If it hadn't been for Isabella, Robin and Much might have escaped.
Robin had taken the precaution of himself and Much each knocking out a guard to disguise themselves in their uniforms. He had hidden his bow and quiver where he could easily retrieve them on their way out of the castle. Successfully talking his way into relieving the actual soldiers guarding the sheriff's quarters, he had found the sheriff's book of maps as well as a purse of money. With most of the guards at St. Mary's Church protecting the sheriff and Prince John at Gisbourne's wedding, Robin tossed the purse in the air, caught it, and told Much, "Congratulations, my friend, on a well executed mission."
"Executed might be the right word," Much warned him anxiously. "We're not back in Sherwood yet, Robin. We're not even out of the castle!"
"Stop worrying, Much! Let's hope our mission to save the king goes as smoothly as this. Come on. Gisbourne's wedding can't last much longer, no matter how vulgar it is. Let's go home."
"What do you mean, 'vulgar?' " Much asked, as they were making their way as guards back through the castle.
"The ostentation of having it in such a large church. The bells. All the other trappings Sarah said made it seem like a royal wedding. If Gisbourne or his bride had any breeding, they would know a simple village wedding is appropriate for a lord and lady."
Much laughed. "Or a wedding in the desert, with the bride wearing a sword through her ...her...? You don't often sound like a snob, Robin."
He laughed. "Gisbourne always brings out the worst in me."
As they rounded a corner, they heard the tramp of many feet and the sheriff's voice shouting, "Guards! Find Hood and bring him to me!"
"Master, what do we do?"
"We're guards, Much. Act like one."
"March, you mean?"
"We're looking for outlaws." Robin, unworried, grinned beneath his helmet. "I think they went that way."
"I hate this."
They were almost out of the castle when Isabella spotted Robin's distinctive swagger. "There!" she told the sheriff.
"There's Hood!" the sheriff screamed. "Guards! Guards! After him!"
The portcullis was down and swarms of guards with weapons drawn surrounded the outlaws.
Guy of Gisbourne was triumphant. All during his wedding, he had been thinking of Marian and longing to kill Hood. "Drop your weapons, Hood," he ordered. "You're surrounded."
"Congratulations on your marriage," Robin called back. "Forgive me for not sending a present."
"My present will be your death!"
"Very good, Gisbourne," the sheriff approved, strutting down the steps to gloat over Robin. Approaching him, he jested, "If you wanted to join my guards, Hood, you only needed to apply. With your pretty little face and body, I'd hire you in an instant. A clue...no." He peered under Much's helmet. "Oh! We've caught Lord Bonchurch as well! Very good!" He stopped, an idea springing into his brain. "Just the entertainment we need to celebrate Gisbourne's wedding!"
"A hanging is what I need," Gisbourne stated.
"Where's your imagination, Gisbourne, hmm? Oh yes, you have none. Guards! Lock these two rancid outlaws in my dungeon and guard them well, while I prepare today's entertainment. Oh, this is good! This is good!"
Isabella gave Robin a triumphant sneer as he was being led past her.
...
Trumpets blared the start of the sheriff's entertainment.
Flags and bunting waved in the summer breeze, as if at a fair. Prince John sat upon a dais, drinking wine and munching wedding cake. On his right sat a beautifully dressed Isabella. On his left sat the sheriff, barely able to contain his excitement. Guy and Meg were seated upon a slightly lower dais, with the people of Nottingham standing below, dreading the "entertainment." Soldiers were everywhere.
Stripped of their borrowed uniforms and their own hoods, Robin and Much stood on a plank above a large vat filled with boiling oil.
"You know the drill, Hood," the sheriff announced. "You've done this before, with Gisbourne's boy Allan. It's fight or fry."
Robin and Much were handed clubs.
"Master, what do we do?" Much asked anxiously again. "I won't fight you. I'll die first, but I can't let you die! It's hot!"
"Poke them!" the sheriff ordered his guards, while neither Robin nor Much made a move to begin.
"Ow!" Much cried, receiving a poke on his backside, still sore from the dog bite he'd gotten earlier in the day.
"Bored now," Prince John complained. "You promised me excitement, Sheriff! Why don't they begin?"
"We won't fight, Sheriff," Robin called out. "We'll die together first."
"Such devotion!" the sheriff called back. "I should have known you'd never hurt your little Mulch."
"His name is Lot," Isabella corrected him.
Prince John was playing with her hand, stroking and kissing it between sips of wine. "Another game, Sheriff," he ordered. "I don't really fancy Hood being fried anyway. I want his head for my trophy room, remember."
"I just happen to have another game, Sire," the sheriff offered, "even more fun than this one! Guards! Prepare Round Two!"
"Allow me to gloat over the prisoners, my king," Isabella requested, "while we wait. I was instrumental in catching them, and they did hold me prisoner in most cruel conditions, until I managed my escape today."
"Very well, my pet," Prince John agreed. "Don't be too long!"
"Every moment away from my king is agony!" She rose eagerly and walked toward Robin and Much, whose wrists and ankles were being bound.
"Help us," Robin said quietly.
She laughed. "Help you? I'm the one who had you captured today!"
"You?" Much cried. "But, but...we rescued you! You are revolting!"
"I appreciate the rescue. But that doesn't erase my longing for your death. You rejected me, Robin. And you ran from me today, leaving me at the mercy of my husband who might have found me alone outside Nottingham."
"You could have run with us," Robin told her. "I've seen you run before."
"I had no shoes. My feet were destroyed in your beastly forest. I did run, however, straight to St. Mary's to announce to everyone you were in the castle. Not to mention, I was the one who spotted you underneath that uniform and pointed you out to the sheriff."
"Why do you hate me so much?" Robin asked her.
"I don't know. Hatred is very close to love, I believe."
"They're...they're opposites," Much said, after struggling for the correct word.
Trumpets blared again. "I must go back to the prince," Isabella told them. "Goodbye forever, Robin Hood. You have no idea how much I want you right now." She returned to the dais and took her place beside Prince John.
The sheriff took a large swig of wine, then lifted his voice to describe Round Two. "The game is simple," he explained. "Mulch, once known as Lord Bonchurch, shall be locked in this narrow cage." Guards sprung forward and locked up Much. "Hood here has three chances to free him. If he hits the lock using his little bow and arrow, Mulch will be free to go. If he misses, well...Mulch will be thrown in the boiling vat of oil, unless of course, Hood's arrow already finished him off."
Both Robin and Much took heart. Robin would not miss, they both believed. Much would be free and Robin would have his bow. Even without another arrow, he could use it to hit any guard who blocked his path, and kick him out of his way. Escape seemed almost too simple.
"Are you ready, Hood?" the sheriff asked.
"You're going to untie me, so I can shoot," Robin said.
Gisbourne spoke up, voicing objections. "My lord sheriff, you can't give Hood his weapon! He'll turn it on us!"
"Relax, Gisbourne, relax. Don't you think I've accounted for all eventualities? I had Hood here in my dungeon only days ago, and he turned my own bird against me! I won't make the same mistake again."
Gisbourne knew the sheriff had made mistake after mistake where Hood was concerned. He did not blame Sheriff Vasey. It was Hood himself, a man who seemed to live a charmed life, who managed to live when he should have died many times over. He had even survived a fall over the cliff in Locksley after Gisbourne had hurled his body over it.
"Leave his ankles bound," the sheriff ordered, "but untie his wrist bonds. He does need to shoot, after all. Oh! And place this on his head." The sheriff chortled when displaying a metal helmet, with no holes for eyes, ears, nose, or mouth. "Stealing my guard's helmet, Hood, gave me this idea! You won't be able to take it off, or see, hear, taste, touch, or smell! Let's see how well you can shoot, wearing this!"