Greg: Welcome, Robin, it's great to have you here.
Robin: Thank you, good sir. It is an honor to speak with such an august personage as yourself.
Greg: You flatter me, sir. I was wondering if you could tell us a little bit about your youth.
Robin: I was born so long ago that I can scarce remember it. I was born in the early 12h century...hold. No, it may have been later, perhaps the 13h century. Ah well, 'tis no matter, all water under the bridge. In any event, I was born and grew up strong and true in England's green and pleasant hills. It was there I learned the archer's art, and sword craft.
I practiced uncounted hours, until as an archer I was without peer throughout the length and breadth of England. As a swordsman, I was scarcely far behind. In fact I daresay that among all the swordsmen of the realm, there were only two or three that could best me.
Greg: How did you become an outlaw?
Robin: Ah, now there we come to the crux of the matter, one that shaped my destiny, if you will. There are scores of theories circulating throughout the shire, nay, throughout the country, but I shall shed the light of truth on the matter.
I was a stout yeoman, not noble born, but I considered myself as good as any man alive. When good King Richard left England for the Crusades, his brother Prince John robbed the poor in taxes to pay for his gluttonous ways...hold again. Perhaps it was good King Edward that I served. Ah well, as before it is of little moment. The point is that I robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. Yes, that is what history shall remember.
Greg; Right, right, why should details get in the way? It was all a long, long time ago. Which begs the next question. Are you a historical figure, or a fictional character?
Robin: Well asked, my good fellow! What is history? What is fiction? Answer those two questions, my lad, and you'll find that the answer to the question of my origin lies somewhere in between. I am neither wholly real, nor wholly fictitious.
While I have come to symbolize all that is good and noble in human nature, I as a person of mere flesh and blood could not hope to live up to the expectations that history has placed upon me. Therefore, is it not reasonable to assume that a certain amount of fictional embellishment may have occurred over the course of centuries?
However, at the core, I am the man of which the legends sing. Many of the deeds which are credited to me, I actually did perform.
Greg: Tell me about your merry men. Who was your favorite?
Robin: Another excellent question, my lord. My merry men are a joy to me. A stouter band of ruffians and yeomen I could never hope to find! Over the course of the centuries, history and legend have given them their personalities, making them, too, larger than life. Who could forget heroes with names like Will Scarlet, Little John, Much the Miller's Son, and of course Friar Tuck.
The good friar is the one I'd want most with me in the heat of battle. No hardier warrior have I known. And none so quick to celebrate a victory with a joint of mutton and a jug of ale. There is also the added benefit that, when stuck in a tight spot, he could administer Last Rites and send you clean of conscience to your Maker if need be.
Greg: I think people would like to know what happened to you after you were pardoned?
Robin: Ah well, I do believe the phrase is "lived happily ever after". The good king, Richard...or Edward depending on which version of my life you prefer, granted me lands and the hand of the lovely Maid Marian. I, brash boy that I am, took all of the fair damsel and lived to a ripe old age.
Although I left the world's stage at that point, legend was not through with me. My deeds grew and grew until even I could scarce recognize my little life from the thing of sheer magnificence that it now is. It truly is an amazing thing.
Greg: Yes, well thank you so much for taking some time out from your legendary schedule.
Robin: It was a time which I shall always hold dear. You are without equal as an inquisitor, and I doff my cap to you, sir! Ta, ta for now!