He was an outlaw. We all knew that. Every time he robbed a rich merchant or some lord, he would come to our village and give us coins, not really to help us, but so we would keep silent. Not that we could say anything anyway. If the authorities knew he was giving us money, then we would be in trouble too. Besides, once the outlaw and his band of cutthroats were in the forest, no one could find them.
Every time the outlaw robbed someone, sure enough the Sheriff and his soldiers would come to our village wanting information, but of course there was nothing to tell them. Sometimes this angered the Sheriff and some of the villagers would be dragged off to his dungeons till they talked, but they couldn’t really tell him anything, and so we would never see them again. We hated the Sheriff and wouldn’t want to help him anyway. Even if we could. All we really wanted was to be left alone, by both sides, so we could tend our fields in peace. Though he gave us coins, we also hated the outlaw for putting us in this position in the first place.
My dad loved Robin Hood stories. I don’t think he would like my take on it though. Just trying to look at the stories another way…
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