Free Outlaw by Michael Morpurgo Page B

their way again, his last words ringing in their ears. “And do not worry, my friend, your money will be used wisely. The homeless will have homes again, the hungry will be fed, the have-nots will have. And tell the sheriff this, tell Prince John if you like, that we will soon have enough put by to pay the good King Richard’s ransom. The people will have their rightful king back home, and soon.”
    Every time the sheriff heard this, it sent him into paroxysms of rage and fear, in about equal parts. He taunted Sir Guy of Gisbourne with his promise, but Sir Guy would not be baited. He told him to be patient, that for his plan to work Robin and his Outlaws must be lulled into a false sense of security, and that would take time. “Never fear, my Lord Sheriff, it won’t be long now,” he promised, again. But the weeks passed and the months, and stillRobin Hood was at large, and every day more and more the people’s hero. Each new story of how he had robbed the rich to give to the poor, or of some small kindness, was turning the man into a living legend. Exasperated, the sheriff sent for help to Prince John again, but the Prince was busy with other rebellions and could not or would not spare the sheriff any more soldiers. The sheriff was at his wits’ end. If once King Richard’s ransom was paid, he knew it would be the end of him. Somehow Robin Hood had to be stopped. Somehow.
    These were good times in Sherwood. More and more people flocked to Robin’s cause, happy enough to endure the hardships of living in the forest so long as they had the opportunity to fight the sheriff and Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Friar Tuck made Christians of them whether they liked it or not – and he was not a gentle persuader – sobetween him and Much and Robin, they made soldiers of them. Marion welcomed them all with open arms to their new home in Sherwood, she would turn no one away; but Will Scarlett and Robin’s father were not so pleased to see this new influx. They both knew how easy it would be to plant a spy in their camp. And they were right too, but Robin would not listen.
    Amongst those who had recently joined was a cobbler from Nottingham, one Alan Wicken. His hand had been chopped off, he told them, by the sheriff himself, in punishment for a rent he could not pay. They had no reason to doubt him. What neither Robin nor anyone could know was that he had lost his hand in a drunken brawl in London, and that he was a spy in the pay of Guy of Gisbourne. Alan Wicken was to let him know when next Friar Tuck was away on pilgrimage, for thefriar was the only one who knew the Abbess of Kirkleigh by sight and could betray her. He was also to make particular friends with Marion, and more importantly, much more importantly, to ingratiate himself with little Martin. It was not difficult, for Marion, even more than Robin, was the kind who always like to think the best of anyone. Alan would play for hours on end with little Martin. No one saw any harm in that.
    Friar Tuck had gone away on pilgrimage to Canterbury, and Alan had got word of it as quickly as he could to Sir Guy. He was romping with little Martin when Little John and Much came into the encampment, escorting a poor abbess and a dozen or more ragged-looking nuns. Robin and Marion greeted each of them warmly and invited them to share their supper that evening. They ate ravenously as only poor people do. Like everyone, Robin couldsee from their patched and torn habits, and their bare, bleeding feet, that these were not amongst those many nuns and friars who lived so well off the backs of the poor and needy.
    “Eat all you want,” he said, overcome with pity. “Stay as long as you like. Will Scarlett here will make you new habits. He has the cloth. He always has the cloth. He made all this green we stand up in, every stitch of it, didn’t you, Will? You shall have shoes on your feet. Alan Wicken will see to it for you. And then, with good food inside you, you will soon be strong