An Adventure of Robin Hood

An Adventures of Robin Hood

 

     Silence wraps its fingers around the blackness of the night, only faint, distant sounds are audible. A nightingale sings somewhere in the far off forest, stable horses munch on their hay, and a barn owl hoots nearby. At the moment, the deep breathing of Little John crouched beside me and the beating of my heart are the loudest sounds that reach my ears. The old, wooden crates that obscure us from view, while we wait for the last light in the castle to be extinguished, stink like rotting vegetables and moldy cheese. Behind me Will shifts impatiently, he does not favor this uncomfortable waiting and the danger we put ourselves in while sitting in the Sheriff’s courtyard. My courtyard, actually, but mulling over something that I have already pondered to a great extent will not help us any now. Since the time we have arrived, the guards changed once and the current soldiers are busy with a game of dice inside the guard house, they are not what worries us. It is the inside of the castle the little traps the Sheriff sets, like this last one, arresting a ten-year-old boy for a crime that the child had not even carried out. My men warned me more than once that it is a trap, but how could I have denied a young widow, tears flowing down her face, when she came begging me to save her son. No, I have to do this or at least try even if this is a ploy. Suddenly, the last light disappears and the castle is cast into dark shadow.

     I nod at my men and whisper, “You all know what to do.”

     They respond with soft answers and we disperse into different directions, except for Friar Tuck who stays behind to act as look out.

     Everything is the color of ink and my ears aid my eyes in finding a way around the outskirts of the courtyard, to the kitchens. When I reach the great oak doors, I pull the pouch of olive oil from my belt and pour a generous helping over the hinges. After I rub it in with my fingers, I hold my breath as I pull on the wrought iron handle. All is silent and I let out a relieved breath, so far so good. In the kitchen, a dying fire paints a glowing, orange color over the hearth and sends a warm aura throughout the kitchen. Moving silent as a shadow over the worn stone floor, I proceed to a dimly lit hall, beyond the garlic smelling kitchens. I try to keep calm, but it is difficult knowing what is coming, knowing how dangerous this will be. My father used to say, “Courage is being scared to death, but fighting anyway.” It is exactly how I feel now, afraid and still carrying on with this insane plan that we somehow devised.

     It does not surprise me when I notice that there are no soldiers patrolling the halls, it confirms our earlier guess that we are walking into a trap. But is that not what our whole plan is made of? Assumptions. It is a dangerous way to go about entering the castle, but we have nothing else. The only advantage we hold is that I know this castle like the back of my hand, it was after all my home. I went to the holy land for only four years and when I returned my home had been robbed from me. Again I shake thoughts as these out of my head, they will do me no good.

     When I reach the two towering doors that lead to the great hall, I hesitate. Is this really a good idea? It is dangerous, someone could get killed. Before more such thoughts enter my mind, I place a hand on each rough oak doors and push them open. Just as I expected, the Sherriff sits within four guards surrounding him, less than I had thought though, and the boy Davy near the back of the room. His hands and feet are bound tightly, but he does not seem to be harmed.

     At the sound of my entrance the Sherriff swiftly stands, a look of surprise clear on his face. Just I a though, he expected me to look first in the dungeons for Davy.

     I attempt to act nonchalant as I calmly enter the room, “Good evening Sherriff. How are you on this fine night?”

     The soldiers, their faces alarmed at my presence, move closer, their swords drawn, but the Sherriff just glowers at me, his eyes shooting daggers in the dim candle light. His face turns thoughtful, though and then just as quickly becomes composed and slightly shrewd.

     “Not a wise move on your part, Locksley,” he growls, slowly moving towards the wall.

     In the blink of an eye, my bow is in one hand and an arrow in the other. The Sherriff lunges for the rope to the bell beside the great fire place, but my arrow is swifter. The rope is cut off near the ceiling by the tip of my sharp arrow and falls neatly in a coil at the Sheriffs' feet. 

     He attempts to poise himself once more, “You know I have men just out in the hall that are ready to enter.”

     “Do you? Because on my way in,” I motion with my hand at the door, “I noticed that the hall was completely deserted. Funny how that is, on tonight of all nights, when you need your men the most. Shall I check in the dungeon mayhap they have locked themselves in a cell by accident.” I hope they are safely in a cell now if they are not things could take a turn for the worse.

     Irritation flies across the Sherriff’s face and he casts his eyes upward while shaking his head, “And no doubt they somehow ended up in there without their trousers.”  I know the Sherriff is referring to the shameless habit that my men refuse to give up, in which they force the enemy soldiers to shed their knickers.

     For a second, I am lost for words as I attempt to conceal a laugh, but I manage to somehow say, “Yes, no doubt they have.”

     The Sherriff runs a gloved hand over his shiny black mustache, a thoughtful expression on his face. It makes me uneasy, he is devising something and obviously not something in my favor.

     I make a sniffing noise with my nose and snuffle the air around me, “Careful Sherriff, I think I smell bacon burning.”

     The Sherriff’s face contorts into rage and he makes a growling sound deep in his throat. Behind him, Davy almost gives an amused smile, but the fear in his eyes swallows any laughter.

     “You will be sorry for this Locksley,” the Sherriff clenches his hand in a fist.

     “I do not know about that, but if I ever am, you will be the first to know,” my voice is nonchalant, but inside I am begging Will and John to hasten.

     Suddenly the great doors behind me noisily swing open and I spin on my heel, at the same time as I pull an arrow from my quiver. Five soldiers wearing the insignia of the Sherriff approach cautiously, their swords are drawn and they look ready to flay something or someone. I am about to release my arrow when I feel the prick of cold steel on the back of my neck. My mind whirls, seeking to create a way out of this mess, but before I can act upon any of the schemes that have hardly formed, I catch the eye of one of the soldiers. It is Alan-a-Dale, and he gives me an apologizing look and discretely touches his nose, something went wrong. He was delegated as a lookout in the halls, dressed up as one of Sherriff’s guards. He must have seen the men approaching and joined them so that the numbers would not be so unsympathetic in my favor. For now I will play the Sherriff’s game, maybe Will and John are still carrying out their segment of the plan. At least I pray they are. Slowly so as not to rile the Sherriff I lower my bow and arrow, lift my hands in surrender, and turn to face the Sherriff.

      His face is smug with supposed victory, “You did not expect that now did you? Robin of Locksley.” He says the last part with mocking and I swallow to keep control over my emotions.

     Faintly I hear Allan clear his throat and I take that as a signal to start moving, it is crucial if we want this plan to work. Casually I take a few steps back, not to escape. No, all we need is chaos, for a few seconds.

     “Remain where you are, criminal,” the Sherriff barks, moving with me.

     I take one more step back and simultaneously I hear the clang of steel on stone as Allan drops his sword. For a fraction of a second the Sherriff’s eyes flit angrily to Allan and in that moment I use the distraction to cause pandemonium. It is a whole minute of disarray in which everything is a tangle of arms and legs, but it does exactly what I want it to do, move everyone into ideal positions. I stand with my back to the door, able to see the entire room including the distressed Davy. The guards and Sherriff form a slightly curved line in front of me. Not a second too soon do they turn their backs, for just at that moment a rope falls soundlessly from the skylight in the ceiling.

     I need to distract the Sherriff, “Not working out quite as you would like it to. Is it Sherriff?” I focus on the Sherriff, but out of the corner of my eye, I watch Will smoothly descend to the floor.

     “You do not know that,” the Sherriff attempts to look calm and collected, but I can see the uneasiness and anger behind his facade. At the sight of Will, Davy inhales, startled, but Will covers Davy’s mouth, to stifle the sound. He then proceeds to cut the ropes and tie Davy to the cord dangling from the ceiling.

     “No? Are you sure? And what if I do? Remember that time you hid the gold in the store rooms, but we found it anyway and replaced all the bags with corn. The couriers did not even notice till they had reached London and by then they were too embarrassed to even show their faces to the Royal treasurer,” I give a little laugh, but I am still discretely watching as Davy rises from the floor. He is tied securely to the rope that is being swiftly but smoothly pulled by Little John who is sitting on the roof.

     “Unfortunately for you this time though, I hold the ace,” he points out haughtily, lifting his nose. Unfortunately for him though, that ace is now in my hand.  

     The faint scent of smoke floats beneath my nose and I clear my throat before coolly stating, “Sherriff, I do believe that the thatch roof of your bake-house is alight.” Friar Tuck has completed his designated task, good. He was not only a lookout, but also a lighter of fire.

     At first the Sherriff’s features deny my statement, but when he sniffs the air himself, he turns angrily towards the window. His eyes bulge at the sight of Will and when Will sees that the Sheriff’s attention is on him, he bows gracefully, catches hold of the rope, and disappears through the skylight. The Sherriff sputters in surprise, the fire almost forgotten, but the clanging of a bell causes him to rush to the window. He leans out and observes the scene for a second before bellowing, “Fire! Fire! Everyone to the well!”

     I share a look with Allan and he pushes the soldier beside himself, causing a domino effect with the other guards. I hold back, so that Allan can pass me by into the hall and then I follow him into the dark tunnel. Angry shouts resonate behind us and I run faster, through the corridor, across the worn floor of the atrium, between the two oak beams of the doorframe, and into the chaotic courtyard. Peasants run this way and that, water buckets and wet clothes in their hands. I am strongly tempted to help their cause, but I resist the urge. Allan and I make our way passed the gates and onto the road beyond. From there we proceed to the forest where the rest of my men and Davy await us. Davy wears a grin that spreads from ear to ear and he says gleefully, “Thank you, Robin. I will never forget this.”

     “I am sure you will not,” I ruffle his hair and walk into the familiar shadows of the forest. “Come everyone, let us return to camp and celebrate our victory with a pleasant cup of ale.”

       

Author's Note

This is originally a school assignment, but I had so much fun writing it, I thought I would share.