This is the first post in Fiction Week here at The Gamer Dome, so read on and enjoy, and then come back each day this week to read a new excerpt from a different story. On Friday, let your voice be heard as you vote for your favorite story, which I’ll continue to write, hopefully substantially, over the Christmas holidays.

Thanks!

Propagandroid

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I went through a big Robin Hood phase about five years ago, reading all the poems, some other forms, and a lot of critical works regarding the legends. One thing I noticed in my meanderings is that perhaps the most poignant of all the tales, The Death of Robin Hood, had never been given serious treatment, as many of the other stories had. I decided that I’d be the one to remedy this, and tell a tale of love, loyalty, deceit, and betrayal with the familiar cast of characters. Another interesting twist would be that the book would be set in the twilight years of Robin and his outlaws, where the days of swashbuckling would only be memories, and the aches and pains (both physical and psychological) of age would be present to add a frail, human dimension to these legendary characters.

So here’s the first scene in the tale, The Death of Robin Hood.

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Will picked a tick off his arm and crushed it between his fingers. He looked around the cramped hidey-hole for a place to wipe the blood, and saw Little John grinning at him from behind his overgrown beard. “Off with you, John,” he said, and wiped the blood on the other man’s sleeve.

“Oy, watch out, Will, or I’ll give you the scent of last night’s dinner.”

Will groaned and rolled over, trying to find a position that wouldn’t sting his aching muscles. “What are we doing here, John?”

“Waiting for a noble traveler whose pockets we can pick and tastebuds we can tickle!” This last bit was lifted straight from Robin’s speech. His wicked sense of humor had devised the scheme of taking his victims to dinner to test their honesty and virtue before robbing them. Little John had laughed along with the rest, although he wasn’t quite sure what it all meant. His blind acceptance grated on Will’s nerves a bit.

“And what were we doing here yesterday?” Will asked, with a bit of irony that he thought was lost on the larger man.

“Waiting for a noble traveler whose pockets we can…” John began to answer, and then caught himself. “Stop playing games with me, Will Scarlett.” John, too, rolled over and did what he’d been doing for most of the ambush…he slept.

Some time later he jumped awake and inhaled sharply. He found Will’s hand on his arm, and the younger man was motioning for quiet. John’s lips tightened and he nodded. He opened his ears as Robin had taught him and he could instantly hear the forest for yards around. He heard one of the other men twisting in his hole, shaking the straw and grass as loud as a trapped pig in a pit of leaves. Ye holy mother, why do we bother trying to hide?

He heard a raccoon chattering from behind their position, and then heard it scurry off as the pounding of horse hooves and wagon wheels came closer. It didn’t sound like a large contingent, perhaps two or three riders and a two-horse carriage. Likely a minor noble with hired guards, or maybe even a guest of the Sheriff’s with some of his men along for the ride. Wouldn’t that be tasty!

“LaaaayHOOOOO!” The scream went up, and Will and John heard the tree come crashing down in front of the riders on the trail. They heard curses and yells as the riders desperately tried to pull their mounts up and avoid getting crushed by the onrushing carriage. This was their cue.

The two men looked at one another, silently counted to three, and then burst out of the grass and straw cover that hid them from view of the road. The chaos that greeted them wasn’t unfamiliar, and they knew exactly what to do. Three of their band were already upon the horsemen, looping stirrups and slicing saddles to disorient the riders. Robin was climbing down a rope that hung from the branch where he had been hidden, waiting to send the log crashing across the road. One rider had jumped the log, which was only just large enough to stop a carriage, and was now circling around with sword drawn. He would be Robin’s assignment.

Will jumped up onto the carriage and swung himself over the driver’s rail, finding himself seated next to a slack-jawed yeoman who stared at him with wide eyes. “Well, here we are now, just the two of us,” Will said. “You’re not going to make trouble for us, are you?” he asked.

The driver shook his head slowly, but his eyes fell to the cudgel at his feet.

“Oh now, I don’t think that would be very appropriate at all,” Will said. He used the toe of his boot to flip the cudgel up, catching it with his right hand. At the same time, he brought the dagger in his left hand down on the back of the fellow’s head, pommel first. The man slumped over the rail, not unconscious, but desperately trying to avoid vomiting as the world spun and his head pounded.

The rest of the band was faring well. A quick look showed a general melee with none of them looking the worse for wear. One of the soldiers had recognized his cousin among the outlaw band. Their swords were sheathed—for neither thought to kill the other over such a matter—but their tongues were not, and a war of words had ensued that drowned out the sounds of more traditional combat. Will was impressed at the vitriol spewed from both sides, and he mused that the greatest insults he had ever collected were all concerning one’s family or lineage. All the more amusing when such jibes were levied at one’s own blood.

“D’ya know your mother was seen ‘round Barnsdale recently? I hear she was trying to sell off a goat, but Prior Jonathan reminded her that the Church didn’t sanction divorce!”

“That’s nothing, cousin. It’s said that when you took your wife the county’s milk production dropped, even though the number of hands on her teats grows every time you take to the road!” At this point fists started flying, and the two men rolled to the ground, still shouting insults at one another while dodging punches.

Will looked for Little John amidst the fighting and found him carrying the fallen, friend and enemy alike, off to the side so they weren’t trampled underfoot. “Got one for you here, John,” Will yelled across the din. He grasped the dazed driver’s shirt and tossed him off the carriage.

The big man strode across the field and looked up at Will with disapproval. “Why don’t you break his arm, Will, otherwise he’s liable to climb back up there and give you a wallop!” He shook his head as he dragged the man toward a tree where two of his compatriots already convalesced. He passed a duel in progress and soundly rapped the small guard on the back of the head, denting his helmet and dropping him to the ground like a stone. “Saved you the blade, I did,” he muttered, though the man couldn’t hear him.

John was a strong man with a long reach, but he wouldn’t use a sword, so Robin used him to intimidate the nobles and keep men out of harm’s way when bloodshed was unnecessary. Men, we may be outlaws, but we are not killers, for the eyes of the Holy Mother look upon us always. Will remembered Robin’s words and the argument they had sparked. He, Will, believed that those who supported the system that trod upon the poor deserved to die, or at least deserved no tears should a dagger find its way into their bellies. But Robin parried and thrust as always, ridiculing the younger knave’s cavalier attitude. He’d said that the sins of man would be judged in Heaven, and that lightening their purses would only help them when they went before God for judgment. He was only half jesting.

“Oh no you don’t!” Little John’s voice boomed nearby and broke Will’s reverie. He looked down to see the large man running toward the carriage, puffing a bit from the exertion. The nobleman had opened the door and was peeking his head out, but upon seeing John running at him, he quickly closed it again. Will could hear him scrabbling at the door’s lock as the carriage jolted to one side violently.

“What do you say, Will? Ready to drive us home?” John said from the stair. He tapped the top of the cab and put his face up to the curtained window of the carriage. “Listen, you, don’t give me any trouble and we’ll put a hot meal in your belly instead o’ steel, understand?” A muffled cry spoke neither assent nor understanding, but it was good enough for John. Some of the others had cleared the tree from the road, and Robin had finally stopped toying with the guards’ leader and taken him off his horse, tying him up with the rest of the guards. Their bonds were tight, but could be worked out with time—Robin and his band just needed time to get away, and they’d send someone back the next day to make sure none remained trapped.

Why should we care? An enemy dead is an enemy no more. But that wasn’t how things worked in Sherwood. Determined not to let such thoughts spoil the victory, Will grabbed the reins with a whoop and set the horses in motion as Robin and the others mounted the now-riderless horses and trotted down the path to their home.