"Much, wake up," Robin whispered, shaking the sleeping man's shoulder.

"Much!"

"I'm awake," he grumbled, forcing his eyes open.

Robin grinned and sat down beside him.

"Sir Thomas is leading an envoy out to meet a threatening army in the hills ten miles from here. He should be back in a day or two. No peace, certainly, but no battle immediately. Then, we can make our move."

"And is the Saracen girl going to help you?"

"Yes. I'm speaking with her tomorrow."

"All right then. Don't wake me up again with such stupid news."

"Laena," Robin hesitantly called at the outside of the small tent.

"Come in," she replied.

He entered slowly, and drew in his breath slowly. From Laena's flat speech and her observance of the shrouded dress of the Muslim's, he had expected a Spartan living space. But it was beautiful. She had a bed frame of wood, a rarity in camp, Robin had noticed, and there were wool blankets and pillows all carefully dyed to different jewel tones. There was pottery everywhere, at least ten pieces beyond the necessity he thought. And propped up against the back wall of the tent was a painting of a young girl, draped in velvet, lying naked on a bed.

"You like my portrait?" She asked.

"That is you?"

"Yes. Not a strong resemblance I admit, but I was fond of the painter, so I've kept it."

"It's lovely."

"Yes, well. Please sit down," Laena motioned to one of two stools beside a low make-shift table of a flat of wood on a barrel. The only thing makeshift about this room, he thought. Laena sat cross-legged on the bed, and Robin saw her feet were as brown as her hands and eyes.

"Do you walk barefoot then?"

"Excuse me? Oh, yes, I do. Part of a penance, you see."

Robin nodded in feigned understanding. Laena's eyes crinkled as though she were smiling and she continued,

"I have heard that you have skill with a bow and arrow."

"Some people say I'm the best in England."

"Yes, I have also heard you're quite cocky."

Robin blushed and looked down at his hands.

"That was meant as a joke," she was with mock seriousness.

"You're free to laugh," she continued.

Robin remained silent.

"I see you have lost your sense of humor along with your home."

Now Robin laughed, though with a touch of bitterness.

"You will find it is not that bad here."

"Thank you, but I'd rather not find that out. I've made a promise to someone."

"That promise probably does not involve kissing other women."

Robin stared at her.

"Another joke," she offered feebly.

He continued to stare.

"Well then, down to business. The King has few men he trusts. I have found them all to be trustworthy in all my dealings with them. You see, I have been something of a spy in times past."

Robin smiled, "I think we understand each other now."

"I thought we might. That's why I've taken an interest in you."

"I had been wondering that, if it weren't for my good looks and boyish charm."

Laena laughed, and once again she was like Marian and Robin found himself grinning despite himself.

"There is a man I want you to meet. His name is Christian."

"Christian?"

"Yes, he has a strange sense of humor. Richard and I alone know that this man is the one who is controlling the opposition. The Sultan and the king are just puppets in his hands. If he were to be assassinated, the alliance between all these Muslim factions would dissolve. And they could either be defeated through force, or treaties made about land and churches etc. His assassination could mean the end of this Crusade. And that is where you come in, you and your skill with the bow and arrow."

"I have never killed a man and I do not relish the idea. You are sure this could send me home?"

"Undoubtedly. The King wants this so badly he would even make a deal with you to insure that when you are successful. And you will be, I know the city well, and I have spied for Christian before, I can get you in."

"What is the proof that you are not a spy for him now? That you are not just turning me over to him to get back in his good graces and get out of the king's service?"

"When Christian dismissed me, he offered proof of my disloyalty to him for my future employers."

She set aside her exterior wrap and stood up to strip off her white tunic, and then sat back down. She seemed unperturbed by her nudity, but then, Robin thought, she had likely shown this to many men before. And Robin couldn't help thinking what a sick man it was that would brand her such that she would have to be naked in order to be trusted.

She pointed, as if it needed pointing, to a brand on her left breast, over her heart. It was hideously contorted, originally it must have been a C, but it wavered, and was dark purple and red scar tissue.

"How long?"

"A year."

"And it is still?" Robin gestured to the gruesome mark.

"Oh yes. It is likely it will never fade, I've been told. You see, he knows that burns, brands, are easily healed over time. So he cuts the skin first, waits until it is bleeding freely, and then lays on the branding iron."

"I am sorry."

"I may not be loyal to you yet, Robin of Locksley, although I may be in time, but believe me when I say that I want Christian dead."

"Shall we shake on it then?"

Laena offered her hand and Robin shook it hard and then stood to go.

Just before he reached the entrance, Much frantically scrambled in, breathing heavily.

"Sir Thomas…Sir Thomas" he struggled to catch his breath.

"What's happened? Do we have surrender from Jepthe?"

Much shook his head and swallowed hard.

Laena spoke then, "Is he back?"

"Oh he's back, in a way."

Laena and Robin glanced at each other.

"What do you mean in a way?"

"His head. On a pike, brought back by one of his men. The other three were killed."

"My God, who are these people?" Robin thundered.

"Easy now," Laena commanded, her voice brusque with no attempt at being soothing, "This only means our plan happens now. Tonight. We will go speak with Richard now."

"If we go tonight, Much comes with me."

"That's right, I come with him," Much seconded. "Where are we going?"

"To assassinate their leader."

"And I'm not going."
"Much, I need you."

"While you boys settle this, I will be speaking to the King."

And she left and walked off, Robin and Much hurrying to catch up.

Robin and Laena and Much scurried along the walkway atop the city wall. The King had of course agreed to the plan, so eagerly that it made Robin wonder if it hadn't been his idea in the first place. He kicked himself for being so easily duped for a woman, but Much had tried to comfort him saying that she had used to be a spy after all so she's no ordinary woman in terms of trickery.

"All right," she whispered now, "It's that house there."

She pointed to the house nearest them now, just a stone's throw from the wall.

"You will climb up the outside ladder behind that wall, it is concealed behind that falling wall of jasmine blossoms, if it were winter, you could see it now."

"Yes I know."

"Yes, but Robin," she grabbed his arm just as he was about to shimmy down the rope Much had already thrown over the edge of the wall, "If he is not alone in his bedroom, you will have to kill everyone there, do you understand me?"

He nodded quickly and turned away.

"Even if it is a child, can you do that?"

Robin nodded sullenly, like a boy being punished for doing something naughty.

"All right then, let him down," she instructed Much and grabbed the end of the rope herself to brace him further.

Once Robin reached the ground, Much hurriedly pulled the rope back up.

"And now we wait," Laena murmured, sinking down to sit.

"Why can't he just fire an arrow in again?"

"Because they have skilled physicians, and arrows are easily treated in a city such as this. He would not die, it would only make him angry. What Robin has to do will be much harder."

Robin easily crossed the packed dirt road to the house's wall. That was easy enough. And feeling around for the rope ladder behind the jasmine flowers was easy enough as well. But then actually putting his foot on the ladder was something entirely different. His mind flooded with memories as his body flooded with adrenaline, as if every time before he had had to fight for his life was reignited by this fresh struggle. The fire that killed his father, when he had nearly drowned as a child, when he thought Marian would die of the plague, and then only Marian, images of Marian washing her clothes in the washtub, riding her horse, climbing a tree, laying supine on his bed waiting for him, dancing with him, thoughts flickering so fast before his eyes they blurred and it was only the essence of her that remained. He put his foot on the ladder and climbed.

The bedroom he entered at the window was much like any other. And the sleeping man looked like any other. And there was a young girl beside him but Robin wouldn't dwell on that now. He strode to the man's side of the bed. He drew out his dagger. And without pausing he slashed the man's throat, once, twice, three times. The man's eyes flashed open and instantly froze in death. He had not made a sound or moved a muscle. Robin took a deep breath and stepped away from the growing pool of blood on the floor. He would not look at the blood on the hand that held the knife. He crossed the room and stood before the girl. She was an Oriental of some kind, and very young. She was curled onto her side away from the man. As Robin watched she turned onto her back and flicked at a fly that buzzed near her. The fly quickly found better prey in the blood that now was congealing on the dead man's chest. Robin did not know if even a minute had passed. He drew the knife up again and plunged it point first into the girl's throat. A gush of blood spurted at him, into his face, obscuring his vision and the girl began to choke and sputter, and made what she could of a scream as she saw the corpse beside her. Her eyes wildly sought Robin's as he drove his knife down into her stomach. He hoped that in Heaven the girl would forgive him when she had seen the tears in his eyes as he killed her.

Her coughing and gasping continued a moment and then faded, as another sound, pounding footsteps approached the door. Robin ran for the window as the door was flung open and men rushed at him and drove him to the ground, pinning his arms behind him. His rational mind told him to be calm, to think, not to fight, and Robin forced his instincts to obey that order and was still.

The head guard, it seemed, faced him. The man spoke a rapid sentence in Arabic and the guards drug Robin to his feet and out the door in total silence. Robin heard only the thudding of his heart as they crossed a courtyard into what was clearly the royal palace gates. They entered through the main gates proudly, and though it was night, several figures lurked about, and stared at the captive. Through countless corridors they turned until finally they came to a room that Robin recognized in a moment. It was their dungeon. At their entrance a loud ruckus began from all the prisoners, shouting and cursing in several languages. They shuffled Robin along to the end of the row of cells and opened the last cage. They pushed him in, unshackled, though the shackles sitting two feet outside the cell door made their meaning clear, and shut the door behind him.

Robin stood in the center of the cell, unmoving. He thought he could almost hear time ticking by with the clank of some man's chain in the unit next to them. He stared at his hands, covered in blood of the evil, and blood of the innocent. But he could not think how they had come to be this way. How were his hands covered in blood? He had been a land owner, he had been a farmer, he had been a lover, and now, he was a murderer. And God had seen fit to punish him for it.

"Hey!"

The voice jarred Robin from his thoughts and he glanced towards the sound. It came from a Muslim man curled up on a pile of dirty cloth.

"Water?" The man gestured to a small jug by the bars. A few flies flew about it.

"Thanks," Robin crossed and drank heavily from the jar.

"They give us water," the man continued.

"Why?" Robin did not think he could possibly be interested in the answer.

"If we die, they can't torture us. And men dry out fast in this place."

"Torture?"

"You have a few days, I think."

"But I…"
"You're innocent?" The man interrupted.

Robin frowned and shook his head.

"Ah, then you may have shorter."

Robin shook his head to clear it and moved to what was clearly meant as his side of the cell.

"The blanket was a reward," the man said, as he noticed Robin looking for his.

Robin nodded and lay down on his stomach, his head on his arm.

"I thought you could not be innocent with that much blood on you."

Robin turned away.

"The first session will clean that off well enough though."

The man seemed momentarily put off by Robin's silence and went back to sleep.

Robin felt as though he couldn't make his mind move along any logical pathways. He wanted to think about whether Laena and Much had been found along the wall, and whether they too would be brought here. He wanted to focus on a plan for escape, on what he could tell his torturers and what he would have to hide. But his mind could not even form the ideas. It remained blank until suddenly he thought of God. He pushed himself to his knees and clasped his hands to pray.

Dear God, he pleaded, I am sure that you are too busy caring for those who are not murderers but in the chance that I am still within your notice, I pray to you. I deserve whatever comes to me here on Earth at the hands of these men but please, please do not let Laena and Much be taken. Please, let Marian forget me. Please, let me die at their hands tomorrow. Do not let me live with this pain. Do not let me live with the sight of those bodies and this blood that is still on my hands.

He prayed until his mind could form no more words and then only offered up the picture of Marian, smiling, washing her clothes in the front lawn, talking to him. Her brown hair falling in her face, and she brushing it back again, throwing tiny drops of water everywhere like little diamonds in the light. Dear God, judge me by this, judge me by my love for her. Let this be the memory of Robin of Locksley.