An Object Lesson
By JeanTre16
Chapter Five
In-Law or Outlaw?
A pair of eyes peered through the thicket surrounding Knighton Hall – insightful, calculating eyes. They rested on the sight of an inviting window, opened on the second floor above the entry. They held there for a moment, and then shifted to a yawning guard lazily pacing in front of the structure.
Moments later, a pebble arched its way over the hedge from the spy's position, landing several meters aft of the bored guard. When the sheriff's man abandoned his route to investigate the noise, the prowler stealthily crept from his hiding place and covered the distance of the yard. Leaping with practiced ease to a bar in front of the desired window, he mounted a ledge under the eaves and crouched silently.
The guard scanned the abutting forest opposite of the diversion's source. Satisfied that the sound was nothing to concern himself with, he turned to make another pass by the front door.
Overhead, the camouflaged figure froze like a bat against the wooden building and waited for the henchman to pass out of sight. Once the guard rounded the corner, the intruder released his breath and scrambled into Marian's window.
From inside of the structure, he closed the shutter and looked about the room. No one was there. "Psst, Marian," he whispered. But there was no answer. His eyes shifted in the direction of the adjacent changing room, where the door was half shut. His brow lifted in curiosity. Careful not to make a sound, he walked towards the opening and reached for the handle. In nervous anticipation of who he might see on the other side, he slowly pushed the panel open.
The first thing he saw was not the fair sight of Marian, but rather the sharp edge of an axe blade. Reflexively, the trained Crusader reached to load his bowstring. But as the door swung further, the wielder was revealed to be Marian's terror-filled father, who gripped the axe handle in his white-fisted hands.
"Robin! Good Lord," Edward gasped, lowering the axe, "you'll get yourself killed sneaking around in peoples homes like this."
Robin released his hand from the arrow on his back, along with a sharp spurt of air from his lungs. "Me?! I could have hurt you, not knowing you were behind that door," he exasperated. "You and Marian have to stop doing that," he added under his breath, remembering the close call with her in the vegetable storehouse earlier that day.
Marian's father ignored Robin's rant and with the axe in one fist, he shook the other one angrily. "You should not be here," he scolded.
"Where's Marian?" Robin asked, getting to the point of his visit.
"She's gone to see Gisborne," Edward spewed the unpleasant answer.
"Gisborne?" Robin's voice raised an octave in disbelief.
Deep lines of worry creased Edward's face. "She does not listen to me," he said gravely, and walked off to return the axe to the adjoining room.
Robin glanced towards the window, scoffing lightly at the thought of Marian seeing Guy.
"I fear for her safety," Edward continued as he returned. "But worse, I fear my time to protect her has passed." He looked at Robin with a sense of urgency. "There is something that I must speak with you about."
Robin's curiosity rose. "I'm listening," he answered, preparing himself for whatever Edward would have to say about caring for Marian.
"Tonight in the barn —" Edward began.
"Tonight?" Robin countered in sheer surprise. "So soon?"
"Soon? What do you mean by soon?" the older man sounded puzzled and momentarily lost his focus.
"Well … I …" Robin stumbled, and then gave up his excuse altogether, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the former Sheriff's entrusting of his daughter to him. He faced Marian's father. "Tonight then," he agreed, wondering what Marian would have to say of her father's secretive plans for them.
Edward balked at the strange response, but returned to his impassioned request. "Tonight, in the barn of Earl of Lonsdale, the nobles are meeting," he revealed in a hoarse whisper.
"Nobles?" Robin questioned, his features scrunching at the unexpected turn in their conversation, also feeling a slight release from the queasiness that the sudden thought of marriage had brought on.
Edward neared Robin, his eyes emblazed. "Those that are loyal to King Richard," he answered, looking around as if the walls had ears. "They've taken a blow from the sheriff's scheme, trying to smoke them out with the King's false return. They need encouragement. I was to be among them, but instead Vaizey watches me like a hawk," he spat, looking away regretfully. His eyes widened again and returned to the young noble. "But you … you have the ability to come and go without being seen," he added anxiously.
Robin's brows remained knit, clearly showing that he expected the request to be of a different nature. "What are you asking of me?" he queried.
"Robin, I want you to go in my place," Edward insisted, stepping forward to grab Robin's hand tightly in his fist as though entrusting him with a favor.
"Me? What could I possibly have to say in your stead? And would they even listen to me?"
Edward's eyes met Robin's in desperation. "You are young and a natural leader. You can organize them and finish the work that I've begun," he answered, releasing Robin from his grip.
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Marian approached Locksley Manor by horseback. She slowed her mount to a walk and watched the hollow eyes of the peasants leave their work to stare at her. She rode by them in silence. They would have been under her charge, had she not fled from her wedding. Did they feel that she had abandoned them? Since Robin could no longer be lord over his estate, she could have at least had the power to watch over them had she … no, she would not think of it. There was nothing she could do to turn the time back, nor did she want to. It was done. She would do what she could for them now, but first, she had a relationship to mend.
Sir Guy of Gisborne was busy about his duties in the stables when Marian approached. He looked neither angry nor glad to see her, but her presence did affect him. "It is bold of you to come here," he addressed her with warning.
"Sir Guy," Marian's sweetened voice sidestepped his foreboding concern. She accepted his servant's assistance from her saddle and got to the point of her visit, "I've come to speak of the sheriff's tax and — "
"Hood's Tax," Guy corrected, holding a black-gloved finger to caution her. His eyes took in her appearance, and then he looked away and repeated, "You should not be here."
"And where should I be?" she asked, piqued. "Caged, like one of the sheriff's birds? His guards surround our home."
His gaze looked sharply in her direction.
Marian's eyes fell to the earth and she softened her approach. "I apologize. I am a bit riled at the deeds of our good sheriff of late, and their effect on certain others, as you know all too well." Her eyes shifted to rest on his.
Catching drift of her meaning, that she spoke of his own guile towards her, Guy lifted his hand to his cheek where the brunt of her ringed-fist had left a bruise. Without speaking it, he reminded her that she too was not innocent of offense.
Marian's eyes shied from his. "You must not hold my actions against the people of Locksley," she pled. Not knowing how much longer he might tolerate her presence, she wasted no time and got to the heart of her visit. Looking him full on, she petitioned, "Good men and women serve you and all of England. What I do ask is that you see to it that they are cared for."
"It is a peasant's duty to provide his master with whatsoever he requires," Guy instructed. His brow shifted upward as though he lectured her.
"And it is the master's duty to see to the needs of those entrusted to him," she instructed back. Brightening her air, she forced a smile and braved to step nearer to Guy. "You have the sheriff's ear; you can sway him to relieve the people," she appealed.
Guy, carefully watching her every movement, laughed dismissively. "Haven't you heard? The sheriff throws a feast tomorrow for the commoners. Is that not relief enough?"
"And from where does he secure his bounty?" she corrected sourly.
Guy's humor dissipated as well. "That's none of your concern," he hissed.
"Is it not?" she pursued. "He takes from Knighton Hall. How many other estates does he …" she dropped her argument short of regret and turned the corners of her lips upward instead. "Sorry," she offered instead.
Gisborne took note of her change and ventured a shift in conversation. "Marian, I too owe you an apology …" Guy's toughened façade dropped to show a vulnerability that Marian often brought over him. "In regards to our wedding, understand that I meant no harm in withholding the sheriff's plan from you. I only desired to protect you … and your father." He stepped closer as though approaching an untamed bird, not wanting to scare her off. "But do not forget that I am under obligation to the sheriff as well. He had to know who his loyal followers were." Guy came near enough to be stirred by her closeness and affectedly trembled. "Can I ask you, Marian, does your father know where his loyalties lie?"
"His loyalties … lie on the side of the law, of course," she answered in a patronizing tone, uncomfortable with his proximity.
"Of course," he echoed, stepping back to study her. "Marian," he faltered, looking down to the earth. He returned his dark eyes to hers, and propositioned, "I believe we can still reconcile our differences. I would like you to reconsider our marriage."
Marian backed off, slightly paled. A perplexed frown crossed her softened features. "Marriage? Sir, Guy, when I gave you your ring back, I did so under no pretense," she exasperated.
"Think about it," he overrode her quandary, seemingly relieved that he had articulated his desire. He took her hand and caressed the place where his multi-colored ring would have rested. Folding her arm in his, he accompanied her to her horse. "You'd best get back to Knighton Hall. I will vouch for your visit here today," he assured, before she remounted her chestnut and departed.
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Leaving Locksley, Marian rode slowly through Sherwood Forest. The clops of her horse's hooves beat steady, but leisurely on the path. She looked half-expectantly into the billowy shadows, but rode on. She knew more than trees and wildlife resided there. Her senses attuned, she readjusted her cape. A chill was on the air, but she refused to hurry. She favored the cold of these woods to the captivity that awaited her at Knighton Hall.
The horse beneath her snorted, as if in agreement with her meditation.
Still half-entranced in her brood, she smiled. "I know what you mean," she spoke to the animal, and patted him on the mane. "I have no desire to see the sheriff's men either."
"Enjoy your time with Gisborne?" Robin's sarcastic voice suddenly called from somewhere in the trees.
Marian's jaw dropped in a start. Reflexively, she pulled her horse's reins back and toward the voice. The chestnut beneath her pranced spiritedly in a tightened circle and stopped only when she released the pressure on his bit. "Do you enjoy startling women traveling alone through these woods?" she tossed the question in annoyance, still trying to calm her mount.
Robin smiled his boyish grin, reclining casually against a tree. Uncrossing his arms, he stepped down the embankment towards the flustered traveler and her horse. "Only the ones that become beautiful when they're worked up," he teased, walking over to assist her.
Marian's horse stood still at last and Robin took the reins. He extended his hand upward towards her, offering her help down.
She swung her leg around, and ignoring his hand, jumped off, nearly landing in his arms. For a moment, they stood there in tight quarters with one another — Robin smiling playfully and Marian warming to his presence. Becoming one in thought, she accepted his embrace as he leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.
A tender moment of affection passed before Marian pulled back in a more relaxed mood. "For your information," she defended, in response to his earlier statement, "Gisborne isn't as angry with me as I had feared. The corners of her mouth played slightly upward and she placed her palms on his chest.
"What? Running out on his wedding plans wasn't enough to warrant his wrath?" Robin teased. "And I do hope the welt you left on his jaw was still there," he mocked.
"That's not funny," she said, less affected by his charm. "I do not do this for my own benefit."
"How could being with Gisborne be a benefit?" he gagged.
"By keeping a … friendship with him," she struggled with the words, "we enjoy information from the sheriff."
Robin noted her falter. He eyed her, trying to assess where her statement was coming from – her heart or her will. "He's put your under house arrest," he levied.
"I'm aware of that. And the sheriff did, not Sir Guy," she corrected. "Furthermore, Sir Guy did not reject speaking to me when I came," she added.
"Well, that's a relief," he said sarcastically, tossing his head to the side. Robin sobered and faced her to place his hands on her arms. He looked straight into her eyes and warned, "Marian, Gisborne is dangerous. Do not play games with him."
"Play games! You act as though I enjoy this."
"Do you?"
Marian scoffed and pulled away from him.
He closed his eyes and released a sharp sigh. "Look, I apologize," he said, opening his eyes again, he approached her. "I should not have said that. It's just that … I cannot bear to lose you again."
His confession melted her defiance and her eyes sought his. "I have no desire to be lost again either," she reciprocated.
Robin smiled weakly, still deeply concerned. "Just be careful," he added, placing an arm around her and caressing her cheek.
Glad her trip to see Guy had been fruitful, she decided to keep the unpleasant side of it to herself for the time being. As repulsive as his endless pursuit of her was, it did have its benefits. Her thoughts returned to the sight of Robin before her and the corners of her lips moved upward in a delicate smile. She did not refuse his kiss.
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Hushed murmurs filled one of the barns on the outskirts of Nottingham. A group of well-dressed men gathered in secret to discuss the state of their resistance and the future of their country. However, their communications were not going well.
"Where's Edward?" a heavyset man asked impatiently.
"Edward will not be joining us," another voice spoke from the barn entry as a tall man and his friend entered.
"Robin of Locksley?" the first man questioned, rather than announced the new arrival's attendance. "What is that you say about Edward? Why will he not be joining us?"
"Lord Edward is being held under house arrest," Robin informed, his eyes scanning the nobles. "And I'm sure you all know Lord Much," he introduced his friend who the sheriff had given the title of lord to in recent months.
"Hello," Much said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
"Pshew," the round man returned. "We waste our time then, here tonight. Let us adjourn our meeting and go to our manors," he suggested, unimpressed with the show of Edward's replacements.
Much pulled his head back, offended. He looked at Robin, who merely stood there patiently ignoring the insults.
"But what of our business of Prince John?" a short balding man spoke up.
"As far as I'm concerned, Prince John has Nottingham in his iron grip," the round man tossed back.
"Then why are we here? Why do we continue meeting like this? Are we not England's last defense for the King?" another argued.
A few concurring grunts came from among them, but most stood in silence with long faces.
The round man took charge, walking about the animal enclosure. "And Edward sends us an outlaw to speak for him … a man who joins ranks with the sheriff by his Hood Tax."
Robin rolled his eyes at the accusation. "You know very well that tax is merely another scheme of the sheriff's."
"Do we?" someone accused, causing the gathering to burst into a disarray of harsh whisperings.
Suddenly, an explosive thwack filled the barn, startling them all to silence. Every head spun to see an arrow sticking out of what was left of a barrel of grain. The barrel, that once stored food, now sat splintered into an uncountable number of pieces as the grain poured out upon the ground.
Robin stood with his bow in hand, soberly studying every man in the barn. "Let that be an object lesson of what will become of us if we allow ourselves to be divided," he reproved.
One of the nobles, compact in size, but impeccably groomed and stylishly dressed, walked over to the emptying barrel and picked up a piece of broken wood, mouth agape.
"We'll become splintered and useless. And the estates that once contained the wealth of England, her people, will pour their souls to the earth in waste," he delivered with feeling.
The man with the fragment in his hand spoke first, "There are many more of us who feel the injustice of Prince John, thinking he and his men are above the law. Many did not show tonight out of fear that it would be another of the sheriff's ruses. But I ask you, Robin, for the few who are here: What can we do?"
"We stay united, for one," Robin challenged them, walking to retrieve his arrow. "Remember who your enemy is. It is not the one who works your land, but it is he who usurps." He bobbed the arrow before them before returning it to his quiver.
"But how can we say no to the sheriff's taxation?" the well-dressed man asked in frustration.
Robin panned the room and grinned. "We start tomorrow by making sure that all those on our estates, and all those we do business with, attend the sheriff's feast."
Confused glances were exchanged all round.
"What do you mean to do?" the compact man asked. "How will this help?"
"I say, we overtax the tax man," he answered smartly, the twinkle of a plan playing in his eyes.
After a moment of silence, a tall, slender man with a brown knit cap spoke from the circle, "I agree to have my estate attend. And I have an appointment with the horse trader first thing in the morning. Perhaps I can persuade him to attend as well."
Robin nodded. "Good, that's three, possibly four of us, including Much and myself. My men and I plan to show up hungry," he added.
The round man stepped forward with a stern look on his face, and then placed his hands on his mid-section and reversed his frown to a smile. "I believe I like this plan," he said, patting his stomach. "Count me in."
Stifled laugher filled the barn. One by one, the nobles pitched in their whispered agreements.
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The evening was getting on. Robin and his men sat around their campfire in the woods, discussing the day's events and making plans for the feast.
"The nobles' meeting went well, I believe," Much spoke anxiously, telling the others of the agreement. He pulled a leg of hen from the skewer and took a bite.
"So what exactly was Marian's father plotting with these nobles? Don't they have enough wealth to be satisfied?" Alan asked, holding his mug out for Will to fill it with hot broth.
Djaq swatted Alan's outstretched arm, making Will delay his pouring.
"Hey!" Alan defended, moving his mug out of Djaq's reach.
D'jaq kept her reproof verbal this time. "All you think about is what people can get out of something, Alan A. Dale. Have you ever stopped to think that the word 'nobility' is called so for a reason of character?" she reproved.
"I was just saying," he defended.
"You speak too quickly, with your pocket in mind," Will added to Djaq's accusation.
"Ah, now there you go, ganging up on me too," Alan complained.
"No one's ganging up on you," Little John chided in. "Now would you all knock it off." The big man shook off his fellow outlaw's annoyance and took a long sip from his mug.
As they ate and warmed themselves around the campfire, Djaq attentively stirred a pot of her own on the side of the pit.
Much's attention was drawn towards the concoction she'd been tending to meticulously. "What is that exactly?" he asked, peering over into the boiling fluid.
"Oh, something I cooked up to help season the sheriff's kettle tomorrow," she answered, drawing a corner of her mouth up mischievously.
Robin took note of her quirky smile and recalled that she had the ledger containing the formula for black powder. "Nothing explosive, I hope?" he asked with concern.
"Only mildly," Djaq answered with a wink. Then making a concession she added, "Don't worry, Robin, it is edible … barely." Continuing to stir her brew, she picked up some porous stones that were stacked by her side and dropped them into the pot.
"Now you really have me confused," Much said, watching her. "Why are you putting those … rocks in there? I've never seen anyone cook with stones before." He shook his head, pouting.
Djaq laughed. "Why, haven't you ever heard of stone soup before, Much?" she teased.
"Hmm, can't say that I have," he said, and then leaned over to sniff the steam evaporating off the top. He pulled back sharply, making a face. "Ew, I can't say that it smells very good either," he gave his honest report.
Djaq laughed again and smelled the concoction herself. The pungent aroma made her gag, but she nodded her satisfaction after she caught her breath.
Robin grinned at the scene, seeming to have gotten her drift. "A toast," he called out, and raised his mug. "To the Sheriff's feast tomorrow —" he waited for all to lift their drinks in like manner "— May it be … a bitter memory."