tail, stripping every morsel of pink flesh from the bone. The others looked on, mouths watering. “I hope it chokes you,” said Friar Tuck, still smarting from his ducking in the river. The stranger reached over and picked up Tuck’s sword.
“A fine weapon,” he said, running his thumb along the blade, “but blunt.”
“What do you know of weapons?” said Friar Tuck, snatching back his sword.
“I told you. I was a soldier with the king in the Holy Land, but more than that, I was the king’s armourer. With these hands I made the King ofEngland’s sword, the sword that cut great swathes through the Saracen hordes. Oh my king, my king.” And he began to weep, burying his head in his hands.
Robin and Much and Tuck looked at each other and smiled. “Friend,” Robin began, “did you say you were an armourer? A smith?” The man nodded behind his hands.
Tuck crossed himself and closed his eyes. “Now God be thanked,” he breathed. “Didn’t I tell you, Robin? Didn’t I now? It’s God’s good grace has brought him here.”
Robin pulled the man’s hand gently from his face. ‘Friend, come live with us in Sherwood, make our swords for us, sharpen our spears; and then we can deal Prince John, the usurper, and the Sheriff of Nottingham such a blow as they’ll never forget. Do it for the king.”
The stranger smiled through his tears. “So,” he said, “so the spirit of England still lives. I’ll stay, and I’ll make you all the daggers and swords and shields and spears you need to clear the vermin from King Richard’s land.”
“What shall we call you?” Robin asked.
“My name is John Little, but my king always called me Little John because I was twice his size. Call me that, for it will always remind me of him when you do.”
Through that autumn and winter Little John’s forge was never out. By Christmas, every man, woman and child had their own weapon, each one perfectly weighted and deadly sharp. The children loved to watch him at work on his anvil, to see the sparks fly and the gush of steam rising as he plunged the glowing iron into the bucket. It was the warmest place to be too, and they would stay and listen longinto the night as Little John told them of the Holy Land and of the wars he had fought alongside good King Richard.
Christmas that year was like no other. All through the feasting, they knew their time of testing was coming, that for many of them, this might be their last Christmas. The Outlaw band had swelled now to over two hundred, all of them strong in body and spirit, all of them ready to fight the good fight. Mass was the longest they had ever known, partly because much time was given over to Friar Tuck’s exhortations, and partly because he had insisted that it was high time for all couples to be married, and their children blessed in the sight of God. Last of all to be joined together were Robin and Marion. As they knelt for the blessing, Tuck prayed over them. “God’s good grace brought you together, and brought us all to this place. May you and yourchildren, and all of us, live a long and a godly life.” The amens echoed loud through the cave; and afterwards, the Christmas feasting went on long into the night, though Robin and Marion stole away well before the end of it.
“Will our baby have white hair like me, or black hair like yours?” Marion whispered, as they lay together in each other’s arms.
“It does not matter,” said Robin. “So long as he grows up a free man, nothing else matters.”
“Well, I want him to have white hair so that when he grows old no one will ever know it. And anyway, he may be a girl!” But Robin did not hear. He was asleep already.
The baby was born as the first leaves of autumn fell, a boy baby. And Marion’s wish came true. The boy had white hair. He was baptised Martin, after his grandfather.
All this while Sir Guy of Gisbourne had not been idle. He was gathering evidence, evidence to prove that Robin Hood was
“A fine weapon,” he said, running his thumb along the blade, “but blunt.”
“What do you know of weapons?” said Friar Tuck, snatching back his sword.
“I told you. I was a soldier with the king in the Holy Land, but more than that, I was the king’s armourer. With these hands I made the King ofEngland’s sword, the sword that cut great swathes through the Saracen hordes. Oh my king, my king.” And he began to weep, burying his head in his hands.
Robin and Much and Tuck looked at each other and smiled. “Friend,” Robin began, “did you say you were an armourer? A smith?” The man nodded behind his hands.
Tuck crossed himself and closed his eyes. “Now God be thanked,” he breathed. “Didn’t I tell you, Robin? Didn’t I now? It’s God’s good grace has brought him here.”
Robin pulled the man’s hand gently from his face. ‘Friend, come live with us in Sherwood, make our swords for us, sharpen our spears; and then we can deal Prince John, the usurper, and the Sheriff of Nottingham such a blow as they’ll never forget. Do it for the king.”
The stranger smiled through his tears. “So,” he said, “so the spirit of England still lives. I’ll stay, and I’ll make you all the daggers and swords and shields and spears you need to clear the vermin from King Richard’s land.”
“What shall we call you?” Robin asked.
“My name is John Little, but my king always called me Little John because I was twice his size. Call me that, for it will always remind me of him when you do.”
Through that autumn and winter Little John’s forge was never out. By Christmas, every man, woman and child had their own weapon, each one perfectly weighted and deadly sharp. The children loved to watch him at work on his anvil, to see the sparks fly and the gush of steam rising as he plunged the glowing iron into the bucket. It was the warmest place to be too, and they would stay and listen longinto the night as Little John told them of the Holy Land and of the wars he had fought alongside good King Richard.
Christmas that year was like no other. All through the feasting, they knew their time of testing was coming, that for many of them, this might be their last Christmas. The Outlaw band had swelled now to over two hundred, all of them strong in body and spirit, all of them ready to fight the good fight. Mass was the longest they had ever known, partly because much time was given over to Friar Tuck’s exhortations, and partly because he had insisted that it was high time for all couples to be married, and their children blessed in the sight of God. Last of all to be joined together were Robin and Marion. As they knelt for the blessing, Tuck prayed over them. “God’s good grace brought you together, and brought us all to this place. May you and yourchildren, and all of us, live a long and a godly life.” The amens echoed loud through the cave; and afterwards, the Christmas feasting went on long into the night, though Robin and Marion stole away well before the end of it.
“Will our baby have white hair like me, or black hair like yours?” Marion whispered, as they lay together in each other’s arms.
“It does not matter,” said Robin. “So long as he grows up a free man, nothing else matters.”
“Well, I want him to have white hair so that when he grows old no one will ever know it. And anyway, he may be a girl!” But Robin did not hear. He was asleep already.
The baby was born as the first leaves of autumn fell, a boy baby. And Marion’s wish came true. The boy had white hair. He was baptised Martin, after his grandfather.
All this while Sir Guy of Gisbourne had not been idle. He was gathering evidence, evidence to prove that Robin Hood was
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