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"We should go to Wickham," he announced, once he had returned to the camp. As his friends were still asleep, he cheerfully prodded them to their feet and repeated the suggestion.
"But we haven't had breakfast yet!" protested Tuck.
"There are plenty of nourishing berries in the forest and water in the stream."
"A fat lot of good that will do," grumbled Will.
"Perhaps they'll be cooking something in the village," said Much.
"You're right," answered John, smiling broadly. "Besides, we haven't visited in over a fortnight."
"Then we definitely owe them a visit," said Robin. "Come on!"
The villagers were already attending to their chores. The outlaws
were disappointed when no enticing aromas wafted out to greet them. But,
then, the villagers hadn't made much of an effort to greet them either.
Robin stared at them in stunned amazement for a moment, then decided that the villagers must have missed their entrance.
"Have no fears!" Robin said. "The outlaws of Sherwood are here!" One man lifted his head. Robin flicked back his hair, placed his hands on his hips, thrust out his chest and shouted, "It's Robin Hood and his men!"
A little girl walked past and scowled. John managed to grab Will before he lunged at the child. While John pinned Will to the ground, Edward hurried towards the group.
"Robin!" Edward said. "How are you?"
Robin slowly removed his hands from his hips; his chest was already sagging in dejection.
"Edward, what's happened?" asked Tuck in alarm.
Edward sighed. "Ignore them. I'm certain they'll forget him altogether...eventually."
"Forget about who?" demanded Robin. Edward looked around cautiously. Unfortunately, all of the villagers were listening attentively.
"The Varlet," whispered Edward.
"What?" cried the outlaws.
"What?" cried the outlaws.
"Haven't you heard?" said Matthew, appearing at his father's elbow. "It's all the villages have been talking about for days."
"But who is this Varlet?" said Robin.
The villagers opened their mouths.
"NO!" shouted the outlaws. "Don't sing again!"
Edward shook his head sadly. "You'd better come with me."
With Scarlet held securely by John and Nasir, the outlaws followed Edward. Their friend led them to
the other side of Wickham, and soon the men were standing before a solitary goat. The goat
was nibbling the grass outside his pen. Like the rest of the villagers, he
didn't even spare a glance for the outlaws. Again, Robin's chest deflated,
and, again, Will attempted to pounce on this aggressor.
"Varlet! Varlet! Someone means to harm our beloved goat again!"
screamed Edward.
The entire village ran to the goat pen en masse. Then they
realized it was just a member of Robin Hood's band and wandered away. A few
weeks ago, they might have been frightened, but, since they had met the Varlet,
those wolfsheads meant little to them.
Robin was angry. He heaped all the curses and abuse an earl's son could muster on the hapless villagers of Wickham. "And what's with this bloody goat?" he ranted, as he concluded his tirade.
"He isn't bloody," protested Edward. "Yug is the most beautiful goat in the shire!"
"Yug?" asked Will, who made no attempt to hold back his laughter. "What kind of name is Yug?"
"Yug is a perfectly good name...for a goat," argued Edward testily.
"Besides, my father's name was Yug."
Scarlet fell to the ground, sobbing. His friends didn't fare much better, except for Much,
who didn't understand what was so funny. John managed to recover first, pulling himself up on his
elbows.
"Your father died when he was very young didn't he, Edward?" asked John.
"Well, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Edward," said Robin, wiping away his tears. "What does Yug have to do with the Varlet?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing!"
"It's what the Varlet has to do with Yug that is really significant."
"I see," said Robin, who did nothing of the kind.
Edward placed a hand on Robin's shoulder. "It's quite simple. So simple that even Much might understand."
"Understand what?" asked Much.
"One faithful night, when we were all abed, a thief stole into the village to...to steal Yug."
"Did he steal him?" inquired Much.
Will jabbed him in the ribs.
"No, the Varlet rescued him," said Edward. "We woke to find the thief tied up and the Varlet returning Yug to his pen. We invited the Varlet to stay and enjoy what humble hospitality we could offer, but he disappeared as mysteriously as he had come."
"And he just left the thief there?" asked Tuck.
"Oh, he wasn't there long. Gisburne arrived the next morning to arrest him."
"Oh."
"So this lunatic in a cloak shows up to save your goat and suddenly all of Wickham worships the ground 'e walks on?" growled Scarlet.
"Oh, no, he's done much more than that! He's been back here twice since then, not to mention his visits to all the other villages. He brought us a whole sack full of gold three days ago. It would have come in useful if Gisburne hadn't insisted on returning it to Nottingham Castle the following day."
"The Varlet broke into Nottingham Castle?" exclaimed Robin.
"Oh, yes. He's committed several daring deeds. If he wasn't called
'The Varlet,' I'd think he was one of you!"
Robin began to laugh and, for the first time since he had arrived in Wickham, relief shone visibly on his
face.
"All right, which one of you was it? Come on. Confess."
His men
stared back at him blankly.
"It wasn't one of us, lad!" said John.
"I don't know, John. You've been known to frequent Wickham at night..."
"Aye, but not with goats!"
"It wasn't John," replied Edward. "He wasn't that tall."
"And I assume that it wasn't me because he wasn't that fat," said
Tuck.
Edward smiled gently and nodded.
"Will?" inquired Robin.
"What?"
"Was it you?"
"Do I look like someone who'd rescue a goat?" shouted Scarlet.
"What if his name was 'Yug'?" asked Much.
"Shut up!"
"All right, it definitely wasn't Will," concluded Robin.
"Do you think it could have been me?" suggested Much.
"NO!" answered everyone, including Edward.
Much beamed happily. "That's all right, then." But it wasn't because Much suddenly frowned. "If
it wasn't me, then who was it?"
Slowly, every man's gaze fell on the Saracen. Nasir raised an eyebrow.
"Well, you did say he wore black," said Robin.
"I've never heard the Varlet say much either," admitted Edward.
Robin stood before his taciturn friend, his hands resting on Nasir's shoulders. "It's all right. I forgive you."
"I didn't do it," stated the Saracen.
"No, of course you didn't. However, if you did do it, I understand."
"No."
"You just wanted some of the glory and fame for yourself, Naz. It can't be easy living in my shadow."
"Your fat Norman head casts fat Norman shadows, but I didn't do it."
"But, Nasir, all of the evidence points to you!"
The Saracen broke away from Robin, his eyebrows shooting out of sight, his lips curling in
contempt. He remembered the singing villagers and shuddered briefly. He drew
himself up to his full height with dignity. "I would never have my own song."
Back at the camp, the outlaws stared at the fire glumly. They would
have been eating and staring at the fire glumly, but even the deer were
avoiding their company today.
"Who is he?" said John.
"I don't know," replied Tuck.
Robin was studying Nasir intently again.
"No," said Nasir.
"Are you sure?"
The Saracen raised an eyebrow.
"Does that mean 'Yes' or 'No'?" asked Robin.
"I think it's one for 'Yes' and two for 'No,'" answered John.
The Saracen made a gesture that didn't involve eyebrows and promptly left the
camp.
Robin sighed, then rose as well. "I must find the Varlet before he causes more strife."
"You're the one who's causing all the strife!" retorted Will.
"I shall find the Varlet and get some answers from him."
"Now that's more like it!" said Will. "Let's get 'im!"
Robin raised a hand and shook his head. "No, Will. I must do this alone."
"Why?"
"It would be the braver and more impressive thing to do. I'll never get a song written about me if you lot tag along!"
Tuck gazed at his leader sternly. "Be careful, Robin."
"Yeah," Will said. "You gotta watch those minstrels, what with their trusty swords an' all."
"You're right, Will. I never even thought of that! I'd better consult Herne."
"The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned."
"Yes, the sooner the better."
"I think Will Scarlet is dead sexy and has much nicer hair than I do."
"Will!" yelled the others.
Robin shook his head as if to clear it. "I must be on my way."
Robin wandered through Sherwood in search of the Varlet, but he
couldn't find a trace of Wickham's elusive hero. Therefore, he decided to
start working on his song. If he could peg down even one verse, the song
might catch on in the villages and the people would add the rest.
Robin smiled as he thought about his brilliant plan. However, after several hours of composing, he had very little to show for it.
"Robin Hood," he sang. "Robin...da, da, da, da...The Hooded Man. Da dum." The Hooded Man walked over to a tree and began to bang his head against it miserably.
"Damn the Varlet and his fascinating apparel!"
When Robin's head had stopped throbbing and his vision began to
clear, he continued on his quest with renewed fervour. Unfortunately, he
still hadn't found any trace of the Varlet. He did find Nasir, though. He
spotted the Saracen trying to join another band.
Nasir had approached a very unsavoury cutthroat, who had thick stubble and oily hair. Nevertheless, Nasir braced himself and asked. The cutthroat shook his head.
"Is that one shake for 'Yes' and two for 'No'?" asked the Saracen hopefully.
"What does shaking your head mean in your country, infidel?" snapped the cutthroat. He shook his head twice and indicated the quickest route out of their camp. "If it wasn't for those two swords strapped to your back, I'd kill you," added the cutthroat. "Did you really think we'd want some member of Robin Hood's decrepit band?"
As Nasir quickly dispatched the cutthroat and his men, Robin continued on his journey with an even heavier heart. Then he tripped over a hidden root as mist covered everything before him.
"I wish he could warn me for once," muttered Robin. As the forest god approached, Robin favoured the horned one with a winning smile on bended knee.
"Herne," stated the outlaw.
"Gree-ees mowon."
Robin blinked. "It's a...nice day, wouldn't you say?"
"Ivween bewere."
Robin scratched his head. "Is this another riddle?"
"Luffswa riful. Yo muz magovet wad yuwull."
Robin began to tear at his hair. "What are you saying? I don't understand you!"
"Ah yo nowuced de tofwa."
Robin backed away slowly.
"Wa aru dooin mowon?"
Herne's son turned and quickly stumbled out of the glade.
Herne watched him for a few moments in astonishment, then bowed his
stag head. He spit a gooey mass into his hand and studied it critically. He
had just invented the first batch of English toffee and had wanted to share
the discovery with his son. The pagan forest god grunted and threw the
sticky wad into the bushes in disgust. Obviously, that invention would never
go anywhere.
As the sun began to set, Robin crept towards Wickham. He finally
understood what path destiny had meant him to follow: he had to kill Yug.
Yug had begun this cycle of hideous events, created this chasm of chaos.
Because of Yug, Nasir had left the band, Herne had been transformed into a
gibbering old fool, and Robin Hood's golden hair was lying flat and lifeless
against his head! Yes, it all came back to the goat. Yug was to blame and
now Yug would have to pay.
As the sky darkened and the moon peeped out from behind the clouds, the outlaw stood outside the goat pen. The spawn of Evil gazed up at him thoughtfully, chewing on a boot. Robin watched the boot slowly disappear and realized that this was going to be harder than he thought.
When the boot was no more, the outlaw braced himself. While he had watched the goat dine on his last meal, he had decided that it would be less painful on the villagers if he spirited the goat away and killed him quickly in Sherwood. It was safer too. Robin Hood's popularity was waning and he couldn't afford to have witnesses. They'd hardly be singing his praises then...Without his own song, he could hardly expect them to!
Robin gritted his teeth and reached towards Yug. Surprisingly, the goat put up little resistance.
"So Evil isn't so powerful after all," said Robin, who couldn't resist gloating over his treasure. Now, all he had to do was head for the trees and all would be well...
"Unhand that goat!" boomed a loud voice.
Robin whipped around, almost dropping the spawn of Evil in the process. Before him stood the
boldest in the land, the renegade without a band.
"The Varlet!" cried Robin. The cloaked figure took to his heels. Robin placed Yug back in his pen and gave chase.
The Varlet searched frantically for his horse, but the animal was nowhere to be seen. Then he spotted the crowd of children and his blood ran cold. He had not anticipated the entrepreneurial spirit of Edward of Wickham's brat.
Although Matthew of Wickham liked to associate with wolfsheads, he was really quite bright. When the Varlet began to gain fame in the villages, the boy saw an opportunity for profit. He started to charge two pennies for a ride on the Varlet's valiant steed. However, as Matthew's clientele consisted of peasants who couldn't afford even one penny, his generous heart prevailed and he charged the children nothing. Naturally, this made Matthew's little business very popular with the children from all the villages. All of them were gathered around Matthew and the horse.
"Drat!" cursed the Varlet. The man searched for another mount, but the best option he could find was a chicken. He paused briefly before the fowl, then ran out of the village on foot. Robin was only a few strides behind him.
They were about halfway to the forest when Robin took a huge leap and tackled his foe. Unlike Yug, the Varlet struggled furiously.
"Come on, don't be shy," said Robin sweetly. "I just want to take a peek at your face." Again, the Varlet struggled, but Robin was determined. He pinned down the other outlaw and threw back the hood. Then he gaped at the Varlet in horror.
"Gisburne?" he gasped.
If Gisburne is the Varlet, why? WHY? WHY? WHY?!
If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound or is its loud thump silenced under the strict dictates of an oppressive Norman regime?
If Gisburne fell in the forest, and no one was around, would everyone still
hear him? I fear so.
