Many thanks to Kegel for the beta ;)


Chapter 29: Trapped

He was stripped of his weapons as was protocol. Latimer still flanked him as they entered the room, but pulled away to stand at one side, next to another man that Robin knew to be Mercer. Another one of Alfred's favorites. To the other side stood another few guards, some supporting evidence of having been in the mines at the time of the collapse. At the front of the room sat Alfred, the long table passing in front of him adorned with food, a spectacular feast for this time of night. But it didn't seem to be wholly for him.

Alfred ate slowly, particular about what he brought to his mouth. The man next to him, someone Robin failed to recognize, was more intent on engorging himself of the fanciful buffet. He was disturbed, not only at the lack of manners, but the callousness that was involved. People had recently died, might still be dying somewhere under their feet, and here men were acting as though some celebration was in order. Robin found himself frowning, a deep, concreted emotion he could not shake off.

Somehow, he remembered his position, bowing in acknowledgment as he waited. Alfred reached up with a bit of cloth, wiping away the food that was clinging to his upper lip. "Seems you are unharmed. That is good to know."

He paused, but then gave a nod. There was still suspicion with him, but Robin could feel the tension start to ease. He had tried to tell himself that this was happening with everyone, not just him. Nathaniel, after all, had been in here earlier in the day. But then Nathaniel held more rank than he did. Robin shifted where he stood, trying his best to appear unfazed, wishing that this was simply over and done with.

"It is difficult, you must understand, to account for everyone," Alfred continued, hardly aware that Robin had even responded with the previous gesture. "Some of the guards are still missing. Most likely they are dead, as unfortunate as it is."

"What about the workers?"

"We'll have to replace the ones we lost, difficult as it may be."

Robin bit his tongue, the fury growing inside of him. He was reminded, once again, of why it was important to put an end to all of this. The lack of concern for human life was disturbing, and only served to fuel the fire inside of him. There were good people down there; Much was down there, and along with him were people like Eleri, and children like Rhodri. They all deserved to be valued more than like a simple piece of property as Alfred was doing now.

"It is of little importance now," the man continued, sitting up in his seat. He wiped away the remainders of crumbs from his upper lip, and the ones that clung to his beard. With a wave of his hand he indicated to the man seated next to him, who had, until this point, been stuffing himself full. Rotund, and somewhat grotesque, the man let out a repugnant belch as he too sat back in his seat. A moment later he had a small knife, working against his teeth to rid himself of the food that clung there. Robin grimaced, turning away, wondering if the smell was actually there, or simply imagined.

"I would like you to meet a friend of mine," Alfred went on, hardly bothered by the situation. Robin turned his gaze back, trying to place where all of this was leading. The more he saw of the man, the less he wanted to have to do with him.

"Have we met before?" the newly introduced man wondered, blade still resting against his chin. He was studying him now, Robin shifting under the gaze uncomfortably.

"I do not believe so," Robin answered quickly, "I would have remembered."

The man laughed dryly at the intended insult, but failed to respond in any other fashion. Next to him, Alfred was finishing up the last of his food, chewing slowly as he watched them. Robin remained where he was, considering leaving when Alfred spoke again.

"Interesting."

"What is?" Robin raised an eyebrow when the man failed to explain. Alfred continued to watch him, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. Finally he responded.

"I thought for sure you would have remembered the man that employed you. Stephan is not someone you forget easily, as you so said yourself."

To this, Robin said nothing, his mind instead searching to try and understand what Alfred was saying. And the name meant something, something important, but what exactly? Suddenly he froze, remembering now. Stephan was the name that garnered him entry here. Stephan was the man he pretended to know, pretended to be in good favor with. And now Stephan was here, and Robin realized as little too late that he had just made a deadly mistake.

"Is it really you?" He fumbled with his words, his voice nowhere near as calm as he wanted it to be. Instead he sounded like a child who had just been caught misbehaving, one that was trying to get out of being punished. And he was trying to; desperately.

"In the flesh," Stephan answered with a laugh.

That was all too true, but Robin didn't mention that. "You have changed…since I last saw you."

"Stephan has always been a man of fine taste," Alfred interrupted them, holding up a goblet of wine. The man took a sip, and set it back down in one slow motion, wetting his lips. "True, he has let himself go over the years, but quite assuredly he is the same man."

Robin gave a nod, the tightness in his chest starting to dissipate. Things would be okay, they had to be. And the feel of the cold metal pressed against his flesh helped to reassure him. He always carried that dagger with him, concealed under the folds of his clothes. If he had a need to use it, he would, without hesitation. But he could not be rash; it would ruin whatever plans he held.

"Forgive me, for not recognizing you. It has been a trying day," the apology was meek, but all Robin could muster up.

"I could say the same for you," Stephan answered, "what was your name again?"

"You see," Alfred cut into the conversation, "I was complimenting Stephan on sending such a valuable worker, as he always does. But he couldn't quite recall having done so for a time now. When I mentioned your name, he failed to remember such a person. I was hoping in seeing you, that it would enlighten his aging mind. But he still seems confused."

"It was a time ago," Robin was quick to offer. "I was much younger, that could be the reason."

He was being watched, the realization becoming clearer by the minute. Not only by Alfred and Stephan up front, but by the guards near their sides, Latimer and Mercer, and several other men who stood behind him near the door. There were eight in all, including Alfred and his guest. They would not fight; Robin doubted they even could. That left half a dozen men and only one way out; they were not promising odds seeing that Robin was unarmed, apart from the dagger.

"It could be," Alfred agreed, but something in his tone did not sit well with Robin. The man was silent, as if thinking something over, then finally he answered. "Or it could be because you have lied."

"What reason would I have to lie?" He was reaching, trying to cast suspicion off of himself.

"You tell me," the man's voice was now cold, his gaze something similar. Robin shifted where he was, knowing that everyone's attention was now on him. Furiously his mind was searching, trying to come up with some sort of plan, of something he could do.

"No need to fret," Alfred once again continued. "I'm sure you'll confess shortly, once you come to your senses. You'll have company in the meantime," the man nodded to the pair at his side. "Take him away."

It seemed as though everything came to a pause, for the briefest of moments. Robin stood where he was, enveloped in thoughts, feelings running amok as he tried to make a decision. Whatever it was, he would have one chance, and even then the odds were slim. But in that moment, a decision was made.

Robin pulled free the dagger with some difficulty. Still it was out, ready to strike even as the men came at him. The first man was Mercer, who was larger and quite possibly stronger than Latimer. The small weapon hardly seemed to faze him, as he answered in response with a sword of his own, goading him to strike.

"Let's not start any trouble now," he said cheerily, his steps bringing him closer. "Put it down now."

Robin said nothing, firmly planting his feet to keep his stance open. If he could somehow distract him, and get by the men blocking the door, he could make a run for it. Once he was out of the room, he had a fair chance in making it to the woods. And once there, he could disappear. Sherwood had given him plenty of practice for that.

He turned at the sound behind him, ducking a fist that was thrown his way. Robin brought the dagger up, switching at the last moment to use the handle instead of the blade, connecting with flesh. There was a gasp as the man staggered, surprised by the sudden move, but perhaps more so by the fact that he hadn't just been skewered. Robin moved around him, kicking out to knock another guard back, moving a step closer to the door.

Latimer had taken up the opposite end of Mercer, Robin back-peddling as a sword cut through the air, where he had just been. He lost his concentration, forgetting about the other behind him. There was a resounding crack, a sharp pain in his side as the butt of a sword caught him, knocking him to his feet.

Struggling for breath, he tightened his hold on the blade. If he lost it now, it would be over. He swung the dagger, blade meeting flesh, and an angry curse filling the air as blood was spilt. The hand that had just been on him had let go, the owner more intent on nursing the fresh injury. But no sooner had he been free that more hands came.

The next time he tried to swing out, his motions were halted, another blow to his midsection stealing his breath away even more. The knife was wrenched from his tightly clenched hand, his body forced to the floor even as he struggled. There was fresh pain, blood he could taste from being backhanded, his arms pulled behind him as they were bound. The struggle did not last for long, and he was pulled to his feet, the point of a blade resting against the back of his neck.

Robin worked on catching his breath, sagging in his captor's hold. He wasn't sure who was behind him, focused instead on the front of the room where Alfred sat. The man seemed unimpressed by his antics, having gone back to eating even as the commotion in the room died down.

"There are always two ways of doing things," the man informed him, finishing off the rest of his wine. "The easy way, and the difficult way. You'll come to find that I play no games, so choose wisely." There was a brief pause before he turned to one of the guards. "Find out who he is, and what he is doing here."


He wasn't happy in the least to see the man. Yet Vaysey, Sheriff of Nottingham, had a feeling it wouldn't be long before his Master-At-Arms showed. And he was correct. The message must have gone to him shortly after the incident, and Chaffee must have left the village moments after receiving it.

He came in extravagant attire, colors that swirled together, lining each and every article he wore from the tips of his gloves to the toes of his boots. Even the riding cape was elaborate, a dark red, embroidered with gold trim. Half-mindedly, Vaysey wondered if it was real, and how much of a price it would fetch…

"Tell me, is it true, zat you let an outlaw escape?"

"I am always surprised at how quickly word travels," the sheriff remarked dryly as he watched the man make himself comfortable. The cape and gloves were removed, handed to a stable boy, who was quick in scampering out, leaving the pair alone. With a face of mild irritation, Chaffee dusted off one of the benches, and seated himself.

"You are aware zat some of ze men here work for me, yes?"

Vaysey had speculated it. He also assumed that some were even plotting against him. Now he wondered mildly if the outlaw that got away had been lucky, or if he had some sort of help. But what would Chaffee gain by allowing a criminal to escape? Unless it was a ploy to make him look bad? The thought not only infuriated him, but worried him as well. His position was already on the line, he needed no assistance in risking it more.

"He won't be free for long."

"Is zat so?" Chaffee was watching him, and then the man stared at a goblet in front of him, frowning when he saw it was empty. Vaysey let out an irritated growl.

"Guards? More wine!"

The suggestion caused the Frenchman to smile, and he folded his hands together as he leaned against the table. "Tell me what ze plans are."

"Plans?"

"In catching ze outlaw. You said yourself zat he won't be free for long. So you must have a plan."

That was laughable. Catching outlaws was the work for the Master-At-Arms. He was half-tempted to point this out, but knew nothing good would come of it.

"The plan is to catch him. I have guards searching the town as we speak. He'll have to come out from hiding sooner or later."

"Have you not zought zat he would come quicker with bait?"

Of course he had thought that. But he had also thought of something else. "It is bad enough having one of them loose. We bring them out, we risk losing them all. These are not your ordinary outlaws. They are exceptionally deceptive."

He knew this firsthand. How many times had the wretched vermin escaped? More times than he wanted to admit. But this time it was hardly his fault. He had wanted them all to hang. Chaffee had talked him out of it. That had been the only attribute Vaysey had admired of the other man. The fact they thought alike, in that killing was too easy and held no entertainment value. Now he was starting to regret that. Gisborne would have suggested he hang them, had Gisborne been in the right state of mind, that was.

Vaysey shook his head, clearing the thoughts. His former Master-At-Arms was an outlaw now. That was all in the past, he would not allow himself to think of it anymore. Chaffee was his concern, and he wondered to what the man would suggest. If it was so easy to catch the outlaw, why didn't he just do it and have it all done with?

"Of course, we do not want zem to escape. We want justice, ze people want justice. Zey are worried, a criminal is on ze loose. We have to show zem zat we care for zier well being. Zat we love zem, and want to take care of zem."

To this Vaysey scoffed. One of Hood's men on the loose hardly counted as a threat to the populace. And the people knew this. More in likely they would be helping to conceal him, celebrating the small victory. The thought angered him, knowing that most likely he was being mocked.

"When he is found, he will be punished. We must show ze people, zat even criminals must follow ze law."

"And what exactly do you propose?" Vaysey wondered, mildly irritated now.

To this, Chaffee smiled. "We shall make a proclamation."


He sat huddled, in a corner of a forgotten stall, taking shelter in a patch of shade. More than once a round of guards had crossed by here, Will holding his breath and praying he would not be found. Each time had seemed to last an eternity, but eventually they had moved on. For the moment, he was free. Not that he was in any better predicament than he had been before.

When the guards had taken him, he had suspected the worst. And he had been right, being taken to another cell, one that was adorned with a variety of instruments. He knew what they were for, even if he couldn't place them all by name. Will had been intent on not waiting around to see if his speculations were true. When the opportunity came, he seized it.

Even now he wasn't exactly sure how he managed to flee the castle unseen. The element of surprise had given him an advantage, no doubt, but the rest had to be chance, surely. He should have gone further. Should have left Nottingham altogether. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. Will wasn't sure if he would be able to get back in. But the more he thought about it, the more he wasn't sure he wanted to be here.

Will knew what he had to do. Once the others heard of his escape, they would expect him to come back. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But even now, sitting here, he couldn't bring himself to even move. Going back meant he would most likely be caught. Being caught meant that they would continue with whatever they had planned before. It would be worse when they did. No doubt they would hold a grudge, would be determined to make him suffer. The thought terrified him, paralyzing him where he sat.

If he went back, he wouldn't be much help, he reasoned. He was still bound, a problem which he had yet to fix. The brief run had left him winded, old injuries surfacing as if to remind him just how long it had been since being captured. The lack of proper food, and the poor treatment, had weakened him. There was nothing he could do for the others; it would be in his best interest to simply leave. But no matter what he told himself, Will knew the only truth was that he was a coward.

What if they were doing to the others what they had planned to do to him? Could he walk away, with that knowledge? Before long they would die, he knew. Either by the sheriff's hand, or by some misfortune. Could he live with that? The answer was clear, already knowing that he could not. But what then, was left?

He was one man. And even together, as a group, they had failed time and time again to find a way out. There were simply too many guards, and no longer would he have the element of surprise on their side. The sheriff knew he was free. There would be extra guards, and Will would not be able to breathe, let alone set a foot inside the castle without being detected. He wouldn't be able to fight…he didn't even have a weapon.

Will pressed himself against the wood, holding his breath as he heard more footsteps. They drew close, a conversation in the midst as the pair walked on by.

"-some sort of announcement, wants us all there."

"Go there, go here, they can't make up their minds."

"It's something to do with the outlaw, I think-"

The voices were lost as they rounded the corner, but Will had heard enough to peak his interest. This involved him somehow; he had to find out. Slowly, cautiously, he crept out, checking his surroundings, ready to flee at the smallest indication he was being followed. He moved along the wall, sneaking into another abandoned stall, following along the back as he led his way towards the market.

More people had gathered here, but he kept his distance, coming to a stop near some barrels. Balancing on his heels, he rested his hands in his lap, doing his best to keep the noise of the chain from giving away his position. How he would get them off, he wasn't certain as of yet. A blacksmith might be willing to help, but at the same time, he might be as eager to turn him over to the authorities. At least his hands had been bound in front, giving him some advantage.

Will held his breath upon seeing the sheriff standing at the top of the stair. Near him, another man stood, one that Will recognized briefly. The new Master-At-Arms, he guessed, if memory served him correctly. The tolling of a bell brought more people, and before long there was a steady murmur of voices filling the area as more people crowded in. It died to a mere whisper as the sheriff began to speak, his voice carrying over the courtyard with ease.

"I, being the Sheriff of Nottingham, have an announcement to make. It has come to our attention that an unfortunate event took place earlier today. We had a prisoner escape."

To this, there were more murmurs, short lived as the man held up his hands, beckoning for silence.

"I can assure you that we are doing everything we can to apprehend this dangerous felon. He will be caught, and brought to justice. But we need your help, in doing this. It pains me to say this, for protecting you is my sole responsibility. We shouldn't have to ask you to risk your well-being, your family, in order to see this through. But this man, this criminal, is cunning. With your help, we can bring him to justice before anyone is harmed."

Will felt himself swallow, in both anger and slight fear. It was not the first time the sheriff had portrayed them as dangerous outlaws. He had once framed Robin for the death of innocents. There had been startling proof then, and the populace had been easily swayed. What now, would the sheriff do to make them suspect that the outlaws were capable of harm?

"The outlaw is not the only danger," the sheriff continued, raising his voice as he motioned with his hands. "There are others, out there, that would be willing to help the man escape. They would provide for him, supply him with food, with weapons, with information. They would make him even more dangerous. Is that what we want? A clue: no…" he was shaking his head.

"It may sound romantic. You may think you're helping the greater good, being a good citizen. But that is further from the truth. Those who do help the outlaw…will be punished. Give the outlaw something to eat…you lose a hand. Give him information, tell him where to run, or where to hide, you lose a tongue. Shelter him…you lose your home. Doesn't sound very romantic anymore, now does it?"

To this, there were frightened and hurried whispers. The sheriff was getting exactly what he wanted, and Will felt his heart sink. He could not chance seeking help from anyone, could not endanger them. He truly was on his own.

"Fear not, good people. For there is always a reward for those who abide by the law. Times are hard, and all of you have suffered greatly. It is why I am offering compensation. Not to just one man, not to just one family, but to all of Nottinghamshire, for the capture of this outlaw. I want to show you that we rise and fall together. That the good of the law benefits everyone. Help us, so that we may help you in return. And you and your families will be fed for a month."

To this, there was a greater reception. Will felt the cold feeling spread throughout his body as he sank down against the wall. Was that even possible? Was there enough food to feed everyone for that length of time? Even if there was, would the sheriff even hold to his word? Most likely not; he was baiting them, holding a tantalizing prize over their heads, just out of reach. And it was working. The way they were responding told Will that not only could he not ask them for help, but he had to avoid them altogether.


He fought them every step of the way, even with the threat of the blade present, digging into his flesh as he was dragged down the stairs. He knew he was bleeding, could feel the cuts being made incidentally as the men struggled to hold on to him. They wouldn't kill him, not until they had done as Alfred bade. If he could break free, get away from the prying hands, then he had a chance. But they tightened their hold, bruising flesh and hurrying their pace. Several times he tripped, nearly bringing the others with him, but somehow they always found their footing, and never loosed their hold.

Down here, beneath the manor, the room was dark, the air cold and uninviting. With the aid of a torch they made their way further in. It was passed around, from one man to another, pressed against a space in the wall. A moment later, a new, mounted torch sprang to life, and slowly the darkness began to fade.

The two men that held Robin pulled him towards the center of the room. The area was fairly good sized, with corridors that led down darkened paths, perhaps to other rooms. There were shackles suspended from several of the walls, and in the midst of the room, a solid pole that ran vertically, from ceiling to floor. Roughly he was pinned against this, arms freed for the smallest of moments.

He tried to lash out, to kick, but they avoided him easily, and no sooner had he been free, were his hands bound again, this time around the pole. The same was done to his legs, a loop of rope around his thighs, one just below his knees, and then another around his ankles, making it so he could scarcely move. And all the while the tension mounted, the fear becoming more evident inside of him. This was not going to end well.

No sooner had he thought it, that it proved to be true. He was backhanded, several times in quick succession that left his head spinning and ears ringing. Fresh, new wounds began to bleed, and he caught his breath in the lull of punishment, meeting the gaze of the other man.

"That was for this," Mercer spat at him, holding up his hand to see. So he had been the one Robin had managed to wound. Despite his situation, he found himself smiling, a cocky grin for all to see. The blow that followed was sharp, and by no means unexpected. He winced at the new sensation, head hanging as he tried to think things through.

He wasn't sure how they had made the connection, how they had even known. There were several dozen guards that worked for Alfred. Most of them had been sent by Stephan, looking for work. Why had their suspicions fallen on him? Had he been foolish somewhere, taken one too many risks? Or had someone given him away?

"Don't mind him, he loses his temper easily."

Robin glanced up briefly, meeting the other man who stood there. Latimer, the same man who had fetched him for Alfred. He was rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, studying him. A moment later he was pacing, making a complete circle around him. Robin could only follow him part of the ways, the man disappearing from his line of sight. It made him anxious, unable to prepare himself for what might come.

"Although, I consider that a good thing. Makes my job so much easier. I do the talking; he does the convincing," Latimer finished the circle, coming to a stop in front of him again. "We'll see how much convincing you need, first. Let's have a little talk. Who are you?"

Robin glanced from him, back to where Mercer stood, a smirk on the man's face. They would beat him, he knew. But as long as he gave nothing away, he would live. That was a start. He had been in this position before, knew to some extent what would happen. It gave him some comfort, but it terrified him anew, somewhere deep down.

He nearly flinched as the fist came. Robin hadn't seen the man cross the room, but managed to turn at the last moment, the blow catching him in the jaw instead of square in the face. He could taste blood, having caught his tongue between his teeth, the pain traveling through his jaw, and back through the rest of his head. It was pounding now, throbbing in tempo with his heart rate, amplifying with each moment. Given a minute to rest, it died down to a dull throb, but it hardly cleared his mind.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Latimer elaborated, as Robin spat out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth. "I ask a question, you answer, we're all happy. I ask a question, you don't answer, and no one is happy, least of all you."

"You already know my name," Robin answered, holding onto his ruse. That was all he had.

"Roy?" the man raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. He was close enough now that Robin could feel his warm breath on his face, prompting him to turn away. "I don't believe you."

"Not my problem."

He winced, the blow aimed lower this time. Apparently they had caught onto his earlier dizzy spell, and wished to avoid a repeat. You could get as many answers from an unconscious man as you could from a dead one. Still the infliction hurt, a burn sensation spreading across his chest as he was hit again.

"You should reconsider your thoughts," he was warned. "It seems very much to be your problem. And soon, it will be a very big problem. We are not very patient. We have other things to do."

"My name is Royston White," Robin repeated, his eyes closed. This would get far worse before it would get better. But if he was to admit he had been lying about one thing, then nothing he said would be taken for the truth. They would grow tired, had to grow tired, of all of this. They would give in, they would leave, and he could try and think, try and come up with some plan.

If they didn't kill him first, that was.

TBC