It was late when the family arrived back at the castle. The little girls ate a light supper, were quickly bathed and put to bed.

While Marian luxuriated in a scented bath, Robin sought out a servant who might bring his wife something to eat before tonight's late scheduled banquet. Along the way, he encountered Marguerite.

He thought it unwise to speak with her, but his earlier "swordfight" with her husband banished his resistance.

"You are alright?" he asked somewhat formally, trying to keep her at a distance. "And your husband has recovered, I trust?"

Instead of the thanks he expected, Marguerite treated him as if he was a leper. She frowned at him, shuddering as she backed away.

"Has your husband threatened to hurt you, if you speak with me?" Robin asked, his chivalrous nature wanting to rush to her defense.

But Marguerite's response made no sense to Robin. "What was the name of that servant you travelled with, when you were here before?" she asked. "It was Much, wasn't it?"

Confused, Robin nodded his head. And then a thought struck him. "Is he here?" he asked, amazed, thinking Much might have followed him all the way to Aquitaine, as he used to follow him everywhere in the past. But he wouldn't now, not with his family holding him in Bonchurch. Unless, Robin realized, there was trouble at home, trouble that needed his help. "Where can I find him?" he asked.

Marguerite scowled at him. "Look in your bed," she answered, backing away again before turning and almost running away.

Robin, more confused than before, pictured Much, weary from travel, asleep on his bed, still wearing his cape and his mud caked boots. It was nonsense! But if it wasn't...? Marian was taking her bath within the same suite, and if Much was there and woke up and discovered her...! Robin wasn't sure which of the two would be more embarrassed, but he had to bet, he'd place his money on Much.

Heading back toward his chambers, he stopped, thinking he heard his name being sung by a minstrel.

"Young Robin of Locksley, Crusader so brave,
Called to his servant, more truly his slave,
'I'm tired of fighting and killing 'tis true,
but how to avoid it, I ask now of you?

'Spilling Saracen blood is not to my liking,
There is sand in my boots from all of the hiking.
I want to go home, but go home in glory,
I'm tired of battle, it's messy and gory.'

Young Much answered back to the master he served,
'Sire, my darling, you have lost all your nerve!
Kisses we share, a bed we share too,
Cupid has wounded me, let me wound you.'

'Wound me?' asked Robin, 'How do you mean?'
Much answered back, 'In your torso so lean,
My sword I will thrust, though I swear I won't kill you.'
'If it works,' quoth young Locksley, 'I'll reward you and thrill you.'

Much said to his true love, 'The king you must save
Though 'tis only pretend, pretend to be brave.
Your wound will look true and hurt mightily sore
Then home we will go and be finished with war.'

So Robin allowed Much's steel sword to pierce him,
But it gave him no pleasure, instead he did curse him.
'I shan't let you into my bed any longer,
but I'll give you my lands, once I've grown stronger.'

'Your lands?' Much asked later, on their way home from war.
'Not Locksley, but Bonchurch, 'tis yours evermore,
But you must keep the secret of all that we shared,
For no one must know 'tis for you that I cared.'

'Is it over?' Much asked him, wiping a tear,
'Are you never again to call me your dear?'
'Not over,' Robin answered, 'but we can't make it known
That your ass is my sword sheath, where my wild oats were sown.

'You, I have plowed, plowed like a farmer
When we've been naked or wearing our armor.'
But Much disagreed, 'Your tool is so tiny
You never have plowed, only tickled my hiney.'

When they arrived home Robin had a new thought,
Of young Lady Marian he'd years ago bought
With promise of marriage and love ever true,
He would make her his bride, he would say his, "I do."

But how could he know how the lady had changed
From tender young maiden as to one deranged
And crazy in love with a knight called Sir Guy,
Who took her fair maidenhead, then tossed her aside.

So mad for Sir Guy did the fair lady grow,
That she gnawed on her pillow, tossing feathers to and fro.
'Til her chamber resembled the sheriff's with cages
Filled with birds for his pleasure, as well as his pages."

"Stop!" Robin shouted, charging into a group surrounding Alain the minstrel. "Mock me if you must with your songs...make up lies about me, but leave my wife out of it!"

After a stunned silence, the group began laughing.

Robin strode directly to face Alain. "You wrote that garbage?"

Surrounded by many, Alain was only partly afraid. "Oui, my lord. That song, and many others."

"About me? About my wife?"

"Oui, my lord. It is only for fun, for a laugh."

"It is slander."

"But so funny!"

The crowd laughed uproariously again.

Once their laughter died down, Robin warned Alain, "Not another word against my wife, do you understand?"

"Do you mean like this?" Alain strummed his lute and sang,

"When Robin Hood snuck into Nottingham town
To bed his fair lady, she couldn't be found.
She was in bed with Gisbourne, that handsome strong knight-"

Refusing to let the man finish, Robin seized Alain's lute and threw it to the ground, breaking it. "I said, not another word," he shouted.

"You will pay, my lord, for another lute."

"You will pay with your job, if you continue insulting my wife. I thought this was a civilized court! What has happened to Queen Eleanor's so called Court of Love? You are no musician, but a peddler of lies and filth!"

"And you are but a coward and a cuckold, whose wife gives him horns!"

Unable to restrain his temper, Robin raised his fists, inviting Alain to fight.

Frightened, Alain stepped back, explaining, "I cannot fight you, my lord! My hands are meant to strum a lute, not be damaged by fisticuffs!"

"Then you will stop spreading lies against my wife!"

"They are not lies. Your wife is a well known whore."

It took Robin only one punch to Alain's face to knock him out cold, though Robin was so angry he would have liked to continue hitting him. The crowd around him was silent, but a guard's cry of alarm rent the air.

"You, Lord Locksley, are under arrest," the leader of a group of guards told him.

"What for?" Robin asked.

"Public brawling. Come with us quietly."

"But I fought in public this morning, with swords, against..." Robin realized he didn't know Marguerite's husband's surname or title. "Against a man called Francois."

"Francois du Luc," the guardsman finished. "Oui. That was legal. You are both gentlemen of rank, and you fought with swords. But now, you dared to strike a lowly musician with your bare hands. That is unworthy of chivalry, and you must be punished. You are familiar with dungeons, we know, but not with our dungeon in Aquitaine."