Chapter 7

Robin paced back and forth before the fire, hushing the group intermittently, worry etched in his face. Much was due back from Locksley that evening but had not yet returned and as the sun was waning, Robin began to wonder if he would return at all. He chastised himself over and over for not having gone to meet him on the road, concerned that his friend may have fallen victim to other outlaws. All too often did they forget that they were not the only band in those vast acres of woodland. Just as he had resolved to set off towards Locksley, he heard a whistle and watched as a figure emerged from the shadows. Much was filthy, smelly and unhappy but there was a hint of excitement in his eyes. He heaved the sack he carried from his shoulder and placed it before the fire. As the odour of rotten meat flooded their nostrils, John slowly backed away and Allan slapped his hand over his mouth as he gagged.

"Where have you been?" Robin cried, angry with Much for his tardiness now he could see that he was safe.

"Gifts!" Much said, smiling that wonderfully warm smile he always used when he was particularly proud of himself. Robin sighed.

"What is it Much?" he asked.

"Chicken!" Much replied. Robin laughed and shook his head.

"I didn't mean in the bag. Tell me what has happened," Robin replied. Much hesitated, more for effect and to make sure that he had the undivided attention of the group, than for any good reason.

"I have just seen the Earl of Symonton," he said proudly, looking about him at his audience. "I was just walking up the North Road and he rode past me…almost knocked me off my feet actually and I would have given him piece of my mind too…" The group was silent. Much looked around him again, his smile evaporating to be replaced by a look of utter disappointment. "Well, I must say…I thought that it would be useful. Oh, yes. Thank you Much." he mumbled to himself as he opened the bag to remove the birds. "I spend days will stinking meat and then I don't even get a thank you."

"Robin?" John asked, watching the leader of the small group as he stared into the darkness, turning the information over in his mind. Finally Robin simply shrugged.

"We could tell him where she is," Allan suggested. John looked at him, incredulous. "Well, I was just thinkin' that if she was back with Daddy it'll mess up whatever the Sheriff has planned for her. We all agree that he's up to something, right?"

"Her father is a vicious fiend," John replied angrily, disgusted by the suggestion.

"What?" Allan sniggered, "And the Sheriff ain't?"

Robin tapped his dagger in the palm of his hand as he thought.

"Allan has a point, John," he said softly.

"Has everyone lost their senses?" John gasped. "You heard what the maid said. I will have no part of it. Besides," he continued, decided to appeal to Robin's more conspiratorial side. "Should we not wait to see what the Sheriff does have planned, if anything? If we interfere now…" John cautioned, sucking air through his teeth to emphasis his point.

"You might have a problem there," Much said as he plucked the feathers from the chicken. As usual, his comments went unheeded.

"He has taken great care of her," Robin mused. "That is not like him unless she can be of some use to him." Much cleared his throat and tried again.

"I said there might be a problem," he shouted. Finally, Robin looked over his shoulder towards him.

"Why?"

"I understand that she was taken ill yesterday. I was talking to Tilly this morning and she said…" Robin sniggered, trying to hide his face. "What?" Much cried.

"Who is Tilly?" Robin asked. A smile came automatically to Much's face and he coloured slightly.

"Oh, she does the washing at Locksley Manor. She was hanging out the sheets when I met her. Pretty little thing, very friendly," he said, slightly wistfully. The three men were all sat, eyebrows raised, listening to his narrative.

"Pretty?" Allan said, stifling a chuckle.

"Now Allan," Robin said, wagging his finger at his companion. "Pretty and very friendly." The unrestrained laughter of the two men rang out through the forest.

"Master please!" Much objected. "It is nothing like that. I just thought…you know…it might be useful to have someone on the inside…as it were." His cheeks became a deeper shade of red and he turned quickly back to his chickens.

"Of course you did, and quite right too," Robin said, trying to wipe the grin from his lips and return to the more serious matters before him.

"Well, I say we wait," John insisted. Allan simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright," Robin said finally. "We will wait but I will be paying your Tilly a visit in the morning. I want to see what's going on up there for myself."


Vaisey paced back and forth in the Great Hall, intermittently scraping the dirt from beneath his fingernails with a dagger and staring out of the window. News had reached him only an hour since, of Walter Fitzroy's arrival in Nottingham and Vaisey had no doubt that the castle would be his first port of call. Even here, in what he had always felt was a bastion of his little empire, he no longer felt safe. Walter was, by reputation, a ruthless and callous murderer with no conscience and a large grudge. Vaisey had not seen him for many years but the promise Walter had made him on the occasion of their last encounter still rang in his ears. As he looked from his window yet again, he saw a group of men wearing the Earl of Symonton's colours and at their head, on a particularly fine, tall and majestic destrier, was the Earl himself, sword drawn and ready to attack.
It did not surprise Vaisey that the skirmish, for it could be called little else, at the gates lasted only a short time before Walter and the small army gained access to the castle.

"GUARDS!" he screamed, reaching for his sword and standing a good distance from the entrance to the room. As arranged, ten of his guards rushed toward his and stood around him, weapons drawn. The sound of fighting grew closer and closer until finally, preceded by his men, Walter entered. He was a remarkably tall man and surprisingly agile for his years. His grey hair was worn quite long but he was clean shaven. His eyes, also grey, were as cold and hard as granite as he stared fixedly at Vaisey.

"I see the stories I have heard about you were not true. You are clearly a coward who hides behind his soldiers. Come out and face me like a man – if that is possible for a rodent like you," Walter yelled, his gruff voice echoing around the Hall.

"Why do you come to Nottingham?" Vaisey asked, moving through the guards but cautiously not moving ahead of them.

"You need not worry Vaisey. I have no mind to kill you today. I simply want my daughter. Bring her to me immediately," Walter said, re-sheathing his sword. Gaining in courage now, Vaisey slowly made his way forward, his guards keeping close by, and he dropped into the throne-like chair at the head of the long oak table. A slight smile dared to make its way to his lips.

"You have lost a child? How careless. That is becoming something of a habit isn't it? First Emelina and then Margaret – I understand that she had a rather…unfortunate accident on the roof of Symonton Hall – and of course, your two…no…it was three wasn't it? Three sons."

"Margaret was a disgrace, just as your sister was. I promised you once that I would cure this country of the cancer that is threatening to poison it and that I would kill any and all that supported Prince John and his so called Black Knights. That promise did not exclude my own family." Walter spat. "And you are not even worthy to speak of my sons. They died as heroes in the service of the rightful King."

"So, which of your litter have you lost now?" Vaisey asked as he made a great display of counting the children off on his fingers. "Did you not only have five? All dead I believe, so who is missing?"

Suddenly Walter lunged at the Sheriff, finally pushed beyond endurance by a man he so desperately wished dead.

"Kill me and you won't find her." Vaisey cried quickly, trying to get out of his seat as Walter withdrew a dagger. For a moment the two men stared at one another in silence before Walter finally returned the weapon to its sheath and stepped back.

"Emelina," he said. "She absconded. I have followed her trail and I believe that it leads directly to you."

"Well, she is a very clever corpse isn't she?" Vaisey shouted, finally feeling that he had the upper hand. Walter shifted somewhat uncomfortably, trying to control a temper that was rapidly becoming uncontrollable, knowing that he needed to keep Vaisey alive long enough to find his daughter.

"That is no concern of yours. I know that she has come here. I cannot imagine why but she seems to hold you in some regard. I suspect it is because she knows little of you. That is generally how most people like you best. Now I suggest that you bring her to me before I give in to my overwhelming urge to relieve you of the need to breathe," he yelled, banging his fists down on the table. Vaisey stood and walked towards Walter, his guards training their weapons in the direction of their visitor.

"Sorry! No idea," he said nonchalantly. "Not seen her. She hasn't been here." Walter regarded him for a moment.

"You understand that I shall return with an army and I shall tear this castle and this town apart and I shall find my daughter, and when I do…I will kill you, with a smile on my lips. Be under no illusion, the King shall hear of this." Vaisey was already half way from the room but suddenly stopped and turned back to Walter.

"Oh, la didah!" he cried. "Not the King." He put his hands to his mouth, pretending to quake. "The King is finished. He will never return to England! I shall be sure to pass on my regards to your daughter…if I see her."

Walter turned and stormed from the castle, into the courtyard where his horse waited. Gisborne watched from the shadows as Walter and his guards galloped out of the gates. He waited for a moment before following suit, watching Walter ride into the distance before turning his horses head back to Locksley, Emelina in his thoughts.