The Dark One

by Xenon

Post season three. Simon de Belleme is back in Sherwood.

1. One

THE DARK ONE

~~~~~~
"In the days when the lion has ceased to roar, but the devil's brood still holds sway,
the one shall come. And he shall be old and he shall be new,
and his enemies shall quake to see him."
Prophecies of Gildas
~~~~~~

They had taken him at what he had believed to be the moment of his death, and had carried him away to a place where even Herne never walked. There had been mists and still waters, and the sound of endless bird song; and he had lain there, whilst summer had died around him. Whilst autumn and winter had walked their eternal path; whilst spring had come again to fill the world with flowers.

And he had lain on, knowing nothing. Not even his own name.

**********

Robin, once heir to the Earldom of Huntingdon, breathed deeply. Smoke filled his lungs, strangely scented and calming; a smoke that did not make him cough. His vision swam.

"Look hard, my son." Herne's voice sounded the way it always did; commanding but gentle; urgent but relaxing. A voice to be listened to, and a voice to be obeyed. "See what you will see."

"I see..." He didn't see anything yet. Just smoke, and the smouldering twigs and mosses that were the source of it. Somewhere nearby a bird sang, and the clear sound awoke the second consciousness within him. A long breath exhaled itself, and at last his vision cleared.

And he saw... A figure, hidden by a dark hood... A pair of cupped hands, filled to brimming with diamonds that sparkled like white fire... Marion, her arms outstretched, imploring, her face wet with tears... He choked, the strong scent of the billowing smoke catching in his throat at last. Marion. Was there something wrong with Marion? Did she need him? He wanted to go to her, but Herne was not finished with him yet, and he knew that there was still more to be seen. The clashing sound of swords filled his ears, and he let his mind tell him more... The Sheriff of Nottingham, laughing aloud... A pentagram, burning in a room of cold grey stone... And Will Scarlet, his eyes wild and mad, stabbing Nasir in the back... The images faded. Robin fell forward onto the ground.

"Sometimes it is hard to see what must be seen." Herne's voice sounded faint; a distant noise somewhere above him. He raised his head.

"These things... are they going to happen soon?"

"That is not for us to know." Herne made no move to help him up. Robin had never thought that he would. "But there are other things that I can tell you."

"And will I understand them?" He made it back to his knees, and tried to concentrate on the world around him. His heart was beating faster than he had known it to do for a long time, and his body felt washed in cold, cold sweat. The last thing that he wanted was to listen to more cryptic prophecies, but he knew that he didn't have a choice. Such things were all a part of being the son of Herne.

"You will understand what is necessary, when the time comes to understand it." A hand fell onto his shoulder, briefly. "A man will come. A man with whom you share a father."

"Gisburne?" Robin stared up at the smoke-shrouded figure above him. "Gisburne is coming into Sherwood?"

"A man will come." Herne's voice was quiet and patient, and showed no sign of any concern for the import of his news. "He is all that he appears to be, and that must not be forgotten."

"Oh I know everything that Gisburne is, believe me." Robin still couldn't believe that he really was related to the Sheriff's young steward. Gisburne was everything that he hated; everything that Herne had chosen him to fight against. How mad and inexplicable that they should share a father.

"With him comes a new time; a new stage of your destiny. There will be changes. Danger. Perhaps death."

"When?" He stumbled to his feet, anxious now to return to the others. "When is all of this going to happen?"

"Summer is long over." Herne's answer was hardly helpful, but even in his frustration Robin understood that it was the best he was going to get. "Autumn is a time of the greatest of change. Choose wisely, Robin i' the Hood. Choose wisely."

"I'll try." He lifted his eyes, meeting Herne's for the first time since he had arrived in the hidden grove. "Is there anything else that I need to know?"

"Much." Herne was smiling at him, in the gentle, paternal fashion that still managed to be cryptic, even beneath the warmth. "But no more that I can tell you. Go now."

"Thankyou." It was part of the ritual to thank his father; even though at times he felt that there was little to thank him for. Surely it was better, on occasion, not to know some of the things that he saw and heard at Herne's behest? He dismissed the thought. The Lord of the Forest always had his reasons. Sometimes they just happened to be harder to see.

"Go with my blessing, my son." The smoke swirled. Robin knew that when it cleared his father would be gone. He always was. The birds still sang, and the wind still blew, but a part of his reality had changed. Something had been altered without his awareness. Such was always the way when he was with Herne.

**********

The camp had been a quieter place since Marion had left. Much was subdued, missing the girl who had been so kind to him for so long. She had been his last link with his foster brother, and he didn't understand why she had left. Even Will Scarlet was obviously affected by the loss. Marion was a lady of high birth, and he had been suspicious of her once, but he had softened his attitude long ago. She had been a part of the gang, and her departure, after Loxley's death, had been one of the reasons why he had left Sherwood. Robert of Huntingdon had brought the gang back together again, Marion amongst them, but even his presence as the new son of Herne had been unable to make her stay. There was a hole amidst them now, and it disturbed the equilibrium. They all wanted the girl back.

"We need to get moving." Robin came from the west, striding into the camp with a step that suggested urgency. Little John glanced up from where he was restringing his bow.

"Are we moving camp?"

"No. No, I don't think so." Robin rubbed his brow, wishing that he could make sense of a few of the images he had seen, and wishing that he was allowed to speak of them to the others. "Herne said that Gisburne is coming. Why he's coming I don't know, but apparently he's heading this way."

"Could somebody have betrayed us?" Will couldn't think of anybody besides Marion who knew the location of their camp, and he certainly didn't suspect her; but somebody else might have discovered something. Robin shook his head.

"I doubt it. Besides, Herne seemed to be suggesting that he'll be travelling alone. It's more likely that he's delivering something."

"Something that we ought to intercept?" John was on his feet in an instant. "Then we're heading for the road to Nottingham?"

"I think so." Robin looked around at the other members of the gang. "Listen, about Marion..."

"It's alright." Will was already on his feet, eager to be off. The chance of ambushing Guy of Gisburne was enough to dispel all but the worst of sorry feelings, and his characteristic spiritedness did not usually stay away for long. "We know that you probably miss her more than we do, but it's not as if she's definitely gone for good, is it." He grinned. "Maybe if she hears a few good stories of the things we get up to without her, she'll come back."

"I'd like that." Much, sitting on a low tree branch, was swinging his legs disconsolately. Will threw a stick at him.

"Come on, Muchy. Let's go and catch us a Gisburne. We could all do with the exercise."

"Alright." Jumping down, Much made a fair stab at looking eager. Little John cuffed him playfully around the shoulders.

"So it's roasted Gisburne for dinner tonight. Think you can manage to fit a whole one in the pot, Tuck?"

"I think I can try." Laughing contentedly, the friar rose to his feet. "If you can catch him."

"Oh we'll do that." Shouldering his bow, Will turned to Robin. "Where are we going?"

"Due north. The old road where they used to take the fleeces to market." Robin glanced at the sky. It was early morning still, and the vision he had seen of the man in the black hood had been lit with the light of midday; but it was best to be there in advance, and be sure of catching Gisburne when he came. "Where's Nasir?"

"On watch." Will put his fingers to his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle that sent several birds fleeing for cover. Robin winced. Wherever Nasir was there seemed little danger that he would have missed that signal, and of course with his exceptional hearing he hadn't. With hardly a sound the almost perpetually silent Saracen dropped out of the branches of a nearby tree, where he had apparently been roosting for some time. Robin had known Nasir for some months now, and the taciturn foreigner seemed to have spent at least half of that time up a succession of trees. Clearly he liked it.

"Right." It felt strange going off on a raid without Marion there, but Robin tried to dismiss the thought that something was missing. "Let's get moving."

"And catch us a nice tasty Gisburne." Will had had a fair amount to drink the night before, and apparently quite a bit of it was still in his system. Robin smiled.

"If you want to eat him Will, that's fine. I just want whatever he's carrying. And remember - Gisburne is always ready."

"Oh he's always expecting us to attack him, that's for sure." Picking up his large quarter-staff, which had the size and appearance of a whole stout tree trunk, Little John laughed loudly. "He's just hopeless at stopping us."

"That's titled Normans for you. All money and no brains." Will banged Robin on the back. "Right Robin?"

"Very funny." Rolling his eyes, the former heir to a Norman Earldom began to lead the way into the forest. Some days it wasn't just Herne who risked sending him mad.

**********

He didn't remember eating or drinking anything. He didn't remember moving or speaking or even breathing. For the passage of so many months he simply was, without knowing it. And then, gradually, things began to change. The birdsong became clearer, sharper. The wind became more tangible; more fresh against his skin. He could smell the moist earth and the fruit beginning to grow on the trees. He could feel the rushes, the mosses and the grasses on which he lay. And finally, when he was at last beginning to realise that he was truly alive, he could see the blue sky above his head. He watched the cloud patterns change from day to day, and he watched the birds make their passages to-and-fro.

And finally, when he knew that it was truly autumn, he remembered at last how to stand. And he knew then that it was time to go.

**********

The cart had been rattling along the old north road for some time, and the man driving it didn't look as though he was particularly anxious to get anywhere. Wrapped in a shapeless black cloak, his face hidden by a thick hood, he might have been young or old, strong or weak. The cloak gave nothing away, and the hood covered his head completely. The only parts of him that were visible were his hands, and they gave nothing away; only the fact that they were strong, and that they seemed to be young. A long bow lay at his feet, and a quiver of arrows was beside it. They were fine arrows, made from silver birch, evenly feathered and straight. To be caught in Sherwood Forest with such weapons would mean a summary imprisonment or maiming, but the man in the black hood had made no attempt to hide them. Anybody who stopped him would see them, and for him not to worry about such danger meant that he was either Norman nobility or very brave. Perhaps he thought that he had every right to bear such arms. Perhaps he thought that he had been given that right by an authority higher than any Norman law.

Or perhaps he just didn't care.

**********

Robin and his gang saw the cart almost exactly at noon, just as Robin's vision had led him to believe. The driver didn't stop as they stepped out into the road, but when the young leader of the band stepped out in front of him, he reined in the single, aged horse, and brought the lop-sided cart to a halt. The axles creaked in protest and the horse stamped its feet. Robin laid a gentle hand on its neck, and it quietened immediately.

"Where's your escort, Gisburne?" It bothered him that the man was wearing a hood, just as it bothered him that he had remained so still and silent. "Surely even you wouldn't be fool enough to come through Sherwood on your own?"

"I'm not Guy of Gisburne." The voice within the hood was too soft to be properly heard, but it seemed to belong to a man who was well spoken and sure of himself. The certainty of nobility perhaps; definitely not that of most of England's downtrodden peasantry. Robin smiled, keeping his patience just as he always tried to do.

"What are you carrying?" Nodding to Will, he gestured at the back of the cart. Whatever was in there was covered with a piece of material; home-spun and heavy, like the cloth that clothed most of the poor. The hood moved slightly, as though the man within it was turning his attention to the cart.

"A gift." He spoke the words very precisely, with perhaps a touch of humour. "For the people of Herne."

"A gift?" Robin thought about all the possibilities. Was the cart big enough to hide several soldiers ready for the attack? He didn't think so, but he couldn't imagine anything else that Gisburne might be carrying. He almost called Will back, but by then Scarlet had already laid hold of the cloth. With a powerful flick of his wrist he tugged it free, and all of the outlaws turned to see what lay beneath. What had this man come into Sherwood, risking the many outlaws that dwelt there, in order to transport? Robin remembered the cupped hands filled with diamonds that he had seen on his vision - but diamonds were not what lay before him now. Instead, sprawled as though asleep, and still warm to the touch, was a magnificent deer. A single arrow, fashioned from silver birch, protruded from its neck. Robin frowned.

"One of the king's deer..." Not Gisburne then. Whoever this man was, he couldn't be the sheriff's insufferable steward. "Who are you?"

"And what's going on?" Looking about as though he expected some hidden enemy to come dashing out of the undergrowth, Will raised his long bow. An arrow was already fitted to the string, but he didn't point it at any immediate target. John was ready with his staff, eyes surveying the road in wary readiness, and Tuck and Much, close together a short distance away, also looked decidedly uneasy. Only Nasir remained impassive, but Robin knew that he could draw his twin swords in the blink of an eye, and would be ready for battle as quickly as any of them.

"Nothing's going on." The man in the hood sounded as though he was smiling, and Robin wished that he had Albion in his hand. The sword had always given him confidence and strength, but now he felt adrift. He wasn't sure why. Why should an anonymous man in a hood make him feel so ill at ease? Herne's words from earlier were loud in his mind, and he couldn't forget them. Change was coming, and this man triggered the start of it all. Change that might mean death. Change that made Marion cry tears of deepest anguish. Change that was going to lead Will to stab Nasir in the back. He tightened his jaw and stood his ground, and stared at the black space within the hood. Somewhere in there was a face, and he had decided that it was long past due for him to see it. He stood a little straighter, and let his natural authority power his words.

"Who are you?" It was a polite demand, but a demand nonetheless. Nasir had come to stand beside him, arriving as silently as always, adding weight to Robin's own implied threats. The hooded figure moved slightly closer, and Will's bow whipped up to point directly at him. A low laugh, joyous and light, made gentle fun of their forceful behaviour.

"One who shares your father." The words were so close to Herne's own that Robin could not help drawing in a breath. His eyes snapped up a fraction, staring unerringly straight into the other man's eyes. He couldn't see them, but he knew where they were. His instincts always led him to know such things.

"My father?" He was thinking of the Earl of Huntingdon, and inescapably of Guy of Gisburne, but he realised now that he had been wrong. The man in the hood touched him on the shoulder; the action of a brother or a friend.

"Your father," he echoed, and his voice was gentle and strong. "Herne the Hunter." And he pushed back the hood, and they all saw his face for the first time.

And even though it was a face he had never seen before, the man who had once been Robert of Huntingdon knew that he was looking at the man who had once been Robin of Loxley. And he felt as though he was staring into madness.

**********

For a long time nobody spoke. The wind blew gently, and the horse tossed its head. Robin - Robert - laid his hand back upon its neck, but this time it did not quiet down as it had done before. It could sense his unease far too clearly, and its agitation grew. The same was true of all of them, for whatever unrest and uncertainty the horse was experiencing, it couldn't have been as great as that felt by the men grouped around it.

"Who are you?" It was Will who spoke first, belligerent and forceful, bow still pointed at the man on the cart. Loxley grinned, and the expression was one of such familiarity to them all that there wasn't a man amongst them who didn't respond to it. Even Nasir relaxed a little, although his eyes were unreadable.

"You're a demon." Will didn't sound entirely sure of that, but he had never been a man who trusted easily. Loxley shook his head.

"No Will. I'm no demon."

"But you're dead." Much's voice had a faint quiver to it, though his eyes were filled with yearning. He had dreamt of this, ever since the day that Robin had walked away from him, and left Albion in Marion's keeping. "You... you must be a demon."

"What does your heart say, Much?" Loxley had climbed down from the cart without any of them being aware that he had moved. With one hand he stroked the horse into restful silence, and with the other he reached out towards his foster brother. Will made as though to intercede, but a look from the man who had once been his leader stilled him in his tracks. Much looked panicked.

"You're a demon." The whimper had made his voice rise to a higher pitch than normal, and his face was very pale. Loxley shook his head.

"The horse doesn't think so. Horses know, don't they. Remember your father's horse?"

"I remember." The childish grin that Much possessed, which usually made everybody who knew him smile in return, stole briefly across his face. "Horses do know. Animals know all kinds of things, don't they." He took a step forward, and Will moved to stop him.

"Don't be a fool Much. It's a trick. Some trick of Gisburne's, or something magic. Remember Gulnar? Remember how he made another Robin?"

"Always suspicious." Loxley's smile was warm and friendly; the bright smile they had always known. It brought to mind joking around the fire, and fooling around during weapons training. Of his play arguments with Marion, and his gentle mockery whenever he had faced up to the Normans. Demons didn't smile like that, no matter how anxious they were to fool the world. Much's grin grew bigger.

"It's really you, isn't it Robin." His trusting face was transformed, the fear leaving it, replaced by radiant joy. Loxley looked faintly relieved.

"It's really me." He stretched out his hand that little bit further, and stepped past Huntingdon and Nasir. "Hello Much."

"Oh Robin." Running forward, heedless of any of his earlier fears, the boy threw himself into the arms of his adopted brother. Huntingdon fell back a pace, uncertain but intrigued.

"I don't understand." It was John who spoke, his gentle tones showing concern and confusion. "You're dead, Robin. You've been dead for so long. We said our goodbyes like we said them for Dickon and Tom, and Herne sent another son in your place. You can't be here."

"I thought that I was dead." It was clear that it was not easy for him to explain. "Maybe even Herne thought that I was. All that I know is that I was taken deep into the forest; beyond the forest; by somebody that I never saw. I don't remember what's happened since then. But I know that I'm supposed to be dead."

"And yet you're not." More words of Herne's were returning to Huntingdon now. He is all that he appears to be, and that must not be forgotten. Certainly this man did not appear to be anything so much as Robin of Loxley. The first Robin i' in the Hood. In that case, since Herne had spoken of it, surely that was exactly what he must be? So the man in the black hood truly was at the start of the changes Herne had predicted. The great change that was to come with the autumn.

"No, I'm not." Releasing Much, though keeping him close, Robin turned his attention back to his successor. He saw a young man, younger even than himself, blond where he was dark, Norman where he was English, clearly an aristocrat, where he had always been a peasant. Herne had chosen somebody very different, it seemed, to be his second son. "At least, I don't think so." His head turned, as he looked at each of his former friends in turn. There was mistrust in all their eyes, but he didn't really blame them. How could he when he didn't understand himself? And so it was that the first born son of Herne, as lost in Sherwood Forest as he might have been in a uncharted, foreign land, allowed them to blindfold him, and take him back to their camp. His mind was still floating some paces behind, but his heart was several steps ahead for, in the midst of his confusion, one thought was paramount. Marion.

She at least would know him for what he was.

**********

"Gone?" He had taken off the blindfold, not needing to be told that they had arrived at their destination. "What do you mean she's gone?"

"She's left us." John answered the question automatically, then clammed up slightly. Clearly he was still suspicious. "Didn't want to do it anymore."

"But she was the heart of us. The... the soul." Loxley - or whoever he was - shook his dark head in disbelief. "She can't have just changed."

"These things happen." Huntingdon's voice was sharp, for the loss of Marion was something that he felt keenly. It still hurt that he had had to let her go, and it seemed to him that Loxley was apportioning blame.

"Aye." John was remembering the time, after the death of their first leader, when the band had fallen apart; when they had been flung to the four winds and abandoned the task that had chosen them. He still felt a bit guilty about that, and for that reason even if no other, could not really blame Marion for her departure. Will was not so understanding.

"Went back to being a lady again, didn't she. Back to doing what she used to do. Maybe living in a forest didn't suit her anymore."

"Will!" Huntingdon's powerfully authoritative voice startled them all, but far from reacting angrily, Will was gracious enough to look faintly abashed. They all knew that he didn't really believe the things that he had said. Loxley smiled.

"She'll come back, Will. I'll find her. Speak to her. She belongs with us in Sherwood."

"Who's us?" Scarlet was still deeply suspicious, as were they all. "And you're not going anywhere until we find out who you are."

"I'm Robin of Loxley." The words were simple, the voice gentle and calm. "Don't you remember, Will, how we spent so much time here in Sherwood together? How I first told you who I was, in the dungeon at Nottingham Castle? You said that there was no such place as Loxley, but I told you that nothing's forgotten. Nothing, Will."

"You see?" Much had moved, and was now standing alongside the man who had been his brother. "You see? He is Robin. Just like he used to be. He knows, see. I was there too in that dungeon, and I heard him say that. Just like you did Will."

"Yeah, I heard him." Scarlet was looking confused. There were possibilities of course - people could know about that. Somebody could have overheard, and could now be using that knowledge in an attempt to fool them all. And yet part of him could not really believe that. His eyes turned to Huntingdon - another man that he had once doubted and suspected, and even hated at first, and yet who he had now come to respect almost as no other. "What do you think, Robin?"

"I..." It was more than merely confusing, and Huntingdon was more than merely torn. A man who was dead, and yet wasn't. A man who had been gone for so long and yet, without explanation, was here amongst them again. He remembered when Herne had called him, as the successor to the first Robin i' the Hood. Was it possible that the Lord of the Hunt himself had not known that his son had still lived? "I don't know Will. Except--"

"Except what?" John was ready to believe, through sheer desire for it all to be true, and they could all see that. Huntingdon smiled. It certainly wasn't for him to persuade these people to deny their hearts' desire.

"Herne said that someone would come, and that he would be all that he appeared to be." He frowned. "So I suppose the question is... who does he appear to be?"

"Robin," said Much, with the firm determination of a child who would not be dissuaded. Tuck smiled at him.

"Aye lad. I don't think there's much doubt of that."

"Then you believe me?" Loxley was relieved, although his own confusion still lingered. He didn't know how he came to be alive, any more than did his friends. "John? Will? Nasir?"

"Aye. Aye I think we do believe you." John's voice was gentle, just as it always was when he spoke to his friends, although there was something else behind the words. Will didn't say anything. A little of the hostility had gone from his eyes perhaps, but he had not relaxed his stance. Only Nasir was yet to react in any way. Loxley, who had always been able to read thoughts and emotions that might have been invisible to anybody else, found himself at a loss to identify the look in those dark eyes now.

"I suppose the question is," Will commented, for once taking up the more thoughtful stance, "if you are Robin - how do you come to be here? Who brought you here? What kind of magic did they use, and what did they do it for?" The famous Scarlet belligerence was coming back into his voice, and his eyes were hot once again. Loxley shook his head.

"I wish I knew, Will." The sadness in his voice was almost tragic, and they all felt for him - even if they couldn't yet trust him. "I don't remember being dead, but I know that I was supposed to be. If this is part of somebody's magic, they must be very powerful. It could upset the balance that Herne brings to the forest."

"I should talk to him." The decision formed in Huntingdon's mind in the same, quick way that a summons from Herne usually manifested itself; like an idea that felt as if was born in his own mind, but might just as easily have been put there by another. The mention of going to Herne brought a look of yearning to Loxley's face, but the first Hooded Man didn't ask if he could also go to meet with the Lord of the Forest.

"Why can't he just be Robin?" Much was looking confused, feeling that his joy had been cruelly curtailed by all of this continuing suspicion. He wanted his brother back, and for him that overruled all else. Tuck laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Pour us some ale lad," he said kindly, and the boy, as always, went willingly to do as he was told. Loxley watched him as he complied with the friar's request, remembering so many other times; so many other jugs of ale, beside so many other campfires. Could he really have been brought back to life by some ill-meaning magician, who sought to undo Herne's work in the forest, and tip their world into chaos? He had met so many evil sorcerers in his time, and he had even witnessed one of them return from the dead. If the Baron de Belleme had done it, surely somebody could also do it to him? The thought would have made him shudder, if he had been of a weaker disposition.

"Here Robin." The wooden mugs were exactly as Loxley remembered them - why should they have been any different? He took the one that was being offered to him, smiling his thanks at Much. The boy had changed, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed that straight away. He had not grown taller especially, but he looked less the boy and far more the man. The innocence was still in his eyes though. That much at least had not changed.

"Not for me thanks." Huntingdon shook his head at the mug being offered his way, and turned to leave the camp. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Tuck, stay here and keep guard with Much." He didn't say what it was that had need to be guarded, although the inference was clear. "John, Nasir, Will - if you think you can face leaving when there's ale being poured, get back out and watch the road. There's always a chance I read things wrong and there's somebody else out there."

"Gisburne?" Will's eyes flashed with hope. Huntingdon gave a nod.

"Yes, perhaps. If so, try to leave him in one piece?"

"I'll try." Will's grin was practically from ear to ear. "But I'm not promising anything. Come on lads." He turned and headed away, without so much as a look back at the man seated by the fire. Loxley stared at his back, and longed for the days when this easy camaraderie had been something he had shared. John cast a lingering look in his direction, a frown puckering his forehead, before he cast a brief, half-wave at Tuck and strode off. Nasir too walked quickly away. Robin wished that it was not so difficult to interpret the silent man's thoughts, for it would be nice to know whether or not he had at least one more ally within the camp.

"Will you be alright here alone?" Huntingdon was toying with the hilt of Albion, as though the weapon suddenly weighed heavy upon his belt. Loxley's eyes were drawn to it, and he remembered holding the weapon in his own hands, in the days when he had been its guardian. Would it still know him? Surely the surest and best way to test his good faith would be to see how Albion reacted to him? He was about to suggest it when the young blond man who was now the sword's keeper turned smartly on his heel and moved away. He was gone so fast that the branches of the trees barely moved.

"Are you alright?" Coming back to sit beside Loxley, Much gazed at him over the rim of his mug as he drank. Robin smiled at him.

"I'm fine Much. And don't drink that so quickly. Remember what happened when we ate at Nottingham Castle that time?"

"With King Richard." Much looked a little embarrassed, and lowered the mug. "I remember. I think I remember. Did I slide under the table?"

Tuck guffawed, his round face lighting up with good humour at the memory.

"Aye lad. You slipped right down. Not that the rest of us did much better." He sighed, and his eyes drifted away to look out into the forest. Loxley knew that he was looking after Huntingdon, and he realised that the band that once had followed him were now just as surely devoted to their new leader. This must be very difficult for all of them.

"Why doesn't Robin like Robin?" Much frowned as he asked the question, realising the clumsiness of it, then turned questioning eyes to Tuck. The friar's now serious eyes began to look sad.

"It's complicated, lad." He glanced briefly at Loxley, who looked away. "When a man who's supposed to be dead turns out not to be, it's important to find out how and why. Even if he really is who he says he is, he might be part of somebody's evil plans."

"Robin isn't evil." Much was not the simpleton that he was so often accused of being, but his emotions and opinions were always simple enough. Tuck patted him on the shoulder.

"I know that, lad." He couldn't meet Loxley's eyes though, and kept his gaze upon Much alone. "But it takes a good deal of magic to bring somebody back to life."

"Maybe he was never dead. We never saw his body, did we. Marion and I were there, sort of. We never saw his body. We know the Sheriff's men never found it. Why can't he have survived?"

"Maybe he did." This time Tuck did look at Robin, but Loxley was no longer looking at him. Instead he was staring into the fire. "But there's still something going on here, and we have to hope that whatever it is, it's not going to be a threat to all of us."

"Robin isn't a threat." Much folded his arms, looking cross and upset, but Tuck didn't know what to say to reassure him. Inside he couldn't help feeling worried, and he knew that his feelings were the same as those felt by Huntingdon - and probably by Loxley as well. Whatever they had begun by meeting the hooded man that day, it was something that was going to change the lives of all of them. He only hoped that there was some chance of that change being for good.

**********

"So what do you think?" Having elected to forego secrecy, John, Will and Nasir were striding down the middle of the road together, walking three abreast even though the thoroughfare was hardly wide enough for that. Will sighed, frustrated at his lack of a proper answer to John's question.

"I don't know what to think." He kicked hard at a stone, and the little piece of rock flew into the air and sent a bird flying angrily from its nest. "He didn't look like a ghost."

"Didn't look like a demon either." John shrugged his massive shoulders. "So does that mean he's what he says he is?"

"I don't know. How do you come back to life, or stay alive when everybody knows you're supposed to be dead? Doesn't work, does it. What if somebody else had to die to bring him back, or there's some price that has to be paid now he is back? Nothing I wouldn't pay for that to happen, but... well it doesn't work that way, does it. I never did like magic." Shooting a glance back over his shoulder at Nasir, who was starting to trail behind, Scarlet asked him what he thought. The Saracen was silent for a moment, and both of the other men assumed that he was not going to answer. Eventually, however, he raised his eyebrows in what appeared to be a placid indication of the facts.

"Robin died for us," he said simply, his quiet voice barely carrying in the still air. "For all of us, to make the seasons continue to turn. It was... necessary."

"Then you think he's a ghost, or a demon?" John always felt himself going by the decisions of the taciturn Saracen - when they could actually get him to voice his decisions that was. There was something about the man's quiet wisdom that was strangely compelling.

"No." For once he voiced the word, instead of merely indicating it with a shake of his head. "He is alive. What is important is to know what comes next."

"What price there is to be paid." Will nodded, his own opinion, voiced so recently, now apparently being underlined. Nasir nodded.

"Fate demands payment."

"You're a confusing sod at times, you know that?" Will shook his head, annoyed with everybody for no particular reason. He just wanted to be angry, because he didn't know what was going on. John smiled at him.

"He means that if something is supposed to happen, but for some reason it doesn't, something else will have to happen instead. And it's a good point. We're all worrying about whether Robin's a ghost, or has been brought back to life for some horrible reason - but the truth is that it could be just as bad if he's none of those things. Maybe he never died. Maybe nobody's brought him back from the dead. Still could be dangerous having him back though, couldn't it."

"Well what do you want to do? Kill him?" Will shook his head, exasperated with everything. "What do you think we should do, Naz?"

"Hide." The Saracen had stopped, and was standing in the middle of the road, apparently listening to thin air. "Somebody is coming."

"Huh?" Scarlet froze, also listening. "Who?" His answer was a withering glare, and he grinned. "Yeah yeah, alright. How many are there?"

"One wagon. Three men on horses." Neither of Nasir's companions thought to question his judgement, and together they hurried into the bushes that lined the road. John rubbed his beard, his mind racing ahead of itself as he tried to think what they should do next.

"Do we try to ambush them?" he asked. Will rolled his eyes.

"No John. We hide here and let them go on past. Of course we ambush them. Are you going soft?"

"Keep your voice down." John peered over the bushes, and was pleased to see that there was still no sign of whoever was coming. "I just meant, there's only the three of us. Shouldn't we play safe?"

"You can if you want to. I'm going to go and rob me a wagon." Will frowned. "Shame there aren't a few more of us though. Might be a bit rough if there's a lot of people riding in that wagon."

"A bit rough?" John shook his head. "Look, if Nasir goes back to the camp he can get the others and be back here before they've gone too far. We can lay a proper ambush further down the road."

"There won't be anybody back at the camp, remember? Robin's off looking for Herne, and Tuck and Much can't leave... the other Robin. It's up to us." Will scowled, doing his best to think hard. Planning had never been his strongest suit. "What about the net that Robin had us put up in the trees near here? We could use that."

"The net is for emergencies, Will. I'm pretty certain Robin had plans for--"

"This is an emergency! Robin's not here, we're on our own, and somebody who could be carrying loads of gold is going to get past us unless we do something." Will seemed determined to win the argument through sheer volume alone. "Nasir, where did we put the net?"

"Ahead. Not far." Pointing upwards and onwards, the Saracen indicated where the hidden trap was secreted. As always he made no comment about the sense of Will's plan, but merely answered the question as economically as was possible. Scarlet nodded.

"Good. Get up a tree and get ready to spring it. John?"

"You're crazy." The big man was smiling though, and it was obvious that he was not going to pull out. "Alright, alright. I'll get into position. But no unnecessary risks, Will."

"I'll behave." If it was actually possible for Scarlet to do so then he had given no indication of it over the last few years of his acquaintance with John, but his friend was not the sort to point that out. "I'll even promise not to kill anybody who gets tangled up. So are we ready?"

"Yeah." Nodding at Nasir to get on his way, John hefted his heavy quarter-staff. "Lead on Will."

"Over here." Running at a crouch Scarlet led the way towards a likely piece of cover. The bushes were thicker, the trees taller, and the road rather narrower than further down, and it all looked very promising. John still thought that they were daft for making the attempt, but he didn't say anything. Will was not nearly so circumspect, however.

"You think we're nuts, don't you."

"Yeah." John grinned at him. "And if this doesn't work, you're the one who's going to explain to Robin that we've ruined his net before he even got the chance to use it."

"We'll tell him it got eaten by squirrels." Will's face became grim as the sounds of horse hooves became increasingly loud. "Ready?"

"Are you kidding? I'll never be ready for this." Laying down his staff he fixed an arrow to his bow. "You know, I'm certain Robin had big plans for that net."

"Hard luck." Will's eyes were narrow as he tried to judge timing and distances. This was definitely the reason they usually had somebody else to give the orders. The convoy was in view now; three men on horseback, just as Nasir had said, one riding ahead of the other two, all preceding a slow, heavy wagon.

"Look at that!" Will was delighted, and John could understand why. Distinct in his colourful robes, the man driving the wagon was clearly identifiable. Abbot Hugo de Rainault, older brother of the Sheriff of Nottingham, was driving with both his eyes on the bushes to either side of the road. Of all the churchmen in the locality he had suffered the most at the hands of Robin's men, for they had all taken a great delight in tormenting him. Clearly now he was nervous and expecting trouble.

"Poor old Abbot Hugo." John grinned hugely. "He's looking in the wrong direction."

"And you didn't think that the net was a good idea." Will raised his bow. He had a perfect bead on the lead rider, but he didn't want to fire until he knew when and where the net was going to fall. His eyes drifted up. He couldn't see Nasir or the net, but he knew that they were both up there. The net was camouflaged against the reddening leaves, and Nasir would be somewhere to the left of it, where they had hidden the mechanism that would send it falling to the ground. The timing had to be perfect, but the net itself would not let them down.

"Not yet, Naz." The Saracen could not hear him of course, but it made Scarlet feel better to talk aloud. "Not yet. Not yet..." The horses were coming closer, and the wagon would soon be level with them. If Hugo was being as vigilant as he appeared to be, he could not fail to see them then - and would give a warning that would make the best of ambushes hopeless. John glanced up.

"What's he waiting for?"

"The right moment." Will tightened his grip on his bow and its readied arrow. "Not yet Naz, not yet, not... Now!" And in perfect tandem with his whispered word, the leaves above them blossomed out into a burst of downward motion. Hugo looked up, clearly expecting to have a multitude of outlaws descending upon him from the trees, only to see the net. He let out a startled squeak and tried to whip up the horses, but trapped behind the less alarmed guards he was unable to get out of the way. The net fell, and the horses whinnied in startled fright as it folded itself around them. Trapped as well, the two rearmost soldiers fell from their mounts in a fury of lashing fists and kicking feet. Will stood up in the same instant, and with one ruthless shot, killed the guard in the lead. His horse made as if to bolt, but Nasir's quiet form melted out of the shadows in just enough time to catch hold of its bridle and calm it.

"Well well well. Abbot Hugo." Striding up to the wagon, John put his hands on his hips and regarded the furious churchman with sparkling eyes. "Anybody would think you liked being ambushed."

"Yeah. Isn't it about time you looked for a road that doesn't take you through Sherwood?" Grinning at the trapped abbot, Will swung up onto the back of the wagon. Hugo began to struggle furiously, winding himself up in the net so securely that it looked as though it would have taken a whole army with their swords to cut him loose.

"Let me go!" His voice was about one part fear to two parts anger, and of course only served to make Will's spirits rise. The incorrigible outlaw began rummaging through the contents of the wagon, making as much noise and mess as he could. Trapped as he was the abbot was unable to see what was going on, but the noises were clearly horrifying him. Will, who was uncovering nothing but coloured silks and large books, did not really see the point of such anguish.

"There's nothing here worth having." He threw a pile of silk at John, who played up to the rôle by wrapping a length of sky blue material around his head and taking up a coquettish stance. Will laughed.

"Very fetching. Not going to pull in the money though, is it. How much do you reckon these books are worth?"

"Do I look like a cleric?" John threw one of the books to Nasir, who flicked through the first few pages with a look of brief interest.

"Greek plays," he told them, with the air of one who knew exactly what he was looking at. Will and John, who had long since ceased to hope that they would ever have all their questions about their Saracen friend answered, merely exchanged a look.

"But is it worth anything?" Will asked. Nasir shook his head.

"No more than any book." He turned over a few more pages, and a frown flickered across his forehead.

"Something wrong?" Fighting his way out of the blue silk he had wrapped about himself a little too tightly, John went to join his companion. Nasir held out the book. About a third of the way through, the pages had been stuck together with some sort of gum, and a large hole had been cut into the middle of the thick wad. It turned the book into a neat little box, clearly designed to be a clever hiding place for something. It was empty, but perhaps the others were not. With a growing smile upon his face, John tossed the book to Will, who glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and began searching through the rest of the wagon's previously uninteresting cargo. Hugo's struggles became more furious, and John knocked him out with a blow from his quarter-staff.

"What is there?" he asked eventually. Will was still rummaging.

"Couple of necklaces," he announced in the end, holding up a book in one hand and two golden chains in the other. Both bore sizeable crosses decorated in coloured quartz and jet; nothing terribly valuable, but enough to take care of one or two of the financial burdens placed upon local villages. John took the chains, stowing them away inside his tunic.

"That the lot?" It was a little disappointing, given the enthusiasm of their ambush, but the chains were at least worththe weight of the gold that made them.

"I don't know." Will burrowed on, skimming through the pages of several dozen more books. Most of them had not been doctored, and were just what they appeared to be - long volumes written in languages he didn't understand, including at least one alphabet that he couldn't even begin to decipher. "Books are worth something if they're old, aren't they?"

"Probably only to a bookseller." There were not many of them in the local area, and John couldn't imagine it being worth their while trying to sell any of these volumes. None of them looked particularly old, anyway. "Come on Will. We ought to be moving on. Quick in and out, that's always been Robin's rule. You never know when somebody might come along."

"Just a bit." Will was still turning pages, turning books upside down and shaking them, throwing them all aside when they proved to be empty or untampered with. For once Nasir was not keeping watch, browsing instead through one of the abandoned texts. John rolled his eyes. Here he was trying to hurry things along, and both of his friends had suddenly turned into unexpected bookworms. The abbot was beginning to stir, and he considered taking out his frustrations by clobbering the poor fellow again.

"Leave those alone." Trying and failing to sit up, Abbot Hugo glared daggers at Will. "They're the property of the Church."

"The Church does interesting things to its books." Will waved one of the doctored texts at Hugo, who turned a very uncomfortable shade of purple and tried to feign a lack of concern. Nasir was frowning.

"Something wrong?" Well used by now to having to prompt the Saracen into speech, John climbed up onto the wagon to try to speed things along by helping Will. Nasir held out the book he had been reading through, and John nodded knowledgeably.

"Very nice." It wasn't a good start when you couldn't even be sure of the language that a book was written in. "What is it?"

"Not the property of his church." Nasir's eyes narrowed, as though wondering whether Hugo really was part of the same religion as Friar Tuck. "I know this book, from the library of the Baron de Belleme."

"So it's devil stuff?" John took the book, shaking his head. He recognised two distinct alphabets, one of which appeared to be Greek - the language of learning, or so it was said. He didn't think much of this kind of learning, certainly. The other alphabet looked like the one that he had seen Nasir use once or twice, and he took it to be Arabic. The over-all effect was one of remarkable aesthetic appeal, but wasn't much of a help since he didn't understand either language. "I never thought you'd be into all that, Hugo."

"Who said that I am?" Hugo was wriggling again, entangling himself so completely in the mesh of the net that he was becoming practically invisible. "You'll not get away with this, you, you--"

"Shut up." Will hurled a couple more books aside, shaking his head. "I think we've had all we're going to get."

"Then let's leave." John was already climbing down from the wagon, eager for the off.

"I'm coming." There were only three more books. Will turned the first one upside down, and was rewarded with a small handful of silver marks; no great sum, but enough to feed the village of Wickham for at least a month. The second book appeared to be a copy of some epic poem, its neat rows of hand-written script familiar in pattern at least, even if Will Scarlet, like most of his fellow Englishmen, was incapable of understanding Latin.

"Come on!" Losing patience, John caught Will by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him out of the wagon. The last book, slightly bigger than the others and bound in black leather, fell from Scarlet's hands and landed heavily on the ground. John let out an oath.

"What-?" Unable to see what the book had contained, Scarlet had to wait until John had dropped him, unceremoniously, onto the ground. John was still gaping, and Will, intrigued, turned to look. What he saw made his mouth fall open in stunned amazement.

Lit by the high sun above them, the road at their feet was a blaze of brilliant white light. Spilling from the book in a torrent of magnificence was a pool of diamonds - shimmering fire, that dazzled them with its purity. John seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"By Heaven." He couldn't think of anything else to say, and neither could Will. Had they had Tuck's faith they might have crossed themselves, but as it was they merely stared. It was Nasir who stirred them into action once again, stepping past them to scoop the diamonds back into the mutilated book that was their hiding place.

"We should go," he told them. He looked unsettled by something, although neither man could see any definite reason for it. Perhaps the thought of the Baron de Belleme had bothered him.

"Yeah." John took the book, wrapping a length of spare bow cord around it, to ensure that the diamonds couldn't escape. "Don't worry, Hugo. I'm sure somebody will be along to get you out of that lot soon enough."

"You'll pay for this." Still struggling furiously, with an energy that he did not usually possess, Hugo was fighting to get to them. Will laughed at his fury.

"I don't think he wants us to take the jewels."

"You could be right." John tucked the book under his arm. "Come on. We'd better get back. Robin is going to want to see this lot."

"Yeah." The situation back at camp once again becoming the centre of his thoughts, Will raised a questioning eyebrow, lowering his voice to ask a question he had no wish for de Rainault to overhear. "But which Robin?"

"Huntingdon." It had been a long time since any of them had thought of Robin that way, let alone called him by that name, but it seemed the only one to use now. "We'll worry about the other one later."

"Yeah." Will nodded, trying to recapture a little of the cheer he had been enjoying before his thoughts had been turned back to the newly rediscovered Loxley. It didn't quite work, which annoyed him. "Yeah, I guess we'll have to."

**********

Back at the camp Huntingdon had returned before the other three, wandering out of the forest with the frustrated, quickened stride that he always used when he was ill at ease. He had been searching for Herne in the forest, and had not been successful in his search. Wherever his ethereal 'father' had gone, it was not somewhere where his son could follow. Huntingdon felt uncertain without Herne's guidance in the matter now before him, for he had no more or less as counsel than he had been told earlier - that the one who had come was everything he appeared to be. He still couldn't decide whether Loxley appeared to be a threat or a friend, though, which didn't help him to work out whether or not he could trust his predecessor. Much's opinion didn't help matters, and Tuck was as confused as Huntingdon himself. It didn't bode terribly well.

They had put together a simple of meal of bread and fruit, hoping that the others would be returning soon. Loxley dozed beside the fire, dreaming restlessly of old times; of the insidious autumn that had crept up on him when he had last lived within Sherwood, in the days immediately prior to his 'death'. He saw himself swimming with Marion, laughing with the gang, roasting meat over the fire. He saw himself talking with Herne, and heard his shadowy 'father' pronounce the final prediction that he had made, that last, fateful time. One comes, one goes... The images swirled into disorder in his mind, and he felt himself beginning to wake up. He saw trees turning red and gold, and himself, lying on a bed of flowers beneath a canopy of hanging ivy. He saw a man - himself - hidden by a black hood, riding on a cart through Sherwood. He saw a pair of hands, holding a pile of dazzling diamonds; Marion, holding out her hands, imploring, anguished, with tears rolling down her face; Will, stabbing a black-clad man in the back - a man who could only have been Nasir.

"No!" With a yelp he jolted awake. Tuck frowned.

"Are you alright?"

"Dreams." Loxley's dark gaze sought out Huntingdon. "Messages, if I remember the feelings."

"What messages?" Huntingdon was struggling with his own prophecies that needed deciphering, and would have welcomed the help of anybody. Loxley frowned.

"You should know. The stones. Marion. Will and Nasir. You must have seen them."

"Yes." Huntingdon looked at the ground. "I just wish I knew what it means."

"Danger." Robin straightened up. "We should speak to Marion. If something is going to happen, she should be warned. This obviously concerns her."

"The last thing that Marion needs is to be dragged into this right now. She's not going to know anything about you being here until... well until we find out if you really are here." Sounds approached them through the forest, and the leader of the band of outlaws turned his back on his predecessor. The others were returning, and that was his priority now.

"Hey!" Will was in high spirits, bursting through the trees at the edge of camp as though anxious to make as much noise as possible. "We've got special gifts from Abbot Hugo."

"Oh dear." Tuck couldn't help smiling. "Poor old Abbot Hugo. He's been robbed so many times he's going to give up travelling at all before long."

"I hope not." John slung the two gold chains down onto the ground beside the fire, along with the few silver coins. "He's worth too much to us for that."

"Yeah, and that's not all." Will held out his hands, and using his large frame to block the view that the others had of him, John poured the diamonds from the book into the waiting, cupped hands. They fitted, just; a pile of white fire within the doubled palms. "What do you think of this?"

"Good Heavens." Staring unbelievingly at the diamonds, Tuck shook his head and whispered something reverent in Latin. "Well that'll feed a lot of peasants."

"Aren't you going to say anything, Robin?" Will was holding out his hands, but Huntingdon could only look at Loxley. They had both seen the pile of diamonds, and they were both unsettled by what was happening now. Scarlet was a little disappointed.

"This is one of the best hauls we've ever had. Maybe the best. Can't you think of anything to say?"

"Well done. All of you." Huntingdon was staring at the ground, his mind filled with the other images that had gone with the prediction of the diamonds; Marion; Will and Nasir. What did it all mean?

"You're even less fun that Naz." Will poured the diamonds on top of the rest of their takings from the day, and Tuck began to load it all into a wooden chest that they kept for the purpose. "The way he's been acting you'd think we'd found ordinary stones, instead of that lot."

"Something wrong?" Huntingdon had learned to trust Nasir's instincts, and with everything else that seemed to be going on at the moment he was willing to listen to just about anything. The Saracen's dark eyes lingered on the diamonds as they were stowed away; then he took the book they had been contained in from John, and handed it to Tuck. The friar turned it over in his hands, and his eyes nearly leapt from his head.

"This is a copy of the Bible! It's - it's - it's a sacrilege! It's--" Words clearly failed him, and he held up the book for all of them to see. The pages, stuck together; the hole through the middle. Only the first few pages had escaped mutilation; the title page, and the first few chapters of Genesis. It was in Hebrew rather than the more familiar Latin, and although Tuck did not speak the language, he knew enough from his studies to recognise the names of the books of the Bible as they were listed on the title page. Still apoplectic with indignation he did not continue, but merely put the book down on the ground.

"The Bible?" Will picked it up and glanced at it, deciding that the unfamiliar alphabet had been the reason why he had failed to recognise the book. "Why would Abbot Hugo have allowed the Bible to be treated like this?"

"Precisely!" Tuck seemed to have faced quite a struggle to get that one word out, but it had apparently broken his period of furious wordlessness. "What did he say? Where was he heading?" He shook his head. "I knew that he was hardly the most pious of men, but I never thought he would stoop to this."

"He was heading back to Nottingham Castle, I'd say." John sat down beside the fire, pouring himself some wine. Now that autumn was well underway there was a creeping cold within the forest that was not always noticeable until it had taken a firm hold on the limbs, and the wine helped to warm him up even more quickly than did the fire. "That wasn't all, though, was it Nasir. There was that other book."

"Nasir?" Tuck looked up, his indignation still showing. The Saracen's quiet gaze strayed towards the two Robins, as though he was deferring to both of them, rather than either one of them in particular.

"A book from the library of de Belleme." Long sentences were not his forte, and the number of his words served to indicate the degree of his seriousness. "A book about devil worship. I saw the baron use it."

"And our friend Hugo said that it was Church property." Will threw himself down beside the fire. "I can't say as I've spent much of my life in churches, but I reckon things have changed a lot if that's the sort of thing they're into now."

"It's not." Tuck's eyes, uncharacteristically sharp, flicked back up to look at Nasir. "You're sure?" His only answer was a nod, but it was a resolute one. "Then I'd say that something is most certainly wrong."

"But what? I know Hugo de Rainault's hardly the most holy man in the Church, but he's certainly no devil worshipper." Loxley couldn't help smiling at the image of the Sheriff's irascible brother daubing blood on himself - and he certainly didn't want to think about him dancing naked, whether it was at midnight or at any other time of the day or night. Tuck nodded, agreeing with his opinion.

"The Abbott de Rainault is definitely in the job for the money, but he still takes his position more seriously than a lot of other abbots I've known."

"Perhaps he didn't know that that book was in the collection, " suggested John. His expression was one of dry amusement. "There are one or two people in the world who don't read Arabic and Greek."

"I might believe that if I hadn't see this." Tuck gestured at the Bible. "Any man of the cloth would know it for what it is. You don't have to understand Hebrew to recognise the layout, and the reverence of the script. The question is, who around here would have a copy of the Bible, in Hebrew, on their bookshelf?"

"A Jew?" suggested Huntingdon. Like most educated men, he was aware of the parallels between Christianity and Judaism. Tuck nodded.

"Perhaps. But not a practising one, if he's prepared to do this. These chapters are as sacred to the Jews as they are to Christians, and no man who puts any sort of value on either faith would do this to them. I wouldn't do it if I had a hundred other identical copies." He shook his head. "I think it's something else, Robin, though it pains me to say it. There are those who would find it amusing to use such a book for a purpose like this."

"The sort of people who would also have books on devil worship." Will shook his head. "We do find them, don't we."

"They're attracted to the area. Sherwood has its spirits and its centres of power." Huntingdon frowned and turned back to Tuck. "Why would a person like that have a copy of the Bible anyway though?"

"Some spells call for it." Tuck crossed himself, and changed the subject slightly. "But a Hebrew Bible? Hebrew is such an ancient language, far older than Latin. Any spells that call for it would be..." He shivered. "They would be far stronger, more terrible than others, I'm sure of it. Hebrew Bibles aren't easy to come by in England though."

"But somebody who learnt his devil worship in a country where it's a common language could easy have got that Bible while he was out there." Loxley was conscious that his contributions to the conversation would not necessarily be welcome whilst everyone was still so suspicious of him, but he spoke up anyway, looking around at them all as he did so. "We all know at least one man who fits that description."

"And according to Nasir the book came from his library." John shook his head. "De Belleme. I keep hoping that we've seen the last of that one."

"Then go on hoping." Will grabbed for the wine, and took a long drink. "I'm not convinced though. There's no reason why old Hugo would be working with a devil worshipper like that. Although if de Belleme is causing trouble again, it might just explain why Robin is back. Always had a special regard for you, didn't he."

"Yes." Loxley remembered the Silver Arrow, and its part in the death and resurrection of the evil baron. Both events had been at his own instigation, although he had been bewitched on the second occasion. He wondered if Will's suggestion was the truth, and he was back here, alive, because the Baron de Belleme had caused it to be so. The thought made him cold to his very heart.

"If the baron is back, won't he be coming to get his diamonds?" Much's quavering voice made them all draw their minds away from thoughts of larger issues, and returned them to the more immediate present. It was Loxley who answered.

"Maybe. It would help to know why he needs them in the first place. They're no good to him as currency, and he's not the type for collecting jewellery for its own sake. Any ideas, Nasir?" The dark head bowed slightly, though hesitantly, in its customary single nod. It had been a long time, but the things that Nasir had seen and heard in the castle of the Baron de Belleme were not things that he would ever easily forget.

"He had many jewels. They were for powerful magic. For focus." Clearly he didn't understand the workings of it all, but as far as Huntingdon was concerned they had heard enough.

"Then we should get rid of them. I doubt he can follow them here, but once he hears from de Rainault who it was that stole them, he'll have a pretty good head start."

"And if he's got something planned for them, it seems like a good idea for us to get them out of the way." Scarlet appeared to be volunteering for the task. "There are all kinds of folk tales about this sort of stuff, so there's no telling what he might use them for in his spells. Why not sell them right away and have done with them?"

"Sounds like sense to me," put in Tuck. Huntingdon was silent for a moment.

"Yes," he said finally, although apparently with some reluctance. "Since they let the Jews back into Nottingham we've been making one or two friends among them. They're probably the best people to go to. Nasir, you'd better go. They don't all speak English." The Saracen inclined his head in quiet acceptance of the mission, and rose smoothly to his feet. Will also jumped up.

"He's not going alone," he said firmly. "It's not safe. Not for any of us." Nasir's ever-expressive face queried the suggestion that he might not be capable of looking after himself, but Will was unrepentant. "We don't know how many people might be out there, and we don't know who they are, or what they want, or what they're capable of. It's crazy to send one man off alone."

"Yes. Yes, you're right." Huntingdon nodded, although he still didn't seem very happy with the situation. "Go ahead Will. You too John."

"You'll be alright here?" John didn't like the idea of leaving so few people behind in the camp, for Loxley's rôle had not yet been established, and Much was still not much of a fighter. Huntingdon nodded.

"We'll be fine." It seemed sensible to send three of them with such a valuable cargo, and he didn't want Nasir and Will to be alone together following his vision of them. Preventing Will from going would likely be counter-productive though, for it would almost certainly lead to resentment on his part. He was eager for the mission, and would be better suited to it than either Tuck or Much. "Travel as fast as you can, be careful, and wait until night before you enter the town. You know where to head for once you're inside."

"Aye, we know." Fishing out an old sheepskin pouch, John filled it with the diamonds, drawing the string tight so that they were sealed inside. "We'll be back by morning if we can, but we might have to hide somewhere until tomorrow night, and make our way out then."

"Just play it safe. If there's any chance that the Baron de Belleme is in Nottingham I don't want any of you being seen by him. He won't be fooled by disguises, and he won't let you go if he's got any chance of preventing it. You know the sort of man that he is." Loxley's words seemed natural given the circumstances, and had it not been for Huntingdon sitting beside him they might almost have forgotten the extraordinary circumstances of his presence. It felt just as it had always done, when he had led them in the days before his departure. The days before his death. Uncomfortable, uncertain, the threesome nodded their understanding and turned to leave.

"I don't like this." Tuck stared after them, the look on his face suggesting that he expected the baron to leap out at them at any second. "None of this seems right. The Abbot Hugo of all people..."

"I know." Pouring himself a drink, Huntingdon looked around at the untouched meal that they had prepared. He certainly didn't feel like eating it now, but life in the forest over the past year had taught him to eat when food was available. If they were facing the prospect of getting caught up in something unpredictable, there was no telling how regular meals would be from now on. He toyed with a piece of bread. "Perhaps I shouldn't have let the others leave."

"What else could you have done?" Tuck shook his head. "Don't worry about it Robin."

"I can't help worrying." Throwing the bread aside, he got up and headed away across the clearing. "I'm going for a walk. I need... I need to think."

"Be careful." Tuck's gentle warning made Huntingdon smile, and he nodded.

"I will. I'll be back soon. Stay on watch, Much, and if you see anybody who isn't one of us - no matter who it is - you're all to stay hidden until they've gone. Understand?"

"Alright Robin." The boy headed off into the branches of the tall tree that they had chosen to be their watch point. Robin watched him go. Why did he feel so uneasy? What was this lingering unrest that would not leave his mind alone? Perhaps a quiet walk in the forest would cure it. Something had to. The way that things were going now, if the tension didn't break soon he felt that he would surely go mad. Shouldering his bow, he paced restlessly away into the forest. Tuck watched him go.

"I wouldn't be in that lad's shoes right now," he commented idly. Loxley stared at him, then lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said flatly, and lay back on the short grass. "I should have stayed away."

And Tuck didn't have an answer for that.

**********

Will, John and Nasir were striding down the middle of the road again, the two Englishmen doing their best to lighten the situation with a conversation. They had settled on the topic of a recent feast day in Wickham, which was the least contentious subject they had could think of, and were trying to enjoy reminiscing over their drunken experiences of the day. It didn't work, and their thoughts kept returning to the two Robins, and the difficult question of what was to happen.

"I wish Marion would come back." John shouldered his quarter-staff, moving it about awkwardly as though looking for the most comfortable position in which to carry it. In reality he was just restless. "She'd know if Robin - the first one - is who he says he is."

"How? She's not magic." Will shook his head. "Anyway, she's not going to come back just like that, is she. She was in love with him."

"Well then you'd think she'd want to see him again, wouldn't you." John frowned, remembering the situation that had existed between Marion and the second Robin. "I would. I think."

"Yeah, but you're not a woman, are you. She lost the love of her life, and then sort of fell in love with his replacement, and then--" Will broke off, for he still wasn't entirely sure what had happened there. Marion had loved Loxley, that much had always been clear, but it had become obvious to all of them that she would soon have fallen for Huntingdon, if she had spent much more time in his company. Huntingdon certainly loved her, and always had. "Mess everything up, that would I reckon. Having Marion coming back, getting Robin jealous, and making Robin... well it would all be a mess, wouldn't it."

"Yeah, I suppose." John wandered along for a bit in silence. "Confuses matters, doesn't it. Having two men in love with the same woman."

"You're telling me." Will grinned, finally thinking of a way that would help them to change the subject to something less disturbing. "The last woman I fell in love with was when I was back in Lichfield - you know, before Huntingdon got us all back together. Alice, her name was. She was a kitchen maid."

"Pretty?"

"Yeah. Then one day I went to visit her a bit earlier than usual, and I found her in bed with the cartwright."

"Poor old Will." John banged him on the back in an faintly conciliatory manner. "Bad shock?"

"You're telling me. He wasn't even a decent cartwright. None of his axles were straight, and he had bad breath." Scarlet shrugged. "We're not all good at getting loyal women, the way you are. How is Meg, anyway? I haven't seen her in a while."

"You won't." John had a smile on his face that wasn't entirely genuine, although there was no real sadness reflected in his eyes. "She's going to marry her cousin, from the next village. They've got a child on the way already, apparently. Seems she decided to look elsewhere, after I called off our wedding that time."

"Doesn't want to be waiting forever for an outlaw that won't leave his forest?" Will shook his head. "Sorry John."

"It's alright." The big man was silent for a while, then smiled. "Maybe they'll name their first child after me."

"Well then I hope it's not a girl." Scarlet grinned, casting a glance back over his shoulder at Nasir. "How about you, Naz? Who was the last girl you fell in love with?" His answer was a small smile, but he was not expecting words. Nasir never joined in with conversations of a personal nature. He shrugged slightly now though, and surprised both of his companions with a few words.

"A long time ago. In my own country."

"And there were we thinking you'd been celibate all your life." Will laughed his raucous laugh. "What was her name?" He was answered with a pause so long that he began to think Nasir had decided to end his contribution to the discussion; then the Saracen frowned slightly at some distant memory, and smiled a very small smile.

"Sumina. She was from the Moorish lands. The widow of a general who fought with my father."

"And?" John was eager to hear more, but as always Nasir was not one for words. His eyebrows moved, showing the shadows of several conflicting emotions. "Well how did you meet?"

"And was it romantic?" added Will, although he was probably the least romantic of the lot of them. Nasir's eyebrow arched, in a familiar expression of faint humour.

"When I was first captured, before I was sold to the baron. She was already a prisoner."

"Oh, well." John couldn't help laughing. "Nothing more romantic than a crowded dungeon. The bad food, the slime on the walls. Never fails to turn a lady's head."

"Yeah, but what happened?" Will wanted to hear the end of the tale, but had to wait some time before Nasir spoke again.

"I was taken away," he said simply. The other two shared a look, before John erupted into a shout of violent laughter.

"We're a sorry bunch, aren't we. Tuck's probably had better luck with women than we have."

"Course he has. Women like bald men." Will shook his head. "We're going to have to think of something more cheerful to talk about, or we're all going to be depressed long before we reach Nottingham."

"Speak for yourself." John was still laughing, though quietly now. He was feeling better for it, even though they were all still uneasy. Showing plenty of that unease himself, Will waved a hand at him suddenly, trying to hush him.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Managing to be serious, John looked backwards and forwards along the road. "There's nobody coming."

"I'm not so sure." Will listened again, then shrugged when he heard nothing further. "Maybe I'm wrong. Did you hear anything Nasir?"

"Yes." The dark eyes were looking every way at once. John recognised the wary look within them. "But I don't know what."

"Think we should leave the road?" Will's inquiry was at half his usual volume. John nodded.

"Yeah. Might be for the best. Move easy, we--" He didn't finish the sentence, for up ahead, moving out of the bushes the way Robin's men themselves so often did, were three soldiers. They carried bows ready levelled, arrows pointing straight ahead. John's face hardened.

"Back into the trees," he hissed, keeping his voice low. "Get ready to run. We'll find a higher position and take them out."

"Right." Easing an arrow from his quiver, Will slid it into his bow, walking backwards slowly all the time. His progress was soon stilled, however, when Nasir laid a hand on his shoulder. Scarlet turned. Coming towards them from the opposite direction, also with readied bows, were three more soldiers. They looked dirty from their wait in the undergrowth, their blue cloaks spattered with mud, and they were clearly eager to fire. Scarlet's expression darkened.

"What now?"

"We still head back into the trees." John darted a look over his shoulder. "Don't waste time shooting. Just run. Ready?"

"You'd better believe it." Will took a step, trying to see every which way at once. There were other noises coming from around them, all of which bothered him greatly, but right now there was no chance of finding out what was their source. He got ready to run.

"Now! John's voice echoed clearly, and the three friends moved as one, dashing to where the trees crept up to the road's rough edge. Something loomed above them; something well camouflaged. Something that instinct told Will deserved his full attention. He glanced up - to see a net come dropping towards them. Nasir gave a shout of warning and tried to push John clear, but weighted down as it so clearly was, the net moved too fast. In the blink of an eye it was upon them. Nasir fought briefly then fell still, and trapped beneath John, Will could do nothing at all. He saw a shadow fall across them, and looked up into the amused eyes of Abbot Hugo de Rainault.

"Well well well, isn't this nice." Beaming at them in the placid way of a benevolent old monk, Hugo allowed a flash of something considerably less pleasant to burn in his eyes. "Never let it be said that I don't learn from example."

"How-?" Will fell silent, determined not to give de Rainault any enjoyment from his futile anger. Hugo smiled at him.

"You'll recognise the net of course. It's a little patched in places perhaps, but definitely still serviceable. Now which of you has those diamonds?"

"We left them back at our camp," John told him, voice furious in its defiance. A soldier kicked him.

"I don't believe you." Hugo shrugged. "But no matter. I'll find them soon enough. Men?" There were more soldiers now; obviously some kind of relief group that had chanced upon the entangled abbot, and had swelled his forces accordingly. Several of them bent to take hold of the net, whilst several others aimed their arrows at the captured trio. Struggling to avoid the hampering mesh, John managed to lay a hand on Nasir's arm, warning him not to try anything. It was not easy to quell his own instincts for battle, but he knew hopeless odds when he saw them. He had lost his bow when the net had fallen, and his quarter-staff was no longer in his hand.

"Don't bother trying to fight," warned Hugo, making Will seethe. "You wouldn't have a chance, and it's so much more enjoyable to have live prisoners. Dead ones only clutter the place up, and Gisburne would want to display you somewhere inconvenient."

"Well we'd hate to get in the way." The net had lifted slightly, and John found that he could move his foot. He wondered if there was something, perhaps, that he could do, but decided in the end that there wasn't. Furious at his own impotency, he tried to focus his mind beyond what was happening. It wasn't easy.

"Robin's going to kill us for this." Will's voice, in his ear, helped to ease the tension a little. Seconds later the net lifted away, and they could move again. John tightened his grip on Nasir's arm.

"Get off me then!" Struggling under the weight of his friend, Will tried to stand up. John moved slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on the soldiers. None of them had made a move as yet but he didn't want to be the last to do so. Hugo was still beaming at them all. He didn't seem quite himself, but clearly he was in an extremely efficient mood.

"Take them." He pronounced the order quickly, sharply, then turned on his heel and walked a few paces away. John steeled himself as the soldiers grabbed him, dragging him to his feet. His two friends were treated the same way, hauled upright by mailed hands determined not to be too gentle. Their weapons were taken with ruthless efficiency, their quivers stripped off, their swords removed. It took the soldiers a few moments to relieve Nasir of the unfamiliar harness that fixed his swords to his back, but they worked fast and without patience, and soon the task was done. All three outlaws had daggers hidden about them, but there seemed no point in trying to use them yet.

"Very good." Striding back over, smoothing the flowing purple folds of his robe, Hugo surveyed the scene with obvious pleasure. Will fought the desire to punch the smile right off the abbot's face, and contented himself was glaring back at the other man with the sort of force that usually worried the toughest of soldiers. Hugo, however, didn't seem to register it at all.

"Tie them up." His interest was waning, as though now that he had the outlaws he didn't care about them anymore. "And find me those diamonds."

"Sir." One of the guards saluted, then nodded to his men. One at a time, first Will, then Nasir, then John, the three prisoners were thrown against the surrounding trees, forced to lean there, held immobile, whilst they were searched. A couple of daggers joined the pile of weaponry on the ground, before finally a young looking soldier came up with John's sheepskin pouch. He held it out to Hugo.

"Excellent." Peering into the pouch, the abbot looked rather relieved. "Now hurry up and let's get out of here, shall we? I'd prefer to be back in Nottingham before the King of Sherwood finds out we've borrowed his men."

"He won't catch us, sir." The leader of the soldiers gestured to his men once again, and the three outlaws were quickly and securely bound, then dragged back to the road. Another few of Nottingham's blue-cloaked finest had brought up the abbot's cart, and he climbed onto it with a rather muted display of his usual, would-be regal splendour.

"A fast march, I think." The captain nodded, although his eyes glowered a different sort of answer. Why was it that these people only wanted a fast march when they themselves were riding? He directed his men to fall into formation behind the cart, the three prisoners, separated as much as they could be, secure in the middle of the square.

"On your command, sir." At the back of the group, conscious of the threat of attack, he turned his eyes away from the forest and back onto the Abbot de Rainault. He had been confident of escaping, but now he felt that the forest was watching him with a thousand hidden eyes. Hugo nodded, and whipped up the reins of the horse that pulled his cart. Together, at a fast and uncomfortable speed, the soldiers and their prisoners marched on in the vehicle's wake. Despite the captain's fears there was only one pair of eyes watching them as they left, and those belonged to a large black crow that circled far above. Waiting until they were well on their way, it ceased its watchful revolutions, and with a screeching, strangely triumphant cry, headed with purpose for Nottingham.

**********