The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 22 - Of Giving & Taking

Robin paused to push the spoon into the stew. 'Of course, you didn't come for me,' he thought but didn't say it. "If you're here for your share..." Robin nodded his chin towards the main room. "The loot is in a hiding place to the right of the fireplace. Just under the planks."

The chair scraped across the floor as Marian rose again to see if Robin was speaking the truth. At least she left the room, and the sound of her footsteps carried her into the 'sitting room' where a fire crackled softly and dispelled a little of the dampness in the air and copse of the ruin.

"I didn't come just for that," he heard her say aloud.

Robin grumbled a "Then why?" as he dipped his spoon into the stew, blew a little into the bowl to ease the heat, and shoved a large portion into his mouth impatiently. The gag reflex came so quickly that Robin could not stop himself. Gasping, he spat the contents of his mouth back into the bowl and screwed up his face. "By God!" he gasped.

"What?" Marian audibly pushed the planks aside; money rattled, and jewelry clinked.

"Nothing! I just swallowed!" quickly groaned Robin, staring down at the bowl in disgust. He had choked down the grub in the soldiers' barracks when food became scarce for the more senior warriors. But this? He couldn't tell which was worse. That his tongue was already tingling from all the salt or that the contents of the soup had clearly been overcooked. Heavens, how long had that stuff been over the fire? "Did you learn to cook in the monastery too?"

"No. But a stew wasn't too hard, after all. Magda, the cook, always said you throw the ingredients together. Why do you ask that?"

Marian's voice came closer, and Robin glanced desperately at the window, hoping to tip the contents out quickly. "You have a knack for it," he lied, not wanting to be ungrateful after all the help. Perhaps he could dilute this brew with a little water to make it somewhat edible?

At that moment, Marian returned. She was stuffing one of the tax pouches into a leather bag she carried around her shoulders. Only now did he notice Marian wearing riding clothes: a leather bodice over a dark green skirt. It matched her red hair, which she had gathered with a green ribbon. A silk ribbon, just as pretty as the one he had once stolen from her.

"I was afraid you'd spent it all on wine," Marian joked meanwhile, unaware of the moral quandary she'd put him in with her cooking. "Your injury aside, I must say that this theft was amazingly successful, don't you think?" Her words sounded challenging, but there was something worried in her gaze. Before Robin could complain indignantly about the progress of her burglary, Marian looked him deep in the eye and asked straightforwardly, "What happened to the boy?"

Serenely Robin looked towards her. He wanted to appear suave and brag about his clever idea, so he took another spoonful of the stew in his mouth, completely oblivious to the disgusting taste. Before he could reply, he began to snort, and when Marian looked at him with concern and pity, he choked it down and pretended to have burnt himself on the food. "I didn't fall on my head, Marian, and after you left me alone with a child who frankly wouldn't leave my side, I did something brilliant."

Marian rolled his eyes in exasperation. No sooner was he on his feet than Robin Hood began to lapse into his pompous posturing again. She would have liked to press on his wound for a moment.

"I couldn't take him to his family; they would have picked him up again. So I gave him some of the money I stole and left it with an old friend. Don't worry; he's trustworthy. Besides, he is incorruptible. What else would a monk do with money."

"You gave him some of the money?" asked Marian incredulously, frowning. Was it so outlandish that he would do such a charitable thing?

"Why did we do that? Why do you take it upon yourself to steal stolen trinkets, free prisoners, and jeopardize our entire mission?" Even though Robin was compulsively trying to deflect from the subject, he still wanted an honest answer. He didn't really understand yet why Marian was doing what she was doing.

They looked at each other silently for a long moment. Then Marian sighed softly, reached into her pocket, and pulled out something on a long silver chain. "We lose things, Robin-every day. We lose trinkets, loved ones, and maybe even hope. I want to be one of those people who give such things back to others instead of taking them away."

She tenderly reached for his hand and gently placed the amulet she had pulled out. It was a heavy, plain silver jewel that bore a detailed crest: the crest of the House of Locksley. His coat of arms. This necklace had once belonged to his father. "I always carry it with me, boy," his father had said. "Close to my heart. For so, I never forget where I come from, where I belong, and whom I may call my family. My spouse, my children, my friends, and my charges. Every citizen in Huntingdon." Robin hadn't seen that necklace in over five years, and tears began to fill his eyes.

"Does the stew taste good? You've hardly had anything to eat the last few days."

Robin forced a smile to his lips. He might have asked her if she wanted to poison him if it were any other situation. Instead, he nodded stiffly. "I'll eat any amount of it," he fibbed shamelessly. Meanwhile, he took it upon himself to bury the contents in the forest as soon as Marian was gone.

He almost felt bad when he saw the glow in her features. The pride at having fed him oh so well. Robin reached for the bread, hoping it would help make the torture of this food more bearable. "So, what did you come here for?"

Marian heaved a sigh, and her fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop. Her features were grave, and her gaze lingered on Robin as if she were adjusting to an arduous conversation."I think our last raid was the straw that broke the camel's back," she began. "We can't steal any more taxes from the castle, Robin," she said seriously, and her gaze grew sterner. "The sheriff has threatened to tell the king about the thefts - and to make my father out to be complicit because he can't stop robbery from his own fortress."

Robin took the opportunity to lower his spoon again. His face was allowed to contort in disgust for a moment. "That scum!" he grumbled. "But I won't stop stealing the tax money, Marian. The Rebellion needs that money."

Robin reckoned on anger and resentment. Maybe tears or her throwing something in his face and shouting at him that she had helped him and he was an ungrateful bastard. After all, women were very moody and with the fire that this one in particular possessed.

Marian did nothing of the sort. Instead, she nodded in agreement. "I know." The flash of inspiration she had been forced to keep for the last few days flickered so brightly behind the blue irises that they illuminated those like a sunbeam, and Robin could see the looming shadow of a new plan. "So I have an idea. We steal the taxes before they reach the castle."