Later that evening, the Sheriff decided to venture back into the dungeon for an unexpected one on one meeting with his prisoner. He went looking for his Scribe to accompany him. He found him in the corridors near to where his office was located, the one with the vault.

"My Lord Sheriff." The Scribe greeted him.

"You're coming with me." The Sheriff said. "First I need you to retrieve your writing tablet and chalk. You're going to take some notes for me."

"Yes, my Lord. Where are we going?" The Scribe asked.

"To the dungeon. You're going to write down every little thing that miserable little insect tells me as I interrogate him."

"Shall I send for Sir Guy to accompany us?"

"No." the Sheriff said. "We're going alone."

"Very well." The Scribe agreed.

"Meet me outside of the dungeon when you've obtained your writing supplies." The Sheriff commanded.

Fifteen minutes later they'd arrived at the dungeon. The Sheriff looked for Hector but he wasn't there. He approached one of the guards.

"Where is my jailer? The one called Hector?"

"His post is at the castle gates, my Lord. He returns to his duties here at dawn, but he said he'd come back to check on things before he retires for the night."

"Good. I want you to tell me if you notice anything strange about him. Particularly, in his dealings with our leperous, insect friend. The one held in isolation." The Sheriff instructed.

"Sir? I do not follow…"

"Tell me if he's taking the time to talk with him." He paused a moment. "You do know it's against the rules to converse at any length with the prisoners?" the Sheriff tested him.

"Yes, sir. I am aware of that." The guard answered.

"It seems our jailer had forgotten that point once. Since you're here a good deal more than my Lieutenant can be, I need you to be my eyes."

"As you wish, my Lord." The guard said.

"Now, take me to the prisoner's cell." The Sheriff commanded. He nodded to the Scribe to follow them.

The guard lead them over to where the prisoner was being held.

The prisoner heard a noise, a sound outside of his door. Good. The guard was back. He looked up. He frowned. It was not the young blond guard. It was the Sheriff. The loathed Sheriff of Nottingham.

"I suppose you thought I wouldn't be back this day." The Sheriff said as he and his Scribe entered the cell.

"It's your dungeon, my good Sheriff." The prisoner smiled slyly at him.

"Cut the nonsense, Knight! You know why I'm here." The Sheriff said with a hiss.

The prisoner looked over at the Scribe, then back at the Sheriff. "Who is that with you?" he nodded towards the Scribe while still maintaining his gaze. The Scribe took a seat on the lone chair in the corner of the room.

"My Scribe. He's going to be taking notes."

"And where is your little puppet, Sir Gisborne?"

"Mind your tongue! That is my cousin you speak of!" the Sheriff raised his voice. "Alas, we are alone. My Lieutenant is not aware I am here." He drew his sword, holding it up in front of him, and curled his mustache up into a sly grin as he added slowly: "And isn't this cozy?"

"Indeed." The prisoner nodded.

The Sheriff drew closer to the prisoner and put the edge of the blade from his sword against the prisoner's neck, as he grabbed the man's collar with his free left hand.

"You are going to talk." He fixed his steely gaze upon him. "What have you done with my child? Answer me!"

The Scribe looked at the Sheriff, then the prisoner, then back at the Sheriff, rather puzzled. Child? The Sheriff has a child?

"My, my. You actually do care." The prisoner whispered with a grin.

"Tell me!" the Sheriff barked.

"I left the child on the doorstep of a home in a small village. If you read the second scroll I left for you, you would already know that."

"Where?" the Sheriff prodded.

"I do not know."

The Sheriff responded by inching the blade in closer to the man's neck, until it drew a little blood, but not enough to seriously harm him….yet.

"Far in the north." The prisoner said. "You should know, you were in the vicinity once. It was nightfall when I found a home to leave the child there."

"Who has my child?"

"Why do you care so much about it?" the prisoner said, then paused to lick his lips. "Especially after what I told you about your lady and me?"

The Sheriff shook his head and drew a heavy sigh. The prisoner continued.

"How is your lady now? She had a time when she delivered the child. But she's a feisty one. I know that very well."

The Sheriff could no longer endure to hear this. "How would you like it…" the Sheriff said slowly in a hiss "If the Sheriff – got your tongue?!" He put his sword into it's sheath then grabbed him with both of his hands quick as a flash. "You keep lying to me, I shall have that tongue of yours removed!"

The Scribe shuddered. The prisoner swallowed and said nothing for a few moments. The Sheriff threatened him with this before, three years ago. He remembered those words more than any other of what the Sheriff said to him then. He could hear the words ringing in his memory, the Sheriff's voice coming through now loud and clear saying: "If you fail…I will personally remove your lying tongue." Oddly, he remembered fearing that form of torture more than he did having his neck stretched by the ugly, evil executioner at the gallows. He still feared it, somewhat.

"Maybe you should ask your, uh…Lady about it then. Perhaps you will believe her." The prisoner said unmoved.

The Sheriff responded by delivering a swift punch into the prisoner's abdomen. The prisoner let out a mild groan, but otherwise seemed unfazed. The Scribe closed his eyes and looked away. The Sheriff noticed as he turned to make certain the Scribe was fulfilling his duties.

"Pay attention you little ferret!"

The Scribe nodded.

"How far away from the place you held my lady was the home where my child was taken to?" He asked the prisoner.

The prisoner caught his breath.

"Tell me!" The Sheriff demanded.

"I do not know. Maybe a day's journey."

"Which direction?"

"North." The prisoner replied.

The Sheriff looked to the Scribe. "Are you getting this?"

The Scribe nodded an affirmative.

"Good." The Sheriff let go of the prisoner. "That is better. See how things can be so much easier for you when you choose to cooperate?" the Sheriff grinned. He clasped his hands together in front of him and began to pace about the cell. "Now, tell me what you know about the remaining fugitives from Locksley's band of outlaws."

"I do not know where most of them are."

"Give me their names."

"Never." The prisoner said.

The Sheriff advanced closer to him. "Give me their names….or die." He said slowly.

The prisoner shook his head. Where was that guard?

"The names!" the Sheriff reminded him.

The prisoner shook his head and sighed. "Well, let's see now." He relented. "There was John Little. Robin called him Little John." He swallowed.

"Continue." The Sheriff said.

The prisoner was hard pressed to conceal his frustration. Things were not going as planned. He would have to at least continue providing their names. "There was Bull, Much, Robin's companion, the Moor, Azeem, and one other. Though he kept to himself."

"Whom?" The Sheriff asked as he placed his hands around the prisoner's throat.

"It's difficult to recall. He was never really one of us." The prisoner whispered. He was finding it difficult to breathe.

"If he was consorting with the likes of you and Locksley, he was one of you!" The Sheriff growled.

"He was only with us a short time." In truth, he was with the band of merry men before his brother came on board.

"You try my patience." The Sheriff said as he suddenly let go of him. The Scribe arose from the small chair he was seated upon to take his notes, thinking they were leaving. The Sheriff looked over at him and nodded.

"Be seated Scribe. We are far from being finished here." He said.

The Scribe obeyed. The Sheriff drew his sword again. The Scribe and the prisoner watched him curiously, as he walked back toward the door. On either side of the door, flaming torches ensconced the walls. He extended his sword, and placed the tip of the blade directly into the flame. He let it linger there until the tip glowed bright orange. Then he took it and went back toward the prisoner. He stepped closer toward him and held the sword with a steady hand, holding the tip an inch away from the prisoner's face. Close enough, that the Fallen Knight could feel the heat emanating from it.

"You will give me his name." The Sheriff whispered.

"Robert." The prisoner said. "That was it - Robert."

The Sheriff nodded for him to continue.

"What was his surname?" The prisoner voiced his thoughts aloud, as he pondered for a moment. And then it came to him. What did it matter to him if the Sheriff knew the man's name or not? The prisoner didn't really care. "Oh yes…Robert Wordsworth."

The Sheriff turned again to his right and looked at the Scribe. "Are you taking this down?" He shouted.

"Yes, my Lord Sheriff." The Scribe replied.

He looked back to the prisoner. "Where are these men now?"

The prisoner shook his head. The Sheriff advanced the hot orange tip of the blade closer still. Close to the prisoner's left eye. The prisoner saw it and swallowed.

"They scattered." He answered.

The Sheriff leaned his face in closer. "Scattered – where?"

The prisoner did know where most of them went. But he wasn't going to say. He would have to say something though. He never really did care for the passing stranger at their outlaw camp, and he knew Azeem was too far away for the Sheriff to bother to find him. Alas, the Sheriff had more pressing matters in his own country to deal with. So, he relented.

"Lord Locksley's Moorish companion, Azeem, went back to his homeland to marry his lady Jasmina. I do not know where John, Much, and Bull went to. After that day in the Village Square…alas, the day you killed Lord Locksley, I never saw them again."

"Indeed." The Sheriff said. "And what about…"

"Robert Wordsworth." The Scribe offered, suddenly speaking up.

The Sheriff smiled. He looked toward him. "Well done, Scribe." He said. He looked upon the prisoner. "At least someone is listening to me."

The prisoner spoke. "I'd heard Robert continued his journey north, where he was from."

"North." The Sheriff mumbled. Why was every cursed thing needing his attention located in the north? The only good thing that came out of the north was Lady Rhiannon!

"Good!" he said to the prisoner. He called for the guard.

"Yes, my Lord?" the same guard he'd spoken to before was quick to answer the summons.

"Bring me a small bucket of water." The Sheriff instructed. He looked back to the prisoner. "So, I see you've not been given your precious hood yet?"

"Not yet. But I'm sure it will be coming." The prisoner replied.

"Indeed." The Sheriff grinned. The guard returned with the bucket of water. The Sheriff walked toward it, and placed the tip of the blade of his sword in the water to cool it. Then he nodded to the Scribe. The Scribe arose from his seat.

"Very good, Knight." The Sheriff said. "We're finished with our discussions….for now. You sleep tight. I'll be back again sometime for – more pillow talk." He grinned.

The prisoner nodded. Oh yes, the prisoner thought, and you shall have the surprise of your life the next time you come to see me.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There was one more visit the Sheriff needed to make that evening before the day was through. He went to his private chambers. Lady Rhiannon was not there. He guessed she may be visiting Lady Meridwyn. It suited him perfectly. She would wonder why he would need to go off somewhere so late if she were present in the chambers. In the den outside of the private chambers he went to the table in front of the fire and poured a libation of his favourite brandy. As he sipped it he was satisfied. The cursed day finally took a turn for the better. He finally got somewhere in his interrogation with the prisoner. Duke Farnsworth, Mordrid, and the rest of his men were stationed in the right vicinity if the prisoner was telling the truth. The Duke and his assistant, Mordrid, were highly skilled in investigation techniques. He'd thought of rejoining them, but because they were so far away, he decided to wait for some word. He knew Duke Farnsworth well enough to know that if he had a lead, even a strong hunch, he would send word to him.

He set the goblet back on the table and went to the other door in the den. He opened the door that lead down the stone circular stairs to Mortianna's lair and proceeded.

Mortianna was standing over a large cauldron positioned over the fire, brewing a concoction that created wisps of smoky yellow haze over the pot. She heard footsteps and looked up.

"My Lord Sheriff." She said as he came towards her. "What brings thee here at this hour, my child?" She asked.

"You've been assisting in the care of Lady Meridwyn." He said.

"Indeed." She answered. "Alas, the Lady has shown signs of improvement. Your cousin granted me a night off."

"Yes, Madam." He said. "And you were instrumental in restoring my Lady to health." He paused and cleared his throat, then said to her softly: "I never did thank you."

She looked up from stirring her brew and smiled. "I knew you were grateful." She added more water to the cauldron so her mixture would not burn as it continued to liquefy. Then she glided toward the Sheriff in her floor length black and silver shiny robes. She indicated the two chairs at the small table nearby. He took a seat. She sat across from him.

"What troubles thee, my child?" She asked.

"Two things, Madam." The Sheriff began. "First, I need for Lady Meridwyn to recover a little – shall we say? – Faster."

Mortianna raised her brow curiously. "What does her recovery have to do with you?" A beat. "She is Sir Gisborne's Lady."

"Yes. But I want to hasten my nuptials with my bride. Lady Rhiannon wishes for Lady Meridwyn to stand with her when we exchange our vows. At the moment, Lady Meridwyn is too unwell to do so." He said.

"I do not follow." Mortianna said. "Why is there a need to hasten the marriage?"

The Sheriff shook his head impatiently. He hated having to explain himself, yet he knew Mortianna would not agree unless he revealed more to her.

"I need for my betrothed to be my wife – before she finds out about the child." He said bluntly. Mortianna gave him a curious look. He continued. "My lead investigator is stationed in the right vicinity to locate the infant. I learned that just moments ago when I interrogated the prisoner. I have confidence Duke and Mordrid will indeed find my child. The child will be coming home to me and my Lady. And when that happens…"

She cut him off. "You believe she will not marry you when she finds out about it. Indeed. You wish to already be wed when the day arrives."

"Yes." The Sheriff said, grateful she understood his dilemma.

"It is a difficult request." Mortianna said as she arose. She walked over to the fire. Beside the cauldron was another small pot. She took a ladle and used it to pour some fresh brewed batwing tea into two stoneware cups. She returned with them to where he was seated and offered him one. He took the cup, then sipped the tea as she continued. "I take my orders from Sir Gisborne in regards to Lady Meridwyn. Alas, she is his Lady." She stated as she sipped her tea.

"Who is your master?!" the Sheriff exclaimed. "Guy is my Lieutenant. You both work for me!" He reminded her.

"Indeed." She said, still sipping her tea.

"You follow my orders when directed." He continued. "It is in their interest too. Meridwyn recovers at a greater speed. Alas, my cousin plans to ask for her hand. She cannot marry him while confined to her bed!"

Mortianna put her cup on the table and sighed. "I do have some herbs at my disposal that may serve your purpose." She said as she rubbed her chin lightly with her long gnarled fingers. "It could hasten her recovery by seven days."

"Do it." The Sheriff instructed.

"It will take some planning." Mortianna said. "Alas, your physician is the one in charge of her care. I've only been assisting in the matter. He is an intelligent man, he may suspect witchcraft."

"Thomas Crumwell is not to know any of this!" The Sheriff instructed.

"If he suspects it, he'll report me to the Bishop." Mortianna pointed out.

"As long as you're employed by me, and you follow my orders you shall be protected." The Sheriff reassured her. He took another sip of the batwing tea then added: "My physician need never know. In fact, no one is to know about this discussion."

"Indeed." Mortianna said. "It shall be done. Now…what is the other matter you wish to speak to me about?"

"Do you recall the two consorts who once lived in this castle, then whom disappeared?" The Sheriff asked tentatively.

"Catherine and Hecate." Mortianna confirmed. "Yes, I remember them well. Hecate was rather fascinated with spells and potions. She oft times sought my knowledge in the matters."

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes. He had no idea that Hecate had dealings with Mortianna. A little witch in the making. No wonder she was such a beast in the bed chamber, he thought.

"Today I had a strange visit." The Sheriff said.

"From one of them?" Mortianna asked suspiciously.

"With a relative. Hecate's impertinent sister, Lady Hestia." He huffed.

"How may I be of assistance?" Mortianna inquired.

"What can you tell me about her? The rotten little wench dared to threaten me!" He spat.

Mortianna nodded to the Sheriff's cup of batwing tea. He picked it up and drank from it, eventually draining the contents then handed the cup over to her. She squinted her eyes as she peered within at the patterns scattered along the base of it. Her eyes glazed over in that familiar fashion when she was in her psychic state.

"Alas, Hecate has an identical twin." She remarked softly.

"Yes. Hestia." The Sheriff confirmed.

Mortianna raised a hand to silence him as she continued to gaze into the cup.

"She asked you to find her sister." Mortianna said. "I can see your meeting with her today in the Council Quarters."

"Yes." He said.

"What she told you was a lie." Mortianna stated matter of factly.

"Which part of it?" The Sheriff asked. "Tell me, what do you see?"

"Almost all of it." Mortianna replied. "Her intentions are not honourable. She wishes to find her sister, that is true. But not for the reason she told you. She is very jealous of her you see…" her words trailed off.

Another of Mortianna's riddles. Why did it always take her so long to explain herself?

"Jealous of what, Madam?" The Sheriff asked impatiently.

"Jealous of you." Mortianna said without hesitation.

"I beg your pardon, Madam? I do not follow you?"

"Lady Hestia thinks she is in love with you. She has been watching you from afar for many years. She is indeed infatuated."

The Sheriff widened his eyes. Lady Hestia? Infatuated with me? He thought. She certainly had a strange way of showing it!

"It is a dangerous infatuation." Mortianna continued. "She wishes to destroy all that stands in her way of getting to you. She wants you to search for her sister. If you find Hecate alive, she plans to kill her. And while you are away to search for her sister, she plans something else…"

"To get to my Lady." The Sheriff concluded.

"Do not go looking for Hecate. I can tell you already she is dead anyway. The prisoner who waits in your dungeon, ended her life a fortnight after her disappearance." Mortianna warned.

"I wasn't planning to anytime soon." He said.

"She hates her sister because she was successful in gaining your attention, albeit for a brief time."

"So much for sisterly love." The Sheriff said. "What am I to do, Mortianna? She threatens to tell Lady Rhiannon about her sister being my consort!"

"Two choices, my Lord. Either you cut out her tongue…"

"She will still be able to write." The Sheriff interrupted.

"Or you can kill her." Mortianna suggested.

"I've changed my ways, Madam." The Sheriff said. "There must be another way."

"If you don't wish for Lady Rhiannon to know the truth – then the only thing to do is to silence Hecate's sister forever, because she will attempt to destroy your marriage plans." She paused then added: "And you may not be successful in stopping her."

The Sheriff reached for Mortianna's barely touched cup of batwing tea and took a generous gulp from it, as she looked at him curiously.

He felt backed into a corner. Which would be worse for Lady Rhiannon to know? That he once employed a consort to service his needs in the bed chamber? Or, ordering the execution of someone Rhiannon would perceive to be an innocent maiden?

There was no choice. Lady Rhiannon would be his Lady Nottingham, no matter what he would need to do to make that happen.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was very late. The prisoner was pleased to see the guard had returned.

Hector unlocked the door leading into the Fallen Knight's cell. He was holding the familiar tan coloured cloth before him.

"I've brought your hood, as you requested." Hector announced.

The prisoner smiled. "Indeed." He said.

Hector drew closer toward him and held it over the prisoner's head, positioned to place it over him.

"No." The Fallen Knight protested. "Would you be so kind as to unchain my hands?"

"You know I cannot!" Hector said emphatically.

The prisoner had already rehearsed what his speech would be for just this moment. "It must be placed a certain way. Look at my face. The seams on the inside of it can be very irritating to the flesh if it does not sit right. Only I know how to place it so it won't be that way." He said smoothly.

"Then maybe it's best if you go without it." Hector said.

"The Sheriff came to see me tonight." The Fallen Knight said. "Looks like he's not planning to kill me too soon. It would be easier on us all if you permitted me to cover my face." He cast an innocent look upon the guard.

Hector drew in a sigh. "Nobody must know that I gave in. Do you hear me? Nobody!" He exclaimed as he slipped a small key into the tight metal cuffs that circled the prisoner's wrists, which in turn connected to chains suspending his arms above his head.

The prisoner's arms were free from bondage at last. He stepped closer and took the hood from Hector.

"I am grateful." The Fallen Knight said. "And now – it is time for your reward…"