Thanks to Kegel for the beta!
Chapter Eight
Much had been bewildered to see him return with the two other men. Robin ignored his questioning look, mounting his horse instead. Allan rode with him, Henry along with Much as they returned to Locksley. Allan was particularly vocal on his ride back, half of what he said most likely a lie or at least a well-stretched truth. Robin did not stop him, listening instead to all of the things the man had to say. Hoping, perhaps, to find answers to some of the questions he still had.
There was not much surprise to Allan's story. When asked about his hand, Allan had confessed to poaching, as well as too much drink and tricks at the Inn. Robin could remember the day he had first met Allan, back in the forest. He and Much had been on their way to Locksley after returning from the war, had arrived just in time to save him then. At least he had…
Now it seemed as though Allan had actually paid the price of his finger. More than one, though Allan claimed to have lost the second from another incident entirely. Still that had not detoured him, the man finding himself in deeper trouble, destined to hang, until Robin came along that was.
As he told his story, with the most part a grin on his face, Robin had managed to catch a glimpse of Much, who, more often than not, had his face turned into a repulsive expression, shaking his head as the story become more elaborate.
By the time they reached the manor, Allan's story had tapered off, yet the man was still in high spirits. He dismounted as Robin brought the horse to a stop, stretching and complaining of the soreness that accompanied one after such a ride.
"Well, friend, I can't thank you enough for what you did," he started to say, "Really, never expected anyone to save the likes of me. Well, I guess that this is it, then? I'll be seeing you around, maybe? Hopefully not in the dungeons. Not being funny, but I don't like being down there anymore than the next guy."
"It doesn't seem like it," Much commented dryly, dismounting from his horse. Robin moved as well, handing the reigns over to him.
"You'll be staying here," Robin was not about to let Allan simply leave, just like that. Not after having such luck in finding him as he did.
"What?!"
The outcry had come from both Allan, and Much, at roughly the same time. It was all Allan could say, but Much crept near him, his voice low.
"Master, you can't be serious. He is a…a thief!"
"Whoa," Allan held his hands up, having overheard the comment. "I'm not like you, alright, I don't have a fancy place to live; I don't have a choice, I have to steal."
"Everything is a choice," Robin corrected him, remembering so well the words Marian had told him, whether that had been a dream or reality. He could go into an argument over it, but felt as though it would be pointless at this time and place. Instead, he chose a different route.
"The sheriff will not be pleased when he finds out I secured your freedom. He will have guards out looking for you, and without doubt you will receive a far worse fate than hanging when you are caught. Which you will be if you take off."
"So I'm supposed to stay here, wait for them to come for me? I don' think so."
"Here you will be under my protection. The sheriff has agreed to leave matters of my estate for me to handle; and you will work off your wrongdoings here."
"You can't be serious!" Much protested again, shaking his head.
"Work?" Allan seemed perplexed. "Not being funny, but I didn' agree to any work. I'm not going to parade around as some…some servant."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know that-"
Robin cut Much off in mid-sentence, hardly bothering to look in his direction. Instead his gaze was focused on Allan. "Your other option, of course, is to leave. And when you are arrested again, I will not save you. The sheriff will have you tortured, and then hanged, if you are lucky. But of course, the choice is yours."
For a long moment Allan stood there, weighing his decisions, figuring the consequences to the action he would take. Robin was hoping the man was smart enough to take the offer. Robin needed for him to do so, had to somehow find a way, alone with him, to speak with him about what had happened in the past. And then, he would have to convince the man to fight. But first, he needed for the man to stay.
"What's a little work between friends, right?"
The answer came with a bit of a nonchalant shrug, as if it were no concern whereas moments ago it had been an insult. Allan took one of the horses from Much, grinning as he patted the creature on the neck.
"So, what do I do then? Start with this girl? Get her cleaned, fed? Or we talking more of inside stuff? I don' do cooking-"
"I should say not," Much grumbled quietly, "Only I do the cooking here, and I'll have you know-"
"Much," Robin cut him off again, shaking his head. It was starting to hurt again. "He will be your responsibility."
Much was protesting something fierce, dropping his voice so that he would not be overheard.
"Master, he is a thief…a…a beggar. Why me? Can't you send him off to…to the abbey? Yes, that is a good place for him. He will learn how to not steal, and be godly and all that stuff. Why must he stay here?"
"Much, my friend," Robin responded, hoping that Much would understand what he was trying to say. "I know that you do not understand, but hopefully it will make sense soon." For the both of us, he thought quietly. "For now, I need for you to watch him, make sure he does not go off."
"And if he does?"
"Then you follow him, and let me know."
Much seemed to hesitate, but nodded shortly, still with a grimace on his face. Robin could tell he was not happy with the decision, but he did not argue any further. Instead he turned to Allan, a sigh on his lips as he nodded his head towards him.
"Let's get the horses in."
"And what of me, milord?"
Henry had stayed silent for most the exchange, still timid, unsure of what he was doing here. Robin studied him for a moment, trying to come up with some conclusion. He did not need any help at the manor; Allan's position there was for his own convenience, but what would he do with the other man he had spared from death?
"Where are you from?"
"Clun, milord. With my wife, Anne; she will be worried."
"Tell me, the truth now, were you poaching?"
"I," the man hesitated, faltered, as if trying to decide if it was wise to lie. Robin did not break his gaze, and soon the man confessed.
"I did it only because we were starving. It was not for a deer, I promise you that. I was looking for a coonie, they have young at this time, I was hoping, maybe I could find a burrow, find a way to feed my wife. I'm a fuller, I don't know how to hunt! Please, milord, I beg you, do not take me back to the sheriff! Without me, my wife…what will she do?"
"I will give you some food," Robin calmed the upset man down. Henry seemed utterly surprised, having expected no doubt a serious reprimand, but here instead was being offered salvation. Robin did his best to not let it bother him. It was difficult, difficult that the man expected for Robin to throw him to the wolves so shortly after rescuing him.
"Milord?"
"I will give you enough food to feed you and your wife for the next coming days. On one condition."
"Anything, milord," Henry agreed rapidly. He seemed as though he would even offer himself to go back to the dungeons if it meant food for his wife. Yet Robin had other plans.
"You will take your wife, and you will leave Nottinghamshire. If you have family out of the shire, then go to them. Otherwise find somewhere, as far away as you can, where your wife and you will be safe. I cannot promise the sheriff will oblige my request forever, and I do not wish for the two of you to bear the brunt of his anger."
"Of course, I shall, thank you, I can't thank you enough," he was clasping Robin's hand now, an earnest squeeze, doing his best to keep from crying. Robin pulled the man into an embrace, feeling his own ache residing in knowing that he was helping someone, even if was only one man. Slowly, but surely, he would make things right. This he had to remind himself.
"And stay clear of the forest, stick to the roads, but make haste. I fear you will not have a lot of time, so do not stall any longer than you must. And tell no one, do I make myself clear?"
Henry nodded, having found nothing to argue against. Robin stepped away, beckoning for the man to follow him inside. How much food Locksley had to spare, Robin was not certain. But he would do his best to provide the fuller and his wife with enough to get started.
Marian was not exceptionally pleased to learn about Allan. Robin found it slightly ironic, figuring she would be pleased with actions in rescuing yet another man from the dungeons. So far in all, three people had been saved because of him; possibly more if one counted their loved ones that were depending on them. Yet Marian barely spoke with him, and when she did her words were crisp and to the point.
Allan, for the most part, actually put effort into the work, but Much was still skeptical about the man being around as well. Robin couldn't help but smile, when in the morning, the two could be heard quarreling from within the kitchen. For the first time it felt as though at least one thing hadn't changed.
But that feeling did not last for long. Shortly after breakfast had been finished, there was a knock at their door. And moments later, Thornton returned, announcing Gisborne's arrival.
"Robin," Gisborne greeted him with a nod, before turning to Marian. "Lady Marian."
There was the smallest smile on his face as he addressed her, and Marian in return smiled as well. It was hardly anything, but a hint of jealously flared up in Robin that he desperately tried to ignore. Did Marian still feel for him? He tried to shake the idea off, tried to tell himself he was being unreasonable. Marian was his wife, had chosen him over Gisborne. Would she be here if she had? Certainly not.
"You are ready to travel?"
Robin was confused, not having arranged any plans to travel, let alone with Gisborne. The look on his face must have said it all, because the man was already explaining himself.
"To Nottingham; for the proclamations regarding the taxes? And of course the collections. I am sure you have already gathered from Locksley?"
"No," Robin shook his head. He had not; nor did he intend to. But of course, he couldn't rightly say that. Instead he forced a smile, as politely as he could before he nodded to the man.
"I admit I have fallen a little behind due to the state of my recent affairs," he indicated his head with a wave of his hand. "But I will have the money ready shortly. I will meet with you in Nottingham?"
"You still have time to gather them, as long as they are in by the week's end. Come, the sheriff is awaiting us."
Out of excuses, Robin had little choice but to agree. Exactly what he was going to do in regards to the taxes he wasn't sure, but he would do all he could to ensure he wouldn't be taking from his people anymore than what they could afford. And if he could help it, he wouldn't be taking anything at all. Desperately he wished that was the case; but taxes were a part of life, and always had been. Reasonable taxes, yes. But what the sheriff was expecting was beyond reason.
Gisborne had excused himself, indicating he would wait outside. Robin rose to his feet, pausing momentarily as he thought over what he would do in regards to Much. Normally he would bring the man along with him, yet apparently Gisborne, as well as the sheriff, didn't seem too pleased with the idea.
Furthermore, it would mean bringing Allan along as well, concerning that Robin did not yet trust the man enough to think that he wouldn't head for the forest shortly after their departure. And that would be far worse, not only in opinion of them both, but to subject Allan to the sheriff so shortly after his release.
Robin wondered mildly if the sheriff had yet to even learn about that escapade, and if so, what his response would be. These were the thoughts with him as he rode out with Gisborne; and shortly were confirmed as they reached the Great North Road.
"So the sheriff tells me that you've taking a liking to saving peasants recently," came the dry comment. Gisborne was riding ahead of him, his black steed marching at a quickened pace. He slowed the horse down, however, so that Robin could ride abreast of him.
"I just don't feel it necessary to punish those who are innocent," Robin's reply was quick. It wasn't one he necessarily had to think of. Yet he cautioned himself; this was Gisborne he was talking to, a man by all means should be his sworn enemy. If, by any rationalization that his memory served correctly, it was Gisborne who had tried to kill King Richard. Or, according to everyone's statement, Gisborne had indeed succeeded in killing the king. Though that information, he suspected, was known only to the privileged.
Still, he wondered, if the war was a simple fabrication of his mind, a fact proven by the lack of scaring on his side, then how would he have any proof that Gisborne was indeed the culprit responsible for slaying the king? Robin found himself watching Gisborne curiously, wondering if the tattoo he had supposedly seen all that time ago was still there, and if it was, was it unchanged like his own skin?
There would be no way to tell; Gisborne wore the leather as he always had, not a bit of skin showing save for his face and neck, and without any good reason, Gisborne always would. It would seem to forward to ask; Robin had no way of knowing if he was supposed to be enlightened in this matter, and attempting to spy on him seemed to be not only an unnecessary risk, but downright strange and slightly disturbing.
"You can't save everyone, Locksley," Gisborne replied, oblivious to his glances. "Besides, if you put as much consideration towards your wife as you do towards strangers, perhaps you wouldn't have such difficulties with your arrangement."
It was meant to be a blow, and it brought him up short. Sensing he had stopped, Gisborne turned his own steed to face him.
"You look surprised?" Gisborne seemed curious. "You think it is a secret? That no one within the shire speaks of it?"
"Of what?"
The man laughed, not one of scorn, but of disbelief. "Of the fact that you have been with Marian for five years, and yet have not one child to your name? Rumors abound she cannot bear children, but I refuse to believe that, myself. So tell me, then, what else could it possibly be?"
Robin opened his mouth to respond, to defend the unspoken accusation, but found he could not follow through. Of course he hadn't thought about it yet, because for him the time seemed too sudden. He had been with Marian for but a few days…and yet it apparently had been years. So why then, were there no children?
"A man of few words?" Gisborne shook his head. "So the sheriff was correct, you have to fulfill your needs elsewhere."
"No," Robin cut him off curtly, nudging his horse into a trot as he passed by the man. Gisborne, it seemed, hadn't changed completely from what he remembered. He tried to ignore what had been said, but it was getting increasingly difficult to do so.
"And of the woman you freed? What does she mean to you?"
"Nothing. She means nothing."
"Then why waste such effort?"
"Because it was the right thing to do," Robin ground out between his teeth. "It is something you wouldn't understand."
"Do not play coy with me, Robin," Gisborne warned, catching up with him. "I have put my neck on the line for your more than once, and I can as easily put you back on the block if you cross me."
Robin turned to look at him, wondering to what he could possibly mean. Gisborne, risking himself, for another? That did not sound normal. Yet, hardly anything here did anymore.
"Don't be so naive," Gisborne shook his head. "After all, a sound lashing is a far cry from a hanging, wouldn't you agree?"
He didn't wait for Robin's response, merely rode on ahead. Robin's mind was racing, back to what Dan had told him before, that the sheriff had made his flogging publicly known. It had been alluded to that things could have been worse…had it been Gisborne's idea to spare him from hanging? Quickly he spurred his mount on in an effort to catch up with Gisborne who had taken the lead.
The man said nothing further, to which Robin was grateful for. The silence was easier to deal with than trying to reason with Gisborne's logic, a man who he still wasn't fully willing to trust. By all means they should be enemies considering all that had been done.
But if that was true, then why had Gisborne taken measures to protect him? Not only according to his word, but Robin could also remember the few times in the recent past where Gisborne had come up with excuses to explain Robin's reasoning. Reasoning, no doubt, that most likely would have gotten him in trouble. Would it not be easier for Gisborne to simply not interfere if that was the case? There were even more questions now that he could not bring himself to answer.
Ahead of him, Gisborne cleared his throat, catching his attention.
"We have the support already of a few of the villages; the tax increase won't come as a surprise to them. I've tried talking the sheriff again to draw a larger amount from Treeton, with little success, of course."
"Why should they pay a larger amount than the others?"
"Lord Walter makes a large profit off the mines and the Saracen slaves, profit that could be used to help us, to help the king. The both of us have pointed this out numerous times to the sheriff, but he won't yield. Of course, Lord Walter pays him a fee each month, a bribe of sorts. That way they both profit from the deal, unlike the rest of us."
Robin found himself coming up short, the horse beneath him protesting at the constant indecision of its rider's directions. That he cared little about. Instead his mind was racing, remembering Treeton, remembering the mines. He and his men had shut them down, had done so to stop the human trafficking, had set the Saracens free…it was where they had met Djaq.
But now…Robin urged his horse into a fast trot, catching up with Gisborne who hadn't even seemed to notice his companion had once again fallen behind. He found himself looking back, towards the direction that Treeton lay. Was it possible, he wondered? Would she still be there?
How long had it been? The life of a slave, of that of a miner especially, was a difficult one. He could remember the many men who had died, after going down there voluntarily. The slaves would not have that option, and no doubt that if they were sick, or injured, the sheriff would have them disposed of, and replaced by new workers. Robin could not see the man exhibiting compassion towards any of them. It was a disturbing thought.
It was then he knew what had to be done. He had done it once, he could swear it had taken place, somehow. Even if it had just been a dream then, Robin knew it could be done again. But it had to stop, he had to stop it. Together, with Much and Allan, somehow he had to convince them it was the right thing to do. To shut down the mines, to free the slaves.
And maybe he thought to himself, just maybe, she would be there. After all, he had found Allan…he was sure it was possible. And maybe, just maybe, he would find more answers to the questions he had. And for the first time since he found himself in this confusing twist of time, Robin felt as though he had something to work towards.
TBC
