Oh, What a Merry Gang of Outlaws

The sky was dark that evening, as the militia flooded into Locksley. The heavens above opened, and the fiercest rain poured down, hitting everything in sight, hard. The villagers were running in every which direction, in vain, tragic attempts to get away from the men clad in black on horseback. Watching from the top window of the Manor, my Manor, I sighed, observing so much blood spill with each person cut down. There was no point in me going down there; unless I, too, wanted to die.

So I left the room, travelling across the landing, and entered the prayer room. Closing the door, I moved to kneel in front of the little Prie-dieu. Clasping my hands together, I laced my fingers around each other, a small linen cloth hanging down from inside them. I closed my eyes, inhaling through my nose. Pursing my lips, I took a moment, before praying for the souls of all those innocent people, my innocent people.

It seemed, truly, as if England would never recover. The times were so bleak, so black. So doomed. The king was warring in a foreign land, against people that apparently meant more to him than those in his own kingdom; evil sheriff after evil sheriff ruling Nottingham and the lands within a fifty mile radius of it. Talk of a hero, of a small group travelling around, trying to stop the spread of control into the wrong hands.

News of my brother. The brother that had gone to fight in the Holy Land, alongside King Richard; the brother I had thought to be dead.

Releasing a soft sigh, my prayers soon came to an end, and I opened my eyes, standing to my feet. I was about to exit the room, when I heard a thunderous crash, and, hoisting my skirts, sprinted over to the tiny window in the corner, in time to see a dozen guards flooding into my home, followed by my best friend, my childhood companion, Isabella of Gisborne, the new sheriff. Now panicked with an alarm bell sounding in my head, I ran out of the room, quickly slowing to a halt. I could hear one set of footsteps, followed by another, ascending the first flight of stairs. This was definitely not a social call. This was violent, this was arrest, this was a short walk to the gallows.

I just did not know what I was meant to have done. Taking a huge chance, I shot up the second flight of stairs to the morning preparation room and my private bed chambers. I retreated through the preparation room, through to my chamber, gulping. Suddenly, I felt such overwhelming guilt for the lives just terminated so brutally by these men who were now tearing apart my household, the House of Hood, that they had died simply so I could be taken prisoner.

It was times like these, that I wished the king would pull his priorities together, and come home and govern his country and stamp out all the wrongdoers, all the evils of this God-forsaken land. But, for me, all hope was disappearing, and fast. When the door of the preparation room was kicked down, I saw the silhouette of it sliding across the room, crashing into the bathtub. I automatically played out my part, gasping, and ran out into the doorway. The water was spilling over the edges of the spotless white tub.

"What is this?!" I barked at the men, before noticing Isabella enter behind them. Pausing, I put on a frown.

"This, dearest Madge, is an arrest on Lady Hood."

"What for?" I demanded. Her men merely sneered, while she stepped through them to me.

There was a look in her eyes, that I knew was meant for the sight of only mine. She was sad.

"There have been testimonies of your allegiance with your brother, Robin Hood," she declared, for the benefit of her armed group. "And, more importantly, evidence."

"I have not seen nor heard from my sibling in nine years."

"Then, you are a liar."

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, feeling more betrayed than ever before. I was at a complete loss for words.

"Wait outside," she snapped at the men surrounding us. They, reluctantly, started to file out, and I winced, hearing the thud thud thud of their boots as they descended the stairs, then quiet as the house grew empty other than Isabella and I, and my livery, who were, probably, cowering in their quarters at the bottom of the house, wracked with terror.

Isabella came closer, grabbing up a sack from the corner of the room, beginning to shove my belongings into it.

"What are you doing?!" I hissed at her, thrown truly now. She was here to arrest me one minute, then packing my stuff the next?

Her head snapped up, her eyes - as they pierced into mine - dark, calculating, scared.

"There is nothing against you other than Prince John's hatred for Robin. I can only protect you if you do as I say," she breathed, hurriedly.

Raising an eyebrow, I knelt beside her, putting my hands over hers.

"Why would you help me?"

"Because you are my best friend Madge. Whether we see each other or not, anymore."

"Who else's head does he want?"

"Guy's."

I paused, gulping. "Izzy..."

"He sold me, Madge, like a piece of furniture. To someone who only abused me."

"He is your brother, though, at the end of the day."

"Family means nothing in this day. You and I both know that."

I nodded, giving in.

"I do," I murmured, before releasing her hands, and aiding her in the packing-up of my most required possessions.