Too Much Euphemism: Four Times Much Didn't Understand a Euphemism, and One Time He (Sort Of) Did

Written for the Hoodland "five times" challenge. Much and the other characters in this story do not belong to me; they are the property of BBC/Tiger Aspect, and of legend. No profit is being made from this story; it is written purely for enjoyment, mine and other fans'.

Waiting for his master outside Knighton Hall after daybreak, Much sighed dolefully. Why couldn't Robin go in the door and talk to his betrothed like a normal person? No, he had to climb up to the second-story window. You'd think he was born to be … a squirrel or something.

With another patient sigh, Much watched as Robin poked his head in the unshuttered window. Then, a strange thing happened. Some force propelled him backwards, and he flailed and fell, landing in the grass. Much raced to help him up.

"Master! What happened? I knew it wouldn't end well, all this – climbing up the walls! I knew it!"

Robin groaned and rubbed his face. "Marian punched me."

Much stared in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because" – Robin grinned slyly – "when I got to the window she was in her birthday attire."

Much eyed him, mystified. Sure, a rich girl like Marian could have special clothes for her birthday, but was that any reason to punch people? And it wasn't even her… oh. Now he got it.

"So … she trying on her birthday attire and got upset because she didn't want you to see it before her birthday?"

Robin smirked. "No, Much. She wasn't wearing anything." While Much blushed furiously, he added, "Sometimes, people say 'in his birthday attire' when they mean 'naked,' because that's what you wear when you're born."

Much pondered this as they walked away. Finally he said, "So they say one thing and mean another."

"Exactly," Robin said. "It's called a euphemism."

"Where's Robin?" Much asked, looking around the tent.

"Went off with that Saracen girl that hangs around the camp peddling trinkets," said one of the men, McClellan. He and the others were taking refuge from heat, playing dice inside.

"I reckon they're making the beast with two backs," said another, Foster, throwing down the dice with a snicker.

Puzzled at first, Much made a quick-enough guess. "Oh! You mean … riding."

"You could call it riding, I suppose." McClellan sounded amused; for some reason there was more snickering.

"Lucky him," Much said dreamily. "I've always wanted to do that."

"Don't we all, mate," Foster chuckled.

"Such an amazing animal…"

McClellan gave him a shocked look. "Much, my friend, you won't get very far with women if you're going to call them animals."

Much gaped, appalled. "Women? What do you…? I was talking about the beast!" After the men's laughter died down, he tried to explain. "You said, the beast with two backs. That's what you meant, isn't it? Those animals the Saracen merchants ride? The one with the – you know" – he showed with his hands – "the hump. Kind of like a second back – "

"Did you say 'hump'?" Foster asked.

Much's attempts to continue were drowned out by more raucous laughter.

"You're Robin Hood's men?" gasped the older and prettier of the girls.

Much's day was going well. While returning from a food drop, he and Allan had rescued two sisters, a rich merchant's daughters by the looks of them, whose carriage had nearly tumbled into the Trent river after the driver had lost control of the horses.

"Yes, we are," Much said proudly.

"'Course, we'll have to take one-tenth of your valuables," interjected Allan, "but hey, small price to pay for a heroic rescue, yeah?"

Smiling, the girl handed Much her bracelet. "Robin Hood's men!" She turned to the younger one. "Isn't it exciting, Bess?"

Bess snickered. "You're so smitten with Robin Hood, if he were here I bet you'd gladly give him your most precious jewel."

The older girl gave a coy giggle, while the dour-faced female servant chaperoning the pair frowned. "Watch your tongue, young lady!"

"She would!" Bess insisted. The older sister giggled again.

"Well, if you'd like, you could give it to me," ventured Much. "It would be the same thing, really."

The girl's smile turned to a glare. Without warning, she swung and –

"Ow!"

While Much clutched at his smarting cheek, the girl grabbed the bracelet from his other hand.

"How dare you, you rude, ill-mannered clod!"

"But – but I – what'd I say?" Much sputtered, while Allan choked quietly with laughter.

When the carriage had rumbled away, Allan gave him a withering look. "Not bein' funny, Much, but you are a clod. A girl's most precious jewel – that's her maidenhead, alright?"

"Oh," Much said, crestfallen. "You mean, it's a – a – what's that fancy word, when you say one thing and mean another?"

"Idiot," Allan hissed. "That fancy enough for you?"

After Marian had reminded him that the fancy word was "euphemism," Much was determined never to be tripped up by one again. But it was hard. There were a lot more euphemisms than he could watch out for, and apparently, not all of them had to do with … that.

There was the time when, a few days after Prince John's arrival in Nottingham, Allan returned from town to report exciting news. "Rumor has it," he announced, "the Sheriff's pushing up daisies."

Much wrinkled his forehead. He had to admit that, as Robin had once said, nothing would surprise him coming from that man.

"Really? The Sheriff has taken up gardening?"

The general merriment informed him that he had missed something. Again.

"Wait, wait," he started, flabbergasted, "are you telling me that 'pushing up daisies' is another term for…"

"For what, Much?" Robin inquired, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

"Well … you know!" Much made frantic eye-signals to indicate that he couldn't speak frankly in Kate's presence. Finally, he blurted out, "For … you know, being with a woman?"

He was greeted by a dead silence. Finally, Tuck said, "Not quite."

As Much started chopping the vegetables, he looked around the camp.

"Hey, where's Kate? I thought maybe she might … give me a hand or something."

"She's busy," Little John said. "She's sharpening Robin's sword."

Much threw down the knife and glared, his hands at his hips.

"Very nice! You just had to throw it in my face, didn't you!"

Little John gave him a baffled look. "Throw what in your face?"

"Oh, sure! You think I'm stupid, don't you? You think I don't understand what a euphemism is? Well, I do, and I'm – "

"What are you talking about? All I said was, she's sharpening Robin's – "

"Yeah, I know what you said." Much brandished a finger. "And I know what you meant!"

"Much!" Little John bellowed. "That is what I meant! Robin's sword needed sharpening. Kate offered to do it."

"Oh." Much paused. "His sword. The one that, uh … never mind."

Little John glowered at him. "Did you think I meant – ?" He shook his head in dismay.

"Sorry," Much muttered and went back to chopping the vegetables – only to put down the knife again after a moment, a hurt look on his face.

"Why is Kate doing that, anyway? I've always been the one to sharpen Robin's sword." He glanced sheepishly at Little John. "That was not a euphemism."

THE END