Everything is a Choice

Chapter 10

Previously...

“Here.” Allan is thrusting a cloth into my hands.  I should take it.  It is a gesture of kindness and apology.  Instead, I wave him away.

The cabin door flies open.

“Master!”

Allan again pushes the cloth into my hands and this time I take it.

“It’s Robin,” I say.  “When will you ever learn.” I raise my head. Much is leaning over me, his skullcap askew, his face full of concern.  How can I turn my back on him, on any of them?  I glance at Allan and then John, who is standing in the doorway.  “It’s Robin Hood,” I tell them.

Much pushes at my shoulders, urging me to lie on the floor in the misconception that it will stop the bleeding, and I swear I hear Allan laughing, but perhaps it’s me.

Chapter 10

“I’m sorry,” Much says.

“What for?”

“You know.”

“No. I don’t think that I do.”

We are sitting on our respective bunks, my nose having finally stopped bleeding.  John had pushed Much away and made me sit quietly, pinching my nose until the bleeding stopped.  I still have smears of blood on my chest where it soaked through my shirt.  Soon, I will deal with that, but, right now, it seems more important to deal with Much.

“I was jealous,” he says.

“Of what?” 

“Of you, sharing stuff with Gisborne.”

“We share history, Much. That’s all.”  I flex my swollen left wrist. ‘”How can you be jealous of Gisborne?”  I ask, examining the ugly slash on my injured arm, devoid of bandages now.  The pirate’s blade has carved a jagged line through my tattoo, the one I had burned into my upper arm during my time with King Richard.

Much points at my arm. “Does it still hurt?”

The simple black cross had symbolised my youthful hopes that I could make a better world.  It had heralded glory and adventure for a lad who craved more than his humble English home. I touch the ravaged cross with the pads of my fingers. Yes, Much. It still hurts.  

Much lies on his bunk and pretends to study the ceiling.  Twice he makes a small sound as if he’s about to speak and then goes quiet.  I’ve never really known him to be at a loss for words, although I suppose it’s fair to say that the majority of those words, once spoken, were often unwise, uncalled for, or plain idiotic.  He clears his throat.  “I always thought I’d be the one...you know.  The one you’d confide in.  I thought we shared stuff.”

“Did we?” I say.

“No,” he says.  “I guess not.”

I glance down at my chest, wondering if I should seek out my tag and, more importantly, Marian’s ring.  I want it back.  Gisborne shouldn’t have it. “I’m sorry.  It was thoughtless of me.”

“Then we’re still friends?” Much rolls onto his stomach and drops his head to the floor, rummaging under his bunk. He pulls out a bundle of clothing, including a clean shirt.

“Yes, we’re still friends.”   

“Only I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” he says. 

“How can you possibly think that?” I tentatively touch my bashed nose.  It doesn’t appear to be broken.  Then I look at my hands, still stained with blood, both Allan’s and mine.  No, Much. It’s me I don’t like so very much.