Nottinghamshire - Castle De Burgh

A few days later

The sun disappeared behind the horizon, drenching the sky in the star-embroidered veil of night and returning, accompanied by birdsong, for a fresh day and the next run of the sun.

People went about their day's work, tilling the fields, cutting wood, and driving the cattle across the green of the meadows. It was not long before word spread of the robbed tax coach and the thieves who had tangled with the prince's men. The rumors were quashed quickly and with a firm hand, but this endeavor was not really successful. Rumour and whispers traveled from ear to ear, spreading like a leaf with the wind.

Three times the morning light greeted Sherwood Forest and the surrounding lands with rays of golden light. On the morning of the fourth day, the bells rang as if in greeting, foreshadowing that this day would not be like the others before.

Nottingham's grey and dirty streets were thronged with far more servants than usual. Traders had already spread their wares on display at dusk, and the mood seemed to rise on a mild wind of expectant uplift. In the market square, the innkeeper had already brought a few benches and tables into the street in the morning, and small garlands of colorful pennants fluttered in a balmy breeze.

On days like these, even the tormented people could forget their worries for a little while. Many a happy farmer had received a good wage for his goods at the market in front of the fortress; showmen made people laugh or marvel in the street and castle courtyard. Even the odd suckling pig sizzled over fires and was distributed free of charge by the lord of the castle to the people on this day of joy, along with beer and mead, to stir up spirits: for today, and ONLY today, was the cradle feast of his only daughter!

Nottingham and the fortress were buzzing like a beehive. Scores of visitors from surrounding villages and homesteads swarmed into the streets for the feast of the day the young lady had not retreated behind the walls with the high nobility. Unlike many names of noble lords who spread nothing but grief and hatred in those days, the Maiden was known for her heart for the ordinary people, and today her anniversary brought even greater joy: a small tournament in the front yard of the castle-competitions in which even the common people were allowed to participate and win prizes.

What caused an uproar in some noble circles gave the common people an opportunity on this day that was otherwise reserved for the nobles. The rush of this festival was correspondingly great. Soon the scenes of the competitions were surrounded by onlookers, and the scribes' lists were so long that several rounds had to be scheduled.

In particular, the discipline for which almost every Englishman was born with a passion was in great demand: archery.

"There are to be more than three rounds, sire," reported the herald his father had sent ahead, and Guy gave an amused snort.

'I should have guessed their favorite discipline would not be missed,' thought the young man on the big steed, letting his eyes wander. Guy couldn't remember the last time he had seen Nottingham and its people so exuberant.

"Just look at this collection of scum," a dark voice rose beside him. A dark sound, cool and harsh - like the beating of black raven wings as the dreaded messenger of death took to the air from the frozen ground.

The Sheriff wrinkled his slightly crooked nose and brushed back his raven-black hair. A cloak trimmed with black mink lay around his shoulders, and a noble chain left no doubt that he was a man of distinction. There were times when the same man had been seen carrying out orders. However, those days were far away and hardly imaginable when one looked at the straight posture and the jutted chin.

The Sheriff of Nottingham had the same effect on bystanders as his heraldic animal, the raven, which he wore on an embossed brooch: Glances that lingered on the guardian of law and order and then moved away again in trepidation. Most commoners avoided the horses in a wide arc or even changed direction.

The lawman, known beyond the borders of Sherwood, had already personally collected the people's debts in some villages - by force when harsh words had no longer brought any results. The people feared him and bowed their heads when he rode by. But since some wealthier guests had been invited, hedge knights and noblemen, the hungry people in particular, always dared to come closer to the riders.

They hoped for a donation, a little copper, maybe even a pound sterling if someone would be generous. A mild gift, no matter what it was. Sometimes one of the rich would take pity on them, give them a shawl or perhaps something they deemed worthless enough to give away and feel generous afterward. But even these little things helped people. It was a small sign of humanity. And so the poorer ones stretched their hands, and children reached out to the riders. Some, however, were so hungry and desperate that they pushed themselves up and would not let go.

Two other men, also accompanying the small troop, had dismounted for this reason and roughly pushed away the troublesome people, who did not make room of their own accord. An old man with a walking stick stood in their way and was not fast enough, so the men grabbed him and pushed him aside so harshly that he fell.

"Is this really necessary, Father?" Guy urged his stallion closer to the Sheriff's steed.

He couldn't quite explain where this unwelcome trepidation in his belly came from. But lately, he found it increasingly difficult to recognize respect instead of fear in people's faces. This display of violence increased, and his father showed less consideration toward ordinary people. Guy knew that his father was coming under increasing pressure. The disappearance of the tax money less than a week ago had made big waves.

"Are you afraid I'm being too harsh?" the Sheriff of Nottingham asked, his smooth tone already telling Guy that he was treading on thin ice. However, the look of sharpened blades, which had undoubtedly been Guy's source in their grey-blue color, settled on his son with a sharp point.

Anyone who thought Guy received much consideration from his father or special treatment was sorely mistaken. Ever since he was a boy, his father had shown a marked harshness towards him.

'The best steel can only be forged under the hardest blows,' Guy had heard repeatedly. And he had felt those blows enough. So that he grew stronger and harder. The world was cruel, and so were the people. He had to become merciless - because so was the law.

'I just want to help people,' a voice whispered in his memory, making him waver between a sense of duty and unexpected pity.

Guy was already regretting his question. It was quietest in the eye of the storm, but that silence did not last long. It was already too late for regret, however.

"Do you think I don't know where you got this sudden pity?" the Sheriff continued, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare let the soft heart of a woman implant pity in you! Such compassion will deceive your judgment. And if you honor the law and the commandments of the Crown, you must be as impartial as you possibly can." At this, he pointed to a few poor people prowling the stinking streets among the rubbish and dark shadows. "Don't be fooled by these lies; you fool!" his father hissed like an approaching arrow. "These people have more than they want you to believe!"

The Sheriff's gaze slid over the numerous peasants running through the streets laughing. "Only a day before, they had professed to have nothing - today, they come here and spend their money on mead and charlatans! What do you think we should do? Stop collecting taxes?" the Sheriff sneered. "Open your eyes: for every refuser of the tax debt, we have English men in Jerusalem who get no shields, bows, or arrows! Each of them is guilty of the death of a countryman, slaughtered by a heretic!" The Sheriff reached aside and grabbed his son's shoulder. "Wake up, Guy. If we don't, Prince John will send soldiers. Then every village and castle that won't pay will burn, and they will take it by force!"

"Please, Sire, show some mercy! Just a single coin for a poor man who has lost everything!" suddenly begged a ragged figure beside the Sheriff's steed. Somehow, the good-for-nothing had managed to take advantage of the guards' busyness and clung to the Sheriff's boot and leg in the meantime. Dirty and filthy fingers made the Sheriff's lips curl in disgust and his face grimace in annoyance. The man stank horribly of horse manure and rotten straw!

"Get your filthy hands off me!" the irritated man barked, kicking hard at the almoner with his boot. The blow hit the man against the chest, flinging him back onto his back and making him roll to the side in groaning pain. Immediately a gaunt woman came rushing to help the poor man up. Perhaps she was just looking to see if one could steal something from the other. These scoundrels knew no honor. They would have stolen the bread from a child's mouth if it made them full themselves.

The Sheriff curled his lips and looked down with disdain at the beggar and the ragged figure before continuing to drive the horse. He did not want to waste another thought on this scum. Instead, he turned his gaze back to his son. "Hunger is no justification for breaking the law. It starts with theft, and then it becomes murder. Laws distinguish us from wild animals. And whoever breaks them will be treated like one. A wild animal that harms a human being - what happens to it?"

"It is shot," Guy pressed out. This answer should be louder. He should sound more convinced.

"That's right," satisfied, the Sheriff nodded and pressed his boots into his horse's flanks. "Besides, I'll put my hand on the fact that a large proportion of this shady and dirty lot is secretly funneling the money to a rebellion against the Crown!"

At these words, Robin Hood, who had hidden under the beggar's hood, could not help grinning mischievously.