It was getting harder to do good around Bethlingham. Prince John already had a reputation for hoarding hams, but shortly after Robin's disastrous dinner with the prince, John had officially declared it illegal to give away hams within his lands to anyone but himself — under pain of despair. It was tempting to avoid Prince John's territory altogether and focus instead on the parts of the kingdom under more lenient authority; however, Robin could not abandon the hungry children and poor peasants suffering under the prince's (invisible) iron fist.
"It's for the kids," the cucumber said to himself each time he and his friends ventured out of the (relative) safety of Sherwood. No matter what happened, he would keep trying to get food to people, as long as it was in his power.
He just needed to be creative in order to stay out of Prince John's shadow.
One morning, he and his merry men dressed themselves in the modest tunics and cloaks worn by many peddlers around those parts. The guardsmen at the Bethlingham's gate barely glanced at them as they guided a wagon into the quiet village, though his nose twitched a little, as though detecting a delectable aroma. Robin quickly pulled out a bottle of FeBreeze, spritzing the air near the wagon to mask the savory scent of his inventory.
They brought their wares to a booth they had rented beforehand in the marketplace, and they set to work unloading their goods. Friar Cluck and Little John had recently finished a pottery class and had whipped them up several clay pots of various sizes, but some were just the perfect shape to conceal a tasty ham cooked with basil. These Robin would sneak to the intended recipients, once he was sure it was safe.
"Pots! Who will buy my pots?" Robin called out to passersby. "Nice, unsuspicious pots for sale!"
"Plain, ordinary pots that smell remarkably like ham!" chimed in Bill Scarlet, his gold tooth glinting in the sunshine. Although a gourd, he was Robin's nephew through his eldest sister, and he often acted as Robin's second-in-command. "Just like smelling the real thing!"
Big Red, a pea and the lone Norman of their band, shot them dark looks as he handed a customer her receipt. He waited until the veggie was out of earshot before speaking out of the sound of his mouth: "You guys are going to get us arrested if you don't knock that off!"
At that warning, Little John cast his gaze around the sunny market and quickly pulled his hood further down his face.
"Sheriff!" he hissed.
The other four promptly hid their faces and whistled innocently, trying to look too busy to seem suspicious — which, Robin reflected afterwards, probably would have been pretty suspicious if the Sheriff of Bethlingham had actually looked their way.
Peeking beneath his hood, Robin spotted the sheriff with two potato guardsmen enter the market square. The businesslike tomato marched straight to a bulletin on one side of the street, pulling out a rolled-up parchment from a bulging satchel. Unrolling it, he fixed it in place, and the red letters on top revealed it to be an announcement. Meanwhile, one of his guardsmen also hung up posters on the walls of a few thatched buildings, and the second handed out a few flyers. When they were finished, they continued on, their satchels still stuffed with posters to hang on other squares.
Robin and his friends waited until they had completely disappeared before they made a break for the nearest poster. Bill Scarlet reached it first, covertly tugging it off the wall. The others gathered around the short gourd as his nonexistent eyes scanned the announcement.
"Would you believe this?" he demanded. "The Sheriff of Steal-Your-Ham is hosting an archery contest to raise funds for charity! The nerve!"
"Well, that's nice of him," Robin said, surprised. He remembered the sheriff had been sympathetic toward Robin's fundraisers, but the tomato had been too scared of Prince John to display overt support. Robin could only imagine how much courage it required to set up a contest for charity when the Dungeon of Despair was inside the sheriff's own home.
"Oh, now he's being helpful to the common folk?" Little John sneered with disgust. "He's probably up to something."
"Hear, hear," Friar Cluck agreed.
"Hey, he's not all bad," Robin pointed out. "He helped me set up my presentation for Prince John — you know, before I was declared a wanted criminal."
Bill had not seemed to notice his young uncle's remark. The wrinkles on his face where his eyebrows would have been suddenly shot up.
"Hey, the prize is a golden arrow! Entirely gold!"
Robin whistled, amazed. Although strictly ornamental, a golden arrow was one of those elusive trophies which skilled-but-impoverished archers could only dream of owning.
"Now, that's a prize!" Little John declared.
"I'll say!" Bill replied. "The estimated worth is 'over a hundred hams'!"
The others murmured in amazement. Robin beamed.
"If we won that arrow, we could sell it and feed a lot of people!"
"You mean if you won it." Little John winked. "You're the best archer in the kingdom, Rob. You could win it in your sleep."
"Well, maybe with one eye open," Robin joked with feigned modesty. "Partly."
"And the arrow will be presented by—" Bill broke into a right belly laugh. "Oh, that's rich!"
"Who?" Robin asked blankly.
Instead of replying, Bill turned the page toward Little John and Big Red, who both began to snicker.
"What?" Robin demanded, not liking to be left out of the joke.
Little John passed the poster to Friar Cluck, who adjusted his monocle. His normally dignified face formed a smirk.
"The plot thickens," said the priest.
"C'mon, guys!" Robin pouted. "Did they get a monkey who can yodel to present the arrow?"
"Even better-r-r-r!" Big Red sang.
"What could be better than a monkey?" Robin challenged.
Friar Cluck gave Robin a knowing look. "Does the name 'Lady Marian Fitzwalter' ring any bells?"
Robin's jaw dropped. All thoughts of performing primates vanished, and a sweeter kind of imagery filled his mind.
"Marian?" he gasped.
"She's back from Normandy then," Little John grinned. "How convenient."
Friar Cluck held out the poster, and Robin swiped it from his invisible grasp, scanning the poster's contents.
The Lady Marian, ward of King Richard — Robin's childhood sweetheart.
At once, his rattled mind recalled the last time he had seen her: from a distance, watching her ride with her father's retinue to a waiting ship, her head drooping with heartbreak.
"No daughter of mine is going to marry a fundraiser organizer!" Lord Fitzwalter had exploded the evening before, when Robin had asked for her hand.
Robin had been thrown out of the castle like an old duffel bag. He had not been able to say goodbye but had to watch his true love board the ship which had taken her to foreign shores. Later, after her father had passed, King Richard had taken Marian as his ward, paying for her to continue her education at a Norman school for young ladies. Robin had not heard anything else about her fate until now.
Bill nudged Robin, drawing him back to earth. "Did you notice she's still Marian Fitzwalter? Guess she hasn't gotten married after all these years."
"Fancy that," Friar Cluck chuckled. "Maybe she's waiting for someone to keep his promise to her."
"Oh, c'mon," Robin mumbled, heating like a venison pasty fresh from the oven. "We were young when I asked her to marry me. She wouldn't wait around for that."
"Ever thought about asking her again?" Big Red teased.
"Oh, knock it off," Robin muttered, rolling up the poster and sticking it into a pocket of his cloak. "She probably has some rugged Norman fiancé now and forgot all about me."
"That's true," Big Red quipped, tipping his tiny green hat. "Us Normans are pretty cool."
"Oh, haha," Robin retorted, spinning away.
"So-o-o," Little John grinned as they followed him to their booth, "are you going to enter the contest then?"
Robin heated again. "Of course I am. It's for the kids."
"Which ones?" Bill teased. "The ones living in the Bethlingham, or the ones in your future with Mar—"
Without looking back, Robin tossed the rolled-up poster at his nephew's head, and his friends laughed harder.
A few days later, on the balcony outside his chambers, the sheriff and his wife watched as the green hill beside Bethlingham Castle transformed into the beginnings of a jolly fair. Peas and carrots carried supplies to different stations, and a few other workers rolled out the striped canvases which would soon form tented booths. William had deliberately picked a day which fell during Prince John's fortnight visit with one of his sisters, allowing William and Anne to help Robin without anyone suspecting their true intentions.
"A stroke of genius," he said again to his bride. He sat on a footstool to give himself a better view, which made him the ideal height to give Anne an appreciative squeeze.
"But it was your idea to offer a golden arrow as a prize," she pointed out with a laugh.
"And your idea to get Lady Marian to present it to the winner."
Anne had discovered from her friends at court that the king's pretty ward had been close — very close — to Robin before she left England. With William's blessing, Anne had gone to the young rhubarb to ask her to help with the fundraiser. Lady Marian had agreed, and Anne reported back that she had seemed wistful and nostalgic afterwards.
Let's just hope Robin feels the same way, William thought. As a married man though, William had little doubt of what shining hopes would tumble around inside the young cucumber's head at the prospect of reuniting with a lost love.
He felt a little guilty about resorting to such a cheap trick against two sweethearts, but if he could explain his plan to Robin after he captured him, hopefully the cucumber would understand that he meant well. William was bound by Prince John's commands, but Robin still had rights as a nobleman. If William secretly sent Robin to be tried before the chancellor — Anne's influence with Queen Eleanor was sure to get the cucumber an audience — then de Longchamp might pardon Robin and rule Prince John's new anti-charity law as illegitimate.
"Just need to keep it together until tomorrow," William said aloud, taking a few breaths to calm his stomach.
"It'll all work out, dearest." Anne bumped her hip against his side, playful and reassuring. "You know, Will, it's nice we can do all this as a couple. It's been awhile since we pulled off an intrigue together."
"I'm glad you only use your powers for good," he joked.
"That you know of." She winked.
With his invisible grasp around his wife's waist, gazing at the workings of a plan meant to save a good man and undermine a tyrant, William felt his heart swell with delight. He even allowed himself to indulge in a nearly forgotten sensation — the one which laymen called "hope."
…But that was quickly doused when he heard a herald in the hall cry out, "His Highness approaches!"
William jolted, and Anne clutched him, nearly pulling him off the footstool. The heavy footsteps of an agitated zucchini reverberated through the hallways as though ten giants accompanied him. Prince John was not due back until the next weekend. William met his wife's alarmed eyes, both clearly thinking the same thing: did Prince John know?
Neither breathed a word but tore themselves from the balcony, reentering the candlelit chamber just in time for the thundering footsteps in the corridor to reach their crescendo.
The oaken door burst open, and the broad-shouldered zucchini stalked into the room. His large eyes glowed with cold fire, and his mouth formed a cruel curve between his mustache and goatee. Anne quickly curtsied, murmuring a respectful greeting, and William bent his head in a deep bow.
"Your Highness, back from your sister's already?" he said as calmly as he could, trying not to let his teeth chatter.
Prince John's nostrils flared, but he did not respond right away, regarding William as though he were an ugly insect he wanted to squash under his boot. His hawkish eyes flicked to Anne.
"Leave us," he ordered.
She grew aghast at the command, but her husband gave her a quick, reassuring look which masked his own discomfort. Anne reluctantly bowed her head again and maneuvered around the prince, her agitated footfalls retreating down the corridor.
William kept his face neutral as he raised his respectful gaze, hoping he betrayed nothing.
"How may I help you, sir?"
Prince John bristled, drawing himself to his full, imposing height.
"What's this talk I heard about an archery contest you were going to hold in my absence?" he demanded. "Are you trying to insult me?"
All heat drained from William's face.
"No! Of course not, Your Highness!" he insisted. "This is a fundraiser to—"
"I'm the best archer in England!" Prince John barked, stalking forward. "How dare you hold a contest within my lands without my permission! My sister and her friends were laughing about it to my face once they heard!"
"It's not that kind of contest, sir," William stammered, staggering back and almost rolling away like a ball. "It's for Robin Good!"
"For him?!"
"As a trap! A trap!"
The rage receded from the hard, green face. Prince John drew back, thoughtful. Seizing the opportunity, William gave him a bare-bone explanation of using the golden arrow to lure Robin out of hiding.
"Even if Robin is in disguise, he won't be able to hide his skill, so whoever wins will be Robin Good!" William concluded.
"Very clever," Prince John said slowly. "If the cucumber thinks he's the best archer in England, then he'll pay for his arrogance."
"Right, sir," agreed William, playing along.
Prince John nodded with a dark chuckle. "Then as soon as you have him in custody, Sheriff, send him straight to the Dungeon of Despair and throw away the key."
William flinched and quickly cleared his throat.
"Ah, uh, wouldn't it be better to throw him into the regular dungeon before his trial…?"
Prince John snorted. "No trial necessary. I am judge and jury in my realm, and I have already declared him guilty."
"Yes, sir, but the law says—"
"I am the law within my own lands," Prince John clipped. "Do as you're told, or you and your wife will be sharing that outlaw's fate."
William's skin grew cold.
He's the reason the Magna Carta was invented, William reminded himself — but it would be over two decades before that document would exist, and even longer before it would be honored wholeheartedly by a monarch. William could only hope he and his family would live long enough to see that day.
William lowered his gaze and said nothing.
A/N: "Nice, unsuspicious pots for sale!" — Wishbone used that joke in their Robin Hood episode, and it seems like something VT might have used.