The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 8 - In the Name of the King

The hamlet of Eldridge lay in a picturesque valley, its thatched roofs and modest cottages casting long shadows under the setting sun's light. The last rays brushed their golden fingers across fields, slowly but steadily bidding farewell to a long day of hard work. Here and there, nettles and dandelions stood as green patches in the barren fields. Women with wicker baskets plucked the plants from the earth. Later, those would be made into nettle soup and dandelion salad. Not exactly the most nutritious - but anything was better than starving.

As the riders approached, the farmers and field workers raised their heads. The homesteads lay a little way from the town, scattered small communities rarely breaking from their daily routine. It was even rarer for anyone to stray here. Irritation gave way to restlessness when they recognized the sheriff's men on the steeds and the waving banners with royal insignia.

The drumming of hooves on the well-trodden and narrow paths sounded like thunder preceding an approaching storm. Dust swirled behind the riders as they rode past the wooden fences and into the hamlet. Small cottages thatched with straw adorned the sides of a single street that ended in the little square, which was barely worth mentioning. A chicken clucked in fright and fluttered frantically as the riders galloped past.

The villagers, their faces drawn with weariness and apprehension, gathered along the only road and watched as the sheriff's entourage positioned itself. It flanked the official, whose noble attire made him look like he came from another world. Fur trim adorned the edge of his cape, and a chain of office of gleaming silver lay across his chest. The restless pawing of hooves mingled with the murmur of fear that went through the crowd. It was not the first time, and certainly not the last that the sheriff had appeared here with his soldiers. And always when they rode away again, only tears and desperate anger remained.

Guy of Gisborne was aware of what their presence meant to these people. The peasants worked hard, and neither he nor his father were blind enough not to realize this. But as the King's enforcers, they could not afford to be compassionate. They would not be where they were now had they hesitated to carry out the orders of the Crown.

His father, the Sheriff of Nottingham and a man of imposing stature, dismounted with a grace that belied his ruthless intentions. Guy, meanwhile, tried to view the scene with cold detachment. "Citizens of Eldrige," the sheriff raised his voice. A dark, full-throated sound was already weighing down the villagers' shoulders with a bad sense of foreboding. "In the name of His Royal Majesty, King John, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, instituted by the Grace of God, the Crown hereby proclaims the following decree: in support of our faithful soldiers and warriors, and the name of the Holy Church under his Holiness the Pope Innocent III, One and all are required to do their part in supporting the troops for the safety of the country. Accordingly, the Crown obliges Everyman to pay double the taxes hitherto accrued monthly."

A murmur went through the crowd, and the villagers uttered a chorus of shouts and cries, but the sheriff paid them no heed.

"Whoever fails to meet his tax obligations shall, by the King's command, be dispossessed of his goods and chattels, and the tax debt thereby extinguished," he continued instead, presenting the sealed decree of his Majesty.

Guy's eyes slid over the assembled peasants. Women pressed their hands in front of their coins, sobs and angry rumblings swelled, and soldiers put their fingers around the hilts of their weapons in an admonishing and threatening gesture. You could feel the air grow thicker and the mood more tense. The faces of the people were an interplay of emotions.

"We've already paid countless taxes!" the first one enraged loudly, and his wife tried vainly to hold him back.

"Four years and the battles have not resulted in a victor! We have already paid dearly enough for dying for God!"

"He's right!" another pushed his way forward, "Our entire week's wages go to the king and the church - and we can hardly stand up from hunger!"

"Our sons and husbands have already gone, our children are sick, and we can't afford a medic! And you want still more?"

"Silence!" thundered the sheriff, his voice as cold as an ice-covered blade. "Far away, sons and fathers of England lay down their lives for faith and fatherland! France threatens our beloved England. And if our soldiers run out of arrows, they will descend upon England like hungry vultures. So it is the duty of every Englishman to lead his contribution - be it in tax or blood for his country!" His gaze furrowed into the faces of the peasants. The threat was obvious: you would pay either in tax or your blood.

Now Guy, too, swung himself from the saddle. The ground crunched under his boots, and he stepped to his father's side like a shadow. Sometimes agitators were found among the peasants, and then the situation escalated. In this case, blood would flow-mainly that of the villagers.

Fists clenched. The air crackled, and only a tiny spark was missing. But Guy already suspected how it would all turn out. The sheriff had often put down small fires with a hard hand; this time would be no different.

Guy's gaze slid over the small family. The elderly couple looked exhausted, the man leaning on a stick and his wife holding his hand to accompany him as they walked. Blond hair curled around a slim, tired daughter's face, and her dress and son's clothes were full of soil. Some straw clung to the boy's hair and her dirt-encrusted, well-worn shoes. She wrung her hands restlessly, her green eyes filled with justified concern.

"The Witherspoon family has only partially met their tax obligations for the last three months and not at all for the last month," the sheriff explained. Guy shifted his weight restlessly - and admittedly a little uncomfortably - to his other leg. The Sheriff raised his hand, and two soldiers broke ranks to stride in the direction from which the family had come. "Their homestead and livestock and goods are hereby seized and collected to pay the outstanding tax debt."

The elder's eyes widened in fright, gasping; the old man staggered, and hastily, his wife reached for him. She could not hold him, however; she possessed no strength herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her voice broke under the sobs. "We only have one sow and one cow left; our family has already left everything to the king and the church! Without our animals and our farm, we will starve. It's all we have left! Please!"

But the sheriff's heart seemed cold as a stone; his eyes narrowed with a determination that the law had forged. "The law is the law," he declared, shaking off the young mother's grip. "The debt must be paid, and justice will be served."