THE GATHERING
It had been the strangest of days. From the moment when he had first encountered Tuck, to the moment when he had driven the silver arrow deeply into de Belleme's richly-clad torso, everything had seemed to be a blur of concern, desperation and action. It hadn't ended there, either - the battle with Nasir, de Belleme's silent Saracen slave; it's unexpected ending; and the headlong flight from the castle when Gisburne had arrived with his soldiers. They had barely escaped with their lives - hadn't all escaped, for Dickon and Tom were dead. The six who had survived had stumbled back to the forest together, afraid and in mourning, elated at Marion's escape and by the death of the Baron. There had been tears and anger and recriminations; stirring words from Robin that had hardly seemed his own; then the last service that they could perform for their fallen friends. They had had no bodies to bury, and had merely fired blazing arrows into the river, in illustration of a point. Robin had watched them all, arcing one by one in a spectacular display of light, all swallowed up by the dark water. It had been a moment of peace and reflection - until a seventh arrow had been fired, over their heads, fizzling out in the centre of the river. They had turned... how had he felt, Robin wondered. Had it been trepidation, or even fear? Anger at the interruption; curiosity? And when he had seen that it was Nasir standing there, bow still raised, watching them all - how had he felt then? Strangely he hadn't been alarmed. Nasir had had ample opportunity to kill him back at the castle; and if he had been there watching them during the service to their fallen, when they had all had their backs turned, he could have killed each one of them several times over. He had certainly proved before that he had the skill as an archer.
And now here they were, seven of them. Six men and a woman, alone in Sherwood Forest at the behest of a man they had thought to be a myth. Herne the Hunter led them, through Robin himself - guided them and instructed them and watched over them, appearing when it suited him alone. It was strange, almost ethereal; as though they had stepped out of their own lives and into this odd green world. Everything was different now, and always would be. Whatever they had been, they were no longer.
And what a group they were - a monk, a lady, a shepherd, a convicted killer, a miller's son and his adopted brother - and a Saracen warrior who so far hadn't spoken a word. It felt like an uneasy alliance. Will wasn't sure yet that Robin was right to be leader; John was still confused after the weeks he had spent bewitched as a servant of de Belleme. Marion and Tuck were used to the finer things in life; to strong walls and soft furnishings, to fine food and willing servants. Here in the forest they were going to find life very difficult at first. Much, he knew, would never complain. The boy's life had never been easy, and even if it had been, no hardship would have been bad enough to make him abandon the brother he had worshipped all his life. That left Nasir. Will hated him, John was suspicious of him. Marion was inclined to look more fondly on him, since she had watched him spare Robin's life - but Robin himself wasn't sure how he felt. Tuck seemed indifferent, following Marion's judgement apparently; and Much was just scared. They had all heard stories, spread by those who supported the idea of the Crusades. The Saracens were evil, some said. Others called them ruthless and merciless, others claimed that they worshipped the devil. Most thought of them as barely human, if that. In England they were known only as slaves, and then only rarely, so there was little chance for ordinary folk such as Robin and his companions to form their own judgement. All that Robin knew himself was that he was inclined to disbelieve such tales of anybody. After all, what were the Saxons themselves, to their Norman overlords, but exactly what so many Christians called the Saracens? Uncultured, uncivilised brutes. Slaves. Barely human. Ranked somewhere below the hunting dogs and hawks and horses that they loved so much.
"It's... Nasir, isn't it." The Saracen had walked forwards, slowly, after calling their attention at the riverbank. Perhaps he had been looking for a gesture with which to indicate that he meant them no harm, or perhaps he had had no better way to express himself, but he had knelt quietly at Robin's feet. Robin had been embarrassed, without quite knowing why, uncomfortable with the gesture. He was no Norman, after all - nobody called him master, nor ever should. He had made the other man rise, and been momentarily thrown by the dark intensity of those watchful eyes.
A nod. It was clearly the only answer that he was going to get to his question. Certainly no words were forthcoming.
"You followed us here?"
Another nod. Just the one up and down movement, without a blink from the eyes that still watched them all.
"Why?" This time the answer was a quirk of one eyebrow. "You know that we're outlaws? That if you join us, you will be too?" Again the nod. Again no words to accompany it. Robin smiled. He remembered the first time he had encountered the Saracen, at the archery contest held at Nottingham castle. He had joked then about Nasir's reticence, to the enjoyment of the gathered crowd.
"You're not going to let him stay?" The eternally suspicious Will, who never seemed to allow the chance of a moment's belligerence to go unclaimed, stepped forward. "He's works for de Belleme!"
"So did I," John reminded him. Will glared.
"Yeah, but that's different, isn't it. I never saw any fancy symbols painted on him, like that one Robin says he washed off you. And he never looked like he was enchanted, did he. Robin said you were confused, after he woke you up. Does this fellow look confused? If he was bewitched then I'm Guy of Gisburne."
"We can talk about it later." Deciding to exert his authority, Robin stepped past Nasir, and pointed back towards their camp. "It's late, and I'm hungry. We all need rest, and I must speak to Herne later. Let's just go back to the camp."
"With him?" Will's voice had risen to its full volume, almost high-pitched with his indignation. "Robin, we--"
"What's he going to do, Will? Tell the Sheriff? Do you really think anybody in Nottingham would listen to what a Saracen has to say?" Robin shook his head. "Nothing's going to happen. We can trust him."
"Because he didn't kill you when he had the chance?" Will looked unimpressed. "More fool him."
Robin smiled. "You can always make your own camp, Will."
"Yeah? And who's going to look after all of you if I do that?" Scarlet pushed past them all, heading back to towards the camp. "Somebody's got to keep an eye on him, haven't they."
"Somebody is." Robin wondered where Herne was, and whether his mysterious father had always known that they were to be seven rather than six. He remembered what Herne had said to him before, and tried to use the powers of light and darkness to give him guidance. They told him nothing, unless perhaps he was missing the point. Maybe they spoke through his instincts, and what had his first such instinct been? He sighed. Just go back to camp. Eat something. Rest. Worry about who could be trusted in the morning.
The campfire was still burning when they got back, although it was low. Nasir crouched beside it, throwing another couple of logs onto it, before retreating unobtrusively. The flames leapt up, and everybody crowded gratefully around them.
"Somebody fetch the ale." Will threw himself down, narrowly missing the fire. Much, who always seemed ready to do as the others told him, fetched a stone jug which had been standing a good distance from the flames.
"Here." He handed it over. Will nodded his thanks.
"Sit down and get some rest, Much." Robin couldn't help thinking of the boy as he had always thought of him - a child, under his protection, needing to be guided. They were all outlaws now, though, and he had to remind himself that Much would have to be a man in all things. Boys didn't survive as outlaws. Not in towns, not on the road, and certainly not in the wilds of Sherwood Forest.
"Here. Hand that over." Stretching out one large hand, John neatly took the jug from Will and drank a long draught. The liquid was lukewarm, and not quite as refreshing as it could have been, but it cut through the taste of burning arrows and cold, damp air. It made him think of the last time that they had all shared a drink around the fire - when Dickon and Tom had still been with them. Odd that he had known them for so short a time, and yet felt so touched by their passing. That was what it meant, he supposed, to live and fight alongside a man.
"Here, give that back." Snatching the jug, Will poured a good measure of it down his throat. John tried to take it back but missed, and Much grabbed it in the end. He drank too much rather too quickly, spluttered, and offered no resistance when Tuck took it away. The friar was quite reserved in the way that he drank, or perhaps wasn't used to taking his ale straight from the jug.
"Here Robin. You need it as much as any of us." Handing the jug over, Tuck watched with something of the air of a mother hen as the leader of the band drank his share. They were all still laughing, even though the fight over the ale jug had not really that funny. It felt good to release a little of the gathered tension.
"Here." Turning to Nasir, who was watching them without a smile, Loxley held out the jug. The Saracen shook his head. "You don't like ale? We've mead, probably some wine. Much, fetch the--" He broke off at another head shake, then watched as the Saracen pointed towards the water-skins piled nearby. "You prefer water?" A nod seemed to indicate that this was indeed the case.
"You can just imagine the conversations we're going to have with him around." Watching without enthusiasm as the silent Saracen fetched a water-skin, Will folded his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky. John kicked at his foot.
"Idiot. He probably doesn't speak much English."
"Well whose fault is that?!" Will was scowling, but since that seemed to be his favourite expression, John didn't take it too personally. "Anyway, whether he speaks or not, I still don't trust him."
"You don't trust anybody," Robin reminded him. Will glared.
"That's why I'm still alive. The Normans have been trying to kill me since before they even knew you existed. Don't forget that."
"I haven't." Robin sat down nearby. "But that doesn't mean that I think you're right about this. I know he was the baron's man, but I doubt that he had any choice about it. He was a slave, Will. Like most of our people, which makes him one of us. There are as many Normans fighting in the Holy Land as there are other Christians, so he's got no more reason to love them than we have. Less perhaps."
"Huh."
"Robin's got a point." Aware that the taciturn Saracen was undoubtedly watching them, and could almost certainly hear every word that was said, John shifted his position so that he was almost sitting up. "The Saracens have seen their land invaded, and many of their people forced into slavery. Sound familiar? I reckon the only difference is that they're better at fighting back than most Englishmen. They know how to give as well as take."
"Pretty words, John." Will shook his head. "And maybe you're right. I just don't trust easily, that's all." He looked towards Nasir, standing just beyond the fire's circle of brightest light, still holding the water-skin. The outlaw wondered how much the Saracen understood, but didn't doubt that he could hear everything that was said. As Will watched, Nasir reached out to hand the water-skin to Marion, who accepted it with some gratitude.
"We all know that you don't trust easily." Robin still felt in the mood for high spirits. "If you hadn't been so sick of that old prisoner and his pet rat, you'd probably still be in that dungeon at Nottingham Castle, insisting that you didn't trust us enough to help us escape."
"Very funny." Will would have thrown something at Loxley, but couldn't find anything to hand. "Give a man an impressive sword and tell him he's the son of a forest spirit, and suddenly he thinks he's the funniest man for miles." He raised his voice. "Here, Nasir! Come and sit down will you, and stop lurking."
"Yes, sit down." Suddenly seeing the chance to play mother hen again, Tuck started to bustle around. He had been appointed temporary cook, although he wasn't greatly enamoured of the job, and he started to peer at the pots and other bits and pieces around the fire. "Sit down and we'll all have something to eat. There's nothing but vegetable stew and some rather overcooked bread, but it's better than nothing." He looked pointedly at Will. "Perhaps somebody will catch us a few rabbits in the morning?"
"Yeah, yeah." Will's answer was sleepy, although he wasn't really tired. Too much had happened that day for any of them to feel as sleepy as they knew that they ought to be. "Maybe we should just eat Much."
"No." John's laugh was surprisingly light for so large a man. "There's no meat on him. We'd be better eating Tuck."
"Yeah, but who'd cook him?" pointed out Will. "Maybe we should eat you instead."
"I'd like to see you try."
"You couldn't, could you." Listening to the conversation with his usual mix of enjoyment and innocent sincerity, Much grinned broadly as he joined in. "If you were in the pot I mean. You wouldn't be able to see out."
"Well said Much." Pulling Robin down with her Marion sat beside the boy, watching as Tuck began to heat up the pot full of stew. There was a space nearby, and she indicated that Nasir should sit there, though it took him a moment to do so.
"How long before the stew's ready, Tuck?" Encircling Marion in a playful embrace, Robin leaned back to watch the friar at his work. His answer was a shrug of the shoulders, followed by a pantomime of frowning and peering at the contents of the cooking pot.
"Is that a long time or a short time?" asked John. Tuck glared at him.
"As long as it takes to heat through. Anybody would think you hadn't eaten in days."
"Feels like I haven't."
"That's because there's so much space between your stomach and your brain," Will told him. "By the time the food makes it all the way down to your stomach, you've forgotten that you've eaten."
"I'm not that big. It's everybody else that's small." John took the water-skin from Marion and tried spraying Will with it, but missed and hit Much ahead. The boy jumped and Will laughed out loud.
"If that's an example of your aim, remind me never to depend on your help in a fight."
"You're like a pair of children, the both of you." Robin spoke with mock exasperation, and ducked when John's response was to try to soak him next. The water spattered harmlessly onto the fire, which crackled its protest loudly. For a few moments silence reigned, before John started to laugh again, and the spell was broken.
"So." Taking advantage of a feeling of general warmth and good-spirit, Will glanced over at Nasir seated nearby. The Saracen had not joined in the laughter, although a faint smile had appeared briefly on his face when Much had been soaked. "What brings you into Sherwood, Nazzy? Why choose us?"
"Because Robin killed de Belleme," suggested John, thinking about how grateful he himself was for that. Somehow he had always feared, as long as the baron was alive, that he would somehow be returned to that dreadful state of enchantment.
"Yeah, but why come here? Why not go back home?" Will's questioning was nothing if not direct, and it was obvious that he wanted an answer of some kind. Nasir stared at him for several moments, a faint frown showing on his expressive face. Then he shrugged.
"Too far," he said in the end, in a soft voice that bore traces of a strange accent. "Too hard to be unseen."
"People would be sure to notice a Saracen," embellished Tuck. "They'd think he was an escaped slave. Besides, he's known around here. A lot of people were at that archery contest. They came from miles around."
"And I doubt there'd be many boatmen willing to give him passage." John reached out to clap Nasir on the shoulder. "You could well be stuck with us, lad."
"There are worse places." The dark eyes glittered, and John saw what was written in them. That much at least they shared - de Belleme's castle, with its spells and its secrets and its monsters. The memory was blurred almost beyond use to him, but he knew that the castle had been a terrible place.
"I still don't see why you'd want to come with us." Will gestured around them, taking in everything with his rather vague hand motions. The cold night air, the hard, damp ground, the thin stew and tough bread. "This isn't exactly a great place to be. Why choose to be an outlaw?"
"Why did any of us choose that?" Robin had been listening to the conversation with interest, pleased that Nasir had spoken at last. "We all stand together against something, and that makes us outlaws. At least here we're together, even if life is going to be hard." He stared at the Saracen for a few moments, before reaching out to put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "But I don't want you to feel indebted to me, just because I killed the baron. None of us is here because of a debt to anybody other than ourselves. For us it's a matter of our country and our people. If you want to help us then we're glad to have you, but don't choose this life out of any sense of misplaced loyalty."
"My loyalty is never misplaced." Nasir fell silent, apparently searching for words. "I... know why I am here."
"Which is more than I do." Will grabbed the stone jug, and appeared to be trying to pour its entire contents down his throat. "You're a horrible bunch and you haven't got a hope." John threw the water-skin at him, and soon they were all laughing again. Only Tuck's call that the stew was ready brought some semblance of order to the camp, and even then it was a meal full of mock fights and arguments. Nasir watched it all with the air of an outsider, a little awkward perhaps, and aware that his presence might not be fully welcome. He knew that he could be of use to these people, and also that he wanted to be, but he had always known that they probably wouldn't accept that straight away. Never the talkative type, even before he had found himself in a strange country, with a strange language, he stayed silent throughout the meal and listened to them talking amongst themselves. Better to be unobtrusive, and let them get to know him, before he allowed himself to hope that they might welcome him into their midst. Finishing his meal, he therefore slipped away into the forest. He needed time to think, and imagined that so did they. None of them had had much time for that lately.
"Where's he off to?" Staring after the silently departing figure, Will spoke through a mouthful of bread and stew. John kicked at him.
"Away from you. I can't say that I blame him."
"More likely it's you he wants to get away from." Will reached out for the water-skin, but Tuck snatched it away before the fight of earlier could be resumed. Robin laughed.
"Maybe he finds you lot too rowdy."
"Shouldn't have come after us then, should he." Will, certain that he had had the last word, seemed pleased to have got the chance to put in another little dig about the Saracen's arrival. He seemed to get some pleasure out of displaying his suspicious nature.
"Would you rather he'd stayed behind in Castle Belleme?" Trying not shiver at the mention of that dreadful place, Marion lifted her head from its resting place on Robin's shoulder. "Killing the baron might have given Nasir that chance to escape, but in the eyes of the law he's still somebody else's property. I never heard of Simon de Belleme having any relatives, so he'd probably become the property of the crown - which around here means the Sheriff of Nottingham. Would you wish that on anybody, Will?"
"Of course not." Scarlet looked sulky. "I just wish he was a bit more friendly, that's all. Be a barrel of laughs, won't it. He doesn't even drink ale!"
"Well then we'll just have to drink his share, won't we." John stifled a yawn. "I know it's not dark yet, but I'm tired enough for it to be the middle of the night. Who's going to take first watch?"
"Nasir." Will's laugh was playfully evil. "Still wandering about out there, isn't he. Besides, he's quiet, and that's the best kind of lookout."
"You're all heart." John was laughing as he spoke. Robin rose to his feet.
"You can take the first watch Will. Wake John when the moon's moved over the clearing. Tuck's to get some sleep, since he was injured earlier today. Much?"
"Yes Robin?" Always eager, Much looked excited about the prospect of being given an order, and Robin had to smile.
"Find Nasir. Tell him to get some sleep. There's no telling what sort of a life he's had recently, and I need everybody to be at their best. Then you get some rest too."
"But I can be a lookout!" The boy's enthusiasm was encouraging, and Robin nodded.
"Tomorrow night. We'll both take a turn then. There are six of us, and we'll all split that work."
"Seven," Marion told him, her voice firm. Robin glanced back at her.
"We'll see." His voice suggested that he had no intention of leaving her sitting up at night, and she glowered, but didn't fight him when he took her hand to lead her away out of camp. "Marion and I have somewhere else to be. We'll be back soon enough, but I don't know when."
"Herne's son going to visit his father?" Will sounded mocking, but it was clear that he was more interested than scathing. Loxley nodded.
"If he wants to see us, yes. Keep the fire going. We'll need it later tonight."
"Of course." Sobering up now that duty called, Will stood up to throw another log onto the fire. Long shadows pranced, and in the diminishing light of the secluded clearing he saw Much returning with Nasir. Nodding a greeting to the other outlaws, the Saracen chose a place not far away, and sat cross-legged on the ground. Apparently he required nothing more comfortable for sleep. Tuck sprawled near to John, and Much nestled close to the fire. Robin rather regretted the need to leave, but with a rueful smile he gave Marion's hand a tug and led her away from the warmth and camaraderie. Only Will and Nasir were still awake to see them go.
**********
"It's embarrassing." Body language screaming his exasperation, the Sheriff of Nottingham turned away and began to pace. "In fact it's more than embarrassing. It's infuriating! How did it happen, Gisburne? Hmm? Explain how exactly this man Loxley was able to kill the baron and then escape from your soldiers? Were they drunk?"
"I don't know what happened, my lord." Abashed, Sir Guy of Gisburne lowered his head. It hurt his pride to behave so subserviently, but he had no choice before his employer. "When we arrived the baron was already dead. You remember how confident he was, my lord. About being able to capture this, this 'hooded man' for us? I suppose he was too confident, and the Wolfshead was more clever than he thought."
"He'll have to be caught." De Rainault ceased his pacing and stared out of a window slit into the gloomy castle courtyard. "We can't have these people running around free after killing a baron. It's makes us look bad."
"Yes my lord." Deciding that it was now probably safe to raise his eyes, Gisburne tried his second piece of news. "You were aware of course that he had no relatives?"
"There was a wife of course, the one who supposedly committed suicide some while ago." The Sheriff looked disdainful. "From what we've learnt since I think we can imagine what happened to her."
"Much what he intended would happen to the Lady Marion, if things are as they appear to be, my lord." Gisburne was not at all bothered by what might or might not have been Marion's intended fate, and his tone of voice clearly indicated that. "He has no heir, at any rate, and I assumed that you would like to take possession of his belongings."
"Oh?" The Sheriff brightened, as Gisburne had known that he would. "Was there much, beyond the... magical appendages?"
"Some furniture, my lord, and some gold. The tapestries and candlesticks are worth something, I believe - the more unpleasant items were taken by your brother, for destruction. The servants have been brought here already and put to work, and the horses are already in the stables."
"Perhaps this Wolfshead has his uses after all." De Rainault seemed amused, and Gisburne smiled as well.
"Yes my lord."
"And is there anything else?"
"I believe so, my lord. Oh - I was wondering what you wanted done with the Saracen?"
"Saracen?"
"Yes my lord. You remember the baron's representative in the archery contest? A slave acquired during the Crusades I believe, although I don't know how he came to be in the baron's service. Do you want him, or shall I have him executed?"
"Is he tame?"
"I doubt it my lord. Given the baron's... peculiar tastes."
"Hmm." The Sheriff sat down on his large, suitably impressive chair, and waved a hand in his best imitation of a regal gesture. "Have him brought here."
"My lord." Offering one of his sweeping bows, which usually rather pleased him with their fluency, Gisburne clapped his hands. A guard appeared in the doorway, dishevelled and sweaty from carrying so much of de Belleme's unwieldy furniture into its new home.
"Yes sir?" He managed to be polite only through common sense. Most of the guards in the castle, and particularly the majority who were rather older than Gisburne, disliked him intensely.
"Bring the Saracen here." Gisburne was trying to mimic de Rainault's casual attempts to look regal, but wasn't quite pulling it off. The guard's clueless gaping didn't help matters much, and he felt his neck begin to turn pink with annoyance.
"Saracen, Sir Guy?"
"Yes, the Saracen. The baron's man. Have him brought here."
"There was no Saracen in the castle, my lord." The guard's eyes darted from Gisburne to the Sheriff and back again, hoping that this wasn't going to be his undoing. He had lost comrades for less than this, when Gisburne was feeling particularly vindictive, or just fancied trying out a new method of execution.
"Well then where is he?" Angry that his attempt to win favour with the Sheriff had been undermined, Gisburne considered striking the guard, then decided against it. Best not to appear too petulant before de Rainault. Not that the Sheriff himself didn't act that way often enough.
"I... don't know my lord. I could arrange a search?"
"No, don't bother." The Sheriff waved an arm, dismissing him, and he hurried away in relief. Guy looked affronted.
"You don't seem bothered my lord."
"Why should I? Did you expect the man to stay, with his master dead? They're a proud lot, Gisburne - but they also stick out in a country like this one. If you really want him I'm sure you'll find him, otherwise why worry? He's not a threat to anybody, and I doubt you'll ever see him again."
"No my lord. I mean yes my lord." Guy wasn't sure what he meant, but he tried not to let it show. "I'm just not happy about the idea of a Saracen warrior running about in Nottingham. If he's half as good with a sword as he is with his bow, we--"
"He's got no reason to fight, Gisburne." De Rainault leaned back in his chair, and contemplated the selection of wines lined up on his lengthy table. "You just worry about that gang of outlaws. They're what matters now."
"Yes, my lord." With another of his sweeping bows, Gisburne turned about and left the room. The outlaws - did the Sheriff really think that he could have forgotten them? They had been in his mind all along. He had no idea where to start looking for them, and hadn't a clue what they might be planning to do next, but he intended to track them down in the end. Nobody embarrassed him like that and lived to laugh about it.
**********
It took a while to decide what they were going to do. How they were going to do it. Robin had told them that they were going to fight for the liberty of England - fight back against the tyrannical rule of the local Sheriff, even if there was nothing at all that they could do on a wider scale. Now, however, they were faced with the reality of actually doing it. Robin had gathered them all together, and told of them of his plans; to steal whatever they could from the people who journeyed through Sherwood; taking tolls from the merchants and the peddlers, and the other travellers carrying wares. The money and property would help the local villages to stay one step ahead of the crippling fines and taxes imposed upon them by the Sheriff, and by the myriad barons who insisted on their own laws and tithes. The extra taxes thought up by Prince John, the money taken to pay for the Crusades - all of it was expected to come from people barely able to feed their families. Robin knew that if he could lessen that burden, the villagers for miles around would be happy to shelter him and his men; to protect them, lie for them, and whatever the circumstances, never betray them to the Sheriff. They might not be able to overthrow their Norman rulers, but they could certainly stand up to them, and strike a blow for English pride and glory. As words it sounded wonderful - inspiring. Beyond that things became rather more complicated.
"People are going to know we're out here." Kicking at the ashes of the previous night's fire, Will folded his arms and did his by now familiar impression of a man ready to mutiny. "Anybody coming through the forest with money or gold is going to have soldiers with them. They'll be hiring mercenaries, or getting the Sheriff to send an escort... It's not going to be easy."
"Of course it isn't." As usual Robin was the epitome of patience. "But we're good, Will. You know that. We can all shoot, and we're going to practice to get even better. You've been helping me learn how to use my sword - well you're going to teach everybody else as well. Nasir can help, and John and Tuck will see to it that everybody can use a quarter-staff. It'll work, Will."
"Did Herne tell you that?"
"Not in as many words, no." The leader of the little band looked around at his friends, all awakened now to their first morning together. They were a ragged and unlikely bunch, he was willing to concede that much, but he knew that they could do everything he had planned. All that remained was to convince them of it. "But with his guidance and his blessing, I know that we can do everything we set our minds to. We're together for a reason, Will. Fate, chance, or Herne - something made the guards at the castle put Much and me into the same cell as you. Made me run into Marion's bedchamber during the escape. Delivered John and Nasir into the hands of the Baron de Belleme. We're together because we're supposed to be."
"Yeah." That much Will certainly agreed with, even if he was still suspicious of Nasir. "And I suppose if Herne really did bring us together, he had to have a reason for it."
"Precisely." Glad that this was one battle that seemed to have been won, Robin turned his head to look about at the rest of the gang. "So we're decided then. Herne has a plan for us, and we're going to follow his guidance."
"Of course." Marion's quiet acceptance was nothing more or less than he had expected from her; she wouldn't disagree with him after her own meeting with the Lord of the Forest. Even if she had never met Herne, she would still have followed Robin, for they were joined now in more ways than one.
"You know we're behind you Robin." John's words were for everybody, for there were no dissenters amongst their ranks. "I'll beat every last silver mark from the coffers of the Norman nobles if it'll help to save a few lives, and I'll do it gladly. I think we all will."
"I'd be happy to beat anything out of the Norman nobles." A bitter humour twisted Will's words just as a bitter smile twisted his mouth. There was no humour in his eyes though. For Will at least there was a personal side to all of this, and one that would never be forgotten. Nobody laughed at his dark joke, and Robin reached out to clap him on the back.
"I can't promise you revenge, Will. I can't promise you that you'll ever feel you've done all you can. All I can promise is that you'll be able to do something to bring a little justice to the country."
"Yeah." Will's soft smile was an eloquent speech of thanks. "So when do we start? When do we attack our first rich abbot, or our first market tradesman? When do we start making the Sheriff's hair turn grey?"
"Soon." Robin drew Albion, staring grimly at its shining, flawless blade. He knew the rudiments of fencing, and with Herne's guidance and Will's recent teaching he knew that he was better than many - but his fight the previous day with Nasir had shown him that there was a great deal he still had to learn. Much had never used a sword, and Marion was not likely to be an expert in such things. He had no idea how skilled a swordsman or archer Tuck was... There were still things that they had to do. There were escape routes to be planned, camps and reserve camps to be decided upon, lookout points to be established. They had to commit every forest path, every byway to memory, and learn how to travel silently through the trees. Much of that could be done once they had begun their work, but one or two things he wanted to sort out first.
"Much." His voice was quick and hard, and carried the new note of authority that had been planted within him by Herne. The boy ran to his side, as eager as ever to do his bidding.
"Yes Robin?" He was nervous, but bristling with excitement. With luck that would soon be transformed into a more useful kind of energy, but for now the enthusiasm was good. They could all do with a little bit of that.
"Do you remember when I made my bow? You were there, and you saw me cut it."
"I remember, Robin."
"Good." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Then I want you to go and cut some more pieces of wood like that one. And John?"
"Robin?"
"Go with him. Find us anything we can use to make a few quarter-staffs. You know what we need."
"Aye, I do." John's expression had hardened. "Are you thinking of building us an armoury, Robin?"
"We might well need one. Marion, I'll show you how to make arrows. We'll always need more of them. It's something that we can all do, when we're sitting around the fire in the evenings." He took a deep breath. "And while all of that is going on, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a few more lessons, Will. Marion and Tuck as well perhaps."
"Lessons?" Tuck eyed Albion. "Oh. I admit that I rather overlooked fencing when I was studying for my vocation."
"It'll be more use to you now than Bible reading." Will drew his own sword. "Alright Robin, I'll help you. All of you." He nodded at Nasir. "But what's he going to be doing?"
"Scouting." That the Saracen had been able to find them and watch them so soundlessly was a fact still very current in Robin's memory. "Find us some tall trees that give us as good a view as possible of the forest and the roads through it, and keep an eye on who comes and goes. It's early days yet, but if a rich enough target comes along, I'm not going to let it slip by." He watched as Nasir gave a brief nod, then disappeared.
"Man of few words that," observed Tuck with some humour. Will grunted.
"Too much talk never did anybody any good," he muttered. Robin grinned.
"Sometimes, Will, you startle me with your wisdom." Will glared.
"Shut up." His voice, as usual, was harsh and rough, but he was smiling openly now. "We've got work to do, if you want to look like you can actually use that fancy sword of yours."
"Then let's go." Taking up a fighting stance, eyes bright with all his characteristic cheer, Robin gave a broad grin. "What are you waiting for?"
"Nothing." Will hefted his sword. "Let's see what we can do."
**********
For three days it was as though the outlaws had vanished from Sherwood Forest. At Nottingham Castle the Sheriff still fumed, and Guy of Gisburne still dreamed of capturing Robin, and making him pay for all that had happened - but both men were willing to admit that it was likely Loxley had fled the county. None of the villagers tried to claim the much advertised reward placed on his head, and none of the other men he had gathered about him could be heard of either. The giant John, the ferocious Scarlet, the traitorous friar - none had been seen since the death of de Belleme, and the Lady Marion had vanished just as completely. That at least did not bother the Sheriff, since it meant that he and his brother the Abbot had no need to perpetuate their token pretence at caring for her, and were able just to take her inherited fortune openly. They wondered what had happened to her, and nodded their heads in apparent consternation whenever the subject was raised in public, but for the most part they thought no more of it than as a matter of minor interest. They were certain that they would never see her again.
In Sherwood Forest the trees told a different story, for deep within the green interior of the thick and unknown wood, Robin and his band of outlaws were at work. The outside world might believe that they had moved on, and were scattered to the many winds that blew through the north of England, but the truth of course lay elsewhere. From the earliest light of dawn until the darkness became too deep to continue, they practised together in the clearing that was the site of their first camp. Their training was sometimes serious and sometimes playful, sometimes dangerous and sometimes just for fun, but slowly and surely it was fulfilling its purpose. Robin knew - had always known - that it was real battles and real danger that would make them the fighters they needed to be, but the practice sessions; the endless hours of mock fighting and archery practice; had a greater purpose. It was knitting them together, slowly and surely, into a close and self-contained unit. Gone were the petty squabbles of before; gone were the suspicions and the caution. Under the watchful eye of Robin Hood, and through him Herne, the outlaws of Sherwood Forest were coming together.
It began the first day, when Tuck's skill at fighting with a staff so impressed Will that he forgot to be rude about the other man's background. By the end of that day, when they were all sitting together around their fire, the breaking of the ice was well underway. Nasir smiled more often at the jokes, and Will's eyes carried less belligerence. The stiffness of the hard bed that was to be his from now onwards had begun to leave Tuck's bones, and he sat more comfortably on the ground. Nobody seemed to notice these little developments save Robin, and he certainly did not mean to point them out. But he smiled at each one, and was glad of it, for he knew where it would all lead.
He saw more of it on the following day, when he watched Will and John teasing Much during a mock fight. They had both been concerned at the sense in allowing somebody of Much's youth and inexperience to stay with them in the forest, but when he saw them all laughing together Robin knew that that was another obstacle that was ceasing to be a problem; and when Marion out shot John during an archery session he saw another potential problem end before it could begin. If any of the gang had been worried about carrying Marion's dead weight, they ceased to think of such things when they realised that she could be as useful a part of the team as any of the men. The sounds of laughter echoed through the forest as John stared accusingly at his bow, and Marion danced around him in glee. Even Nasir seemed to enjoy the spectacle. Robin hugged Marion in congratulation, and fended off John's joking attempts to get his own back on the girl.
"Does that mean that Marion will be your deputy, Robin? asked Much as they inspected the target afterwards. It had been an unspoken assumption amongst the band that John was to have that position, and everybody laughed at the boy's mock-innocent inquiry.
"I don't know Much." Robin pretended to be giving the question genuine consideration. "What do you think, Marion?"
"I don't think I'm nearly degenerate or devious enough to lead this band." Everybody laughed again, but Robin frowned.
"I wouldn't say that."
"Why you-!" She hit him on the head with her bow. "Anyway, I only beat John. Nasir beat everybody except you. And that," she extricated herself from her lover's arms as though removing an offensive object, "was sure to have been blind luck on your part."
"I'm mortally wounded." Robin was still laughing. "So maybe Nasir should lead us then."
"How's he going to do that?" Will's laughter was honest, and there was clearly no ill-meaning behind his words. "He can't hardly tell us what to do when he never speaks, can he." Everybody laughed again, and Nasir once more gave his small, quiet smile.
"We could use sign language," suggested Much. Will threw the straw-filled archery target at him, and the conversation descended into yet another well-meaning scuffle. Robin helped Much out from beneath John and Will, and promptly got dragged into the melee.
"Should we douse them with water?" asked Tuck. Nasir smiled.
"Leave them. We'll eat."
"I like that reasoning." Taking Nasir's arm in one of hers, and Much's with the other, Marion led the way over to the embers of the fire. There was bread cooking in the ashes, and she raked it out with a stick. Lady she may have been, but Marion had never been one to avoid her share of the work.
"Hey!" His head emerging from somewhere beneath John's huge and furry jerkin, Robin's yelp was filled with mock indignation. Marion stuck her tongue out at him.
"Women are fickle creatures, lad." Catching hold of Robin by one shoulder, John lifted him bodily from a tangle of Will's limbs. Robin made a token attempt to tidy himself up, but his hair was sticking up and there was mud all over his face and clothes. Marion looked horrified when he headed over to the fire.
"If you think you're going to eat looking like that..." she told him. He folded his arms, trying to look like a determined leader of men, but she pointed at the river nonetheless. He sighed. Much giggled.
"She sounds like my mother, don't she Robin." He looked as though he was about to become sad again then, but managed to hold it in. Robin smiled.
"She certainly sounds like somebody's mother." Marion pretended to be affronted.
"Just go and wash, before you even think of sitting down next to me." She sounded as prim and proper as she could make herself, and Robin sighed.
"Yes my lady." He gave her a low bow, then with John's gleeful assistance, swung her up into the air and deposited her in the river. She surfaced, spluttering.
"Robin of Loxley that was unfair!" She splashed him heartily, and he doubled up laughing, then gamely dived in after her. It was some time before they were all finally seated together around the fire.
And so it continued. On the third day Robin overheard Will and Nasir discussing fighting technique, and knew that another frontier had been crossed. Scarlet's suspicions had eased noticeably, and when, that evening, he challenged Nasir to a fight, Robin did not feel the concern that he might have done a few days before. With the light failing, and the fire in the middle of the camp leaping exuberantly skyward, the five other members of the gang settled back to watch the pair circling each other.
"Think you can beat me, Naz?" Will was exuberant in his confidence. Nasir smiled his quiet smile, and shrugged an answer. John laughed out loud.
"He's toying with you Will. Course he can beat you."
"Want to put a bet on that, do you?" Lowering his sword for a moment, Scarlet turned to face John with outrage in his eyes. Tuck pretended to cross himself.
"There'll be no gambling in this forest, thankyou very much. Cover your ears, little flower. It doesn't do to hear of such things." Marion laughed.
"It's alright Tuck. There's nothing for them to gamble with, anyway."
"I can find something." Will raised his sword again. "Come on, Nasir. Show me how good you are." The Saracen gave a rough bow of acceptance, then instantly went on the offensive. Robin remembered coming up against those two deadly swords in the castle of the Baron de Belleme, and winced. He didn't think that Will had a chance.
In the event the fight was a well-matched one. Whilst Scarlet did not have as much experience as Nasir, and was only fighting with one sword, his style was unpredictable, and more that of an undisciplined brawler. His furious energy helped him to manoeuvre even when there were two swords to watch out for, and his determination to win was second to none. By the time Nasir finally sent Will's sword spinning away through the darkening air, the stew was ready for the evening meal, and Tuck was starting to twitch.
"Anybody would think you liked your food to be burnt." He began to ladle it out as the pair rejoined the group. Will laughed.
"Good wine and ale makes any meal edible, everybody knows that." He shot Nasir a speculative glance. "Or at least, some of us know that."
"It would probably do us all some good if we followed Nasir's example." Tuck poured some ale into a mug for himself, completely negating his words. Nasir merely smiled. So did Robin. As far as he could tell any awkwardness that there might have been between the silent Saracen and the belligerent Scarlet was dispersing quickly. Their fight had done wonders for their mutual respect, and the edginess had gone from Will's tone when he made jokes at Nasir's expense. Robin began to understand what it must feel like to be a father proud with the progress of his sons.
"Hey." Clapping Tuck on the shoulder and almost causing him to spill his ale, John seemed to be remembering something. "Tell Robin what you told me earlier."
"Oh. Yes." Finding a more secure place to put his mug, Tuck turned to face Robin. The leader of the outlaws was looking comfortably lazy, and smiled in sleepy acknowledgement of the friar's intention to speak. "Well, I was helping John to fish earlier--"
"Ha!" John seemed to find this statement hilarious. "Helping were you? I'd hate to see what you do when you're trying to get in the way."
"Yes, well." Tuck had the grace to smile and look a little embarrassed. "I never claimed to be an expert fisherman. Anyway, I was looking downstream--"
"Where I sent him so he wouldn't scare the fish away," added John. Robin smiled.
"And?"
"And I met someone." Tuck adjusted his habit, and looked apologetic. "I know we're supposed to be living here secretly, but I can't very well ignore it when villagers speak to me. That would only make them suspicious."
"Of course it would." Robin understood. Nobody would think it strange if an ordinary peasant ran off to avoid conversation, but if a friar were to do the same thing people would soon talk. "So what happened?"
"It was a local. A young apprentice from the abbey. It seems that the Bishop of Leeds has been on a tour of Holy places in the North of England, and he's finishing it with a visit to the Abbot Hugo. His route will probably bring him through Sherwood."
"The Bishop of Leeds?" Robin sat up, immediately taking an interest. "And he's coming here?"
"Tomorrow, apparently." Tuck nodded. "And we all know the kind of riches that bishops are fond of hoarding."
"Don't we just." Will spat the words out. "All that gold taken from scared peasants who think they'll go to hell if they don't hand it over - and that's just the way that the more honest bishops get their money. What do you say Robin?"
"Do you know the bishop, Tuck?" Eager to hear if there was any chance of them making an ambush, Robin leaned forwards. The fire illuminated his face and eyes, clearly showing his excitement. "Does he have a big retinue? Many guards?"
"No more than the usual, I'd say. Perhaps less." Tuck gaily sipped his ale, happy to have been the bringer of welcome news. "The bishop likes to think of himself as something of a fighting man, who can handle most problems himself. They say that he's a good archer, and he's supposed to be good with a sword, too. I think he'll be confident enough to risk Sherwood without too big an escort."
"Course he will." Speaking around a mouthful of food and ale, Will couldn't contain a large grin. "He doesn't know about us yet, does he. Nobody does."
"Yeah." Little John banged him on the back in a show of support, and nearly caused his companion to choke. "But by this time tomorrow it'll be a different story. Everybody for miles around will know about Robin Hood and his men."
"And woman," Marion added with a smile. Robin glared at her.
"If you think that you're coming with us on this raid, you can--"
"Robin, I am not staying here." She folded her arms, glowering in the face of his obvious amusement. "If you make me stay here I might just as well have stayed behind in Nottingham Castle, and not joined you at all."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow." He leaned back, staring into the fire. "It might not be easy, you know. We haven't really done anything as a group before. Escaping from Castle de Belleme was a shambles, and we lost two of our men on the way. We're going to have to do better than that."
"We will." Scarlet sounded quietly confident, a change from his usual loud bluster. "We know each other now, and you've had a chance to get to know all our strengths. It'll work out alright."
"I suppose so." All the same Robin felt a strange feeling of nervousness within him, almost like the day, years before, when he had first been called upon to operate the potentially deadly machinery of the mill wheel for his adopted father. It was a feeling that sharpened his senses, and left him suspecting that he was not likely to get much sleep that night.
"Will they send many soldiers after us, Robin? If we attack the bishop I mean?" Much sounded nervous. Little John ruffled his hair.
"Don't worry about that, lad."
"They'll send soldiers after us. Of course they will." His voice ever gentle when speaking to Much, Robin looked the boy directly in the eyes. There was no point hiding from the issue, and he knew that Much would be thinking about the other experiences that he had had with the local soldiery. He had seen his home burnt and his father killed by Gisburne's men so recently that he had not yet even had enough time to come to terms with it all. Robin wondered what the guards had done to the boy's mother, and hoped that it had been mercifully quick. Much, at least, did not seem to be thinking about that too much as yet.
"But the soldiers won't catch us, will they?" Pale in the firelight Much was trying to look as though he wasn't as scared as he was. If he was worried that the others might have thought less of him for his fears, though, he needn't have been. Nobody spoke unkindly to him, and none of the eyes that stared back at him were hostile.
"They won't catch us." Robin smiled reassuringly. "We've lived around these woods all our lives. Remember the rabbits we've hunted here. And the deer, from time to time. We know every inch of this place, and no soldier from Nottingham Castle can say the same thing. I've seen you climb trees like a squirrel, and you're quick on your feet. We all are." There was a muted chorus of laughter, and Will couldn't resist muttering, "Except Tuck."
"I may be slower, but I'm a good deal more dignified." Tuck smoothed out the increasingly shabby material of his habit, and smiled primly. Much managed to laugh alongside the others.
"They won't catch us then?" he asked, just to make sure. Robin shook his head.
"How can they? We'll have to be careful, and we'll be in danger during the times when we have to leave the forest - but as long as we're inside it nobody will catch us. This is our world, Much. It's all that the Normans have let us have, but we'll make the most of it, and keep it our own. They'll not catch us."
"They caught us before," the boy couldn't help pointing out. Robin nodded.
"But we were just peasants then. Just ordinary people. Now we're outlaws - men of Sherwood Forest, under the protection of Herne himself. We're safe. Now go and get some sleep. In the morning there'll be less to worry about."
"Alright Robin." He rose to his feet, crossing to the space some paces away where they had spread their few thin blankets to make beds. Marion took Robin's hand.
"We should all get some sleep," she told him, her voice filled with a wisdom and good sense of which he was profoundly glad. "Can we go without a guard tonight?"
"I think so." He smiled at her, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Just for tonight."
"Then I'm for turning in." Rising to his feet, John towered above them all, momentarily blocking the moon from Robin's vision. It suggested that the giant was possessed of a vastly exaggerated height, making him able to stretch up and touch the moon itself - but the illusion did not last long, for he soon moved away and the moon shone freely once again. All the same, Robin was glad that he was on the same side as the mighty John. Surely such a presence would only help him tomorrow, when he robbed his first victim?
"I think I shall get some sleep as well." Tuck scurried off, in as much as he ever scurried to do anything. Robin and Marion nestled down together close to the fire, and Nasir wandered off into the trees. Will drank the last of his ale.
"Going to be fine weather tomorrow," he commented, to nobody in particular. Robin nodded, his head rocking gently in its resting place against Marion's shoulder.
"Looks like it."
Will smiled at him. "Goodnight Robin."
Robin smiled back, trying not to think too hard about what was to come the following day. Marion rested her head against his, and muttered sleepily into his hair. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful. Friendly, in a way that the forest had never felt before, in the days when Robin had still lived in a house.
"Yeah," he muttered, filled with the sensation of goodwill to all that came with the knowledge that he was embarking upon his destiny. "Goodnight Will."
**********
The pink light of dawn found the outlaws already awake. Nasir and Much made a rough breakfast for everyone, whilst Robin paced about trying to make his plans, and John and Will argued about whose turn it was to fetch water. Marion and Tuck sat together, sharing worries about anything and everything that might go wrong, and trying not to believe that anything would.
"We ought to get moving." Daylight was showing properly now, and breakfast, for what it was worth, was over. John was restless, and Robin sympathised. "We don't know when the bishop will be coming, and we ought to be ready."
"I know." Robin took a deep breath. "Alright. We're assuming that he'll be following the main path through the forest. There aren't many routes that allow carts to pass, and only the one that's open and clear enough for most travellers to feel safe. We'll set things up where the trees are thickest along that route."
"Fine." Will slung his bow over his shoulder, and picked up a quiver full of arrows. "There's plenty of cover. They won't see us until it's far too late."
"Exactly." Robin glanced around at all of his friends. "Much, Marion - I want you to take the watch. There are a couple of tall trees that ought to give you a good view in either direction. Will, Nasir - you need to find a good vantage point about halfway between Marion and Much. Don't spare the arrows. John and Tuck will deal with anybody who tries to fight back on the ground, and I'll handle the bishop. Everybody clear?" There was an assortment of nods and murmurs of assent. Robin thought that Marion looked a little mutinous, but he had at least given her something to do where she could be useful. He hoped that that would be enough. There would be plenty of time, in the weeks and months to come, for her to risk her life at his side if she really wanted to. For now, when he was able to ensure that she was safe, he planned to do just that.
"Good." He nodded, and wished that it was later in the day already, and that the bishop was already in his sight. "Then let's get moving."
**********
Robin was sure than Herne had not mentioned his destiny being this boring. Shifting restlessly in the undergrowth, he stretched his legs and hoped that they didn't cramp. Wasn't it supposed to be exciting, being the son of a forest spirit, and striking a blow for the freedom of Englishmen everywhere? Herne certainly hadn't told him about the sitting around on cold grass, being nibbled on by large mosquitoes, and getting a stiff neck from trying to see the road whilst staying out of sight himself. Nearby John and Tuck were arguing in exaggerated whispers, trying to get more comfortable, and clashing over which of them was the least happy with the situation. Some distance away a tree branch twitched, clearly showing the position of Will Scarlet, who was supposed to be hidden from view. Nasir was invisible, but that much didn't surprise Robin. He had never met anybody with as much patience as the Saracen, and it seemed a pity that some of it couldn't be shared about amongst the rest of the gang. Drat the bishop. Clearly he had overslept.
It was nearing noon when the faint sound of Much's whistle floated through the trees. Robin sat up straight, and caught his head on a low hanging branch. He winced.
"Did you hear that?" His voice far too loud, John's head popped up above the bushes. Tuck hissed him into silence, himself being far too noisy, and Will's gruff voice rose in answer.
"If you two don't shut up the bishop would be able to hear you even if he was still back in Leeds."
"Quiet." His new air of authority taking over, Robin readied himself. "Keep out of sight until the last moment, and for goodness sakes, nobody speak from now on." He waited for a noisy cacophony of understanding, and was relieved when none came. Instead all that he heard was a second whistle, telling him that the moment was fast approaching. He thought that he heard a horse's hoof striking something hard along the road, and felt every muscle in his body jump into awareness. Gone was the nervousness, gone was the worry. He was Herne's son now, and the change was complete.
Nasir fired the first arrow, from his invisible position somewhere in the trees. Robin saw one of the guards beside the bishop's wagon fall from his horse, and heard a shout from somebody else. A second guard fell as Will unleashed an arrow of his own, and a horse whinnied in fear.
"Show yourselves!" Standing up in the wagon, the bishop glared into the trees. Robin saw a tall, powerful man with a sizeable golden cross hanging about his neck, and a sword with a bejewelled hilt poking out from beneath his thick black cloak. Fierce eyes glared from under massive brows, and large, gnarled hands opened and closed into fists. Robin stepped out into the road.
"Here." His voice carried impressively, although he didn't raise it much. The bishop turned to look at him, and the little company slowed to a halt. There were three men left on horseback, all looking decidedly nervous now, and a fourth man in the wagon with the bishop. All four were holding drawn swords.
"What do you want of us, serf?" The bishop's voice had all the authority and conceit that Robin had come to expect from Normans. He didn't like it, but he didn't let that show.
"I'm not a serf." He kept his expression more or less blank, but allowed his eyes to smile. "I'm Robin Hood. The Hooded Man."
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" The disdain in the bishop's voice was clear. This time Robin allowed more than just his eyes to smile.
"It will, soon enough. And when you make it through to Nottingham, you could try remembering me to the Sheriff. He might even embellish the tale with one of his own."
"I'm sure I shall have better things to discuss with the Sheriff than the exploits of some thief who hides himself in Sherwood Forest." The bishop let one of his large hands fall onto the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps you'd like to meet me weapon to weapon, and talk things through that way?"
"And perhaps you'd like to stop distracting me." The slow reaching of the driver for some secreted weapon had not escaped Robin's attention. Neither, it seemed, had it escaped Will's. As the driver reached out one hand for something hidden beneath the seat, a single arrow dropped him in his tracks. He fell from the cart and landed in a heap on the ground. The horse that was harnessed to the wagon jumped at the sound, but there was no other reaction. A wave of rage passed across the bishop's face.
"Coward!" His voice rang out, carrying clearly down the road. "Where are you?"
"Over here." Will stood up, bow levelled at the belligerent bishop. "Throw down your sword, and your money."
"This is a jest of some kind." The bishop looked from Robin to Will with disgust in his eyes. "You two? Peasants, thinking that you can take the treasures of my church? You're much mistaken if you think that you can bully me into giving up so much as a coin."
"And you're much mistaken if you think that you're leaving here with that money still on you." An arrow fitted to his bow in readiness, Robin advanced towards the wagon. The bishop stared down at him, disdain showing in every line on his face, and in every flicker of ill-meaning in his eyes. He was itching to draw his sword, that much was obvious - but equally obvious was his unwillingness to chance anything when he still didn't know who else might be hiding in the trees. Not losing that half-smile that still played about his lips, Robin whistled a shrill summons that echoed above his head. John and Tuck arose from the bushes, and from somewhere nearby the black-clad figure of Nasir stepped into view. The bishop started so violently at the sight of the Saracen that he almost lost his footing and fell.
"You're outnumbered." Robin was beginning to lose patience with this pointlessly posturing fool. "Throw down your money bags."
"You're wearing the uniform of the church." Noticing Tuck for the first time, the bishop blinked at him in surprise. "A friar? With this lot? With a band of cut-throats and Saracens?"
"I decided it was time that I started doing the Lord's work, instead of the work of the church." Tuck moved out of the bushes, swinging his long staff. He almost hoped that he would get the chance to use it. "Do as Robin says and throw down your money bags, Your Grace. it would be a shame to put a hole in your expensively scented hide."
"Especially since then we'd take the money anyway." John looked up at the three guards. "These lads don't look ready to die for your riches."
"Cowards! Peasants!" The bishop turned, staring towards the three men on their bony steeds. "Well? Are you going to let them talk about you that way? Attack them damn you! Attack!" The three men exchanged a sheepish look, and as though to tilt the balance that little bit more, Nasir took another step forward. His distinctive bow pointed its readied arrow at the unfortunate man in the middle of the threesome, and his mouth twisted itself into a cold, taunting smile. As one all three men raised their hands. The bishop spat fury.
"I think you're alone." Robin moved forward a little further, taking up a position from where he could clearly see into the cart. There were several bags and chests inside it, and he wondered what lay within them. Clothing was a certainty, and probably some food, but surely there would also be enough money to see the local villages good for some while. For a second his eyes left the bishop, and he didn't see the man tensing his muscles ready to spring.
"Damn you all!" With a bellow that sounded strong enough to carry all the way to the Sheriff's castle, the bishop drew his sword and leaped. Taken by surprise Robin gaped up at him, seeing a massive shape dressed in a billowing cloak hurling itself towards him. He took a step back, too surprised to draw Albion or raise his bow. The sunlight flashed on the sword raised above him - before the bishop gave a cry of pain and collapsed to the ground. One of Nasir's arrows was sticking into his sword arm, piercing it all the way through. He whimpered, white as death as the pain took hold.
"Thankyou." Aware that he had almost made a serious mistake, Robin kicked the bishop's sword away. Galvanised into movement themselves, John and Tuck also advanced, dragging the three guards from their horses. Marion and Much arrived then, bows at the ready, apparently eager to help.
"Is everything going like it's supposed to, Robin?" Much's eyes were bright as he scurried over. Robin smiled at him, although his eyes were still grim with self-reproach.
"Everything is fine, Much. Why don't you and Marion help Will to empty the cart? Don't take anything we can't use. It'll only get in the way."
"Alright." Hurrying over to the cart, the boy clambered excitedly aboard. Marion lowered her bow and went to help, although Will looked as though he would rather have been keeping a vigil over the prisoners. Lying on the ground, spitting fury and gripping his arm in considerable pain, the bishop muttered violent imprecations into his beard.
"You'll not get away with this." His eyes were narrowed slits as he glared up at Robin. The Hooded Man looked around.
"I don't see anybody coming to stop me, Your Grace."
"Somebody will, confound you. All of you. You'll be dead or in the dungeons of Nottingham Castle before a week is out. Every last one of you. You'll be hanged drawn and quartered as well, if I have anything to say about it."
"Your views are duly noted." Robin turned back to Nasir. "He's got a point though. You'd best keep watch." The Saracen nodded, then turned and disappeared back into the trees.
"You trust him?" The bishop obviously thought that to do so was an act of the greatest stupidity. "A Saracen?"
"With my life." Robin towered above the fallen man, now a dusty shadow of the impressive figure who had first tried to bluff his way out of the ambush. "Is there anybody that you trust that much?" The smoky grey eyes turned away from him, and he smiled to himself. This new way of life looked as though it was going to be very satisfying.
"We're ready, Robin." Leaping down from the wagon, Will lugged a pair of leather bags along with him. Marion and Much struggled with a weighty wooden chest that jingled teasing hints about its contents.
"Good." Stepping back, Robin nodded to John and Tuck, who together hefted their three bound and dishevelled prisoners into the back of the cart. The bishop climbed to his feet, clearly afraid that he was to be tossed in as well. John grinned down at him though, eyes bright with good cheer.
"Don't worry, Your Grace. We wouldn't treat a friend of the Abbot Hugo like that."
"You wouldn't?" Suspicious, the bishop turned his gaze from John to Robin and back again. John's sudden answering laugh made him jump, and he realised then that his unpleasant experience was not yet over. With barely a grunt of effort John hoisted him up and sat him on the saddle of the nearest horse, settling him there back to front. Tuck tied his ankles to the stirrups.
"That should keep you nice and secure, Your Grace." His smile was one of pure mischief, even though he felt a little awkward behaving in such a fashion towards a bishop. His old training exerting itseff, he thought, and didn't need to remind himself that things were very different now.
"You'll pay for this." As John gave the horse a hearty slap to send it cantering on its way, the bishop's voice echoed back along the road, even after he had gone from the outlaws' sight. "Every one of you! You'll pay for this!"
"I think he expects us to pay for this." Will's grin was one of pure enjoyment.
"But it's him that's paid for it, isn't it." Much was excited. "How much do you think we've got here, Robin?"
"A lot." Whistling for Nasir, Robin took Marion's end of the chest. It was heavy, but not painfully so, and the feel of the weight of it buoyed up his spirits even more. "Maybe even enough to pay the taxes and other levies and let the villagers put some away for emergencies as well."
"That much?" The boy's eyes widened in delighted amazement. "How much money is that, Robin? More than a hundred marks?"
"There's more than a thousand here I reckon." Will hefted his bags. "And that's just in these. We could be rich in days if we decided to keep this lot ourselves. Really rich I mean. Like Normans."
"Then we're going to have to make sure that we're not tempted, aren't we." Robin thought about the money, and was gratified to discover that he did not covet a penny of it. That was good, for Herne's son should not be tempted by such things. Will grinned at him.
"Don't worry. I'm not planning to run off with it. I'm not in this for the money."
"None of us are." John knew that he was speaking for them all. Looking around at them as they headed back to the camp, he knew that the same thought was in all their minds, from the youngest to the oldest, from the inspired son of Herne, to the mysterious, secretive Saracen. Not one of them wanted so much as a coin.
"Here, you know what this means, don't you." His stride growing jauntier despite the weight of the bags that he was carrying, Will spun around to face the others as he walked. Nasir had come from somewhere to join them, although none of them had heard him arrive.
"What does it mean?" Tuck was feeling high-spirited himself, even though he was sure that he would feel bad later, when his conscience faced up to the fact of the theft.
"That we make a good team." Will couldn't have been more cheerful if he had been drinking all day. "The Sheriff isn't going to know what's hit him."
"Maybe we should feel sorry for him," suggested John. Everybody laughed.
"I think we'll just forget about him for the time being." Robin was thinking about Herne, and what the Lord of the Forest would have to say about this first step on the path he had created for them. Perhaps later he would go looking for him, when he had first taken a little time to celebrate with his friends.
"Do you think that the Sheriff will forget about us?" Marion pressed against him, and they both laughed. Robin wished that he had a hand free, with which to pull her close.
"Not as long as he lives," he told her, the amusement and satisfaction making his heart swell. "He's not going to get the chance."
**********
And so it proved. As the days slipped by, and Robin and his gang averaged at least one ambush a day, the Sheriff of Nottingham grew steadily more furious. Taking the brunt of his employer's rages the way that he never seemed able to enjoy his good tempers, Guy of Gisburne sank into a determined sulk. He didn't see that it was his fault, but Robin's successes seemed to have been blamed on him anyway.
"Damn it Gisburne." Throwing aside a piece of parchment that he had been given to sign, which set a hefty reward for the capture of Robin Hood, the Sheriff realised that he had got ink all over his hands, and swore. "Why can't you catch this man? How hard can it be to round up a gang of outlaws?"
"Sherwood has always been home to outlaw gangs, my lord." Gisburne didn't dare look the older man in the eye. "It's almost impenetrable in places, and filled with pitfalls. You have to know your way through it to stand a chance of navigating--"
"I don't want to hear your excuses. I want these men caught." Slamming one fist into his table, the Sheriff sent his ink pot flying. It spattered dark liquid all over the floor, and a servant scurried to clean up. De Rainault roared at him until he fled. "Peasants, Gisburne! We're taking about peasants! Saxon peasants, like the ones that you seem to enjoy killing on such a regular basis. Why can't you just kill these ones?"
"Not just peasants, my lord. There's the Lady Marion, if the bishop's description is to be believed, and that Saracen, and the friar--"
"Not reason enough to make it impossible for you to kill them, Gisburne." De Rainault was looking angrier than ever. "Peasants, priests, a girl. What's wrong with you man?"
"I'm... working on it, my lord." Flushed to crimson with embarrassment and stifled rage, Gisburne almost choked on the words. "I've been enquiring in the local villages, and it seems that the money that was stolen has been redistributed amongst the villagers. With Robin Hood's blessing, the people are told. It's gaining him a good deal of support amongst the peasants."
"Of course it is. If he needs any more support that is. Goodness knows he's getting enough of it just by the number of soldiers he's killed. God's feet, Gisburne! This is getting well beyond a joke. This 'Hooded Man' must be stopped!"
"Yes, my lord." Wishing that his bullying commander would come up with a few ideas instead of just berating other people for not having any, Gisburne kept his eyes fixed on the ground. "Of course, my lord."
"Yes, well don't just stand there agreeing with me." Rising to his feet, the Sheriff began to pace up and down. His path took him through the puddle of ink, and he began to tread irregular footprints over the stone flags. "Get out there, with however many of your men that you've managed not to get killed yet, and bring me Robin Hood!"
"Yes, my lord." Bowing low, Gisburne turned and swept from the room. He was almost spitting with rage as he stormed along the corridors, and servants and guards alike ducked out of his way rather than meet him as he passed. The rages of Sir Guy of Gisburne were more famous than those of any other man - save, needless to say, for the Brothers de Rainault.
As Gisburne walked, however, so did his rage begin to fade. An idea was forming in the depths of his mind that actually began to make a smile edge its way out of hiding. It was an idea that might work, provided nothing went wrong. An idea that might just bring him the head of Robin Hood. His smile broke free at last, and soon grew into a fully fledged grin. Robin Hood might think that he was the King of Sherwood right now, but Gisburne had a plan to dethrone him. A plan that ought to end this foolish talk of Hooded Men once and for all.
**********