Prologue

The golden blanket of the forest floor had a gentle dusting of snow, the first of the season. The gnarled and naked branches of the oak trees stretched out across the North Road, their fingers curling downwards, as if ready to accost any rider who would dare to travel at such an hour, but there was more to be afraid of than the trees in Sherwood Forest. It was the workplace and, in many cases, the home of any number of miscreants and crooks, dead to the outside world but very much alive and active in their realm. The occupants of the carriage that was currently rumbling along the frozen ground perhaps should have known better but they were late and were determined to reach their home before full dark. Several pairs of eyes watched the progression of the carriage, each pair darting to the position of their concealed leader, waiting for his signal. The huge man with bushy, unkempt hair nodded and the small band of men appeared on the road before the carriage, weapons drawn. Their leader stepped forward, staff in hand and legs astride pushing out his chest and raising his chin in much the same way as a cat arches its back, in an attempt to appear larger. The carriage ground to a halt but the occupants did not venture out. They had lived too long in Nottingham to risk such foolhardy behaviour. Nor were they unprotected. With swords drawn, two guards jumped from the rear of the carriage. They were quickly joined by the driver and his companion who just had time to withdraw their weapons from the where they had been concealed within the body of the carriage before they were set upon by three of the giant mans' companions. Undeterred by the disparity of numbers the guards fought well and it was not long before the leader of the outlaws acknowledged his mistake and quickly called his men off, back into the forest.

"You were lucky this time!" came a cry from the relative safety of the trees. A hand reached out and pulled the man from view.

"Roy, come on," said the voice of the owner of the hand before the men vanished into the darkness of the forest.

.

Inside the carriage, the grey haired man held his daughters hand, though it was not she who was afraid but rather him. In the last months, he had seen the world he knew and understood crumble about his ears. Sir Edward, Sheriff of Nottingham was now nothing more than Sir Edward of Knighton, stripped of his rank and all associated privilege, usurped by a little known and vicious man by the name of Vaysey. Sir Edward wondered how such things could have come to be, how the country could fall so readily into the hands of such evil and how afraid he was for his young daughter who now sat beside him, resolute and unafraid, so much like her mother. In her hand, she held a rather brutal looking hair ornament, which she had withdrawn from her chestnut locks the moment the carriage had halted. Her hair fell in shining waves to her shoulders now and she was even more beautifully like the mother she had scarcely known.

"Why do you carry that, Marian?" her father asked. She turned to him and the coldness in her countenance evaporated into a warm, loving smile.

"Because you are not well enough to defend yourself, father," she replied, squeezing his hand slightly.

"You must be careful Marian. This man…this…Sheriff…he is a fiend. I have no doubt at all, that he would be prepared to hang a noblewoman. We have seen him hang children for such small offences and you are little more than a child yourself."

"Father, you must not concern yourself. You will be ill. Now, we are almost home. I shall arrange for some food and wine to be brought to you and then you must rest. These have been testing weeks for you." Marian replied in a commanding tone. Sir Edward sighed.

"You are all I have in the world, Marian. I wish that you had a little more concern for your own safety. I do not wish to lose you also," he said, sadly. Marian reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Do you really believe that I shall be so easy to lose?" she chuckled.

.

The portcullis was raised and the gateway into Nottingham yawned before him. He hesitated for a moment, suddenly reluctant. This was the place he needed to be in order to become the person he longed to be. The winter sun felt strangely warm on his face and his body burned beneath the heavy leather coat he wore. Finally he moved on, passing over the threshold followed by a contingent of guards assigned to him by the new Sheriff. The black and yellow colours seemed stark against the snow, but as the entered the walls of Nottingham they seemed to blend with the grey surroundings. The smell of rancid meat immediately assaulted his nostrils and he gagged, wondering if he would ever grow accustomed to his new surroundings. As he entered the castle grounds the stable boy took the reins and the visitor jumped from his horse, unfolding his tall, slender frame and stretching out his aching muscles.

"Gisborne," came a cry from the top of the stone steps. Sir Guy of Gisborne took a deep breath and hurried to meet his impatient employer. "Gisborne, I have a Council of Nobles due to begin. Where have you been?"

"Trouble on the North Road, my Lord. Outlaws." Gisborne replied. Vaysey rolled his eyes and turned back inside. Gisborne followed him, their footsteps echoing through the lofty corridors. Suddenly Vaysey stopped and turned to face his lieutenant.

"I have a job for you. The village of Locksley is without its master. You," he said, pointing a rather stubby and dirty finger into Gisborne's face, "You, will manage it for me. You shall take residence in Locksley Manor and you will ensure that the peasants work and pay their taxes."

"But my Lord…" Gisborne began, but could instantly see by the Sheriffs expression that it was not a request. It was an order.

"Your family lost their lands didn't they? This is your chance to redeem the Gisborne name," came the reply, a reply which Vaysey knew would have the desired response. Gisborne nodded. Vaysey smiled and proceeded into the Great Hall. Below them sat a number of men, Lords of the local towns and villages that would fall under Vaysey's jurisdiction. All men, that is, save one. A young woman with shining chestnut hair, wearing a close fitting emerald coloured dress, stood behind an elderly man, staring intently up towards them. Vaysey looked from the woman to Gisborne and sighed.

"Lepers Gisborne. Women are lepers," he whispered. "Remember that."