In the heart of Sherwood there lay a small, golden field—a spot of eternal sunshine kept safe and secret by the thick, mysterious forest that surrounded it. Few knew of its existence, even those who had been living in exile in Sherwood for the past few years. A rocky brook trickled through the middle of the clearing, emptying into a green, quiet pool just beyond the trees. Aside from its natural beauty, there wasn't really anything extraordinary about it . . . except for the old hollow tree that stood at its edge. Pieces of the trunk had rotted and fallen away, revealing a deep, black interior of crawling, buzzing insects.

Honeybees.

John, standing with Azeem and Robin at his side, crossed his arms and beamed. "There it is, mateys," he declared. "The greatest test to any thief! No man's ever been able to steal a comb from that tree without gettin' the bloody mess stung outta him—I reckon our lads'll find this a proper challenge!"

Robin blinked, marveling at the size of the tree. He could hear the buzzing all the way across the field; there must be as many bees inside it as stars in the sky. If a man were to upset a hive of that size, only the mercy of God could save him.

"I don't know, John," Robin murmured, trying to imagine Will—or any other man, for that matter—coming away from the tree without looking like a pox victim. "It seems too dangerous."

"You got a better idea, mate?"

Unfortunately, Robin didn't. This seemed to be the best way to judge the better of two thieves, though Robin doubted that even the victor would escape without at least fifty stings. "All right," he sighed. "Bring out the contenders. Let's see if they're brave enough to accept the challenge."

Will Scarlet leaned against a tree trunk, his arms crossed over his chest, trying not to openly glare at Fred Furrows, who was sitting on a stump a few paces away and forming figures out of a long loop of string wrapped around his fingers. He went from a cat's cradle to Jacob's Ladder with a few skilled movements, giving little wonder as to how he'd earned the nickname "Fred Fingers". Suddenly there came the recognizable sound of John's long, heavy stride, and the tall man appeared from the trees with a broad grin on his face.

"The challenge has been set," he announced, beckoning them to follow. "Right this way, lads."

Will and Fred shared a quick, furtive glance at one another before picking themselves up and following John into the trees. When they came to the edge of the field, Robin turned to regard the two thieves with a somber, serious look, but his gaze seemed to linger on Will.

"I'll not hold anything against the man who wishes to withdraw from this contest," he said plainly, "for the task is a dangerous one, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Turning his head, Will suddenly noticed that Robin was staring at him, almost as if the compassionate message were intended solely for him. Feeling uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, Will scowled and looked the other way.

"What's the challenge, Robin? I'm not afraid," said Fred haughtily, passing a smug look down at his shorter competition.

Robin motioned toward the hollow tree on the other side of the field. "To steal a comb of honey from that hive without getting stung."

Will inclined his head, his expression neutral but his eyes bright with shock. Beside him, Fred had gone stone-still and was holding his breath. Both thieves did an excellent job of masking their fear, but had they known of the treacherous task they would be facing, it would be safe to assume that neither would have agreed. However, their pride and honor was at stake now, and nothing—not even the risk of grievous bodily harm—would have been enough to convince them to back out.

"I accept," said Will.

"I also accept," added Fred hastily.

John grinned. "Then it appears we have a contest! You explain the rules to 'em, Rob—I'll go get the rest of the lads."

"There's going to be an audience?" Will exclaimed.

"O' course!" John laughed, giving the young outlaw a hearty clap on the back. "Fine entertainment, seein' a man sing at the top o' his lungs with a shirt full o' bees ticklin' 'im! No one in Sherwood'll want to miss it!"

With a vague look of horror on his face, Will watched John lumber away. Fred didn't look much better—he was as pale as a sheet and drops of sweat were already popping out on his face in fat, salty beads. He wiped them away and tried to look more composed than his opponent, but both of them were clearly disturbed.

"Are you sure you neither of you want to forfeit?" Robin asked again, gently. He was met with a chorus of firm, anxious negatives, and he sighed. "All right. Azeem will give each of you a jar. One of you will be selected to go first. Your challenge, as you already know, will be to approach the tree and remove a comb from the hive without getting stung . . . or receiving as few stings as possible. This will test not only your stealth and your strategy, but also your ability to remain calm in the face of danger, possibly while enduring great pain."

Robin couldn't help but look at Will now, his chest growing tight as some primal, instinctive urge to protect this young man rose up from the very marrow of his bones. He didn't know what had possessed him to feel this way—it was clear that Will hated him for some unknown crime he had committed, yet the thought of the lad being mercilessly stung by scores of furious bees was almost enough to make Robin sick to his heart. Though Will was infuriatingly stubborn, rebellious, and disagreeable, Robin didn't want to see him get hurt; at the same time, however, he couldn't prevent him from participating in this event. It was his choice, his desire, and Robin would have to honor it.

A short while later, John returned with the Merry Men and the greater part of the Sherwood residents at his heels, all chattering excitedly and lining up at the edge of the forest to watch the event. Robin held up his arms and the crowd fell silent. Though Will was disgusted by how eagerly Locksley's followers obeyed him, he couldn't help being impressed at the power and respect he commanded from them. In a time when every peasant in Nottingham had made an enemy out of the ruling class, the people of the shire had accepted Robin almost immediately, and now, after his numerous acts of generosity and kindness toward those in need, he was adored as well.

Will would have counted himself blessed to be loved by even one person.

Robin launched into the opening speech: "Today, two of Sherwood's best thieves—Will Scarlet and Fred Furrows—shall be competing against each other in a test of wits and skill . . ."

While Robin explained the contest and its rules, Azeem approached the challengers and handed them each a crudely-made earthen jar for carrying their prizes, should they be able to obtain them. As he passed Will his jar, he leaned close and whispered, "Are you certain you know what you are doing, my friend?"

"I'll be fine," said Will, smiling wanly. "Trust me."

The Moor sighed and clasped Will's forearm in a gesture of good luck. "May Allah protect and deliver you from harm."

"Amen to that . . . Here, do you think you could hold these for me?" Will shrugged off his waistcoat and removed his burgundy overshirt, folding them carefully and handing them to Azeem. The man observed the curious behavior with a puzzled look, but nodded his assent and accepted the garments.

"I have a feeling that you might know what you are doing," he said sagaciously, watching as Will laced up the collar of his off-white undershirt and rolled down his sleeves, making sure that his cuffs were securely fastened and his shirt tucked snugly into his trousers.

He spared Azeem a nervous grin. "We'll both find out soon enough."

The Moor ducked out of the way as Robin finished his announcement and turned to the two thieves. "We shall draw straws to see who goes first," he said, then paused. "Unless one of you has the courage to volunteer."

The rancor of the word "courage" conjured up bitter and painful memories for Will, filling him with the reckless urge to step forward and prove to Locksley what a poor judge of character he was; but Will knew that he must hold his tongue and bear this fleeting insult, deliberate or unintended as it was—if he lost his temper now, it would ruin his plan. He must remain patient.

As predicted, boastful Fred stuck out his chin and said, "I should like to go first!"

Robin looked toward Will. "Do you abide by this?"

Will bit the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting out a crude remark, nodding his consent with a disingenuous smile.

"Very well, then," Robin said. "Whenever you're ready, Mr Furrows."

The crowd fell silent, all eyes on Frederick Furrows as he rolled up his sleeves, removed his dagger from his belt, and began to very slowly make his way across the field. He moved quietly, hunched low like a cat stalking a bird, drawing ever nearer to the great buzzing hive of bees.

But not everyone was fixated on Fred's progress.

While the people of Sherwood watched Fred, Will was watching the people, making certain that every eye was trained on the other thief before he stealthily, with all the natural grace of the slyest, most cunning wolf, stepped backward and disappeared, first among the crowd, then into the shadows of the trees.

Not even Robin or Azeem noticed that the second contestant had suddenly vanished, too preoccupied with observing Fred as he came upon the hollow oak, his movements now stuttering and nervous as the honeybees buzzed past him on their way to and from their busy hive.

The spectators bit their lips and anxiously wrung their hands, wondering if (and how) Fred would achieve his goal. He had been miraculously lucky so far, though it wouldn't last forever—Will was keenly aware of this as he approached the hive from the opposite side, hidden from view by the sheltering trees on the edge of the field. He crouched down at the forest's edge and watched Fred sidle up to the trunk of the oak, his body as stiff as a board, breathing heavily as his skin glistened with sweat.

Will shook his head and grinned out of sheer amazement that the bumbling oaf had gotten as far as he had. If there was one thing bees hated, it was the odor of human sweat and breath. This information had not come cheaply, though:

Ten years ago, there had been an old beekeeper who lived in Mansfield, the village where Will was born and raised. By the age of eight, young William Scarrington had become obsessed with the idea of stealing honey. He had already proven himself to be talented at egg-snatching and pick-pocketing, but honey soon became the only gold that Will desired.

The tenacious young thief must have spent the better part of four months trying to rob the old beekeeper, failing every time and returning home with swollen knots on his arms and neck, sometimes even on his back, for those horrid little creatures would crawl down his shirt and sting him until he was forced to throw himself on the ground to crush them. His mother would then chastise him for getting his clothes dirty, so the punishment was always twofold: painful sores and twice the chores, since he had so much idle time to spend playing with bees. Will didn't dare tell his mother that he was trying to steal honey—she would have whipped him like a mule if she had known what a shameless thief her beloved son was turning into. Of course, gruesome poverty has a way of turning the most honest man into a criminal—and desperation, coupled with determination, forced young Will to hone his skills. It was either become a better thief or suffer from hunger all winter long.

So Will persisted with his efforts. He was stung over and over again, so often that he soon learned to forget his fear of the bees' stings—it was no worse than getting pricked by a needle, he reasoned, and he'd been doing that since he was old enough to wind a spool of his mother's thread. Using his brain, Will observed the old beekeeper when he worked and mimicked the man's habits, eventually learning that it was preferable to wear light-colored clothing instead of dark, and that it was wise to cover your nose and mouth with a kerchief so that the bees would not be provoked by your scent. It was also advisable to bathe before tending the bees, as they were so sensitive to smells, and that fanning the hive with smoke had a calming effect on them. But once the bees were disturbed and began stinging, the others would join in and attack the intruder, covering him until he was finally forced to flee. And Will was certain that this was exactly what was going to happen to Fred Furrows, the sweaty, stinking cur who likely hadn't bathed in over a week, and who was now reaching into the hollow tree to carve out a comb of honey.

Will knew it was time to make his move. Though he was already ahead of the game, having bathed and washed his clothes that morning, he tied a handkerchief around his head, covering the lower half of his face so that his breath would leave less of an impression upon his little insect friends. Leaving his jar behind, he drew his knife, rose up, and began to creep toward the tree.

Azeem was the first to spot Will as he slunk into view from around the side of the oak. The Moor grabbed Robin's arm and pointed, and Robin's mouth fell open in surprise. "What is he doing? Is he trying to sabotage the—"

"No, he has more honor than that," Azeem insisted, breaking into an amused smile. "I think we are about to see just how good a thief Will Scarlet is."

Fred was streaming sweat as he reached into the black mouth of the tree with his dagger. Bees crawled all over his dark clothes and his pale, waxy face, their little legs tickling and itching and making him tremble at the thought of all those stingers suddenly jabbing into his flesh at once. He was so focused on the task of stealing a honeycomb that he never noticed Will rise up from behind him and reach for his belt.

The audience, already shocked by the unexpected appearance of the second contender, now bit their fists with delight as they watched Will Scarlet, who must have a touch even lighter than air, remove first Fred's dagger sheath, then both of his leather pouches, and finally, the whole belt itself.

Robin smiled and laughed, unable to believe his own eyes. "Look at him!" he exclaimed to Azeem, his voice brimming with admiration. "Can you believe it? A thief so masterful that he can steal the belt off another thief in broad daylight! Genius!"

Azeem observed Robin's delighted smile and twinkling eyes with interest, wondering if perhaps his Christian friend was beginning to feel a growing connection between himself and his unknown half-brother. He also wondered if, when the day came, Robin would welcome Will into his life with the same degree of happiness which he now displayed. Only time will tell, the Moor thought with a wistful sigh. Only time, and only Will.

Friar Tuck guffawed and slapped his thigh as excited murmurs rippled through the crowd—Will Scarlet wasn't finished yet! The clever young outlaw now slipped his hand into Fred's front pocket and emptied it in less than a minute, did the same with the other, then finished his grand stunt by cutting the laces at the back of the man's trousers. And then, just as smoothly as he had appeared, Will gathered up his loot and slipped out of view behind the tree again.

Completely unaware of the sensational event that had just taken place, Fred, with sweat rolling down his brow and his dark blue shirt covered with bees, began to cut away a dripping, sticky comb from within the hive. At the same time, a curious honeybee decided to inspect the inside of Fred's shirtsleeve, and when it became trapped in the folds of smelly cloth, it reacted the way any irritated bee would: it jabbed its stinger directly into the offending object, which happened to be the tender underside of Fred's forearm.

Instead of keeping quiet and slowly pulling his arm from the depths of the tree, as he should have done, Fred Furrows let out a yelp and jerked back. His trousers, loosened by their severed laces, slid down and became tangled in his legs, causing him to stumble and fall backward, his arms spinning like a windmill. Another bee, pinched in Fred's collar, decided it had had enough and sank its pointy bottom through the man's shirt and into the tender flesh of his neck.

And just like that, the bees that had moments ago been innocently milling all over this strange new animal now became riled by its displeasing odor and flailing motions. Fred let out a scream that sent the forest birds fleeing as dozens of furious stingers all sank into him at the same time. Bees began to pour out of the tree in a thick black cloud, answering the colony's call to attack. Fred dragged himself to his feet, yanked up his flapping trousers, and began to tear across the field like a wild man, howling and bellowing and slapping at himself as the swarm gave chase.

The spectators began to laugh and applaud at the amusing sight, though Fred would probably never laugh at this situation (or anything ever again, for that matter) unless he managed to lose the ferocious cloud of tiny demons buzzing at his heels.

As the blundering fool ran shrieking across the clearing, Will sauntered around the side of the oak and leaned against it casually, smiling behind his kerchief as he watched the loathsome Frederick Furrows beat a path toward the pond and hurl himself in as if he were on fire. There came an almighty splash, followed by a string of wet, gurgled curses. The onlookers cheered and applauded the performance—what a show!

But it wasn't over just yet.

Will reached down and picked up Fred's discarded jar, then moved toward the gaping hole in the tree. Surprised whispers hissed through the crowd as the people of Sherwood forgot all about Fred and turned their attention to Will, who had already won the tournament as far as they were concerned; what in the name of God was he doing reaching into the hive that had seconds ago sent another man running and screaming in mortal pain?

"What is he trying to prove?" Robin demanded, looking distinctly worried. "He's going to get hurt!"

Azeem laid a hand on his companion's shoulder, more to keep him from interfering than to offer consolation. "Wait," he said patiently. "He knows what he is doing."

Indeed, Will knew precisely what he was doing. There was no better time to collect honey than when most of the colony was out of the hive. Only a few bees remained, thanks to Fred's noble decision to go first, and now Will, using his left and least-injured hand, broke off a gooey golden comb from the interior of the tree and slowly placed it in the jar. Unfortunately, he was unaware that he'd pinned a bee in the bunches of his sleeve, and the terrified little creature stung him as he bent his elbow.

Will winced, but was otherwise unaffected.

Now with a loaded jar and several of Fred's pilfered belongings, Will gradually began to make his way across the field, giving the bees on his shirt ample time to fly off. When he arrived at the edge of the forest, he was greeted with cheers and hollers by the Merry Men and the other residents of Sherwood Forest. It was the warmest welcome—and the most positive attention—Will had ever received. He pulled down his kerchief and smiled as he was patted on the back and praised for his cleverness and abilities, for simply being who he was. This truly was the best day of his life!

Azeem approached with a knowing smirk on his face and handed Will's waistcoat and overshirt to him. "You are full of surprises, my young friend," he said.

"Well, a good thief should always have more than one trick up his sleeve," Will replied, grinning and showing off his tightly-fastened shirtsleeve. "Less room for bees."

The Moor chuckled and patted Will's shoulder.

Robin suddenly appeared, smiling widely and looking overjoyed to see the young thief unharmed. Will, however, suddenly closed up like clam, his happiness vanishing from his face as Robin extended his hand to be shaken. "That was truly magnificent, Will. I've never seen anything like—"

Instead of a hand, a sticky jar was thrust into Robin's grasp.

"Your honeycomb, milord," Will muttered.

Robin balked for a moment, as if suddenly remembering that he and Will Scarlet were not friends and had never been friends, that Will still hated him for some reason, even though Robin had been trying hard to be friendly and welcoming and patient. God, what was he doing wrong? Robin didn't understand at all.

"Er, thank you," he said awkwardly, "but really, it's yours. You've earned it."

"No, I stole it. Just like I stole all this." Will abruptly dropped Fred's belt, sheath, and other personal belongings to the ground. The people fell quiet as they sensed something amiss between their leader and the hero of the day.

Will's green eyes were as sharp as cut glass as he stared up at Robin. "There's a big difference between earning something and taking it, but I don't expect a man of your noble station to know anything about that."

"In my youth, perhaps, I didn't," said Robin, determined not to allow Will's cold, unpleasant attitude to get the best of him. "But the Holy War taught me much about what a man is owed and what he thinks he is owed."

Will scowled as the people around him nodded their heads in agreement, but he kept his mouth shut, wondering if Locksley was going to tell more about his time in Jerusalem.

But Robin had a far more important message to share: "Though we are taught from an early age that it is wrong to steal, sometimes we are given no choice," he said. "Sometimes, in order to survive, we must do things our virtues would otherwise condemn. Today, Will, you proved yourself more than just the greatest thief in Sherwood; you proved yourself to be a survivor . . . But there's more to life than just surviving. I want you to thrive—and Nottingham as well. With your help, with your skills and your smarts, we can make that happen again. With you on our side, there is no way we could fail."

Will had never been the subject of flattery before, and he hoped to God that he wasn't blushing as hotly as he felt. He put on a frown just in case he was, determined to show that it would take more than a few eloquent words from Locksley's educated tongue to turn him into a mindless lackey.

"What say you, Will?" Robin asked, his blue eyes gently beseeching the young outlaw. "Will you lend us your strength so that we may take Nottingham back from the men who have corrupted it? Will you join us and help us to discover the purpose behind that chest of gold?"

Put on the spot again. Will hated having the villagers' eyes on him, all eagerly waiting to hear his answer; it made the pressure of the moment suffocating. Will swallowed dryly as he scanned the familiar, hopeful faces around him: Much and Bull, Arthur and George, Wulf and John . . . Azeem, neutral as ever . . . and Fanny, who had her hands clasped to her chest and whose plump, motherly face spoke more clearly to Will than any other in the crowd. It was saying, We believe in you, lad. We know you can help us. Do the right thing. We'll be behind you every step of the way.

Will licked his lips and raised his eyes to Robin, waiting patiently for a response. "All right," he murmured after a tense, lengthy pause. "But I follow no man's orders but my own. It's my task, so I will make the plan."

Robin smiled. "After what I saw today, I would trust no man's plan but yours."

Will shrugged on his waistcoat and pretended not to care as the people around him began to chatter with delight. Let them be happy—it made no difference to him.

However, as he slipped away from the crowd and into the quiet, solitary peace of the forest, he couldn't restrain it any longer: he grinned and let out a giddy cry of "Wee!", springing up onto a fallen tree as nimbly as a deer and jumping off in an uncharacteristic display of youthful joy. He trotted toward camp with a bounce in his step that hadn't been there since his mother died; it was back now, even if it wasn't destined to last.

But the length of one's joy does not matter, thought Azeem with a small smile, watching from the edge of the forest as Will disappeared from sight.

An hour of happiness was sweeter than any jar of honey.

The contest of thieves in this chapter is loosely based upon an old (and I believe medieval) German story known as Die drei Diebe (The Three Thieves). In it, three brothers, who also happen to be thieves, decide to find out who among them is the best. The first brother says to the second, "I bet you can't steal the eggs out from under that sleeping bird!" So the second brother climbs up the tree and, sure enough, steals the eggs without the bird knowing. But the third (and cleverest) brother says to the first brother, "I bet you can't put the eggs back!" And while the first brother is returning the eggs to the nest, the third brother sneaks up behind him and steals his pants right off of him. When the first brother returns to the ground, he sees that he's been had, and they all have a good laugh. Unfortunately for ol' Fred here, it's going to be a few days before he feels like smiling again!

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. More will be coming soon! -HJB