Category: writing

Marian was loading supplies onto a cart that afternoon, wondering to herself that Tuck seemed to keep eking out enough to make through another week, despite the money the sheriff had taken. That Tuck was a wonder. Surely there were angels helping him. She checked to straps one more time to make sure that Abraham, the donkey, would not pull free from the cart as he had in the past. She had just finished this task when a thunder came from the north road. It was rare indeed to see a group of horses come racing into town this way. Led by the sheriff, she saw Roland, who had been gone since the beginning of Lent and his mates, as well as some unfamiliar faces. Each one rougher than the last, these new men struck Marian as fearsome indeed. She coaxed Abraham to get started, and led him away towards St. Anne’s.
The sheriff, having proof at last of foul play near Sherwood forest, came to the new and inexplicable conclusion that the outlaws hiding in the forest had become too bold in their incursions. How they had switched chests in the second delivery was still a mystery, but at last he had a culprit in sight and a plan of action at hand. These outlaws were at his mercy. He would begin his hunt of them immediately. It mattered not whether the ones he found were responsible for the crime, they would make a fine example to any thinking they could make a fool of the sheriff.
They had rode hard for the remainder of the trip and came into Nottingham with the horses foaming and the men tired but reinvigorated. It was a bit late in the day to begin a forest hunt, but the sheriff would not be put off. The men collected extra supplies and set off immediately for Sherwood. They came across Friar Tuck coming from St. Anne’s. He had his usual cart of wine and a cage of pigeons presumably for correspondence with nearby monasteries. As usual, the fat friar was taking up the whole road causing the hunting party to slow and go around. Ignoring the sheriff, he called to Mace, a rogue who had befriended Tuck over many a cup of wine.
“Where are you lot off to so late in the day?” He said amiably.
“To hunt the outlaws in Sherwood Forest!” said Mace, excited.
“They’ve attacked a delivery of donations to a monastery in the south.” said the sheriff hoping to add legitimacy and sympathy to his cause. In his mind, this is exactly what had happened.
“Donations for a monastery!” said Tuck addressing the sheriff for the first time. “That’s deplorable! Though it is odd. What were donations to a monastery in the south doing in the midlands? Where were they bound from?”
“We haven’t time for your blathering questions!” said the sheriff, no longer concerned with garnering sympathy. “There’s precious little daylight left, and I’ll have some heads to put on spikes before the day is out!” with that, the sheriff’s men muscled past the friar’s cart and rode off to the forest.
Right then and there, Friar Tuck went to his cage of pigeons, wrote a hasty note, rolled it tightly, and deftly attached it to one of the bird’s delicate legs. The dusty cousin to the dove flew off on his own mission of peace, overtaking the sheriff and arriving in the heart of Sherwood village, well ahead of William Brewer.
It was dark by the time the sheriff and his men reached the heart of the forest. A mist had crept from all around and lay writhing on ground; ephemeral and gossamer. They had not seen any sign of outlaws, but no one knew how many lived in the forest, or where they were. Some rumors said that they fought each other ferociously, and as a result, only a few truly brutal and evil murderers remained. Whatever the truth was, the sheriff had expected to find some cook fires or tracks, or if not actual outlaws, some clue as to their whereabouts.

They had lit torches to see by, but didn’t seem to realize that this left them exposed. The search party was grimly quiet as landmarks became hard to distinguish in the dim light cast by the torches. They listened intently, but heard little, save for the crackle of the torches. There was the occasional call of the owl. In the distance, from time to time a wolf would howl, and from somewhere else came an answering call. Was it the wolf that had dug up the corpse? They seemed to be surrounding the men, who were becoming aware that their light was a beacon sending all manor of evil directly to them. The horses had become skittish, and Roland complained of the feeling of going in circles. There was no moon, and the trees were still mostly bare from winter. The torchlight cast skeletal shadows from the branches of the dormant trees.
“Did you hear that?” Mace said.
“What?” said Roland.
“Quiet!” said the sheriff.
They all listened, and sure enough, an eerie, spectral, ribbon of sound came fluttering from somewhere nearby. It was followed a moment later by a higher pitched, sharp howl; this time much closer. Instinctively, the boys huddled their horses close together.
“Up there!” said one of the new men. The sheriff looked up, and to his horror, he saw a white, astral shapeless form, billowing ghostlike in a tree directly above them. Roland’s horse reared up onto its hind legs either from fright or Roland pulling on the reins tightly in his own fright. The horse let out its own haunting whinny.
“Calm down!” demanded the sheriff. He had never seen a ghost before and was not sure of what he had just witnessed, but his heart was pounding in his chest and it was hard to think. Then, there was an inhuman deafening shriek directly in their midst, and as the horses fought the reins to get clear of the cursed ground upon which they found themselves, torchlight revealed a black cat directly in the center of the party. Its back arched and each hair on the back of the demonic creature standing straight up. It was if it had just leapt from the trees and landed right in their midst!

Upon sighting the devil’s familiar, the search party needed no further encouragement, but bolted away recklessly disregarding the danger of unseen trees or undergrowth in the dark. They didn’t stop until they saw the lights of Nottingham.
The castle, as it was known, housed the sheriff’s office downstairs, and the men had stayed there through out the night. Mrs. Brewer had not been pleased to be awoken in the night, as it had been quite late by the time the men had returned. Yet she had seen that each man had a blanket and then she attended a kettle. After this, she returned to sleep, and in the morning, suspected that she had dreamt the whole ordeal. All the men were chagrined in the light of day, none more than the sheriff, though he held that the men had panicked his horse and he would have stayed through the night and caught the murderers in their forest beds.

The bulk of the residents of the greenwood were concentrated in an area they called Sherwood village. They had sentries posted around the clock and every able bodied man had to take his turn. Robin kept Wulf company one afternoon as the hermit took his watch. Robin found the man gave sage advice even if it could be hard to decipher. The days were growing progressively longer and warmer, and slowly signs of spring were beginning to show. On this particular morning, the golden sun came in at a steep angle and there was enough mist to cast beams through the filtered branches. The two men sat in the crook of branches overlooking the south end of the forest. As Nottingham lay that way, it was considered the most important watch, but there were towns in all directions and trouble could come from anywhere. Mostly people kept clear of the forest as it was rumored to be haunted and brimming with dangerous outlaws. It was also the kings private hunting ground, but all of England was the kings private hunting ground, so at that time little regard was given to that tidbit. King John had never visited and neither had his brother Richard before him. Nevertheless, people wandered through from time to time, and a call was sent out in time for the villagers to disappear into the forest like the ghosts they were feared to be.
So far, all was quiet on this tranquil morning and Robin and Wulfhere were engaged in a philosophical discussion. Wulfhere was impressed with Robin’s facile grasp of abstract ideas. Robin could read and write thanks to his father who had learned in the army, but otherwise he had no formal education. Such was reserved for nobility, and in fact Robin’s father had only learned because his commander had wanted a learned companion to converse with. For his part, Robin wondered how a lifelong forest dweller like Wulfhere had gotten an education.
“Don’t be so quick to judge a person by his appearance, Robin.” said the hermit. “In the East, all the learned men retire to the forest to seek union with the Creator.”
“You mean they go there to die?” said Robin.
“Not at all. They go there to live. They believe that is the ultimate purpose in life. You see we as people believe we are separate from everything else, but the holy men of the East believe that we are all connected.”
“What do you mean, physically? I can see that we are connected by deed. I interact with you and those actions affect everyone here. We go to the festival and our actions there affect all the shire, including the boys in the orphanage and the sheriff. Is that what you mean?”
“That is very perceptive, yes that’s part of it, but it is more than that. We believe that we are suits of armor.”
“What?”
“We believe that we are these casings of flesh we walk around in. It is the same as if a knight were to believe that he was the suit of armor. Do you see?”
“You are saying that I am not my body?”
“That’s right. Your eyes tell you “this is what you see.” Your ears tell you “This is what you hear” Your skin tells you “This is what you feel” You think the things you see and hear and feel are outside of you; that you end at your skin. Your mind tells you everything outside of your skin is separate from you and that you are not connected to it.”
“Well that is true.” said Robin. “I am separate from you. This tree is separate from us. That’s what separate means.”
“But what about air?” said Wulfhere. We need it to breath. We all know that. We can’t spend too much time in the water or we will drown. At what point does the outside air we breath in become part of us? When does the air we breath out become separate from us?
“You are bigger than just you. Did you hear the crowd chanting your name? Do you see the way everyone hear defers to you? You did not make this happen on purpose. You are part of something bigger. You have taken back the people’s money from the thief who stole it from them twice now. Are you going to let it go at that? Are you going to live in the forest for the rest of your life? There are over a hundred men in this village that would follow your commands. They have sworn loyalty to you in their hearts, they would be honored to swear that loyalty to you out loud. The people of the shire are becoming aware of you as well. Soon the sheriff will know it was not his idiot henchmen who stole from him. Will you continue to hide? How will you use what you are given? You are an exceptional man Robin, now Robin Hood. That is why I came here to live among you.” With that, the old man adjusted his position in the tree, closed his eyes and began to snore almost immediately. Robin finished the old man’s watch for him. He had a lot to think about.

?⚔️?️

The sheriff had spent hours questioning his men. He was convinced that none of them had anything to do with the stolen money. For a while he became absolutely sure that the monastery was somehow responsible for the disappearance of the money. It made perfect sense; they were the ones who claimed the money was gone. No one else had seen it not arrive. But the cellars were full of money that was untouched. Surely they knew that if they wanted to steal his money they could take that a little at a time and not be discovered for years possibly. Why would they risk deception of this kind? Perhaps the two robberies were not related. perhaps those boys had pulled this off somehow and the original robbery had been done by the couriers as originally suspected. It was infuriating.
In the end, he reinstated Roland, and kept his new batch of men as well. It was well impressed on all of them as they made their journey back, that finding the money and the thieves was everyone’s first priority. The day wore on. It  had been gone more that a week since the sheriff had left Nottingham all told and they had not tarried. It wasn’t far from Derby as they entered the last leg of their journey exhausted and dozing on their mounts when one of the new boys had dismounted to relieve himself. He was heard to yelp not unlike a little girl and he came out of the woods with his leggings still down and the color quite drained from his face. Some of the other lads had a look to see what the fuss was about and they all agreed that the sheriff should have a look for himself.
Aggravated at this point by absolutely everything, the sheriff cursed as he dismounted and left the road to see what lay in the bushes that could have these otherwise fearsome men all a flutter.
There, just off the path that each of them had traveled many times over the past few months, was something that a wild animal, probably a wolf, had dug up. Pulled out from where it had been buried, was a human hand and wrist. Judging from the clothing, it had belonged to the captain of the couriers from the first stolen shipment of gold.

In the following days, money was brought to the orphanage to cover expenses, meanwhile, many things like food and clothes were purchased by the people of the greenwood and donated to the orphanage to mask the source of the income. It would not due if any word got back to the sheriff that the money raised for the benefit of the orphanage was helping the orphanage. Very few people knew the sheriff had planned on taking that money for himself, and even fewer knew that it had been retaken from the sheriff and was being siphoned back to the orphanage. One person who fit into the former category, but not the second was Marian. Tuck had overheard the conversation between Cedric and the sheriff, and not knowing who to turn to, had confided in Marian. She in turn had innocently guessed that Robin was the thief to blame for the sheriff’s wanting the orphanage’s money. This was how Robin came to pay a visit to Tuck and scheme to rob the sheriff a second time. Marian did not know that she was correct about Robin being a thief and in fact was repenting of having accused him of being a criminal. It was judged that the robbery was more likely to succeed if only people who were involved knew about it. Only a handful of people knew all the details.
When the sheriff’s men delivered the chests full of rocks to the monastery, they were opened in the daylight where it was obvious immediately that there was only a few coins on top covering rocks painted to look like coins. The monastery was used to receiving money that needed to be kept quiet, so they didn’t inform the sheriff of their district, but they didn’t trust their curriers either. Who accepts a chest of rocks as gold coins? It was preposterous. They invited Roland and his men to stay as their guests while they dispatched their own man, a friar Oswald, to report to the sheriff. Roland, who had not been present at the opening of the chests (a huge mistake on his part), needed the rest and had no idea that he was in fact a prisoner of the monastery. After all, it is well known that the rooms monks stay in are called “cells”.
The sheriff got the news a few days later and became apoplectic. It was obvious that it had to be Roland and his men who had perpetrated the crime. No one else knew about the shipment of money. Therefore, it stood to reason that Roland was also responsible for the first robbery as well. The only problem was that everyone knew that Roland was as dumb as a bag of rocks. Everyone knew this of course, except Roland because he was so very stupid. This is exactly what Robin had hoped for. In this way the sheriff would not go looking for a nest of outlaws living close to Nottingham that might have the where-with-all to hatch such schemes.
The sheriff decided he had a choice. He could send for Roland to return to him at Nottingham (perhaps in chains, perhaps not), or he could keep Roland at the monastery and go down there and pay him a visit. The longer he could keep Roland from realizing he was a prisoner, the easier it would be to keep him one. If Roland were the perpetrator, he must realize that the theft would have been discovered by now. Perhaps Roland felt he was above suspicion. No matter. The sheriff would get to the bottom of it soon enough. He hated to leave the shire practically unattended, but there was nothing for it. His few remaining men at arms were capable of carrying out orders, but not of making decisions on their own. So few people were capable of making decisions on their own, in the sheriff’s opinion. He decided to see if he could press Cedric into service. After all, this was all his fault in a way. Wasn’t it? Well it was certainly somebody’s fault and it wasn’t the fault of the sheriff’s. That much was patently obvious to anyone with half a brain in his head.
He had Robert, the more brutish of his remaining men fetch the vicar to him. When dealing with men of office, it was better to deal with them in ones own surroundings. The sheriff felt this show that the authority in the matter, in fact the region; belonged to the sheriff. There were vicars of large churches who somehow came to the conclusion that they had authority in such matters and the sheriff would brook no such attitudes in Nottinghamshire.
Cedric arrived looking more pale than usual, which was a neat trick as he was already quite pale. Robert had been the right choice. He smiled but did not stand. “Good morrow to you, Father.” said the sheriff.
“William.” said the vicar. Very few people addressed him as William and the sheriff took note of it.
“I’ll be blunt. There has been a, shall we say a “problem” with the latest shipment of coin to the monastery.”
“Good Lord! Not again!” Cedric said. He put his hand to his forehead, and took a deep breath.
“My sentiments precisely. I must pay a visit to the monastery to investigate, and as most of my men are there already, I need someone I can trust to keep the peace around here.” He let that sink in for a moment. Presently, he saw understanding come into Cedric’s face.
“You want me to act in your stead?” he asked.
“That is correct. Consider this a formal deputisation.” the sheriff said. “With the added responsibility comes additional power. You will be the law while I am gone. If anyone gives you any trouble, lock them up, beat them. You can even execute them for all I care; there are certainly some candidates for that roaming the shire. Just keep the peace. Make sure the county doesn’t burn itself down.”
“I am honored, Magistrate.” said Cedric.
“Indeed. You are. Do not fail me.”

The sheriff was not foolish enough to make the journey south alone. Yet he could spare nobody. Though he had deputies in each town and village throughout the shire, and they had men of their own, this matter, like most of the sheriff’s business required discretion and as his men were not only already south at the monastery, but most likely traitors who were not long for this world, so William; high sheriff of Nottinghamshire, and now according to Father Cedric at least; Magistrate as well, found it prudent to find new men to draw to himself. There were always men in need of employment in winter and the sheriff found a band of soldiers in Derby that fit the bill.
As they traveled, the sheriff took the lead and he grew weary of listening to the new men whisper among themselves. The gist seemed to be that he had basically hired them as protection for the journey and must therefore be carrying a lot of money and be unable to protect himself. They thought they were being quiet and clever in their scheming, but as with all the conclusions to which they had come since joining him on the road, they were mistaken. In between their scheming they also gossiped of rumors that this road was haunted, the women in the nearby towns, their gambling skills and whose horse was fastest. It was really quite tiresome.
Presently, the men asked if they might stop for a rest. The sheriff looked around and noted that just ahead was a clearing. They had not yet come to the clearing and in fact at this point, the path was quite narrow. Pine and Oak and elm crowded right up to the road and they had been obliged to travel single file for about a mile. The sheriff stopped as requested. He turned to face them.
“Actually, just ahead is a clearing where we can dismount and water our horses. Stretch our legs a bit, eh Governor?”
“Actually, it’s sheriff, not Governor. And this will do just fine. Don’t you think.” Though he raised his eyebrows and inflected his voice, it was not a question.
“Sheriff?” said the one in the back around his fellows.
“Had I neglected to tell you?” asked the sheriff. “I am William Brewer; High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. We are on our way to Mottisfont Abby in Hampshire to find my most trusted men guilty of robbing me, upon which time we shall summarily execute them.”
The one in the front, the largest one (of course) was not so easily put off. Nor did he seem to realize that the plan of getting to the clearing so they could surround him wasn’t going to work. “That’s an awful long journey to have to take to earn a days wages.” He said menacingly.
“Yes, well a days wages are accrued by the day, not the mile. Hence the name. However; do go on.”
“Well you see, we just want to stretch our legs a bit.”
The sheriff drew his sword. He had learned throughout the years how to maximize the satisfying sound a properly drawn sword can make. “Your legs will be stretched from one end of England to the next if you try that flimsy ploy one more time!” seethed the sheriff. “If there is one thing I can’t stand, it one not knowing when to give up on their lame deception. Right! let’s get on with it. My purse.”
“What?”
“You were about to demand my purse, man! Do hurry up. If you want a proper burial, the day is wasting.”
The man looked over his shoulder at his mates to find them a bit baffled at the turn of events.
“Draw your sword then!” the sheriff said. There was no jest in his voice. “Do it!!” he bellowed.
The man drew his sword, more following orders than preparing to attack.
“Right!” the sheriff said. he spurred his horse forward and cut the man’s head off. The corpse sat ahorse for a moment and then slid unceremoniously to the ground, the horse trying to sidestep but the man was caught in the stirrups and was dragged as the horse sidestepped and then having nowhere to go, stepped back and trampled the body underfoot.
“Well. if the forest wasn’t haunted before, it most certainly is now, eh?” said the sheriff to the remaining soldiers. “Now, if there are no more plans for robbery we can make quite a few miles before sunset.” With that, he turned and continued on the road.
“What about the burial you promised?” said one of the men.
“Have at it. Just try to catch up before nightfall. There are dangerous men in these woods.” said the sheriff without looking back.

The sheriff Held his lantern over the chest and peered in at the gold coins. The heat had fled with the sun and yet the cold swirling around the scene seemed to emanate from the sheriff himself. He had fumed briefly and impotently when he had been bested and then ignored by the crowd. He locked eyes with Roland and for a brief moment commiserated with his man before steeling himself. He would take care of Robin Hood in good time, right now he needed to send these chests of money to his monastery. This time he would take no chances. He was sending his own men. There were six of them; nearly every man he had. If the thieves struck again, they would be decimated. There had truly been a record turnout, and there were four chests heavily laden with coin. The clergy had recognized his seething anger and had not said a word as he took everything, not even leaving the portion allotted to the orphanage.
He made sure the chests were secure and sent the men out into the darkness. It was unheard of to travel at night, but the sheriff wanted to take no chances. The sooner these chests arrived at the monastery, the sooner he could breathe easy. The horses would not be able to see, but the sheriff would not listen to complaints or excuses.
The team made its way quickly out of Nottingham, but once away from the sheriff, Roland slowed the horses and had Mace walk in front with a torch and lead them. Roland was sore from the day’s effort and had a fantastic headache for which he kept a skin of strong wine close by. He welcomed the idea of an attack that would let him unleash his blood lust, but wanted a bit of rest beforehand.
The night wore on and all was quiet until well after midnight. Diana’s moon was high in the air; a bow pointed down at them as if to attack. There was a sound in the wood off to the right.. “Halt!” called Roland. Everyone had torches, so they all drew swords instead of bows. Each man was tense, and alert. There was the sound of hooves in the woods; definitely more than one animal. They waited in silence for a long moment and then bursting through the woods onto the road they came with a terrible crash, deadly points stabbing at the air. They thundered onto the road quickly, several of them, their eyes piercing the night as they came. And then, as quickly as they has appeared, they were gone, leaving the road in silence once again; the men staring at nothing, dumbfounded. A herd of deer had crossed the road heading for the river to drink.

Far to the north in Sherwood forest, Robin and his men found the hidden glen where they had agreed to meet. It was late and they were all exhausted. “Were you all careful not to be followed?” asked Robin in a hushed voice. Each man nodded affirmative. There were clouds of breath from horse and man and the scent of wet earth that comes in the early morning hours before dawn in the air. They pulled their saddlebags off of the horses and Robin carefully lit a lantern, not wanting too much light to give them away. They opened the bags and peered inside. Each bag was full and heavy with gold.
“It’s too bad we had to let the sheriff have some of this.” said John.
“We needed the real thing to cover the rocks in the chests so he wouldn’t suspect. It was only a handful, really.” said Will.
“That was cunningly done, stealing the gold from the sheriff before it was ever in his hands and giving him chests full of painted rocks.” said John.
“Aye. we just had Wulfhere take the real gold down to the basement as soon as it was dropped off throughout the day. This way, there’s no bloodshed, and no one’s in danger.” said Robin.
“Except the old hermit.” said Will.
“Well, he claims he can turn invisible” said John.
“That is a load of rubbish.” said Will.
“Aye.” agreed John.
“Well, he certainly came through for us today, and he would’ve been killed if he had been caught.” said Robin.
“Aye, but I wasn’t caught was I?” said Wulfhere appearing from seemingly nowhere.
“Jesus and Mary!” said John. “Where in the devil did you come from?”
“A load of rubbish perhaps?” said Wulfhere.

Robin had had enough of contests for one day. Two of his best mates had nearly been killed by one man. He would have changed his mind about participating in the archery contest, but he had already signed up. At least Roland didn’t consider himself an archer. He had to remind himself that they were there for a higher purpose than revelry. Many of the lads were drinking and having a good time, but Robin and his close crew knew to keep their wits about them. Still, Robin wanted to visit Tuck to check on the preparations and the most inconspicuous way to do that was to visit him at his wine booth.
Robin Had picked up some sturdy green wool when they visited the Gladys’ shop and some earthy brown. Tom’s wife had helped him with it, but he had done most the work himself. Now he sported a new green cloak with a nice roomy hood that could be used to keep out the cold, shade himself from the sun or just keep his face out of view as he was doing now. A cloak was usually nothing more than a heavy cape with a hood. In cold weather, you wrapped it around you for warmth, and in warmer weather you wore it draped over your shoulders in case of rain or wind. Briton was an island, and weather could turn cold without warning.
As he approached the wine booth, he noticed Tuck was talking to Marian. She wasn’t in on the plan as Robin didn’t know her and only those participating even knew it was happening. He was about to walk on by when she noticed him.
“Well, if it isn’t the gentleman from the cloth shop!“ She said. “This is an improvement. Why it almost hides your face completely!“ Robin could tell she was making fun of him and became flustered. He could kill professional soldiers, take their gold, live in the forest, build a house, make his clothes, but getting teased by Marian bested him.
“Thank you.“ he said. “Your dress is also quite lovely.“ They both stood there blushing at each other as Tuck looked from one to the next. He shook his head and had a sip of wine.
“Marian spends most of her time at the orphanage.“ Tuck said. “She teaches them to read, mends their clothes, helps in the kitchen. She may spend more time there than me, and I live there.“
“That is surely God’s work you’re doing, Miss Marian.“ Robin said.
“It’s ‘Maid.’“ said Marian.
“What?“
“The term. It’s ‘Maid’, not ‘Miss’. ‘Maid Marian.’ That is how to address an unmarried girl.“
“In any case, it is surely a saintly task you’ve taken for yourself.“
“Any one can do it.“ she said.
“I cannot do such things.“ Robin said.
Tuck enjoyed watching them. It was like they had forgotten he was even there.
“You could teach the boys to fish. Perhaps to shoot. Are those things you can do.“
“Aye, Miss. Ah Maid. Madam, uh…. Yes. I can do those things fair enough.“
“There you see.“ She said. “Come by on the morrow and we shall find some manly task for you.“
“Ma’am?“
“…For you to teach the children.“ she said. “An honorable subject. The boys could learn something useful from a Yeoman such as yourself:“
“Yes, m…Maid Marian.“

The sheriff also had ulterior reasons for being at the festivities. He had signed up for the archery contest to give the appearance of being there for the revelry, but now he made his way to the vestry to check on his chests. When he got there he was surprised to find two guttersnipes with their hands on his money! He had arrived just in time! They looked up at him brazenly as if to challenge his presence there. How dare they! His whip was in his hands instantly and they were squirming and jumping out of the way like grasshoppers, creating quite a cacophony, but they didn’t flee. One of them, the small blond one, had grabbed a hold of the oak pole upon which the Sacred Host was carried into mass each Sunday. He swung it at the sheriff and hit him on the thigh. Furious, the sheriff drew his sword and in that moment, Father Cedric burst in.
“What in the name of all that is holy is going on in here?“ he demanded.
“This man burst in here and came at us with a whip!“ said Eric.
“I caught these thieves red handed, elbow deep in my money!“ Shouted the sheriff.
“Don’t everyone talk at once!“ said Cedric.
“We weren’t stealing it!“
“Then what were you doing here?“ demanded the sheriff.
“What do mean ‘your money‘?“ Johnny asked.
“Just answer the question!“
“We are delivering the money here for Friar Tuck.“ said Johnny. “What do you mean, ‘your money’?“
“I am the Sheriff of Nottingham!“ bellowed the sheriff of Nottingham.
“This money is for the ORPHANAGE!“ said Johnny. “Tell him Father!“
“Of course the sheriff knows this money is for the orphanage. Don’t you Sheriff?“
“Of course it is. I never said it wasn’t.“ said the sheriff. “Now you boys run along, and stay out of trouble!“
The boys stood there glaring at the sheriff.
“You heard the sheriff. Run along.“ said Cedric.
“And don’t let me catch you causing any more trouble!“ said the sheriff.
The boys left and as soon as they got outside they began talking about what the sheriff could have meant.
“Didn’t is seem strange that Father Cedric didn’t correct him until we asked him to?“ said Johnny.
“What did he mean ‘Stay out of trouble?’ We weren’t causing any trouble. He’s the one that was causing trouble“
“Who’s causing trouble?“ said Robin, who ran into them as he headed toward the vestry.
“The sheriff!“ said Eric. “He accused us of stealing his money! We’re the orphans. He was the one that doesn’t belong there!“
“The sheriff is in the vestry?“ asked Robin.
“Aye. He came at us with a whip, and when we defended ourselves he drew his sword on us.“
“He drew his sword on children?“ Robin had seen the sheriff beat and whip children, but to draw his sword?
“Eric hit him with a pole.“ explained Johnny.
“It was self defense! He was trying to whip us.“ said Eric.
Robin smiled broadly. “You boys stood up to the sheriff? That is more than anything I’ve ever heard of! Why, you boys are heroes!“
“Not really. If Cedric hadn’t shown up we’d be dead.“ said Johnny.
“Speak for yourself! I would have beat him back with that pole!“ said Eric.

Maggie did indeed make a speedy recovery. Some thought the old hermit employed magic, but Wulfhere just said; “Magic is only something which you do not know the recipe to.” He showed them the ingredients to the potion and shared his idea about it being a desert, and there was no more talk of witchcraft.
The days turned into weeks and in the spirit of making the forest a cherry or, as others would have it; a merry place, some began to build homes. Robin decided to build his in the trees to make it harder to see and others followed suit. Still others built theirs in the ground and disguised them as bushes. Some were quite simple and others were veritable warrens with rooms and tunnels and cunning chimneys to diffuse the smoke. Robin found a large oak, and started with a deck that soon had a roof and then walls sprang up with little windows to let in the north light and overlook the forest.
Many looked to Robin as a leader though some refused to have a leader or wanted to be in charge themselves. Robin offered advice when asked, voted when there was a vote and argued his point when necessary but never forced his will on the others. He wanted the forest to be a place of liberty and not another place where dissenters could be banished from. The story of the gold came out, but Robin, Will and John were considered its owners and they did indeed decide to distribute it among the poor of the shire. What had seemed like a fortune was spread miserably thin in that way, and as the boys were spoiling for some action, plots began to be hatched in the usual way: they were sat on, nurtured and kept warm until their time was ripe.

In Nottingham, Candlemass came and went and the sheriff had received word that his latest shipment had never arrived, and the lads guarding it had disappeared likewise. There were only two possibilities as Bill saw it. either the guards had made off with the gold, and gone to London or some other place where three men with money could disappear into, or they had been waylaid at some point along the path by highwaymen. Either way, that money was gone and would have to be remade. There was little realistic chance of getting anything substantial until spring through taxation of peasants, but people always gave to the church and he had three of those going, all well outside Nottingham so as to have the veneer of legitimacy.
The local church, St Mary‘s, named for the Virgin, was where the gentry and the peasants went to pray for their miserable existences. The abbot, as St Anne’s was also a monastery, a certain Father Cedric, had long been a friend of Bill’s and gladly paid the sheriff for the protection the sheriff was supposed to provide by royal decree. Bill decided to visit his old friend and see if the basket could be passed a second time under some pretense.
The sun had begun to show a little more every day, turning snow into ice as it melted during the day and refroze at night, making the path treacherous. Bill liked that word, and saw many things as treacherous. That bleak morning, the light shone on the old Saxon tower of the crossing, yet the ground remained in shadow. Inside the church, the sheriff found the church was already inhabited by to figures; one in the nave and one in the presbytery. The monk at the alter was tending to the candles in some ceremony unknown to the sheriff. The woman in the pew was deep in meditative prayer. Bill belatedly knelt and crossed himself and feigned prayer in the back pew for a moment so that he wouldn’t be seen as impious. He was, after all the benefactor of three wealthy monasteries. He had expected to see the priest at the alter and not some friar. He decided he had completed the required pretense, and strode down the nave toward the alter, armed and wearing his feathered hat.
Surely the monk saw him, but he went about his ritual as if God were more important than the sheriff’s business. These monks had to learn their place he felt. Clergy of any office or responsibility knew how the world worked but monks and nuns seemed to think they had only God to answer to. It was utterly ridiculous and irritating beyond measure. When the sheriff had reached the alter and the monk still did not offer to be of service, the sheriff cleared his throat. The monk looked up and the sheriff saw the most amazing transformation take place: The monk’s eyes went from open and smiling to deep, cavernous pits of wrath such as the sheriff had not seen since he was a child.
“Your hat, sir!” Said the monk. “And your sword and dagger! This is a house of God and none shall come bearing weapons!” The sheriff removed his hat and sword belt and cast about looking for a place to put them, like a broom corner.
“I’m here to see Father Cedric.” whispered the sheriff, head bowed.
“He is in the garden, taking the air.” said the monk, dismissively.
The sheriff turned and left and it wasn’t until he got outside that he realized he had been scolded by a beggar. That’s what monks did, was it not? They were lazy and shiftless, and had no manners and no schooling. He put his hat back on and his sword and with each step became more and more furious. No one spoke to him that way. Even his mother was afraid of him. He was High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire! He had the kings business to conduct! He was so lost in thought that it was some time before he found Cedric, who was preoccupied with two parishioners. As he drew closer, the sheriff realized that they were in fact the same two who had been in the church. Had they come to tattle on him? How had they beat him here? It was outlandish! He hurried up to the group as if he were late. He would get his side in before it was too late.
“And there will be games and food…” the woman was saying.
“And wine and beer!” said the monk.
“We will have an archery contest, and a dance, and raise money for the children of St Anne’s” the woman said.
What? they weren’t talking about him at all? That seemed odd. What were they talking about? Some kind of celebration?
“Ah Sheriff; have you come to help with the Shrove Tuesday plans?” Said Cedric. Unlike the monk, Cedric was tall and skinny and had a full head of hair, though it was white as new snow.
“Shrove Tuesday?” said the sheriff.
“The day before Ash Wednesday?” said the monk helpfully, again as if he were addressing a child.
“I know what Shrove Tuesday is!” said the sheriff with such force that the three just stared at him with bewilderment.
“Well, it’s coming up, and the first chance for the townsfolk to have an outdoor gathering since winter.” said the woman. Did these people think he was an imbecile? “There will be music and pies, and a puppet show for the children!” The woman was quite excited.
“Marion, it’s wonderful that you care so much for the orphans.” Said the monk.
“Aye, sure you will make a wonderful mother yourself, one day” said the priest. The girl blushed, and smiled; the rose on her cheeks like a nimbus, her eyes dancing with sparkling liquid, then fluttering into a lashed veil, casting a shadow on her vivid blue eyes which were enshrined under her burnished, brown hair. She turned lyrically to the sheriff, perhaps expecting a third compliment from the third man. She realized her mistake immediately. The magic and grace fell from her face revealing the uncomfortable fear Bill was used to seeing.
“Well, make sure there isn’t too much drunkenness.” said the sheriff. “I have more important things to attend to than …” the sheriff searched for correct term.
“The safety of the common tax payer?” the monk offered helpfully.
The sheriff shot the monk a look that unleashed the full scorn available face practiced at withering, penetrating, glaring stares. The monk seemed not to notice.
“The trivialities of common peasants.” spat the sheriff, glad to have been able to sufficiently word his disdain. Again, the monk seemed not to notice.
Now the girl, whom the sheriff caught beaming at the monk, turned back to Cedric, effectively turning her back on him. She said, “Well, Father, I look forward to it. I shall begin picking berries for the pies and tarts.” She bowed to the priest, in his black frock, and turned to the monk in his brown robe. She smiled genuinely at him, placed her delicate hands in his plump, generous ones and said, “Let me know if I can help in any way, Friar Tuck” He smiled in return, and she spun away in such a fashion as to avoid facing Bill at all, and seemed to glide away down the path of winter hellebore in her pale blue woolen dress.
Having watched her departure the three men turned to face one another, and after an awkward moment, Tuck said, “well those children will no doubt be plotting to overthrow the orphanage, if I stay away any longer.” With that he went first the opposite direction of Marion, thought better of it, and came back down the path, stepping awkwardly between the two older men, and made his way somewhat less gracefully than Marion had.
“Well, now that it’s just us adults, perhaps you can find a moment to tear yourself away from your flowers for a moment to discuss matters of some importance.”
“Let adjourn to the rectory where we can talk in comfort and in private.” said the priest.

Friar Tuck had got about halfway to the orphanage when he remembered that he had been discussing the matter of the supply of spirits at the festival. He’d be damned if he would see lent come without a proper supply of wine to say goodbye to. Well, it was really good bye to meat, that’s what carnival meant in Latin: “carne” for “meat” like “carnivore” and “vale” meaning “farewell.” It was vulgar Latin to be sure, never-the-less. There were those that made the jump to “farewell to the flesh” meaning all worldly things, but the good Lord surely didn’t mean wine, why that was the sacrament. Unfortunately, the Abbot, Friar Stephen, thought monks should set an example. When Tuck became a monk, he gladly became celibate and taking a vow of poverty was no great jump for him, but sobriety? Where was that in the vows?
He was contemplating these matters of the spirit when he came upon the rectory of Father Cedric. He was about to knock on the door when he heard the sheriff’s voice inside. He did not care for the sheriff. Tuck believed that we are all God’s children, but the sheriff seemed to think that as sheriff he was above all that. Tuck believed that men of God should be as Godly as they could, and that likewise, men of the law should be as lawful as they could.
“I don’t understand how your missing chests of gold should be the burden of St. Mary’s or St Anne’s” Cedric was saying.
“I will tell you how, my dear Father. Those thieves are still out there. And it is up to me to catch them. How can I devote my full time to such an endeavor and keep your precious parish safe from these murderous bandits if the funds I depend on to do so are missing!”
“But the money raised at the festival is for the orphans!” pleaded Cedric.
“Bah! Orphans! They will grow up to be the next generations murderous bandits!” said the sheriff. “Besides, I only ask a small percentage of the days take. If you get more people to attend, you won’t even notice I’ve taken anything. It’s no extra work for you at all.”
“Extra people means extra work. It means extra everything!” said the priest. “How much is ‘a small percentage’?”
“Half.” said the sheriff.