The Boy with the Bow and Arrows

Robbie Hode is thirteen. He is hungry, tired, grief-stricken. Sherwood Forest stretches in front of him, his little impoverished community lights a fire in his heart, and the castle casts long shadows

I walk down the dirt trail, the summer sun burning warm on my arms, tanning my skin dark. My tanned skin, simple clothes, and worn shoes mark me as a member of the commoners rather than the gentry. I hold my bow and arrows in a large sack full of straw, so that no-one will see them. And I pretend to be one of the servants bringing food for the horses.

Around me the tournament roars on. The ladies in their fine dresses are sitting in their seats in the stands along with men in jewelled coats. Servants walk among the crowds holding out trays of food. Plump, well-fed children run after dogs. The young men in their chainmail or without chainmail line the grassy circle inside the arena. They practice their sword fighting and archery and jousting. The sun glints silver on their chainmail and the colours of their clothes bleed out from underneath. 

In the backdrop of all of this is the green branches of Sherwood Forest. The greenwood that always provided me with cover when I needed it. 

I am tired. I'm always tired. Years of labouring in the fields has made me bone-weary. Even when I was a little child I had to spend hours under the hot burning sun or the freezing winds with my back bent, toiling in the fields. And the weariness settled far beyond my arms and legs and back. It settled deep down into my very soul. 

And I am also overwhelmed with grief. With loss that drowns me in poison water and claws at my chest and throat. It makes it hard to breathe. Hard to stand. But I am filled with purpose. I must go on. 

I make my way to the stables, as the tournaments are about to start. The stables are populated only by horses and scurrying stable hands, and no-one pays me any mind as I take a seat on a hay stack in the corner. 

"Excuse me," I ask a stable hand rushing in. She's a girl a few years older than me, with her dark brown hair tied back in a single braid and an anxious expression on her face. I don't want to keep her too long. No doubt she's rushing to complete some task, fearful that she won't be fast enough. 

"Yes?" 

"Can you tell me when the archery tournament will start?" 

"Okay, young lad." Her tone is curious but sweet. Her eyes sparkle secretly. She pours cold, clean water on the most stinging parts of my pain. I hope I will see her again. 

"Thank you so much. I hope you get to see what I do." I smile at her, and she creases her brow and tilts her head in curiosity. I won't tell her any more though. I do however help her take two of the horses from their stalls. 

I have some time now to think. To pray. I pray to the holy mother Mary, who protects all deserving ones and brings salvation to the world. I pray to my own mother who is in heaven with her. 

A few months ago my mother fell ill and none of the village healers could help her. My father went into the lord's favourite lake to look for the plants my mother would need for her medicine. But in his worried haste he was careless. And he was caught trespassing on the lord's property. He was imprisoned for life. Our neighbours ventured out deep into the forest to find another lake to pick herbs from, as the lord's lake was now crawling with guards. But they took too long. My mother sickened and died. 

I remember the day when they told me my father was in jail. How I screamed into the sky and beat my fists against the wall. I remember how I felt so hopeless, so powerless to save him. And I remember sitting beside my mother in our tiny wooden hut in the sweltering summer heat as neighbours came in and out with food and herbs, watching her get sicker and sicker and sicker. I was so helpless. I could only watch her fade. 

I remember having to break the news to my brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. How their faces darkened at my words. How I couldn't console their tears. 

I remember lying in bed at my next door neighbour's hut. Taken in by them and treated like a fragile flower that would break with one misspoken word. Too afflicted to work. I remember having to get up before my jagged bleeding grief had healed and having to work. Because the lords and ladies and kings and queens needed more, needed more, they always needed more. And they didn't care that we were drowning in our grief. They stole from us anyways. 

My heart is full of hatred. For the lords and ladies that live lives full of gold and jewels and luxury while we barely scrape by with not nearly enough. It burns within me, hot and searing through me. Warming me. Giving me energy. Pushing me on. I've always felt this hatred, all my life. But now it's stronger than it's ever been before. And it feels like power. 

In all my fragility and broken jaggedness, I somehow feel invincible . 

I wonder if my father will be proud of what I'm about to do or if he will curse my carelessness. I care not. If I get caught I will meet him in prison. Or I will meet my mother in God's kingdom. And if I don't get caught, I have Sherwood Forest to run to and hide in. I have Mother Mary and my own mother watching over me. And I have enough hatred to burn down the world a million times over. 

I think of all the friends and neighbours I'll be leaving behind. It sends a fresh wave of grief flooding through my heart. I love my community. The community who raised me and loved me and gave me all they could. The community that eased my hurt and suffered alongside me and told me stories of the greenwood and its many inhabitants. They will worry for me. They will be besides themselves in aworry when they find out what I've done. Especially my neighbours who took me in. But hopefully they will draw hope from it. Hopefully they will be happy that I'm free. I can't thank them enough. I promise myself that I will find a way to thank them one day. 

As much as I will miss them, as they will miss me, I need to rebel. With everything that's inside me I need to rebel. And if I do rebel, if word of my feat gets out among the lands, they will be happy. Happy that I am free or dead with my head held high. Happy that someone stood up to the nobility. 

I think about my sisters and brothers. All mourning the same loss I am. I hope they don't have to mourn me. But I know that I would rather die free than live under the heel of the lords and nobles. They would too but not everyone had the same courage I have. And I don't blame them for it. I hope all my nieces and nephews will be safe. 

I will miss everyone so much. With an ache deep in the darkest hollows of my soul. But I need to do this. 

I walk over to the horses, and stroke their heads. They are as trapped as we are. Serving the nobles just as we do. I hold no ill will towards them. I give them the straw as I get out my bow. They munch at it. They are sweet. They smooth over just a tiny bit of my shattered heart, just for a second.I wipe the bow down with the hem of my tunic and sling it over my shoulder along with my quiver.

I look like an archer now. Not a professional archer among the ranks of the knights and lords. But an archer all the same.

"The archery tournament is about to start," the girl from before tells me as she walks through the door. The sun shines behind her and makes the frizz of her hair glow like a halo. She looks like an angel. But more than that she feels like an angel. With her kind, searching eyes and her strong, unbowed shoulders. I am struck by her. For a moment my words leave me as I fumble for use of my tongue. 

"Thank you," I say, walking over to her, "what's your name?" 

"Marion. And you, strange lad?" 

"Robbie." I give her a shy smile. 

"What are you planning?" 

"It'll be amazing. You will see." Hopefully it is amazing. Hopefully it amazes her. She almost makes me lose sight of my intense fear. Almost. 

"You better not be putting yourself in danger." 

"You've known me for a day and you already know me so well." 

We arrive at the edges of the tournament grounds. From there we watch the knights and noblemen shoot arrows towards the large turf-covered targets in the centre. From there we watch the competition unfold. They are so strong and shining and unbowed. I hate them. 

But something bright stirs to life inside me, something exciting, as I think about how I'm about to defy them. Brighter than anything I've ever felt before. But dark like a moonless night at the same time. The promise of sweet, sweet rebellion. It doesn't smother over my grief or fear but all three twist together inside me in a mad twirling dance. 

A boy a few years older than me is up now. He wears the shiniest chain mail I've seen and a gold band around his head. All the metallic shine makes my eyes hurt. Or is it my heart? He walks with a smug sort of confidence I've never seen before. He must be the prince. 

"Isn't he handsome?" Marion whispers to me. And I have to agree. He definitely is very handsome. My hatred for him has not made me blind. Lightly curling gold hair the same colour as his crown. Blue eyes like deep pools of water. Rosy pink lips. 

"Any girl would be lucky to have him," I whisper back. "Any lad as well," I say more quietly. 

"I don't want a spoiled rich boy. I want a lad who understands the harshness of life in the fields."

I don't reply to this message, though my heart jumps into my throat. That was a very rebellious thing for her to say. She will understand me, I'm sure. 

We watch the prince ready his bow and aim. He takes a long time aiming. Finally he releases the drawstring and the arrow glides right into the centre of the target. The crowd goes wild with cheering. 

I take a deep breathe as fear courses through me. It's not more fear than I've ever felt in my life. But it's a close thing. It clutches my throat and chest and makes it harder to breathe, harder to walk, harder to do anything but push myself forwards. It rises like a scream from my belly to my head. And it tries to stop me. But I will not be stopped. This is the moment of truth. The moment where my fate will be sealed. The moment where I will walk straight into death. I pray that it is a quick one. I pray that my feet will be light enough to carry me away. 

As the cheers begin to die out I walk to the tournament announcer. 

"Excuse me," I state, "may I have a go at the target?"

He turns around to me, looking down his nose with harsh eyes. Yet there is a cruel sort of amusement in them. My heart thuds like a heavy millstone in my chest. 

"Sure. Have a go. This will be humorous." His words are hard. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he continues, addressing the crowd, "this scrawny little boy has asked to make a shot." They laugh. I scowl back at them. "Do you want to see where his arrow will land?" They laugh but they cheer in agreement. I am afraid but I am so full of hatred that I go on anyways. I still have a chance to save myself. I could miss on purpose. But I won't. 

I step forwards, behind the wooden beam in the dirt. I take a deep breath. I can feel my heartbeat in my chest. Feel the air still around me. Feel the sun go cold against my arms. I take an arrow out of my quiver. I knock it in place and draw the bow. Time stills around me. My heart beats with a steady thudding. This moment was made for me. I aim. I aim. I aim. 

I send a prayer to my mother. And I let the arrow fly. 

It whizzes through the air, singing as it soars towards the target. It hits prince's arrow right on the nock and it continues to fly, slicing the other arrow in half and embedding itself firmly into the centre of the target. 

I smile just a little bit. Everyone stares in silence for a moment. I take this opportunity to run. 

Everything inside me is screaming. Both spring-bright and banshee-terrifying. My feet feel as if they are flying. As if they are made of some magic substance lighter than the air. I rush back towards the tree cover of Sherwood Forest, my pulse thudding in my ears. Fear screams and burns through me as I put as much distance as I can between myself and the knights and nobles. This is my chance. The only chance I'll get. 

I can make my mother, my father, and my whole entire community proud if only I can just escape. Make them hopeful.

"Seize him!" I hear an enraged shout behind me. My feet carry me even faster as I hear clamouring behind me and horses galloping. Fear waves through me and carries me forwards like a strong wind. Like a magical force. My lungs burn and my legs ache but I don't let that slow me down as my terror carries me. They are all after me. And all I have are me feet. 

I can make it though. I know I can make it. That thought races through my mind as I race through the clearing. 

I gallop into the underbrush and I duck and weave through it. The green of Sherwood Forest envelops me like a promise. But my mind is still screaming. It's not over yet. The horses cannot follow me as there are no trails here. But that doesn't stop men from following behind me on foot. They crash through the herbs and grasses and bushes. Slow and clumsy compared to my limbering litheness. And they lumber after me as I keep weaving my way through. I don't have time to breathe even as I move to put more and more distance between myself and them. My lungs burn my legs burn my mind burns my soul burns. 

I finally come across a river. Cool, flowing dark water that is my salvation. I jump in without thinking. And the nobles cannot follow behind. Only commoners know how to swim. And they won't be able to follow my tracks either. 

The water envelops me in a cold, flowing embrace. Holding me like a mother. It calms me down just a bit. I have a moment to thank the water and the forest for protecting me. I hold my breathe within the cold river and let the currents pull me where they need me to go. My journey isn't over yet. The pull inside me telling me to go on isn't over yet. But the water will carry me for this next part of my journey. Once I get too cold for me to bear it anymore, I swim to the other edge. There I let myself dry under the sun. 

The greenwood is quiet now. But I don't doubt that they have sent hunters every which way looking for me. I will have to keep alert and watchful. I cannot let my mind rest. 

Is this my life now, to live in constant fear of being captured? Well, my life was already lived in constant fear. Fear of sickness and injury and toil and hunger. Though I still curse the nobles for putting me through this, this sort of fear is a defiant fear at least. 

Now my life is my own. 

I wander through Sherwood Forest, making sure to stay far away from trails. I look for some berries or nuts to eat. My stomach scrapes against my insides in its emptiness. But I know that sooner or later I'll find a feast of berries to fill myself with. I know the greenwood. Though we're not allowed to go into the forest we still look to it for berries and roots and herbs and life. 

I think of all the people that I lost. All the people that I miss. I don't think I'll ever see them again. And while that thought squeezes my gut tight, I know that they will be proud of me. I think of Marion. Will I ever see her again? I hope so. I think of the prince. And the thought sends a shudder through me. 

I think I'm an outlaw now. I like that though. For now I am free and able to live my life for the sake of the greenwood not of the nobles that ask for more and more until they have everything. 

I don't know what I'm going to do. But I know that I have to avenge my father and mother. I know that I have to avenge all my people. Hatred burns in my heart but so does love and the two intertwine together to make a fire that can burn through the strongest of chains. I have to make the world more fair somehow. I have to make the common people more safe. I have to make the nobles afraid. 

The forest stretches out green before me and pain stretches down deep within me and I keep my eyes and ears alert while my heart watches the horizon.

Something inside me tells me that this is just the start. 

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