudy as it dried.
After a few moments, he ran his fingers along the seal to ensure that it was completely hardened, and then he got to his feet and stretched. He walked outside of his tent and on the crest of a hill about a hundred paces away, he saw the boy from before talking with a soldier. Duncan tightened his cloak against the cold and started forward, his boots making the snow crunch under foot.
"Excuse me," Duncan said, and the boy looked up from his conversation. "I have a letter to be returned to Ranger Halt."
"Of course, sir," the boy said, and took the letter from Duncan's outstretched hand. The boy bowed and ran off down the other side of the hill, disappearing from sight between the tents.
"My lord," said the soldier that the boy had been talking to. The soldier bowed low, and Duncan felt a smile crack his face.
"No need to bow," Duncan said quietly. "What's your name?"
"It's James, sir," the soldier said.
"Well, Ja-" Duncan started, but suddenly he felt pressure against his right shoulder from behind. He looked down with a frown and saw an arrowhead peaking through his cloak, and he blinked in confusion. Blood started trickling down his chest and he felt the warmth underneath his cloak. A chill set in in his fingers in stark contrast to the warmth in his chest and his knees buckled.
He touched his chest, and his fingers came away crimson. The pain hit him then like a delayed wave, and it took all of his strength not to vomit. His ears started ringing and his vision couldn't seem to focus in on any one thing, and the taste of copper filled his mouth.
"James," Duncan said. "Would you mind getting some medical personnel for me? I think I might need some help." He started falling then and fell to his side so that he didn't hit the arrow. He stared upwards into the face of a shocked soldier. James' mouth was moving, but Duncan couldn't hear what he was saying anymore. He didn't much mind, though, because the silence was welcome...
... The silence helped him sleep.
