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Barnsdale became our home. Little John realized we were safer here than in Sherwood Forest. Since Sherwood was our stomping grounds, he suspected Sir Guy and the Sheriff of Nottingham would assume we’d return there. Our hideouts in the vast forest had been compromised, so we didn’t see any reason to needlessly gallivant through those woods for a time.
Many of the Merry Men had family there, such as Will Scarlet’s father in the village of Ravenshead. Our plan was not to stay away forever, but rather bide our time and recuperate before returning. Sherwood was still home to the Merry Men.
The villages this far north did not know our band’s reputation. We were relatively unknown, while other outlaw crews were more feared and infamous in these parts. As news of the mysterious Loxley Massacre spread across the valley, different groups’ names were pinned to the slaughter.
We used our relative anonymity, and the townspeople’s fear, to our advantage. Some families wanted to leave South Yorkshire. Men of fighting age were either opting to join the militias to protect their people, or considering other, less scrupulous options. Those who forwent military service would have to pay the scutage shield-tax for opting out.
Taxation here was just as punishing as it was across the rest of England. No quarter was given to the people. The Sheriff of Yorkshire was a rival to Sir George of Nottingham, and just as hated and feared.
When the collector came riding into the shire with his catchpole, people hid in fear like he was a death-dealer.
We coaxed quite a few young men toward those other options. As we slowly migrated northeast, away from Loxley, toward the villages of Skelbrooke, Hampole, and Doncaster along the Great North Road, we picked up stragglers who needed a fresh start or anonymity. Men fleeing their tax obligation, deserting the military, or falling on hard times and being forced to thieve.
The ranks of the Merry Men swelled. We planned our illustrious return to Nottinghamshire, because we had unfinished business there.
Though we frequented many of the villages, thorps, and taverns in South Yorkshire, we always ended up scuttling back to our forest dwellings to rest our heads. It was still the only place we felt safe enough to reside.
“I wish for a time when we can lay our heads on the soft pillows of an inn,” said one of the newcomers one day, who had been on the run from the law for two years. He was only sixteen.
“And the soft bosoms of those in the inn,” said his friend with a snicker. Unsurprisingly, also sixteen.
I aimed my bow at one of the targets we’d etched into the piney coniferous trees of these woods. My fingers released from the string and with a snap the arrow whizzed onto the mark.
Nearly a center hit, just a finger’s width to the right.
I cursed under my breath, pulled another arrow from the quiver at my feet, and readied another shot.
“Pillows? What are you, a king?” Will Scarlet scoffed at the young man, strolling through camp eating berries. “Might as well keep wishing, boy. We won’t be taking residence in any village anytime soon. Right, John?”
Little John grunted. He was working on his leather armor, scuffing it and blowing on it, trying to make it look nicer.
He needed a new piece of armor. He disagreed, with the excuse, “It still works. Why get a new one?”
To which I said it was unbefitting of our leader, to which he scoffed like a curmudgeon.
Alan-a-Dale walked up to me, outside the center of camp. Crossing his arms, he clicked his tongue as I took my shot and missed wider than the first one.
I scowled at him, peeved he’d distracted me. How could such a beautiful man, especially creeping up on me like that, not be a distraction?
He shot me his charming smile. “You’ll need to do better than that if you want to win the tourney.”
I pushed the shortbow he’d made me toward him. “Do you want to take a shot?”
“And embarrass myself against you? No, songbird, I don’t. But I also never agreed to do this.”
Friar Tuck came up on my other side. I squirmed a bit, remembering the filthy affair the three of us had a couple weeks ago. We continued our nighttime activities even now, with me occasionally disappearing into Will or John’s tents, too. So far, I hadn’t brought the four of them together, though I figured it was only a matter of time. There was no reason to press the issue, because I was getting my needs met, assuredly, and we had other pressing matters. Namely, the archery tournament Alan-a-Dale mentioned.
“I still think it’s too dangerous,” Tuck said.
He was exceedingly cautious these days after losing me in Wilford. It made sense, seeing as how things tended to go wrong when we left our comfort zone.
I’d partaken in a couple carriage robberies since joining the Merry Men. No one had died in either of them, because I’d told them I wanted deathless raids, and they agreed. Perhaps it was because I was a woman. I liked to think I brought a softer side to the group.
They were less prone to violent streaks when I was partaking in the raids, since my guys were focused on keeping me safe. In that sense, I was a liability, but the thrill of the raids was incredibly satisfying. The nights always ended up with me fucking one of them nearly unconscious to expel my excitement, so none of them complained. They only vied for my body any given evening, going so far as gambling for the chance to worship me.
A girl like me, who had never been the apple of someone’s eye except as a means of wealth and land distribution, could get used to this.
The carts we pilfered did not belong to nobility, which irked me. The gains were minimal. Little John complained our reputation would be damaged if we continued robbing smaller quarry, and I agreed. Yet stealing from the gentry was exponentially more dangerous.
