Nottingham: A Novel (Nottingham, 1)

by Nathan Makaryk

To be a woman was to wear an invisible cloak, but that loathsome fact was absolutely advantageous in the world of misdeeds. She had learned how easy it was to fake apologies, feign ignorance, to smile wide and let men blame her gender and forget. If she had time to waste, she’d relish it all.

THE SCENE BEFORE WILLIAM looked very unlike the one he expected. Robin was there, but where once there had been two useful horses was now an emptiness that could only be described as horseless. Robin mimicked his baffled reaction, as if this sudden change in horse quantity was equally perplexing to him.

“The thing is, those horses were wrongfully subjugated by the King.” “Oh they were, were they?” “Most certainly.” Robin presented the empty space proudly. “They hadn’t paid their taxes, you see, and the King took them into servitude as payment. I couldn’t bear the sight of their slavery. So I set them free, their families are quite happy about it, and I have been anointed the Horse Lord of England.” “I don’t believe you. Not because it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard—which it is—but because a real Horse Lord of England would have horses. Whilst you have just lost yours.”

A month later, there’d been a cripple at the castle who was missing a leg and was too weak to use crutches, pushed around in a small wheelbarrow by his wife. Walter nursed him to strength again, and found him suitable jobs that restored his dignity. In poor taste, Elena reminded Lord Walter of his own words. “I thought you said you didn’t allow half men here.” “Luther is ten times the man of any I’ve ever met. You could get on my shoulders, and I on King Richard’s, and we’d barely reach Luther’s knees.”

“Yes, they have wronged us, but we can choose not to react. We can let it slide, let them disappear, let it go. We don’t need to win. We can stop this cycle of taking an eye for an eye, before every one of us is left blind.”

A moment ago he was complaining how ineffectual he was, and now he thought he could solve her entire life with a wave of his hand. The disappointment was a familiar feeling. She had learned how to live on her own, and she didn’t need him to protect her. She would find a way to fix her own problems, as she always had. He would be gone in another two weeks, and there was nothing he could do to keep his promises from a thousand miles away.

The stranger evolution came when some of their victims began to enjoy it. There were horses with bells, there were colorful banners, there were audience members riding atop certain carriages who would hoot in ecstasy upon seeing Robin’s crew. It was the pinnacle of surreal theater. When Robin waltzed out from behind a tree with an arrow nocked loosely in his bow, he received—of all the unfathomable things—applause.

“No, they’re exactly the gang of brazen scofflaws I thought they’d be,” he returned with a straight face. “But everyone else. The villagers, for instance. Did you see yesterday, outside Keeton, I gave a man a shilling and he asked if I could break it into a dozen pence instead? That he could give out to his friends.” “I did see that.” She tilted her head back at him, every inch of her smug smile saying I told you so. “You want them to be greedy, don’t you? You want them to be mean and greedy and lazy, so you can say you were right.” “I do like being right,” he considered. “I am usually very good at it.”

It’s the travelers, too,” Robin added after some thought. “Not what I expected.” Marion scrutinized him. “How so?” “Well, don’t forget who my father was,” Robin said, knowing she would understand. “Growing up with the unfortunate circumstances of being Lord Walter’s son, I developed a slightly skewed impression of landowners.” Her lips pursed into a smile. “Did you think all noblemen were as kindhearted as Walter?” “No,” he scoffed. “And yes. My father would have fed hay to a dead horse. So my impression of anyone who fell outside of that generosity was appropriately wretched. If a lord kicked some poor sod out,” he fumbled for words, “he must have really, truly deserved it, yes?”

Do you have anything you’d like me to say to him, from you?” “I have so many things,” Robin admitted, “so very many things I’d like you to tell him, but they would all be quite vulgar and I would feel bad if I made you repeat them.” “I understand.” She bobbed her head. “I’ll just make up some of my own vulgarities then, and tell him they’re from you.” “Brilliant.” He laughed. “Tell him I’ll see him soon.”

“The world beyond these walls is made of dukes and farmers. Duke…” he singled out Lord Oughtibridge from afar, and nimbly danced over the tabletop of plates and glasses to pour gold into the man’s hands. He then turned back at Gisbourne, halfway down the table. “… and farmer,” he finished, flicking one last coin through the air to his captain, who barely flinched to catch it. “The farmer farms, which is useful, and the duke … dukes. Which is not.” De Lacy’s hand flapped about, equating precisely what he thought of the daily activities of dukes. “However, the duke pays taxes, which is quite useful, and he pays quite a bit.”

They did not live in fear of their lord, and Walter did not use fear to keep them in line. Their relationships were described in degrees of gratitude.

Try to find a middle ground?” Marion suggested. “Not quite. A harmony is two voices, both singing their own part. They support each other, dance around each other, and neither sounds good without the other. So we use our heart to weigh how we follow the law, and hopefully we make the laws to weigh how we follow our heart. That’s harmony.”

“All the villagers talk about Robin Hood and Marion’s Men.” “Marion’s Men? I did hear that,” he mumbled. “But I thought … I must have heard them wrong, I thought they called you Merry Men.” Little coughed. “Merry Men?” Will burst out red. “Do I look fucking merry to you?”

As Much trudged away toward the tree with his mission, Arthur exhaled. “Are we ready to do this?” Alan clicked his tongue and was away, along with Arthur and Tuck, to crouch by the ringwall with Will. “Alright,” John Little whispered next to her on the wagon. “Let’s steal some shit.