Chants of "God save the King!" rang out near the castle's main gate. The sheriff had assembled a crowd of townspeople to cheer on the departing soldiers. The chants seemed unenthusiastic, since most people were well aware of England's fading fortunes in France.
A crisp gush of wind prompted the sheriff the wrap his fur-lined robe around him. "As you can see," he chattered through his teeth, "the people hope and pray for His Majesty's rapid success in Normandy."
"God willing, de Rainault," de Giscard remarked, while adjusting his helmet. The herald was no fool. He expected Philip of France to shore up his successes in Normandy. As long as England held Château-Gaillard, Richard the Lionheart's great Norman fortress (and the key to English possessions), Normandy would hold. de Giscard feared that was far less certain now.
Gisburne galloped to the front of the horsemen, proudly seated on his fine, black stallion. A few of the castle's servants tossed rose petals before them. Alice, the chamber maid, waved frantically at them. "Godspeed, Guy!"
The sheriff rolled his eyes at the absurd display of patriotism. He was on foot and struggled to keep up with the trotting horsemen. "Keep whatever few wits you have about you, Gisburne! Philip Augustus means to drive the English to the sea. The king's army stands in his way. If it means anything to you, may God be with you – because I doubt there'll be any English soldier alive in France by the time you and this miserable army arrives in Normandy!"
"We shall prevail, my Lord Sheriff!" Gisburne declared confidently. He smiled as the townspeople raised a cheer. "The people want us to beat the French."
The sheriff groaned at his steward's naivety. "They're Saxons! Most of them regard us as French! It's stunning that the shire hasn't risen up in rebellion to take advantage of King John's foreign distractions. Wales, Ireland … where else does he want to plant his little standard?"
"All in good time, de Rainault," the herald stated. "Wales will fall. And we'll hold Normandy – whatever the cost." Gisburne flinched at that last remark, because the cost for defending Normandy could be many, many English lives.
The horses quickly galloped out of the gate, on the road south to London, to Southampton … and to war.
They passed many villages and hamlets as they traveled, but the waving crowds were not to be found. The serfs ignored them as they tilled the fields, herded sheep or journeyed north to the Nottingham market. King John's defence of English honour in France meant little to them; in fact, the sheriff had bled them dry with new levies for the foreign campaign.
They continued on the main London road until they reached a fork. If they remained on the main road, they would eventually pass by Sherwood Forest. The smaller road – while less traveled – would take them away from the forest, past the Abbey of Kirklees and re-join the London road several miles away.
"Uh, my lord," Gisburne stuttered. "Might I suggest that we take the lesser road, so that we might dine at the abbey?" He didn't want to give the impression that he feared Sherwood Forest and the Hooded Man.
"But that would add two hours to our journey," de Giscard scoffed. "We have two dozen armed guards, Sir Guy. Let this Robin Hood show his face: we'll parade his head in triumph upon our arrival in London!"
"Robin Hood is no ordinary bandit," Gisburne argued, as he nervously eyed the approaching forest. "Some say the forest is haunted. Evil spirits and demons!"
The herald held up his hand to silence his protests. "Pagan superstition. This Hooded Man is just that – a man! We make haste to London, where we shall gather the rest of the knights and squires. Then on to Southampton, and victory against Philip Augustus!" He galloped his horse forward, joined by the rest of his crimson-liveried cohort.
Gisburne hesitated. Five miles to the south, the forest would surround either side of the main London road. The wolfsheads could strike at any spot there. Despite his instincts, he shrugged away his fears and rode after the cohort, with the sheriff's exquisite sword and scabbard clanging against his new mailed armour.
He didn't hear the quiet whistle of the songbird in the distance …
An hour later, de Giscard led the horsemen down a wooded section of the London road. Sherwood Forest enveloped either side of them. Gisburne's horse dawdled behind them.
"See, Sir Guy!" de Giscard grinned. "The outlaws have taken flight. Your 'Robin Hood' would dare not assault a man of the king!"
There was a rustle of branches. Nasir dropped from the trees above, landed behind de Giscard and drew a dagger to his throat. Little John swatted his quarterstaff at another guard, and knocked him off his horse. One of the king's guards began to draw his sword, but Much set loose a slingshot and knocked him unconscious.
"The devils are behind us!" Gisburne snarled. He tried to spin his horse around, but Marion and Tuck had already drawn their longbows behind their leafy cover.
"For God's sake, men, charge them!" de Giscard ordered, but the guards had panicked and lost their formation. Robin fired a warning shot, which thudded on a tree just behind Gisburne. Robin drew another arrow and Will Scarlet, brandishing a sword, blocked the road south. They were surrounded.
"It's over, my lord," Robin beamed. "Tell your men to stand down, or else!" Gisburne knew it was hopeless to resist, and instructed the rest of the guards to throw down their swords.
Robin aimed an arrow directly at the herald. Will lunged forward with his sword and grabbed the bridle of Gisburne's horse.
"You ain't goin' nowhere, Gisburne!" Will growled, and yanked him off his horse. "You and me got some re-acquaintin' to do." He and Much shoved Gisburne towards Robin.
"Well, if it isn't Hubert de Giscard!" Tuck smiled, with his bow still drawn. He pulled out a small knife and cut off the herald's purse. "I shall return this gold to the people you've stolen it from."
"I told him to go around Sherwood Forest," Gisburne moaned.
"de Giscard?" Robin inquired. "The king's herald. It seems we have a very important guest today! He must be worth at least 300 gold marks."
"400, at least," Tuck insisted.
Marion slowly emerged from the woods, with her bow still drawn. "What shall we do with the king's men?"
Robin and Little John quickly discussed what they should do. Little John seemed to disagree with Robin's idea, but Robin managed to persuade him.
"You – the king's men – our quarrel's not with you," Robin announced. "Leave your swords and ride as fast as you can to London! The Hooded Man has spared your lives. Return to Sherwood Forest again, and I will show you no mercy."
"Who is the captain of the guard?" Marion bellowed. Her arrow was still aimed at the body of crimson-clad soldiers.
"I am," one of the horsemen stated.
"Go to Nottingham and tell the sheriff that he can have the king's herald back for –" Marion began, and turned to Robin. "— did we settle on a price for his ransom, Robin?"
"350 gold marks, and the sheriff can have de Giscard back … unharmed," Robin declared. The guard captain turned his horse around and galloped northward. The rest of the disarmed and injured guards trotted quickly southward, under the watchful eyes (and arrows) of Nasir, Marion and Tuck.
"Lady Wolfshead," Gisburne sneered at Marion. "It seems you have taken charge of your dead husband's band of ruffians. What's the matter – Huntingdon not living up to Loxley's legend?"
Will shoved him violently. "Watch your tongue, or I'll slice it off!" He yanked Gisburne's coin purse from him and inspected its contents. "Hmm, that's quite a small fortune, Gisburne." He tossed the purse to Tuck, and took the ornate scabbard from Gisburne. "You ain't got yer own money to buy such an excellent sword, so you must have stolen it, eh?"
"It was a parting gift," Gisburne admitted. "From my Lord Sheriff." He seemed to be upset that the sword was taken from him, and Will relished the fact that Gisburne had shown some weakness.
Much seemed puzzled. "And why did he want to give you a gift, Sir Guy?" Gisburne didn't answer. Much didn't press the issue and collected the swords left by the king's men. Nasir began to bind their prisoners' wrists with rope.
"So, the rumours at court are true, then," de Giscard mocked, after Nasir had pushed him towards the outlaws. "You've become an outlaw, Huntingdon – breaking the king's peace, and living in sin with your predecessor's widow. Your father was right to disown you."
"That's not true!" Marion protested. She felt uncomfortable that Gisburne and the herald had made Robin look inferior in front of her friends.
"I'm not bothered," Robin said. "Hubert de Giscard is King John's simpering errand-boy. Scampering around the kingdom to deliver royal messages, while milking the people dry with levies for the king's wars in France! My lord and Sir Guy will be our guests tonight." He sounded brash and confident, but Marion noticed that his eyes betrayed the truth: he was hurt by Gisburne's insults and the herald's accusations.
Will, Nasir, Tuck and Much escorted their valuable prisoners back to camp, deep in the forest. Little John also sensed that the insults bothered Robin, and he approached him.
"Don't mind Gisburne, Robin," Little John offered. "His brain's in his arse. He just gave us the king's herald on a silver platter! Hubert had 100 marks on him! His ransom will feed many a poor village, and we didn't even take a life." He slapped Robin on the back. "We did good today … Herne's Son." Robin grinned at the remark. Little John always knew how to raise his spirits, but the sting of Guy and Hubert's words still lingered.
"You're an honourable man, Robin," Marion reassured him. "I don't care what the barons and lords say about you – or me – at court! And Little John is right: you are Herne's Son. We can help the people of the shire. That's what's important." She and Little John rejoined the rest of the band, still uncertain if the insults and rumours troubled Robin.
Robin slung his quiver over his shoulder, and began to put on his hood.
Then, he paused. He felt that he didn't deserve to wear that hood. That hood represented more than some pagan legend, or even Loxley's mythical fame: it was an ideal, a hope that there could be justice for the poor and dispossessed.
Why did you choose me for such a burden, Herne? Robin sighed to himself.