Robin paced the floor in his room, angry at his own father. He knew better than to lay a hand on royalty, but Prince John's ugly mockery of his mother could not be allowed to stand! Why hadn't his father taken issue and handled it?
He was glad he'd hit the prince! Even if it meant he'd go to Hell when he died... Alright then, he'd go to Hell! He was glad.
He did not mean that. He still was glad he'd hit Prince John, and would do it again in the same situation, but he did NOT want to go to Hell. Prince John should be the one to go to Hell, not he. He didn't want to spend eternity in the company of bad people, with Beelzebub and his demons. He stopped pacing, crossed himself, and told his Lord he was sorry.
Outside his window, he heard a long drawn out whistle with a lilt near the end. He tensed, listening for it again. His eyes lit up when he heard it a second time. Marian! She must have stepped outside, and was signalling for him!
He ran to his window and quickly scanned the area outside. Not seeing her, he knew all the same she was down there. Throwing a leg over his windowsill, he climbed all the way to the ground, clutching the ivy that grew up the wall on this side of the house.
Marian, looking very pretty despite the flour on her gown and in her messy hair, and a streak of grime on her cheek, was by his side the minute his feet hit the earth.
They wasted no words, but gave each other a smile, then clasped hands and set off running for the forest.
Robin had to shorten his steps so she could keep up with him. Still, she was a very good runner for a little girl, he thought proudly. Why he should be proud didn't make sense to him, but he felt it all the same. Pride in her accomplishments and abilities, he guessed it was. Somehow, he felt it his right to take pride in those things.
They ran to their favorite place on the outer edge of the forest. A stream rushed fiercely there today, full and nearly overflowing its banks, thanks to recent rains, and a log stretched over the embakment, forming a bridge.
Robin rested on his hams by the water and scooped some of it into his hands. It was cold, but he splashed some onto his cheeks, to cool his temper and wash away the dirt and flour. Marian, carefully lifting her skirts to prevent them from getting wet, followed his example. And then, they kicked off their boots and balanced their way acrosss the bridge, then plopped down near its center.
It was too chilly for stocking feet, so they put their boots back on their feet, and sat side by side, listening to the water rush beneath them.
"I hate that whiney Prince John," Marian said at last. "At least you got some good blows in."
"Is he badly hurt?" Robin asked, wishing it could be true.
"I hope so," she answered. "It's hard to tell. He'd whine at any little scratch, I think."
Robin rubbed his right fist. It was certainly sore, so he guessed the prince must be hurting, too. But it wasn't anywhere near how bad he felt, from hearing his mother insulted, and watching his father do nothing.
"Why didn't he stand up for her?" he asked Marian, a plaintive note in his voice.
Marian cradled his sore fist in her hand, and rubbed it gently. Her touch was just right, and Robin liked it very much.
"I don't know," she sympathized. "I wish my father was bolder, lots of times. I was proud of you, though. Your mother's proud, I think, too."
"I still don't understand," he sighed. "My father's brave, and good, and true. Why didn't he stand up for his wife?"
"Maybe he's sorry he didn't. Maybe he'll think about it, and give you your presents later. Oh! I have something for you," she remembered, "but I left it back at your house. Just let your father try and stop me from giving it to you! I worked too hard not see your face when you see it!"
Robin longed to say something, but held his tongue. He wanted to tell her he'd stand up for her, if anyone ever breathed a nasty word about her in his earshot. But he couldn't form the words. Every time he tried, his throat got tight, and they just stuck there.
"Let's go back," he said instead. "No sense in us both being in trouble."
"I don't care if I am missed and get in trouble. I'd rather be in trouble with you, Robin, than out of it without you."
Smiling happily now, they pulled off their boots, balanced their way back across the log bridge, put their boots back on their feet, and headed toward Locksley.
A little ways from the village, they stopped. Prince John, accompanied by his stoney faced attendants, was standing over a clearly frightened Much. Much was crying.
Robin clenched his fist and charged.