Robin Hood - A Tale Untold

Chapter Two

Pale sunbeams glimpsed through the boughs of the trees and first light broke over the forest. Sunlight dusted over Robin's eyelids and he stirred, his head still groggy from the night before. He lifted his torso so that he was seated upright and gazed wearily around the clearing.
   It was a sleepy sight. Oak tankards lay about, discarded while their contents now lay happily in the stomachs of red-faced men, some of which were beginning to yawn and wake. Others still slumbered peacefully against the trees and ground alike. There was also now a pool of ash and charred logs where the bonfire stood, glowing and growling proudly only last night.
   On the other side of the clearing, he could see Will, already cleaned up and prepared for the day, with his usual stony expression as he pushed clothing into his satchel. Robin scratched his nose as he remembered the night before. Why, they had almost...
   Robin internally shook his head. He had been drunk. They both had been, probably. Admittedly, he didn't actually now what sort of a state Will had been in, but if he really thought they were going to do that... Well, he must not have been sober!

Will secured his sword to his waist and walked off, obviously in some sort of foul mood, with his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Nothing new there, then.

Suddenly, Little John stumbled into the clearing, his shirt missing and cheeks red like fire. Robin smirked drowsily at his friend.
   "Looks like someone had fun, hmm?"
   John turned to where the voice came from and smiled sheepishly as embarrassment filled his countenance. He rubbed the back of his neck with one big, strong arm.
   "Maybe..."
   "Which one was it?" Robin asked, to which John raised a thick eyebrow.
   "What do you mean?"
   "Which girl was it?" Robin inquired further, "There was two of them. So, which one?"
   John's face only grew redder.
   "Well?"
   And redder.
   "Come on, out with it!"

"Both?" John replied, though it sounded more like a question than a definitive answer. He wrung his hands together shyly as Robin leaned back.
   "John, you scoundrel!"
   "I was drunk, Robin!"

They bickered in the way that old friends do until Robin reached over to John's leather satchel and tossed him a shirt. As the taller, more muscular man tugged it on over his head, Robin stood, stretching out his back as he did.
   Some of the villagers who'd fallen asleep near them were beginning to head back to their hamlet and those who weren't were waking up the ones still sleeping.

Friar Tuck hummed as he awoke from his rather pleasant nap, leaning against a fallen tree. He was a man of short, rotund stature but a warm and kind disposition nonetheless.
   "Good Heavens!" he groaned as he strained to make it to his feet, then scratched the bald patch on his head, "That was quite a night. My feet are all sore."
   "Don't worry, Father," Robin jested and a smug grin formed on his face, "You're not the only person sore from last night."
   He narrowly avoided the cup that John aimed at his head.

Within two hours, the Merry Men had cleared the area, not leaving a trace behind - and they made sure of that. It was about time that they left. Staying in one place for too long could have consequences.
   Robin counted his men while John picked up Much and placed the boy on his broad shoulders.
   "Where's Will?" Robin frowned, placing his hands on his hips, and the men looked around at each other, pondering and shrugging. John and Robin shared a concerned look, and John scratched at his thick beard in thought.
   "There's a stream nearby," came the familiar Welsh lilt of Allan's voice as he sat on a patch of moss, re-tuning his lute, "I saw him go down there earlier. He seemed pissed."
   "When doesn't he?" someone near the back mumbled and there were a few snickers.

Robin frowned at this.
   "Everyone wait here," he instructed, then nodded to John before wandering off into the direction Allan was now pointing.

---

Apart from the sound of fingers drumming against a table, it was quiet in the Sheriff of Nottingham's dining hall. His guests swallowed anxiously. He then laid his hand flat against the table and all was silent.
   A moment passed. Then, almost as if he was snapping out of a daze, the Sheriff spoke, "Please, eat."
   As his guests started to get stuck in, the Sheriff gently pushed his plate of roast chicken away and inaugurated business.
   "So," he began, beady eyes scanning every face, "I'm sure you all know why you're here."
   There were a few nods.
   "Normally, I'd have the likes of you all locked up!"
   He banged his fist against the table. The guests jumped.
   "However," he continued, attempting to sweeten his voice, "I am willing to make a deal... You see, I've had a rather pesky nuisance bother me. Constantly, I might add. This vagabond, this scum, has evaded capture for too many years. He's smart. I believe he's now able to predict what I might do next, so I concluded it was time to be unpredictable. That's where you come in."

The men around the table shared looks, half of them with faces stuffed with chicken.
   "No one knows a criminal better than other criminals," the Sheriff explained, gesturing to his guests, "You've all been hand-picked from our cells. The grimmest, the wittiest and the most vicious."

He grinned, each tooth like a razor.

"Whoever kills Robin Hood first wins not just their freedom, but money. Lots and lots of money."

---

All Robin had to do was follow the sound of a tree being hacked away at and the low grunts of effort. After that, Will was easily noticeable, sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery.
   There was concentration in his eyes as he swung his sword again and again at the tree bark, getting more riled up with every blow. Robin leaned against a nearby sycamore and merely watched, until Will stopped his slashing and asked in frustration, not even looking in Robin's direction, "What do you want?"
   "We're all packed up to leave. Coming?"
   Will turned, the glower on his face giving away how he felt, but complied anyway.
   "Fine," he sighed, and sheathed his sword. He then picked up his satchel and began to walk towards the camp, but Robin stopped him with his arm.
   "Hey, hold on."

Their eyes met, but Will just scowled. So, Robin was right. Just a drunken jest between friends. Well, nothing did happen, but if it did, Robin was now certain, it would've just been a joke.
   Robin let out a small breath and nodded to his friend.
   "Just want to check you're alright."

Will glared at him, then brushed past with silent displeasure. Yes, that was the Will he knew. With a shrug of the shoulders and huff of despair, Robin followed after. Hopefully the red-head wouldn't stay in such a mood. They had a whole day of walking ahead of them.