Marian watched grimly as bucket upon bucket of disgusting slops were tossed at Robin, while the sheriff's mocking speeches rang through the air.
"Careful, Hood! You nearly lost your footing! Slops are slippery, aren't they, Hoodie Hood, hmm?"
Turning to Sir Guy, he gloated, "You know, Gisbourne, it's a good thing I confiscated Hood's lovely little tooth necklace before he got his manure bath." He laughed as he pulled Robin's tiger tooth from under his own shirt and stared down at it. "Nasty little fang you picked up in the Holy Land, Hood. Do they sell these things in the marketplace, hmm?" Measuring its length between his forefinger and thumb, he made a joke. "Do you wear this to indicate your size, Hood, hmm? What do you think, Gisbourne? Should we have him stripped down and compare?"
Sir Guy of Gisbourne paled in disgust. "No, My Lord."
"No? Oh, grow up, Gisbourne. Get a sense of humor." Pretending to continue to address his Master at Arms, he lifted his voice for all to hear.
"You know, Gisbourne, Hood looks uncommonly brown today. Rather like the Turk he was so expert at fighting! Do you think King Richard, were he to arrive here today, might mistake him for one of Saladin's soldiers and slaughter him? Oh, this is good! This is good!"
"Smells like a Turk." Gisbourne sneered a smile.
Robin's feet slipped again, as the vile contents of another bucket drenched him. Watching him regain his footing, Marian thought hard as an idea began to take shape in her mind.
Slippery! Slippery enough to slide through the bars? Not likely...the bars were too close together. But what if someone very, very strong could bend the bars apart, just enough for Robin to slip through? Robin had always been slender, but was especially so now from having lost weight in the Holy Land. And he'd stayed thin, too thin, not eating enough, sacrificing his own hunger to satisfy the needs of others. Marian glanced at the crowd, picking out Little John quite a distance away. He might be able to do it, but how could the giant bend the bars undetected?
At the very least, she'd see that Robin had means to cut his bonds. Boldly stepping forward, she asked the sheriff whether she might have a turn throwing a bucket at the outlaw herself. She hoped the Saracen boy would be able to calm Much, who would be outraged, not understanding the reason for her request.
"Sorry, Robin," she whispered under her breath. As quickly and cautiously as she could, she reached into her boot and dropped her dagger into a bucket. She could guess Robin had seen her, but prayed no one else had noticed.
Lifting her voice, she called out, "This is for trying to rob my father's house and for almost stealing my horse." After aiming the contents at his knees, she watched his foot slam down on her dagger as it slid across the floor of the cage. Good! Now he had the means to free himself from his bonds, as well as a weapon. His eyes met hers and twinkled merrily.
How he could maintain his cheerful attitude was a testament to his determination and bravery, Marian felt. Thankfully, the sheriff was failing at his task of "breaking" Robin, for Robin didn't care about the nobles, merchants, or guards who had thrown waste at him.
He did care, however, about the common people, the good long suffering lot whose affection he needed. They were the people who did not dissemble, or flatter, or pretend to love him for his wealth and titles. They were the people who, in their humble caring way, had supported him emotionally when he had been orphaned at age ten. Their affections were sincere, and Robin had always treasured them. They would not throw refuse at Robin!
But Marian was wrong. The sheriff knew Robin's "weakness," and he was just about to exploit it.
"Bring forward the Locksley lot!" the sheriff cried with excitement.
A small group of Locksley villagers was escorted forward, their faces angry. The sheriff nearly danced for joy at the look of consternation in Robin's eyes.
From his vantage point, Will asked aloud, "What are they doing?"
"Who?" Allan asked, bored, wanting somebody to do something to at least try and rescue Robin.
"Those people from my village. Hugh the Tinker and his wife Sarah, Ralph the smithy, and Rebecca and her daughter Kate." Each villager carried a bucket of slops.
"Aw, what's it matter now? Robin's already been doused. What's five more gonna matter? The point is to get him outta here, before the sheriff hangs him."
"You don't understand," Will whispered. "Robin loves them. It's going to hurt him if they throw that muck at him."
"If we don't get him outta here soon, he's gonna be way past carin'."
"Ready," the sheriff commanded, "steady...throw!" The five Locksley residents hurled the contents of their buckets at Robin, and Kate shrieked, "There! That's what you get for leaving us behind! My father died because of you!"
Marian bowed her head, feeling Robin's pain. Kate hadn't been fooling, as Marian had when she threw her bucket. Kate and the others really were angry at Robin, easily swayed by the sheriff's criticism of him. Even if they weren't Robin's favorite villagers, they were still part of his "family" in his heart, and Marian knew how their behavior must wound him.
She longed to assure him it did not matter. He couldn't have stoppped Kate's father's death. The potter had died from an infection when one of his fingers had been chopped off, but Robin couldn't have stopped it if he'd never gone to war, any more than he could stop all the brutal things the sheriff and Gisbourne carried out now.
"Come," the sheriff coaxed the villagers, "tell him how you really feel about him! Isn't he supposed to be your overlord...your protector? And is he fulfilling his duties to you? A clue...no. Instead, he chooses to break the law, and live as a common outlaw! Come now, douse him with more sewage!" He began to lead a chant. "Douse him! Douse him! Douse him! Douse him!"
The cry rose up around them. Marian looked around helplessly, and met Much's worried gaze. The pain in Robin's eyes was making both of them furious. They each wanted to assure him he was loved, but how?