Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic, your feedback means a lot. Usual disclaimers apply: I own none of this. Thanks again for reading and reviews would be appreciated.
Chapter Eleven: The Lost Boys
"Now since the sea's great surges sweep me on,
All canvas spread, hear me! In all creation
Nothing endures, all is in endless flux
Each wandering shape a pilgrim passing by
And time itself glides on in ceaseless flow,
A rolling stream-and streams can never stay,
Nor lightfoot hours. As wave is driven by wave
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,
So time flies on and follows, flies and follows,
Always, for ever new. What was before
Is left behind; what never was is now;
And every passing moment is revealed."
(Ovid - Metamorphoses; c8 AD)
Their boat is a glorified raft. Week after week they spend, being tossed across the iron-grey seas, at the mercy of the elements. The horizon and the sky are an indistinguishable, distant blur that Lucas cannot fathom. The others don't even bother to try. By the time they do dock, at the port of Acre, it is nightfall, and no one saw dry land coming. Weak from the voyage, the endless seasickness and the cramped conditions, they have just a few precious hours to get their bearings and work out what to do next.
Acre is silent by night. However, the port is large, sweeping the length of the coast as far as Lucas can see under moonlight. Beyond the bobbing ships and behind the fortified walls that line the seafront, he can just see the market stalls for traders, shrouded in netting. Shops and businesses, sandstone houses and official buildings all make up the main town itself. It is prosperous, despite suffering the ravages of the Crusades. From here, trade is distributed throughout the known world. Egypt and North Africa, Asia and even Europe are all accessible from here, and the town was clearly doing well by it. Beside trade, there is also the incessant flow of Christian pilgrims passing through on their way to Bethlehem and Jerusalem, all boosting trade as they went.
Although night, it is still balmy and the air is tinder dry. Lucas shrugs off his coat, finding it surplus to requirements, and stuffs it into the bag with the laptop containing the Albany files. That done, he retreats back to the heart of the group who are still disembarking from the ship. They didn't bring much beside their weapons and the clothes they stand up in, but disembarking still seemed to be taking an inordinately long time.
"How does it feel to be home?" he asks Djaq. She was first off the ship, ready to lead the way and, at that moment, she has taken a seat under a tree, looking around at the familiar sights she last saw over three years ago.
She ponders the question for a long moment, still taking in the sights and smells of her distant past. "I never thought I would see this place again," she remarks, her voice distant rather than happy. "It feels so strange: familiar, yet strange. It is home, but I feel like a traveller here. Like I'm just passing through."
It hadn't occurred to him before, but he realised then that Djaq would probably not be returning to England with them. This is her home and her people needed her. He realised the reason for the silence: there is a curfew in place. The fortified walls are there because, despite the outward signs of wealth and prosperity, this town is still under foreign occupation; Holy warriors from all over Europe sent by the Pope in Rome to grab a fat slice of Jesus' homeland and to cow his people into submission. He cannot help but wonder what the real Jesus of Nazareth, if he ever really existed at all, would make of that? He almost laughs at the irony.
Once everyone makes it off the boat, Robin regroups them all a mile away, in the centre of the market place where they can all be clearly identified. Much, as always, is at Robin's side. He is followed by Little John; Will Scarlett and Djaq stick close together, arriving shortly after John. Lucas brings up the rear of the party, with Marian at his side. He, being in possession of the deadliest weapon, was charged with guarding her while Robin focused on the main mission of tracking down King Richard.
They regrouped near the closed and locked down doorway of a tavern. The windows were in darkness and not even drunken stragglers dared defy the curfew in this town. They were quite safe to openly congregate (being English) until the dawn, whenever that would be. Robin stands a little apart from the rest of them, and he looks them each in turn.
"This is it, then," he says, keeping his voice low. "We have one chance to save the King; stop the Sheriff and Gisborne and, most importantly, save England. We have to get this right first time. Is everyone clear on what's happening?"
They all nod and utter an "aye". Then Djaq separates from the main knot of Outlaws and moves to stand beside Robin.
"My Uncle lives not far from here, we will stay with him over night. At first light, we track down the King and travel with him until we know the Sheriff is safely neutralised and he is safe."
They did all agree to this on the boat; they certainly had plenty of time during the voyage to hammer out even the finest of details. However, their mission is of such importance that it can never hurt to go over it all again. Wherever the King was, the Sheriff and Gisborne are bound to follow. They need to make sure they are the ones the enemy meet when they do arrive; a trap set and ready to spring.
Once they reach their safe haven, they step back to allow for Djaq's reunion with her Uncle Bassam. He thought her dead, so they study the dozens of doves he seems to keep as pets while the tears were dried and food for them all was served. Lucas didn't know what the deal with these birds was, but the others seem to know more.
"They carry messages," says Marian, seeing the look on his face.
"What?" he replies with a start, unaware that she was still following him as he looked around the strangely peaceful house he found himself in.
She smiles, tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear as she turned to one of the bird coups set in the sandstone wall. "They're love birds. Djaq told us all about them. You have to separate them, one carries the message and will fly across the world to track its mate down again," she explains wistfully. "Beautiful, aren't they?"
Lucas raised a wan smile. "Yes," he replies softly, thinking of his own lost loves and what manner of journey he would have to make to be reunited with them.
If Lucas' time with his Medieval predecessors had been eventful so far, the next day brings with it even more of the same and then some besides. Bassam led them out of town, into the dessert – startlingly like that in his dreams – and out to the camp of King Richard himself. It was vast. A network of tents that stretches out into the distance. They took their leave of Bassam almost immediately and descended down a large hill.
Many of the English soldiers they encounter remember Robin and Much; their passage is easy. But Lucas' nerves are beginning to grate.
"Have you met the King?" he asks Marian as they let themselves fall back from the main group.
She laughs. "Heavens no," she replies.
"Are you nervous?"
She stops and looks up at him, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "Are you?" she asks, stifling a giggle.
"What's so funny?" he retorts, picking up his pace again.
"I never thought I would see you nervous!"
He grins. "It's been known to happen. Especially when meeting legendary Medieval Kings of England I've only ever read about in History books!"
"I'm sorry, Lucas," she says, playfully glancing up at him. "I guess it doesn't happen every day, even in your strange world."
He shrugs. "Oh, I dunno. Today it's the Lionheart; tomorrow it'll be Longshanks and next I was thinking, maybe, Henry VIII or something."
"Who?"
It is his turn to laugh. "Sorry, those boys are in the future here. Longshanks is famous for hammering the Scots. Henry VIII had a fetish for wedding cake and split from Rome to marry the girl of his dreams, then chopped her head off-" he stopped himself there, realising how close to the bone he was getting. The horrors of the future could wait until they had dealt with their own.
"We're here!"
Robin's exclamation cut across their conversation. Lucas and Marian come to an abrupt halt as they all look up at a vast marquee made from cloth of gold. So much grander than all the others, it was obviously acting as a transitional royal court and head quarters of the Crusade. Lucas's heart palpitates painfully as Robin disappears straight inside and, mere moments later, a roar of delight resonates from inside.
"Robin of Locksley! Great to see you!"
Marian shivers at Lucas' side. "That must be him!" she whispers urgently, "the King!"
Everyone falls silent as they strain their ears to listen to what is being said. But the din of the camp makes it impossible. Soldiers in chainmail and toughened leather hauberks mill about, chatting loudly as they practise their fighting techniques. Even the horses seem to grow louder as Lucas attempts to eavesdrop on Robin and the King. After a few minutes, however, they are called in one at a time; and Lucas is first.
He exchanges a glance with Marian.
She beams. "Good luck," she mouths the words as he steps towards the opening of the marquee.
King Richard I is a big man. Wide set, stocky and broad shouldered. Every bit the Medieval King he heard about during his school days. However, his blue eyes twinkle under close-cropped blond hair. He smiles easily and exudes a natural air of charisma and authority. A natural leader who can inspire confidence in other men by the mere fact of his presence. Robin, standing at King Richard's side, looks suddenly rather small beside this colossus of a man.
"Your Grace, this is Lucas of Cumbria. He has travelled, er, a long way to be with us," Robin introduces him, skating over the more problematic details of his presence among them. "He brings word of Sheriff Vasey and Sir Guy of Gisborne."
Lucas is rooted to the spot. He doesn't know if he should kneel, bow or make some other form of obsequie. King Richard, however, doesn't seem bothered by any show of loyalty. He merely turns his eye to Lucas and extends a hand, shaking firmly as they're formally introduced. His grip is predictably firm; his skin toughened from years of Crusading and living in a tent – even a royal tent is still a tent.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lucas. I trust Robin has been taking care of you?" he says, gesturing to his servants to prepare a place at the table set in the middle of the room. "Tell me about Vasey and Gisborne. I've had my doubts about both of them for some time now."
Lucas's mind is in a whirl as he tries to straighten out the story in his head. However, Robin gets in first and explains much more lucidly than he could.
"They head up a highly dubious organisation known as the Black Knights and they seek to replace Your Grace as King-"
Robin is momentarily broken off as King Richard sighs and rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me, my dear little brother, John, seeks yet again to undermine me?"
In return, Robin raises a rueful smile. "But, Your Grace, with the backing of the Black Knights they're gaining momentum. The Sheriff grows bolder with their money and men and support," he explains, trying to impress upon the worryingly flippant King just how serious the situation is. "Lucas managed to infiltrate a meeting of the Black Knights at the Castle of Nottingham; grant him audience and hear what he has to say."
Both men now look to Lucas who recognises the King's silent nod as a signal for him to take up the story. He draws a deep breath to calm the butterflies in his belly.
"What Lady Marian and I overheard at this meeting was that both the Sheriff and Sir Guy of Gisborne are to travel here and assassinate you. They are planning to form a hasty alliance with the Saracen leader to achieve this. With his contrivance, they are to be led here under the guise of negotiating a peace deal. Then, when they have you alone, they will do the deed; placing your brother on the throne in your place."
By the time he has spoken his piece, Lucas is content that he is speaking to another human being, just a legendary one. The King's expression does not change, a part of the King so reminiscent of Harry Pearce that it almost brings on the flashbacks. Even in the face of imminent danger, he is calm and collected; not, as Lucas first thought, complacent. Like Harry, the King is probably just used to the ever present dangers of murder and assassination.
"Thank you for bringing me this news of treason, Lucas," the King replies, giving a thoughtful rub of the stubble on his chin. "You will be rewarded when we get back to England, trust me. For now, you will all join my personal guard. Robin and Much will be able to help; they've done it all before. If you're right, then it's only a matter of time before the Sherriff and Gisborne make their move."
The audience is over and Lucas retreats outside and Much is ushered in next. Another of the King's old guard, he is received with the same enthusiasm as was Robin. Marian is left until last, her earlier nonchalance at meeting her King has been replaced with scattering nerves. By the time she is called in, she is visibly shaking with fear and excitement in equal measure. He smiles as she goes. "Good luck," he says, watching her vanish.
Beyond the King's camp had come to feel like familiar territory to Lucas. He has been there every night in his dreams since this had all began. Every corner he turned, he expected Gisborne or the Sheriff to be lurking there in wait. However, it wasn't until two more days of travelling with the King, gaining ground from the locals inch by inch as they fight forwards, that he realises they have finally reached the destination he has dreamed about so much.
The arrangement of the streets lined with whitewashed, sandstone houses; the fountain bubbling in the square, the wind bent palm trees leaning to the east and the dusty plains. It's as though he has stepped into his own unconscious mind. He turns in a circle, taking it all in. As he turns, he spots a stranger dressed in black riding towards the King. He stops abruptly, jolted back into reality as he fixes his attention on the new arrival, materialising from a side street. His hand is already reaching towards the gun holstered under his shirt. Then, he breathes a sigh of relief. It is only a messenger and the King greets the man personally, with his usual grace and charm.
"Marian," he says, turning towards her. "This is the place. Stay with me. Do not leave my side."
The colour drains from her face and she nods. "You're sure?"
Before he can answer, the King calls them all over. The messenger is already gone, disappearing back the way he came. King Richard is holding aloft a scroll of parchment. Marian and Lucas take off at a run towards him.
"This is it," he says. "An invitation to a peace summit with Salahuddin. All we must do is wait."
They do not have to wait long, either. As soon as the messenger is out of sight and the news disseminated, an attack comes immediately. A volley of arrows is loosed from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and Lucas launches himself on top of Marian to protect her while Robin and the others all scramble to reply to the assault. Lucas, however, is charged only with protecting Marian.
He grabs her wrist and runs full pelt towards a side alley. "This way!" he shouts over his shoulder at her, but not giving her any choice in where they go all the same.
Once there, they run straight into a an attacking group of Saracens. Lucas lets go of Marian and punches the first clean out. Marian, recovering swiftly from the shock, kicks another in the groin, making him squeal like a stuck pig with pain. Lucas grins approvingly at her as he gets the third attacker in a headlock before kicking his legs from under him. Marian, a fierce fighter for such a slim girl, has already despatched the fourth and final of them by the time Lucas has dealt with his new friend.
"Well done," she gasps, breathless and excited.
"Quite a team!" he winks at her before pulling her further down the street.
There is no one else about, so they come to rest in a disused outhouse where they cannot be seen from outside. They can hear the sounds of distant fighting, though. Raised voices call above the pell-mell, English as well as Eastern. Marian flinches with every shout, getting nervier as the adrenaline from their fight wears off.
"We have got to get back out there," she says, just the King can be distantly heard issuing another order. "We have to make sure Robin is all right!"
Lucas knows she is right, but for the moment is reluctant to move. This was not part of the Sheriff's plan. They were to lure the King to a peace conference. But, it seems, that was a lie, too. A surprise attack, this surprise attack, would give Gisborne and the Sheriff a much needed advantage. Lucas could have kicked himself; he should have guessed they would do this.
"This was their plan all along," says Marian, echoing his thoughts precisely.
"I should have guessed it all along with these double-dealing bastards," he adds, reproaching himself more than anyone else.
They both fall silent, straining to hear what was going on in the market square. However, it had gone quiet. The clashing armies must have dispersed. Unable to delay any longer, Lucas got up off his knees ready to go back out there. Then, Marian pulls him back with a finger pressed to her lips, she has heard something he hasn't.
"Long live the King … No!"
It was the Sheriff. Lucas' blood freezes as he recognises the harsh voice. The twang of a loosed arrow is followed by a roar of pain. Footsteps come running down the alleyway outside and Marian pulls Lucas just out of the Sheriff's sight as he makes his escape.
They both take a moment to recover themselves, catching their breath as they digest their near miss. But after that, they both run hard towards the square where King Richard lies dying with an arrow in his back. They both come to an abrupt halt as they take in the scene. The others have gone, and there is no sign of them anywhere. There is a small flight of steps leading from their hiding place to where the King lies wounded, but they are still concealed from there.
"This is it," says Lucas. "This is the dream."
He has just realised that she is even wearing the same dress. He had not noticed before. Only at the beginning, before he knew her name, was the phantom in his dreams known as "the woman in white". Since he learned her name, he ceased to care about her frocks.
"He'll be here any second," he adds under his breath, slumping down behind wall that conceals them.
Marian is silent and pale, looking washed out even though the sun has bronzed her cheeks. "Guy," she fills in the blank he left.
The Sheriff's plan has worked like a charm. The Outlaws have been scattered by the surprise attack; the King is isolated and the battle almost won. It is only now that Lucas realises what he must do. He thinks he has known it all along, but not wanted to acknowledge it to himself. But the stark reality hits him like cheap pornography under neon lights. Already, another set of running feet intrude upon his tumultuous thoughts, and he knows it's Guy of Gisborne come to kill the King.
He turns to Marian. "Stop him," he says, flatly.
She looks back at him startled. "What?"
He repeats himself, his voice tremulous. "Go out and stop him."
Her eyes widen as she bites back tears. "You want me to sacrifice myself-"
"No!" he cuts her off, realising how little time they have. "Trust me. Go out there and stop him. England cannot fall to these tyrants."
She takes a deep breath to steel herself before setting off at a run like a sprinter off the starter's blocks.
"Guy!" she calls out, her footsteps light as she pads across the sands.
"Marian, get out of the way!" Gisborne's familiar voice responds.
Lucas rolls over on to his belly and crawls to the top of the stairs that Marian had just descended. He could see them clearly, but Marian had her back to him. She was obscuring his shot.
"I won't let you kill England," she snaps defiantly back at him.
"Get out of the way!" Guy swipes the sword in her direction, causing her to leap backwards. "I will do this thing and we will be together!"
Lucas lines up the shot, blanking all other thoughts out of his mind. He only half listens to Marian's reply, he just catches the words 'I love Robin Hood."
He watches her step to one side as Guy raises his sword. This is his chance. He takes a deep breath, and squeezes the trigger of the gun; the blast of the shot ricochets down the dusty streets, sending a flock of birds to startled flight. A grunt of pain draws Lucas's attention back to Guy of Gisborne who clutches at the open wound in his chest. Gisborne falls backwards, almost in slow motion. Lucas feels it, too. He has bitten into his wrist to stop himself from crying out and looks at Marian through a haze of tears that blur his vision. Tears brought on by the pain that sears across his chest. He knew, deep down, that it would come to this.
"Lucas!" Marian's voice rings shrill across the suddenly silent square. "What have you done?"
She knows. The bullet hasn't just taken out Guy of Gisborne. Before he can formulate any reply, she's back and kneeling at his side, looking down at him with tears dripping down her face.
"Do you forgive him?" Lucas asks, each word laboured as his strength ebbs away.
Her eyes are ablaze. "I'll never forgive him for this! You're the man he should have been, and this is not fair!"
He shakes his head, tries to move but his strength is gone and it's too painful. "Please," he whispers, "try, for my sake."
Her tears choke her, she can barely get the words out. "But it's not right, Lucas. You shouldn't have to die for him."
He cannot think how to make her understand: this is his redemption. He has sacrificed himself so she can live and love, and so that England can prosper under right rule and governance. He has died again, to save his country and let a legend live on. Guy and him, they're one and the same: they're the lost boys who never stood a chance at growing up to be well balanced, happy adults. They are damaged, and they damage and destroy all that they hold dear. It's the only thing they know. Now, Lucas knows he has broken a chain and stopped a cycle. The tempest of their lives is stilled. If there is a next life, it will not be a repeat of this. It will not be a repeat of John Bateman and Lucas North and Guy of Gisborne. He may even have a shot at happiness. He may even get some peace, at last.
"This is what I came here to do," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I was sent here to save you, and I know that now. I could only save you by stopping him; and stopping him meant I had to kill him. He and I, we're the same. Don't you understand?"
Slowly, she nods her head. "I do this out of love for you, Lucas," she replies, choking back her emotions. "I forgive him readily for your sake. You are not the same as him; you're twice the man he could ever have been."
He raises a wan smile as his hand closes over the Outlaw tag that still hangs around his neck. He is dying a free man. Free from the pain of his past and the ghosts of Russia; free from the lies that shackled him to his own private prison cell in his head; free from the shame of betrayal. He speaks the words he once said to Ruth Evershed: "You've done enough now," he says. "Marry him. Be happy. Love one another. Eternally."
The others are regrouping around him, demanding to know what has happened as he closes his eyes for the final time. He wonders what he has done with the Albany File, but it will be safe enough here, whatever it is. He squeezes the doggy tag one more time, and lets the warm, silent darkness fold over him. He is not sad, for he and Guy have peace at last. They are both free men, now.
