Longshanks

LONGSHANKS

By Forrest Sherwood

MARTIAN PUBLISHING

Copyright 2012 by Martian Publishing Company

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No portion of this volume may

be reproduced in any format

without the express written

permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to persons or

organizations, living or extinct,

is entirely coincidental.

PREFACE

Writings that have come down to us from the thirteenth century are very few and discovery of anything new is a rare circumstance. The discovery of this autobiography of Robert Hood of England was serendipitous as well. In one part of the tale, he mentions having a copy of Mathew Paris' history and made emendations in the margins. Though that volume had been destroyed even before he composed this volume, it shows the method he usually employed: marginal notes in other volumes he felt justified in correcting.

The first discovery of his tale was in a volume at Trinity College, Oxford, of Livres des merveilles du monde – the popular tale of Marco Polo by Rustichello da Pisa – wherein were marginal notes and corrections in the text by an unknown hand. The endpapers of the volume were covered in a small script describing his adventures. No one knew what to make of this find at the time.

Years later, an astute scholar noticed the collection's volume of Alfonsine tables seemed a bit thicker than other copies of that work. He discovered the majority of Robert Hood's tale appended to the ephemeredes of Alfonso the Wise, including the portion doled out in this volume where the young man spends some time with the scholar-king of Castile.

A large portion of the claims made in the volume cannot be verified from other sources – and some of the claims are quite wild – but supporting evidence has been found in other sources and will be available through footnotes in the text for the readers so inclined.

Unfortunately, there are portions of his tale that, though alluded to within the body of the work, remain undiscovered. It is hoped, someday, another curious librarian or scholar will happen upon a copy of Paris' Historia Anglorum to find even more of the tale.

This earliest portion of the tale starts in the endpapers of the Alfonsine tables and runs through the period 1254-1255. Further installments will follow the adventures of Robert Hood on the Crusades with Edward, then to China with Marco Polo (hinted at in the text), as well as what would seem to be a voyage – unheralded before now – to the shores of America. We will also see his relationship with his grandson and namesake who has come down in history as a myth: Robin Hood, outlaw.

There is little or no evidence for some of the outlandish claims he makes in his story, but even the casual reader can glimpse a bit of life as it was in the thirteenth century.

~~~~

CHAPTER - ONE

I take up the poet's sword at this late hour of my life not so much to dishonor the name of the late King of England but to defend my memory to my children and their children who, of late, have come to see much of my life spent as an idiot. I now dispel such evil rumor and if the former is dishonored in due course then it must be, simply because his story is much of mine and the blackguard does royally deserve any infamy I can spare as there is far too much good being said of him of late.

And, God willing, should I survive drink, disease, and surfeit of female companionship, I pray to explain my long absences abroad, to the west and to the east; this last resulting in my recent journey to the southern city of Venice to the conclusion of old business with that sour-hearted scoundrel, Marco Polo le Miliones.(1)

But I leap before myself, for all this is recent whereas my ignoble beginnings were long ago, before my first encounter with the Lord Edward, and my untold foreign adventures did not begin until much later, after he strove to steal my life from within my breast.

****

I was born and raised up on the manor of Newton in Hampshire – called now Newton Valence, after the Valences present lords of the manor – there my father held 1-1/2 knight's fees of Robert de Pont de l'Arche. I stood third of four(2) brothers: Richard, the eldest; Henry; myself; and John. Richard, being eldest, was due to inherit the modest estate and was favored by father over the rest of us, a fact we could never forget thanks to Richard. Henry was the favorite of mother, and thus it happened that she decided to leave the remainder of her dower lands to him. So it was that John and I were due to receive naught unless, thought I, some sinful design should come to pass else our futures were bleak ones plagued with work. For some time I had hoped father would find an heiress for me, but only two such appeared locally – immediately contracted to my two elders. It would seem father had only enough room in his heart for two sons.(3)

You might think I should have banded with my younger brother and brought about some pact with our elders so that we might have received some sustenance of the house after father was gone. But it was hopeless as dear John seemed an imbecile pure and simple and did not seem to notice the hardship of his lot. Besides that, Richard took father's lead and showed no concern for us.

I should not say that father took no concern of us, for he did: at age nine I was sent into the fields to work and thus learn my way in the world. And there was John, aged eight, insisting that he be sent too.

I mumbled and grumbled. Father said, Learn to face your share of life now, Robin. Better you should learn to work and find yourself a station in life than to be forced to work later without preparation for it. You shall be grateful to me for this.

I cared not for it, then or later, and shuffled off toward the fields.

And you be quick about it, Robin, father yelled almost in my ear, or I'll have you in the pillory 'til dusk. And so saying, he slapped my backside and walked off.

A boot well-aimed at John's backside ended his giggling and off we went to the fields like common peasants, me grumbling under the strain of hoe and pole and John rubbing his backside and crying.

The bailiff met us and took us to a demesne field and instructed us where, and how, to work, remarking while so doing about one of his betters working among the common folk.

But by mere accident of birth, the large, stupid thing mused, you might be working the fields. Obviously unalert, the idiot did not seem to realize that was exactly what we were doing, birth be damned, or would be doing as soon as he ceased his useless chatter and left us.

Soon he departed. I then handed hoe and pole to John and sat back to watch the industrious beggar do the serfs proud.

****

At the time, I recall wondering to myself about the purpose of being born into the right station. But for two years' displacement, I would be in dear brother Henry's place and he be in the fields. Now, though, I realize what disaster would have occurred had that been the case: imbecilic Henry would be there in the fields yet, for he has not even half the wit of which I was so highly gifted.

And to think of the state of England had not my miracle of birth placed me in those same sad straits. What an insane mess Edward would have made of things!

At the time, though, I knew of none of the great adventures lying ahead of me and cursed my foul luck, and shouted at my sibling to work faster.

After harvest, winter came at last and put an end to my (John's) labors. It was sometime during this Christmas festival that I noticed I was growing faster than my brothers. (In later years it has turned out that I had the greatest height, followed by John, and then Richard, the same height as father, and finally Henry, shorter even than mother.)

The first I realized the strange occurrence, Richard, who had enjoyed thrashing me on the Sabbath but had missed it for some time because of my labors and his getting married, came for me in the yard just before dinner. He stopped short and stared, sizing me up. He motioned Henry toward me, as he had been standing to the side to watch the fun.

Brother, I give you the honors. But Henry too hesitated. Then I noticed Richard and I stood eye to eye and his hesitancy became obvious: I had been able to cause little or no harm while I had been shorter than he.

I immediately took advantage of the situation and his apparent state of shock: I soundly boxed his ears, kicked him in the groin, and happily slapped him to the ground.

Henry stood in amazement as I stood proudly over my victim. Then, seized by a sudden idea, I reached down and begun pulling the clothes from my fallen brother despite dear Henry's protestations.

Wearing Richard's clothes, I entered the hall, marched straightaway to the high table, and sat for the meal without a word, hoping to pass myself off as he.

I need hardly say it failed miserably. Being promptly recognized, father tormented my entire physical body with his large and cunning fists. It was probably my hair which betrayed my secret, those fair golden locks, as Richard's was of a decidedly black color. How was I to know father would notice the difference?

****

You may wonder why I ponder at length over these frivolous childhood episodes, but let my folly deter not your desire to read the course of my life. I merely wish to display the foundations of the man I was to become. These things formed my youthful mind upon a course well justified, as I shall shortly relate.

The truth of it is that I was lazy – now that my life is mostly complete and my future comforts assured, I can proclaim it as loudly as I wish – my mind, body, and soul were more inclined toward a life of comfort and relaxation in luxury than toiling the fields or any other form of physically discomfiting exertion. So I came to practice by my wits and have learned through my many years that though brawn can be useful for extricating one from many dangerous situations, a quick wit can get one out of anything; yea, even keep one from a distressing plight altogether. A number of times in my experience, it has triumphed over brawn. Thus came I to learn and excel in all the things of the mind.

My first attempt at mastering deception ran afoul, as related above, I daresay by merely a small oversight in planning. As I lay to sleep that night, rubbing my sores, I vowed never again to anything so rash and foolhardy.

Next time I would rub coal dust in my hair.

****

I was well desperate to avoid working the field another season, you can tell, and was nigh considering escape when an unexpected salvation came.

My maternal grandfather, Robert Carpenter(4), the fat, infirm old coot for whom I was named, desired to see me and perhaps raise me as part of his household and thereby secure for me a place in the world.

Thus it came to pass that during Easter of my ninth year, until which time father had kept me home waiting for the many bruises to fade from my skin, I voyaged to the Isle of Wight and arrived in short time at the manor of Haslett, where my grandfather held some sizeable portion. Immediately upon entering, I was swept into the plump arms of grandfather, suddenly realizing it was not all fat – but he near toppled over me. (Even now the thought of all that weight thrown violently upon me sends a sweat to my brow.)

He stumbled not in joy of seeing his grandson: the old beast was stupid with drink. Even so, he accorded me the warmest greetings and ushered me somewhat unsteadily into the hall, shouting blurrily as we went, Maud! Titty! Come and see what the devil has brought in!

Matilda, his second wife, young enough to be his daughter, and Laetitia, her daughter by a previous marriage to a knight of Kent, came in and greeted me.

Grandfather stumbled to his wife and put his arm around her back, his hand continuing under her arm and further to cup her rather full breast; she squirmed and he pinched, only to get his hand slapped. She grew red and glanced in my direction, though I know not whether from embarrassment or anger – the former I assume – then engaged grandfather in a low voice. This afforded me a chance to look at the daughter.

Laetitia, three years my senior as it happened had struck my youthful eye the moment she entered. Slim and fair, her long golden hair hung to her waist and she clasped her pale hands before her, vivid against the dark purple tunic she wore. Her rather small nose was turned toward a tapestry on the wall, upon which she stared quite intently as though noticing it now for the first time, while the adult pair continued in their muted tones.

Presently she turned to me and for but a moment those deep blue