“Yeah,” said Fynn. “That was pickpocket, cutpurse. Now we’re committing a far greater crime.” He seemed to smile as he said the words.
“Well, that’s the point,” Matty replied. “You can count me in. I’m a robber now as well.”
“Not you, Matty,” Fynn said. “This is not girls’ work.”
Fury flared within her. “It’s outlaws’ work is what it is. Thieves’ work. A thief can be a man, a woman, a girl, or a boy. I found the rubies!” The color had risen in her cheeks. She was not so much angry as determined for them to see her as who she was and who she knew she could be: an outlaw like the rest of them.
“I want you to trust me. We all need to trust one another. It has nothing to do with being a girl or a boy. What we’ve taken is not a prize hen’s eggs, a round of cheese, or a deer from the royal forest. I think we need to make a blood oath, for indeed we are in possession now of unbelievable riches. So we must swear an oath of loyalty.”
The four others nodded in solemn agreement. Fynn drew out his hunting knife. Each one took it, and in the dim light of the cave slashed the tips of their thumbs. They then went around and pressed their thumbs to one another’s and repeated the words after Matty.
“I solemnly do swear upon this oath of blood never to reveal my knowledge of the rubies to any human being. The riches we have found will be used only in service to our lawful king, Richard, and to defeat the tyranny that prevails in this land but never for our personal gain. This I swear in the name of our Lord.”
BOOK TWO
WHEN FYNN BECAME ROBIN HOOD
and
WHEN MATTY BECAME MAID MARIAN
Chapter 16
A WINTER OF DESPAIR
Cramp is a crippling condition of the feet. Young birds, eyases, are especially susceptible. Severe cold is thought to cause cramp. There is no cure.
ALL THROUGH THE SUMMER and the fall of 1191 and well into the next winter, the rubies nestled hidden in the five hollows of the trees that Matty called the lepers of the forest. The people grew poorer. Prince John grew bolder, and the five friends grew bolder as well and more desperate. Matty had proved herself an excellent cutpurse, but the takings were slimmer even from the sheriff’s men.
Beyond stealing, the boys had to find ways to earn a penny here or there to help their own families, for there were mouths to feed. Rich helped his father at the mill. It had been seized by the sheriff, who forced them to grind grain at half price for the sheriff and any of his men. Similarly Will Scarloke’s father, by decree of Prince John, was made to shoe the horses of the sheriff’s men free of charge. Will worked in his father’s forge and had started to juggle on market days in various towns to make enough money to help buy food. Hubie spent less and less time in the forest and more time helping his mother brew and deliver ale. And Fynn’s father had gone lame and could no longer work as forest warden. The family relied on the money that Nelly could get for her services as a midwife and they ate what Fynn could catch.
“We have to do something!” Fynn said, pacing the cave where they often met now.
“Is it time for the gobbets?” Will asked.
The friends had, shortly after their blood oath, decided never to mention the rubies by name. They had a score of code words for the five rubies. “Rowan berries” was one, for in winter the rowan tree bore bright red berries that were used to make dyes. Another code word was “blood,” another “the gobbets” still another was “bunions.” They tried to come up with words that suggested something common and not something rare or precious.
“No, not for the gobbets, but it is time for something else.” Fynn had grown, it seemed, almost a head taller in the last six months. He was nearing his sixteenth birthday. He stopped pacing and ran a hand over his cheek. “We are men now. Look, I have a beard…or almost.”
“I almost do!” Rich said.
“Me, too,” Hubie and Will both said at once.
“Oooh, me, too!” Matty said with a great sigh. She hated all this carrying on about shaving and becoming men. It seemed rather childish to her. “Just tell me, Fynn—all of you—what does a beard have to do with anything?”
“Nothing really,” Fynn replied, and looked her directly in the eye. “Old lady Biggle is dying, Matty. She be dying of starvation.” He paused. “You see, Matty, it is time for us to act as men.” He paused again. “And women,” he added, taking a step closer to Matty. The color rose in her cheeks as he studied her. He was looking very deeply into her eyes as if searching for something. The awkward silence was broken by Hubie.
“Old lady Biggle be dying of heartbreak as much as starvation,” he said. “They took her son away and threw him in the sheriff’s dungeon ’cause he wouldn’t cobble boots for the sheriff’s guard for free. The shop is closed. They have no livelihood.”
“It’s like me own father and the mill,” Rich said. “Me mum’s starving and she be expecting a baby. Baby might die before it gets born.” He paused and his eyes began to well up. “And me mum might, too.”
“If it’s not time for the rubies, it might be time for something almost as valuable,” Matty said.
The boys turned toward her. Their brows were creased in bewilderment.
“Do you know where the sheriff keeps his coffers?” Matty asked.
“Nottingham Castle. It’s well fortified,” Fynn replied.
“Exactly,” said Matty. “You don’t have a chance of getting in there. And it’s where the prince stays when he comes here.”
“Do you think you have a chance of getting in?” Fynn asked.
“Better than you,” she fired back. “I can be a maid. I can work in the scullery, the laundry, serve in the kitchen.”
“She’s right! Fynn!” Will leaped up. “Matty could find out all sorts of things for us…like—like—” Rich, Hubie, and Will all were speaking excitedly.
“Like where they keep the silver!” Hubie said. “You don’t think they eat from trenchers, taking their ale in wood cups like the rest of the world, do you? She’s perfect for the job! Our spy. No one will suspect Matty.”
Matty’s eyes were bright now. But Fynn had grown very still.
Matty walked over to him. “What’s wrong, Fynn? Are you mad because I thought this up?”
“No.” He scowled. “But, Matty, it’s dangerous. You’ll be in the thick of it. You could get caught or hurt and—”
“And there is no choice!” Matty said. “You heard what Rich said about his mum and the baby. People are dying. Dying!”
“And what about your birds, Matty? Who will take care of your hawks while you serve the sheriff?” Fynn asked.
“Ooh!” Matty said softly. She hadn’t thought of that. Just before everything had seemed so possible, but now…?
“I will!” Rich spoke up. “I can take care of them.”
“I can help, too!” Will said.
“And me!” Hubie said.
They all now turned to Fynn. He nodded slightly and then smiled. “Count me in, Matty.”
“Oh, Fynn!” she cried, flinging her arms around him. She squeezed him hard and then broke away. But she had felt his lips brush her cheek, and it had sent a wonderful jolt through her. Now he was looking down at his feet and shuffling. Had she embarrassed him by this quick embrace in front of his friends? Before, her heart had soared, but now she felt mortified. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Fynn. She backed away several steps and, turning to the other boys, said, “Don’t worry about me. Just let me get a position in the castle. I know castles and I’ll figure out this one quickly. You know it won’t take me long and then I can just quit, leave. Say I have to go home to take care my aged father.”
“And you won’t give them your real name?” Fynn asked.
“No—no, I’ll call myself…” She paused and thought for a few seconds. “Let’s see…how about Marian?” She looked at the leaf that Fynn had tucked into his cap. “Marian Greenleaf!”
“All right.” Fynn paused “Maid Mari
an.” He then looked at the three others. “I think I want a new name, too!”
That is so like Fynn, Matty thought. Probably thinks I bested him coming up with this name. He touched the peaked green hat that he had started to wear. “If Matty is to call herself Maid Marian, I shall call myself Robert Hood.” He stopped and shook his head. “Sounds rather dull, actually. How about Robin? Robin Hood? More of a ring to it, don’t you think?”
Hubie stood up. At barely sixteen he had become a giant of a young man, standing well over six feet with massive shoulders and hands like hams. “I have always hated the name Hubert. So I shall call myself John.”
“John!” They all gasped.
“Not like Prince John!” Matty blurted out. “How could you?”
“Me grandfather was named John. He was as right and honest a man as ever lived. One bad prince shouldn’t spoil a perfectly good name.” He gave them a sly look now. “But if it bothers you I’ll call myself Little John and you can call me Little for short. Or Tiny or Teeny or Teensy.” They were all laughing now as Little John rose on his tiptoes and began cavorting around the cave, which seemed much too small for his large figure.
“And what will you call yourselves?” Robin said, looking at Rich Much and Will Scarloke.
“I am perfectly happy with my own name. Rich as in Richard. And it is much an honor to bear our king’s name,” he said, laughing.
“And you, Will?” Marian asked.
“Scarlet—Will Scarlett or just plain Scarlett?” Rich asked.
“Scarlet—one T please. Never fancied that second one hanging off the end,” Will replied.
1192
Chapter 17
THE THICK OF IT
A hawk’s talons may grow too long if a perch is too soft and there are not enough rubbing stones. Careful coping or clipping of the talons is then required.
MAID MARIAN—THE NEW name took some getting used to. Rather like trying to wear a new pair of shoes, a bit stiff at first. For so long she had been Matty, but now in this new life she was to be Maid Marian. She tried her best to always think of herself as such, especially since she had obtained a job in the sheriff’s castle at Nottingham. Before she had left for Nottingham, a plan was worked out for sending coded messages to the boys. When hired, she would smuggle Marigold into the castle and the merlin would become her winged messenger.
Within the time Marigold had been with Marian she had proven herself to be a bird of uncanny intelligence. She had, perhaps from Moss’s example, developed a patience that served her well. When Marian’s father had suffered a bout of catarrh the previous winter and Meg herself was ailing, Marian had had to stay close to home to nurse them both. It had been impossible for her to go out hawking, and the food supplies had dwindled to nearly nothing. Marian had decided to try a very risky strategy for getting fresh meat. Some called it “masterless hawking” or “jessless hawking.”
Marian had let the birds go jessless before, but never when hunting. To attempt this risky tactic Marian had climbed with her merlin to the highest turret of the castle. Whispering in Marigold’s ear in the peculiar language that she spoke to all her birds, she had launched the merlin onto the gusting winds to hunt. This might have seemed the same as the other hunting expeditions, but it was entirely different in that there was no prey in sight. The bird herself must search out the prey. Marian was more nervous than she had ever been in all the years she had worked with hawks. She trusted the little merlin, but things could go wrong. Marigold might not find prey, or perhaps she’d wander far afield and become lost.
Marian waited anxiously at the top of the turret, squinting into the distance, turning to see if the merlin might appear from another direction. By the time Marigold flew in, carrying a plump rabbit in her talons, Marian felt such relief sweep through her, such joy, that she trembled after Marigold dropped the rabbit at her feet and she extended her arm for the merlin to perch on.
And so every few days after Marian began her job in the sheriff‘s castle, one of the boys went to the Fitzwalter castle to tend the hawks and look for a message brought by Marigold. There had been no messages so far.
To Lord William the boys were still just “the boys.” He knew them only as Fynn, Hubie, Will, and Rich, not by their new names of Robin, Little John, and Scarlet. Rich, of course, was still Rich.
A blasted oak in Nottingham’s Sherwood Forest, several miles away from Barnsdale, became the boys’ new official meeting place. An immense hollow had been carved from the trunk when it had been struck by lightning, and it afforded them a shelter as big as any cave. They found the tree hollow comfortable and so began spending more time in it, for they found that they could make more money as outlaws than by staying home and working. The deer were very few in this part of the forest, and so the sheriff’s officers rarely patrolled near this oak. From here the boys could keep an eye on things, particularly on who came and went in and out of the sheriff’s castle. It was far from Nottingham to Barnsdale, but they had managed to steal a few horses and a cob pony right out from under the sheriff’s nose, which made their travels easier.
Rich now came into the hollow tree straight from the Fitzwalter castle.
“Any news?” Robin jumped up.
“No.”
“It’s been over a fortnight! What’s she doing there?” Robin had been burning with impatience since the day Marian left.
“You have to give it time, Robin,” Little John said. “Marian will let us know when she has news.”
“Little’s right. Give her time, Robin,” Rich said. “She might be stuck scrubbing floors in the scullery and have no idea where the sheriff keeps his coffers.”
Robin’s face suddenly paled. “What if she’s stuck in the scullery forever and can never find out anything? Then where will we be?”
“Well, I’d say right back where we started, and we’ll have to think of a new plan for how to lighten the sheriff’s purse and the prince’s treasury,” Scarlet said as he practiced juggling six pins.
“I can’t stand it,” Robin muttered.
“Look, Robin,” Little John said. “I have great faith in our Marian. She will send a message when she has something to say. She will. I know it. And if anybody can find out anything about where there is money and silver plate in that pile of rocks, it’s Marian. She is the one who led us to the gobbets, after all.”
“I’ve heard a bit of other news myself,” Rich said.
“What’s that?” Robin asked.
“’Tis said that the Bishop of Ely is coming to Nottingham.”
“William Longchamp is coming?” Robin said, suddenly excited.
“Yes, the only good man left,” Rich said
“Then why would he be coming?” Little John asked.
“Well, he is the chancellor after all. But there are rumors that he is trying to make peace with John,” Rich said slowly.
“Oh no!” Robin groaned.
“It might not be as bad as you think,” Rich said quickly. A light sparkled in his gray-green eyes.
“I don’t see how it could be any worse. The only decent man, Richard’s most trusted adviser, ready to make a deal with the prince.”
Rich turned his head slowly and looked at each of them. “Don’t you see? It could mean that Richard is coming home. And a peace must be brokered between him and his brother.” He paused. “And Marian is right there!”
Now all the boys’ eyes sparkled. If it was true that Richard was returning at last, this news would be brighter than any gold or silver Marian could bring them.
Marian felt lucky that her room in the castle was high in a tower of the inner ward, for it allowed Marigold not only light but also the freedom to fly away when necessary. The first floor of the tower was used for storage. The second and third floors were for the office of the steward, a most important person of the castle. Then the top floors were divided into minuscule sleeping quarters for servants. All the floors were reached by a single staircase built into the stone wall. M
arian shared her quarters with two other girls. Hannah, a great hall girl—which meant she got to serve there at feasts—and Ellie, a scullery maid like Marian.
Hannah and Ellie found the new maid sweet, although she did ask an awful lot of questions that they could not answer. Marian had to be alert. It would not be good if the two girls discovered that she could read and write. She had made up a story about coming from East Anglia near Ely, which was far away. Thankfully neither Hannah nor Ellie seemed to think much of the presence of a bird in their quarters.
Today Marian was bent over a trough, scrubbing laundry in the courtyard. This was one of the lowliest jobs in the castle. She looked up as Hannah came rushing over.
“Marian, guess what? William Longchamp, the Bishop of Ely himself, is coming! You know they say he be one of the most powerful men in England.”
Marian instantly stopped scrubbing. Trying to conceal her surprise she slid the palm of her wet hand over her face as if wiping away perspiration. Why would William Longchamp be visiting the sheriff? Had he, too, like the Bishop of Hereford, thrown in his lot with that miserable pawn of Prince John?
“Did you hear me, Marian?” Hannah took a step closer. “Feeling all right, dear? You look a tad peeky. I said, the Bishop of Ely is coming here.”
Now Ellie came into the yard.
“Yes, I just heard the news myself. It’s to be a big feast.” Ellie set down another basket of laundry. “And you better do these table linens now so they’ll dry in time. Have you ever seen him, Marian?”
“Who?” asked Marian blankly.
“The Bishop of Ely,” Ellie said impatiently. “You must have seen him, being from Ely.”
“Oh!” Marian replied quickly. “We lived outside Ely.”
“You went to church, didn’t you?” Hannah said.
“Oh, yes, but not often to the cathedral, just to the little parish church, you know.”