CHAPTER ONE: DESECRATION

"Now can you tell me why did we stay here in Acre?" Will's eyes were still glued to the spot where his friends, his brothers, had been standing. He had done as Djaq had asked him. Robin and his men were returning to England to continue the fight without them. Now was the time for answers.

Djaq ran into another room and returned holding a dusty scroll. She threw on her scarf and pulled Will with her out the door. "Hurry, there is no time to waste!"

"What are you talking about?" Will stubbornly pulled them both to a stop. "Now please tell me what you meant when you said we HAD to stay here?" The stunned look on Robin's face , when he and Djaq had told them all they intended to stay, that lost uncomprehending air, haunted him. That, coming hard upon the heels on Marian's fate, made it all the worse. But Djaq had promised him an explanation as soon as Robin and the men had departed. Well, they were gone now, and Will needed answers.

But Djaq wasn't giving any. Instead, she breathlessly held out the ancient scroll. "Do you know what this is? She continued without waiting for an answer: "This is the Kitab al-Tasrif".

Will looked at her without comprehension. "Alright so we're to read stories now?" He looked doubtfully at his betrothed.

"Look, I did what you asked. We deserted Robin and our mates, but I have got to know why NOW. You told me you had a reason, please tell me that Kitabie thing is going to help Robin". He looked at the scroll and then searched Djaq's eyes questioningly.

"That is exactly what it will do, we have no time for questions, Will come!"

Will followed her in a daze as they made their way through the dusty streets of Acre. Finally they entered a non-descript large building. "What is this place?" Will, asked, struggling hard to keep his tone non-accusatory.

"This is a Bimaristan, Will hurry!" For a small girl, Djaq was strong as an ox. She pulled him through a side entrance and down an empty corridor. At last she seemed to find the door she was looking for. She flew through the door and Will hurried behind her. He was not prepared for what he saw.

In the bare whitewashed room stood three Saracen men washing their hands. A brazier was burning next to them along with various instruments which Will did not recognize. Standing on its edge against one of the walls a long cedar coffin, obviously freshly dug up. But Will barely noticed them, or anything else. Instead, all of his attention was instantly focused on an object lying a platform in the middle of the room. There, covered with white linen, was the body of Lady Marian of Knighton! Will looked at Djaq in shock and reflexively grabbed at his axe, finding only air. "Djaq EXPLAIN!"

Djaq ignored him and opened the scroll and handed it to the men gathered around Marian's lifeless corpse. She pointed to a spot on the old scroll and the men nodded and began speaking excitedly in Arabic. The eldest old gentleman turned to a reedy young Saracen lad who stood nearby and said something in Arabic. The lad nodded once and quickly placed one of the instruments into the fire of the brazier, watching closely as the end began to glow red.

Will could hardly believe his eyes, and turned to Djaq, trying hard to control his building anger. "Djaq tell me now what is happening. Because if you think I will stand here and let you or anyone desecrate Marian's body, think again".

Djaq shrugged her shoulders and turned toward Will. "Will look at Marian, do you see nothing unusual?"

"EVERYTHING I see is unusual, Djaq. You cannot be thinking of burning poor Marian because I can't allow it." His face flush red with anger he stepped next to Marian's body. In a flash, he grabbed the instrument burning in the brazier and brandished it: "First man that touches Marian's body gets a face full of this, and Djaq what in the name of of god is going on TELL ME NOW!"

The three men backed away warily and one of them said something to Djaq.

Slowly, gently, she put her hand on Will's arm. "Will look at her WOUND. What do you see?"

Doubtfully, keeping an eye on the men in the room, he looked down and peered at Marian's body. She looked as if she were sleeping. Her upper body was bare, except for a silk scarf covering her chest. Below that was a red gash in her side, glistening red against her pale skin.

"Will look closely, the gash in her side, it is still BLEEDING. Marian is NOT dead".

Will stared at Djaq and then at the wound in Marians side, and back again desperately.

"Will, have faith, faith in your god, faith in ME". She tapped his hand and he released the unknown instrument, still burning, into her hands. She handed it to one of the men, an old man, dressed in white silk, and together the three men began their work. Will grimaced as he watched them apply the hot poker to Marian's wound. He noted grimly Marian did not flinch, nor did respond in any way. Surely this was madness! The rest was a blur and Djaq took him aside and pointed at the old man who was busily cauterizing Marian's wound. "Will, that man is a descendant of Abu al-Qasim Khalaf ibn al-Abbas Al-Zahrawi. The father of surgery in the Muslim world. His library was lost in the wars, but with my fathers scroll, he can perhaps return Marian to the living!"

To Will, this looked like something else entirely. The local priests had shown the country peasantry paintings and tapestries picturing satanic worship many times in Locksley, and this bore a very uncomfortable resemblance to those pictures he had seen as a lad. Will nervously scrutinized Djaq's face. The face of the woman he loved. He could not believe her capable of evil. But he had to know for sure. He gulped and caught Djaq's arm, turning her face toward his own, and leveled his gaze straight at her. "Djaq, tell me this isn't devil worship?" He shifted his gaze toward Marian's body on the platform, "tell me this is not some kind of sacrifice?"

To his complete surprise, for he was half expecting a slap, Djaq laughed good naturedly. "Will, this is the art of medicine. It is healing, not magic."

Will heaved a sigh of relief, not entirely understanding, but sure enough of Djaq. He loved this woman, and she was the smartest person he had ever met. Smarter than Robin, smarter than the parish Priest. If she was right, then praise be to god! Or Allah. But if she was wrong, if she was desecrating the body of Robin Hood's wife. God help them all. "Djaq, if you thought she was alive, why didn't you say anything! Do you know what Robin is suffering right now? He is onboard ship and probably on his way home, and he thinks his wife is dead."

"That is precisely why I said nothing. I saw when we placed her in the coffin, that her wound still looked fresh. I could not be sure and I could not put Robin through the pain of losing Marian for a third time. I had her brought here as soon as we left the grave. Allah moves in ways we cannot comprehend Will. But I had to try. Robin must get back to Nottingham before Guy can lay a trap for him. He must not tarry here. And if this works, we will go back with Marian to England. If not, we will return alone and Robin will never be the wiser. He must not suffer any more than he suffers already. He must be able to lead".

Will exhaled. "So this is why you wanted us to let Robin believe we were staying in Acre". It wasn't a question, but was it insanity? He looked at Djaq's face. The boyish, brown, wonderful face of the woman he loved. He saw now the exhaustion of her features from her exertions of the last few hours. All the reasons he loved her washed through him as he thought of her goodness, and her loyalty. He thought painfully of the broken image of Robin, as he and Djaq had lied to him. The amazement when Robin had questioned nothing, had accepted without complaint that two of his most loyal comrades would desert him when he needed them most.

He looked at Marian, lying on a wooden table, still lifeless, and for the first time in a long time, he prayed.

...

The men glumly readied themselves for the long and arduous journey home, back to England. Little John and Alan, in particular, dreaded another sea voyage. They were truly men of the forest, and their first sea voyage convinced them that never again would they leave England, and surely not by sea. But at this moment, their concern was directed elsewhere. Robin. He seemed almost his old self. Too much so. Only his red-rimmed eyes betrayed the extent of his loss.

Much looked much more miserable, but his misery was for Robin clearly and not himself. When they had boarded the ship, the crew had already been told of the sacrifice of Robin Hood's wife. They whispered about it but did not speak of it in the presence of Robin or his men. The ships captain had come forward to greet them, with a charter from the King in hand, and given his condolences. Robin had replied with a hard set of his jaw and even harder eyes, and said exactly nothing.

Robin for his part, did not think of her. He barked his orders and tried to maintain himself. Now was not the time. The order of business was to...what? He forced himself to think and remember the plan. He fingered the ring which Much had retrieved for him from Marian's body... and with that thought he once again closed his mind and pushed every thought he had ever had of her from it. His mind was now a fortress and thoughts of HER were a siege engine battling from without to topple him. Each time he managed to clear his mind, another thought came unbidden set off by almost anything, thoughts of her, and all that she had been, and still was, to him... Again he stopped and blinking tears from his eyes he looked about him ferociously. He waited until his men had selected a corner of the ship and arranged their bedding, and then he put his bedding down in the furthest corner of the ship. He pretended not to notice the hurt look in Much's eyes.

"Robin?" A voice pulled Robin from his contemplation. He looked up in surprise. It was Much, who had brought him some dried venison and fresh figs and tried very hard to look nonchalant. The shadows on the deck had lengthened sharply. Robin was vexed to realize he must have been deep in thought for hours, alone in his netherworld.

"No thanks Much, I'll eat later. After we set sail".

"But, you must eat something..." Much protested hopefully and received no reply. He reluctantly took the food away, muttering to himself. For the first time in his life, Much could think of nothing to say.

Robin watched his men settle in, and the crew busy with their chores. The sun would soon be setting soon, and give them the stars to guide them home. There was little to do now but wait. He fished into his pocket and patted the folded parchment that the king had given him, with instructions to meet his courier at Southwark Bridge, outside London. The feel of the folded parchment somehow relaxed him, and Robin lay his head on his broadcloth bedding and tried to keep his thoughts far from the present.

Little John and Alan played dice with the crew. They were all suffering now and men did not air their suffering in public. There was no place to hide and consequently no place to mourn either. Still, from time to time as the minutes passed, each of Robin's men found himself thinking of Marian, and the look on her face as she met her maker in the arms of Robin. The loss was too much to bear. Little John wiped his eyes and cursed a lot more than usual, and Alan tried vainly to make jokes but found himself unable to deliver the punch line. Much looked the worst of the lot. He helped the cook and did his best to keep it together, for the sake of Robin and the others.

"Try this Robin, it's good for what Ale's ya". This time it was Little John's voice that broke Robin's reflection, and he looked up to see his mates sitting in a semi-circle around him. He took a gourd of wine proffered him, and sipped deeply. When they had finished the gourd, another was produced. They were an odd party of men that drank together that evening. Unremarkable for their times, torn and disheveled some of them, they could not know and would never know the impact the deeds they had done, and were about to do, would make upon their homeland. A nobleman, a manservant, peasant and yeoman, they were now brothers, and their sacrifices that had forged their brotherhood were even now chiseling like a mallot to granite something stronger than any of them could ever guess. These humble men drank and talked and together they watched a setting sun. The shadows of twilight yawned upon the planks of their cog, and hid changes that only time could reveal.

Sunset.

Time to begin the unfolding of the sails. Robin moved apart from the men and turned to take one last look at Acre disappearing in a wave of heat as the sun ended its arc. The waves were bluer than he had ever seen, as blue as the eyes of Marian, he thought. A lump came to his throat. Time to say goodbye. Goodbye to his childhood dreams. Goodbye to a thousand nights in the Holy Land when his last prayer each night had been for her. When he had come to the realization at last that it was a mistake to fight and kill for a Pope or even a King, and when he had understood fully what he had given up.

Bow in hand, Robin watched the sandy breezes shimmer across the beaches of Acre. With a pang, he thought how odd that now it was she, Marian, who would remain in Acre and he would be in England, waiting. Waiting for what? he mused ruefully. Yet another confused thought which he deftly replaced with another image of Marian, threatening him with a bow at the door of Knighton Manor, the day he had returned from the Holy Land. He remembered the absolute RELIEF he had felt when he saw she was unmarried. He had felt hope then, despite her anger. He felt nothing like hope now.

Visions of Marian holding the foundling baby in a Locksley cottage. That one did its work and he let the tears go. Down his face they streamed and he turned to face the darkened shore of Acre and he savored and treasured a million regrets and images that he knew he should never allow himself to think of again. When he COULD think again he would plan. And the plan would be first to meet the courier that King Richard was sending to arrest Vasey and Gisbourne. Gisbourne! The name burned his mind like fire, and Robin allowed something that he had never truly felt before to dance in his head before he pushed it away. It was hate. And now was not the time. But the time was coming and when it did, he would do things to Gisbourne that even the devil wouldn't dare think of. That would be plan number two. To make Gisbourne suffer.

Alan nudged Robin from behind: "Robin it's time"

Robin turned away from Acre, and looked into the concerned eyes of his men. Their faces were guarded but Robin saw the questions in his men's eyes. Could Robin still lead? He didn't know himself, but he could not falter now. He would not let Marian's sacrifice be for nothing. With a sigh, Robin of Locksley mustered all the bravado he did not feel and cried: "We set sail for ENGLAND!"

It was the legend, and not the man, who walked to his men and they gathered about him. Slowly the cameo landscape of Acre began to recede into the distance as the ship's sails unfurled above them. Robin breathed deep the scented air and bade farewell to much more than a foreign land.

Neither Robin, nor his men saw the torch, or the little skiff offshore. They did not hear the calls of the shadowed figure in it.