From her position in the treetops, Marian watched as the battle broke out, and within moments, the first blood was spilled. The vanguard of soldiers on horseback, rushing towards the bandits, knew their advantage only too well. On horseback, attacking the men on the ground was easy without being hit.

The soldiers' longswords flashed in a deadly promise, and under their tabards, a closer look revealed solid brigantines and steel chainmail. Dirt swirled behind the horses' hooves, and the soldiers' armor rattled in a metallic sound like war drums. The riders quickly claimed the first life, ending it with a merciless sword slash.

The men from the forest were not nearly armed enough to gain the upper hand in this fight. Many of them possessed no more than wooden clubs or long sticks, which they had presumably picked up in the forest and cleared of bark. Two poked at the riders with pitchforks, and the blond archer, who had earlier yelped at Marian and shot at them, stayed back a bit to at least get a hit with an old bow. Unfortunately for him, he only hit the rider in the shoulder so that the latter staggered briefly from the force but quickly regained his balance and drove the steed towards the archer.

For a second, Marian hesitated and no longer knew which side she should be on. They had wanted to raid the carriage because the baron who owned it had been fleecing his people for some time. However, their plan had been far less bloody. Now, however, a fight had broken out, and although the men were simple brigands and bandits who had been anything but friendly to them, Marian knew that it was a necessity that had driven them into the woods and to this act. How desperate did one have to be to engage in a fight with royal guards without training or equipment?

But even these were not necessarily guilty of a crime. They, too, probably had a family waiting for them in the evening. In the end, they were doing their job and following the law. Right and wrong. That should be easy. From what they had been taught, this decision should have been easy. Bandits were criminals. They stole. That was wrong. They were everything a good and royal citizen abhorred and a righteous lady feared. But she was no mere lady. She was no longer the girl of old, with the embroidery hoop on her lap, watching intently as her chambermaid braided a coiffure into her hair.

Her world had changed. And if she had learned anything, it was that there was neither black nor white - and no path could be taken without sacrifice. She could only hope that she was making the right decision.

This was the money an already wealthy man stole from his citizens, who had nothing left, while he sat on a pretty throne in London. He stole the last crumbs from their plates - and then the plates to go with it! For once, her heart and mind completely agreed about that: it was wrong!

And now she watched trained soldiers slaughtering desperate citizens for trying to reclaim some of the stolen wealth. Swords clanged, arrows flew through the air, and blood was spilled. She could not let that happen. They would all die...!

'Damn it,' Marian gritted her teeth, raising her bow and directing her gaze along the arrow shaft at the tumult of battle. The arrow rested calmly and securely on the edge of her hand and the shelf (*), the tip ready to fire.

The huge giant caught one of the riders and yanked him straight off his high steed as if he were picking an apple.

"MARIUS!" Robin's voice snapped them out of their stupor. A soldier lunged, and his sword met Robin's blade with a loud clang. Marian had not even noticed that the latter had run into the fight and was trying to defend those lying on the ground.

While the other guards took on several bandits at once or sent them to a quick death, Hood showed fighting skill. He dived under an attack, kicked the man in the stomach with his knee, and immediately drew his sword across his chest in an attack from the upper right. The tabard gaped open, but the blade did not penetrate through the chainmail into the soldier's flesh. Robin did not seem surprised by this, and Marian remembered their agreement, which still held true here: 'We are not dirty murderers. We only hurt if we have to, but we don't kill anyone.'

"Marius! Have you fallen asleep?" roared Robin, dodging his opponent's next blow and obviously having lost his mischievousness. "For fuck's sake, shoot already!"

'Marius? Did that mean her?'

Marian looked at the other gunman, but he had disappeared. He had probably fled since he was not lying on the ground bleeding or dead, and she could not spot him even in the melee. But then, who did Robin mean by Marius? Then it hit her like a lightning bolt, and Marian blinked in bewilderment. He was not going to betray her!'Oh, a heavenly wonder. He uses his brain,' she noted, taking one deep breath to collect herself. 'Concentrate!' A strand of red tickled her forehead and slipped to the side as she pulled back the string.

The soldier roared. Robin cursed. Again and again, they shifted positions, rounded, and bumped each other. A dance without a fixed sequence of steps, unpredictable and deadly if one made a misstep. She had to wait for the right moment - otherwise, she would hit Robin instead of the guard.

Seconds dragged on, flowing viscously like honey leisurely stretching before deciding to flow on. Marian held her breath; then her fingers released the arrow from her grip. The string sped forward, the fletching arcing past the bow's body. Her arrow took its course and flew whirring through the air until it bored into the soldier's thigh. Right between the brigantine and the leather boots.

The man roared, losing concentration, and Robin took the opportunity without hesitation. He lunged at him, knocking him to the ground with his attack, and smashed his sword hilt into the soldier's face. It cracked, blood shot from the man's nose, and, disoriented, he dropped his weapon before Robin delivered a thunderous blow with the pommel against the chainmail. The force was so violent that the man rolled his eyes and lay motionless on the ground. Immediately Robin picked himself up again and rushed to the aid of one of the peasants, towards whose chest a blade flew.

At the same moment, Marian spotted in the corner of her eye the giant, Will, and another of the bandits at the wheel carriage.

"Come on, John! Faster!" urged Will on the giant, whose paws were against the bolted door of the carriage. A bolt shot through the carriage's lattice window and missed the giant's head by a hair's breadth. He staggered back a step - but not for long. Immediately he bridged the gap again, his fingers literally shooting forward and gripping the iron bars.

Marian could imagine that inside the carriage, the poor fellow was now breaking out in a sweat. He was probably fiddling with the crossbow in the narrow carriage house, laboriously trying to insert the next bolt. But the attempt was fruitless: he was definitely not fast enough. The giant named John let out a loud roar that might have been reminiscent of a wild animal. His face turned red from the effort, his muscles tensed, and his dirty shirt groaned under the tension's weight. Then there was a crash, splinters flew, and iron hinges broke from the wood of the carriage walls.

The Lady saw this John reached in and dragged a soldier from inside with one hand. He had grabbed the pitiful guard by the scruff of the neck and began to shake him. Gasping, the latter tried to get rid of the chain bonnet choking him from his neck - or alternatively, to loosen the fingers of the blond-haired giant. But neither was crowned with success. The shivering poor guy was a buffoon, gangly and completely overwhelmed by the situation. He had - literally - wet his trousers. Whimpering and sobbing, he thrashed about in agony, trying to defend his life against the terrible bandits.

The giant drew his bushy blond eyebrows together, lashed out, and a blow to the skull sent the lad into the realm of dreams. John tossed him aside as if he were no more than a doll made of straw.

At that moment, an arrow struck the neck of the bandit beside Will. The point pierced the throat, and blood gushed as if from a mountain spring between the fingers of the pitiful man who tried vainly to press them on his neck. Within seconds his body went limp, and he remained motionless in the dirt beside his cronies. It was a slaughter - the leader of this raid probably realized that now, for the soldiers were slowly but visibly gaining the upper hand and thinning the ranks of the highwaymen.

"Robin!" Marian pointed to the carriage, where the thieving magpies had just pulled out the sacks of tax money and fled deeper into the forest. Those bastards just disappeared with their loot!

*Shelf = Arrow rest below the 'bow window' ( To help: http://blog.bogensportdeutschland.de/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/bogenbestandteile-1.jpg )