Nottingham Castle
Guy sat at the Sheriff's desk, going over the tax reports as he had done every night since Vaisey had been away. He'd made copious notes on how he felt the system could be reworked, to raise the greatest possible amount with a minimum of manpower. It was getting difficult to recruit guards to man the Castle and enforce the law, since none of the young men in the villages wanted to risk going up against Hood and his gang.
Yet, Guy's thoughts still dwelled on Marian, out there in Sherwood. He wondered what she was doing, whether she was happy, or whether perhaps she was thinking of him as well. As unlikely as that was, Guy had to admit to himself. He wasn't sure what would happen if he came face to face with her again, and yet despite his words that they were enemies now and he would treat her as any other outlaw, Guy knew that he could never bring himself to hurt her again. That made him vulnerable, demonstrating a significant weakness which could be exploited if he wasn't careful.
"Well, well, well." A familiar voice cut through Guy's reverie, and he looked up to see Vaisey in the doorway, pulling off his riding gloves. "What have we here?"
Guy set his jaw and stared Vaisey down as his heart sank. With the Sheriff's return, Guy had lost his chance to prove to Prince John his superiority.
"Get out of my chair, Gisborne," Vaisey sneered. "It doesn't suit you."
Guy obliged, albeit with clenched fists. Vaisey settled into his chair, looking briefly at the parchment Guy had been perusing and the notes he'd made, before sweeping them away onto the floor. Guy exhaled harshly but did not otherwise react; he expected nothing less from Vaisey.
"How was London, my Lord?" Guy asked through gritted teeth, knowing he would have to play this game a while longer.
Vaisey pierced him with a dark stare. "More pertinent is how things are here in Nottingham, Gisborne," he said coldly. "It seems that you have not captured Robin Hood, or made any other progress to eliminate the outlaws," he continued, his words dripping with derision. "Prince John will be so disappointed in you."
Fear struck Guy's heart as he realised Vaisey knew why he had been summoned to London, and Guy's part in it. Vaisey had trusted him once, and now all of Guy's advantage was lost with nothing to show for it. For a brief, wild moment, Guy's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he considered drawing it, to eliminate Vaisey once and for all.
But Vaisey's knowing eyes were on his. "Why don't you do it," he goaded him, resting his palms on the desk to show that he was unarmed. "Go on."
Guy's hand clutched the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw. He screamed at himself to do it, certain that he could physically overcome Vaisey. But he simply could not force himself to act, for he had been penniless and alone before Vaisey had found him - the Sheriff had built him into a lord, and enforcer, a key player in his plans. There was still that niggling sense of loyalty within Guy that could not forget what had been done for him.
What was he, other than what Vaisey had made him? Guy realised that he could not more draw his sword against Vaisey than he could against Marian. They both had a hold over him, although one he loved and the other he hated. It was a miserable, confronting realisation, and Guy released his grip, feeling utterly defeated.
Without another glance Guy turned on one heel and strode out of the room, Vaisey's mocking laugh following him all the way.
Outlaw's Camp, Sherwood Forest
The camp was far too quiet for Little John's liking, and he was a man that relished silence. A depression had settled over their small band, and the cold winter weather seemed to reflect their collective mood. It would be Christmas in less than a week, but no one had mentioned it, not even Tuck, although John knew he was planning to hold Mass in Locksley if they could figure out a way to get rid of Gisborne for the day. In years past they had worked to ensure that all the families of the 'shire had at least a piece of meat to share on the day, but this year their stores were lower than usual.
Work had been completed on the extension to the camp, and the small nooks had even been outfitted with bedding to accommodate the new occupants. And yet no one had taken up residence on them. Perhaps it was the bitter cold which kept them confined to the main camp, where the fire burned all day and hot stones were placed in the bunks to warm them up. But more likely it was the need to cleave together in these trying times, and John knew that no one would move into the nooks until Robin was better. He and Marian had been the main reason the extensions had been planned and implemented after all, to give them as well as Djaq and Will and Much and Eve some privacy as well as alleviate the crowding of the main camp.
And yet it seemed anything but crowded as they huddled together in the evenings, trying to make light and share stories and songs as they had done since the others had returned from the Holy Land. But Allan seemed to have run out of charming ballads and dances to play on his lute, instead strumming absently at mournful, slow tunes. There was only occasional chatter, for the spectre of Robin's illness hung over them like shroud.
John glanced over at where Robin lay sleeping in his bunk. Marian was sponging down his face with a wet cloth and a bowl of cool water to try and get his fever down, but it did not appear to be working. Robin had been awake and somewhat lucid earlier that day, trying first get out of the bunk until Djaq had pushed him back down and he clearly hadn't the strength to stop her, and then trying to hold a strategy meeting. It had been obvious to everyone that he'd quickly tired, and they'd accepted his orders without argument. with Much, Carter and Tuck heading off the Nottingham to investigate the Sheriff's return.
It hadn't been long before he'd drifted back to sleep, although it had not seemed to be a restful one. Even now, when John looked over he was concerned with the pallor of Robin's face and the way he tossed fitfully and muttered intelligible words every now and then. Marian caught his eye, and John's heart broke at the worry in her dark eyes she tried hard to conceal by shifting her gaze away again.
"He has nightmares," she said softly, pressing the wet cloth against Robin's forehead again.
John nodded, unsure of what else to say. They all had bad dreams every now and then; episodes where they cried out into the night, but it had always been an unspoken rule to ignore them. If one was awoken in the night by heavy breathing, or a jolt upright, or a mournful cry of another outlaw, it was practice to simply lay still and pretend to be asleep. It had always seemed to happen to Robin the most, not that anyone would have known it from observing the young man in the morning.
Many times, John had considered asking Robin about them, but had never been able to find the appropriate words. Roy had been his voice, able to communicate everything that John wanted to say but found himself unable to express. The other outlaws were his brothers and dearest friends, but they had not been Roy – none of them could hear John grunt or growl and know exactly the words that needed to be spoken, none of them could know what John was feeling just by looking upon his face.
But Roy was gone, and now Robin was in danger of being lost as well. It seemed impossible, for his young, brash friend to be felled by a simple illness, and yet Roy had seemed invincible as well. Everyone in the camp acted as if Robin would simply need time to recover, but John could tell what Djaq was not saying as she gave them frequent reports on Robin's condition. He'd seen many taken by a fever, and to John it seemed that unless Robin improved quickly, he did not have much time left.
To distract himself, John refocused his attention on the parchment in his hands; a letter from his son. He was grateful that Djaq had once taught him to read well enough to decipher little Little John's missives, for they brought him great comfort and joy even on the darkest and coldest nights. He was still apprenticing with Luke the Cooper, the boy had written, and mentioned with great pride that the local innkeeper had praised his work. John smiled to himself. That was the life he wanted for his son, safe and secure, learning a trade which would ensure his continued survival. Not an outlaw in the forest, who had been forced to learn to get by with his strength alone.
Little Little John always ended his letters the same way. Mother and I miss you very much, but I am proud that my father fights with Robin Hood. It was his son's way of supporting John's continued work in Nottinghamshire, despite the fact that it meant he could not be with them. Beside his name little Little John had drawn the Locksley crest, and rather than be heartened by his son's pride, John felt despair cling to him.
When he folded the letter away carefully, John saw that Marian was regarding him. It seemed Robin had calmed somewhat and was sleeping peacefully, but that did not seem to chase the sorrow from the young woman's face.
"Your family are doing well, I hope?" Marian asked lightly.
John nodded, reminding himself that his family were safe and alive, which was more than could be said for Marian's. Their small outlaw band was all she had now, and John felt very fatherly towards her, although he did not know a way to help or alleviate her abject misery, not only for Robin's illness, but for what had come before. He'd thought Robin a fool, and it seemed the young man would not be argued with on that point. When he got better, John promised himself that he would be more forceful with Robin, to tell him of how Marian had stayed at his bedside despite their estrangement, to urge the young man not to give into his fear and retreat into himself, as John had once done. John would beat that message into Robin, if necessary, for the situation could not continue.
Marian was still watching him, her gaze kindly. "Why don't you visit them for Christmas?" she suggested. "It has been a great while since you've seen them."
John didn't need to be reminded of that, but he was afraid that if he visited them he would not be able to force himself to leave again. And how could he abandon the outlaws now, when Robin's life was in danger? They needed him.
"I am sending them some silver," John explained, withdrawing a small pouch from his coat and showing it to her. "What I've been saving from my cut these past few months."
Marian smiled. "I'm sure they will appreciate it," she said lightly, and her unspoken words seemed to be that surely they would appreciate his presence more. But she lapsed into silence, perhaps respecting that John did not try and breach her confidences and trying to do the same in return.
"Will you..write the letter for me?" John asked, for his writing skills was exceedingly poor even after many lessons from Djaq. The quill just did not seem to fit properly in his hand, so usually one of the other outlaws acted as scribe for him. He had never asked Marian before, though, and knew he'd done the right thing when a pleased blush spread across her pale cheeks.
"Of course," she said, leaving her cloth and bowl on the floor by Robin's bedside and moving to retrieve a parchment and quill from the store. Marian sat down at John's feet, and rested her head against his knee as a child would. John knew that she needed the distraction from Robin, and under the guise of helping him could break herself away from the sickbed. So he rested a large hand on Marian's head, and began to dictate.
Morning in the camp began as any other, as Marian rose from her bunk to eat the breakfast Carter had prepared. She had taken to sleeping beside Robin again, for her presence seemed to soothe his nightmares, and ignored Djaq's warnings that she may catch his sickness through such close proximity. Marian at the porridge without tasting it, and then roused Robin so he could take some food and drink as well. She didn't miss that his forehead was even hotter than it had been the previous day, nor that he took longer than usual to wake. Robin could barely sit up, but she spooned the broth Djaq had made into his mouth despite his reluctance.
His mind seemed clouded, and despite Marian's repeated attempts to draw him into conversation Robin could not seem to form appropriates responses. Marian turned away and tried not to betray her worry as he lapsed back into sleep, and Djaq began to check him over.
"He seems worse today," Will opined, his brow furrowed. "Should we stay at camp?"
"No," Marian said with a confidence she didn't feel. "You heard him yesterday, he wants you to check the villages. The Sheriff is back, so we must make sure that everyone has a hiding place for what we have given them, in case he sends the guards to raid their homes."
They acquiesced without argument, and Marian watched Little John, Allan, Will and Carter leave the camp. Much and Eve had already left earlier that morning to gather firewood, and Tuck was somewhere in the greenwood praying.
When it was just Marian and Djaq left in the camp, she perched by Robin's bedside again. Then she took one of his hands in hers, kissing the back of it and trying not to be frightened by how hot the flesh was under her lips.
"Should I have let them stay, Djaq?" Marian asked in a half-whisper
"Life must go on," Djaq nodded to herself. "Even if Robin dies."
"Robin is not going to die," Marian replied with utter conviction, putting Robin's hand back down on the blanket.
Djaq looked at her with pity and deep regret. "I'm not sure what else we can do for him. If he continues to decline…"
Marian took Djaq's hands in both of hers, much to the other woman's surprise at the uncharacteristic gesture.
"You have healed me twice with these hands, Djaq," Marian told her, squeezing her fingers slightly. "I know you can do the same for him."
Djaq was not unmoved, but she cast her gaze downward. "The circumstances were different, Marian," she said softly. "What you are looking for is a miracle, and that is not my area." She looked over the entrance to the camp, the corner of her mouth twisted distastefully. Tuck had reappeared, the knees of his robe muddy from prayer.
Still, Marian did not let go of Djaq's hands – Djaq who had called her brave only after she had witnessed an act of it herself, Djaq who had tended to her in the Holy Land, Djaq who reserved judgement but always spoke the direct, unambiguous truth. It was Djaq that she trusted with Robin's life.
But Djaq pulled away from her softly, and it felt like Marian's heart was tearing apart.
"I am sorry, Marian," Djaq said, and she took a seat by the fire to grind herbs in her mortar and pestle to make more broth. It was only then that Marian turned to Tuck, still standing impassively across the camp.
"My hands are practised for surgery, my Lady," Tuck said apologetically, holding them outwards and showing her his palms. "And prayer," he added, folding his hands together and threaded his fingers together. "I believe Mistress Djaq when she says she has done all she can for him."
Marian turned back to Robin, taking his hand in hers again as she resumed her vigil. It was over an hour later when Robin's eyes fluttered open again, but they were bloodshot and weary. He began to cough, turning on his side as dreadful shudders rocked through his slight frame, the rasping, barking sounds terrible to her ears. She rubbed Robin's back and held him through the fit, but gasped when tiny flecks of blood shot out of his mouth to stain the pillow beside his head. Djaq was by his side in an instant, her dark eyes wide and afraid as she pushed Marian away and hoarsely told her to give him room. Robin struggled for breath, his rasps shallow and panicked, and Marian backed away in fear, hot tears springing into her eyes. She felt Tuck's firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in comfort.
Eventually Robin's coughs and shaking subsided, and he fell back into a state which seemed more like unconsciousness than sleep. Djaq stood, and in her hand was a cloth she had held to Robin's mouth through the fit. Marian swallowed heavily at seeing the dark red patch which stained the fabric.
"What does that mean?" she asked fearfully.
Djaq did not have the chance to answer, as they were interrupted by the fluttering of wings and sharp cooing as Bashirah the pigeon landed on the perch Will had built for her and Lardner. Djaq went over to it immediately, giving Bashirah a fond stroke of her feathers and untying a small roll of parchment from her leg.
"It's from Allan," Djaq's eyes scanned the note. "The sickness has spread to Nettlestone." She sighed and cast the parchment aside, moving to collect her instruments and satchel.
"But what about Robin?" Marian asked, trying to move forward but found Tuck's hand on her shoulder hold her firmly in place.
It was then that Much and Eve arrived back at camp, and Much looked around at them curiously while Djaq continued to pack her supplies and did not answer. Then he saw the blood on Robin's pillow, which had already dried into spots of a deep brownish-red. He began to take quick, panicked breaths as Eve put her hand over her mouth in distress.
"What's happened to him?" Much demanded, but Marian was unable to speak.
"The sickness has reached his lungs," Djaq said curtly. "Based on those I have already administered to, that is the final stage."
"Final stage of what?" Much asked, tears already falling on his face, and Eve stepped forward to put her arms around him.
"How long does he have?" Marian asked, feeling numb from Djaq's words.
Djaq's chin trembled, and she was visibly trying to hold herself together. "A day, perhaps, it's hard to tell."
"No!" Much protested. "No, that's not possible." He watched as Djaq fossicked around in her cubbyhole and withdrew a small flask of liquid, his eyes travelling to the pack on her shoulder. "And you're leaving him?"
"There is nothing else I can do," Djaq said a touch too sharply. "I must try and help those in Nettlestone - I believe that early treatment could help prevent the sickness from worsening."
"But-" Much tried to protest but was cut off by Djaq raising a shaking palm to silence him.
"Do not think this is an easy choice for me," Djaq's voice broke. "I love him too, but he would want me to try and save others, not waste time at his bedside when there is nothing else to be done." She raised her gaze, and Marian caught her eyes, giving Djaq a small nod of assent. "I will take Lardner," she said. "If his time seems near…"
Tuck's grip loosened on Marian's shoulder, and he went to retrieve the pigeon cage for Djaq to take with her. "I will stay, Mistress Djaq," she told her softly. "And administer to him in your absence."
Djaq nodded, her eyes still on Marian, stepping forward and handing her the small flask with shaking hands. Looking down at it, Marian recognised that it was the flask she had retrieved from Blight's cart weeks ago.
"I've been unable to discover what it is or replicate it," Djaq said softly. "I did not want to use it on a patient in case it made them worse. The stakes were always too high to ask anyone to be a test case." She glanced over at Robin in the bunk, her eyes wet. "But maybe that's what Robin would want."
Marian looked down at the flask in her hand, and then back up at Djaq, unsure of how to answer.
"The choice is yours, Marian." Djaq squeezed her hand gently, and then left the camp.
Marian took up her position by Robin's sickbed, feeling cold and numb. Much looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent and allowed Marian her contemplation. Robin's skin was hot to the touch and he remained locked in his fever dreams, anxiety and pain clear upon his face as he tossed fitfully in his bunk. Marian watched as the minutes passed and another nightmare took hold of him, unable to do anything but lay her free hand over his. He settled slightly when she did that, his fingers shifting slightly to entwine with hers, but he did not wake.
The flask was still held in her other hand, and Marian stared at it for several moments, turning the memories of that day over in her mind. They'd found Blight on the Great North Road, heading towards Nottingham. But why had Blight taken that road, which he must have known the outlaws patrolled regularly? Unless it had been deliberate. Marian felt her pulse quicken as a sudden, wild idea struck her.
"What if this isn't a remedy for the sickness?" Marian asked, holding out the flask in her hand. "What if it's the cause?" She looked back up at the remaining gang members; Much who looked confused, Eve intrigued and Tuck impassive.
"I dont understand what you mean, Marian," Much queried.
"This is no ordinary sickness," Marian declared. "It can't be, not to affect Robin in this way. This is the Sheriff's doing."
"How can you know?" Tuck asked.
"That day in the forest - Robin got it all over himself," she recalled. "He breathed some of it in, and Blight made sure to cut his hand. I know some of it got into that wound."
"You're saying that Blight allowed himself to be robbed so he could infect Robin with a disease?" Eve seemed to roll the possibility around in her mind. "It seems rather far-fetched."
"There is a precedent – remember Pitt Street?" she addressed Much, and he nodded uncertainly. "When I was in the dungeons below the castle, there were many rooms – one looked like a laboratory, perfect for creating such a disease." She took a deep, determined breath. "And if the Sheriff made it, he must have a cure."
"That's an awful lot of assumptions, Marian," Much pointed out.
"What is the alternative?" she asked desperately. "Just wait for Robin to die? I can't let that happen, not if there's a chance." Marian was resolved and determined. "Tuck, let's go."
Tuck stood immediately, retrieving his belt and sword and fastening it around his robes. Marian did the same with her own sword, then pulled on her quiver and slung her longbow across her chest. Finally, she retrieved her travelling pack from her cubbyhole.
"Wait," Much scrambled to his feet. "I'm coming with you."
"No, Much," Marian told him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Robin needs you here."
"Don't give me orders Marian," Much shucked off her grasp and raised himself to his full height and started her down, a hard edge to his voice she had never before heard. "Not when it comes to Robin."
Marian sighed, knowing it was a fight she could not win. "Eve, can you take care of him until we get back?"
Eve nodded gravely, and took up Marian's place by Robin's bedside as Marian, Much and Tuck headed out into the woods. Marian whistled a call into the air, praying that he was close by enough to hear. But she needn't have worried, for soon a chestnut gelding appeared from the trees and approached Marian eagerly.
"Good boy," she soothed him, rubbing his neck and produced a carrot from her pack. "Will you take me for a ride today?" she asked him sweetly. Although Robin had urged her to keep the horse they'd liberated from Blight's service, the weather had grown too cold to keep him at the camp. Marian had briefly considered housing him in one of the village stables, but she was concerned that a guard would recognise it and retribution would fall upon the populace. So Marian had led the animal to a nearby cave to provide him with shelter and lined the ground with straw.
She had given the animal his freedom - he was free to roam the woods and run and go where he pleased as Marian herself was not. She had not even given him a name, instead releasing him to Sherwood and away from all chattels of man. And yet, Marian understood that he was not a wild horse, at least not yet. She would check on him often, and brought him clean straw and food, and in return he allowed her to saddle and ride him. In those moments Marian felt free as well, with the cold winter wind whipping through her unbound hair as she traversed Sherwood and beyond. And yet those moments were fleeting, for duty always remained.
Much appeared with the animal's saddle and bridle, and the horse allowed it to be fastened to him whilst receiving affection and more treats from Marian.
"How are we going to get in?" Much asked her as he finished tying the saddle. "The castle security is tighter than ever." Briefly, Marian's thoughts turned to the tunnel Guy had led her down, allowing her to escape the dungeons. Yet she remembered the trapdoor had been thick, and locked from the inside, and the cavern too deep to dig down into. But Marian had another idea.
"You two go to Nottingham," she instructed them. "I'll meet you by the gates."
"Where are you going, my Lady?" Tuck asked, holding the reins as she mounted her horse and then handled them to her.
"To find us a way inside the castle," she told them, then turned the horse south towards Locksley.