Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 02] (35 page)

“Nor make it possible for peasants to be taxed to death,” Tuck declared stoutly.

Little John said, looking at Much, at the battered, still-swollen face, “Nor ever threaten children with the loss of their hands.”

They all of them had suffered for so little reason. She could not name all the things deLacey had done to them, nor to so many others. She looked at Robin, Tuck, Scarlet, Little John, and Much, aware of a sudden lessening of the tension in her body. It bled out of her. Diminished entirely. Fear was gone. Reluctance was relinquished. Determination supplanted all other emotions.

William deLacey had destroyed the lives they knew. He deserved the same.

“Would it suffice?” Marian asked. “I should think: barely.”

 

DeLacey, lingering at the table, still relaxing in the great chair from which he governed the shire, waved the servant in when the man paused, fearful of intruding. He accepted the proffered parchment, noting the fine hand, the seal set in ruby-colored wax.

The sheriff felt a jab of anticipation. He sat upright, broke the wax, unfolded the letter, and read with great absorption.

When finished, he stared down the hall into the distance, contemplating the successful courtship of opportunity and its consummation; the flavor of revenge, of pride restored, of a plan bearing fruition.

The sound of his laughter echoed in the hall.

Well before sundown, Alan returned with hammer and chisel. No one, he said, had seen him, though he did not doubt at some point the theft would be discovered. “Sim or Hal,” he predicted.

“John,” Robin said, “you are best for it.” And then he told Much what the boy was to do, as the giant took the hammer and chisel from Alan.

Much sat down atop the huge fallen tree, astride the trunk as if he rode a horse. He leaned forward, offering one hand, and Robin settled the right shackle against the wood, taking care to turn it so that the lock was exposed. Little John, muttering of challenges, knelt beside the trunk.

“There,” Robin said, indicating where the chisel point should go. He took it from John, set the point himself, then clamped both hands around the iron. He smiled at Much. “If he misses, he strikes us both.” But the glance he shot at Little John was far less sanguine.

No one spoke. All watched with transfixed expressions. Much bit deeply into his lower lip, leaching the color away; Robin held the chisel steady in both hands.
Strike well, John.

The hammer was crude, made for driving bolts and poles, not nails. But the haft in Little John’s huge hand seemed slender as a reed. The giant eyed the chisel’s flattened end closely a moment, judging its size, then tapped gently with the hammer. Once. Twice. Thrice. The way a blacksmith bounced his hammer against anvil as he worked hot metal.

“Steady, lad,” the big man said, almost whispering.

Once. Twice. No more than practice strikes, judging weight and distance. Little John glanced at Robin, who nodded. And then he raised and brought the hammer down, crushing its crude head into the end of the chisel.

Robin felt the vibration run up his wrists and through his arms. Much cried out. But the lock split.

John threw down the hammer as Robin lifted away the chisel, and yanked the shackle apart with massive freckled hands. “There, lad!” he cried. “You’re half free!”

Scarlet, watching, grunted. “And still a hand attached.”

“One more,” Robin murmured, and helped settle the other shackled hand upon the trunk, adjusting the chain. “This time you know what to expect,” he told Much. Then, “John?”

Once again the chisel bit was set. Once again Little John tapped with the hammer to make certain of weight, distance, and aim.

“Almost,” Little John murmured, raising the hammer. He struck once. Sharply.

Hastily Robin tossed the chisel aside and peeled the shackle apart as the lock dropped off. He saw the chafing and bruises ringing the thin wrists. He had worn iron himself, and understood the humiliation as well as the pain. “You did well,” he told Much firmly. “As well as any man might do, even the Lionheart.”

Much’s swollen mouth twitched into a brief smile. He lifted his hands into the air, turning them this way and that. So close, Robin knew, to losing them that he dared not truly believe he still claimed them.

And he knew that feeling, too. “Marian,” he said quietly, “there’s a creek just yonder. Could you fetch some water?”

In a matter of minutes the wrists were bathed and wrapped in strips of homespun torn from the odorous shawl. But this time no one remarked on the stench.

Robin pressed Much’s shoulder. “You’ll do,” he said with casual comfort. “And now I need you to remain here, with Tuck and Marian. The rest of us have a task to perform.”

“What task?” Alan asked.

“Killing Norman soldiers.” Scarlet said.

“No.” Robin shook his head. “Killing them is not necessary. As I said, they shall be divided by the forest. We’ll be hidden in the trees, shielded by vegetation. It’s a simple matter for us to take them by surprise, rob them, then disappear again.”

Alan was astonished.
“Rob
them? Soldiers? The ones seeking us?”

“Aye,” Scarlet said dryly. “Ask John how ’tis done.”

The minstrel stared at Little John. “You robbed a soldier?”

“I robbed a
peddler.
”

Alan was utterly baffled. “Why did you rob a peddler?”

Scarlet rolled his eyes. “To get his money, lackwit!”

“Wait,” Tuck said sharply. “There is something I must say.” He waited until he had their attention. “I think,” he said carefully, “if we are to do this, there should be rules.”

Scarlet nearly gaped.
“Rules?
”

Little John frowned. “How can there be rules in robbery?”

Tuck squared his heavy shoulders. “You want this money for Marian, for the taxes, so she doesn’t lose her manor. Fair enough. But what about the poor?
They
haven’t anyone helping them, have they?” He fixed them all with a steady gaze. “If we take enough from the soldiers to pay Marian’s taxes, and there is coin left over, we shouldn’t keep it for ourselves.”

Scarlet pointedly wanted to know why not.

Tuck scowled at him. “Because we should use the money for good, Will! If we steal money for ourselves, we are no better than outlaws.”

“We
are
outlaws,” Alan reminded him with pronounced irony.

“We snatched the boy right away from the sheriff’s ‘justice,’ ” Scarlet pointed out. “We’ll be wanted for that—not that we weren’t wanted already, since the pardon’s revoked. The sheriff’ll likely put silver on our heads. If they mean to make money off us, why shouldn’t we make it off them?”

But the monk was uncommonly stubborn. “We should do
some
good with it! Think of it, Will . . . what about the poor folk who can never pay all their taxes? What about in years where the harvest is poor? They pay in seed corn, and flour. But without seed corn to plant, without flour for bread, how are they to live? You said yourself that peasants are grateful for anything, even filthy rags to wear in winter. Well? If we help them with their taxes, then they’ll have seed corn to plant and wheat to mill and bread to bake. They can
live,
Will, like human beings instead of animals!”

“We’ll need to live, too,” Alan said.

Tuck nodded vigorously. “Some for us, yes. But the rest for the poor.”

Idly, Robin said, “We stole that shipment for Richard’s ransom. We didn’t need it after all, as Richard came home—but neither did we keep it.”

Tuck spread his hands. “We gave to those in need. ’Twas never for ” us.”

“And when my taxes are paid twice over?” Marian shook her head.

“There is no need to continue stealing. The point is to disgrace deLacey, to have him turned out of office. So long as no one learns who is responsible for the thieving, you may all come home to Ravenskeep. We’ll live as before.”

As one, they looked at her. No one seemed willing to speak, until Robin did. “Marian,” he said, hating himself for the truth, “it may be that none of us but you can return to Ravenskeep.”

The color bled out of her face.

“King Richard pardoned us for stealing the tax shipment, but King Richard is dead. John rules now, and the pardon is revoked. All of us, save you, are now wanted for something.” He shrugged, smiling wryly. “I stole two horses myself only a matter of days ago, and deLacey came after me for
one
of them. He might have arrested me then, but my father and the others provided protection. That is over now.”

Marian nodded determination. “And when deLacey is turned out of office—”

“We will likely still be wanted,” he said steadily, shirking no part of the truth. “Circumstances will be different, yes, and we might hope for the best. It is even possible the new sheriff will have other matters to keep him busy for a fair amount of time, and he will lack the personal desire to have us caught and hanged, but we shall still be considered outlaws. Certainly by King John, who wants these taxes so badly.”

“Unless John isn’t king anymore,” she observed pointedly. “You told me yourself the barons want him replaced.”

He saw again the earls gathered with his father, heard again de Mandeville suggesting he steal the shipments so the money would not go to John, who needed it badly if he was to hold England. If Arthur of Brittany became king, Robin trusted de Mandeville to see to it they were pardoned once again. The man had promised it. There was hope. Some small hope. With deLacey dismissed
and
John overthrown, they might indeed return to Ravenskeep.

“That may be,” he agreed cautiously. “But
until
John is dethroned, we must assume we will be hunted.”

Despite her beauty, the bones were stark beneath flesh grown too pale, too taut. “Then why,” she said, “do we do this? Why save Ravenskeep if none of you will be there?”

Tuck was shocked. “ ’Tis your home!”

“It is only home,” she said flatly, “when all of you are there.”

That prompted sidelong glances, abashed color in their faces; they had none of them expected her to state it so baldly, no matter what they believed, or hoped to believe, about her feelings for them.

“Ravenskeep is your birthright,” Robin said gently. “We shall see that you keep it.”

Her anger was obvious. “Huntington was
yours.
The earldom was yours. You gave it up, Robin. All of it. For me.” She glanced at the others in a scouring bitterness he hated to see. “Well, perhaps
I
should give up Ravenskeep for all of you!”

“If we don’t steal enough to pay your taxes—again—you won’t have to give anything up,” Little John declared, clearly discomfited by her emotion. “The sheriff’ll simply take it.”

Robin nodded. “So he will.”

Alan sighed. “There really is no choice. We can’t live as we did, not now. Those days are ended—at least, for the time being. Even
I
recognize that.” He looked at Marian. “All I ever wanted to be was a minstrel, playing in noblemen’s halls, kissing their wives, their daughters.” He smiled ruefully. “ ’Tis my misfortune that I was caught kissing deLacey’s daughter—though she was the seducer, not I—but it might have been anyone. And had it not been for Robin, I would already be dead.” He shrugged. “This is at least a worthy cause.”

Scarlet caught up his bow, shouldered his quiver. “We should be at it,” he said gruffly. “If ’tis Gisbourne leading them, they’ll be easy enough to stop.”

Tuck startled them all by clamping a hand on Robin’s wrist. “For Marian,” he said. “But for the
poor,
as well. Tell them, Robin. They’ll listen to you.”

Robin met the brown eyes he usually viewed as placid, and saw the strength of purpose there. He smiled, then glanced at the others. “When we come back,” he said, “we’ll pour our takings into Marian’s hood and divide everything up. Some for her, a little for us, but the rest for the poor.”

“We’re
poor,” Scarlet grumbled, but bobbed his head in agreement.

Little John looked at Marian. “ ’Tis a good plan, lady.”

Alan sighed deeply. “It wants my lute,” he mourned.

 

All of them were gone, save for herself, the monk, and the boy. Marian stood stiffly, arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, and stared fixedly into the trees dividing the clearing from the road. Emotions frayed the logic of her mind, yet the logic still attempted comprehension, control. She feared to lose Ravenskeep, could not bear to lose her father’s lands, the manor gifted to her entirely by King Richard. But in that fear, in the fury that drove her to challenge deLacey to a battle of sheer will over the manor and lands, she had never once considered that the others might not be there.

Five years. She had grown accustomed to them all. They were as much a part of her life as Ravenskeep itself.
I cannot imagine living at Ravenskeep without them. Nor do I wish to!

Tuck, who seemed to know her thoughts, said with characteristic diffidence, “Alan has the right of it. Our former lives are over. We are different people now. Even me. Do you believe I have a future in the Church?” He smiled sadly. “The sheriff will have seen to it my career is ended.”

He sounded so secure in his decision. But Marian sensed an underlying apprehension. “Then we shall see to it the sheriff’s career is ended,” she said.
With all good speed and dedication.

“We shall harry him,” Tuck agreed, echoing her thought. “Steal from the wealthy, take the tax shipments, make it impossible for him to stop us. And when the merchants and noblemen scream about the sheriff’s incompetence, and King John realizes he gets no taxes from Nottinghamshire, deLacey shall lose his position.”

“And if John loses his?”

“With the lad from Brittany put in his place?” Tuck shrugged thoughtfully. “If he were made king in John’s place, there might be a pardon for us.”

“Might.”

“A new king might look kindly on men who made the old king’s life a living hell.”

Marian smiled. “Might.”

“Sins are forgiven,” Tuck said without equivocation, “when sinners confess before God and ask for absolution. Why should a new king be different when these ‘sinners’ have aided his cause?”

“By harming John’s.” Marian nodded, beginning to feel a little better. “It is possible, Tuck. But we must be very careful not to harm anyone. Our goal is to undermine the sheriff’s authority, to undermine John’s ability to rule. If we harm anyone while taking their money, no one will pardon us. Ever.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Do you realize how odd it sounds for a
monk
to be advocating robbery?”

“God will see what we are doing, and God will know why we do it,” Tuck said. “Oh, ’tis a sin; I don’t dispute that! But do you really think God wishes to punish the man who poaches to feed his family, who would otherwise starve?”

“God may not punish him, Marian said darkly, looking at Much, “but the sheriff does.” And then she thrust up a silencing hand as she turned swiftly toward the road. It was not visible behind the friezework of trees and vegetation, but sound carried clearly. Mounted men were on the road, riding swiftly. She heard the faint clink of bits and fittings, the snorting of the horses, the pounding of the hooves.