Robyn Hood: Fight For Freedom (22 page)

“No!” King John moaned. “Let me go! I’ll give you anything!”

Conniving blew hard and tossed his head as I uneasily kept another arrow trained on the sweating King John.

“Well done Robyn!” Rodger praised from his horse’s back as the animal walked forward, stopping a short distance away. “And so King John was cornered in Runnymede Meadow,” he said, digging in his saddlebag, pulling out a piece of paper.

I slid off Conniving and slowly ambled up to King John, an arrow still notched in my bowstring. “King John, you are going to sign the Articles of the Barons,” I told him, exhaling deeply. (I was starting to be too old for this.)

“I assure you,
Madame, if you release me I will reward you for—,” he froze when he saw my face and squinted. “You are Countess Gamwell, wife to that infuriating Earl of Maxfield. Of course
you
would be the one to capture me,” he grumbled. “Your blasted husband has no spine against you—,”

“Curb your tongue, King John,” I warned, poking him in the nose with the sharp tip of my arrow. “Lest I become tempted to rid Britain of you forever.”

“I’ll have you killed for your insolence!” King John promised.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “How many times have you said that in the past, and it’s
never
come true. Give it up, King John,” I laughed.

“
What?” King John muttered as sweat trickled down the side of his face. He was growing nervous and was too frazzled to notice my implication. “Y-you can’t hurt me,” he continued. “Release me, you barbaric woman!”

“Rodger, you have a crossbow?”

“Yes,” Rodger said, almost falling off his horse.

“Load it and keep it trained on King John,” I ordered.

Rodger unhooked the crossbow and did as I asked. “I don’t understand. What are you—oh! Is this the famed call I’ve heard so much about?” he excitedly said.

“Keep your eye on the King, Rodger,” I warned as I felt through my skirts before finding wha
t I was looking for, my white horn.

King John turned ghost white. “No,” he whispered.

I brought the horn to my lips and blew three quick blasts.

“It can’t be,” King John shook.

“But it is,” Rodger assured the shaken man.

“Rodger, shut your mouth,” I warned.

King John was staring at my face with horror. “Robin Hood,” he uttered. “He gave that to you didn’t he? I knew he wasn’t dead! He couldn’t be dead! Every few years another ballad about him would pop out of the woodwork. I’ll have his head when I’m finished with you!” he snarled.

King John was right, to a degree. I hadn’t completely given up Robin Hood yet. Occasionally Little John and my closest men and I would return to Sherwood to rob for a fortnight
or two and make more memories. Alan-A-Dale was usually with us, hence the ballads.

“Where is he?” King John continued. “He’s behind this whole mess isn’t he?”

“King John, I would be more worried about your barons than Robin Hood at this moment,” I smirked.

“Are you sure I can’t write about this?” Rodger complained. “History should reflect the truth!”

“Not all truths. Leave Robin Hood and his Merry Men out of your history compilation Rodger. We make the water murky enough already,” I said, my eyes tracing the edges of the meadow. “There they are,” I said as two horses exited the forest and galloped in my direction.

I waved my hand to greet my second in command and first Merry Man: Little John and Much
the miller.

“I told you we needed to catch him. Those barons of his are
slow
,” I said to my men as they pounded up to us, pulling their horses into skidding halts just short of Conniving.

“I didn’t argue that his barons were slow, I simply thought it might be too dangerous,” Much argued, dismounting with Little John.

“I knew you could catch him,” Little John said.

“Where’s Gilbert?” I asked as my men left their horses and wandered to my side.

“Guiding the barons here. They should arrive in several minutes.”

“Perfect. Rodger, enjoy chronicling your history. I shall see you again
sometime in the future,” I said before motioning at Much. “Keep your weapons trained on the King, Much. He’s anxious to get away from his barons.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” Rodger asked.

“The barons wouldn’t be suspicious of Robin Hood’s men aiding them, but they might find it odd that it was Countess Gamwell who caught their miscreant King. I cannot afford to bring myself under further scrutiny, Rodger. I have to go,” I said. “Much, please stay behind with Rodger to guard King John. I’ll meet you back in London later tonight,” I said, fixing my horn back into the folds of my skirts. (Traipsing around the countryside in a dress was
not
entertaining. I still have no idea how Marian managed it for so long when we were stationed in Sherwood.)

I started towards Co
nniving, Little John behind me.

“Tell him I’ll find him, and I’ll kill him!” King John vowed.

I paused and turned around. “What?”

“Tell Robin Hood that I am coming for him! He can’t hide from me forever! I shall
ruin
him for this!” King John hissed.

I narrowed my eyes and stalked back towards the monarch. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Someone had to set the lazy
, overgrown brat straight.

“Listen to me,” I growled, reaching out to grab King John by the throat.

He cried out but settled down when I squeezed his neck.

“Listen long and hard, King John. Robin Hood is not afraid of you. He’s never gone into hiding, he never ran away from you, he’s been dogging your every step,” I whispered in his ear. “
Robin Hood has never let you out of his sight, King John. And I never will,” I said before pushing him back against the tree.

King John looked shocked and confused before glancing at the arrow that held him pinned to t
he tree. As he stared at the grey, speckled fletching, Robin Hood’s trademark, he finally realized. “
You
,” he said, his mouth a-gap. “You are Robin Hood!”

I smirked before cruelly laughing. “I am. And I have danced in your courts and eaten in your halls. Be afraid, King John. I can follow you wherever you go. And if you endanger this country any further… I will take care of you,” I uttered before twisting around and stalking away.

I fastened my longbow over Conniving’s back, along with the saddlebags Little John had kindly retrieved.

After securing everything,
Little John helped me struggle onto Conniving. (Mounting and sitting astride in skirts is a clumsy practice.)

“Remember, King John,” I cheerfully called as Little John mounted his horse. I could see flags and horses moving at the far end of the meadow. “I could have killed you all of those years ago when I robbed you
r carriage. Sign the articles, my King. Or there’s no telling where I’ll pop up next time,” I said before urging Conniving into a slow canter.

Little John and I rode out of
Runnymede meadow, disappearing from sight just as King John’s barons piled in.

“We should make it home in less than a day. I hope Isabella will make her cinnamon bread for me. Ah, that was we
ll done, Robyn,” Little John praised as we pulled our horses into a companionable walk.

“Thank you,” I smile
d.

“
You should be thankful. Since Alan isn’t here he won’t dare make another ballad,” he teased.

“
I’ve had enough ballads to last me a life time,” I groaned.

“But they’re so catchy,” Little John argued before launching into one, his baritone voice echoing through the forest.

“Robin Hood he
was and a tall young man,

Derry
derry down

And fifteen winters old,

And Robin Hood he was a proper young man,

Of courage stout and bold.

Hey down derry derry down.”

              “I really must set Alan on making a Robin Hood death ballad. I’m getting to be too old for this, and I tire of leaving my family for outlaw business. I have a cousin, the prioress of Kirkly. She offered to be the villain of the story and kill me.”

             
“Aye, I can understand that. I miss Isabella fiercely when we ride. …But, I beg your pardon, who on earth would
want
to be responsible for ‘killing’ Robin Hood?” Little John asked.

             
“She’s sort of a nut,” I admitted.

“That explains it,” Little John laughed before
singing a different ballad.

“When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,

With a hey down down and a down

He happened to meet Little John,
   A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade,

For he was a lusty young man.
”

“If you’re going to sing the whole way back to London I’ll leave you behind,” I threatened.

“Ahhh, such companionship,” Little John hummed.

“If Will hears you insinuate anything about that again he’ll demote you,” I warned.

“I’m more afraid of Marian than I am of him,” Little John said, continuing to hum.

“I would be more afraid of your wife,” I countered.

“Oh
yes,
I
would be. But she just runs my knightly life, Maid Marian, on the other hand, has gone off and married a duke—the poor man. There’s a great chance her husband will be one of the barons running the country with King John’s powers being practically neutered and all.”

“Now that’s a scary thought,” I shuddered. Indeed, Marian’s husband
did
dote on her. (He kept a variable stable of horses to be used for her pleasure alone.) If she asked him to do something…

In my pondering silence Little John
sang another ballad.

‘But he shall be a bold yeoman of mine,

My chief man next to thee;

And I Robin Hood, and thou Little John,

And Scarlet he shall be.’

‘And we
’ll be three of the bravest outlaws

That is in the North Country.’

If you will have any more of bold Robin Hood,

In his second part it will be.
’

“Hold your tongue or I’ll cut it off,” I crossly said.

“Nay! Robin Hood would never commit such an act! It says so in the ballads.”

“A plague on you, Alan-A-Dale! I hate your stupid ballads!”

The End

K.M. Shea is an extreme book lover, champion web surfer, and all around geek. She’s been writing for over ten years, and has worked as librarian and a newspaper reporter. K.M. lives in the quaint countryside with her pets: Perfect Dog and Fat Cat. K.M. suspects that Perfect Dog has secret plans for world domination.

Follow K.M. Shea on Twitter: KM_Shea

Visit her blog:
http://legendaryarchive.wordpress.com/

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