"Get back 'ere you cowards. I'm not through with you yet. You just wait until I hear you've been 'anging the poor and taking all their money then I'll..." she swung her sword after her fleeing victims.

"Anna, what are you doing young lady?" Robert asked. He was standing in the doorway to a small thatched house with his arms stacked full of firewood.

"Just playing," the little girl shrugged and dropped the stick she was using as a sword and flounced over to him, her blonde pigtails jumping.

"Is that right?" he said with a smile handing her a log of wood. "I hope you were playing nice."

"I always do, 'cept the boys are no fun once you beat them at sword fighting."

He chuckled as they made their way into the living area.

"Father," Anna said turning her vivid blue eyes towards the man in question who hummed his affirmation. "The boys were playing Robin Hood."

"Is that right?"

"An' they said it was true. That he actually existed."

"Could be," Robert said as he started making dinner. "That's all the way over in Nottingham, Robin Hood could be true. There're certainly enough outlaws around."

"So the stories you tell me 'bout the nightwatchman and Robin Hood, are they true?"

"Could be," he said again, ruffling the little girl's hair. "You'll have to ask Tuck when he comes by. He gets out more than me."

"Okay," Anna said spritely bouncing up to help her father and the matter was forgotten.


In Nottingham

Two cloaked figures were inconspicuously camouflaging with the group of peasants that were milling around the stalls in the outer town area. No one paid them much attention as they seemed to be focused on the West Gate.

"Are you sure she said noon?" the taller one hissed at his companion for the fifth time.

"I'm not being funny Will, but if you ask me that again I'm going to take this tomato and..."

"Alright, there's no need for that. Are you sure she wasn't being coerced like before?" Will asked.

"We all saw her, it's been a long time since she betrayed us and I don't think..."

"There it is," Will interrupted as a small merchant cart appeared amongst the stalls heading toward the West Gate.

"Well, I guess it's a go," Alan said as they started to follow.

Later that afternoon found the four of them seated around a merrily blazing campfire. Heavy sacks spoke of the success of the day's job and the work to come for tomorrow but although the scene looked cheerful the outlaws sat in gloomy silence.

"I came back through the old camp today," John said suddenly. "Thought I'd go see Much." The other outlaws looked up from the dancing flames. "Someone had left flowers there again."

"Do you think it's him?" Djaq asked anxiously.

"Who else would it be?" Will countered.

"Still," Alan said sadly throwing a twig into the flames. "Doesn't mean nothing does it? He's still going to be gone."

A twig snapped behind them and they all jumped up, weapons in hand. A small cloaked figure stood just outside the firelight, her hands raised in surrender.

"It's just me."

"Oh," Alan grunted as he sat down again, discarding his sword.

"At least it shows he still remembers," John said slowly, returning to their previous conversation and ignoring their visitor.

The others nodded in agreement or acceptance as their guest sat down and discarded her hood. They also ignored her, taking particular care not to notice the bruises and cuts that covered her face. She in turn did not ask about the conversation she had interrupted. She did not want to know. Instead, she sat drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"A consignment of silver is coming through the high path tomorrow, but I don't know at what time."

John grunted in understanding.

Marian paused for a minute before adding, "There's also going to be a scouting party out early in Sherwood tomorrow morning. Guy's going to be there."

Djaq nodded and handed Marian a tin of ointment for her wounds. The routine had been well established by now. They all sat in silence for a while before Marian rose silently to her feet and departed.

The forest was dark and cold as she found the old path, overgrown and rarely travelled. When she reached the grave she stared sadly at the flowers that someone had left there. She knew who had left them. Leaning down she added her own to the growing bouquet. She sat there for a while, remembering then stood suddenly and wiped her eyes. Leaving with a swish of her dress and a softly spoken sentence:

"I'm so sorry, Much."