Robin of Cocksley
by: Will B
© 2008 by the Author
Typos kindly corrected by E Walk.

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

The True Story of Two of England’s Most Beloved Heroes.

As originally told by Alan the Gay Minstrel.

Readers hopefully will get more enjoyment from this story if they understand a little of the historical background.

Chapter 1

It was May of 1194. King Richard, the Lion-Cocked, had gone on a Crusade leaving his brother Johnny “Lack Balls” in charge of the Kingdom. On his way home from the Crusade, Richard had stopped to visit Leopold of Austria, and had had a lovely-er, make that loverly-visit. Richard and Leopold licked using their tongues, hands, and other appendages on each other’s bodies, and King Dick was in no hurry to return home.

Of course Prince Johnny told the people of England that their beloved king had been kidnapped by that ‘wicked’ Leopold of Austria, and Richard’s people would have to collect a large sum to ransom their King. Actually, no ransom demands had been made, but Johnny planned to keep the money for himself. He was too cowardly to go on a Crusade himself (hence his nickname “Lack Balls”). He just wanted to enjoy himself with any young pageboys he could seduce. He was NOT a nice man, or even a good prince.

One of Johnny’s henchmen was the Sheriff of Nottingham. He was 40 years old, growing corpulent, cranky, and was downright cruel. If people couldn’t pay their taxes, he ‘invited’ them to his tower sample his hospitality. He would torture the older men and force the younger ones to submit to his advances. Because of the Sheriff’s cruelty, many men had left the town and gone to live as outlaws in Sherwood Forest. They were not outlaws because they robbed and pillaged, but because they killed the king’s deer for food.

On the surface the geographical setting was a peaceful one. Cocksley Manor was about ten miles from the town of Nottingham. The manor was surrounded by some nine or ten cottages, a blacksmith’s shop, and a small church.

Five mile south of both the manor and the town was Sherwood Forest, a vast expanse of trees, shrubbery, undergrowth, hidden pools, and silent streams. One of these streams ran from the forest, past the manor, and into the town, from whence it flowed on to the sea.

Cocksley Manor was a fortified two-story manor house. The ground floor served as a stable for the village livestock, to protect the cows, sheep, pigs and chickens from marauders—human and animal. The floor above consisted of a great hall, a kitchen, an office and the jakes.

The jakes was an important part of the manor house. This was a small room with a bench along one wall, and in the bench was a hole. It was used as a toilet. It led down to a chamber with a door that opened to the outside. Once a week one of the villagers would bring a special cart to that door, and shovel out the feces, put the foul smelling mess in the cart, and take the cart to the fields, where it would be shoveled onto the villagers’ fields.

At one end of the manor was a three-story tower, the top floor of which had windows that opened to the four corners of the compass. This was the solar, where the lord of the manor had his private quarters. The manor house, a pigsty, a chicken run, and some outbuildings were surrounded by a sturdy wall with a strong gate that was closed at night when all villagers had brought their animals to be penned in. The same cart that took away the human excrement would take away the animal dung, where it too would be put to the same use.

The church was in the care of Father Thomas, a tall, gray-haired man of some 60 winters. He served his God by serving the people of the manor. He baptized the children when they were born, taught the growing boys and girls their catechism, married the young people, and in time buried the old ones. His sermons stressed the importance of loving God by loving one’s fellow man. He seldom talked about the ‘thou shalt nots.’ Yes, he was aware that some men preferred other men to women, but he felt that they were born that way, and as long as they lived decent lives of honesty, hard work, and concern for their fellow men and women, he was not going to condemn them.

Robin of Cocksley was the Lord of Cocksley Manor. He was 18 years old, six-feet tall, broad of shoulder, straight of back, flat of stomach, and had reddish blond curly hair. He was long of leg, long of arm, and long in his other appendage. He was uncut (as were almost all other males of England of the time.  He had smooth skin, and when he was horny his organ stood out a good seven inches. He usually wore a serious expression, but when he smiled, his white teeth gleamed.

Robin had inherited the Manor from his uncle, Herne Long-Spear, who had inherited the property from his uncle, Eric Ever-Ready. Robin was a good lord of the manor.  He kept the homes of the serfs in good repair, and he forgave them their taxes if the could not pay the taxes. When a dispute broke out, he would sit in judgment, but under the tutelage of Father Thomas, his judgments were fair. Since driving the ‘crap-cart’ was not a pleasant task, his harshest judgment was usually to sentence the miscreant to driving the cart for two or three weeks in a row.

Whenever a pig or bull was to be slaughtered, or even some chickens to be killed, Robin would invite all of the villagers to a feast in the manor’s hall. Robin and his Man Martin (more about him later) would personally serve the elderly and infirm and made sure they had plenty to eat. Robin and Martin sometimes did not get the choices pieces of meat because they were looking after their people.

Sometimes some of the villagers would protest, and tell Robin it was not seemly that he should wait on them. “No,’ he would reply with a smile, “Did not He say that he who would be first should be last?” I do but follow his Blessed Example.”

Now King William the Ruthless had granted the manor of Cocksley to Eric Ever-Ready. William could recognize a like-minded individual when he saw one, so the charter contained an unusual provision, which granted the Lord of the Manor the droit fundamental de seigneur—The lord  had the right to pluck the arse-cherry of every young man of 17, provided (1) the man was willing, and (2) the lord of the manor paid the young stud ten marks.

Robin usually didn’t have the ten marks so he would tell each young man who came that he would not claim his feudal right since he couldn’t pay the usual ten marks.  So well beloved was Robin that several young men begged him “to do it anyhow,” and they wouldn’t claim the fee. Many of the men believed that if their ‘back field’ was plowed by the Lord of the Manor their crops and animals would prosper.

Robin always took care to be as gentle as he could, but the session usually ended with the youth begging for one more time.

Now 17 year-old Man Martin was Robin’s boon companion, bed mate, and lover. He was five-foot-ten and lean and wiry. His stomach was already showing ridges of muscle, and when he was aroused, his man meat would reach up to his navel. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and an infectious smile. He and Robin had grown up together, and had shared their first sexual explorations with each other. They were deeply in love.

Martin remembered as if it were yesterday, the first time he and Robin had taken each other’s thick, meaty, uncut cock into their mouths. Robin was already leaking clear sweet nectar. As Martin tasted it delicately, he thought he had never tasted anything so heavenly. Robin, too, was in a world of wonder as he tasted the boy-juice of his young friend.

As the two studs were swept away by their waves of passion, they savored each moment of holding their lover’s organ in their orifice. This first time was so wonderful that they did not think about holding back, and all too soon, each was ejaculating thick ropes of creamy spunk into their lover’s mouth.

As they exited from their Etna of euphoric ecstasy, each knew—oh yes he knew—that he had found his soul mate.

As time went on, the two young men kissed, caressed, licked, sucked, tweaked, ‘man handled,’ and plowed each other’s ‘back-field,’ with love as often as they could. Their love grew deeper day by day and week by week.

Now, my noble readers, allow this humble minstrel to tell you that it was Sweet Robin’s very generosity that brought the storm down on his manor and his village.

One night, in the pelting rain, flashing lightning, and booming thunder, a man was seen running to the gate and shouting, “Ho, the manor! Let me in! I have a message for Lord Robin.”

Robin himself went down to unbar the gate and let the man in. He took him to the kitchen and made him wrap himself in a dry, warm, blanket while Martin mulled some cider to provide a hot drink.

“Well, friend, what is the message,” Robin asked.

“It’s the Sheriff. He seems to have gone mad.. You must run, Sir, into the forest and never come back! Run now! Hide!”

“A Lord of Cocksley Manor will never run! Run, from that cowardly, greasy, corpulent . . . . . Never! And, even if I did, he would wreak his vengeance on the villagers! No, I’ll stay.”

“Sir, you must, and you must take Martin. The sheriff says he will . . . he will  . .  he work his way with the lad, and he will make him enjoy what he has planned for him!”

Robin turned to his lover and gathered him into his arms and said, “Now listen my good and faithful Martin. I must stay but you must go. Run into Sherwood Forest. I’ll get word to you when it’s safe for you to return.”

“But . . .”

“But me no buts, dear Martin, It’s to save your butt that I am doing this. Now go. Take some food, but go quickly.”

With tears in his eyes Martin did as Robin bade him, and went out into the night.

In the kitchen, Robin paced up and down, and then stopped, with a smile on his face. “Friend, will you go into the village, and wake everyone up? Ask them to be here at nine of the clock. We will have a final breakfast together before the Sheriff arrives. He won’t get out of bed before ten of the clock, Oh . . . ask if any of the women can come up to help me prepare this feast. I really don’t know how to cook.”

“Yes, milord. I’ll go now.” He set off into the dark and if Robin had looked out of the window of his solar, he might have seen, dimly, the figure of the man scurrying from cottage to cottage,

Promptly at six of the clock, five women from the village arrived to offer their services as cooks, bakers, and pluckers of chickens -  anything to help their beloved lord Robin. Two young lads also came to help set up tables and benches in the hall.

At nine of the clock, Robin went to do something he usually only did at Christmas and Easter. He took a bath!

At ten of the clock, Robin, clad in his best robe, and a velvet mantle took his place at the head table. He invited the village priest, Father Thomas, the messenger, and the oldest man and the oldest woman of the village to sit at the head table with him.

The villagers came in, sat down, and waited. Robin asked the village priest to say a blessing.

Father Thomas stood, raised his hands to heaven and said, “Lord God, we thank you for the food we are about to receive, and we thank you for the many kindnesses our Lord Robin of Cocksley has shown us. Be with us now and give us strength to face whatever may come. In the name of Him who died for us, Amen.”

“Amen,” the villagers echoed. They sat down and the serving maids brought in tray after tray of oatcakes, fresh fruit, and then trays of beef and pork. Next, they brought in jugs of ale and cider.

Everyone was served, but no one started to eat. They sat and looked at Robin as if their hearts would break.

‘This will never do,” Robin thought to himself. He turned and said to the messenger, “Say, friend, did you hear the one about the juggler and the . . . “

A stern cough, and a look from Father Thomas kept Robin from continuing, but somehow the ice was broken. People chuckled over the Priest’s ‘Look’ and suddenly people found themselves passing the pork and the oatcakes, and the beef, and the fruit, and chatting easily.

Robin turned to the priest and said, “Sorry, Father, but I had to do something to get people to start eating and talking.”

“That’s all right, Robin, but perhaps you had better tell me the joke later,” Father Thomas said.

“Oh, I am sorry, Father, but there is no joke, I just said the first thing that came into my mind.”

“Harumph,” Father Thomas snorted, and then smiled, “Quick thinking, my lad! I think your ruse worked.”

“The eating and drinking and chatting went on, until Robin, tapped the edge of his goblet with his knife and stood up. Immediately there was silence in the hall.

“I just want to say that you have been, you are, and you always will be a good people!”

Someone stood up and said, “And you are a good lord, milord.”

Bang!  Bang! Bang!  There came three thunderous knocks on the hall door. Robin gave orders for the door to be unbarred.

In strode the Sheriff of Nottingham, and five men, carrying swords and clubs. They did not look friendly. Several fathers pushed their young sons down below the table, so they would not catch the Sheriff’s eye.

“Good morrow to you, My Lord Sheriff. Will you and your companions take some refreshment?” Robin asked politely.

“No, young man, the only thing I will take are the fifty marks you owe me – I mean the King in taxes.”

“My Lord Sheriff, I deeply regret that I do not have the money.”

“No, I thought not, my pretty lad. I have no choice, but to confiscate Cocksley Manor and the village in the name of Prince John—I mean in the name of the King. The village and all its people come under my jurisdiction, and I will see to it that they pay their taxes—OR ELSE. Do I make myself clear?”

“But, My Lord . . .”

“Silence, young man.” The Sheriff  looked at the oldest woman, sitting at the head table. “Hmmm! In need a washerwoman to scrub my floors. I think you’ll do, and you, old man, I need someone to muck out my stables. I think that will be just the job for you.”

The villagers began to mutter, but the Sheriff turned to them, and said, “Aaahhh! I see several most handsome young lads who, I think . . . I will take into my household and train them as . .  pages. Yes, they will learn to fetch and carry, and attend to my needs.”

Everyone in the hall knew exactly what ‘needs’ these young boys would have to satisfy. The mutterings grew louder.

The Sheriff turned back to Robin. His henchmen kept a close eye on the villagers.

“And now my pretty Robin, I’ll deal with you. Where is your Man Martin? I think I would like to have him pleasure me. Where is he?”

“I do not know, Sheriff, He is not here, and I do not know where he is,” Robin said.

“I suppose you’ll have to do. I’ll tell you what, my lad, if you will allow your studly body to be my steed, and let me ride you for a night, I will not only cancel your debt of unpaid taxes, but I will be your friend and recommend you to Prince John.”

Now the mutterings became a loud growl. Even the henchmen knew that if the Sheriff laid a hand on Robin, the villagers would rise to defend him, even if it meant their own deaths.

The sheriff was not a dumb man. He knew that he had better not press his luck (or press his body against Robin’s) too far. Snarling with anger, he said, “It looks as if your dirty stupid villagers are letting you hide behind their bums.”

“Yes,” said Robin, “You may call them stupid and dirty, but they are my villagers, and I love them and they me!”

“Very well,” snarled the Sheriff, “Since you will not cooperate with me, and you cannot pay your taxes, I am stripping of you of your title of Lord of Cocksley Manor, and I am sending you into the forest. Perhaps you will live; perhaps you will die, but you will no longer be Lord of Cocksley Manor! Hah! Hah hah! Hahahahahahaha!”

With that, the Sheriff ordered two of his henchman to hold Robin still, and with his sword, the Sheriff cut away Robin’s mantle. He cut away his fine woolen shirt, and Robin was left wearing nothing but a breechcloth, that didn’t quite hide his magnificent organ of masculine beauty.

“Now get out. I’ll give you one-half-hour by the sundial, and then if my men catch you in the village or town they can deal with you any way they like. Now get out!”

The Sheriff opened the door of the hall, and had his henchmen throw Robin out and down the steps. “Run, Robin, run!” some of the villagers called.

And run, Robin did. He was brave but he did not want to be caught by those henchmen of the Sheriff’s. He ran past the village, he splashed across the stream, and he ran into the deep, dark forest.

All day he walked deeper and deeper into the forest. Night fell, and he could no longer see his hand in front of his face. He plodded on, deeper and deeper into the woods. He heard wolves howling.  He heard rustling in the underbrush.

‘Where could he go? What he could do?’ He knew he could NOT go home to Cocksley.

Onward he walked, hoping he would not trip over a branch or a root, or worse yet, trip over something that would slither and hiss!

Just when he thought he could go no further, he heard a voice say “Stop!  Another step and you die!”

To be continued.
Feedback always welcome:     

Posted: 09/05/08