Chapter 7: Legends

Frere Jean put a shaky finger to his lip and drew away blood. The salty taste of it filled his mouth. Warily, he picked himself up from the floor and backed away from his attacker. The tall dark man who loomed over him shook out his fist and leaned against a wall. "Get out now".

Frere Jean spun about indignantly and wordlessly departed the room, holding his sleeve to his cheek.

Vasey buckled his sword and handed another to Sir Guy. "Cowards all of them. Worse than lepers. Did you really expect anything else of the Abbot?"

Sir Guy holstered the sword and flexed his fist, still stinging from the impact of slapping down a man of god. "Not at all. " His almost looked at peace now.

"Then why bother?"

"To wipe that simpering smile off his face."

Vasey and Sir Guy pulled on their woolen cloaks. Vasey tightened his cowl and looked at Sir Guy reflectively. "Well I guess there's nothing for it but to find the cur and kill him before he finds us" The two men braced themselves for the cold and left the refectory. Now the question was, how did one go about hunting a hunter?

Both men scanned the vast grounds of the Abbey. A light snow had begun and there was no one to be seen. In the very far distance, what appeared to be two laymen were herding sheep to shelter, but it was difficult to be sure. The monks were apparently and conveniently at study it seemed. The two newly minted outlaws silently took stock of the situation. They had only one another now.

"Well if it is just Robin, we are two against one." Vasey offered helpfully.

Sir Guy gifted the former Sheriff with a cold look. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

The sheriff turned outlaw blanched. "Ah he speaks! And do allow me to note that your new outlook is most un-refreshing."

The new and improved Sir Guy of Gisborne did not seem to feel the rebuke. "I live for your approbation, My Lord Sheriff". He bestowed upon an increasingly agitated Vasey yet another disparaging look.

Vasey's agitation was rapidly becoming much more. He made yet another attempt to put his former henchman in his place: "You needn't be surly. It is YOUR head Robin is after, not mine. No one forced you to kill the girl".

The last syllable had barely escaped Vasey's lips when he found Gisborne's huge hands at his throat. Sir Guy calmly began to squeeze. Vasey gasped for air as Gisborne's long fingers slid tighter. Eyes bulged and hands dug uselessly against sinewy forearms. Gisborne's strangely expressionless face filled the sheriff's vision which rapidly began to fade to black. Vasey had no time for terror, nor for protection. And then the pressure was gone and Vasey lay gasping for air.

When he could once again see, Sir Guy was standing calmly, watching him. "When we find Robin, he is mine".

Vasey did not pursue the subject. Killing the girl had changed Gisborne forever. He had long known that. But now a new reality reared into existence. Vasey recognized that the change in Gisborne had engendered heretofore unimaginable repercussions. Sir Guy of Gisborne was no longer his henchman, and he was no longer the master. He did not like the change.

Vasey took stock of his companion. He had to admit, the changes in Gisborne were not just interior. He actually looked different. Vasey could not put his finger on exactly what the outward change was. Sir Guy had always been tall and muscular, that had not changed. His body was long and powerful, but no different than it had always been. The changes seemed to be centered on the face, not in the face actually but in the expression. Guy's face had always been marred by something of a sneer. That was the difference, Vasey realized. The sneer was gone. The effect seemed to unmask Sir Guy's features and reveal qualities that Vasey himself had never realized were there. Sir Guy of Gisborne was beautiful. Vasey stopped his trek, suddenly overcome by the absurdity of the situation.

"Guy, should I thank you for putting me in this ridiculous position? A clue. No".

Sir Guy eyed Vasey coolly. "Pray, continue"

The Sheriff obliged. "Here we are, traipsing about the grounds of some moth eaten Monastery, chasing down the finest archer in England, who will most likely fill both of us with arrows long before we know he is within a mile. And all because my right hand man and the people's savior have been reduced to love-struck schoolboys, who care for nothing more than to beat one another's heads in!"

Sir Guy ignored his rant. "We would do well to keep to the perimeter and steer clear of the open areas". Robin Hood with a clear shot meant certain death.

The two men fastened their cloaks and moved forward away from the clearing. Sir Guy's heart pumped as he felt the end finally nearing. Exactly who would die he did not know. And it did not matter, and would not matter as long as the face of a girl haunted him. He knew she was in heaven, if anyone ever belonged there, Marian did. He wondered if she was in pain now, fearfully watching over Robin Hood. His eyes felt the stinging of the cool air and he wiped them on his sleeve. Multiple emotions fought side by side in his heart as he hunted the hooded man. Love for Marian, and hatred for himself because he was such a fool. Hatred for Marian because he knew she would suffer even in heaven for Robin if he died this day. And oddly, horribly, love for Robin because Marian loved him. It was this last feeling that fueled his anger and hatred most. If he died today then the pain was over. If Robin died then maybe he could forget everything and things could return to normal. Marian was no longer his redemption. But Robin was most definitely his hell.

…..

Frere Tuck was beginning to rethink his plan. Although it was not a particularly cold day for December, it was cold enough. And then there were the inevitable hunger pains. He eyed the chilly waters of the Skell. "What harm can a morsel of trout and a bit of a warm fire do?" he murmured to himself, half decided. But then again, there was the Abbot and his retinue of Monk Knights to think of. For the better part of an hour he weighed the consequences until hunger began to get the upper hand. He searched about the bramble for some faggots for a fire.

It was at this time that he heard the muffled clatter of horses hooves on the frosty path and hid himself again. Presently a small processional came into a view, clearly having departed the Abbey. At the front, were two standard bearers, followed by the Abbot's carriage. There were knights and pack animals and several carts and carriages containing provisions for the trip. Frere Tuck's spirits began to rise. The standard bearers could only mean the Abbot was leaving for an official visit. Surely enough, he could see the Abbot as his carriage passed, surrounded by some of his knight monks on horseback.

Frere Tuck kept himself hidden near the bridge as the processional passed within feet of his hiding place. He had trouble suppressing a giggle when he spied Frere Jean riding horseback beside the Abbot's carriage, his face swollen and sporting the beginnings of a serious blackened eye. The two appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion. "My Lord Abbot do you think it wise to stay at Barrows Inn, with a proper monastery close by at York?" He could not make out the Abbot's reply and the processional moved out of earshot. He had heard enough however. His ears had picked up the word "London" peppered into the conversation, and the good Monk relaxed. He happily watched the Abbot's processional disappear into the distance, and then set up a fishing line and began a fire. "The odds just got better for Robin Hood", he thought to himself, and continued his wait.

…..

Robin dismounted his horse and inspected the stable, the furthest one from the Abbey and closest to the bridge which led to the grounds. In the distance Fountain's Abbey rose up white and pristine. He snuck to a shutter and lifted it aside. Inside the stable were a few oxen and a horse, nibbling bundles of fresh hay and oats, in their stalls for the evening. He heard the sound of muffled voices from the north side just outside double doors. He circled round and crept up to see two laymen putting their tools away. He drew his sword and waited until they had finished and then watched them stroll toward the Monastery, most likely for prayers. "Would I really kill men of god if they tried to stop me?" he whispered to himself. He knew the answer and hated himself for it. But Marian's face as she lay dying burned down deep like an ember inside Robin of the Hood, and he would not stop now.

He led his horse into the stable and to a stall with hay and water. Best to continue the rest of the way on foot. Patting the horse, he left the stable and set out for Fountain's Abbey.

Robin readied his bow and quietly crept along the River Skell. The sound of the rushing water soothed him as he moved forward. He marveled at the natural beauty that surrounded him. It had been far too long. There was a time when he would sit for hours contemplating the beauty of an English countryside in winter. He could not remember the last time he had thought about it. England for the last few months had ceased to be his inspiration, but was now his hunting ground. "When guy is dead, when Marian is avenged… maybe then.." He shook off thoughts of anything but retribution and continued his hunt.

Ahead of him lay the bridge that led to the grounds of Fountain's abbey. As he neared the bridge, he saw the smoke of a campfire wafting slowly up through the branches of a stand of oak. Cautiously he crossed over and neared the campfire. Over the fire were several large trout roasting. Robin looked about and saw no one. He followed the incline that led to the bank. A makeshift fishing line was tied to one of the oaks and stretched quivering into the Skell.

"What, ho Villain, what is your business with my dinner?"

Robin turned to find a sturdy Monk holding a sword aimed straight at his heart. Robin raised his hands above his head. "business".

Frere Tuck held the sword and took stock of the young man. Surely this cannot be Robin Hood, he thought to himself, this man is hardly more than a boy. The tall young man was thin and wiry, his face uncommonly handsome. He noted the Saracen bow and calloused fingers. Clearly an experienced archer, so he could be Robin Hood. But if he WAS Robin Hood, where were his men? "What is your name, Lad? And do not let this round belly fool you. I know my way around a sword".

Robin eyed the fat monk. The Abbot was a traitor, but were the monks? He thought it best to be discrete. Robin affected his best Yorkshire accent. "My name is John of Warfield, I was just lookin' for a bit a work, your lordship".

Frere Tuck sighed. This could not be Robin Hood, not so young, not with a heathen bow. But clearly he was lying. "Best be on your way then". To add emphasis, he pressed his sword an inch closer to the young man's face.

The young man turned to leave and suddenly Frere Tuck found an elbow slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He quickly found himself prostrate on the ground with a sword inches from his face. His eyes travelled up the sword to the face of the young man standing over him. He no longer looked like a callow youth. His face seemed to be suddenly years older and the expression was world weary, that of an experienced warrior. This must be him! "Robin!" he gasped. "Are you Robin Hood?"

Robin started, surprised to hear his name. He grabbed the monks collar with one hand and held the sword tight to his neck "How do you know my name?"

"I'm a friend, Robin! The Sheriff and Sir Guy are here, and they have been alerted to your presence. You were seen in Aldfield."

The news sent a shockwave through Robin. He pulled the sword back a few inches and released his grip. His eyes narrowed at the mention of the names. "And what of the Abbot?"

"He left for London as soon as word came. The traitorous dog. Sir Guy and the Sheriff hunt you on their own."

Robin released the monk. "What is your name then?"

"Frere Robert. But my friends call me Tuck".

Robins face was hard. "Are Guy and Vasey still in the Monastery?"

Frere Tuck shook his head. "I honestly do not know". His words fell on deaf ears. Robin was already moving toward the mouth of the river, to the Water Mill. Frere Tuck gathered his sword and quickly followed.

As they crept forward, a strange thing happened. A Robin flew overhead and passed directly over Robin Hood, and then landed in an Oak Tree. Robin scarcely noticed but beside him Frere Tuck felt the hairs of his neck stand up. He watched with wonderment as a Wren appeared and flew to the tree next to the Robin. He pulled Robin to a stop and pointed to the Wren and Robin together. "It's a sign! I knew it!"

Robin shook him off, and continued toward the Water Mill. Frere Tuck sighed and ran to catch up with Robin. Together they reached the Water Mill which loomed atop a hill. It was connected to a bridge, and both bridge and Water Mill were built over the Skell. Robin crossed the bridge and looked below. The Skell River roared beneath them, and ran directly into a waterfall. Above them a few paces from the mill, was a well, further atop the hill. Robin's vision was legendary. He could see things that other men could not, and it was no different on this day. He saw two men coming up the hill from the other side of the Monastery. His sharp eyes recognized immediately who they were. His face turned to stone and he made sign for Frere Tuck and gave him his bow "Do you know how to use this?" Frere Tuck nodded. "Keep the bow trained on Vasey".

Robin and Frere tuck hid themselves and presently they heard footsteps as the two men approached. The footsteps grew louder until the men rounded the corner, and stopped. There stood Robin Hood, his face a study of hate. In his hand he held a sword. His unflinching eyes burned into Sir Guy of Gisborne. Vasey reached for his sword and Frere Tuck stepped out from his hiding spot, his bow trained directly at him and cooed: "I wouldn't move a finger if I were you. Throw down your weapon".

Vasey considered his options and dropped his sword. Guy was on his own.

Robin advanced toward Guy and the two men circled one another. Months of pent-up fury now blazed across both their faces.

Robin did not see the wild man who circled him. He did not see the months of sleepless nights, or the uncut hair. He saw Marian. He saw her bent body as Sir Guy of Gisborne shoved his sword deep into her chest. Marian's ring, hanging against his chest, seemed to have a life of its own, and kept time with each thunderous beat of his heart. He heard his voice ring out, "The Time has come for you to pay for what you did"

Guy of Gisborne staggered as the truth in Robin's words stoked the fires of hell inside him. Marian, he whispered to himself, Marian! He drew his sword and prayed for deliverance.

"NO! It was you! YOU FORCED ME TO DO IT!"

"You murdered her" Robin's face contorted. He would send this devil to hell with something to think about, "She didn't love you, you couldn't have her"

Gisborne swayed as Robin's words fed his torment. His tortured heart would have its say: "She should have been mine!"

Robin savored this moment. "SHE WAS MY WIFE!"

And the two enraged men threw themselves into one another. Their bodies collided and they were both thrown into the air as if they had exploded. Swords swung uselessly as the men sought to tear one another apart with bare hands. And then it was over as quickly as it had begun. Robin's feet slid from beneath him as Sir Guy flung himself head first into his torso, and Robin's head came down with a sickening thud against the stone well.

Sir Guy felt Robin's body go limp and he lifted himself to his knees. Robin looked back at him blankly, and groaned. Guy stood up and pulled Robin to his feet, Robins words still ringing. "SHE WAS MY WIFE!"

Sir Guy struggled for breath. He picked up the dazed man who had married the love of his life as easily as if he were a child.

"Prepare to die, Robin Hood"

Vaguely he heard screams as he lifted an unmoving Robin Hood over his head. The screams were drowned out by the softest voice in the world. The voice of Marian, softly repeating "I LOVE ROBIN HOOD".

With a savage cry, Sir Guy of Gisborne released his grip and watched as Robin of Locksley dropped down the well.

He turned and collapsed, struggling for breath. It was then that he saw the six horses not twenty feet away. He watched as Robin's men dismounted. He reveled in the sight of his revenge reflected in their twisted faces. Satisfaction filled him as he heard their agonized screams. Revenge was sweet. Sir Guy of Gisborne welcomed death as he watched Much, Alan and Little John draw their swords and advance.

"Wait, there is still a chance! The drain" The monk jumped up like a man afire.

Everyone stopped as the fat monk half slid down a path on the far side of the well. "The Drain?" Much looked at the others. "Bring them!" and the men slid down the path the monk had taken, dragging Vasey and Sir Guy with them. At the bottom the monk scrambled to an iron grill work and pulled. "The well is built into the side of this hill." He explained haltingly as he struggled to pull away the iron grill.

Little John released his hold on Sir Guy. "Kill him if he moves"

"With pleasure" Alan said with clenched teeth, and he pointed his bow at Guy's heart. Sir Edmund signaled his men and they moved behind Sir Guy and Vasey.

Little John pushed the monk aside. He grasped the iron grill and gritted his teeth. He began to pull. The iron grill gave way with a loud screech. He threw it aside and collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. The little monk scrambled into the small round drain.

Much fixed his eyes on Sir Guy, his cheeks wet with tears. His voice shook as he spoke. "Pray that Robin is not dead".

The men waited silently as the monk crawled into the dark drain, until only his feet could be seen.

After a few moments, the Monk gave a muffled cry, "I have him!"

Alan and Little John tugged at the monks feet and pulled. Out he came, in his arms was Robin of Locksley. Blood covered his body. Thick pools of blood poured from behind his head.

The monk pulled his blade and held it to Robin's mouth. He held it there and then studied the result. He lay his head on Robin's unmoving chest as the men watched helplessly.

The monk looked up at the men waiting anxiously. "Well!" Much's voice broke. "Is he alive?"

Frere Tuck looked away, avoiding their eyes. "Robin Hood is dead."

For three of his brothers, the world stopped. Little John collapsed into the arms of Alan and Much and they held one another. Their grief knew no pride and they cried. Frere Tuck covered his eyes. Legends do not go quietly. They take with them men's souls.

Sir Edmund turned to face Robin's murderer. "Sir Guy of Gisborne and Lord Vasey of Nottingham, I charge you with treason against the King, with the murder of Lady Marian of Knight.. " his voice faltered. "And with the death of Lord Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington".