8
July 17, 1193
Sherwood Forest
“Jill? Are you awake?”
Robin’s voice from outside Jill’s hut pulled her out of a dream in which Robin sat with her in the college library while she did calculus homework. He was telling Jill all about Marian. As he rambled on about Marian’s beauty, Jill felt nauseated because she knew she would never have Robin for herself.
“Jill?”
“Yeah, I’m awake.”
She sat up, feeling her bones creak. The twigs, moss and leaves had done little to protect her from the cold ground or cushion her body from the hard earth. As much as she looked forward to bragging about “roughing it” later, right now she wanted a soft, warm mattress. The library dream began to fade as her bizarre reality settled in. Robin hadn’t been in college with her at all. She was thinking of someone else, but she wouldn’t say his name, not even in her head.
“We leave soon for Nottingham.”
Jill opened the door and stooped through the opening. The men moved about the camp, preparing for the trip. Pulling her cloak around her for warmth, Jill headed for the camp privy. She felt better after washing her face in the cool stream water.
When she returned, Robin was waiting for her. Not everyone was coming apparently. She caught sight of Will, Alan, Stutely, and eight men in addition to her and Robin.
“This is everyone?”
“All we’ll need for now,” Robin assured her.
As they started the cold trek toward Nottingham, Robin passed Jill a piece of bread and hunk of smelly cheese.
“I thought you might like something. You didn’t eat much last night.”
She nodded, irritated he would comment on her eating habits, but as she ate the bread and cheese, she decided she might be over-reacting a little. She was hungry and it was thoughtful of Robin to bring her something.
As they walked in the dawn, Alan began to hum. “I’m going to call this song ‘The Ballad of the Thirteen.’”
“Thirteen?” Will turned to Robin. “Did you think to count before we set off?”
Robin shrugged. “Twelve men, one woman. It’s auspicious.”
Now that the adrenaline from yesterday’s adventures had worn off, Jill wanted and needed more rest, but adventure didn’t come to those who stayed in bed. Anyone who enjoyed a soft mattress on a regular basis predetermined her life to be boring. But Jill’s life wasn’t boring anymore. She had joined Robin Hood’s band and was about to rescue Joanna.
But what would happen after the rescue? If Joanna joined the band, Jill wouldn’t be special anymore. Joanna was the man magnet who drew all the attention. Joining Robin’s merry men was Jill’s fantasy and she didn’t want to share it with anyone, least of all her greatest competition. Wasn’t there a way to ensure Joanna’s safety without endangering Jill’s special situation with Robin Hood?
If Joanna was here, she wouldn’t enjoy sleeping on a bed of moss and twigs. Perhaps some elderly woman in a nearby village would let Joanna live with her while Jill cavorted in the forest. Then, the twins could be together but separate. No, that didn’t seem right either. They had taken this vacation to be together, hadn’t they? Jill was being far too introspective. Best to focus on Joanna’s rescue and deal with the need for boundaries later. Jill turned her thoughts to the mission, wishing she better understood the plan they were about to execute.
“I think you forgot to give me a weapon,” Jill reminded Robin, noting the bows and daggers the twelve men carried.
“You’ll be with me. Isn’t that protection enough?”
If he knew anything about her—which he didn’t—he would know Jill could never be the wilting damsel in distress. She was going to be part of the action. He should have realized this about her, especially after she beat him in the staff challenge. The fact that he didn’t irritated her.
An hour later, the gang paused in a clearing overlooking Nottingham. The castle, its six turrets and massive gatehouse gleaming silvery white in the sun, dominated the top of the hill across the valley. Outside the stone walls lay a walled city that dribbled down the hillside. Studying the castle towers, Jill pondered which one held the dungeon. Was Joanna in there now, crying for rescue? Jill couldn’t let her claustrophobic sister rot in the sheriff’s jail, just like Jill had no intention of climbing any of those turrets. Even the thought of such height made her queasy.
“Everyone understands we’re using rendezvous C this time?”
The men nodded in agreement. Robin put his arm on Will’s shoulder.
“Good luck, Will. You’ll make an excellent executioner—as long as you can see what to swing at.”
Robin pulled up his hood to cover his face. Jill and the other men did as well although she failed to see the point. Wouldn’t a group of hooded figures entering the town on execution day be suspicious? Who would fall for such a childish disguise?
As the men dispersed, Robin put his hand protectively near the small of Jill’s back. “You and I are after information. There’s a baker I know who owes me a favor.”
Following Robin as he turned through the narrow streets, Jill marveled at how little room there was to pass between the shops. Buildings with small foundations grew another two feet wide at the second story, meaning that although the streets were narrow, the space between the upper-level windows of each building was narrower still. People on opposite sides of the street standing at their second-floor windows could shake hands. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Jill wished the entire business was over so they could return to the forest where she could draw a breath without smelling human waste or body odor. However, the hooded disguises seemed to be working. So far, no one had pointed at them or identified them as members of the outlaw band.
After weaving through so many streets that even Jill lost her sense of direction, Robin stopped in front of a shop that emanated heat. The smell of baking bread made her stomach growl. Robin stepped up to one of the windows which was propped open on a board laid out as a counter. He motioned for Jill to stand behind him.
A fat man with a red face and brown hair tied back in a ponytail at the neck leaned across the windowsill and clapped Robin on the shoulder, leaving a flour handprint on the outlaw’s cloak.
Robin’s voice was jolly. “Sander, my friend, how’s business?”
Jill lifted the edge of her hood to glance around the street. How could anyone see out of these things? Hiding her identity severely limited her peripheral vision.
“Everyone needs bread,” Sander replied, “but not everyone can afford it.”
“These are hard times.” Robin pulled out a coin and slipped it to the baker. “One of your finest loaves.”
“For this, one of my worst. A man has to make a living.”
As Sander went back for a loaf, Jill wondered at Robin’s lack of funding or generosity. She would have to say something about that later.
Sander returned with a long, cool loaf, probably from the day before. Robin broke it and gave half to Jill.
“I’m also wondering if you’ve heard anything,” Robin’s voice lowered, “about Little John’s execution.”
“High noon.” Sander spoke out of the side of his mouth. “They’re planning to chop off his head.”
“Have you heard anything about a woman taken with Little John?”
“Aye. Seems Guy of Gisbourne identified her as one of your spies. He’s been torturing her for information.”
Jill felt her stomach flip. Torture?
“I heard Guy’s man, Roger, bragging about it at the tavern yesterday afternoon. Now that Guy’s had his way with the woman, he plans to let her die in the sheriff’s dungeon.”
“Thank you, my friend. I’m in your debt.”
“That you are,” Sander agreed, “with what you pay me for a good loaf of bread.”
Robin took Jill’s arm and led her away from the bakery into an alley. She leaned against a beam of the building behind her, willing herself to breathe
…to think. Logic and common sense had guided her through many a difficult situation. They would direct her now. But that knowledge didn’t quell the churning in her stomach. Resting her hands on her knees, Jill counted her breaths to make sure she actually took them. Robin placed a hand on her shoulder. The pressure and warmth didn’t stop the panic but did lessen it some.
“Jill, I’ve known Gisbourne’s man, Roger, since I was a boy. Roger is a braggart without any proof to back up his lies. He’s always gloried in Guy’s reputation. This is more of the same.”
“He said torture.” Jill shook her head. “If Joanna’s hurt or…”
“Men say a lot of things they don’t mean when they’ve been drinking.”
Jill thought of the night before and wondered how much the ale had influenced what Robin had told her. “Then how can we trust any of the information?”
“Any lie worth its salt has some element of truth in it. We already knew from Alan she was hurt, so that’s no surprise. She’s likely still in the dungeon. But we’ll rescue her and take her back to the camp where you’ll both be safe.”
Logic and common sense won out. Standing up straight, Jill nodded her readiness. Robin’s smile caused her heart to quicken. When he looked at her, did he actually see Marian? She wasn’t interested in being a proxy for his dead lover. Again she pushed this out of her mind as she and Robin walked purposefully toward the castle courtyard where the execution was to take place. Robin ate his bread but Jill gave hers to a child who ran by. She no longer had an appetite.
When they reached the castle inner bailey, they milled about with the other townspeople gathered to see Little John beheaded. Jill noticed many of the merry men, still hooded, and wondered that no one else could pick them out of the crowd. She and Robin inched their way toward the keep so they could sneak into the dungeon when the guards were distracted.
The sound of a trumpet—not a flourish as much as two or three sharp notes—signaled the sheriff’s arrival. Surrounded by guards to separate him from the crowd, the sheriff sauntered out of the great hall into the courtyard to stand near the gallows. Robin frowned.
“Something wrong?” Jill asked.
“Gisbourne isn’t here. That’s unusual.”
“Good people of Nottingham!” the sheriff began. “Today you are gathered to see justice served to an outlaw, a man accused of harboring the murderer Robin Hood, that dastardly villain who burned Tinterly Manor to the ground and killed Herbert and his family.”
Jill shot Robin a questioning look.
“Only partially true,” he said.
“Which part?”
He pointed to the sheriff. “Pay attention.”
Jill raised an eyebrow. Her doubts about the success of this mission were growing exponentially.
“Today,” the sheriff continued, “we will execute Robin Hood’s accomplice, the giant Little John, a man of exceptional cruelty and avarice. Let it be known that anyone who allies himself with Robin Hood will come to the same end. Bring out the prisoner!”
The crowd shouted when the dungeon doors opened and Little John, his hands tied behind his back, emerged surrounded by soldiers. He squinted in the light, but as he looked at the crowd, his expression communicated pleasure.
“He’s pleased at the turnout,” Robin guessed. “This is a larger number than for Will’s last execution. We’re drawing bigger audiences these days.”
Little John mounted the steps to the platform but halted when he saw the executioner. The guards had to prod him on and force him to kneel.
Jill bit her lip. “You’re sure that’s Will in the executioner’s hood?”
Robin shrugged. “We’ll know in a minute.”
The sheriff raised his arms and the drum roll began. The executioner raised his axe in preparation. With a theatrical gesture, the sheriff threw down his arm, the drum roll stopped, and the executioner took a great swing. But instead of cutting off Little John’s head, the axe sliced the ropes binding his hands.
“Death to tyrants!” Alan yelled from the audience. The boy’s shouting voice was almost as good as his singing voice. “Long live King Richard!”
The merry men pulled off their hoods, brandished their weapons, and the melee began. Will removed his executioner’s hood and kicked two soldiers crawling onto the platform. John grabbed a pike from one of the soldiers Will had kicked and thrust it at three soldiers who attacked him. Pockets of fighting broke out in the crowd as the remaining members of Robin’s gang took on at least two soldiers each. The fight had a comic quality to it, reminding Jill of B-rated action movies from the 1940s. The scene in no way matched the brutality and physicality she had expected from a medieval battle. Could this even be called a battle? It felt more like a well-rehearsed stage play at a Renaissance festival.
“Jill, this way!” Robin directed.
After pushing their way through the crowd, Robin and Jill descended the steep, stone stairs into the dungeon. Robin knocked out the guard at the inner door without too much fuss. The smell of rotting human bodies assaulted Jill. How had Joanna endured the stench?
Jill hurried through the dark passage, ignoring the hands reaching out of cell doors as she called Joanna’s name. Halfway through the hall, Jill peered through the grates of a cell door and caught sight of a pink shirt in the corner.
“Robin! In here!’
Robin unlocked the door with the keys he had confiscated from the guard, but even as he was doing so, Jill knew something was wrong. The hunch of the shoulders, the wild brown hair—this wasn’t Joanna. The door open, Robin pushed past Jill and pulled the figure upright. But when he caught sight of the prisoner’s face, he recoiled.
“Is this your sister?”
Before she realized what she was doing, Jill pinned the ugly boy wearing her sister’s clothes against the wall, using her forearm to crush his windpipe. “Where’s my sister, you little creep?”
“I don’t know,” the boy squeaked. “I was paid a shilling to put on these clothes. I never saw any woman.”
The boy’s accent was so thick that Jill could hardly understand him. He mangled his words and sawed off important consonant sounds, even in simple sentences.
Robin stomped his foot in frustration. “Jill, it’s a trap. “
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Jill said as she released her grip.
The boy gasped and held his throat. “Take me with you, please!”
Robin motioned toward the door. “Keep up, then.”
Three soldiers entered the dungeon through the entrance from the bailey. One and a half for each of us, Jill thought, not counting the boy. Robin slammed his fist into the jaw of the biggest man. Jill used a roundhouse kick to stun the second and pushed him into a wall, wondering at the force her adrenaline gave her. When the third soldier moved in, she kicked him in the knee while Robin, who had dispatched his man, came down with an elbow strike on the back of the soldier’s head.
Jill’s eyes met Robin’s over the fallen soldiers and her chest tightened again. Jill Mason and Robin Hood made a good team. Noise at the top of the bailey stairs indicated more soldiers approached. Robin tipped his head toward the other side of the passage. “There’s another way out.”
The prisoners continued to call out as Robin, Jill, and the boy ran by.
“Can’t we free them?” Jill asked.
“There’s no time,” Robin called over his shoulder, unlocking the other entrance.
Jill hesitated. To have the means to free the prisoners but fail to do so was hardly heroic behavior. She wouldn’t stand for it, regardless of the danger. “Throw me the keys!” she demanded.
Frowning, Robin tossed her the keys which she caught and placed in the hand of the nearest prisoner, hoping he could figure it out from there.
The boy in Joanna’s clothing pushed her toward the stairs. At the top, Robin opened a large wooden door to reveal a dark inner corridor lined with pillars. He took two steps into the room then stopped suddenly when he saw th
e sword point inches from his chest.
Jill would have rushed to his aid, but the boy pulled her behind a pillar. She peaked out to see Robin frozen before his assailant—a tall, lean man, dressed all in black. He had sandy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and scar between his eye and ear.
“Plan 47, was it?” The man in black laughed, inching his sword closer to Robin’s heart.
“I’m going to kill you.” Robin’s voice was tight.
“You aren’t capable. I see you found my decoy.”
Decoy? Jill pondered the word. Did this man have Joanna? Stepping from behind the pillar, Jill heard her voice echo in the corridor as she demanded, “Where’s my sister?”
The eyes of the man in black darted to Jill and his face paled. His expression communicated recognition and surprise. Robin saw his chance. He knocked the sword from his opponent’s hands and dashed past Jill and the boy toward a doorway on the right.
“Come on, Jill!” Robin called.
She could hear the soldiers stomping up the steps from the dungeon. The man in black stared at Jill in surprise, unable or unwilling to retrieve his sword. Once again, the boy pushed Jill after Robin, through the doorway and up a circular staircase. They climbed two flights of stairs before Robin opened the door onto the wall walk.
Her head a little clearer, Jill closed the tower door behind her and barricaded it, knowing she would only slow the soldiers temporarily. But her efforts were already pointless. Looking ahead to the other end of the wall walk, she saw soldiers advancing, their swords drawn.
Robin peered over the edge of the wall toward the village below. “We’ll have to jump.”
He couldn’t be serious, could he? Jump off a wall that was easily four stories tall into…into what? She looked over the edge and felt her stomach flip. A hay wagon sat below. How convenient!
No, she was not going to do this. Jill Mason, who had been afraid of heights her entire life, was not going to jump off a castle wall into a hay wagon. She would rather be captured. She would rather be killed. Better to die by the sword than plunge to one’s death willingly.
Robin leaped onto one of the openings in the wall and reached for her hand, pulling her up with him. “We jump together on the count of three.”
Jill shook her head. “No way!”
He wrapped her hand in his. “One…two…three!”
The soldiers burst through the door of the wall walk as Robin leaped off the wall, pulling Jill with him. She heard a high-pitched scream and realized it was coming from her. She never screamed. But then, she had never jumped to her death before.
As the ground rose up to meet her, Jill felt like she was falling in slow motion. She had the strangest feeling that she wasn’t in her body at all but floating outside of it. A series of images from childhood flashed through her mind: playing with Joanna in the sandbox, Dad tickling her with his mustache, Mom’s apple pie, road trips with the family, her twenty-fifth birthday dinner. Was this how her life was going to end? She’d come here to rescue Joanna, but instead Jill would die, and Joanna, Mom, and Dad would never know what happened to her.
An impact that knocked the breath out of her brought her back to the present. She lay immobile in the hay cart, her ears ringing. Someone shouted. Strong arms yanked her from the wagon bed. She landed on the ground on top of Robin as the boy fell into the hay.
“Jill!” Robin’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away. “We have to run!”
Why did everyone have to keep pulling and pushing her? She needed her personal space. She shrugged off Robin’s arms and held her ground. She needed to breathe and get her bearings. How far had she fallen again? She gazed unsteadily at the castle wall above her, noting with detachment the archers swarming the walls. What was the range on those bows?
“Jill, run!”
An arrow dug into the ground next to her, bringing adrenaline-induced clarity. She would die if she didn’t get moving.
Focusing on Robin, she ran behind him, unaware of what she passed or where they were going. She required every ounce of strength and concentration to keep pace with him. She lost track of how long or how far they had run, knowing only that she would drop from exhaustion soon, and then she would die. How ironic would it be for her to survive a four-story jump only to get an arrow through her chest?
When she had run so long that her legs felt like they were made of rubber and her lungs couldn’t bring in enough air, Robin finally stopped for a rest. Jill leaned against a tree, worried that if she tried to sit she would fall down. Robin, Jill, and the boy panted heavily. As her breath returned, Jill felt emotion taking over. If she had come this close to dying twice in a few minutes, what might Joanna have been through?
Might Joanna be...dead?
A weight that felt like lead dropped in her stomach, pushing Jill to the ground. What should she do now? Jill always had a plan. Always. But here she was in a situation she never could have imagined with no possible way out.
Robin crouched beside her. “Are you well, Jill?”
Her eyes stung. As she drew in her breath, the intake was ragged. Then, her face crinkled and her eyes began to water. No! No crying allowed!
“No, I’m not well at all!” she retorted, channeling the emotional energy into anger. “You almost got me killed back there. What were you thinking?”
Robin looked confused. “I saved your life. We escaped.”
“You call that saving?” Her entire body vibrated with anger. “This was a half-baked plan from the beginning. But then, it’s pretty clear you have no idea what you’re doing. Your plans are stupid, all you think about is revenge, you’re stingy with your money, you didn’t free the prisoners, and you pushed me off a wall without my consent.”
“I think pulled would be a more accurate term.”
“Don’t talk to me right now!” Jill punctuated the air with her index finger and wished it was an arrow piercing Robin’s brain.
Robin’s shoulders slumped as Jill brushed past him toward the stream where the boy, still clad in Joanna’s clothing, knelt. Hoping cold water would cool her flaming face and throat, Jill bathed her face in the water.
She was mad at the entire universe right now, Robin most of all. If only she had a staff, she’d knock him flat on his face in the stream. The boy looked at her shyly. With his thin limbs and gaunt face, Joanna’s clothes hung on him like tents. This boy had never eaten well. She took a deep breath to temper her anger. “What’s your name?”
“Lester.”
“Where’s my sister?”
“I don’t know.”
Robin joined them at the bank and drank a little water himself. “We still have some distance to travel. If we stay here too long, the sheriff’s men will be upon us.”
“Fine.” She spit the word out.
Robin avoided looking her in the eye as he motioned for her and Lester to follow him. Jill fought back the thoughts of Joanna that kept surfacing. How was she going to explain to Mom and Dad that she hadn’t saved Joanna? Would she ever see Mom and Dad again? Those questions threatened tears again, but Jill reined them in. As long as she moved and focused on where to put her feet and how angry she was with Robin, she could keep it together. Finally, the forest began to look familiar. Jill followed Robin through a passage of thick brush and found herself at the camp. Will Scarlet, Little John, and the other men Jill recognized from the rescue party were already at the fire.
“This is rendezvous C?” Jill asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “The camp?”
Robin shrugged and walked toward the fire. Noting the way her legs shook, Jill hung back by the barrel of ale and uncorked it to pour herself a cup. Lester, who still stood at the edge of the camp, refused to come any closer to the merry men. Jill filled a second tankard and took it to him. He drank it eagerly. She tried to lift her own cup to her mouth but her hand trembled so violently she couldn’t bring it to her lips. Instead, she held it in both hands and wondered when the physiological reaction to the st
ress of the day would pass.
From the looks of Little John, Jill wasn’t the only one who was angry.
“Robin, you changed the plan! This blind bat,” (Little John pointed to Will) “almost cut my hands off!” He brandished a bandaged wrist. “I could have bled to death.”
Will, whose red face now matched his hair, sneered. “I only shaved off a bit of skin.”
“You could have shaved off my entire arm. Robin, you were supposed to be the executioner.”
Will pointed at his black eye. “I got this when I tried to knock out the executioner. I finally had to strike him with a steel kettle.”
“Why didn’t you poison him?” Robin asked.
Will threw up his hands. “I wish you’d mentioned that. Then I would have actually brought poison with me.”
“You can’t blame me that you were all too stupid to think for yourselves.” Robin kicked a stone at his feet, sending it rolling toward the fire. “Everyone should have known what to do.”
Will rolled his eyes. “And we might have if you’d followed the plan.”
John opened his mouth to protest, but he paused when he caught sight of Jill. “Joanna?”
John’s mention of Joanna’s name triggered the emotional response inside Jill that she had barely held in check. She felt her face crinkle, her eyes squint, and a hoarse moan that didn’t even sound like her came from her throat. Her mug of ale fell to the ground and drained into the grass as she was overcome with tears. She stood in front of thirty men, sobbing uncontrollably. Jill didn’t cry often, but when she did, the effect was like living through a hurricane rather than the frequent sprinkles of tears her mother often exhibited. Such an effect was bad enough when she weathered it alone, but breaking down in front of an all-male audience was the ultimate humiliation. As she gasped, sobbed, and waved her hands wildly, every man in the camp stood frozen. Lester backed away from her like she had the plague. Little John’s face paled. Robin rubbed the back of his neck and avoided eye contact. Jill had to get out of here. Still crying, she trotted toward the stream. Once out of camp, she settled herself in between the roots of a tree, wrapped her cloak around her, and surrendered to the sobs and dark thoughts.
No Joanna. No return to the present. No family. And now, she had humiliated herself in front of Robin. There was no hope—only gale-strength tears that showed no signs of abating. This was a lousy, good-for-nothing century and she was sorry she’d ever ended up here.