EPILOGUE
Sir Guy of Gisbourne was finding King John's expression very hard to read.
"So, Robin Hood is truly dead, then?"
"I personally saw him fall from the highest window in Castle Nottingham, Your Majesty. I saw his wrecked form lying motionless upon the lawns there. And although his followers were able to bear him away before I could check the body and confirm his death myself, I have one reliable source who saw his corpse being prepared for burial and two others who witnessed the actual funeral. I myself have stood at the grave, which lies alongside that of his beloved Lady Marian. And before I left Nottingham, I heard that the townsfolk were speaking amongst themselves of Hood's death. All signs point to this being true, and that he will nevermore trouble our fair England - or you, Your Highness. You sent me there to do a job, and I will stake both my honor and my reputation that this job has been fulfilled, just as you wished."
Triumph and disbelief vied for prominence on John's face. "Could it be? After all this time, could it be? Ooo, how I wish I could have been there to see it! To see him fall, to see his miserable body smash into the ground, to see him put in the earth and covered with dirt for the last time! Is he really, truly dead?"
"I have already answered that as best I can, Sire."
John's stubby paws clenched and unclenched, claws partly extended. "Oh, please let it be true! Please, please ... "
Gisbourne intruded upon the infantile monarch's uncertain mood. "Now, Your Majesty, there is the matter of the reward ... "
The lion's eyes narrowed at his fellow feline. "I thought you weren't interested in the reward?"
"Circumstances have changed, Your Highness. As you may have heard, in the course of fulfilling my obligation to you, I was forced to - borrow - a certain amount of the Archbishop's gold. I am not in the habit of being beholden to anyone, and even though I was acting on behalf of the crown in these matters, I promised the Archbishop that I would personally repay him once Hood was dead. Therefore, I will need to collect the reward after all."
"Oh, yes. The matter of the Archbishop. I'm so glad you brought that up. He is the most powerful and influential cleric in all of England, you know. In fact, the monarchy could barely function without his generous support. And I'll have you know he was quite - and I do mean quite - bent out of shape by your treatment of him in Nottingham."
"All the more reason for me to collect my reward and repay my debt to him with all speed, Sire. The sooner those waters are smoothed over, the sooner we can put all of this behind us."
"But that's the thing, Sir Guy - about the reward. You can't actually guarantee me that Robin Hood is dead, now can you?"
This unexpected turn in the conversation took Gisbourne by surprise. "Your Majesty, I have staked my honor on the fact that Hood lies dead. I have fulfilled my duty to you in this manner as thoroughly as anybody in my position could have."
"Perhaps. Perhaps. But, no hanging? No beheading? No direct verification that he is truly dead? That is hardly what I expected from a ... a knight ... of your calibre, Sir Guy."
Gisbourne balled his fists at his side, sensing an impending betrayal. Could this be why the King had arranged to hold this meeting in the presence of a full score of royal guards, who lined the walls of this private audience chamber?
"If His Highness feels I have disappointed him ... "
"Oh, I did not say that, Sir Guy. Not at all. You may very well have discharged a task I would prize almost above all others. Or, you may not have. And I truly cannot judge whether you did the best job in this matter that anyone could have, since I did not send 'anyone' on this mission - just you. But you have also caused me a great deal of trouble. First there was that incident with evicting all of the nobles from Castle Nottingham. Many of them were highly inconvenienced, and made their displeasure known to me most unequivocally, here in my very own court. But their displeasure was nothing compared to the Archbishop's. He would dearly love to see you hanged for your treatment of him, you know."
Gisbourne straightened, now ready for anything. "Is that to be my reward for taking care of a problem you were never able to solve before?"
"Oh, not at all! I'm merely stating the situation. Even if I were to grant you the reward, it might not be enough to keep you safe. The Archbishop is very powerful, and has guards of his own who will do his bidding - even if that bidding is not necessarily in agreement with royal decree. Or, to put it another way, our porcine friend has been known to hold a grudge."
"A grudge that not even repayment of his gold would settle?"
"There is gold, and then there is dignity. I expect a knight such as yourself would understand exactly what I am saying. Replenishing the Archbishop's coffers will not fully redress the insult he feels you have dealt him. I fear he may ... take matters further."
"I am fully capable of looking after myself, Your Majesty."
"Yes, ah, I'm sure you are. But there is more at play here than a feud between you and the Archbishop. I am sure you have heard about the trouble in France with Arthur of Brittany? And King Philip ceding our land to him?"
"I have ... heard, Your Highness. But frankly, I have been quite busy with other concerns in Nottingham."
"Well, you're not in Nottingham anymore. The very first time we spoke, Sir Guy, I could see that you were a warrior disappointed to be without a war. There will not be another Crusade anytime soon, but there may be war. I need you in France. And given your current predicament, I'm sure you'll agree that that is the best place for you ... for any number of reasons."
"Is this to be my reward, or my punishment?"
"It is to be your assignment, by orders of the King. Or do you hold yourself to be above such duty?"
Gisbourne forced himself to bow to King John, swallowing his bile as he said, "I am yours to command, Your Highness."
"Ah, that's more like it. Much better." John held out a scroll to the panther. "Your orders have already been prepared. You leave in the morning. My Captain of the Guard will see to it that you are properly outfitted with everything you need, and show you to your ship. That is all, Sir Guy."
Gisbourne took the scroll with the best grace he could muster, turned and strode from the chamber with forced dignity. The last glimpse he had of King John's face showed a lion who was glad to be rid of a particularly troublesome nuisance - or perhaps two of them.
00000000000
Robin's convalescence took a long time, but after that night of celebration over Gisbourne's return to London, none in his band doubted the archer fox would recover fully. Within a fortnight, he was walking normally, his sprained ankle a mere memory, and his healed ribs pained him no longer. Even before his arm was out of its sling, Robin returned to his habit of taking long strolls through his beloved woods, and convinced his caregivers to let him help out with the sentry patrols. When at last he was free from sling and cast, he found that his arm muscles had badly atrophied, and it was another fortnight of hard recuperation before he could draw back a bowstring or wield a sword with any alacrity at all. But with the ample encouragement of so many well-wishers and the knowledge that they continued to look to him for leadership, Robin was spurred to get himself back in fighting form as quickly as he could, whether there was any foe to fight or not.
As for the wider world beyond Sherwood Forest, Robin's earlier predictions held true. With the outlaws keeping a low profile and staging no further robberies - and with his allies in Nottingham helping to maintain the pretense that Robin was indeed dead - the Sheriff had no cause to beleaguer the peasants with harassment and more punishing taxes. The law-wolf, now in sole rule of the castle, even went so far as to offer rebates to the nobles who complained the loudest and threatened to take their cases to King John. And if the neglected peasants failed to see a farthing of these refunds, they were hardly complaining, because the harsh taxes had been lifted and Robin's band took it upon themselves to distribute the last of the gold left over from the Archbishop's caravan to those most in need, now that it was no longer likely to be immediately seized by the Sheriff. Best of all, many of the peasants banded together, donating their skills and labor to rebuild the homes destroyed by Gisbourne's fire. Closed shops reopened one by one, and soon Nottingham was as bustling and vital a town as it had ever been.
The last day of summer found the outlaw camp hosting fewer than fivescore permanent residents, the remainder having returned to their former lives. The Rabbit family alone accounted for a tenth their present number; even though a brand new home awaited them in Nottingham, they'd unanimously decided to stay until the weather turned cold. Not only had the children taken a liking to being in Skippy's Sherwood Runners and helping protect their hero's secret lair, but Mother Rabbit also wanted to keep an eye on Robin's health until she was sure he was fully recovered.
Many of the stouter yeomen who'd joined the outlaw band during this troubled summer had forged strong bonds with each other and grown fond of this carefree woodland life, and declared that they would remain as permanent members of the camp. Even after Skippy and his family moved back to Nottingham to weather the winter, it seemed Robin's company would still number nearly fourscore.
Then there was Otto. The hound blacksmith spurned any suggestions that he return to Nottingham, insisting that it was the raid on his forge which had led to Will's capture and forced Robin into a near-fatal confrontation with Gisbourne, and thus he was now bound to his outlaw benefactors. Some of his friends argued that he now had the opportunity to move back to town and prosper under the relaxed laws there as he never had before, but Otto remained firm, declaring that his skills were now Robin's to command, and any of his acquaintances who required his talents knew where to seek him out. Henceforth he would dwell here in the forest glade, and his forge facilities would be a permanent fixture of the camp.
And so it was that the final day of England's warmest season found Robin presiding over a camp only half as populated as it had been at its peak, but still bustling with activity. Reclining on a wide, low tree limb that gave him a commanding view of the glade, the archer fox surveyed his modest domain to see where things stood on this pleasant and mild summer evening.
There, seated in front of the newly-enlarged camp oven, was Little John, trading recipes and culinary tips with Florence. There, conferring before the convalescent tent where a medical miracle had been worked on Robin, stood Friar Tuck and Mother Rabbit, discussing the state of what had become the camp's de facto infirmary. There, lounging by the waterfall cave entrance, was Alan-a-Dale, composing a new ballad on his lute while Midge complemented the rooster troubadour's relaxed tenor with a deep bass counterpoint. There, across the glade from the cave, Trammler the mole consulted with Otto about improvements that could be made to his forge area. There, relaxing on Robin's own throne dais and not caring one whit for such ceremony, Kluck held court with Bettina, sharing pointers on tailoring and garment-making. And there, by the now-expanded hedge wall, Will Scarlet playfully and eagerly took on all comers who cared to test his now-legendary quarterstaff skills.
This entire tableau was lit by torches, lamps, lanterns and campfires that suffused the glade with a cozy glow. If any doubts could have lingered, niggling at the back of Robin's mind, that bringing so many new members into his band might have irretrievably disrupted the homey aspect of his forest lair, the sight before him now was enough to dispel such doubts forever. This truly was his home, and a better one he would never know, not even were it to boast soaring walls or vaulted ceilings or the finest appointments and furnishings.
Robin lay back on his chosen branch, directing his gaze to the darkening sky. He'd selected a spot where a gap in the trees would allow him to stargaze as he relaxed, and now he took full advantage of this lackadaisical pursuit. The thin sliver of new moon lay elsewhere in the sky, shielded by the surrounding forest and granting Robin an unobstructed view of his little patch of sky.
One of the stars seemed to twinkle down at him, more than such stars usually did. A weight on his chest prompted Robin to reach inside his shirt and pull out the small keepsake that he often carried with him these days: the compact-style portrait frame that he'd taken from his nightstand the day he was forced into an outlaw's life once more. Opening it, he lay staring at the watercolor likenesses of Marian and himself, captured in eternal happiness. Even though it was too dark to see more than the basic figures, he'd gazed upon it enough times that his imagination filled in the rest, and he was sure he could see it as clearly as if the sun shone brightly overhead.
A wistful smile played upon his lips - one of fond memories and a promised reunion to come, not of true love lost. "Guess I did pretty well for myself, Marian, didn't I?"
Neither the stars nor the portrait gave any reply, but Robin felt an affirmative glow within his breast. Snapping the frame case shut, he replaced it in his tunic and returned his attention to his stargazing. Just at that moment, the future lay wide open, with no way to know what the coming seasons would bring. Robin was perfectly content to let that future take care of itself for now. For this night, the only things that mattered were the friends he had around him, the peace within his heart, and the familiar fastness of the sprawling forest that surrounded and shielded and succored them all.
And that was more than enough to satisfy the Prince of Sherwood.
