Title: The Prodigal - Chapter 5 (Part 4), "Long Memories"

Author: DCWash

Characters: Only Robin and Allan appear in this section, but they do talk about Guy

Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect.

Rating: Multiple warnings: 1. Sexual assault is discussed 2. I know a lot of people get all wooby over Guy. I'm not one of them. I think he's a bad, bad man, though perhaps not irredeemable. If you're a Guy fan, you'd probably be better off skipping this one to avoid heartburn. If you do, you can still happily read the next chapter.

Spoilers: None, really.

Length: 3262

Summary: Robin gets Allan's version of events. (Cont.) And we find out what happened to Emma and Juliana.

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After much more clattering than seemed necessary, Allan came back to the table with a trencher of bread and cheese, already hacked into pieces. But the activity seemed to have had a calming effect. He had a resolute look on his face, and instead of partaking of the food himself, he pushed the trencher toward Robin and sat facing him, hands folded on the table. This is it, Robin thought.

Allan didn't bother with a transition. "After I had been with Guy a while—long enough to know where I stood with him, and to have a feel for how things worked—we got a new guard." For the first time, Allan reminded Robin of Little John in his apparent determination to say what needed to be said, and to say it right, even if it was difficult. "I'm not sure where he came from—maybe the castle. He wasn't one of Guy's old men but he had been around a bit. He used to blag about the things he'd seen and done."

Allan kept looking at his hands, is if that would keep him from being distracted. "One evening a bunch of us were sitting around the day room in the barracks, just shooting the shit, like you do, you know? And this guy starts rabitting on, and I'm only listening with half an ear because…." Allan made a dismissive gesture, but kept looking at his hands. "But the other lads, they're kind of young, and they're rapt. And then he starts talking about this thing they got in France, this…droit du seignur?" Allan looked up at Robin, as if for confirmation that he had gotten it right.

Robin, who was always surprised at how good Allan's French was, nodded. "Yeah. I'm familiar with the term."

"…and asking if we had it here, what with Guy being from France and all. Then he explained what he meant, because 'the right of the lord,' that could mean anything…and then I did prick up my ears! I'd always heard talk of it, about the lord having the right to screw his girl serfs before they got married, even when I was a kid down in Sussex, but I hadn't heard anybody say anything about it up here, and I hadn't heard it called by that name. In fact, I'd never heard of it actually happening to a real person, just hints that it could happen if you didn't pay the lord his marriage fee."

"I don't know that I've ever heard of anybody doing it, either," Robin said. "My tutor taught me about it when I was young. He used to say what separated a good lord from a bad one was mercy and self-restraint, and he used it as an example of what not to do—that just because you have a legal right to something, that doesn't mean you should use that right." Robin started to prompt him to get to the point Robin was sure he was making, but Allan beat him to it.

Allan went back to looking at his hands. "So the guy says, if the lord has this right, what about his men? Does it get handed down to them in some form? I wasn't sure if he was talking philosophical or specific, but I thought I'd better nip it in the bud, anyway. I mean, I was supposed to have some authority, right? And, like I said, the other lads, they were young…." Allan shrugged. "So I started talking it down, about what a bad idea it was. I mean, it's wrong, obviously, but I thought I'd better talk practicalities as well, about how it'd cause more trouble than it was worth, and how we didn't need to make any more enemies since we were so outnumbered, and like that. And the lads, at least, looked like they got my point."

"But the other bloke…he troubled me." Allan's hands stayed still, but he got a pained look on his face and he began to shift in his seat like he couldn't get comfortable. "So after a few days, I decided to take it to Guy. I mean, what's the point of being his 'right hand man' if I can't do something like that, right? I had said everything I had to say to the guards about the subject, and besides, it wasn't like anybody had actually done anything, as far as I could tell. So I told Guy, 'You may want to keep an eye on the new man,' and I told him what he had said, like I just told you. And Guy asked a couple of questions and seemed to take it seriously, and I thought, 'Well, Allan, you've done all you can, now quit worrying and leave it be,' and the next day me and him headed back to the castle and I didn't think any more of it. But…."

The pained look on Allan's face turned to a deeper distress and grief, and he bent over, almost as if he were in physical pain, and rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. It took him so long to speak that Robin placed a hand on Allan's wrist and gently asked, "But what, Allan? What happened?" Robin could imagine a dozen different possibilities, but they all circled around the same dreadful point.

Allan took a moment, then sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight. "We were back in Locksley one night a while later, and I needed to ask Guy something…I forget about what, something mundane. And I'm at home, right? And it's night, and I'm not…I'm not armed, you know? 'Cause I'm at home, not out in the field. Not worried about dealing with you lot. And…I hadn't seen Guy for…God, for ages, hours probably, but I thought he might be in this room he used as kind of an office, so I just walked right in, 'cause that's what it was like with us…."

Allan jumped out of his seat and started pacing. He closed his eyes and put his hand against them, as if he wanted to block out what he was seeing. "And there these guards, holding this girl, one on each side, and another closer the door. It seemed kind of odd, because I hadn't heard of any trouble, and like you said, Guy didn't hold courts or anything—if he caught somebody doing something he didn't like, he'd deal with it right there, and otherwise, he didn't care." Now he flung the hand away and gesticulated in the air. Everything about his demeanor reflected frustration and helplessness. "But I couldn't tell who she was from that angle, so I came in closer, and saw that she looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on why. She was crying, and Guy was sitting there with his feet up on the table and that leer I had gotten to know, and for some reason I remembered that 'droit du seignur' conversation, and I put two and two together right quick, I tell you. And I thought, 'I've got to stop this!' I didn't know how—I mean, I didn't even have my eating knife on me, and there were three guards, armed to the teeth and in full armor, as well as Guy. But I had to do something!" Allan turned to Robin, as if desperate to be understood. "So I did the only thing I could think of: I started talking. I mean, that's what I'm supposed to be so good at, right?" He pleaded with Robin for affirmation, and Robin didn't know what else to do but nod. "So I started going on about…God, about everything—every angle I could think of. About how Guy was a better man than this, about how skinny the girl was and how he could do better, about how he didn't have time to deal with the fallout, what with the Pact and all…everything. And then I went too far: I brought up Marian." Allan stopped pacing and shook his head at how stupid he had been. "Something about what she would think if she knew. Well, that got his attention. He yelled something like, 'How dare you speak her name!'…and, I swear Robin, he knocked me halfway across the room. Then the guards kicked me the rest of the way. And the one by the door threw me out—literally, he picked me up and tossed me through the door. And he bolted the door behind me."

Allan sat back down heavily on his stool. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked, obviously in distress. "What was I supposed to do?" Allan looked at Robin as if he really wanted Robin to provide him with an answer, as if that would make things turn out differently, but Robin didn't have one. Allan took a few deep breaths and returned to the attitude he had when he had begun, calmer, with his hands folded on the table. "It didn't seem right to hang around there—I mean, to do what, listen at the door? How was that going to help anything? And how'd you like it if you were her? But it didn't seem right to just go to bed, like everything was alright, either. It wasn't…respectful, maybe?" An odd choice of words, Robin thought, but he could see where Allan was coming from.

"So…to tell you the truth, I was kind of stunned, from the smack Guy gave me, I guess, and my lip was bleeding, so I went to the kitchen to clean up. And…hung around there for a while, because…I didn't know what else to do."

Allan kind of shrank into himself, and drank some of his beer, and studied his hands again. Robin's heart went out to him. He had anticipated the upshot of the story much earlier, but had no idea Allan had born such close witness to it. He was also surprised at how distressing Allan still found it. It had, after all, been more than three years since Allan left Gisbourne, and from the sound of it, Allan had done all he could. (The hero in Robin wondered why Allan didn't rush off and get his sword as soon as he was thrown out of the room, come back and knocked the door down, and fought off all three guards and Gisbourne as well, but he was getting old enough now to know that hero was often wrong.) He was about to tell Allan as much when Allan started up again.

In a calmer voice, Allan said, "After a while, one of the guards found me. He said Guy said that if I was so worried about the girl, I could take her home. So I rigged up a cart and met her at the back door. But before we pulled out, Guy called me over and gave me a purse to pass on to her, and at least he had the grace to not be able to look me in the eye. As if money would make everything all right again!" Allan exclaimed, bitterly.

"When we got there, the place was all dressed up, with greenery and decorations and all, and it hit me where I had seen her before—when she came to the manor to get permission to marry. And that it was all rigged up for her wedding. And I tell you, Robin, I almost started crying. But I still had that purse to give her, so all I did was hold it out to her, like I was some kind of…daft…." Allan could only shake his head in self-disgust. He closed his eyes again. "And the look she gave me! Robin, I've never been so ashamed in my life. Before or since."

"Did anybody tell you her name?" Robin asked.

"No," Allan said. "But the worst of it…the worst of it was the next day. We heard back at the manor that this girl named Emma had hung herself, just the day before she was supposed to get married. And I figured…I figured that had to be her."

The two men sat in silence for some moments. Robin was angry—angry with Allan, and he knew he had no right to be. Eventually, he asked, "Allan, why didn't you tell anybody?"

"I did! Sorta. No, no 'sorta.' I did." He looked at Robin. "When I went back to the kitchen, the old cook what used to live there…."

"Hilda?"

"Yeah, Hilda. I had to tell somebody, so I told her. And she heard me out and said I shouldn't tell anybody else. That all that would do is bring Guy down hard on everybody and bring shame on the girl. And she said that she'd keep an ear to the ground, and if she heard anybody talking bad about the girl, she'd set them right so the girl's reputation wasn't hurt. And I wasn't thrilled with that, but it made sense, so I kept quiet. And then, when I got back in the gang…well, it was like you said, tactically, it wouldn't have made any difference—we were working as hard as we could to throw Guy out, and telling that story wouldn't make us work any harder, and it might cause her family pain."

"So why are you telling me now?"

"Because I'm trying to own up to things when I'm wrong, and make them right—to turn over a new leaf, like. And when you started asking about what Guy was like as a lord…and I put it all together…my God, Robin! I was probably the one who put the idea in his head!" Allan said, clearly horrified at the thought.

"No. No, you didn't, Allan. Don't even think it." Robin said, firmly, "I'm sure—positive—Gisbourne knew about it before you told him."

That seemed to relieve Allan. "You think so?"

"I know so." Actually, Robin said it with more confidence than he felt. He thought it quite possible that Allan had put the idea in Gisourne's head when he told him about the new guard, but he couldn't have Allan berating himself for doing what was so obviously the right thing. "And, Allan, she knew you defended her. Think about it: Yours could have been the last sympathetic face she saw. I mean, we don't know what went on after you dropped her off."

They brooded on this for a bit. Robin pushed the trencher toward Allan. "Here. Eat something. It'll make you feel better." Allan seemed to agree and nibbled a bit, absentmindedly.

"Were there any others?" Robin asked.

"I'm pretty sure of two. But for all I know, there could have been more. I started to spend more time out of the manor house, at Constance's or out in the field or anything else. And people knew how I felt about it. It would have been easy to keep me in the dark. I only know about those two because I got rousted out of bed to take them home. I met one of them in Nottingham a couple of months ago. Seems she told her betrothed what had happened, and he blew up at her broke it off, and then her family put her out because of it—said she had shamed them. She didn't have any choice but to move to Nottingham and get by as best she could. I suppose something like that could have been what got to Emma."

"And the other?" Robin was picking at the bread and cheese himself now, even though it was looking pretty sad.

"A girl named Juliana, from Clun." Robin winced at the words, but Allan didn't notice. "Just before we went to Portsmouth. We were gone so long, I lost track of her. I hope she turned out alright, at least. I always kind of liked her. A game girl, you know?" Robin didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise, especially since Allan seemed to be feeling better. Either the food was doing its job, or he felt like he had received a kind of absolution from Robin.

"Allan, after all that, why didn't you leave Gisbourne?" Robin asked.

"How?" Allan said, matter of factly. "Guy didn't have to say he'd kill me if I left, and he'd send his and Vasey's guards after me to make double sure I got caught. You'd already sworn to kill me if you saw me again. I kind of made some overtures about joining back with you, you might say, but they got laughed off." Allan shrugged. "So there didn't seem to be anything for it but to keep my head down and to keep an eye on Marian. Not that that did any good." He noticed the alarm on Robin's face. "I mean, he wound up stabbing her, didn't he? Not…the other.

But you know why I came back in the end? It wasn't because I hated him, like you did. Not that I ever blamed you, but he never took as much from me as he did from you. It was more that I felt sorry for him. Yes, sorry for him! He wasn't a monster. He had a conscience, you know—ask Marian. Not much of one, but it was there. Unlike Vasey. It was a tiny, dim little thing, not big enough or strong enough to keep him from doing awful things without even thinking, but it nagged at him all the time. He couldn't figure out why he was so unhappy, and even I could see that was it. And that night when we went to Portsmouth, it hit me—if I went to the Holy Land with them…if I helped him kill the king…if I left you bunch in that barn…there was no turning back. I'd be just like him. And the rest of my life, I'd be quenching my conscience , and I'd have to turn into as nasty a piece of work as he was, just to stay alive. And for what? That lordship he promised me? Look what good it had done him! He was such a miserable bastard! He didn't have any friends. For good reason, but I think that's why he liked having me around—he could pretend I was his friend and keep him company. And to tell the truth, I wasn't doing so well in the friend department at the time, and a few of those dinners…we'd have some wine, and he's laugh at some of my stories, and he'd tell some of his own about France…enough wine, and it could get almost cozy."

"He promised you…." Robin began, but he was interrupted by a yell in the back garden.

Allan leaped up and opened the window. It let in a stream of what they both recognized as Arabic profanities. They each stood to the side to look out, as if they were evading arrows on a parapet, and watched smoke pour out of the open oven, and Djaq throw down a tray full of smoldering black lumps, and stalk off.

"Well, I guess I'd better think up something for supper besides bread, then!" Allan said with what was almost his old grin."

"There are two women in this house and they've got you doing the cooking?" Robin was incredulous.

"I know!" Allan agreed. "But I'm not up for heavy chores yet, and I'm better at it than Djaq. Believe it or not," Allan said.

"Poor Will!" said Robin. "I don't think he knows what he's gotten himself into!"

"Innit?" Allan cackled as he poured barley into a cooking pot.

"So, Allan. Tell me about the corn crop when you were with Gisbourne," Robin said.

"I will…if you chop the carrots for me," Allan said.

So the bandit told the soldier and lord about staggered planting dates, and drainage, and crop density, while the two of them cooked. Neither of them noticed the incongruity of it. Both simply enjoyed the other's company. In fact, Robin's only thought—besides of the corn—was how to keep things like this. Surely, there must be a way?

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Notes:

Droit du seigneur: .com/EBchecked/topic/532829/droit-du-seigneur