It was Robin who woke first, accustomed as he was to sleeping light and constantly being alert for danger. He shifted away from Marian and sat up, trying to clear his head and make sense of what he was hearing.

And what he was hearing was shouting and cheering, still a way off but getting louder. The crowd, for that was what it must be, was quite large, maybe forty people, but it was hard to judge from this distance. Neither could he decipher what they were shouting. If it had been in English, he wouldn't have had to even try to work it out, but despite his informal lessons from Djaq, and his own studies during his time in the Holy Lands, his Arabic simply wasn't that good.

Suddenly he was concerned. Not yet afraid, but there was plenty of time for that. He stood and made his way to the window, pulling on his old shirt as he went. Fortunately his window looked out of the front of the house, which seemed to be the direction from which the crowd was approaching, but he could not yet see anything.

What time was it? He glanced at the star-spattered sky and guessed it only an hour or two before dawn. Frowning, he turned away from the window and looked at his wife. He was loath to wake her when she so needed her rest, especially when he wasn't even sure that the rabble was coming for them, but he couldn't think of any other reason for a Turkish revolt so close to an English army which they would not dare to rise against, knowing they would be squashed as readily as flies. If they weren't revolting against the King's army, what was left to protest at but a ragtag collection of English men and women, alone and vulnerable in the middle of Acre?

Decision made, he shook Marian gently. "Wake up, love."

Blearily, she opened her eyes. "What is it?" she murmured.

"There's some kind of a riot in town which I don't like the sound of," he replied honestly, now tugging on his old boots. "Get dressed—dark colours and take a veil. Arm yourself, just in case."

She was fully awake by now and tentatively swung her legs off the bed, feeling for her clothes. "What are we going to do?"

"Leave, if possible," he said. "I'll get everyone else up."

He kissed her quickly and left the room, grabbing his sword as he went. There was no time to tell her that he loved her; it was as though they were back in Sherwood, constantly living in danger.

The room opposite was Djaq's; he barged in without ceremony. "Djaq! Djaq!"

"What?" she asked, waking abruptly and hardly noticing that she instinctively spoke in English.

"There's some kind of a rabble out there, and I can't hear what they're saying, but I think they're heading this way. Can you—"

"Wait." She flung up a hand and closed her eyes to listen. After a tense ten seconds of so, her eyelids sprang open again and she stared at him urgently. "They are coming for us. They know we are here. Us and Bassam, they say he is harbouring infidels and criminals."

"We've got to get out," he said unnecessarily. "I'll get John and Much—"

"Will and Allan," she confirmed, flinging clothes on with net to no thought for modesty, but it didn't matter because Robin was already out of the room and in the next. With the confirmation of the threat came urgency unlimited, and time seemed to speed up, coming in sharp bursts rather than flowing as all sense dictated it should.

"Wake up!" he said loudly.

Much nearly fell out of bed; John's snoring ceased like a drenched fire.

"What's going on?" asked the latter gruffly as Much said something incoherent.

"There's a rabble coming after us—we're leaving," Robin explained succinctly. "Wear your old clothes, quickly now."

He nearly collided with Marian as he once again burst into the hallway. She held out his bow and quiver, which he slung gratefully over his shoulder.

"They are coming for us, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

Djaq joined them breathlessly in the corridor, emerging from Will and Allan's room. "My uncle," she began.

"He'll have to come with us," said Robin. "Go to him now, then we'll meet downstairs and leave before they get too close."

She didn't waste time on a nod, just turned on her heel and fled to her uncle's chambers.

"Entrance hall," Robin called, so those still dressing would hear, then he tugged Marian to the stairs and down. "I think we can slip round the back of the house and avoid them altogether," he said, half telling her and half planning as he thought.

"Will there be a ship?" she asked.

"Depends on the tides."

"Doesn't have to be bound for England, does it?" she asked rhetorically. "If we can just get out, we'll find our way back."

Their words were batted back and forth, drawing their plans out by way of conversation. They had grown adept at working together after their first unsuccessful foray into the venture.

Much clattered down the stairs with his sword drawn and shield brandished before him, John followed like a charging bull, his staff angled in a practised way so as not to hit anything or anyone. Behind him came Will and Allan, both looking extremely disorientated.

"Where's—?"

"Djaq's gone to fetch her uncle," said Robin, anticipating Will's question. "And ideas on how many that crowd might be?"

A few frowns. "Seventy?" offered Will, the most observant.

"Yeah, about that," confirmed Allan, most used to being on the other side of a crowd.

"It's growing," Robin stated.

"Growing?" Much yelped.

"That, I do not like," commented John, but Robin was speaking over them.

"As long as they don't split up, we'll be fine. As soon as Bassam's ready, we'll go out the back way and make for the docks."

"Home," someone breathed.

"They're coming from inland," Much said, his head cocked to one side to listen.

"Brilliant," Marian sighed.

"We're not out yet," cautioned John.

Djaq came pelting down the stairs at this juncture, but distinctly alone. "He won't come!" she cried. "He is not a soldier, he does not want to fight, and this is his home, he will not leave."

Robin cursed.

"Time is of the essence," said Much, fear evident in his voice. It was true, the rabble was approaching fast.

"He is my uncle!" Djaq protested.

Robin made a snap decision. "Djaq, Marian, you go ahead. Find us berths on a ship. On second thoughts, Allan, you go too."

Marian, he wanted—needed—out of danger, Djaq spoke the language and they would need a male companion according to Muslim customs. John was a little intimidating, and out of the younger men he'd rather have Will and Much at his side if it came to a fight. Not that it would.

Hopefully.

"You won't leave without him," Djaq said. It was not a request, or even an order; it was a simple statement and Robin acknowledged it as such.

"He will be with us, one way or another."

Marian desperately wanted to protest at leaving Robin, and leaving him in danger, but she knew Djaq must feel exactly the same way about Will and she had already learnt that Robin was irrevocably the leader of this gang. So she merely touched his cheek one last time before fleeing with Djaq and Allan at her sides. Djaq took them out the servants' gate, and they had soon vanished into the night.

"I'm going to talk to Bassam," Robin announced, turning his mind firmly from those who had left. "Keep a lookout—go to the upper windows."

The four remaining thundered back up the stairs and each took to a different room. As he was running, Robin considered knocking but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Knocking took time. Upon entering the room, however, he was surprised to find Bassam felly dressed and about to exit.

"You're coming?" he asked, in too much of a hurry to translate his words into Arabic.

"No," said Bassam.

"But—"

"I cannot leave my country."

"You don't have to come to England," Robin reasoned. "Just get out of here and then come back."

"Robin!" John called. "There's at least a hundred."

"And I can see firelight!" added Much.

"Right, don't let them see you. Regroup here," Robin commanded, and they hastily returned.

Bassam noted the absences. "Where is Safiyyah?"

"I sent her ahead with Marian and Allan," Robin said quickly.

"She's safe," Will added, and Bassam immediately relaxed.

Robin spotted a potential way forward. "And I promised her I get you out safely."

"No. Safiyyah is strong, but she is wilful. She needs to have more faith in Allah, and you need to have more faith in your God." He was staring forcefully at the younger men. "These people are my neighbours, my friends. I will tell them that you have left, that you were trying to stop the fighting."

Will looked highly alarmed. "But Djaq—"

"Safiyyah should learn we must not always fight!" he snapped.

The rioters were almost upon them. "Fine," Robin said harshly. "But stay back and come with us if anything, anything, looks threatening."

"You have my word," Bassam said gravely.

Without pausing to accept it, Robin spun on his heel and ran of downstairs. He knew the others would be right behind him, and sure enough, Will nearly careered straight into him when he came to a halt in the entrance hall.

"My gang, at the doorposts, out of sight. Bassam, no risks and good luck."

Bassam stood straight and proud. "I do not need luck. Allah is with me."

With this last statement he almost marched to the door.

The Englishmen scrambled to the doorposts, Robin and Much on one side, John and Will on the other. Robin could not see anything from the hinged side, but Will had a better view and was staring intently at the scene. Robin silently cursed his bad judgements as to which side of the door he had run to; he was blind now. Thanks to the noise from the crowd, he would be able to understand only the odd word. He would have to rely on Will, then, to keep an eye on the situation.

The roar of the crowd would have been terrifying to a lesser man, the hot, flickering torchlight a clear warning. Robin more than half-though that Bassam would just be trampled by these men with murder in their hearts, but to his surprise there were shouts of "stop!" and "wait!" And the noise died down.

"Asidqa'a!" Bassam began. Friends!

After that Robin was lost, trying to keep his concentration on how the crowd sounded rather than what they were saying. They seemed to be listening to him, and he could hear doubtful murmurs. Will seemed not to be overly worried either, and Robin knew the lad would be desperate to keep the old man safe, if only for the sake of his niece.

Gradually, though, the murmurs increased in volume and became strident, and no doubt insulting. Robin, who knew the sound of a blood-baying crowd, became more and more on edge.

"He needs to come back in," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"But we can't go out there!" Much whispered back.

"I know!"

There were shouts now, jeering cries and the beat of weapons on the ground. Bassam's voice was lost and, too late, Robin realised his mistake.

Bassam could not retreat to the house without provoking the rioters into following him, thus putting all of them in danger. The gang could not go out to him because the crowd would see that Bassam had been lying and would turn on them, and four against a hundred were not good odds. Bassam was unarmed and not a fighter anyway, so he would be a liability. It didn't matter that their opponents would mostly be unskilled, since they were not in the army; they would have blocked all exits to the street by sheer mass, making escape impossible.

Not good. Not good at all.

Though on the other hand brilliant. No fun without a challenge!

"I'm going upstairs," Robin announced at a normal volume. Only his assembled gang would be able to hear him. "I'll start shooting—get Bassam in."

"And we'll escape how?" John asked, ever practical.

"We'll have to split up," replied Robin. "Take to the rooftops if you can."

He was about to pull his bow from his shoulder and dart round the dark edges of the room when—

"No!"

The choked cry came from Will.

Who wasn't there.

With a shock, Robin realised several things at once. Firstly that Bassam must be in trouble. Secondly, that Will must have gone to help him. Thirdly, that they could not get out alone. So fourthly:

"Go!"

All at once, Robin, Much and John exploded out into the street and burst into action. What followed did not, however, seem like action. No fight ever did. It was more like a sequence of images and sensations, thudding into his eyes and body with all the precision of a perfectly balanced arrow.

John, teeth bared in a grimace of exertion.

A Turk, no more than a boy, mouth open and eyes wide in shock and fear.

Much, fending off two men at once with his buckler shield.

A scream, high pitched and sharper than a knife.

An older man this time, knife drawn, beaten back with the flat of the sword.

Bassam cowering behind Will, terrified. No, he was not a soldier.

Turning to defend Bassam's defenceless back.

A stroke of fire over his old scar. A wound.

There were too many; this was impossible. The only chance they had was to get out now.

"Back through the house!" he shouted, simultaneously swinging his sword in a wide arc to connect with a man's head. He ignored his new wound; pain would wait.

Once again, Robin realised his mistake too late.

The Englishmen reacted to their native language instantly, needing no time to process the command. The rioters were generally not well-versed in the foreign language and so did not react. Bassam was as fluent as many an English child, but his mind was fully occupied with what was going on around him. He didn't move.

Will, who was right in front of him, did.

They collided; Bassam was knocked to the floor; Will's foot landed on Bassam's; his ankle twisted; he fell; the rabble was upon them at once.

Robin leapt to Will's defence, but every soldier knows that if you go down, you will probably never get up again. As soon as he began to fall, Will's fate was sealed. His death was inevitable. Bassam's, too.

Pain would wait.

"Leave him!" Robin cried, and he joined Much and John in charging back through the house and out of the servants' entrance at the back of the building. They ran unthinking to the sea, following the route they had taken only a fortnight ago in reverse. It was simple enough to evade the crowd: dozens were crowing over their double victory and the rest were slow moving in their large, surging group.

Djaq was waiting at the gangplank of a ship which was clearly ready to leave, its sails billowing like clouds in the approaching dawn.

"Allan and Marian are on board," she called as they neared her. "Where are—"

But then they moved into the growing grey light and she saw how Robin's shirt clung to his side, dark with blood, how Much was sporting a fist sized lump on his head, how John's tough leather coat was scattered with slashes. She saw the look on each face, the same expression three times over and she didn't need to ask.

She turned away, back towards the ship, and they boarded together at a run.

The person who looked back as the ship dragged itself away was Allan, who saw the gap before the survivors.

End of Part Two


A/N: A big thank you to Arria Rose, who didn't mind me killing Bassam, but did mind me killing Will. Sorry! For a story with a similar basis but a happier fate for Will, go and read her fic 'Til Death Do Us Part' and its sequel 'As Long As We Both Shall Live'.