Again, Sir Guy of Gisburne had gone with the sheriff's soldiers to get hold of the outlaws in Sherwood Forest. And not just any outlaws, but Robin Hood's bunch, who were a persistent nuisance and had always managed to evade the law so far. On this day, however, the knight was in very good spirits and firmly convinced that he would be successful, for he had taken everything into consideration. Not only were his men well rested and well equipped, but among them were several who were capable of following the tracks of the outlaws through the woods. Therefore, nothing could go wrong on this day.

Except then, all of a sudden, the situation changed and once again, it was all over very rapidly. One by one, the soldiers fell victim to the outlaws' arrows. No matter where they turned, no matter where they tried to flee to, they could not escape the attack. They were struck down mercilessly by the outlaws until only one was left. And that was the steward to the Sheriff of Nottingham.

He was enraged when he watched his men dying all around him, and so, with no regard for his own life, he took up his sword against the first outlaw who confronted him. Only to discover that this was the mad Saxon called Scarlet. By now Gisburne was aware that the former soldier knew how to use his blade, yet he himself was a knight. He had learned to handle a sword many years ago and had done nothing but fighting all his adult life, he would not let himself be defeated by a mere outlaw. This man deserved to be punished for his actions and Gisburne was determined to be the arm of the law. It would only serve the other man right if he met his death here.

Completely unexpected, an unimaginable pain suddenly spread through Gisburne's body. From one moment to the next, all his strength left him and he was no longer able to lift his sword. In an instant he could no longer stand on his feet either and found himself on his knees. While an icy cold spread through his body, he stared horror-stricken at the sword that was stuck in his belly almost up to the hilt. The pain that was tearing him apart was so immensely fierce that he wanted to scream, but he had no breath left for that. He realized that he had opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

Then it got dark all around him and thereafter he didn't know anything more.

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Gisburne jolted up with a scream on his lips. Despite the cold that had settled in his body - since he had no choice but to sleep on the bare floor of the cell - he was drenched in sweat. And he couldn't help but notice that he was trembling all over, for the dream from which he had just escaped had felt so real that he couldn't stop himself from probing his belly.

But of course, he could not find any injury there, nevertheless he breathed a sigh of relief and then sat up. He just knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now, for he was far too troubled. On the other hand, he wasn't at all thrilled about sitting here in the dark now, because then he would just go back to pondering why he was in this predicament now.

He should probably consider himself lucky that he didn't have to share his cell with anyone, even if it lacked just about every amenity - no matter how small. There was neither a table, nor a chair, nor a bed in it, so the knight had no choice but to sit or lie on the cold floor when he was too tired to stand or to walk the few steps he was allowed given the small size of the room.

At first, he had raged against the manner of his treatment; he was, after all, a noble. But then he had realized that he might as well have ended up in the common cell with the ordinary scum, and he had refrained from continuing to complain. There he wouldn't even have had a bucket to shit in, and besides, he'd have to fight the other prisoners over the disgusting swill to keep from starving to death. Here, at least, he received a bowl of gruel every day, which by now seemed like a feast to him, even though he had hurled it against the wall in a rage on his first day in here. He had quickly regretted this, however, because as a punishment his jailers did not bring him the next meal until two days later.

And there was at least a little bit of light in his cell, for during the day some sunlight fell through a tiny hole up in the wall. However, it also reminded him again that he was stuck here. And that - in all likelihood - he would not see the sky again until he was taken to be executed. This thought regularly shattered any hope of escape - of whatever sort.

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The knight had been led into the great hall of Newark Castle by the king's soldiers, who respected his status as a noble, at least in the sense that he had not been shackled. However, that was no reason for him to feel better - or more secure.

Once in the hall, he discovered that not only did King John himself want to sit in judgment on him, but also that Robert de Rainault, the Sheriff of Nottingham - if he still held that post - was also present. More precisely, the two men had to resign themselves to standing side by side before their judge, which neither of them particularly appreciated. De Rainault, however, quickly regained his composure and only someone who knew him well could have noticed that an expression of disgust appeared very briefly on his face as he caught sight of his steward.

Gisburne, on the other hand, was not so skilled at hiding his emotions, and so he continued to cast scowls in the direction of his former master. As the trial progressed, his scowl was to become even more grim, for de Rainault - who was addressed as sheriff by the king with judicious and unexpected courtesy - was allowed to be the first to present his version of events, and the tale he spun bore little resemblance - in the knight's opinion - to the truth. Several times Gisburne could not restrain himself and made his point vociferously, but each time he was reprimanded by the king, who finally even threatened to have him muzzled for the rest of the trial. Since this would have meant not being able to make a statement of his own, the knight pulled himself together and managed to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, the time arrived when Gisburne was allowed to give his version. He had known beforehand that he could not express himself as eloquently as the sheriff, but the fear of losing his life here as a result of the trial made him stammer and stutter even more than usual. The king grinned unabashedly at his efforts, and several times he did not hold back with insulting remarks. Gisburne could sense his fear increasing.

After he had brought up everything he could recall - except for the matter of the false Robin Hood, about which de Rainault had also kept silent, and except for his true motives for joining Gulnar - it was not long before the king passed his sentence.

When he fined de Rainault, albeit rather heavily, Gisburne's fears were heightened once again. Especially after he heard that the sheriff would now have to remain in custody until his brother could ransom him, but after that he would be allowed to return to Nottingham.

And then the ruler of England turned to the knight, and his words left no doubt how little he thought of Gisburne. They also left no doubt that he saw in him the real culprit for the whole disaster and therefore the sentence that the king then handed out was no surprise to anyone, not even to Gisburne himself. Nevertheless, the words of his ruler that he should be brought from life to death this very day made him feel petrified. And he had to bear hearing that he was to die by hanging, as if he were a common felon.

Since the sentence was to be carried out immediately, the king's soldiers lost no time and tied his hands behind his back. The speed with which everything was now proceeding made Gisburne become petrified once more, and therefore he made no effort to resist.

He had only recovered a bit when he had almost reached the castle bailey, yet in that moment he was already aware that he could no longer escape his fate. No one would come and save him at the last moment, for there was no one who was the least bit interested in what was happening to him. All that was left for him to do was to walk the last part of his life with his head held high.

However, when he saw the gallows that had been erected in the castle bailey, he almost forgot about this decision, as several nooses had been attached to it and some of them had already been used. At least one of the hanged men had certainly been dead for several days, but he found the sight of the one still wriggling more frightening, for that showed him in all clarity what was about to happen to himself.

Gisburne swallowed. He was only able to go on by mustering all his strength - or what he had left of it after his time in the cell. He would have preferred to collapse on the spot and start crying, but he didn't want to give the others that satisfaction. So, he finally reached the steps to the wooden platform under the gallows and climbed up on his own. At that moment, however, he was glad that the soldiers were restraining him and that he could not run the risk of a tumble.

When he reached the top, the noose was instantly put around his neck and tightened. At once he got the impression that he could no longer breathe and panic threatened to overtake him when he thought about how he was about to die. In addition, he had not even been allowed to make his final confession. The realization that he would go straight to hell from here made him lose his self-control. But it didn't matter at all, since at that moment one of the soldiers gave him a powerful shove that carried him off the platform. He dropped a short distance, but unfortunately this was not enough to break his neck and kill him instantly. Instead, he hung in the noose that was slowly strangling him. He realized he couldn't breathe and then he also got to notice how he lost control over his body before everything around him went dark.

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Gisburne startled up from his sleep and his hands instantly went to his neck. After making sure there was no noose, he spent the next while simply lying back and enjoying the sensation of being able to breathe unhindered. Finally, he roused himself to sit up, knowing he would not be able to sleep that night and the floor was too cold to lie there by choice. It would be even better if he stood up, but after that nightmare his legs were still too wobbly. He was absolutely sure about this for it was not the first time it had happened to him since he had been locked in this cell.

He also knew that these dreams - these nightmares - were stealing his strength from him, as they were so damn real. The sense of shame he had experienced the moment he lost control of his body and pissed and shit himself due to that, he wouldn't soon forget. He had no idea what he could do about it, though. If this went on, he would soon be begging to be executed just to stop dreaming. If only someone would talk to him.

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Gisburne experienced a profound sense of satisfaction as he regarded the prisoner who had been chained to one of the pillars. How long had he wished to have the other man in his clutches, and now the time had come? Finally, he would get the chance to take revenge for all the insults he had been subjected to without ever having the chance to fight back. This time he would no longer shy away from what he had to do to finally be free.

Taking his time, he looked around the large room. It was hard to believe that until a few days ago monks had feasted here. However, none of them had survived the attack of Gulnar's wolves. At first, Gisburne had also feared for his life when he had tried to find refuge from the sheriff in the abbey, but instead had been captured by the savage warriors. But in the meantime, his opinion had changed, for he was now sure that he had finally been lucky, and he had no intention of putting this at risk again. This time he would hold on to his chance.

He remembered how ridiculous he had felt when the warriors had forced him to take off his armor and tunic, and this wolf skin and that macabre adornment made of bones had been forced on him instead. But that shameful sentiment had been supplanted by something else, something better, the moment Gulnar marked him with his clawed staff and he thus became a part of that savage horde. All of a sudden, he felt strong and invincible and he enjoyed not having to hold back anymore. It was an unimaginable blessing to be able for once to release the ferocity he had hidden within himself. This was something he could never have imagined previously.

Suddenly there was some movement among the warriors, for Gulnar had joined them. In his odd gait – half creeping, half gliding - he approached the giant wolf idol that represented Fenris. Once there, he looked around with glittering eyes until his gaze fell on Gisburne.

"Bring the prisoner here!" he ordered him, and the former steward of the Sheriff of Nottingham wasted no time in fetching the man he hated more than anyone else. Even more than the outlaw who was also a captive within these walls. Reaching the other, he loosened the chains, amazed that the man still remained so remarkably calm. Then he dragged him to Gulnar.

The wizard eyed the Sheriff of Nottingham and let out his maniacal laugh. "Do you stick to not wanting to join us, de Rainault?" he then wanted to know from him.

Robert de Rainault straightened to his full height and let his disdainful gaze wander over the assembled wolf warriors, the wizard, and the idol of Fenris until he looked his former subordinate straight into his face.

"If you could see yourself, Gisburne, even you would realize how ridiculous you look in that wolf skin. You are a knight, man, how could you have fallen so low?" He shook his head as if he couldn't comprehend it, which was probably even true. De Rainault and his steward rarely saw anything the same way.

"I have not fallen, I have finally realized where I belong, de Rainault", Gisburne replied, not suppressing his anger over the other's words.

"Then this is where we part ways, Gisburne", the sheriff retorted, "for I will not submit to this madness."

"It will cost you your life", Gulnar stated firmly with a satisfied grin. "But Fenris will be pleased with this sacrifice."

Meanwhile, Grendel had also moved close, and now he handed Gisburne a dagger. "Prove yourself worthy of Fenris and bring him this sacrifice. With it, you will then truly be a part of our pack, Gisburne."

The former knight took the dagger and then looked into the face of de Rainault, who still showed no signs of fear. Did he perhaps believe that he would once again shrink back from breaking away from him? Admittedly, he had never tried to dispose of the man by his own hand before, but that was completely beside the point now. Just the thought of finally being free of him, of never having to do what the other man requested of him, gave him a sense of immense satisfaction. There was no way he was going back this time.

And suddenly he knew exactly what he had to do. Before he could change his mind - not that he wanted to - he grabbed the sheriff's hair, yanked his head back and slit his throat. As blood pumped from the wound, splattering him all over, he didn't back away, but enjoyed the sensation of savagery. When he opened his hand, the body of the slain fell to the floor, but he was no longer interested in that. Far more important was that he had never felt so great.

Gulnar laughed. "Now you are truly a part of us. With this sacrifice, you have committed yourself to Fenris and can now benefit from his strength. Hold back no longer, unleash it all."

Gisburne suddenly felt the urgent need to spill someone's blood. He suddenly felt the need to pounce on a victim like a wild animal and kill him with his bare hands, sink his teeth into his flesh and drink the blood. At that moment he regretted that de Rainault was already dead. As he let his wild gaze sweep over those present, a red haze settled over his vision.

"Grendel", he heard Gulnar address the captain of his men, "take all the warriors and move out. Bring death and chaos to the villages in the area, and let Fenris receive many offerings."

"Gisburne", the bald wizard now turned to the former knight, "you are now a wolf warrior like everyone else here. Go with the others, Fenris demands more sacrifices."

"This is the time of the wolf", he exclaimed, laughing like a madman.

At first Gisburne had not grasped that Gulnar was addressing him. His name was now something that belonged to his old life, and his old life was over. In the next moment he had not only forgotten how he had lived in the past, he had even forgotten everything that had happened before he made the sacrifice to Fenris. At that moment, Sir Guy of Gisburne ceased to exist.

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Once again, Gisburne was startled out of a nightmare. For a moment he still imagined he could taste the victim's hot blood on his tongue, until he realized that he had not killed de Rainault at all. Still, he felt Fenris' savagery within him, as if he had actually joined the warriors of Gulnar, and this sensation was slow to subside.

Breathing heavily, the knight sat up. Even though he had not died in this nightmare, he felt it to be one of the worst he had had since he found himself here in Newark. Much worse than the ones in which he had died, although that seemed weird even to himself. But in the one from this night, he had forgotten who he was and this was something he definitely did not want to experience. If he no longer knew who he represented to the world, then he had lost everything. Then he might as well just lie down and die and he certainly didn't want that either.

He wanted to remain Sir Guy of Gisburne, even if he could do without being the steward at Nottingham if he found something better instead. And he wanted to remain a living Sir Guy of Gisburne, whatever he had to do to get there. No matter what. The only problem with that was that no one had offered him anything yet, or demanded anything of him.

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Guy lay in his bed and listened intently into the night, alert to the noises he could hear. From somewhere outside the house came the repeated barking of a wild animal, probably on the prowl. That didn't scare him, though, as he knew he was secure in here, inside the house. However, not every creature on the manor was aware that there was no threat, for he could hear the neighing of some of the horses in the stable in a reaction to the barking. But that didn't scare him either, since the horses were his friends. Suddenly he heard a mouse squeak outside in the hallway in front of his chamber. One of the cats must have been successful in its hunting, but of course that was no reason to be afraid as well.

After he hadn't heard anything for a while that could trouble him, he tried to relax enough to fall asleep, but he wasn't very successful at it. After not having been here for a while now, he had completely forgotten what horrors this house had in store for him. He would have preferred not to return at all, but how would he have been able to explain that to anyone? Therefore, he had no choice but to endure his stay here.

He tried to console himself with the thought that he would no longer be as helpless as before, but even with that he was unsuccessful. More than anything else in the world, he wished he were not here, and yet he had to linger at least one more night.

All of a sudden, he heard another person breathing close to him, right here in this chamber, and he froze in fear. And then that nasty laugh rang out, the one that had always meant to him the beginning of his torment, and he turned cold.

"Did you really expect I wouldn't come to see you, Brat." This was the voice of the person who had been terrorizing him his whole life now. He had so been hoping to have finally escaped him, but he should have known better. He should never have believed he could ever succeed in this.

"You are mine", the other explained to him. "For that reason, I can do anything I want with you. You didn't really believe anything had changed about that, did you, Bastard?"

The other was now poking around in the fireplace, bringing the almost burned-down fire back to life to the point where he could light the lamp on the chest next to the bed with a splinter. Guy was now unable to hide in the darkness and he knew there was no escape for him.

Slowly, the man moved closer to the bed. In the flickering light of the lamp, he appeared to Guy like a giant demon. Most likely this was caused by the fact that the boy had never seen him in any other way. Just the sight of him made Guy unable to move.

"You should believe me when I tell you I missed you, Brat!". The man laughed again. Even if Guy would be able to, there was no way he was going to answer that.

The other had continued to approach slowly and then, when he finally stood next to Guy, he placed one of his huge, meaty hands on his shoulder. "You're all tense, Boy. We really need to do something about that, and I already know exactly what there is to do."

By now Guy could no longer suppress his trembling, for he knew exactly what was about to follow. And he also knew he couldn't avoid it.

Suddenly the man tightened his grip and turned Guy onto his stomach with a single yank, then ripped off his pants. Without hesitation, he laid down on the boy with all his weight immediately afterwards. However, that was not the reason why Guy suddenly had trouble breathing.

He hadn't been able to escape the fact that the man wasn't wearing any pants, and now he couldn't avoid the realization that his supposed father was already prepared to treat his wife's bastard in exactly the manner he had always considered appropriate. He had also always been fond of saying that there was no better way to punish his consort's whoring than to make her bastard a whore as well. And of course, he was forced to take care of it personally, because only if Edmond of Gisburne did it himself could he be sure it was done properly.

As the man penetrated him, Guy smothered his cries of pain, as well as his tears, in his pillow. He had had many opportunities to gain experience in this regard, and at that moment he discovered he had forgotten nothing. To his great chagrin, he could recall exactly what was about to happen. He was also forced to realize that the whole process had not become less painful just because he was older now.

Edmond of Gisburne expended all his strength to thrust his cock as deeply as possible into the ass of the boy whom all the rest of the world regarded as his son and who had not possessed the foresight to die at birth. Only in this manner could he have escaped this fate.

After spraying his seed, he pulled his cock out again, rolled off the boy, and quietly left Guy's chamber. The boy remained stiff as a board, trying to ignore the pain as tears continued to stream down his face. And for the umpteenth time in his young life, he wished his mother hadn't thrown herself into someone else's arms like a whore. But he also wished he were dead.

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This time Gisburne was unable to move when he woke up. He had curled up into a ball and was desperately trying not to make any noises while tears were streaming down his face. It took him a while to realize that he was secure in his cell. And then it occurred to him that Edmond of Gisburne had been dead for years.

Still, he didn't stop shaking. Finally, he had to lie down again, and he curled up into a ball once more. Would he never manage to be free, would he never get rid of his so-called father? What had he done to deserve such parents? A mother who hadn't been able to restrain herself, a father who obviously didn't care that he existed, and a man who everyone thought was his father and who had tormented him all his life, even after his death.

Gisburne let his tears flow freely.

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When the patch of sunlight had moved far enough down, he dragged himself to it, for this was his only link to the outside world that had remained to him. He placed one of his hands on the wall and watched as the light passed over his fingers, and he began to cry from sheer happiness at this small treat.

As he watched the dust motes dance in the sunlight, he was struck - once again - by how wrinkled the skin of his hand had gotten. With the other one, he groped his face and noticed the numerous wrinkles there as well. Oddly enough, he kept forgetting this, but that was not really surprising, since he had also forgotten who he was. Or why he happened to be here. He would have liked to ask someone, but no one came to talk to him.

His hand touched his beard, which reached down to his belly. As he held the end of it up to the sunlight, he wondered when it had turned so gray. Was his hair gray as well? He brought one of the strands, in which he could wrap himself up to his thighs, into the light, too. It didn't look gray, but white. Why was there a difference here? He did not know.

Again, he turned his gaze to the patch of sunlight that had by now wandered away from his hand and had already forgotten again what he had just been pondering. Finally, he settled down on the bare floor. He would have liked to fall asleep, but he had come to realize that he didn't need that much sleep anymore. That was a pity, because in his dreams he was still young. And in his dreams, there were such things as the blue sky or green trees. He could almost believe that he had seen something like that himself at one time.

Slowly he slid down the wall and then he fell asleep after all. He smiled as he dreamed of a life outside this cell, not knowing that he wouldn't be able to remember anything once he woke up.

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Gisburne wasn't sure how much longer he could last here. Not that it was in his power to leave this cell, but what about leaving this life. Of course, he knew that suicide was a sin that would take him to hell, but by now he was sure that he would end up there no matter what. So why should he continue to torture himself here? He had no answer to that question.

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The king's soldiers put shackles on Gisburne's wrists before taking him out of his cell. When they led him out of the dungeons in their midst, he realized that the time of his imprisonment had cost him quite a bit of strength, for he could hardly keep up with the men and after they had ascended the stairs, he was already out of breath.

The bright daylight streaming through the windows also gave him considerable trouble after the semi-darkness of his cell, and he was glad when he reached the Great Hall, lit by candles and torches. It was much more agreeable.

When he caught sight of the men who were waiting for him there, he realized how he must look to them. His pants and shirt - which, fortunately, had been handed to him before he was put in his cell - were not yet rags, but they were dirty and torn in some places. He himself was also grimy with dirt, and his beard and hair had grown quite a bit, making it obvious that he had been locked up for more than a few days. He definitely didn't give any more the impression that he was a knight, and that bothered him.

He was placed in a spot in front of a dais with some chairs to the right and left of a heavy throne. Two of the soldiers continued to flank him. Then Gisburne noticed another troop of soldiers approaching and he realized they were bringing in de Rainault. The latter was placed a few feet away from him and the knight noticed that the sheriff - or more likely the former sheriff - had also spent the last few weeks in a cell, like himself. Indeed, he looked no different from Gisburne.

They had to wait a while longer before the king also felt like entering the hall. He made his way slowly to his throne and then the other seats were taken. Among others, he discovered the Earl of Chester there, but also William Brewer, who had gotten him into all this in the first place.

"De Rainault", the king's shrill voice rang out. "Explain to me how this whole mess could have come about."

"Of course, my Liege", the sheriff commenced. "This all has to do with my steward's inability to protect your majesty's grain from this scum." Gisburne had to restrain himself from protesting vociferously as the man spun his tale, which bore little resemblance to the truth in just the vital parts. He managed to keep his mouth shut only knowing full well that this behavior would only get him into more trouble. And that was the last thing he needed right now.

Finally, de Rainault had reached the end of his narrative and Gisburne had noticed that he had not mentioned the fake Robin Hood at all. So, he himself shouldn't mention him either. And maybe he shouldn't speak about the fact that he hadn't joined Gulnar only to stay alive.

The king already gave the impression that he believed the sheriff more than the knight, who had not yet said anything when the Earl of Chester whispered something to the ruler. Apparently unwilling, the latter nodded and then signaled to Gisburne to speak as well.

"My Liege", the knight started, "what I did for the protection of the grain, I did on the instructions of Robert de Rainault, who did not want to let the responsibility for it out of his hands. At least not as long as it had not yet been stolen." He was proud of himself for being able to remain so calm, despite the fact that this was his head that was at stake. And he continued to manage to do so as he recounted all the events from his point of view, up until the time he freed the sheriff from the clutches of Gulnar. De Rainault had been somewhat vague about this, but he had not been able to avoid admitting that he had not freed himself on his own.

Now the knight could only wait to see what his king would decide. At this moment, however, he had little hope of getting out of here alive, for John gave the impression that he was about to throw one of his infamous tantrums, and Brewer was trying to push him further in that direction. The Earl of Chester, on the other hand, had remained completely calm and continued to whisper his advice to the king. But was he counseling the king to sacrifice the steward or not? Gisburne did not know, for he was not in on anything. But he had reached a point where he was willing to accept any verdict that would not return him to his cell and to his nightmares.

The waiting dragged on until the ruler finally decided to give his judgment, and he did not appear pleased at all.

"It is now obvious to me who was responsible for this grain, which my soldiers had urgently needed for the campaign into Wales. I consider its loss a betrayal, and I am in the habit of dealing harshly with traitors." He turned his probing gaze on the two men he sat in judgment of.

"De Rainault, you are the sheriff in charge of the region for which you have been appointed by your king. There is no one there who stands any higher than you, and therefore the theft of the grain is ultimately your responsibility. I cannot and will not concern myself further with you now, for I am not sure if there is not more for which you must answer. For this reason, I will have you taken away from here right now, and I will decide what to do with you at a later time."

While the royal soldiers dragged him away, de Rainault pleaded with his king to show mercy, but the latter had turned his head away and was unwilling to respond.

When silence had returned to the hall, John turned to the knight.

"Gisburne, you are the sheriff's deputy, but I have already noticed myself that de Rainault has never let you make decisions on your own. I am not sure if your incompetence stems from the fact that the sheriff has always dictated everything to you, or if you are indeed as stupid as you act and as many say you are. You are partly to blame for the loss of the grain, but I have not forgotten that you were the first to pay homage to me after the death of my brother. Therefore, I give you a choice now, Gisburne. Fight for me in Normandy or lay your head on a block here in Newark."

Gisburne didn't have to consider what his decision would be. Of course, he knew that he might well perish in Normandy, for the fighting there had been relentless. But there at least his fate lay partly in his own hands, and he was not a shoddy fighter. He didn't think his chances there were too bad. And it would get him out of his cell. Although that would also be true if he chose the block. But that choice wouldn't give him a chance.

He dropped to his knees and bowed his head to his ruler. "It is my great honor to fight for you in Normandy, Your Majesty."