Page 108 of Queen of Sherwood

When I glanced over I saw the horror written plain on Will, Alan, and Tuck’s faces. They had paled, and no one knew how to properly respond. With anger? Violence? Humility?

Before the outcries could overwhelm Little John’s speech, he sliced a hand through the air to silence everyone. “The shame of my imprisonment has sat with me every day since it happened. Since Robin and you all helped me escape during the riot. Just as it has sat with Enid, I’m sure. I’ve only started to realize that the shame is not mine to bear. It never was. It took me months to realize I was the victim, and George the culprit.”

John paced in front of us, eyeing every man and woman down the line. Challenging us to disrespect or attack his valor or commitment to our cause.

If there was anyone who deserved every ounce of respect and honor we had to offer, it was Jonathan Little.

No one spoke up against him. No one spoke up at all, and the silence sat heavy throughout the camp.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you did for me,” he announced. “When you look at Enid’s face and think ill of the position you think she’s put us in, I want you to see my face. And then I want you to think: How would you have reacted if it was your sister, mother, or daughter in that fucking carriage? If you knew what had happened to her and had an opportunity to avenge the indignity done to her? Neither of us asked to be in those positions. They are further sacrifices we’ve made in the name of the Merry Men.”

Confused faces in the crowd started to slowly nod along. When you mentioned “honor” and “indignity,” “opportunity” and “revenge,” to the Merry Men, they tended to listen. More than that, the example of these men’s daughters being possible victims struck a chord with everyone.

How could you deny such a universal understanding?

“Grief and pain might have caused Enid to do what she did,” John finished, “but that doesn’t make her a murderer. It makes her a survivor.”

I felt hatred in my veins for Sheriff George, and for the soldiers in that slaving carriage; for Bishop Sutton and the aristocrats who organized such a dark business; for my father Sir Thomas, and the opportunists who caused so much anguish and destitution across England.

Sherwood Forest was the bastion of hope for the outlaws, outcasts, and wronged. Yet, sometimes, the darkness of the world outside these trees crept in and possessed us. John and Enid’s attacks were reminders of the depravity and tyranny we fought against.

There was perhaps not a stronger justification or speech anyone in camp could have made—me included—that would have hit home harder than Little John’s admission.

It had been a long time coming, but I saw the way his shoulders lifted after he said his piece. The burden of secrecy and shame had lifted, and my smile was wide and confident when he gazed into my eyes.

“I love you,” I said, my voice nearly lost among the incensed voices that loudly defended John and Enid.

He winked at me, matching my smile. “And I love you, little hope.”

I folded my hand into his large palm, threading our fingers together. We stood close as the voices rose and died. Everyone lost their bluster after a few minutes.

“I’m glad you told us,” Will Scarlet said, patting John on the shoulder. For once, there was no snark or sarcasm in his voice when speaking to John. “I’ve never wanted to kill someone more than I do in this moment.”

“Aye,” Alan-a-Dale said, joining in. “How you kept that stuffed down for so long is a marvel, dear John. Your pain is ours to share.”

“Thank you, Alan, Will. But this isn’t about me.” He glanced down at Enid, who was sniffling quietly and smiling sadly up at him. Merry Men had started to pat her on the shoulder, giving her well wishes. Some of them even apologized to her face, and said they would protect the little lass from further pain, if it was the last thing they did.

“You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us,” John said loudly, pumping his fist into the sky. “So let us come together when we move camps now, and remember our shared stories. We can’t let the betrayal of last night seep into our pores! We’re all we have for each other.”

“Hurrah for Little John!” came a voice, and it was quickly followed by a bellowing echo from other men and women.

“Hurrah for Enid!” I yelled, voice carrying through the shivering tree branches.

Everyone answered in kind, saluting the sky.

Seconds later, someone asked, “Where are we moving to, sir? All our positions are either too small or compromised.”

Robert stepped forward. My brother nodded to me before focusing on the crowd. “The Oak Boys camp is open and unbothered. We have enough room to house everyone there.”

More cheers rose. I smiled—

Until a hand tugged on my sleeve. Wrinkling my nose, I spun around.

Emma stared at me with a ghastly pallor to her cheeks.

“Dear God, Emma. What’s wrong?”

She gulped hard. “Robin, it’s terrible. Please, come quick!”

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