The Shadow of Knottingham
Chapter One
The Shadow and the Sheriff
On the day Robyn Hood’s greatest enemy arrived to Knottingham, Sheriff John sat at his desk in a quiet office at the local garrison. He was a powerfully built man, black of hair with a prominent and well groomed handlebar mustache, smooth shaved jaw, keen brown eyed gaze and a musculature that was hidden beneath his platemail which once aided him in wrestling the the masked vigilante, Robyn Hood, to the ground where he had come as close to capturing the Shadow of Knottingham as anyone ever had. John failed that day of course… and he no longer regretted that fact.
John was deep in thought, his mind drifted back to the day he had truly been introduced to Robyn… oh not the first time he’d seen her wherein as all men who saw her were liable to gain a light infatuation with her, not the day he’d first spoken to her and bristled beneath her impossible ability to turn his every barb into an insult back at himself, nor even the first and only time he felt her beneath him that night he nearly caught her and was forced to remember his honorific vows. The day he remembered wasn’t any of those, he recalled only the day he fell in love with Robyn Hood, the day he truly understood why, while he and his dubbed her ‘the Shadow’,she was cheered and fawned over by the people, a true Maid of the Masses.
John was out on patrol in the city collecting taxes and, foolishly, sent his escort back to the garrison to collect some things when he was suddenly attacked by a desperate family of bakers who had not a penny to their name and saw his solitude as their chance. John stood no chance. The first strike was a lucky brick to his noggin which had left him dizzy and unable to defend himself. In those moments, as he tucked himself up in vain attempt to protect his body from their merciless kicks and impromptu melee items… she came.
He recalled that first swath of green as she streaked into the alley crying out for his attackers to stop. He remembered seeing her place herself between them and he himself where she took an accidental blow, which she did not return, from one of the bakers who had yet to realize who it was come to John’s rescue. In his dazed and weakened state she seemed like a glorious statue or deity. She wore her traditional gear, a green long sleeved gambeson armored shirt beneath her stylized corset with the robin emblem emblazoned over her bust. She wore hood, mask and headwrap wisely to protect her identity, brown leather boots and gloves, and finally that oh so tantalizing leather underbreif over her pelvis, visible under the bottom trim of the corset, yet pulled up over the coup de grace of her costume, green tights that clung so that her strong legs were dazzling and prominent. Despite showing near as much to no skin at all she was a marvel still! Her outfit seemed not to hide a single curve of her toned, athletic form, wide hips, or impossibly powerful legs. All of it so pleasingly wrapped by the gently almost silken sheen that seemed notable even over those articles of clothing that should not have, such as the gambeson shirt. All of her was greens with brown and golden leather embroideries or trimmings… yet on that day the thing that marveled John most about her was where she stood… between her own people whose lives she fought so hard to better… and their anger at her own sworn enemy.
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“Friends please,” he recalled her having said, “This violence is not the way.” There had been bitterness from them until Robyn produced a sack of gold, gave it freely to them and sent them off… rather than disappear or flee as she ought to have, she bent down and helped John to his feet, “I should think to ask you not to be overly hard on them either John,” she asked, her voice soft as melody, carried an uncommon authority as well as the usual disappointment he heard from her whenever she spoke with him or his men, and always she had called him John, never Sheriff, “for is their anger not the fault of your extortive means?” Before he could so much as protest that it was not he, but the King Richard himself who set tax wages, Robyn handed him a sack of coins, “For today’s taxes all around,” she told him, “because we need to get you off the streets before anyone else finds you out alone or brings you further harm.”
John had protested that he needed no escort, and yet she stayed with him anyway all the way back to the Garrison. She gave him a shoulder to lean on whenever he was near to collapse, she let him walk of his own volition whenever he could not bear the shame of his adversaries kindness. When they turned the final corner where the garrison came into view, his men spotted them and began running toward them, no doubt thinking to save him from Robyn Hood.
“I had best leave you here sir, now you are safe,” she helped him lean against the nearby wall. Yet before she could go he reached out and caught her shoulder and would not release it. She looked back to him and for the first time he saw clearly all that anyone could ever see of her face.. Smooth porcelain skin, crystal green eyes and ruby painted lips that were just a little pouty, but not so much so as to give her a girlish or meek appearance. The set of near despondent disappointment in her eyes he remembered also, an expression he often thought back to and felt greatly for the sort of woman she must be to have felt whatever she felt in that moment, “Truly?” she had asked trying to break his hold once more, “I do not wish to hurt you sir!”
“I’ll not keep you,” John had wheezed, the disappointment in her eyes turned to confusion, “Just… please,” he asked, “Why? Why would you help me?”
He remembered the small knowing smile that had come over her then, “Oh you have never understood me at all have you John?” She shook her head gently, “It was the right thing to do. It is so simple as that.”
John had felt himself break a little then. The walls of authority collapsed, the distance he must put between him and others to take their livelihoods and leave them destitute in the name of the Kingdom simply could not survive Robyn and those words she said to him. He was at once smitten. He released her and stumbled back to lean against the wall, “I’ll not keep you,” he told her, “Robyn of Knottingham… may you always be here to look after us…”
She smiled joyfully, relief was there as well, this long feud was over at last. She curtsied… like a noblewoman or a lady of the court which he always thought had been strange, “I am Robyn Hood,” she said, “Here always to serve, and may you remember that if ever you need me.” And then she was gone before his men could reach them… but not for long.
Since that day life in Knottingham was greatly improved! On occasion, when a true and terrible crime occurred John could count on Robyn’s support to aid the investigation, in return the garrison had given up impeding her thefts of coin and coffer (unofficially of course) always writing to the King how very close they were to capturing the dangerous vigilante but always coming up short! Taxes were always raised, Robyn always stole back what was fair and the people always had coin to pay. Beatings and regulations had turned to ‘greetings Sheriff, here’s the tax might you be troubled for some tea’ and ‘to busy right now mrs but perhaps after my rounds?’ It was all a minor miracle! Indeed, despite the loophole in legality Nottingham's economic situation, while not the entirety of the Kingdom understandably, was somehow improving leaps and bounds by the day!
Such was the state of things that midwinter’s day. He was set to have his weekly meeting with Robyn in just a few hours time and was uncommonly excited and fretful as he wanted very much to ask her something dreadfully important.
That was when Leftenant Williamson burst into the room, he appeared quite startled, “Sheriff!” he burst, “Sheriff you must come! A madwoman and her thugs have just barged into the garrison!”
John had no time to inquire what he was on about because just behind him they arrived. First in were two enormous brutish looking beasts of men adorned in black robes bearing the cross of the church at the end of long chained necklaces. Behind them came a vision at first glance near as infatuating as Robyn Hood herself with confidence and supreme authority, a woman. This woman was clothed all in blacks and greys and gold. She wore a tight corset underbust over a shirt, tight fitting pantaloons that each were further tucked beneath long armored leather gloves and thigh high stiletto boots. The emblem of the cross of the church shone off her armbands and, from what was surely a reliquary, a cross dangled as something like a buckle for her belt. Her raven hair was pulled back into a neat braid but most alarming of all perhaps, was the near four foot long hard leather riding crop clenched still in her left fist, presumably from the journey there?
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“Sheriff John?” she asked in a thick Lyonessian accent, He frowned and nodded, “I am High Priestess Analot,” so thick was her accent it sounded as ‘Eye Preezetess,’ and for all that she appeared no older than her early to mid twenties, “I ‘ave come to zolve your Vigilante’ problem.”
John blinked taken quite aback by this strange woman. Eventually he just shook his head, “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing then miss… I have not rec...”
“High Priestess,” She interrupted him sternly, “‘Owever, for ze foreseeable future you may use my acting title, Sheriff Analot, or eef you prefer, Sheriff Anne will do.”
“Sheriff Anne!?” Sheriff John guffawed incredulously.
At that same moment Leftenant Williamson seemed to have heard enough as well, “Now you listen here miss…” he strode towards her and gripped her shoulder. That was when it all went mad.
“Heathen!” Analot snarled and with the most violent motion John had ever seen from a woman (and bearing in mind he had seen Robyn Hood in battle many many times) she backhanded Williamson across the face with her riding crop, then kicked out at him with her stiletto heel so hard in the chest that she didn’t so much boot him to the floor as she ‘stomp’ him down onto the ground… and she began to strike him over and over with the riding crop.
“WAIT! STOP!” John shouted, leapt to his feet and hurried around the table after her, before he could reach them the enormous thugs stepped forward and caught him around either arm, holding him back with inhuman strength! He was then helpless to do anything but watch as Analot’s crop fell again and again down on Williamson, drawing splashes of blood with each crack.
“Eemmoral!” Analot snarled, “eensolent, disobedient dog!” Williamson for his part at least did not take it all laying down. He struggled to cover his face and took a good amount of the blows against his armored forearms but finally kicked out at Analot who, struck in the thigh, took a few stumbling backward steps but managed to stay upright.
“Alright you bitch!” Williamson raged once he stood up and he reached for his sword as he started for her. John’s mouth stood agape at it all, as the two men holding him were to strong for him to bread free of. “That’s eno….” Williamson never even got his sword out before Analot stepped back into his guard and punched him in the neck. It wasn’t until the spurt of blood that burst from the site of the blow that John could see the small specialized dagger blade clenched in the terrible woman’s hand poking up between her middle and ring fingers.
Williamsons eyes went wide with shock and confusion. He tried to cover the injury but Analot caught his arm and stopped him, then she wrapped her other arm around his waist to support him while she knelt and began gently to lower him to the ground, all the while she whispered, “Hush, ‘ush poor zinner,” she at last let him all the way to the ground, his violent chokes came less and less, “Let ze darkness in,” she seemed suddenly so strangely maternal in action and vocalization that John was certain he was losing his mind, then she said finally, “and see ze light that will follow. I forgive you z’is sin, eet shall not stain you.” With a final wracking shudder Williamson stopped moving… or breathing.
Analot let out a long, almost sorrowful sigh and rose back to her feet. She strode up toward John who felt a sudden mortal terror in him for the first time since that day under the bakers boot heels... but she came up short and reached into a pack hanging off the side of one of the brutes and pulled out a rolled up parchment. She unrolled it all the way and held it out for him to see, “My divine right to do all zat ez necessary to hunt and capture ze Vigilante known ‘ere as Robyn Hood, and to reinstate law and order ‘ere to ze city of Knottingham, signed and ordained by King Richard ze Lionheart and his ‘olyness High Priest Michael ze Chaste.”
John’s eyes helplessly read out the words on the parchment that solidified what she was saying as true… and the wax seals pressed by three of the highest authorities in camelot… even by Lord Robert Wood, the Baron of Knottingham which she had not said. His eyes flicked to Williamson, dead before he was ever provided this evidence, then back to Analot… High Priestess Analot. “Forgive us High Priestess…” he began to say.
“Pleaze, Sheriff will do now,” she corrected him leadingly. He was sure that the look of sheer overbearing command in her expression contained the smallest hint of a smirk.
“Forgive us Sheriff.” John corrected himself.
“You ‘ave some time to remove your things from my office Captain, see to et quickly,” she turned and began to walk away, “Oh and John, do not ever feel ze need to apologize to me again,” she paused at the doorway and looked back at him with an almost bored expression, “God forgives, I do not.”
So it was, Robyn Hoods greatest enemy had arrived to Camelot, and many things would soon change.