Robin Hood (III): The Hooded Man by David Pilling

Author:David Pilling [Pilling, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

“We put the fear of God into the deputy!” he crowed, “I reckon he and his men are still cowering under their beds. Wait until my lord Sheriff hears of this!”

The fugitives had stopped to rest in a peaceful little glade, a little way inside the eastern part of the forest. It was a warm, close evening, and the setting sun was a ball of tawny gold, slowly dipping to the horizon. Sherwood drowsed in the lingering heat. Time seemed to move sluggishly.

To Robin, the years had rolled back to his fiery youth. He leaned his back against a tree, folding his arms, and looked about him.

The old days had returned, if only for a brief moment. There was Littiljohn, the black-bearded giant, helping Much to lay a fire. There were the brothers he had rescued, brave young men, so much like the youths who had once flocked to join his band.

Finally, there was Matilda, his wife, sitting apart from the others and carefully examining the wound on her hand.

The wound I gave her.

The thin veil of nostalgia faded. Stark reality intruded. Nothing was the same. Littiljohn and Much were older now, mature men with grey in their hair, and strangers to him. The widow’s sons were just frightened boys. There was no Tuck, no Will Scarlet. The scene was incomplete, a sad parody of times past.

Matilda looked up at him. How she had changed. The slender young girl he had married was still in there somewhere, buried under layers Robin could only guess at. There was still much about her past she hadn’t told him, and maybe never would.

Their eyes met. There are things I cannot tell you either, he thought, how could I explain my heresy? Like all the other deluded souls, you would fail to understand. You would hate me, even more than when you tried to put a sword in my heart.

The little heap of kindling spluttered into life. “Well,” said Littiljohn, wiping his streaming face with the back of his hand, “I left my wagon behind, and two good oxen, and a great heap of weapons and horseshoes. Six months’ work. They will be seized, no doubt, and another sentence of outlawry put on my head.”

“Our heads,” Much said gloomily, leaning down to blow on the nascent flames, “it is a hard thing to know I will never see my little cottage again. Or my sheep. Not that they will miss me, the daft brutes.”

“You didn’t have to come,” said Robin, “we didn’t need your help. I am grateful, though. God’s bones, it is good to see you both!”

His enthusiasm fell on stony ground. Their eyes were not hostile. as Scarlet’s had been, but filled with distrust and confusion. He sensed fear as well, as though there was something unnatural about Robin.

“I have not risen from the dead, lads,” he said kindly, “my flesh is as solid as yours. Fitzwarin did not kill me. He beheaded another man in my place.”

“I can see you’re alive,” said Littiljohn, “though I couldn’t believe it at first.

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