CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"So, my good Sheriff, this is how we will handle the matter of the peasants ... "

Gisbourne and the law-wolf stood upon the ramparts above the main gate, taking in the evening shades of Nottinghamshire before heading indoors for dinner. The Sheriff's stomach rumbled loudly, in spite of his best efforts to quell it. At times like these he marveled over the panther's discipline of mind and body; he'd not heard so much as a suppressed burp or stomach growl from Sir Guy in all their time together. In fact, Gisbourne almost seemed to regard food and drink as an afterthought, partaking in such pleasantries only because he had to. It would not have surprised the Sheriff if Gisbourne did in fact sometimes go days without sustenance, running on muscle power and determination alone. The rotund wolf could not have envisioned such a lifestyle for himself, accustomed as he was to the niceties of the court, but then he had never been the kind of warrior Gisbourne was, not even in his most audacious boasts and exaggerations.

"If they no longer have any money to pay their taxes," Sir Guy went on, "then we will take what they do have. Seize their goods and belongings. Let's see them try to barter with each other when they have nothing left to trade! Why should we have to cater to their needs in one of our prison cells, feeding and sheltering them? Why should they be our burden, tying up our resources? Let them look to themselves after we have stripped them of what they have, and if they don't like it, they can find somewhere else to live! We'll drive all of Robin Hood's supporters clear out of Nottingham! Although, hopefully not before at least one of them has revealed the outlaw's location to us ... "

"But, if it's Robin Hood ye're after," countered the Sheriff, "maybe puttin' 'em all behind bars is exactly what we want to be doin'. Might prompt that fox to stage another jailbreak ... 'specially if we threaten to hang a few of 'em."

"Or do more than threaten," Gisbourne muttered, half to himself. "We can try it your way if mine yields no results, Sheriff. But now that we have increased security here at the castle, I suspect Hood may not be so quick to stage a prisoner rescue. No, I am counting on the peasantry to provide what we need. Once they see how hard we are going to make it on them while Robin Hood remains at large, they may stop seeing him as quite the hero he's been in the past. It only takes one."

"I'm just worried about one thing. They've had two years o' good livin' under ... um, under King Richard, bless his glorious, regal soul. They may not be as easy to crack as they woulda been two years ago."

"Or that might make our task even easier, Sheriff. Nothing spoils a beast like soft living ... especially if they've already known hardship too. You can be sure they remember what it was like under Prince John's tight fist, and now that they've tasted an easier and more prosperous life, they'll not return to poverty if they can help it. As I said, it only takes one to decide that providing us with Robin Hood's location is a price worth paying to protect family and livelihood. And with the promise of the reward money on top of everything else ... well, it doesn't matter if they find they can no longer dwell in Nottingham on account of their treachery. They'll have enough gold to live anywhere in England they want."

The Sheriff swallowed nervously, hesitating to broach another subject weighing on his mind. "So, are y' really gonna hang that rabbit lad?"

"I doubt it will come to that, although I will not take any options off the table at this point. He was so young when he fell under that brigand's influence, but he's had time to see the error of his ways. Or, if not, he will have that luxury now, from the inside of a cell. He will remain right where he is, until I decide what to do with him ... or until the death of Robin Hood makes him irrelevant." Gisbourne glanced aside at the sound of someone else approaching them along the walltop. "Ah, this should be wearying ... "

The Earl padded over to them, his gaze on the panther. "Sir Guy, it has come to my attention that no one has been in or out of the cells since you and I were last there this morning. Is it true that Skippy has had no food or water all day?"

"No, not all day. From what I hear, he had a very hearty breakfast."

The Sheriff gave an overeager guffaw at this. The Earl shot him a scornful glare, then returned his attention to Gisbourne.

"I cannot ... I will not ... have those entrusted to my care so mistreated, Sir Guy. Skippy's family are counting on us to see that no harm comes to him, and that is a responsibility I take most seriously! Now, if you will not see to that boy's needs, give me the key to the cells and I will attend to them myself."

"A day's fast can do wonders for the body and mind, Earl, and that bunny seems a little too well fed by my eye." Gisbourne's tone grew less casual. "No one goes in or out of those cells without my permission, Earl. Is that clear?"

The Earl scowled. Contrary to the panther's glib assertion, Skippy did not in fact have much extra weight to lose; his occupation as a court messenger kept him leaner than most children his age. "Since you possess the key, I suppose you have the final say on this matter. But I warn you, Gisbourne, if it begins to look as if he will decline and grow sickly, I will defy you, even if it means engaging the castle maintenance staff to lift the jailhouse door right off its hinges so I can bring Skippy food and water. And if you don't like it, then YOU can complain to King John the next time you see him!" The white cat spun and stalked away, along the battlements and down the wall stairs.

The Sheriff looked after the Earl with some concern; before the coming of Gisbourne, he would have been completely cowed by such chastisement. Worried, he turned to Sir Guy "You reckon we got trouble?"

"The Earl controls the castle staff - cooks and cleaners and messengers. You and I command Nottingham's total force of arms and all weaponry, by royal decree. Who do YOU suppose would prevail if it comes to an open confrontation?"

The Sheriff allowed himself a sneering grin. "Well, when ya put it that way ... "

Gisbourne's eye was caught by a sorry-looking quartet of uniformed figures staggering through the nearer town streets toward the drawbridge. His eyes narrowed. "Now what is THIS?"

The Sheriff followed his companion's gaze. "Say, ain't those the four guards we assigned to Friar Tuck?"

"Yes. They are. And that badger had better be dead, if they are showing up here without him." Gisbourne broke for the wall steps at a pace that was not quite a run, but swifter than his usual measured stride. The Sheriff fell into slightly waddling step behind him.

They met the four guards at the main gate, and Gisbourne debriefed them right then and there, not waiting to conduct the haggard soldiers indoors. Reluctantly, they took turns reporting that morning's events to their disbelieving commander.

"Well, was it Robin Hood or not?" Gisbourne demanded to know about this strange gray fox.

"Well, sir, it coulda been ... "

"But you said his fur wasn't red?"

"No, sir, t'was more whitish-gray. But we thought he coulda put ash or something in it t' change his 'pearance ... "

"Was he wearing green?"

"Nay. Bright red, neck t' ankle - e'en his hat."

"Did he SAY he was Robin Hood?"

"No, but then 'ee wouldn't, if'n he was in disguise, would 'ee?"

"How tall was he?"

"'bout half a head shorter than me, sir."

Gisbourne looked to the Sheriff, who shook his head. "Too short, Sir Guy. That couldn'ta been Robin Hood."

The black warrior's eyes shot daggers at the defeated foursome. "So, you went chasing after a fox that wasn't even Robin Hood, and ended up losing the one you were supposed to be watching every moment of the day ... "

"But, you TOLD us to arrest ev'ry fox we saw!" one guard stammered.

"That was only for the ones trying to get into the castle!" Gisbourne roared. "Of course I don't want you take into custody every fox you see abroad in Nottingham! We'd fill our cells in no time, and have no room left for real traitors and criminals!"

"Uh, only two of us went after the fox, sir," another soldier said in their defense. "The other two stayed with Friar Tuck ... "

"Which apparently were two too few." Gisbourne turned to the portly wolf at his side. "Sheriff, if this imbecility is typical of your troops, it is hardly surprising that Robin Hood has never been brought to justice."

"Hey," the Sheriff protested with visible umbrage, "two of these're ones you brought with you from London!"

"So they are. Then I'd say we both have a lot of work left before us, whipping this sorry lot into proper soldierly shape."

"Maybe. But there's something else, Sir Guy. That hen who slugged the two who stayed with Friar Tuck ... I know her."

Gisbourne's ears pricked up. "Indeed, now?"

"Yup. She t'were Maid Marian's Lady-in-Waiting, an' later served th' Lady Marian when she was married to Robin of Locksley. She was on Robin Hood's side two years ago, an' I'll wager anything she still is!"

"I would say her actions of today make that very plain. And if this mysterious gray fox was helping her, then he's part of Hood's gang as well. Listen to me very carefully, Sheriff, and the rest of you too. Today this disgraced friar and ally of Robin Hood has openly attacked forces of the king's guard. If he is spotted again in Nottingham henceforth, he is to be killed on sight. Not arrested, not detained, not taken into custody - killed. The same goes for this hen in blue, and our fox in red. They are all enemies of the crown, guilty of the highest treason. Do I make myself clear?"

The guards - and not just the four from the village, but others who had gathered around them as well - all nodded as strenuously as they could. Only the Sheriff seemed hesitant.

"But, Sir Guy - no trial?"

"I have already declared them guilty, Sheriff. If they come before us again, they die. Do you have a problem with this?"

"Um, er ... no?"

"Your aura of certainty reassures me no end." Gisbourne spun and stalked toward the castle. "One enemy has escaped me this day. Time for me to turn my attention to the one I still have in custody."

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Skippy had hung upon the wall since late morning, and now, with the last meagre vestiges of daylight dimming through the iron bars of his cell windows, he began to despair. His discomfort had long since passed into pain, and was now settling into a stiff numbness that made him wonder if he'd ever be able to regain full use of his arms again. He tried to slump loosely in his manacles, but it was no use; no matter how he sought to relax, the restraints cut into his circulation and his outstretched arms were forced to bear the full brunt of his weight, filling by turns with waves of stinging prickles and spells of heavy deadness. Making things even worse was his empty belly and parched throat. This might not have been torture in any traditional sense, but if Gisbourne ever decided to graduate to the real thing, Skippy didn't want to be around to see it.

And now, with the dying of the day, an even more intense feeling of hopelessness fell upon the young rabbit. The physical torments of pain and hunger were sharpened by a sudden swell of loneliness as he thought of his family, who couldn't possibly know of his dire straits and whom he might never see again. Gisbourne's forced isolation had had its intended effect upon the prisoner, leading him to wonder whether he had been abandoned and forgotten by all the world, left here to waste away and perish. His fleeting pride at having thrown his words of defiance in Gisbourne's face seemed so distant and remote now, and he would gladly have traded that hollow triumph for a single companion, even a fellow prisoner chained up on these walls alongside him. Even one of the castle guards or the Sheriff's soldiers standing watch over him would have been preferable to this aching solitude that left him feeling like he was the last living creature in the world.

It was through this morose reverie that the harsh grating of a key turning in a rusty lock made his ears prick up. Skippy squinted and blinked in the sudden glare of multiple torches as Gisbourne wrenched open the cell door and strode in flanked by a brace of his guards. The black panther came nose to nose with his involuntarily elevated captive, his penetrating gaze boring into Skippy's watery eyes.

"I have just had another talk with your raccoon friend," Gisbourne said in a low snarl full of cool menace. "It seems he forgot to mention one very important detail during our earlier conversation. I'm hardly surprised you kept it from me yourself, but I'd expected more cooperation from him, and he may regret being so remiss." The panther's voice lowered to just above a whisper. "You know where Robin Hood's hidden lair is, don't you?"

Skippy's eyes went wide in terror - not for himself, but that such a secret might now stand so close to being revealed to this heartless killer. "N-n-no! I don't! I swear it!"

"Oh, come now. It's useless to deny it. In fact, Avery even said you went so far as to boast about it to him. I do believe he may have been just a tad jealous that Robin Hood had taken you into his confidence like that."

"I ... it's not true! He's making it up!"

"I hardly think so." Gisbourne grabbed one of Skippy's ears and twisted it in a viciously tight fist like he was wringing out a wet washcloth. The pain made Skippy wince and cry out, but it was almost a welcome change to have this new, distinct agony cutting through the malaise of his dull and throbbing prolonged torment. "Tomorrow, we are going for a walk in the woods - just you, me, and twoscore of my troops. You are going to lead us to Robin Hood's encampment, so that I can put an end to this once and for all!"

"No! I won't do it! I'll never help you catch Robin Hood!"

"Whyever wouldn't you? Once he is dead, you will have your freedom, I will return to London, and you will never have to look at me again. Not to mention that you will be doing England a great service. Aside from all the deluded, misguided peasants of Nottingham, the rest of our great nation will regard you as a hero."

"I won't do it," Skippy groaned, some of his spirit's fire dampening.

"Yes you will." Sir Guy released the rabbit's ear. "I would take you down from there and leave right now, but I do not trust my troops to see as well in the dark as I do. At first light we will depart. And by this time tomorrow, this entire sorry chapter of England's history should be over." He turned and strode from the cell, calling over his shoulder while his two guards followed him, "I will return at first light. Rest well, my little messenger. Tomorrow will be your most important assignment, and I will expect you to do it as well as I know you can."

Before he knew it, Skippy was in the dark once more, now with a smarting ear to go with his other physical and emotional pains. As the night closed in more fully around him to embrace his senses with dark, silent solitude, he became aware of a whimpering in his ears ... but he was sure it couldn't have been him.

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Sir Guy of Gisbourne stayed up late that night, prowling the corridors and grounds of Castle Nottingham in eager anticipation. On the morrow, the rabbit child would lead him to Robin Hood, and then this would all be over.

But it was not just excitement over the imminent fulfillment of his mission that kept him awake and alert well past sundown. While there were surely many peasants who knew the location of the outlaw camp, only one resided in his custody at this moment, and he was not about to let anything happen to jeopardize this crucial key to his strategy. Making Skippy cooperate was a bridge he would cross when he came to it, a bridge which might require a side detour to the rabbit's homestead to remind the child what was at stake if he refused to do what was required of him, but it would all be moot if this young traitor was not safeguarded until morning. With the likelihood that more of Robin Hood's sympathizers were to be found within the castle walls, Gisbourne wanted to take no chances.

It was during one of his indoor rounds that he ran into an unexpected wanderer. Armed black panther and nightshirted white cat stood in the second floor gallery regarding each other for several moments, mutual distrust on each other's face.

"You're up rather late this eve, Earl."

"I'm having trouble sleeping," the Earl said, then added sarcastically, "I can't imagine why. I thought I'd nip down to the wine cellars myself rather than disturb one of the servants. There's a particular blend of brandy that always soothes my spirits in troubling times. Would you like me to fetch some for you too?"

"I never drink on duty. And I will be on permanent duty, day and night, until Robin Hood is dead."

"Suit yourself." The Earl stepped around Gisbourne and continued on his way.

"Oh, Earl?"

The cat paused but didn't glance back at Sir Guy. "What?"

"You'll be heading right back to your chambers after you're finished in the cellars, won't you?"

"If it suits me. Or I might stretch my legs a bit. I'm not under arrest, so I'll go where I please in my own castle." He marched off with barely-concealed ire.

"No," Gisbourne purred to himself, "you're not under arrest ... yet. But if your present errand has nothing to do with the wine cellars, you may yet be."

The panther ambled after the Earl, casually retracing the white cat's pawsteps. When it became clear that the Earl was indeed making for the cellars, Gisbourne broke off his loose surveillance and headed outside, stalking across the courtyard and climbing the stone steps to take up a position on the walltop that afforded him an unobstructed view of the jailhouse door.

He honestly didn't know if the Earl would go so far as to commit open treason. The white cat was proving very hard to read, even for such an excellent judge of character as Gisbourne. But the noble's activity at this late hour was suspicious indeed, and Sir Guy would not have been the least bit surprised if the Earl had kept a spare key to the jail hidden from him. He could not rule out that the sympathetic feline might seek to liberate the imprisoned messenger, and that could not be allowed. If the Earl tried such a thing, he would be stopped ... and then he would receive the kind of justice Gisbourne had practiced dispensing upon his enemies during the Crusades.

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Down in the cellars, the Earl walked right by the cask of brandy he sought, along with every other racked bottle and keg of ales, wine and other spirits. Peering over his shoulder and cocking an ear to make sure he was alone, he proceeded to the end of one row where an unknowing eye would see only dirt floor and stone wall. Working in the dim light of the torch he'd left behind at the bottom of the stairs, the Earl found the lever that was disguised as part of one standing shelf and gave it a pull, causing a section of the wall to swing out several inches. Laboring to heave it open wide enough for him to pass through, he made his way in the dark by feel alone, stalking down the lightless tunnel for a dozen and a half paces.

There he came to another dead end, and groped around in the inky blackness until he found another level, this one standing all by itself. Yanking it, a second secret door was sprung from its sealed position. The Earl's wrinkling nose perceived the stale air of the underground passage mingling with the equally stale but danker and less savory atmosphere of the castle jails.

Now came the hardest part. Sir Guy had left Skippy confined with nary so much as a candle to illuminate his miserable surroundings, and what was more, this secret egress gave out into a basement of the prison. The Earl had to feel his way through the total darkness to the stairs that would lead him up to Skippy's solitary cell on the second story. Fortunately, the exploits of the cat's youth came back to him with enough clarity that he could succeed in this effort with less effort and luck than he'd feared would be necessary.

The rabbit prisoner hung on the verge between sleep and wakefulness, his discomfort vying with his weariness. When Skippy first became aware that someone else stood in the room with him, he suspected he might be dreaming, or hallucinating. Terror filled him as the dark shape, barely visible in the deep gloom, lurched toward him, a blacker shadow against the night.

"Shh! Don't be afraid, Skippy. It's me - the Earl."

"Earl? What're you doing here?"

"I'm going to free you. Gisbourne has gone too far, subjecting a loyal and dedicated member of my court to such treatment. I don't care what relationship you may have had with Robin Hood in the past; nothing justifies this."

The Earl knew that the manacles holding his courier were of the simple pin clasp type and did not require keys to be undone; it was assumed that once a prisoner had both wrists in these restraints, it would be impossible for him to escape without the help of another. He pulled the pin from one bracelet and freed Skippy's left arm; the rabbit threw that stiff and aching limb around the Earl's shoulder while the kindly feline clutched him with a paw against Skippy's back to keep him from falling. Moments later the second clasp was undone as well, and the Earl gingerly set Skippy on his feet.

"Can you stand, son?"

"My legs are fine, Earl sir. It's my arms that are killing me."

"That's good to hear, because I fear you'll be doing some running before this night is through. You'll need to get far away from this castle before Gisbourne discovers you've escaped him."

"How ... how'd you get in here?"

The Earl smiled, even if he knew his messenger wouldn't be able to see it. "Let's just say you and Avery aren't the only ones who know about secret places in this castle. I know of one or two that even you don't. The Sheriff may have called this his home for many years, but my family built it, and I know my way around it far better than he does. Now let's get going. Here, take my paw and don't let go ... "

Slowly, stumblingly, the Earl retraced his steps as best he could, leading Skippy along through the blackness. The young rabbit said not a word during this brief odyssey, so utterly grateful to be liberated from his bondage that he didn't think to question this unexpected turn of events. Down the stairs they went, the darkness becoming nearly total, and into the tunnel, the Earl pausing to return the trick door to its proper position so that no one inspecting the jail basement would be likely to uncover it. Then through to the other end of the subterranean passage and into the wine cellar, where again the Earl pushed the camouflaged door back into place, making this appear like an unextraordinary dead end along one row of the cellar stocks. Now that he could see a little more by the light of the distant torch and recognized where he was, Skippy was duly impressed.

"Wow. I never would've guessed that was there!"

"That's the whole idea, isn't it?" the Earl said as he plucked a flask of brandy off a nearby shelf and slipped it into his nightshirt pocket. "And hopefully Sir Guy won't either, even after he realizes you're no longer in your cell. Now we must still be extremely careful. That panther is on the prowl this night, and his guards are out in force as well. We will still need luck on our side to avoid them. Come along!"

Together they crept up the stairs to the main castle floor and, finding the coast clear, the Earl led Skippy through the blessedly empty corridors to a rear section of the castle. To the rabbit's surprise, they stopped not at a door but at a window overlooking the grounds.

The cat pointed through the arched portal to the castle wall beyond. "This is the closest I can get you to the rear gate. It's kept permanently locked these days, as you know, but I've heard you can slip through the bars ... "

Skippy stood trying to massage feeling back into his arms, mulling over the Earl's plan with a healthy dose of skepticism. "Earl, I've grown a lot since I last tried squeezing myself in or out that way! I'd probably get stuck if I tried it now!"

"You're taller than you were when you joined my service two years ago, true, but you've hardly filled out at all. All that running you've done during your courier duties has kept you trim, and I'm counting on that to be your salvation now. The drawbridge is raised, and sentries patrol the courtyard and ramparts. This is your only hope of escape. The night is overcast, which will work to your favor, and this route provides you with plenty of trees and shrubs for cover. You must get to that wallgate without being seen, and climb through it. Then you must go seek out Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. That is the only safe place for you now."

A fleeting phantom of suspicion welled up inside Skippy. Sir Guy had thought to use him to find Robin Hood's hidden lair. Could the Earl be part of that plot too? Was this some way to trick Skippy into leading them to the outlaw's band without realizing it? He didn't want to believe it; he'd known the Earl for too long, and imagined the noble cat to be a decent fellow. Nevertheless ...

"What makes you think I know where Robin Hood's camp is?"

The Earl gave a benevolent smile. "I'm confident you'll find it. Go now - I must return to my chambers in case Gisbourne checks on me and wonders what has been taking me so long in the cellars. Good luck, my young friend!"

Skippy watched his feline liberator hasten away down the hall and turn a corner, leaving him alone. Deciding there was nothing else for it, he hopped up onto the windowsill and vaulted down into the nearest clump of bushes, keeping as quiet as he could.

The Earl was right; sentries did indeed patrol the grounds, even back here, but none kept a regular post at the small barred gate, which was usually kept locked and seldom used anymore. Skippy would have plenty of cover under which to make his way to the wall, and the clouds obscuring the moon and stars would help to hide him as well.

It took longer than he would have liked, worried that an alarm might be raised at any moment, but he forced himself to proceed with caution, waiting under each bush until he was sure he could make it to the next one without being seen. One sprint and rest at a time, he finally found himself with nothing but a short stretch of open lawn between himself and the gate. No guards seemed to be about except for those on the walltop, and they were as intent on keeping watch over Nottingham beyond as they were over the castle yards. Drawing in a deep breath, Skippy broke from his final shelter and dashed toward the barred barrier between him and freedom.

He made it without an arrow in his back or any shout breaking the stillness of the night. Fingering the iron gate, he said a silent prayer, exhaled as thoroughly as he could to expel every last bit of breath from his lungs, and stepped through one gap in the bars.

For one horrifying moment he feared that he might not make it, that he'd gotten stuck halfway through, but then he found himself standing fully on the short stone bridge that spanned the moat here. Hardly daring to believe he'd made it this far, he expanded his lungs again and broke into a mad run for the heart of Nottingham.

Perhaps it was the slap of his feet against the stone, or maybe one of walltop lookouts simply happened to be gazing that way at just that moment, but suddenly a gruff command shattered this perfect escape.

"Hey! You there! Halt!"

After his ordeal in fetters, Skippy's arms ached terribly, but as he'd assured the Earl, nothing at all was wrong with his legs. Now those limbs, which had helped him deliver so much royal correspondence for the Earl and other nobles these past two years, literally kicked into overdrive as the rabbit put his head down and raced into the night.

"Halt! By order of the king!"

By the time this second order issued forth, Skippy was across the small bridge ... and by the time any of the sentries thought to set arrow to bowstring, the fleeing rabbit was lost in the depths of Nottingham.

And he was only just starting to run.