An Object Lesson

By JeanTre16

Chapter 4

For Better or Worse

Noonday was fast approaching when Marian returned by horseback to Knighton Hall. Her jaunt to town had been fruitful. In her arms she cradled a carefully wrapped parcel from the market; in her thoughts, however, she concealed an acquisition of a different nature. She now knew what the sheriff was up to in imposing his new Hood Tax on the nobility, while showering the commoners with generosity. Marian rode up to the stables and smiled. As an unexpected bonus to her trip, she had run into the tax's namesake himself — she had seen Robin.

With the events of town replaying in her mind, the noble's daughter guided her chestnut into the structure. Repositioning the bundle in her arms, she dismounted and gave the reins over to a stable hand. The exercise-flushed woman paused for a moment to draw in a deep breath and turn her thoughts from town to her father. Refocused, she hastily made her way to the house.

Inside the main hall, Edward sat in his chair by the fire, worried. When the door opened to reveal his daughter, visible relief swept over him before his questioning began. "Where have you been?"

Marian paused mid-step and answered in brief, "To town."

"So early?"

She laughed lightly and resumed her path to the dining table. "It's not early. It's near noon," she pacified his criticism.

"But it wasn't when you slipped out," he corrected.

"Slipped out," she echoed, stopping to gape at her father. "You act as if I'd been up to something unlawful."

"Have you?"

Marian sighed and calmly placed her parcel on the table. Peeling back the folds of cloth, she revealed a bounty of vegetables. "One must get to town early if they want to find the best offerings," she answered sweetly, in half truth.

Her father rose from his chair, regarding her with suspicion. Then, dropping his aloofness, he apologized. "I'm sorry for so many questions. It's just that I worry after you. Since Sheriff Vaizey's fictitious return of King Richard, I fear what he may do." The former sheriff took a turn in his conversation. "I cannot tell you how I've come to regret my actions at the castle."

No longer on the defense, Marian's calmness waned. She left the table and neared her father. "You did what was right," she defended. "Had King Richard truly returned, you would be sitting in your rightful seat as sheriff instead of Lord Vaizey."

"And you would be married to Sir Guy," Edward matched her reasoning, sorely reminding his daughter where his choices had nearly taken her.

Marian's looked away, her features tinged with pain. "Perhaps," she said quietly. "That is one fate I do not regret being different."

"Robin – " he began affectedly, perceiving her heart.

"Robin doesn't matter," she snapped, heading off the subject. Then, in sweeter tones, she checked herself, "In better times, perhaps things would be different. Robin would not have gone to war, the King would be here, and you would be sheriff. But these are not better times."

"We all make sacrifices," he agreed, the burden of age wearing heavily on his countenance. He tenderly approached his only child. "My dear, you try to hide your disappointments, but I am your father. Do not think they go unnoticed."

Marian smiled weakly, trying to push her feelings aside. "A noble's daughter has a larger burden to bear than that of her own comfort," she whispered. "I know my calling and I'm not afraid of it."

Edward studied her and was about to speak, but was diverted by the sound of pounding hooves outside. His daughter's eyes met his in concern. He nodded, indicating for them to brace themselves for whatever horror their visitors brought. Grimfaced, the noble moved forward and opened the door.

Marian peeked over her father's shoulder. When she saw that it was a group of the sheriff's men, she grabbed her cape and pressed past her father. Swirling her wrap about her shoulders, she hurried over to the head guard dismounting his horse. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Gisborne's orders," the helmeted man answered, preoccupied with directing the others. "Take positions about the house," he barked at them.

Marian and her father watched in disbelief as their house was surrounded.

Infuriated, the caped woman turned back toward the guard in charge. "And what exactly does Sir Guy intend by this?" she demanded, skirting around him as he tied his horse to the post.

"Per the sheriff, no one is to visit or leave without his master-of-arm's approval," the guard stopped to address her through the slits in his helmet. Having spoken, he walked past her to post himself at the front door.

Edward stood in the doorway, mouth agape at what he was witnessing.

Marian glared at her father in frustration. Assessing that she would gain no help from him, she groaned and trailed the guard to the entrance. "But why?" she pressed him.

The man in the black uniform planted himself dutifully and answered, "You'll have to ask Gisborne yourself." Then as if by afterthought, he informed, "Oh, and any food not within your main house will be taken to the castle for the sheriff's feast tomorrow."

"That would mean that our servants would go hungry," Marian gasped. She hesitated in shock, and then smugness overtook her. Without a word more, she pivoted and haughtily stalked off towards the stables.

"Lady Marian," the guard called after her. "I'm afraid that includes you, when I said no one leaves."

Edward watched, fearful that his daughter's contemptuous behavior would endanger her well being.

She stopped in her tracks, checking her incited emotions. With an icy demeanor, she turned to glare at the sheriff's guardsman. "As you've suggested, I'm going to see Sir Guy. Surely, you'll permit me to go to him," she hissed, using his words against him. Tugging her wrap taut about her shoulders, she whirled around and made her way to the stables.

Edward saw the guard shift uneasily in response to her rebelliousness, but remain at his post. Dreading that his words would only worsen the matter, the former sheriff held his tongue and helplessly watched Marian go.

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Robin and his men approached an outlying village. Tucked in their arms and slung over their shoulders were bundles of cheese, bread and mutton. Their offerings were generous, but to their dismay, the village folk greeted their arrival with cold stares.

"What's wrong with them?" Much asked, keeping in step with his master's long strides. "They look like the sheriff himself has come for a visit."

"Maybe he has," Alan added his two bits, "been here, that is," he clarified, looking around at the others. "He seems to enjoy his romps among Nottingham's commoners of late."

"Romp," Little John scoffed at Alan's remark. "If the sheriff's been romping here, he's been on the receiving end, not the handing out."

Alan shrugged. The corners of his mouth pulled downward as if it made no difference to him why the sheriff had been here.

Robin surveyed the long-faced villagers, but proceeded to lead his men into their midst. When they reached the clearing in the center of the thatched-roofed homes, he prompted his men to set their bundles down. "Keep your eyes open," he spoke quietly to his men, confirming their concerns. Then, in a loud voice, he addressed the peasants, "This food is for your families."

No one made a sound. His only acknowledgment was a stiff nod from the man nearest to him who held a partially hewn piece of wood in his hands. His wife stood motionless at his side, along with his children. No one dared to make a peep.

Frustrated by their non-responsiveness, Robin confirmed again, "We're here to help, by bringing you relief." He looked around to note the same lack of appreciation from all of them.

The woodworker slapped the beam against his opened palm. "It isn't right … what you're doing here," he said sharply.

"What? Feeding the poor?" Much could not hold his tongue.

Robin motioned for his friend to remain silent. "What am I doing?" he asked the peasant with a great deal more patience than his associate had.

"Taking from our hard work, then giving it back to get our loyalty," he explained.

Robin bobbed his head in understanding and looked sideward. "Sheriff Vaizey," he said under his breath, one corner of his mouth quirking upward in amusement.

Much shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other at hearing the distasteful name.

"That isn't how it is?" Robin defended himself to the peasant.

"Isn't it?" the man accused.

"Then what do you propose we do with this?" Robin gestured to the sacks of food.

Alan looked at Robin. "If they don't want it – "

"We'll keep it," the man's wife interrupted quickly, eyeing her husband for approval.

"Fine, suit yourself," Alan said.

Her husband nodded once in agreement. "Only because we would starve without it," he consented. "If you'd really like to help, don't take it away from us in the first place," he added.

Robin raised his voice to address all the villagers, "I have not and would never take from you. These are redistributions from those who have plenty." Still receiving nothing but cold glares, he asked, "Do you see me and my men living in warm, cozy homes while your families go wanting?" He gestured at his men standing with him.

The peasant's reply was not encouraging. "We don't pretend to understand the games that lords play. But giving back to the poor what you've taken in the first place, all for a warm and fuzzy feeling … may God be your judge."

"Very well," Robin resigned. He motioned for his men to leave the food. Without prodding them more, he honored the villager's wishes and left.

A short distance down the road, Much could no longer contain himself. "You should have told her," he argued.

"Told her what?" Robin returned, "That she's right?"

Much scoffed. "You don't believe that!"

"Robin," Djaq joined in, "he's right. The sheriff is trying to manipulate them by making you the scapegoat."

"You're not the man they were making you out to be. You're a good man and we'll find a way to prove that," Will confirmed Djaq's sentiment.

Little John listened, wagging his head back and forth, but had nothing constructive to add to the conversation.

A till then, unusually quiet Alan spoke up, "I say we forget about the poor if they don't care about us anymore. Let the sheriff take care of them; he seems to want the job. We should take the spoils and make a comfortable living for ourselves somewhere else."

Robin stopped suddenly in his tracks. "For everyone's information," he said, rolling his eyes skyward, "we are not in this for personal gain." He turned to look first at Alan and then the others. "For better or worse, we're here for England." His discourse was followed up with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "Now, I have a plan. So stop your whining and put your heads together on how we can add a little spice to the sheriff's free lunch tomorrow."