Robin Hood and the Assassin

The young woman crouched lower to the damp earth of the forest, pressing herself against the trunk of an gnarled oak tree, trusting to the deep shadows to keep her hidden. Taking a deep breath, she inched further around, her heart hammering, as she glimpsed movement in the forest, to the left of where she hid. The mounted soldiers, she knew, were still some way off, and those she did not give much thought to, other than to stay out of their sight, as she knew they would have little interest in her, at least not while they were hunting more important game. The movement she had seen was a silent black shadow, unnatural amongst the soft dappled greens and browns of the forest.
In the quiet, the thrum of released arrows was unmistakable, but before the woman had time to react, she was knocked backwards by the force of an arrow biting deep into her arm. Her cry of pain was cut short in surprise, when another body tumbled next to her, matching her fall. Rolling instantly into a crouch, she gaped at the unconscious man beside her. An arrow protruded from his torso, just above the hipbone. She barely had time to register his dusty green clothing and shaggy beard before a shout of triumph in the distance caused her to spring to her feet. She glanced at the arrow still embedded in her upper arm, then with a grimace of pain, grabbed the man’s tunic with her uninjured arm, and dragged him to the edge of the hollow in which they had fallen, where she let him fall back to the earth. He had not made a sound, but the woman did not waste time checking to see if he still lived. Instead she propped open the edge of a hidden dip in the ground, barely longer than a man’s body, and covered with a loosely woven mat of branches, covered so that it resembled the leaf-strewn ground, and quickly dragged the man beneath it. She squirmed in beside him, and with a swift tug, pulled away the branch holding up the cover, obscuring them completely, just as there came the soft thud of a man dropping lightly over the edge of the hollow.
Raising her fist to her mouth, the woman closed her eyes in an agony of fear and frustration as she realised that she had failed to cover their tracks – and that they would lead him straight to their hiding place. She lowered her hand to the dagger at her waist, knowing the gesture was futile. Seconds later however, the hollow was filled with the sounds of the horses of the mounted guard, milling in the small area. With a small sigh of relief, the woman realised that the horses had covered their tracks far more effectively than she could ever have done.
‘Oh do pipe down, and tell me what you’ve done with Robin Hood,’ a calculatingly bored voice was heard through the noise. Instantly, all sounds ceased as the unmistakable drawl of the Sheriff of Nottingham cut across the hollow. The woman could only wait, and guess at what was happening just yards from where she lay. With one hand resting lightly on the chest of the unconscious man whom she realised must be Robin Hood, she hoped desperately that he wouldn’t wake and inadvertently reveal their position.
‘My Lord,’ replied a soft, dangerous voice, ‘l had him, l hit him with an arrow.’ The voice changed into a snarl as his anger seeped through. ‘He was here, in this hollow, l would have had him if your incompetent men hadn’t blundered in here and destroyed his tracks.’
’Yes, well, if, as you say, you managed to injure Robin Hood, then you’ll have no trouble catching up with him in the morning, will you?’ The undertone of mockery was plain. ‘Now get on your horse, and you can return to the castle and explain to Prince John’s envoy why there isn’t going to be a body for him to take back in the morning.’
‘But my Lord, let me track him now.’ The first voice replied, his anger plainly rising. ‘By the morning he’ll have gone to ground again. While it’s light l can still catch him.’
‘No. I will not leave you here to disappear into the woods, leaving me to explain your failure. You will return with me, and if the envoy does not decide make an example of you, you can attempt to redeem yourself by continuing your hunt in the morning. You promised me the body of Robin Hood by today, and you have let me down. More importantly, you have let down Prince John, and he tolerates failure even less than l do.’
If the man replied to this, it was lost in the general noise as the horses swung about and returned the way they had gone.
As soon as silence returned to the hollow, the woman raised one corner of the hide cautiously and edged her way out. Finding the area empty of men, she flipped the cover back, and, kneeling down, slid a hand under the man’s tunic.
‘You’re still alive,’ she breathed, as she felt his heartbeat, strong and steady under her fingers. ‘But not for long if l leave you here, whether or not you’re Robin of the Hood.’ Glancing around, she grabbed the woven net of branches, and laid it alongside him, and as gently as she could, dragged him onto it. Then, leaning against a tree, she wrapped her hand around the arrow jutting from her arm, and in one swift movement, pulled it free. As the blood ran freely down her arm, she dropped the arrow, and quickly wrapped a length of cloth over the wound, binding it tightly, biting her lip against the pain. Wincing, she grabbed two corners of the cover, and dragged him out of the woodland hollow and down the few yards to the river and her small boat, which was moored beneath some overhanging branches. By the time she had manoeuvred his inert body into the bottom of the small craft, she was feeling light headed, and her sleeve was drenched with fresh blood. Plucking distractedly at the ruined fabric, she contemplated her next move. Her main worry was that the man had barely responded in all the time she had been moving him. Wearily, she pushed the boat away from the riverbank, and jumped in. Steering with the paddle, she was soon lost to sight.
Silence had settled back over the forest for some time when several figures appeared, moving lightly and near silently between the trees. Every few paces, one of them would drop to his haunches and peer intently at the ground. From the branches of a tree, an owl newly awakened in the evening light watched silently as one of Robin Hood’s companions found the discarded arrow, and followed the drag marks from the makeshift stretcher down to the river’s edge, where they disappeared.
The journey downstream on the river took no more than half an hour, but felt several times longer to the injured woman. When she finally steered the boat under the willow tree, which overhung the riverside in front of her home, dusk had begun to fall. As she turned to begin the difficult task of lifting Robin out of the boat, she found him regarding her calmly.‘Oh, thank goodness you’re awake,’ she gasped.
Robin smiled. ‘Who are you?’ He asked.
‘I was hiding,’ she explained, ‘from those who were hunting you, waiting for them to go past so l could get home, when you were hit by an arrow. I hid you from the Sheriff, and now l’ve brought you to here so l can get the arrow out.’
With a groan, Robin levered himself upright. ‘My companions need to know where l am, or they’ll keep searching for me, and there’s a very dangerous man out there hunting us down. I’m very grateful to you for hiding me. What’s your name, and where exactly are we?’
Bending down, the woman placed her shoulder under his, and helped him carefully to his feet as she spoke. ‘My name is Maggie, and just as your camp is secret, Robin Hood, so is mine. You’re not the only person with secrets to keep. When l’ve removed the arrow, and made you comfortable, l will seek your companions, and lead them here.’
‘Which will be a problem when you don’t know where our camp is,’ he pointed out wryly.
The woman looked uncomfortable. ‘Some secrets are better known than others. But rest assured,’ she added hastily, ‘that as you now know my location, l would not reveal yours.’
Robin looked less than convinced. ‘More import rides on our location being unknown than your cave, with the greatest of respects.’
Twisting her head to meet his gaze, she replied calmly, ‘Not to me it doesn’t.’
With a groan, Robin Hood lowered himself in front of a chimney, which had been cunningly built to take advantage of one of a number of natural holes in the outside wall. The cave was no bigger than a room, most of the space being taken up by a large, roughly hewn table, on which were dozens of bottles, jars and bowls. Hanging from every available space were bunches of herbs and roots, whilst in the corner nearest to the fire, was a low pallet, heaped with blankets and furs. Maggie busied herself dragging most of the blankets off the bed, placing them around Robin, and in a spare moment, pushed a cauldron over the fire, and stirred the embers awake. Then she crouched in front of Robin.
‘Take off whatever top garments you can’, she commanded, ‘and lie back. The arrow can pulled straight out, but if it’s hit an artery, you may start to bleed a lot.’
Robin placed a hand on her arm. ‘It’s all right, this isn’t the first time l’ve been injured,’ he said with a trace of humour. Her expression didn’t lighten however.
‘Same here.’ She said shortly, helping him to pull his tunic over his head. Maggie gestured with her chin to her left arm, ‘That isn’t all your blood,’ she said. He grabbed her wrist tightly; the concern on his face clear, but she wrenched his hand away. ‘It’ll wait,’ she said fiercely, ‘It’ll wait until you’re done, my injury looks worse than it is,’ she lied.
Taking a knife, she efficiently cut away his under garment, a soft woollen tunic the colour of autumn leaves, discoloured a darker red by his blood. The hiss of her breath made Robin look down at his torso. Radiating out from the point where the arrow entered his body, were the angry dark red marks of poison. Maggie had seemed frozen at the sight, but abruptly shook her head, and bent to examine the wound more closely. Their faces only inches apart, Robin found himself watching the woman. In the half-light, her dark hair was curling loose from its thick plait, and wonderingly, he noticed a thin, pale scar that ran down from behind her ear, and disappeared into the neck of her tunic. Her eyes, he had already noticed were a deep, clear green, and her skin was unusually pale, as if she spent much of her time indoors. Her jaw was set in a way that suggested determination, although it may have been fear he realised, as she turned her head slightly to meet his eyes. Unaccountably, she began to blush, and she moved quickly away, to stand with her back to him at the table.
‘Do you know what the poison is?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but l might get a clearer idea once l see the arrow. There may be some residue on it, a particular colour, or consistency, or even smell that may help me. Until then, if you start to feel dizzy, or nauseous, anything at all, tell me.’ Turning swiftly back, she lifted the cauldron off the fire, and tipped some of the water into a bowl along with a few drops of liquid, which had a strong, astringent smell. She added some strips of cloth, and poked them with a spoon a few times, before wringing them out tightly.
Maggie knelt by Robin, and took a deep breath. Wrapping her hand around the arrow, she heard Robin make a small sound of pain. In one swift, clean movement, she pulled out the arrow, and pressed the bandages to the wound, applying pressure. She took Robin’s hand, and replaced her hand with his, as she sat back and examined the slim length of the arrow. Robin noticed her sway slightly, and touched her face gently with his fingertips. ‘You’re burning,’ he gasped. Maggie didn’t take her eyes off the arrow, as she sniffed at the stained arrowhead. ‘Heat from the fire,’ she replied absently as she moved her head away. She stood quickly, and turned back to the table, leaning heavily against it as she realised what she had to do.
It took only a matter of minutes to assemble the herbs she needed, to which she added the last remaining drops from a heavily patterned glass bottle. Stirring it, she drained the liquid into a cup, and mashed the dregs into a poultice.
‘This you must drink,’ she said, holding the cup to Robin’s lips. Obediently, he drained the liquid, wincing slightly at the taste. Then she lifted the bandages and quickly stitched the wound together. Her actions were swift and precise, and Robin wondered how she had become so skilled. She pressed the poultice against the wound, noting dispassionately that the dark lines of poison had spread further, and replaced the bandages. ‘That is all l can do,’ she told him, as she covered him with the blankets. ‘The rest is in the hands of the gods, if they wish you to recover.’ Now she let the pain and sickness sweep across her body, as a fit of shivering revealed to Robin the extent of her own weakness.
‘Now you must clean your wound before you fetch my companions,’ he said, as his hand again found her wrist. He gasped, and wrenched her arm around, making her cry out in pain. ‘You were hit by one of his poisoned arrows too,’ he said with dawning realisation. ‘You must make yourself more of the potion, or tell me what to do,’ he said urgently, struggling to free himself of the blankets.
Her face and body were slick with sweat, as she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She smiled wanly at him. ‘That was the last of the antidote. I’d meant to make more, just in case, and now there’s no time.’
Robin struggled to sit up, but found his limbs had become too heavy. His head spun dizzily as he sank back.
‘I laced the drink with a strong sedative, you’ll be asleep in a few minutes,’ she said levelly.
‘No,’ he protested, but his words sounded faint to his ears. Maggie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees so that her mouth was inches from his ear. ‘I get to save the life of Robin Hood, how many can make that claim? Remember me, and bury me beneath the willow.’ She made to move away, but Robin turned his head and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I will remember you,’ he said in a whisper, and kissed her on the lips. His eyes closed, and he fell into a deep sleep.
When Friar Tuck discovered them, Maggie was curled into a ball next to Robin.
He gestured to LittleJohn to place her on the sleeping pallet, and bent to examine Robin. By sniffing at Robin Hood’s breath, he satisfied himself that his deep sleep was a result of a sleeping draught and not injury. Peeling back the wadding over Robin’s wound, he saw with approval that the poison was receding.
Quick instructions sent Will and Much to construct two makeshift stretchers, whilst LittleJohn began to hastily scoop the contents of the table into a large chest.
‘When it’s full, hide it somewhere secure.’ Tuck said to Littlejohn. ‘When the assassin finds out Robin was here, the Sheriff’s men will rip this place apart.’ Pulling a pouch from his belt, he carefully extracted a small bottle; a match to the one Maggie had used earlier to treat Robin. Holding it up to the light of the fire, he checked the level of liquid.
‘How did you now which medicine to send Allan back for?’ LittleJohn asked Tuck curiously.
Tuck turned back to the slight form of the woman, lying on the pallet. Shivering wracked her body every few seconds, and her breathing was shallow and fast. ‘The arrow Allan found had blood on it,’ he said rapidly, leaning over the woman. ‘When l saw the blood and poison stains on it, l knew it had hit someone, it wasn’t a discarded arrow from hunting. Allan said there were tracks on the ground, showing a body had been dragged down to the river. I thought – hoped – there was a connection to Robin. The poison is a fairly common one. It’s cheap and easy to make but it has a strong smell and it leaves a residue on whatever it touches.’
‘So Robin and this women were both hit,’ added LittleJohn. ‘You know who she is.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Tuck took his knife from his belt, and carefully cut away the sodden, blood soaked sleeve of the woman’s dress. His sharp intake of breath brought LittleJohn to his side. The woman’s arm was blackened and swollen; the small wound stretched open and livid. Tuck swallowed heavily. ‘Bring me that bowl, and a cloth,’ he instructed LittleJohn, avoiding his question. ‘Then hold her arm down, l’m going to have to cut as much of the poison out as l can.’
‘Do you think she’ll make it?’ LittleJohn asked, as he wrapped his large hands around the woman’s shoulder and lower arm. Tuck shrugged mutely, then in one quick, clean movement, sliced deep into her arm. Pus shot from the tight skin, then slowly turned to blood as the wound drained. In a series of actions that mirrored the woman’s only a short time earlier, he placed a poultice on her wound, and forced the bottle between her lips, dribbling the liquid as carefully as he could into her mouth. With the release of pressure on her arm caused by the poisoning, her breathing had steadied slightly.
A short time later, Robin and Maggie, wrapped tightly in blankets, and both unconscious, were carried from the cave on stretchers. Night had fallen, but the men were as at home in the darkness of the forest as they were during the day, and in a short time were well on their way back to their hidden camp.

Friar Tuck snored gently by the fire, which had burned low, but still issued enough heat to ward off the nighttime chill. Several hours had passed since Robin’s men had returned, and after a desultory meal, they had rolled themselves into their beds. Robin woke quietly, from years of long habit, coming from a deep sleep to full awareness in a matter of seconds. He carefully tensed his stomach muscles, judging from the pain how severely he had been wounded. In the dim firelight, he located Tuck as much from his bulk as from the gentle sound of his snores. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that Tuck’s sometime-bed was also in use, and he recognised the woman, Maggie, who had saved his life – twice.
Although an integral member of Robin’s company of outlaws, Tuck did not as a rule live with them. A devout if unreliable Christian, his belief in his superiors had slowly eroded over time, whereas his faith had not. Unable to reconcile the two, he had left his order, and made himself the self-appointed caretaker of the semi-derelict ruin of ….. There he had remained in the years since, until a chance encounter with Robin had led his life in a new direction. Still, he preferred to maintain his life at ….., helping those that came to him quietly for aid, and joining Robin and his men when his experience and brawn were needed. This duality of roles, with the apparent conflict of purpose as both a man of God, and sometime outlaw, when challenged, he would defend vigorously, quoting both scripture and law, and if both these failed, with humour, or force as the occasion demanded.
Rolling lightly to his feet, Robin stepped soundlessly the few paces to where the woman lay. Maggie’s wounded arm lay on top of the coverlet, bound tightly. Her tunic had been cut roughly away from her arm, so that her shoulder was bare, and again he noticed the fairness of her skin. It was as if she were a noble, a maiden protected and cosseted, not one of the woods people, one of those who by choice, circumstance or character were forced to live as they could on the edge of existence, scratching a living from the forest until they were caught and condemned to death as an outlaw, or died of malnutrition and exposure in the harsh winters.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted her hand into his, turning it over to see if they too were smooth, or if they bore the unmistakeable signs of rough work. He traced a finger across her calloused palm.
‘Fortune telling is not a skill the mighty Robin Hood is renowned for,’ Maggie whispered huskily. Robin looked up, startled that she had woken so quietly. Dimples showed at the corners of her mouth as a ghost of a smile appeared. ‘You’re alive.’ She said.
‘So are you,’ he pointed out, smiling in return.
‘So l am,’ she said wonderingly.
‘Sleep now, and we will talk again in the morning,’ he said, lowering her hand.
‘No, wait,’ she said urgently, gripping his hand with surprising strength. ‘There is something l have to tell you. The man who was hunting you, he must be stopped, you have to kill him.’ Gently but firmly, Robin tried to let go of her hand, but she gripped even tighter.
‘I do not kill unless it is absolutely necessary. That is not something that changes, ever,’ he said steadily.
Maggie shook her head angrily. ‘You do not understand, l know this man. He will not stop, never give up. He will stay in this forest, hunting you, killing whoever gets in his way until he gets you.’
‘The Prince’s envoy leaves in the morning,’ Robin pointed out. ‘All we had to do was avoid capture until he left, and we’ve done that – just.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Maggie insisted. ‘He won’t go with them. He’s been paid to kill you, and he’ll not stop until it’s done. It’s what he’s known for; no man has ever escaped him. Even if he leaves your body to rot in the forest, he keeps his reputation, that’s all that matters to him.’ She sighed wearily. ‘Is your reputation as binding to you as his?’
Robin shook his head, frowning. ‘Sleep now,’ he said, ‘and l’ll talk to my men in the morning. If what you’ve said is true, we will still need to be on our guard.’ Placing her arm under the cover, he rose and turned to face Tuck, who was watching him intently from the fireside.
They said nothing until Robin was sat back on the edge of his bed. His face was etched with weariness and pain, but he refused to give in to it. Scratching his beard thoughtfully, he turned to Tuck questioningly.
‘You know her.’ He stated.
‘So do you,’ responded Tuck. ‘She’s the healer l exchange knowledge with on occasion. She’s told more gossip and rumour on her visits to the villages than we could ever hope to gather. She’s got a shrewd mind for shifting the wheat from the chaff, and knowing when a rumour is more than it appears. She’s a knowledgeable and gifted healer. You were lucky it was she who found you today.’
Robin’s gaze settled on the sleeping form wonderingly. ‘That’s the healer? Old Mags they call her. I know the villagers hold her in high esteem, but she’s far from old.’ His look snapped back to Tuck. ‘I met her, months ago. She was bent and wizened, with a little wavering voice, l wondered then how she could have survived out here for so many years.’
Tuck smiled. ‘She may have been bent over, and spoke with a thin voice, but did you really see her face, or did you just think you did?’
Robin laughed, a surprisingly open sound, which brought a smile to Tuck’s face. ‘Maybe not, she was wrapped up amazingly well for summer. Do the villagers know her identity, do you think?’
‘If they do, they would not reveal it. As l’ve said, they hold her in high esteem.’
‘As do you.’ Robin stated.
‘As do l.’ Responded Tuck simply.
‘Then we will come to a decision on this assassin in the morning, and decide what we are going to do. Whatever it is, if he is as dangerous as he appears, we must act fact.’
Robin swung his legs onto the bed, and laid back, one hand behind his head. Staring at the ceiling, there was silence for a few minutes before he said quietly, ‘Did anyone else see the tattoo on her arm?’
‘Only LittleJohn.’
‘Good. Let us deal with this problem first, before we concern ourselves with how a woodswoman has the mark of a Crusader on her.’
Tuck sighed. ‘Maybe that is not our business.’ He suggested. Robin did not reply, and soon he had fallen asleep. It was a long time before Tuck did.
The following day dawned bright and crisp, although the early morning cool would soon burn off to produce an oppressive heat. Robin sat amongst his men, mostly silent as the debate flowed between them. He had outlined the facts as they had been passed to him from Maggie the night before.
‘Well, l haven’t got a problem with killing the git, a couple of inches across and you’d be dead, Robin,’ pointed out Much. ‘Anyway, who says Maggie is to be trusted?’ he continued.
‘I trust her,’ interposed Robin. ‘As does Tuck. If the assassin leaves with the envoy this morning, then that’s the end of the matter. If not, and we’ll soon know, then there are only two options. Do we try to scare him off, or do we kill him?’
‘That’s assuming we can kill him, it’s been all we can do to stay one step ahead of him,’ said Will.
‘We give him the choice,’ said Robin finally. ‘We track him down, surround him, and give him the choice to leave, or be killed. If it needs to be done, l’ll do it.’
‘No, you can’t do that,’ said an angry voice behind them. They turned to see Maggie, supporting herself against the doorway of the hut. ‘He will kill anyone who gets in his way and he has to be stopped. He has to die.’
‘Bloodthirsty thing isn’t she?’ Will whispered to Much. Much grinned.
Walking over to Maggie, Robin steered her into their group, and helped her to sit next to him. She had a blanket tightly wrapped around her, but otherwise looked much recovered from the previous day’s events.
‘I know you’re scared,’ he told her, taking her hand. ‘But this is what we do, we risk our lives to help others, and part of that is acting in the right way, even when it would be easier not to. Don’t worry, you can stay here until this is sorted, l don’t think it would be safe for you to go back home just yet.’
Maggie wrenched her hand free. ‘Fine,’ she said heatedly. ‘There’s clearly nothing more l can say.’ Glaring around at the rest of the group she stalked back into the hut, pulling the cover back over the doorway behind her.
‘That is one determined woman’ murmured Much.
‘Robin, you’re not yet recovered enough to face this man, can you even hold a sword steady, let alone draw an arrow?’ LittleJohn asked.  He was Robin’s oldest friend, aside from Much, the Miller’s son. Behind John’s dour demeanour, was a shrewd and calculating mind, able to weigh up situations – and people – quickly, and see the occasional flaw in Robin’s many schemes. Often, it was a seemingly small suggestion from him which gave Robin’s cunning plans their extra touch of brilliance, but such was his normally unassuming ways that few would guess as his importance to the successful running of the small band of outlaws.
‘Maybe Will and l should go and watch the castle, see what happens,’ interposed Much. ‘If the assassin is on his own this time, it could be days before we need to start worrying about him finding us. It’ll give us plenty of time to get prepared.’
‘Much is right,’ added Will. ‘The sheriff doesn’t like failure, and this assassin has let him down. If the envoy leaves on his own, it’s going to reflect badly on the sheriff, and he’s not going to like that.’
‘All right.’ said Robin. ‘Will and Much will go to the castle. Get back here the second he appears and you know which direction he’s heading, don’t take any chances,’ he directed. The two men nodded. ‘Until we hear otherwise, we’ll assume he’s on his own. The rest of us are going to work out how to get him where we want him.’
It didn’t take the remaining members of the company long to formulate a plan to corner the assassin, and they soon separated to begin their individual preparations. Until now, they had only been seeking to avoid a confrontation, a course of action that Robin preferred to risking his men needlessly. Once again Robin wondered where Maggie had got her information from, and despite his intentions to not disturb her until they were due to leave, he piled a plate with food, as a peace offering, and carried it to the entrance to the hut.
‘Maggie, can l come in?’ he asked, as he pushed aside the animal hide covering the doorway. There was no reply, and it took only seconds for Robin to determine that the room was empty. Robin quickly searched the camp, but there were few places for her to hide, if that had been her intention, and the group gathered back around the central fire.
‘She’s left.’ Robin stated angrily.
‘But where would she go?’ asked Littlejohn, ‘And why? She knows this is the safest place for her to be right now? Maybe she went back home?’ He suggested.
‘She could have been gone for some time.’ Pointed out Tuck. ‘Has anyone seen her since Will and Tuck left?’ Each of the small company shook their heads.
‘It makes sense that she might have gone back home,’ Robin mused.
‘Unless she’s gone to confront the assassin herself, she seemed pretty upset that you wouldn’t agree to kill him, Robin. Maybe she’s gone to tackle him first, before you get to him.’ Said Allan.
‘No, she was scared of him,’ said Robin. ‘Besides, she’s a woman, she wouldn’t have the skill,’ his voice trailed off. He swore an oath, and as his eyes met Tuck’s, they came to the same realisation. ‘We have got to find her.’ He said urgently.
‘Tuck, Maggie knows you better than anyone here. Go back to her cave, see if she’s there. If she is, find out what else she knows. Allan, get to Will and Much. LittleJohn and l will track her, l’ve got a nasty feeling she knows where the assassin will be.’ Swearing freely, he grabbed his bow, and together they ran as they left the camp.
‘She’s heading back to her cave,’ LittleJohn panted to Robin a short while later.
‘Let’s hope she’s still there.’ Added Robin shortly. He was still as angry as when he had realised that Maggie had slipped away. He had thought he had gained her trust, but reflecting on the previous day’s event as he ran, pain flaring in his side with each step, he realised that in fact it was the other way around – she had gained his trust by the unflinching way she had chosen to save his life at the expense of her own. A few minutes later, Robin and LittleJohn saw Tuck, crouching beside a fallen tree. Joining him, he clapped a hand on Robin’s shoulder.
‘She’s been and gone,’ he stated. ‘My guess is, she came back to collect something, the place is as we left it yesterday, and the chest LittleJohn hid is still there.’
‘Weapons.’ Said Robin shortly.
‘We don’t know that,’ said LittleJohn. ‘She might just have panicked and ran.’
‘Let’s assume not,’ said Robin. ‘You two go to the others, carry on our plan as we made it. I’ll follow Maggie’s tracks. If it’s clear she’s headed out of the forest, l’ll meet you. Otherwise l’ll deal with Maggie and join you when l can.’
LittleJohn looked less than happy at the plan, but nodded, and within moments Robin was lost to sight.
Maggie was light, and fleet-footed, but years of living in the forest had honed Robin’s tracking skills, and he quickly picked up her trail again. It was soon obvious that she was heading deeper into the forest, close to where she and Robin had been hit by the assassin’s arrows the day before. As he became more confident of her direction, he slowed his pace, conserving his energy. His wound had settled to a deep, persistent ache, coupled with sharper stabs of pain when he needed to bend to check the ground, but Robin ignored his discomfort. As the sun moved towards midday, the tracks became fresher, and Robin knew he was gaining on her.
Maggie was gazing at a small locket, cupped in one hand, when Robin hauled himself onto the low branch where she crouched with her back to the trunk. She didn’t bother to look round as he settled himself next to her.
‘Is that your family?’ he asked casually.
Maggie snapped the locket shut, and replaced it in the small bag at her waist. ‘You found me then,’ she observed sourly.
‘What are you doing here Maggie?’ Robin Hood asked quietly. ‘This isn’t the place for a woman, even one who has been to the Holy Land. Tell me how you know about this assassin.’
‘I’m not one of your men,’ said Maggie, turning to stare at Robin. ‘I don’t answer to you, and what business is it of yours where l go?’ She felt only irritation at his presence. Sourly she thought of the men who, in the years following her husband’s death, had seen her as either a defenceless woman in need of their protection, or as a helpless woman ready to be taken advantage of. In the end, it all came down to the same thing, she thought bitterly.
‘It’s my business when l think you’re going to interfere with my plan. Go home Maggie, and forget this man. I know he shot you, and l know you want him dead, for whatever reason, but this is my forest, and l will not allow you to kill in cold blood.’
Suddenly, in a move so swift Robin had barely time to register it, she sprang to her feet, aimed, and released her bow. Below them, a pig squealed, and shot from cover, the arrow deep in its side. The next arrow was Robin’s and it took the pig in the head. It collapsed as if pole-axed.
‘This is your forest,’ she mimicked in scorn, as she dropped lightly to the ground. She strode over to the pig,  ‘Do you know how many men and women there are living outlawed in these woods, or how big Sherwood forest truly is? This time yesterday you didn’t even know me. If we hadn’t happened to hide at the same tree, l’d still be sitting here today, waiting, but you would be dead.’ Folding her arms, she glared up at him.
‘All right.’ He said, careful not to antagonise her further. ‘Well, while we’re here, humour me. Tell we how you came to be living in the forest. I know you’re a healer, l know you help the villagers, and l know you don’t do it for the money.’
Maggie sighed, and looked away. ‘It suits me, this way of life. I depend on no one, and there’s no one who depends on me. I aid the sick and injured because it would be wrong to have the knowledge and training to help, and do nothing. But l couldn’t live amongst them.’ Maggie paused, and worried at a small hole in her sleeve. ‘I get so tired sometimes though,’ she continued in a small voice. ‘I wonder what the point of it is, everything l do is so small. I question if l make any difference really. Maybe it’s not a kindness to help bring babies into the world, when all they have to face is suffering and hardship.’ She wiped at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. ‘But then l come back here, into the forest, and l feel clean again, whole, and l wonder what else l expect from this life God’s given me.’
There was silence between them, as Maggie rolled the pig into a small depression in the ground, and covered it with leaves. Wiping the blood from her hands on her skirt, she hauled herself back into the tree.
‘The assassin’s name is Garth.’ She said once she had settled herself. ‘I know how he operates in woodland. He quarters the area, starting from the last known location. We were over in that direction yesterday,’ she said, gesturing in front of her. ‘So, he will work his way past here. He won’t find our trail, obviously, and l believe he won’t come further than here before he gives up. I’ll catch him off-guard just when he thinks there’s no way l could be out here.’ She laid a hand on the bow balancing across her knees. ‘One good shot is all l need.’
‘You said ‘l’’ Robin stated. A frown of annoyance crossed Maggie’s face, as she stared out into the trees. ‘Not ‘we’ or ‘you’, but ‘there’s not way l could be out here’. You think he’s hunting you.’ He grabbed Maggie’s arm, and twisted her around so that she was facing him. ‘Who are you?’ He demanded. ‘Why would this Garth want you dead too?’
‘All right,’ Maggie said with a sigh. ‘I guess you don’t leave me with much choice.’ Gently pulling her arm free from Robin’s grasp, she carefully stood up, balancing herself with one hand on the trunk. Puzzled, Robin also began to stand, when a swift kick sent him tumbling to the ground. He lay dazed, as Maggie landed lightly beside him. ‘I’m sorry, Robin Hood, this is nothing personal,’ she said, as she swung her fist. Robin managed to turn his head aside, so that the blow grazed his cheekbone. He swung one leg up and thrust as hard as he could, sending her tumbling backwards. Without hesitation he sprung forwards, pinning her to the ground. ‘I’m getting tired of this.’ He growled. ‘Now, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Garth.’

‘Dammit, Robin should be here by now,’ whispered LittleJohn. He, Tuck, Will and Much were hidden beneath a thicket of gorse which crowded one edge of the hollow which yesterday had been the scene of Maggie and Robin’s narrow escape. As soon as Will and Much had seen Garth emerge alone from the castle gates, they had headed back into the forest, meeting Tuck and LittleJohn along the way. It had been an obvious guess that the assassin would resume his search at he point at which he had yesterday been forced to abandon his hunt, but knowing the forest as well as they did allowed the outlaws plenty of time to reach the spot, and erase the drag marks left by Maggie’s makeshift stretcher, which had led down to the water’s edge.
The plan had been for the four men to lie in wait, whilst Robin confronted the man, seemingly alone. Robin, as was his custom, would give the man one chance. If he chose to continue with his attempt to slay Robin, then Robin would have no choice but to kill Garth. At that point, Robin’s men would emerge from their hiding places in case he tried to escape. Unfortunately, Robin was nowhere to be seen, and unless the assassin failed completely to find the correct place, LittleJohn reckoned he could not be much longer.
He exchanged worried glances with the other men. ‘If Robin does not show, we must abandon the plan.’ Urgently, he motioned their protests to silence. ‘Much will track him, and at a distance, we will follow Much. Will stays here, for Robin.’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Much, but a sharp intake of breath from LittleJohn drew their attention to the far edge of the hollow. Stepping carefully into the shaded clearing appeared the man who had been tracking them for the past week. Dressed entirely in black, he was in sharp contrast to the clothing of the forest men, whose soft browns and greens mimicked the forest colours. His close-cropped hair was also black, and his face was darkly tanned. Confidently, he walked with a soundless tread to the now exposed shallow depression that yesterday had so effectively hidden Robin and Maggie. Crouching, Robin’s men saw him reach for a single leaf, and examine it closely. It was clearly stained with blood, and it took the man only moments more to find several others. His grunt of satisfaction carried clearly across the area, and the hidden men watched with increasing alarm as the assassin began to methodically work his way out from the bloodstained leaves, searching the ground minutely.
Urgently, Much made a series of emphatic signs to LittleJohn, who shook his head, puzzled. ‘What?’ he mouthed. Much repeated the signs, to general bafflement. Shrugging his shoulders, he suddenly bounded from cover, and leapt to the floor of the hollow.
‘I am Robin Hood,’ he declared. ‘And l demand-.’ His speech was abruptly cut off, as the assassin sprung at Much, and pole-axed him with a single blow. ‘No, you are not,’ he snarled, as he snatched a short knife from his belt. He raised his arm to drive the blade into Much, but it went spinning harmlessly away, as LittleJohn jumped into the clearing, knocking the blade away with his staff. The man in black nursed his stunned fingers, backing further into the clearing as the other appeared. They spread out, but the man moved to one side, where the slope of the hollow rose sharply, preventing the men from surrounding him. With a smoothness, which belied any serious injury to his hand, he swept twin curved blades from their scabbards, and, keeping the blades low, weaved them in front of him. A small, hard smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and LittleJohn realised with a sinking feeling that the man stood in front of them saw the four men as a challenge, one which he relished, and believed himself, equal to. This, he knew, would be a fight to the death.
The fight was hard and brutal, but the four men were unable to break through the assassin’s defences. The two blades enabled the man in black to both attack and defend, taking his opponent’s blade on one sword edge, while the other blade swung to slash at an undefended torso. Robin’s men took it in turns to attack, but the man seemed to dance around them, parrying and thrusting seemingly with little effort, his movements liquid. Seeing an opening, LittleJohn drove the end of his staff into the back of the man’s knee, sending him onto one knee, but the man’s attack didn’t falter. Rolling sideways, he came up close to Much’s prone body, and with a wicked grin, raised one sword to hack at his exposed neck.
Suddenly, the sword spun from the man’s hand, as an arrow sunk deep into his forearm. With a snarl, he stood, and with only the slightest stiffness in one leg to show where LittleJohn had hurt him, turned to find his new opponent.
Robin pushed Maggie against the tree. ‘Stay here, and don’t move,’ he ordered. As he began to move away, Maggie grabbed his tunic. ‘How much do you trust me?’ she asked him.
Robin narrowed his eyes, considering her question. ‘You’ve saved my life twice without question, l’d be a fool not to.’
Maggie released him. ‘Good. Then listen to me,’ she said swiftly. ‘When Garth makes his move,’ she motioned to cut him off as he made to speak. ‘When he makes his move,’ she repeated, ‘loosen your arrow, and l will ensure that his aim is not true.’  He gave a single nod of his head, and moved clear of the protection of the tree, raising his bow as he did so. With careful steps, he moved into the hollow.
‘Last chance Garth,’ said Robin, with an arrow trained steadily at the assassin. ‘Walk away and forget you’ve ever been to Sherwood Forest.’
Garth didn’t reply. Without breaking eye contact with Robin, he drew forth his own bow, recursive in design and smaller than Robin’s. Taking careful aim, he raised it until it pointed directly at Robin’s face.
‘You can’t win here,’ Robin continued, his voice conversational. ‘Just walk away and no-one will be the wiser.’
Garth sneered, and took a sidestep, putting the prone form of Much further between himself and Robin. Unexpectedly, another voice spoke. ‘Robin’s right. Whatever you do today, your reputation is ruined, you can’t win.’ Maggie stepped into the clearing, her own bow notched with an arrow, and pointed directly between the two men. ‘It’s already based on a lie,’ she continued. ‘What is it they say about you again?’ she said musingly. ‘No man has escaped him alive. That’s a carefully worded statement don’t you think? Because l escaped you, didn’t l? Of course, l’m not a man, although l believe l am the only person to escape you. So the question is, who’s it to be Garth? You can only kill one of us, because whoever of us is left standing, l swear to the gods, will kill you without a second’s thought.’
Without taking his eyes off Garth, Robin spoke softly to Maggie. ‘Maggie, this isn’t your fight. Put down your bow.’
‘No Robin, this isn’t your fight. I’ve been waiting to avenge the death of my husband and baby son for three years.’ Maggie’s voice broke as she continued. ‘You can’t stop me Robin, and Garth isn’t going to walk away, we all know it.’ Garth’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t speak.
‘So how’s this going to work, Maggie?’ Robin asked. ‘One of us has to make the first move, unless Garth decides to lower his bow.’ He raised an questioning eyebrow at Garth, but the answering grin was mocking. ‘So it’s stalemate.’ Said Robin.
‘No, it’s not Robin,’ said Maggie, tightening her bow. ‘Garth’s made his decision. The only question remains, how much do you trust me?’
For a split second, Robin’s eyes left Garth’s face, to glance at Maggie. It was the mistake Garth had been waiting for, and in that second, he let fly his arrow. Robin’s arrow was a shadow later, but while Robin’s buried itself deep in the other man’s throat, Garth’s was knocked aside by Maggie’s arrow.
Garth dropped to his knees, his hands plucking uselessly at the arrow protruding from his throat, as the blood flowed freely. Before the others could react, Maggie strode to Garth’s side. Kneeling down, Maggie pulled out her knife, and rammed it to the hilt into Garth’s stomach. His eyes turned to her, and they stared, eyeball to eyeball, Maggie supporting his body, as she watched the life drain from his face, until he became a dead weight in her arms and his eyes glazed over. Only then did Robin pull her away, and the man in black’s body fell lifelessly to the ground. With murder in her eyes, she swung on Robin, but her rage drained away as he raised his hands. ‘Put the knife down, Maggie,’ he said gently, ‘it’s over’. Her gaze dropped to the bloody knife in her hand. Opening her fingers, she let the blade drop to the ground.

‘Well, l don’t know, she’s a bit bloodthirsty isn’t she?’ Allan said in reply to Robin’s question. ‘I’d be worried about that knife of hers.’
         ‘The man killed her wife and child and left her for dead, l think in the circumstances it was understandable.’ Said Robin patiently.
         ‘She’s handy with a bow.’ Pointed out LittleJohn. ‘That was a shot worthy of you, Robin.’
         ‘I’m not suggesting she stay permanently,’ said Robin. ‘But she needs somewhere to stay now her home has been destroyed by the sheriff’s men, and she’s here now. She could be useful.’
         ‘And she’s a woman.’ Added Much. The others looked at him questioningly. ‘Well, cooking and stuff, women’s things. I’m just saying, she could cook, and she’s a healer, that’s useful too. Not to mention that pig she brought back with her.’
Robin looked at Will. He shrugged. ‘Whatever you think Robin. She’s a good person.’
‘Well, l don’t mind,’ said Allan. ‘But if she starts, you know, tidying up and stuff, or wanting us to wash, then l say she’s out.’
Robin laughed. ‘If Maggie told you to wash, l guarantee you’d do it, she’s pretty persuasive.’
He turned to face Maggie as she appeared at the door of the hut. She hesitated when she saw that they were all looking at her, but Robin smiled, and beckoned her over. ‘Come and join us, Maggie,’ he said, ‘we’ve got something to ask you.’