The Successor by Jennifer Campbell

None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I'm just
having a little fun and will return them, no worse for wear,
when I'm done. This story takes place early in Series 1. No
beta, so blame the typos on me.

This is the fourth chapter with more to come. So if you enjoy
this part, please check back later for the next installment. And
I would love to hear your feedback.

Extra note: I owe a giant apology to all those who started
reading this story back in May. I made an implied promise to you
all that I would continue writing, and I failed to live up to
that promise. This chapter perhaps isn't as long as the others,
but I wanted to get it out here, to show I haven't forgotten The
Successor and am back to writing it. I hope to finish soon.
Thank you for your patience.

#

Robin's gang came to the road at midmorning. They halted
beneath the undergrowth that lined the broad strip of dirt, one
of the least-used roads to Nottingham, and scanned the area. No
travelers or soldiers were in sight. Will was the first to walk
into the open, followed by Marion and the others a moment later.

As the group stood by and watched, Nasir knelt in the road,
touching his fingertips to the prints of feet and hooves still
pressed in the dirt. He moved slowly, cautiously about the area
and pointed to a sturdy tree branch above them.

"Two men on horses," he said. "I think Robin ambushes them from
up there."

"How can you know that?" Will demanded.

"Neither horse passes that branch, and both go back down the
road." Nasir knelt again to examine markings in the dust. "Three
men come here, and two leave on foot." He pointed into the
trees. "They go that way."

"Only two?" Will started pacing, as he always did when
especially impatient. "Well, that's great. _Which_ two, Nasir?"

Nasir calmly regarded Will. "I don't know."

Much piped up, "And what happened to the third one?"

No one answered, and Marion lowered her eyes to the scuffles
and ruts in the dirt. Nasir could read such signs like a book,
but to her, they meant little and offered even less comfort.
Could Robin have met his successor here? If they had fought, who
had won? Only two left on foot. Marion clenched her fists in
frustration, fearing the worst for her beloved.

"No blood," Nasir murmured. He touched his fingertips to the
dirt.

"What was that?" Will asked.

"There is no blood. So perhaps no one died. Yet one fell here."
He pointed to a spot that looked much like the others to Marion.
"And was dragged --"

"I found something!" John yelled from off the road.

Marion quickly hitched up her skirt around her calves and ran
toward John. If this was a clue to Robin's disappearance, or if
it were Robin himself ...

Just off the road, cleverly concealed in the undergrowth,
curled up and fast asleep, they found a brown-haired boy. No,
Marion corrected herself -- he looked closer to manhood than
childhood. Not much younger than herself, in fact. He carried a
sword, and tied to his belt was a purse, heavy with coins.

She breathed a sigh of relief at what this meant: If two had
left the road, as Nasir said, Robin was alive. Or at least he
had been after a scuffle here. Still, why he had left with a
stranger? If this mysterious rider was Robin's successor, where
had they gone to? Too many questions, and no answers.

Tuck leaned over and gently nudged the sleeping figure with his
boot. The boy shifted slightly but did not wake. "He's alive, at
least."

"We need to wake him up," Marion said. "He might know what
happened to Robin."

"Right." Will grinned mischievously. "Allow me."

He knelt beside the sleeping figure, carefully untied the purse
and threw it to John. Then Will poked the boy a couple of times
in the shoulder, with no reaction. He cleared his throat noisily
and, with one more grin for his companions, leaned over to the
boy's ear.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Wake up!"

The boy's eyes snapped open but remained unfocused as he looked
at them. He blinked a couple of times, slowly sat up, groaned
and clutched at his head. Then he scanned the gang again, and
his gaze finally came to rest on Marion.

"What is this? Where am I?" he asked, still a little dazed.

"You're in Sherwood," Marion answered gently. She waved back
the others, who had inched forward. The young man needed room to
breathe, not a bunch of rough-and-tumble men huddled about in
curiosity.

The boy shook himself. "Sherwood?"

"Yeah," Will supplied sarcastically. "Big forest. Lots of trees."

"Will ..." Marion gave him a warning look. Will bowed his head
and backed away, and Marion knelt at the boy's side. "Do you
remember what happened? How you got here?"

Another dazed shake of the head, then, "Robert ... where is he?"

Robert. The other rider, no doubt. And someone they needed more
information about if they were to learn what had happened to
Robin.

"I don't know where he is," she answered cautiously. "Maybe if
you tell us who he is, and who you are ..."

He hesitated a moment, eyes narrowing. "Why should I tell you?
You're bandits. ... Wait, you're Robin Hood's men, aren't you?"
At Marion's nod, he gasped and scrambled away from her, up to
his feet. Shakily, he drew his sword. "You killed Robert, didn't
you? I'll kill you!"

They all drew back in surprise, except for Tuck, who stepped
forward with hands raised before him. "We don't know any Robert,
and we mean you no harm."

The boy teetered and steadied himself on a tree behind him. The
blow to his head had obviously left him a little unsteady. "I
don't believe you. You attacked us. You knocked me off my horse
and killed Robert. You're animals!"

Will snorted. "Got that last part right, at least."

Tuck silenced Will with a glance, then stepped closer to the
boy. "I'm a man of God. I won't lie to you. We had nothing to do
with your attack."

The sword drooped a little. "Then tell me what happened."

Tuck looked to Marion for assistance, and she moved up beside
him. "We don't know what happened," she soothed. "But we think
your Robert left here with Robin."

The boy sputtered, "But that's impossible. Robert wouldn't... I
mean, he --" He took a deep breath. "Robert wouldn't consort
with an outlaw."

Will sighed loudly. "Look, this kid obviously don't know
nothing. We're wasting our time here when we should be following
the trail. If we find Robin too late ..."

He left the words hanging among them. Marion felt a chill and
drew her arms about herself, and the others shifted nervously.
No one finished the warning, but Marion was certain they all
understood the implication: If Robin died, then his cause died
with him.

Much was the first to speak. "Let's follow him, then. He can't
be far."

Silence for a moment, then John said, "Much is right. We need
to keep moving if we're going to find out what's going on."

The boy stepped forward, more steady on his feet now, and
sheathed his sword. With an authority only one born to privilege
could muster, he said, "I'm going with you, then."

Will snorted. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're --" Will caught himself, breathed out slowly and
said, as though explaining to a small child, "Look, I understand
your concern for your friend. But we don't have time for this.
If you follow the road, it'll take you out of the forest."

"I can't go back without Robert." His air of nobility vanished,
replaced with only a scared, worried young man. "You have no
idea what the Earl would do to me. I have to find Robert, or I
can't go back at all." When no one responded, he added,
"Besides, you can't stop me. If you leave me here, I'll only
follow."

"Well, you could _try_," Will muttered.

The men took turns looking at each other, as though silently
asking anyone else to tell the boy he couldn't come. Marion
merely studied the young man and knew he meant every word. He
would try to follow -- and probably lose himself in the forest.
All the stubbornness in the world wouldn't save him then, if he
couldn't find his way out.

"You can come," she said softly, and no one challenged her
decision.

"And I want my money back." He looked pointedly at the pouch in
John's hands.

"Don't press your luck," Will shot back.

A low chuckle circulated the group, and they all prepared to
go. Nasir started hunting for signs of passage, inspecting
snapped branches and trampled leaves. Meanwhile, John approached
the new addition to their group and laid a companionable arm
around the boy's shoulders. Marion watched the exchange with a
small smile, grateful that at least John was supporting her
decision to let the boy join them.

"What's your name, lad?" he asked gently.

"Kyle."

"Well, Kyle, stay quiet, don't ask too many questions, and keep
up. Understand?"

The boy nodded.

"Good." John patted Kyle's back and turned to the others.
"Shall we be on our way, then?"

#

Robert stopped dropping seeds long enough to wipe his sleeve
against his sweaty forehead. What he wouldn't give for a taste
of crisp, cool water from the Huntingdon well right now, and
maybe some biscuits from the kitchen. He and Kyle had been
masters of sneaking food out from under the cook's notice, but
they had been caught just as often.

Robert smiled at the memory. It made no difference down there
in the castle's depths whether the thief was a stableboy or an
earl's son, for all got the same treatment -- swept out with a
broom, the cook's shrill complaints chasing after.

At the thought of Kyle, he paused again. He wondered whether
his friend had woken up and made his way back to the castle.
Robert fervently hoped Kyle hadn't wandered into Sherwood,
confused and alone. Without a guide, the forest could prove
deadly, and Robert would wish that on no one, least of all his
boyhood companion.

"Keep up the pace, boy!" Ethan, his taskmaster, nudged him from
behind, and Robert resumed his seed-dropping. "We can't have you
dallying when the sun is already so low in the sky."

Robert shaded his eyes and looked up. "It can't be much past
midday."

"Are you going to challenge me on that?" Ethan's voice dropped
dangerously low, the threat obvious behind his words.

"No," Robert answered quickly. No sense in antagonizing a man
twice his size.

"Good. Now get to work."

So passed the next hour. A pretty young woman, about Robert's
age, occasionally brought him a ladle-full of water, along with
her shy smile. She wore her long brown hair in braids, and her
name, he found out, was Bethany. Robert contented himself with
flashing her charming smiles and watching her blush.

Bethany had just moved on to the next thirsty worker, with one
last look for him over her shoulder, as Robert reached the end
of his row. A quick glance into the nearby grass confirmed that
Albion still lay undisturbed.

He grabbed another handful of seeds, with a passing curiosity
of what exactly he was planting -- he hadn't bothered to ask --
when he noticed a disturbance ripple across the field. The
people of Wickham froze as one, heads whipping to look north. A
moment later, Robert heard it: hoof beats, like a low rumble of
thunder. He followed everyone else's lead and strained to see
what was coming.

Men on horseback galloped out of the forest. As they drew
closer, Robert made out their matching helmets and blue capes.
Soldiers, probably from Nottingham. At least a dozen of them
pulled up on the planting field, no care for trampling the
villager's hard work beneath their horses' hooves. Most of the
villagers cowered back.

Robert felt his cheeks burn in anger. How dare these soldiers
have so little regard for their people! Then again, he too had
viewed the Saxons as little better than animals as recently as a
couple of days ago. He wanted to run forward and turn the
horsemen back, but instead he waited to see how this would play
out.

One soldier, dressed in finer armor than the rest, urged his
horse forward a few paces and yelled, "Edward of Wickham!"

Robert's throat tightened as Edward stepped forward and bowed.
"My Lord Gisburne, can I do something for you?"

Gisburne responded, in a haughty tone, "The town of Wickham is
late in paying its taxes. I'm here to collect. Five marks."

"My lord, we don't have that much money," Edward said. "If we
could pay, we would. But it's impossible."

"You will pay, or your pathetic village will suffer the
consequences." He waved two men forward, who rode to either side
of Edward and stood guard. "I'm placing you under arrest."

"On what charge?" Edward asked, anger edging into his voice.

"On failure to pay the king's taxes, of course." Gisburne
raised his voice for all to hear. "We are taking this man to
Nottingham. If your taxes are not paid in seven day's time, he
will be executed, and we will be back for another of you. This
will continue until you have paid, or you're all dead."

Villagers gasped. The two soldier's grabbed Edward's arms, and
he struggled against them.

"My lord, you can't do that!" Edward protested.

"I just did."

"But how can we pay our taxes if you kill us? We must all work
to earn our money."

"You should have thought of that before. Now it's too late."
Gisburne waved one mailed hand at his men. "Tie him up. We're
leaving."

"NO!"

The outraged declaration made even Gisburne stop and look
around. Robert did the same, until he realized that the voice to
yell out had been his own. Simultaneously, he noticed that he
now held Albion, unsheathed, tight in his fist, although he
couldn't remember going to fetch it. He gulped hard.

"Who said that?" Gisburne demanded, pulling his horse around.
"Show yourself."

A strange feeling came over Robert, as though he were outside
himself, watching his body step forward of its own volition. The
voice that passed his lips hardly sounded like his own, cold and
commanding.

"Look here, _my lord_," he spat. "And let Edward go."

Gisburne kicked his mount forward and stopped directly before
Robert. He stared down at him from under his helmet. "I don't
recognize you. You're not of Wickham."

"Does it matter?"

"Who are you?"

He raised Albion before him. "Robert of Huntingdon, son of the
Earl of Huntingdon. And if you know what is best, you will let
these people be."

For a moment, dead silence descended on them all. Edward stared
at him in shock, as did the other villagers, but Robert gave
them only cursory notice. Even Gisburne stared at him in
disbelief, but then he chuckled and relaxed.

"Do you really expect me to believe that an earl's son would be
helping a group of peasants plant their fields? Look at
yourself. Look at your clothes. If you're a nobleman, then I'm
King Richard."

Robert grinned despite himself and bowed deeply, mockingly.
"Your majesty. I didn't recognize you."

Gisburne growled. "Enough of this. Kill him!"

He turned his back on Robert and rode away, but two of the
soldiers started forward, first at a walk, then speeding up to a
canter. They came at him with swords drawn, one on either side
to cut him down.

Again, the feeling of standing outside himself fell over
Robert, like he was watching this happen to someone else,
perhaps on a theater stage. He wondered, detached, how it was
that an earl's son had found himself in such a situation,
defending Saxons against his own kind? These past couple of days
were something like a dream; they couldn't possibly be real.

The soldiers came closer, almost atop him. He raised Albion.

With almost absolute certainty, Robert knew the dream was about
to end.

#

to be continued (soon) ...