Thanks for all the reviews! Still a continuation, and once again I'll remind those who are reading that I am not an expert on Robin Hood, so I may have facts and information off. If I am, please kindly inform me

Chapter Four: Speaking Truths and Lies

It wasn't that bad, the pain. It came and went in phases, but for the most part it was hardly felt as long as he remained still. There were no serious wounds…no broken bones, no lacerations; just bruises. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them, and it wasn't surprising, given the way Gisborne had beaten him.

Robin had no knowledge of how long it had lasted; time had seemed to crawl by, minutes stretching into hours. There was nothing but darkness, dimly lit by the burning torches, and Gisborne himself, his face, and cold hard voice filling his ears. It hadn't made any difference; Robin had won. At least for now.

Nothing had passed through his lips save for muffled grunts and groans from the forceful blows, and Robin had held his voice steady during daring taunts, and bitter responses. Gisborne knew nothing more than he had before…his men were safe, Marian's previous work as the Night Watchman was safe, and the man learnt nothing of the secret shares and holds of where they hid excessive food or treasures. Gisborne was after something, Robin knew, and he wouldn't let the Sheriff's right hand man learn anything.

The real question however was for how long? He had only been there a few days, and had only been questioned once. It was brutal, but Robin had seen worse in the Holy Lands. Gisborne, of course, would suspect that, and in time the questionings would become more violent. He could hold out against the man for a time, but not forever.

Robin had seen the method of questionings held before; had seen the end result of those who held their tongues. He had even witnessed the forms of punishment received to offenders before leaving for the war so many years ago. That was when King Richard was in charge; times had changed since then, and Vaysey did not hold the same outlook as the King had.

Time had passed, and his body, burning with pain, had finally been ignored. Gisborne had been called away to more pressing matters and had left Robin in the hands of the jailer, and guards that were standing by. The walk back to his cell had not been pleasant, the jailer already held a foul disposition against the former Lord, and wasted no time in making that clear. Robin had held himself together, slowing his breathing and his racing heart as he rested against the back wall on the floor. More time had passed before his injuries were tended.

Sarah, the same old woman that had tended him before worked over him gently. The stitching had torn and needed to be patched up, and though it was painful, Robin did not resist. The wet cloth that wiped the blood from his face was cool, and her administrations were gentle against his swollen lips, and bruised face as she moved slowly. He took the water that was offered, but declined the small portion of food as his stomach turned. Though it would keep up his strength, Robin knew that his body was not yet ready.

"They want you to eat," she told him quietly, holding the stale piece of bread up to him.

"To keep my strength up," Robin nodded, already knowing what Gisborne had in mind. "He doesn't wish to kill me too soon."

Sarah moved closer, lowering her voice so the guard outside could not hear her. "This is more than most prisoners get; do shy away from their generosity."

"You've never been outside of the castle, have you?" Robin queried, meeting her soft gaze. "This is not generosity; it is murder, treason, if you might say. King Richard would never allow…"

"The King is not here, is he?" Sarah hushed him quickly, glancing over her shoulder. "I know what he would do. For I too served under him, Robin of Locksley."

She smiled at his questioning gaze, a sad one, but one of slight comfort. "Are you really surprised that I know you? I was around long before you were born, and I have watched you grow. I may be little more than a servant, but I am still human; I do pay attention to what happens outside of the castle."

Robin was shaking his head as he let out a sigh, "There are hundreds of people in Nottingham alone, many Lords and Nobles…how can you say that you know me, when we've never spoken before?"

"I knew you mother," she answered softly. "Remember when you were little, when you came to the market, the lady that would watch you as your mother went about her business? You're a good man Robin; you have a lot of her in you. You have her spirit."

"Then help me," he whispered to her quietly, eyeing the guard who was lingering a few feet away. "Surely you can get me out of here. My men and I would find safe passage for you and your family to a new life."

"Robin, you cannot ask this of me. My life is here…the other servants, they are my family. We know nothing else; and we dare not defy the Sheriff. You know what he can do."

"All the more reason to get out of here," he urged her.

"We have seen so many things; the men, the women, even children that end up in here, speak of your doings outside of the castle. You bring them hope; you give them something to believe in; even if it is their last days. I would help you if I could, but you know that I cannot. Only the jailer carries the keys, and he would never pass them to someone else. I am old; I cannot get them away from him."

Her hand touched the side of this face, redirecting his fading gaze back to her face. There was compassion etched into every line on her face. "I will help you; but not in that way."

The fleeting moment of hope was now completely gone, and Robin had resigned himself to another lost hope. He knew the old woman had little power, and it was unfair to ask such a task of her, knowing that it was one she could never accomplish, but it made the pain no easier to bear. He gave her a small nod as the jailer returned, barking orders at her to finish.

Sarah put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, leaving the small plate of food on the floor next to him as she gathered the rest of her belongings. Robin watched her leave, closing his eyes as the darkness gathered around him as he was left alone to his thoughts. They were like cells around him; dark, depressing, and completely empty.

Their worries and concerns had only increased as they moved on. The group had given the young woman a proper burial, giving her blessings, and wishes before heading towards the town she had fled. Knighton Hall itself was beyond words. The house they knew so well, the same house Marian and her father had lived in for years was now in ruins. Smoke filtered through the skies, leaving behind charred remains of the wooden structure. But it wasn't just the sight that had bothered them.

They could smell it long before arriving. The stench of burning flesh and their fears were confirmed as they stepped outside of the forest's edge. Many were dead, many had died inside their houses, and those lucky enough to escape had been killed in their tracks. Those who were left, lucky in some eyes, not so to others, were busy picking up the remains that were left behind.

The dead had been piled up away from the houses, nearer to the forest, and most had been burned, some still were. Will pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose, trying to block out some of the putrid scent, but it helped little. Behind him, the others were doing the same as they walked through the ruins, tears lining their eyes as the shock began to wear off.

Never before had they ever seen something quite like this. Will doubted that even Much, the man who had served by Robin's side in the war, had seen such horrors. The tales that had been spun by returning warriors were gruesome, but Will doubted even the most talented spinners could weave such a tale as this. Not only were these innocent victims hunted down and killed, but they were not safe even once they were dead.

"Breathe through your mouth my friend," a man called too them, dropping another body onto the growing pile in front of them. "It is much easier."

Recognition fled through Will's mind, but it was brief, and fleeting; as soon as the speculation had entered his mind, it had disappeared. He said nothing as the others passed him, his eyes searching the area around them for something…anything at all. In his mind, something wasn't right, but Will couldn't guess to exactly what it was.

"I think I can taste it," Much spat bitterly, covering his face once more. "How can you stand it?"

The stranger was bent in half, hands resting on his knees. It was clear he had been working hard, for sweat drenched his skin and wetted his clothes. His hair was short, dark in color, and there was a strange smoothness to his skin, that didn't quite fit in with the work of peasant.

"When you are here for a while, you become used to it," he admitted quietly. "You are not here to help, why are you here?"

"No reason," Will answered quickly, doubt still circulating in his mind. "Just passing through."

"What about Robin?" Little John countered him, anger lacing his voice.

"Robin Hood?"

"I'm sorry," Will shook his head. "I must have missed your name."

"Henry," the stranger offered, holding out his hand. "I work…I used to work as a craftsman, over there," he nodded towards one of the ruined buildings. "I am not sure what I will be doing after this."

"What happened?"

It was Much that had spoken, taking a step after shaking the man's hand. The same question was burning in Will's mind; there was no doubt that this was the work of the Sheriff, so the answer had surprised him.

"No one knows for sure; a group of men, mercenaries some think. They attacked during the night; we had no warning. I fought as best as I could. I am no warrior though…I only make the weapons, I don't wield them. You are all armed as I can see; are you Robin Hood's men?"

Much began to nod but Will cut him off. "Perhaps; why would it matter to you?"

Henry looked down; a sad, defeated look crossed his face. "We could have used the likes of you, all of us, Robin included."

"He's here?" Much asked excitedly, moving closer.

"Was," Henry admitted quietly. "During the attack, at least."

"Was?" Djaq questioned, "he left?"

"He wouldn't leave," Alan argued, "Not Robin, he would have stayed behind to help, surely…"

"I am sorry," Henry whispered, meeting Will's forlorn gaze.

"He's dead," Will asked, a chill racing through his body as the man nodded.

"No," Much shook his head, "No, he cannot be…where is he?"

John was the first to react, pulling Much back as he lunged forward, sword in hand. Henry was backing up quickly, hands held out to the side as Much continued to cry out at him. Alan and Djaq were also helping, Will moving to place himself between the two. There were other peasants watching now, curious glances as the three restrained the out of control man. Will turned to glance at Henry as John and the others worked to calm Much, who was now in tears.

There was a painful sting at his own heart, but he couldn't let it take over, not now. "You know this, how? It was dark, and there were many distractions. You could have been misled."

"His body is with the others," he nodded over to one of the piles. "We do not have money for a burial; you may follow through and do as you wish. I would warn you, all of you…to not stray over there unless you can handle it. Many of the dead are not recognizable."

Will nodded, turning to watch as Djaq comforted the crying man who was know seated on the ground. There were mixed emotions covering both John and Alan's faces, one the may have reflected what he was feeling as well. "Stay with them," he nodded towards Djaq and Much, turning to Alan next. "Let us go see."

Alan only nodded, following after a moment. There were several piles, each more gruesome than the last, but Will led them by all until he reached the one Henry had pointed out. They stood for a moment, surveying what lay before them. Henry had been right; most of the dead were burned, or cut beyond recognition. If Robin was indeed in here…Will let out a breath as he moved closer.

It was hard to look upon the faces of so many, knowing their last moments had been in terror. What was worst was the fact that many did not have any family left…there would be no proper burials for them. Will took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. "We need to help these people," he told Alan quietly.

"I'm not being funny, but how are you going to help dead people?"

"We will bury them…help them find their peace. It is the least we can do. It is what Robin would have done."

The other man let out a sigh, but nodded as he moved around the pile. It was easy to see he was shaken by the turn of events, and Will couldn't blame him. He half blamed himself for Robin's fate; if only he had been more aware of his surroundings. It had been his turn to take watch that night…but Robin had taken over for him. Will had been good about listening for his departures lately…but that night had been long in coming, and he had been exhausted. Then he wondered if he would have been any help at all.

If he had gone with Robin, he too may have been piled among the dead, leaving the others to wonder about their fates. There were few who had survived, only a few like Henry…

The thought caught, and lingered, his mind wandering over what the stranger had said. I fought as best as I could. I am no warrior though…I only make the weapons, I don't wield them.

He was no fighter…but he held no signs of wounds. That was a common trait for one who knew how to fight. Those who did not, who were thrust into sudden battle, were often killed, or gravely wounded. The other thing that bothered him was his hands. Will had met many craftsmen…all with worn, tired hands from the harsh work. Henry's had been smooth, untouched almost; and the more he thought about it, the more he didn't like the story.

"Stay with the others," Will told Alan quietly. "There's something I have to do."

"Like what?" Alan questioned, "I thought you wanted to bury these people…and find Robin…"

"I do," Will nodded, "but there is something I must do first. I'll leave you in charge until I get back. Head back into the forest if you must, I will find you later."

He hoped, in his mind, that he knew what he was doing. Alan wasn't the best of people to take charge, especially in such a situation, but it was the only way Will knew he could leave without the man arguing with him. He headed off quickly, taking the road that lead into Nottingham, a thought and direction in his mind.

If he had paid closer attention, he would have seen the strange man watching him, and the others with an eerie smile, disappearing into the shadows as everyone grieved.

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TBC

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