Life's a merry game

[RamblerTeo]

Shafts of bronze light broke through the boughs in dusky rays. The beeches had showered the earth with a bed of leaves, and their crowns burned in bright hues of orange and reds. The forest lane was picturesque in its autumn beauty.
The serene atmosphere was broken by the nearby rustle in the bush. Suddenly out jumped a tall and wiry man, panting. He was clad from head to toe in autumn hues, save for a green belt and hood, and he was furnished with a quiver full of arrows and a man-high longbow. He had bright red hair and a trimmed beard, and he was handsome enough, as commoners sometimes were.
'Bastard!' boomed an echoing voice.
'Find him!' roared the voice again, growing near.
The bowman cracked a grin before slipping out of sight.
Soon five men filed out onto the lane, and they were grim and hardy to look at. Their outfits were hand-me-downs and pieced together from a life of pilfering, and they carried knives and clubs.
'Where is he?' demanded the voice, and from out of the bush strode a sixth. He was taller and more grizzled than the rest, and he had blood-shot eyes.
'No sign, boss,' they answered. 'He's crafty.'
'He's a dead man walking,' he snarled, shoving past them. He then looked up and bellowed to the trees: 'Do you hear that, Scarlock? A dead man!'
Child-like laughter answered him from high up in the canopy, and then more from nearby in the lane; but nobody could be seen. Leaves rustled, and then all was silent.
'The runaways,' murmured the grizzled man.
His eyes climbed watchfully up and down the looming trees, and his men exchanged wary looks.
'What's this?' he called out with a sneer. 'Got your little robins to come out and play, Scarlock?'
More youthful laughter answered from all round.
'Well why not?' came a warmer, older voice, and the men hastily turned.
There in the middle of the lane stood Scarlock, bold as brass. The longbow was propped against the back of his neck, and both arms were hung over the shaft. He had a cocksure lean, and a good smile; but there was a dangerous gleam to his eyes.
'You!' said the furious ringleader, and he drew out his knife. 'I am going to gut you wide open, and see if you're as green as that hood!'
'Now come,' laughed Scarlock, 'the punishment hardly fits the crime does it?'
'You were with my woman!' he spat.
'I was barely involved.'
'I caught you inbetween her legs you little bastard!'
'In my defence,' began Scarlock, 'she put me there herself. I was quite happily enjoying the leg rub.'
Some of the men could not help but smirk, and one even sniggered. The grizzled man slowly turned and his blood-shot eyes found the culprit. A fist cracked the thug's face, and his sniggering fell to the ground in a whimper. Scarlock watched with a grin from ear to ear.
'Well I'm pleased life is a merry game to you,' said the grizzled man whilst massaging his knuckles. 'Any last words?'
'No,' answered Scarlock, flicking his chin up. 'But they might have some.'
Suddenly from out of the lane sprang half a dozen figures dressed in rags, each with hoods of green and red. They were young men, most barely out of their teens, and all had short bows and sticks.
'Boys!' scoffed the grizzled man. 'Boys against us? You send sheep to the wolves!'
His men guffawed.
'All I see are dogs!' retorted one of the boys.
'And what's your name?' sneered the grizzled man, his eyes picking out the lad. 'So that I may tell your mother who it was I bled like a pig.'
'Billy,' he answered proudly, and he drew back his hood. He looked no older than sixteen winters. 'Billy the Redbreast. And what's yours? So that I may laugh at it.'
All the lads cheered, and their heckles rang throughout the woods. The thugs wore now sour faces, and their leader looked livid.
'I see only boys and no men,' he mocked. 'Is this what you do, Scarlock? You steal boys from the homes of the distant north and you turn them wild?'
Scarlock's smile dimmed, and his eyes gleamed dangerously again.
'Would you lads like to hear a joke?' he said suddenly.
'Yea!' cried the runaways.
Scarlock pulled two arrows from his quiver, and he nocked them casually. 'What do you call a man with no legs?'
He drew back the longbow, and tilted it. His wiry arms were now taut, and great force of power could be heard behind the creak of the wood. Scarlock looked down the length of the arrows, and his earthy eyes shone with an autumn fire. The runaways grinned with anticipation.
'Neil,' said Scarlock with half a smile- and then his bow sang.
The leader howled in desperate pain, and he buckled to a kneel: each arrow penetrated a thigh. The lads hooted and cheered again with savage delight, and the thugs stepped back.
'I'll admit,' said Scarlock as he paced his way toward the kneeling man, 'it wasn't the best joke I've ever told.'
He then kicked the man down onto his back and put a muddy boot on his chest.
'But I've got plenty more like that,' said Scarlock, and he drew again, this time aiming at the grizzled man's lackeys. 'So let's see if we can count: five men for ten arrows. I shall run out of listeners before I do my jokes. Who wants to be the last man laughing?'
At this the men exchanged looks, and it did not take them long to understand. The clattering of knives and clubs dropping to the ground soon followed.
Swiftly the runaways advanced upon the men, prodding with sticks and frisking them down.
The bandits' ringleader was still pinned on his back, and he was dazed with pain, but he looked up at the autumn bowman with loathing.
'You rob me of my woman,' he gasped hatefully, 'and now you take our goods.'
Scarlock laughed wryly and he crouched upon him.
'And from which tavern did you steal her,' he replied, 'under the promise of freedom and ale? Only then to be lied to, and taken in force by you and yours until she learned to enjoy it.'
Scarlock bent his eyes upon him now.
'And how many homes,' he continued, 'have you and your boys torn apart for your own amusement, I wonder, only to leave ashes and orphans behind?'
As he spoke these words he looked up at the runaways whilst they turned out the pockets of the thugs. The grizzled man rolled his eyes up too, and realisation hit him.
'I merely reaped what you sowed,' said Scarlock, 'so do not think to take the high ground, pal, for it requires sure-footing; and I have the mastery.'
He rose again whilst pressing his boot into the man's chest, as if to prove his point.
'We shall return what your men have stolen,' he said, 'for we suffer neither care nor wants. We simply borrow from the woods, and as it pleases it will take it back. But for you? You have taken the lives of good men, and sullied many women. That is a high debt to pay.'
Scarlock nocked a final arrow and then pulled back the longbow with a powerful draw. He trained the bodkin between the man's brows.
'If you're going do it, boy, then do it!' the man spat, and his blood-shot eyes stared up with resignation.
'Life's a merry game,' murmured Scarlock.
The bow sang its execution.