THE year is 1185. Possibly. A man slips noiselessly through the oaks of Nottinghamshire’s Sherwood Forest—or it might be Yorkshire’s Barnsdale Forest—with a bow and arrow in his hands. He may or may not be wearing Lincoln-green tights and a feathered hat and he may or may not be looking for bounty to redistribute among the poor. Behind him, stepping stealthily between the trees, is a band of accomplices that—perhaps—includes a friar, a man-giant and a fair maid. And could that noise in the distance be a tyrannical Sheriff of Nottingham cursing the lot of them?
The legend of Robin Hood is not founded on hard or consistent facts—at least, not many of them—but it’s a rip-roaring yarn and still a cultural phenomenon. Folklore has a way of spinning tales from the past into gold and few characters straddle the ages as mightily
