An Object Lesson

By JeanTre16

Chapter Two

Profits of Doom

Alan A. Dale walked shrouded among the townspeople of Nottingham. While he waited for his fellow outlaw, Djaq, to acquire medical supplies, his eyes roved from under his hood for an unwatched coin pouch or an unprotected morsel of food. Being one of Robin's men, he was sanctioned to steal from the wealthy merchants who extorted from the less fortunate. It was justified. At least that was Alan's reasoning as he sought his target.

The hopeful thief's eyes lit on a stocky seller of copperwares involved in a conversation with two guardsmen. "Another tax?" the man asked the helmeted guards. "But you already collected from me yesterday."

"The sheriff's orders: Pay the 'Hood Tax' or your business will be confiscated." The unsympathetic collector held out his palm for payment.

Grumbling, the vendor reached to his side and untied a money bag from his belt. He fished out a few coins from within and handed them to the guard. "Taxes," he fumed, "the sheriff is robbing us blind."

The guardsman chuckled, biting down on the coins to test their authenticity. "This isn't for the sheriff. It's for Robin Hood and his merry men," he mocked. With their object in hand, the solicitors moved on to the next cart.

Alan watched the whole exchange, curious. "Hood tax, humph," he muttered, keeping his eye on the merchant as he put away his money bag. "Since when did the sheriff agree to collect a tax for us? I'll have to ask Robin about that one."

But his query was soon forgotten as he continued to watch the vendor. The stocky man was in a raw mood and took it out on two boys caught drumming on his wares. This was the advantage Alan A. Dale sought. Pulling his hood lower, he casually strolled around the backside of the cart. While the merchant scowled at the youth, Alan brushed the preoccupied man lightly from behind, deftly relieving him of his pouch.

Profit in hand, the thief slid the bag under his tunic and walked off. Reaching an alley, he turned the corner and hid in a vacant entryway. He raised the bounty to eye level and smiled. "That should do nicely," he congratulated himself. His glow vanished at seeing a sandy-haired boy of four or five standing before him, peering up at him with large hazel eyes.

Alan lowered the pouch beneath his clothing and looked away. He took up whistling in an effort to ignore the lad. But when the waif did not leave, the subject of interest became irritated and looked down at him. "What?" he snarled.

"Did you take that man's bag?" the boy asked innocently.

Alan scoffed. "Uh, no, you half-pint, what makes you think that?"

"'Cause I saw you take it."

"Well, I didn't. So there," Alan lied.

But the child did not leave; he continued studying him, which only made Alan more uncomfortable. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"Your nose," he gave his honest answer, bobbing up and down on the balls of his small feet.

"My nose?" Alan jerked his head back, surprised. "What's wrong with my nose?" he asked, frowning.

"I wanted to see if it grew like Mum says would happen when someone lies," the little boy confessed.

Alan's brows went up. "The nerve … off with you, little runt, if you know what's good for you," he threatened, waving his hands to shoo the boy away.

The child ran, leaving Alan to himself. Raising the pouch again, he viewed it thoughtfully and lifted his other hand to touch his rather large nose. He cringed, and then after a moment he shook the thought off. "Nah!" he rasped. But before he could gather his wits about him, the abrupt intrusion of a woman's voice from behind him nearly sent the money bag in his palm sprawling.

"Alan," Djaq called.

"Don't do that!" he scolded, twirling to face her. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

A corner of her mouth rose playfully, as her eyes flitted to the bag in his hand. "Guilty conscience?" she teased, but did not wait for an answer. "Come on. I have what I need." She patted a pouch clutched at her side. And the two left Nottingham Town for the woods, objectives accomplished.

ooOOoo

Back in Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood and his men gathered about their mid-day campfire to report their morning deeds. Robin sat quietly with a twig in his hand, contemplatively sketching something in the dirt. Beside him was Much on his right and Will on his left. Little John sat farthest from the warmth, propped up against the trunk of a tree. Djaq and Alan, freshly returned from Nottingham, were the last to arrive and took up places across the pit from their leader.

"Whoo!" Alan exclaimed, steam on his hike-winded breath. "A bit nippy, ain't it?" He fidgeted to find a comfortable spot on the cold ground and stretched his hands over the glowing embers.

Much pulled his neck-scarf up to his chin and shuddered. "I don't believe it's going to get any warmer, either," he added his pessimism.

Little John nodded his head in agreement and looked around the circle at the others with concern. "If we don't find better shelter than this for the winter, we're going to regret it."

Robin said nothing, but looked up at his men and took to heart their conversation.

"What is this gloomy atmosphere for?" Djaq criticized. "We are well supplied. What can a little cold do to us?" Her spirits were still warm from her success in town.

"Obviously, you lack knowledge of winter in England," Much corrected her, "being from the Holy Land and all."

Robin stirred from his drawing to make eye contact with the disputers. "Point being: We'll need a warmer place for the winter," he acknowledged the pertinent subject, while heading off the brewing argument.

"Not in that cave," Much adamantly stated. "I have no desire to stay in that dark, damp, creepy hole in the ground, with tons of rock overhead, waiting to fall on you."

"What's wrong with the cave," Alan countered his gripe. "I thought you were good with it."

"Well, I changed my mind. I just don't like caves." Much established his position.

Robin's steady voice once again mediated their conversation, "The cave was a good idea, but the sheriff knows where that is now. It's no longer an option."

"Good." Much nodded contentedly.

"I've spent many winters in the woods," John pitched in. "A hollowed-out tree or warm barn was all I needed. But then, I wasn't looking for five people."

Djaq studied the men's faces, including a quiet Robin's. "You are all so gloomy, prophets of doom," she piqued, mildly disgusted with the lot.

Robin let out a light-hearted laugh, surprising her and lifting the foreboding mood hanging over them. "Djaq's right, we need to look at our situation constructively. I agree that we need shelter, so let's start thinking on the subject." He shifted his attention towards Alan and Djaq. "Meanwhile, do you have any news from town?"

"Ahem, news," Alan cleared his throat and began, "Speaking of profits, here's what was left over once the 'Hood Tax' was taken out of it. Which, of course, we'll be seeing later, I suppose." He produced a leather pouch from under his cloak and tossed it to Robin.

Robin caught the pouch in the hand he did not hold the twig in and frowned.

"Well, that made absolutely no sense. What's a 'Hood Tax'?" Much voiced what everyone looked to be thinking.

Alan tried to explain. "Well, it's um, a tax that people have to pay so we can take our part of it."

"What?!" Much wailed. "Are you sure you know what you're talking about? Maybe you didn't hear them right."

"No. I'm sure I heard right," Alan shot back. With his eyes wide and his hands animated, he continued, "They was there right in front of me – the guards – and they were taking the man's coins. That is, before I collected the rest of it from him," he adjusted his final statement with a smirk and pointed to the bag of money in Robin's hand.

"You're making this up. And I don't find it one bit amusing." Much fidgeted uneasily, repositioning himself away from Alan.

"I'm not making this up," Alan defended. "Look at my nose; it's not a bit longer."

"Your nose?!" Much exclaimed, even more confused. "You're a daft man and a compulsive liar," he accused.

Robin leaned back and rolled his head, tolerating the arguing men, but did not say a word.

Little John saw Robin's annoyance and intervened. "Will the two of you stop," his booming voice ended their quip. "You bicker like children."

"Worse," Will affirmed.

Robin tossed the twig from his hand into the fire and finally spoke up. "Before the rest of you go at each other's necks, I'd like to assure you that I've not made any agreement with the sheriff to collect a 'Hood Tax.' Second, I will visit someone who can tell me for certain what this is about," he informed with a hint of a plan on his face.

"Great. I knew that. And good idea," Much wholeheartedly supported his master with multiple affirmations and nods before giving him a clueless look. "Who would that be?"

Robin's mischievous grin, as he quit his seat by the fire, was the only answer Much and the others got.