Orphan of Destiny by Michael Spradlin Page B

Robard Hode of Sherwood,” he said, shooting him a less than friendly look.
    “I hardly think so—” Robard sputtered, but I put my hand on his chest and shushed him.
    “That would be wonderful. We’ve had . . . a . . . what you could call a very eventful day, and we could use the rest,” I said. Without another word, Little John retreated in the direction from which he’d come. We gathered up our gear and horses and followed as he disappeared into the thick woods, Robard fuming and muttering curses under his breath the whole way. Angel took the lead, content to sniff at the ground and follow Little John’s scent.
    In a short while, we arrived at his camp. The fire was stoked and his tunic and other wet clothing dried on a bush nearby. He had changed into a loose-fitting cloak the size of a ship’s sail. An iron kettle full of pottage warmed over the fire. It was quite inviting.
    He had placed several cut sections of logs near the fire and bade us sit.
    “I don’t have much, but let the pottage simmer for a while and I’ll be happy to share.” John sat on a log, his hands holding his knees. Angel sniffed lightly at John’s leg and then leapt up into his lap and enthusiastically licked his face.
    “Whoa! What have we here?” he exclaimed. He scratched Angel behind the ears and she flopped onto her back so John could rub her belly. Her head lolled over and I swear she locked her eyes directly on Robard, who paced back and forth behind Maryam and I while we sat on the logs near the fire.
    “Traitorous beast,” he muttered under his breath.
    “John, what happened in these last few months to make you leave Dover?” I asked.
    “When Richard departed for the Holy Land, he left his sniveling brat of a brother John in charge. The bas—” He stopped, giving Maryam a sideways look. “Let’s just say he’s never met a tax he wouldn’t raise. He declared a ‘state of emergency’ to support the war, and he’s levied taxes on nearly every merchant, farmer and tradesman in the entire kingdom. No one can pay what he demands. And you can’t charge more to shoe a horse to cover the tax because no one else has money to pay you either.” He kicked at a log in the fire and sparks rose. The sun was peeking over the eastern sky, but it was still dark and overcast, and the flaming flecks swirled up into the air like swarms of bees.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    He shrugged his giant shoulders. “I couldn’t keep my smithy open, and one day a group of King’s Guards showed up with the Shire Reeve. John was sending his own guards out to collect taxes. I guess the bailiffs and the reeves couldn’t collect it fast enough to feed his little pig face. Anyway, they told me what I owed and knew I couldn’t pay it. So they took my equipment and things got rough. I took on six of them, and gave ’em a licking, that’s for certain,” he said.
    “Maybe I’m beginning to like you after all,” Robard muttered.
    John laughed. “Wasn’t anything left for me there. They tried dragging me off for assault, but I broke loose, took a horse and ran. I’ve been hiding out here ever since. When I served with Sir Thomas in King Henry’s army, I learned to always make sure I had a backup plan. Always kept a cache of tools and a few crosslets hidden nearby, enough to make do for a while. I found that bridge there and have been charging a toll to whoever passes by. I expect some baron owns the land, and he’ll find me out soon enough and I’ll have to move on. It’s thievin’, what I’m doing, I guess, but what else can a man do?”
    We each nodded, not knowing what to tell him. The pottage bubbled on the fire and smelled delicious, and John passed out a wooden plate that we shared, eating until we had our fill. Robard sat down next to Maryam and filled the plate, letting her eat first before he took his meal. When he was finished, he scooped out a bit and blew on it to cool, placing it on the ground for Angel. She devoured it