THE GATHERING
The inhabitants of the many small villages surrounding Sherwood welcomed Robin Hood like a brother. Herne had predicted as much, but it was gratifying to see it anyway - the cheerful smiles, the heartened look of people cowed for too long. Robin and his men brought money, which meant food, and a lessening of the terrible threat posed by the Sheriff's tax-gatherers. The children need not be quite so thin, the work need not bend so many backs. Robin knew that the recovery would be a slow one, but from the moment when he and his gang made the first delivery of silver coins stolen from the Bishop of Leeds, he knew that a blow had been struck for the people of England. More importantly, he saw that the people themselves knew it. From the very first day, when the bishop had finally made it to the castle with his surviving men, there had been talk of rewards, but nobody seemed to have any desire to collect them. As Edward, headman of the little village of Wickham, once said to Robin - why take one large pay out in exchange for who knew how many smaller ones, spread out reassuringly through the year?
Wickham was a tough little village. Robin had known it reasonably well during the days before his outlawry, for it was within easy reach of the mill where he had grown up, and it seemed sensible to make it a base of operations of sorts now. Of all the villages with which he shared the Bishop of Leeds' ill-gotten money, it was Wickham that needed it the most. They had borne the brunt of several of the Sheriff's money raising programmes, and had lost several men to Gisburne's petty accusations and trumped-up charges. They were a brave group of people; unbowed by hardship and eager to help Robin where they could; and so it was that he found himself visiting them more often than anywhere else. Not everything could be stolen, and even desperate outlaws could not live on venison and rabbit alone, so it was Wickham that was chosen to supply certain other needs, such as flour and arrowheads. Marion, in the few days since first being introduced to the locals, had become a firm favourite with everybody, and talked happily to Edward's wife. Nobody seemed to mind the fact that she was a lady, for it was almost as if they had been expecting the Hooded Man to come amongst them one day, and to bring with him an unusual choice for a consort. Perhaps they had been expecting it. Marion had learnt in her first meeting with Herne that there was knowledge and wisdom which none of the wisest men she had met amongst the Normans could ever have explained.
It was not just Robin and Marion who were comfortable in Wickham. When the outlaw band descended upon the village, everybody seemed happy to make them welcome. John and Will flirted with the wide-eyed young women who were eager for tales of daring exploits that hadn't even happened yet; Much played with children still too young to understand who and what he was; Tuck talked to the older women, or gave blessings where they were needed, easing his conscience with thoughts that he at least could restore a little of the people's faith in a Church that had become too corrupted. Even Nasir, who seemed to spend much of his time in the village keeping watch sitting on the roof of the tallest barn, was relaxed enough there. None of the villagers cared that he was a Saracen, and from the beginning had made him as welcome as the rest of the band. Whilst he sat up on the barn's towering roof, keeping a much needed eye on the roads leading from the castle, the older children challenged each other to try to climb up alongside him. It was a cheerful situation - a friendly one - and one that, perhaps predictably therefore, was doomed to change.
They had been outlaws for nearly a fortnight. Robin was keeping track even though he doubted that the others were. He knew from the phase of the moon and by the length of the grass, and from the size of the young rabbits that played near the camp. He knew it from the changing skies and the sound of the birds, and from the number of meetings that there had been with the Lord of the Forest, his enigmatic 'father'. Ten days of successful raids, of mock battles and chases through the forest to sharpen their skills; ten days of tales around the fire, of taking turns at cooking rough meals; of teaching Marion to fight with a sword, teaching Much how to fight with a quarter-staff, and helping Nasir fill in holes in his English vocabulary. Ten days that seemed like forever, and happily so. They had spent three, perhaps four afternoons in Wickham, drinking ale - or in Nasir's case water - sharing the venison that they had killed, and helping re-build houses that were periodically destroyed by bored soldiers from Nottingham. Robin was looking forward to spending another few hours there, for he had promised to judge an archery contest for the younger boys, and knew that Marion was looking forward to it as well. Nobody ran to meet them as they left the cover of the forest, but that wasn't unusual. The inhabitants of Wickham had little time to spare if they wanted to keep the fields well tilled - and yet there didn't seem to be anybody tilling the fields. Will pointed it out first, and as one the seven quickened their steps. A horrible suspicion was beginning to form itself in Robin's mind.
"Edward?" He called the name of the headman as he hurried forward, looking for the familiar figure of Edward's son. Somebody had usually come to greet them by now; a woman, with a child in each arm, or a band of children with toy swords, and riding imaginary horses. Today there was nobody at first.
"Edward!" Banging on the door frame of the headman's house, Robin wondered if his friend was ill. Perhaps all of the villagers were. "Edward!"
"He's not there." A woman had come from nearby, where she had apparently been watching them in the shadows of the large barn. Robin recognised her, although he didn't know her name.
"Where is he?" Edward was always in Wickham, or had been so far. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else except on feast days - and today, like almost every other day in the calendar, was not one of those. The woman's dark eyes ran over the seven, sharp and unfriendly.
"All of the men were taken, and all of the boys above fourteen. Most of the women and the smaller children are hiding."
"Taken?" Robin knew that he sounded stupid, but at first he couldn't quite take it in. He had seen villages put to the sword before; the buildings burnt to the ground and the men left sprawled in bloody heaps; but this was different. The men and boys taken? Taken where?
"Gisburne." The woman understood his question even though he hadn't asked it. "He came with his men. They took all of ours." Her eyes glittered, and her muddy fingers stroked the hand-carved wooden cross that hung around her neck. "Your fault. All your fault."
"Gisburne knows about us coming here?" Robin exchanged a worried look with John, who tried to take a step towards the woman. She backed off instantly, spitting words of rage and hate.
"Your fault!" She was gripping the wooden cross with tight fingers that were bone white at the knuckles. "How could Gisburne not know that you come here? How could he not wonder where we got the money for our taxes? The Sheriff doesn't mind that it's stolen - all he cares about is that it comes to him in the end. But they want you all the same, and they're using our men and boys to get to you. They think we'll betray you to get our men back, but the other women wouldn't agree to it."
"They wouldn't--" Robin felt humbled. He had done so little for these people, even though he had such plans to do more. "I'm sorry. Really."
"Being sorry won't help the men of Wickham." Her eyes were full of pain as she stared at them all. Accusation made her lips tight and pinched, and her brow was heavy and lined with a frown as dark as her sorrow. "They took my son. He's all that I've got since my husband was hanged by Guy of Gisburne. All that I've got."
"We'll get him back." John wanted to put an arm around her, for he was a gentle man despite his great size, and liked to care for people. He kept his distance though, respecting her pain. "Won't we Robin?"
"Of course we will." The leader of the band had tortured eyes, hurt by the misfortunes of these innocent people. To think that it was all his fault - that his rebellion had caused other people who were not of his band to be punished. Herne had never said anything to make him think that something like this could happen. He tried to think of something, but his mind was too caught up in thoughts of horror, and wouldn't work immediately.
"How?" Will, he knew, would be as ready as anyone to get the men of Wickham back, but that didn't stop him from having his doubts that it was possible. "They'll be in the dungeons at Nottingham Castle. You know what that place is like."
"I'll never forget." Robin's words were heartfelt. "But we have to try."
"We can't storm Nottingham Castle, Robin." John remembered the towering walls of the place, and couldn't see any way that they could break in, rescue so many people, and get them all out again safely. Even in the dead of night it would be impossible.
"We can't storm it, no." Turning his back on the others, Robin stared thoughtfully across the fields. The people of Wickham were his friends. They had been good to him, and it touched his heart that the women of the place were still unwilling to betray him, even with their men in such danger. Something had to be done.
"We have to get into the dungeons." Marion had never been down to them before, but she could guess what they were like. It didn't seem likely that it would be possible to get in without the alarm being sounded. Breaking out of the dungeons was one thing, and had been managed before - but nobody had ever yet managed to break in.
"Yes." Robin took her hand, smiling at her worried face. "We do."
"The only way we're going to get into those dungeons is if we get taken there." Will's naturally belligerent voice made them all listen. Much's eyes widened.
"Robin? Are we going to be captured?"
"It'll be a rough job to manage that without getting yourself killed." John's eyes were narrowed into an expression of shrewd thought. "You'll need us all there with you, too. There's no way you'll get out of there by yourself."
"I know." Robin hated to ask them to do something as potentially deadly as this, but he knew that they all owed it to the people of Wickham. "If anybody's got any better ideas, you need to speak up. John? Will? Nasir?" Nobody answered. Nobody could think of anything.
"You want us to surrender to Gisburne's men?" Marion felt a cold chill run through her. She wasn't sure that she herself had any reason to fear execution, but the same could not be said of the man that she loved, or the others that she had come to care so much about as well. "They'd never believe it. They'd expect a trick, and probably just kill you outright."
"She's right, lad." John turned away, looking about at the deserted village, with its quiet, empty houses, and its ragged goats and snuffling pigs. Where were the women who usually flocked to meet him, and the laughing children eager for stories and games? Surely it couldn't be impossible to put it all back to how it should be?
"They'll think it's a trick if we surrender." Robin was frowning, thinking hard and hoping that Herne was still with him. "They won't think it's a trick if we walk into a trap."
"A trap?" Will's eyes lingered on the woman still standing nearby, watching them with eyes that switched their way through fear, hate and sorrow. "You want one of the women to set us up."
"Nobody would blame them if they did. Gisburne doesn't understand loyalty, and he'd never suspect anything if one of the Wickham women agreed to lead us into an ambush in the hope of getting her husband or son back. The Sheriff doesn't want them all in his dungeons when they should be out here working the fields. He'll let them go. All of them."
"And then all we'd need to do is get ourselves out." Will hated the idea, but he agreed with it. Getting himself out of trouble was something that he had been doing for years, and he had broken out of Nottingham Castle before. "It's a lousy idea, Robin, but a brave one. I'll grant you that much."
"You don't have to come with me." Robin had that look in his eyes again; the bright, warm light of a man on a mission. The light of Herne's Son. John clapped him on the shoulder.
"You try to keep us away, lad. Besides, what makes you think that the Sheriff will be satisfied just by catching you? There are seven of us in this gang, and he might not agree to release the people of Wickham until he's got all of us."
"More than likely, I'd say." Tuck was smiling, as usual unperturbed by all that was going on. Whether it was his faith or just his character that gave him such courage Robin didn't know, but he appreciated it either way. He smiled back.
"Thankyou. But we have to be united in this. You all have to understand what we're risking. Once we go into those dungeons, there's a chance we won't be coming back out alive."
"We will." Much was looking at him with trusting eyes. "You'll get us out Robin. Just like you did last time."
"I hope so." Knowing that he didn't have to ask the boy if he was willing to follow him, Robin turned to the others instead. Marion also did not need asking, and therefore neither did Tuck, but it was common courtesy to ask the others. "Will? I know what you think of the Normans. If this is too hard for you, I'll understand. And Nasir. It could be more dangerous for you."
"No." Nasir shook his head, using a rare sentence to show his support. "I'll come with you."
"Me too." Will's eyes were dark, but his voice was firm and determined. "Don't be a fool, Robin. Of course we're all with you."
"Then we're decided." Turning to the woman who still waited beside them, Robin used all the power of his personality to address her in gentle, warming tones. "Do you understand what we're saying?"
"Yes." She nodded, and her dirty, straggly hair flopped around her neck. "We... we wouldn't have asked you to do it."
"I know." Robin's voice was gentle; so gentle that everybody listened, marvelling at the power of the man who had been chosen as Herne's Son. "Will you help us?"
"You want me to lead you into a trap?" She had hated them, and had berated them for their part in what had happened to her son, but it was clear that she didn't like the idea of betraying them - even when it was at their own instigation. "If you were to be killed--"
"Well we won't come and haunt you if that's what you're worried about." Will saw a flash of fear in the woman's eyes and sighed. He really was going to have to learn not to mock the fearfulness of these people. "We can find somebody else if you'd rather."
"No." She looked revolted by the plan and by her part in it, but clearly she wanted to do something to help save her son. "Thankyou. All of you."
"It's the least we can do." Robin meant it. He knew how hard and unpleasant it would be for any of the locals to go before the Sheriff; the mockery that would have to be faced, not to mention the possible physical assault. This woman though, for all her earlier belligerence, seemed trusting of him now. Her eyes had regained a little of their life, and lost a little of their hopeless pain.
"You really are the Hooded Man, aren't you." She reached out for him, stroking his face for a second, looking deep into his gentle eyes. The change in her was remarkable. "My mother was a Seer, and she told me such stories, but I never expected to see you come."
"I'm nothing special." He felt terribly embarrassed, but she was not ready to let him off the hook just yet.
"You're everything that the people have waited for, Robin Hood. Everything we ever looked for. You must promise me that if you go to Nottingham Castle, you'll come back alive."
"I promise." It was the sort of vow that it was foolish to make, but something made him make it anyway. She nodded then, apparently satisfied.
"Then I'll betray you. Tomorrow at dawn."
**********
Wickham seemed even more deserted at dawn. The faint mist that rose from the grass hung ethereally above the ground, almost as though the ghosts that seemed to fill the place had finally begun to be visible. The village should have been waking up, but instead the silence persisted. A mournful clucking from the wandering hens added depth to the emptiness, and filled Robin Hood with a sadness that he couldn't quite explain.
"We must be mad." Will was wandering along at his side, stride surprisingly jaunty for a man who professed to dislike the whole plan. The chance of a good fight obviously appealed to him.
"Can you see anybody?" John was just behind them, trying to scan for Gisburne's soldiers without being too obvious about it. Robin shook his head.
"They'll be keeping out of sight. Gisburne may be a useless sort, but he's fairly efficient when it comes to being sneaky. They're probably hiding in some of the empty buildings."
"Ready for us to walk into their trap." Marion leaned against him. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I." If it had just been him he wouldn't have felt so bad. Walking to what might prove to be his death would be almost acceptable, especially when it was for the good of so many innocent people. He had been an outlaw for so short a time, but he had managed to do so much good. Maybe dying wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been taking his friends along with him. Only the fact that he trusted in Gisburne to want to parade them before the Sheriff kept him leading his band onwards into the trap. He didn't think that he could have led them into a possible massacre even if all the villagers in England were held hostage.
"The barn." Nasir had spotted somebody. Robin nodded.
"Then we'll head for the centre of the village. There's more space for a fight there anyway. Remember everyone. Act as if we're not expecting it. Make the fighting look good, but don't forget that we're supposed to lose."
"That won't be easy." Will let his hand fall unconsciously to his sword, and John's fingers curled more tightly around his heavy staff. Losing on purpose hurt the pride of both men. Robin smiled.
"It doesn't have to be easy. We don't want to do Gisburne any favours. Now keep quiet. They'll be able to hear us soon."
They walked on in silence, listening to the distant birds and the grunting pigs. The mist curled around their ankles, as though trying to pull them down beneath the ground, and the grey morning sky hung overhead, filled with the promise of rain. It was the colour, observed Will without enthusiasm, of Norman armour. His eyes flicked towards the barn, but he could see no sign of anybody within. Whatever Nasir had seen was invisible now, at least to him.
"Hello?" Striding forward, leaving the others behind, Robin raised his voice. "Edward?" Understandably there was no answer, and forcing himself to sound relaxed and unconcerned, he lifted his voice to call again. "Edward! Wake up!"
"The headman isn't here, Wolfshead." The voice was hot with malice, and it made Robin freeze in his tracks. He didn't jump, and even though he wanted Gisburne to believe that he hadn't expected the interruption, he couldn't bring himself to act as though he was surprised. Instead he smiled, and turned slowly around.
"Gisburne." His voice was pleasant. "Have you decided to live amongst the people now, or has the Sheriff finally seen sense and thrown you out of the castle?"
"You'd better throw down your sword." Bristling from the insult, Gisburne looked as though he was struggling to keep his temper under control. It wasn't something that he was terribly good at.
"Why?" Looking about him Robin saw the many soldiers who were emerging from the barn. Others came from nearby buildings, tripping over chickens in a mockery of their attempt to be silent. There were a lot of them - far more than Robin had expected. Gisburne's smile grew.
"You see? You're mine, Loxley."
"Am I?" For a second an exquisite, furious pride washed through the outlaw - a reaction to Gisburne's use of his name. He remembered the first time they had met, when the lofty steward had told him that he couldn't be Robin of Loxley, for Loxley didn't exist. "Why don't you come and get me."
"You can't win." Gisburne seemed pleased at the chance of a fight. "It's hopeless. We've got you outnumbered five to one."
"You might be surprised." With a reckless grin the leader of the outlaw band drew his sword. Albion's blade glittered in the sunlight, and as one the others fell in. Nasir's two swords hissed as they swung through the air, and John's long staff beat out a brief rhythm on the wall of a nearby building. He was grinning, huge and strong and powerful, enough to worry even the most experienced of soldiers. Behind him Will was ready with his own sword, watching warily as the guards advanced. He still thought that they were mad for walking into all of this - but as he watched the hated Normans moving towards him he threw all of that from his mind. The old blood lust was upon him, and he no longer cared what was mad or sane. He just wanted to fight.
Much fell first, borne to the ground beneath the weight of two soldiers. He struggled furiously, but his hands were soon bound. Tuck got a little carried away trying to rescue him, and laid out three or four of the guards, then remembered that the band was supposed to be losing and felt a bit guilty. Wading into a second scuffle in an attempt to assist Marion, he allowed himself to make a foolish mistake with his staff, and soon the two of them were also in the hands of the enemy. Robin kept an eye on them all, wondering if it might be better just to surrender before any of his friends were hurt. He saw John fighting furiously against five or six Normans, and couldn't suppress a smile, but was worried by Will and Nasir. Neither man had adjusted his fighting style to allow for their planned defeat, and indeed were doing a fine job of evening out the odds.
"You can't win, Wolfshead." Spitting fury, Gisburne thrashed about with a sword that bore several battle scars. Robin was beginning to think that he might do just that, if Will and Nasir didn't slow down.
"Don't be so sure of yourself Gisburne." He heard somebody coming up behind him, and ducked to avoid a sword aimed at his head. Two other soldiers fell into the fight, and he struggled to keep up his rhythm.
"Oh it's you that too sure of yourself." Gisburne was grinning like a wolf. "But soon enough you'll be lying in a dungeon at Nottingham Castle. Surrender and maybe your friends will live to see the dungeon with you."
"My friends?" Robin glanced back, his attention stolen by the fighting going on nearby even though he knew that such a distraction could prove fatal. He saw John barely conscious, finally overpowered by an excess of guards; Much, Marion and Tuck with their hands bound; and Will backed up against a wall by five angry soldiers, not one of whom was without an injury caused by Scarlet's sword. Gisburne lowered his blade.
"Surrender, Loxley. Or I'll have my men put your friends to the sword. You I want alive, but they're nothing. The Sheriff might even prefer it if the Lady Marion wasn't to make it back to the castle alive. It would solve one or two problems for him regarding her inheritance."
"You wouldn't." Robin's eyes darted over his friends once again, and he felt cold fingers trace themselves up and down his spine. He couldn't have been wrong, could he? Had he really led his friends to their deaths? He caught sight of a triumphant smile on Gisburne's face, and knew that the despicable man meant every word. If Robin didn't surrender, he really would give the order to kill Marion.
"Do you want to risk finding out?" Gisburne's smile turned into a leer of pure mockery, and Robin fought a strong urge to beat the Sheriff's steward into a pulp. Why did it feel so bad to have to surrender, when he had planned to do so all along? Somehow, when he had been planning this with his friends the day before, he had managed to overlook the sheer unpleasantness of Gisburne's character, and how much it would sicken him to have to let the steward win. Struggling to contain his temper, sick to the pit of his stomach, he threw his sword to the ground. Albion seemed to be glaring at him accusingly, but he ignored the fine weapon and turned away from it. Gisburne's men were upon him in seconds.
"It's over!" Striding towards the fight that still continued beside the barn, Gisburne put more of a swagger into his stride than he had done in all of the time since the day he had been given his knighthood. "Surrender or die!"
"Oh yeah?" Whirling his sword with a ruthless, ferocious energy, Will cut down one of his opponents. Now that it was time to go through with the plan he was finding it even more difficult than Robin had done, and the lights in his eyes showed the seething rage that kept his sword a swinging. Robin groaned.
"Will..."
"Surrender!" Gisburne's voice was almost squeaky with rage. The body of one of his guards, killed with typical skill by Nasir, landed at his feet and he roared his command again. Will hesitated. His pride was badly stung, but in all honesty he had agreed to the plan. If Robin could give himself up... the idea wasn't pleasant but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for him to do the same. His eyes met Loxley's, and he saw that the other man understood his feelings and sympathised with him. Somehow that seemed to make things a little better. He lowered his sword.
But the sound of clashing weapons had not ceased. Robin turned his head, looking away from the subdued Will to the fight that still raged nearby. Nasir showed no sign of slowing, even though the odds against him mounted with each surrender. Robin was learning a little more about the Saracen all the time, and he realised now that he was learning perhaps the most important lesson of all. It didn't matter what their plan had been, and it didn't matter how futile the fight had become, nor how close he must be to defeat and death. None of that mattered at all. It was then that Robin realised, with alarm, that Nasir was not going to surrender. The Saracen was lost in a crowd, cutting swathes through Gisburne's men, apparently unmoved by the vast superiority of their numbers. Sir Guy looked on with eyes boggling, in a fit of one of his usual apoplectic rages.
"Loxley!" The fury filled his voice, although coming from him fury seemed more a thing of comedy than of drama. "Call your dog off!"
"Nasir!" Striding forward Robin ignored the guards that moved to stop him. The last thing that he wanted was to see the Saracen cut down, as seemed the eventual inevitability. It hurt to obey a command of Gisburne's, but for now at least it seemed better to acquiesce. "Nasir, it's over." The warrior swung around, eyes blazing with heat and rage. With his swords held out to either side, stopped in mid-swing, the blood dripping from their fearsome blades, he looked like a figure from some campfire tale. Certainly the image was enough to make Robin glad that they were on the same side.
"Give up, Nasir." He spoke more gently this time, aware of the Saracen's furious pride. For a moment he thought that the other man might refuse - and indeed the thought did enter Nasir's mind. In the end though, he chose to obey his leader. Slowly he lowered his arms, and dropped both of the swords.
"Well take him then!" Gisburne was still furious, but his soldiers were too afraid of the fearsome Saracen to want to take hold of him. Guy considered taking up his bow and shooting a few of them, just to get the point across. Damned soldiers. If they weren't getting themselves killed they were being an embarrassment in some other way instead. "Guards!" His voice took on a note of real authority, finally cutting through the petulance he had displayed before. "Arrest that man!"
"Sir." Several of the men moved forwards, with extreme caution, taking hold of Nasir's arms as though they expected him to draw another pair of swords from somewhere about his person. He offered no resistance, and stood with his head bowed as they tied his hands behind his back. Robin felt strangely guilty for having ordered him to surrender. He knew how much he himself had hated to do so - could still feel the indignation and anger burning within him. Nasir, he now saw, apparently felt such things more strongly.
"So now I have you." Enjoying the position of elevation given to him by his horse, Gisburne stared down at the captured outlaws. His haughty stare was almost too much for Will, but even bound as they were the close presence of John and Tuck was enough to keep him from throwing himself at the Sheriff's insufferable steward. They pressed against him, holding him still between them, and making him mutter and growl at them furiously.
"Now you have us." Robin still managed to be calm and collected, staring up at the other man with all the poise of landed gentry. The son of Herne did not cast down his eyes before any Norman soldier, and certainly did not bother showing any anger or self-reproach. Gisburne seemed almost unnerved.
"But now what are you going to do with us?" Like Robin, Marion held her head high and showed no anger. She was a lady of high birth, and had no intention of appearing as anything else before the upstart of a steward who towered above her. Certainly Robin had expected nothing less.
"Now?" Guy looked a little unsure of himself, then let his natural conceit take over. "Now I shall take you to Nottingham, and throw you at the feet of the Sheriff as a gift." He turned his horse's head, preparing to take up the lead of what he fully intended would be a glorious procession. "Fall in everyone, and keep up the speed. I see no reason to be slack when there may be peasants watching."
**********
In the event it proved not to be quite so glorious an entry into Nottingham as Guy had planned, although his chest was so puffed up with pride that he didn't let things get to him as much as he might have done. At the gates a small child of uncertain identity threw a rotten apple, which glanced off the Norman's lofty helmet, before hitting his horse on the head. The animal started with surprise, and before Guy was entirely sure what was happening, he was picking himself up off the ground. Children dispersed, laughing, and large groups of adults suddenly found something very interesting to look at amongst the market stalls. The outlaws laughed out loud.
"I can ride better than that when I'm drunk." The gleeful disgust in Will's voice made it carry, and Guy glared daggers.
"We'll see how well you ride soon enough, Wolfshead - when they whip the horse out from under you, and leave you hanging by your neck from a tree." He spun on one heel and almost tripped on a corner of his cloak, eliciting further giggles from the prisoners at his rear. Glowering at the cobbles, he strode onward, and the subdued guards, none of whom quite knew where to look, followed on.
It was quiet and dark in the castle. One or two servants scuttled out of sight at the appearance of Gisburne, although for the first time, perhaps in his entire career, he didn't throw his helmet at any of them. Instead he merely pulled it off, tucked it under one arm, and proceeded along the corridor as fat as he could walk. The guards hurried after him, pushing the prisoners along, ignoring Tuck's inability to keep up quite so punishing a pace. Tough though the monk might try to be, his life had been too soft for too long, and the hard march through Sherwood had left him exhausted. He made no protests, however, even as he was being manhandled through the castle that had so recently been his home. He had made his choice, after all, and no matter what happened next, he knew that he wasn't going to regret that.
"What is it Gisburne?" The Sheriff sounded bored, or possibly just tired. "No, don't tell me. You've lost half of your men again in another damned tussle with that infernal Wolfshead. Do you know the excuses I've had to make already? Five men gone from my dungeon, half of my garrison either dead or wounded - which is the same thing, given the talents of our local healer - and the Baron de Belleme murdered in his own castle when he was supposed to be under our protection. We'll be lucky if Prince John doesn't decide to come up here and have us all hanged!"
"I--" Gisburne was rather at a loss for words. It wasn't his fault, was it, if his men kept getting themselves shot down or hacked to pieces? "I have just returned from Sherwood as it happens my lord, but--"
"Oh? And how many men did you lose this time?" The scathing tone of the Sheriff's voice was quite off-putting. Gisburne glanced back at his guards, just arriving in the doorway, and wished that de Rainault would look up.
"Um..." How many had he lost? Was he really supposed to keep count? It hadn't seemed all that much, really, thanks to sheer force of numbers - but then he remembered the damnable Saracen, and the trail of blood that he had left in his wake. He sighed. "Probably... in the approximate region of twenty, my lord." It was a conservative estimate, but with luck the true number wouldn't have to come out. "But I have good news."
"Oh? You've got another job somewhere else?" De Rainault at last looked up, his expression one of a lazy lack of concern. His stare fell upon the guards in the doorway, and he glared at them. "What are they all doing hanging around out there? Don't they have jobs to go to, or are they too afraid of marauding Wolfsheads?
"They're guarding my gift for you, my lord." Now that he was able to turn the subject to the one that pleased him most, Gisburne's poise had returned. His eyes shone with pride and self-congratulation, and his chest swelled accordingly. De Rainault saw the change and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh yes?"
"Yes, my lord." With a sweeping gesture of one arm, Gisburne ushered the guards into the chamber, beaming with delight upon the prisoners that were forced along in their midst. They spread out, standing in a long line before the Sheriff; seven pairs of bright, determined eyes; seven hard, set faces. De Rainault at last sat up straight.
"What's this?" His gaze took in all of them - Robin, straight and proud, with a bearing that belied his peasant's origins; Marion, every inch the lofty beauty, even with her hands tied behind her back; Tuck, solid and nervous, as close to Marion as he could be, his shaven tonsure rather pink, as though from embarrassment; John, huge and powerful, like a bear who might break free at any moment, his shaggy head and equally shaggy clothing seeming to add extra inches to his frame; Will, filled to brimming with cold fury, every hair on his head seeming to bristle with ill-contained rage; Much, uncertain and more obviously afraid than the others, looking very small next to John; and Nasir, dark, intense, even sinister, his unreadable eyes seeing all. Gisburne on the other hand was bright with uncontainable good cheer.
"Your gift, my lord." His expansive gesture took in all seven bound prisoners, and his smile seemed intended to take in the world. "From Sherwood Forest."
"Hmm." Rising slightly from his chair, the Sheriff studied the seven. He had not yet had a close look at Robin Hood, for the one time when they had come face to face had been at the recent archery contest, when the outlaw had been wearing a disguise. All the same, it was not hard to spot him amongst the group. That bearing, that lofty gaze, belonged to no one else. "So, perhaps your periodic massacring of your soldiers has finally paid off, Gisburne." Never the man to give a compliment unless his life depended upon it he had been unlikely to say anything else, and his steward had been expecting no more. He nodded graciously.
"Thankyou my lord."
"And have they given you any indication as to the whereabouts of all the money that they've stolen?"
"I haven't had the chance to inquire yet, my lord - but I believe that the stories we heard were true, and they really have..." Gisburne hesitated, the truth of the matter rather beyond his comprehension, "...given it all away, my lord. To peasants."
"All of it?" Being the brother of an abbot, de Rainault was well acquainted with the meaning of charity - but, again being the brother of an abbot, had had little actual experience of it. "Well, each to his own I suppose. And was it worth it, Wolfshead? Your life, worth giving a few silver coins to a few peasants?"
Robin smiled, for all the world like the prince being Herne's son had made him. "Yes. It was. And it will be again."
"You think you'll escape?" The Sheriff enjoyed the apparent joke. "Nobody escapes from my dungeons, outlaw." A scowl broke out on his face when he remembered that Robin had already done just that. "Certainly not twice, anyway."
"As you say, Sheriff." Patience and good humour coloured Loxley's voice, but he kept his words polite. Needless to say that angered the Norman more than any amount of ill manners. He looked away in disgust, glaring at Gisburne as though the steward himself were responsible for some gross insult to his person.
"Get them out of here then Gisburne. I don't want a group of filthy outlaws cluttering up my dining hall."
"Er... yes, my lord." Rather annoyed at how his moment of glory had been snatched away so quickly, Gisburne gestured to the guards. "Shall I have them executed immediately?"
"No, Gisburne." De Rainault spoke with some frustration, as though he were always having to prevent his bloodthirsty aide from killing his prisoners. "Not yet. I may want to speak to them, and I haven't decided what to do about the good lady Marion." His lips formed a thin smile, and he let his eyes linger upon his former ward. Her gaze in return was stony, and it stung his pride. As a technicality she was his social superior, given the position of her late father, but in his opinion at least she had no right to look at him that way now that she was nothing but an outlaw, and consort to a peasant. "Get them out of here."
"My lord." Deprived of an immediate bloodletting, Gisburne indulged his growing anger with a little unnecessary brutality, almost knocking Much from his feet as he pushed him towards the door. John and Will rounded on him immediately, but the sheer number of guards, all as eager for violence as Gisburne, prevented them from getting at the young steward. Gisburne turned his violent tendencies to Tuck instead, harrying the friar across the room and up the steps.
"Alright, alright. I'm going as fast as I can." Tuck had known Gisburne for a long time, and had no intention of showing any fear that he might have felt for the younger man. Gisburne glared daggers at his back, and considered turning on Much again, but John and Will had contrived to close ranks on the boy even though they were enduring their own rough handling from several of the guards. That only left the Saracen within reach, and Gisburne's courage did not stretch quite that far. He let the guards vent his fury for him. Not quite so satisfying perhaps, but better than nothing.
It was a decidedly dishevelled band of outlaws that arrived in the dungeons in the end. A fat gaoler, with a bunch of keys almost as big as his head, and clothes so dirty that there was probably not enough water in Nottingham with which to wash them clean, bowed low to Gisburne when they entered the main room. His greasy hair, broken up by a bald spot so central and so circular that it could almost have been a twin for Tuck's tonsure, brushed the ground during the course of the bow, and Robin was almost certain that he saw a couple of spiders fall out of it and scurry away.
"A large dungeon you'll be needing for all these prisoners, Sir Guy." Straightening up again at last, the gaoler shook his keys with a rattle. "A nice big strong one, perhaps?"
"Just lock them up and make sure that they don't get out." Gisburne walked haughtily over to a heavy grid that covered a hole in the floor - something that Robin remembered only too well as a particularly uncomfortable sort of cell. There were sounds of movement from inside, and a burst of hope danced inside his mind. He knew now who was inside the cell, and knew that he had done the right thing in allowing himself to be brought here.
"The Sheriff of Nottingham has had a change of heart," Gisburne told the dark blur beneath him. "A most magnanimous gesture. You're not to be executed after all. You'll be released in the fullness of time, and I would suggest that you use the extra years this may add to your lives to reconsider the way that you've behaved towards the man who protects your families and village."
"Who's that then? Robin Hood?" inquired some overly courageous jester from within. Will laughed, and earned himself a half-hearted clout over the head from one of his guards. Gisburne's lips went thin and white.
"Get those men locked up." He turned on one heel, his cloak billowing out behind him in the dramatic way that he so loved. Robin and his friends watched him as he stormed from the room.
"Poor old Gisburne." Will couldn't help grinning, and glared at the guard who had hit him before. With one hand raised to repeat his earlier gesture, the guard froze and stepped back. Will's grin came back out for an encore.
"Better bring them this way." Bustling on ahead, unmoved by anything that was happening around him, the gaoler stopped at a second grid, larger and heavier than the first. Beneath it was a world that might as well have been filled with black soup, for all that it was visible to the men above. Much remembered the dark cell that he had been thrown into before, and edged a little closer to Robin.
"Don't like the dark," he muttered miserably. Robin smiled reassuringly at him.
"It'll be alright, Much. You won't be alone down there." He stepped back, watching as three of the guards fought to lift the huge grid, after first heaving back a massive bolt so squeaky that it seemed unlikely anyone could ever open it in secret. Beneath the raised lid, the darkness of the cell loomed like the mouth of a vast, unknown creature from an ancient tale.
"Enjoy yourselves." One of the guards gave Marion a hard shove in the back, and without her arms free to steady herself she tumbled down into the dungeon beneath. Robin made as though to protest, but the violent blow he received cut his words short, and hurled him down into the depths. He didn't know how he managed to avoid landing on Marion, or how he managed to get to his feet again so quickly, but somehow he was able to push her to safety before the mighty figure of John crashed down to join them.
"Ow." John wasn't nearly quick enough, and Much landed squarely on his chest. Clearly he appreciated the fact that his fall had been broken, but he managed to look bashful and apologetic as he stumbled out of the way. John rolled to one side.
"That bloody hurt," he said wrathfully, in a voice that was not intended to carry to the guards above. Robin nodded in sympathy, then stepped back by reflex as Will was also tossed down. The violence of the guards was almost unbelievable, as though they were actively trying to break their prisoners open upon the hard stone slabs of the cell below. Coughing and spitting in painful rage, Will struggled out of the way, well aware that the next person coming through the hole was Tuck. Sure enough the friar came next.
"Not the friendliest group of men, are they." Perhaps because of his title he had not been flung into the hole with nearly as much force as the others, although neither had he been treated with quite as much dubious gentility as Marion. He sat where he was for a second looking a bit dazed, then squawked in surprise as John knocked him out of the way - a difficult task to perform with both hands tied. "What-?" He broke off as Nasir was hurled down, landing with a thud right where he had been sitting. "Oh."
"Everybody alright?" Fighting off the feeling of disheartenment as the heavy door of the cell crashed shut upon them, Robin addressed all of his friends. Nasir answered first, though wordlessly, sitting up and nodding a bleeding head.
"I'm just bloody angry." Will looked as though he was trying to break free of the ropes through sheer anger alone. John nodded.
"Me too."
"I don't know about angry as such, but I'm certainly a little uncomfortable." Tuck looked about him. "I had no idea things were so unpleasant down here. Do all dungeons have such discouraging decorations?"
"Decorations?" Robin looked about. His attentions until now had been focused on his friends, and he hadn't taken the time to examine the cell. Now he saw that there were three skeletons, all dangling by their wrists from the walls of the cell, and all dressed in the coarse, patchy material that was the uniform of the peasantry everywhere. He winced. "Oh. I wonder who they were?"
"No point bothering yourself with it." Will walked over to one of them, looking it over with a detached gaze. He could see that whoever the long deceased prisoner was, he had not been old. Probably sixteen or seventeen at the most. "Past our help, aren't they?"
"It's horrible." Noticing the horrified look on Much's face, Marion changed her tone. "But Will's right. We shouldn't think about it."
"No." Robin was also aware of Much's feelings, and smiled his thanks at Marion for thinking the same way. "For now we just have to concentrate on getting rid of these ropes."
"That shouldn't be so difficult." John's usual cheerful, confident manner somehow didn't seem out of place even in the darkness and damp of the depressing cell. "Here, Nasir. You're an agile fellow. See if you can reach under my jerkin." He turned his back on the Saracen, lowering his shoulders slightly as though to bring something within the grasp of the smaller man. Nasir frowned, but as was his way didn't voice his questions, and merely did as he was asked.
"Got it?" Wiggling about slightly, John felt strong fingers search his back, just above the broad belt he had made for himself years ago, from wolf skin, during his days as a shepherd. There was no answer, but he felt something slide against his skin, and the others saw the smile that crossed Nasir's face. Seconds later the ropes that bound John's wrists fell apart.
"Told you it'd be easy." Rubbing his wrists John went straight to Marion, freeing her as quickly as he could. She managed to smile her thanks at the same time as she glared at him for coming to free her before the others, and he smiled his reply. He had got the measure of Marion quickly, and understood.
"But we've still got to get out of here though, haven't we." Rubbing woefully at his wrists as soon as they were free, Much stared up at the faint smear of light above them, studiously avoiding any view of the three dead men hanging from the wall. Will clapped him on the shoulder, still trailing bits of severed rope.
"Don't worry about that. We'll get out when the time's right." He looked about at the others, all now untied, all looking about at their new surroundings in more detail than before. They saw yawning blackness, rats, old chains, and bits of black and soaking straw, but nothing that spoke of escape. "You do have a plan, don't you Robin."
"More or less." Any planning that he had done had seemed so much more straightforward in the airy, leafy surroundings of Sherwood Forest. In here it all seemed rather different, but Herne's Son wouldn't allow himself to think defeatist thoughts. "We wait for the night, and we make our move then."
"Night?" Much seemed to be thinking this over. "When's that?"
"A long time yet." John sat down, rather gingerly, trying to avoid the worst of the damp patches on the floor. "Why not get some sleep?"
"Or sing a song," suggested Tuck, well aware that the suggestion would not be a popular one. Will glared at him.
"You wouldn't want to sing the only songs I know," he told the friar, his eyes glinting with all the bawdy humour that undoubtedly filled the songs. Tuck raised an eyebrow.
"Probably not, no."
"We don't need to sing." Robin looked rather serious, an expression that sat well with his natural grace, but not with the more carefree side of his nature that the outlaws had come to know so well. "Now that we're free - in a manner of speaking - I'd rather talk. To Will and Nasir."
"Oh." John guessed what about, and made an elaborate show of turning away, and redirecting his attentions somewhere else. Tuck did likewise, whistling in an overly-emphasised casual manner as he began to inspect the nearest dangling skeleton. Robin glared at them both.
"We had a plan." His words turned his attention back to Will and Nasir, shutting out the rest of the gang. "We agreed to surrender."
"I did surrender!" Will was glowering. "Eventually, anyway. Make it look good you said, and I couldn't exactly make it look good if I threw my sword down before we even got started, could I."
"You know as well as I do that you weren't thinking about the plan." Robin kept his irritation in check. "Will, when we decide on something like that, we have to stick to it. I need all of you, alive and in one piece. You're no good to me or to the people of Wickham if you get yourself hacked into bits by Gisburne's men."
"I know." Will turned away. "I was angry. I always get angry when there are Normans around."
"I know." Robin sighed. "Just... just try not to get too carried away in future. A plan is a plan. Which brings me to you, Nasir."
"He surrendered too," Will pointed out. Robin's quick glare silenced him surprisingly effectively, but his expression still said, Well he did.
"What happened?" His gentle eyes rather more steely than was usual when addressing his friends, Robin stared at the silent Saracen. The dark eyes that looked back at him were emotionless and cool. "We agreed."
"It is..." Looking about, Nasir seemed to be searching for the words in the darkness of the cell around him. "...difficult."
"So I saw." They were different, and Robin had never seen it so clearly as he was seeing it now. "And I sympathise. But they would have killed you, Nasir. No man - not even you - can fight against those kinds of odds and expect to survive. You have to fight by different rules in Sherwood. I need you alive." His eyes flickered backwards and forwards between the two men. "Is that understood?"
"Yes." Will sounded sulky, but also understanding of Loxley's view. Nasir merely gave his familiar nod. Robin smiled.
"Thankyou. This isn't the sort of thing that I plan to ask you to do very often, if that makes it any better."
"Just as well." Will seemed to have recovered his sense of humour. "So come on then, Robin. Why don't you tell us how we're going to get out of here when the time comes?"
"Much as we got out before." Robin's eyes scanned the door above him, hearing and seeing, for a brief moment, that first dungeon, with Dickon and Tom at his side. "It's just as well I didn't come alone. I'd forgotten how deep these places are."
"We weren't planning on letting you come alone." John joined him, staring up. "If a couple of you stand on my shoulders you can probably reach that. But how are you going to get it open without anybody hearing?"
"I don't know." His thoughtful deliberations before setting out had not included the presence of squeaky bolts. "But we've got until nightfall to think about it."
"Provided Gisburne doesn't come down here and behead a couple of us before then." Will seemed determined to be cheerful. "Why wait that long anyway?"
"I'm not leaving until I'm sure that the men of Wickham are safe. We'll hear when they leave, and until then we stay here." Robin looked around at all of them, expression firm. "Even if that does mean that Gisburne tries something before then."
"What if he doesn't let the villagers go?" John's own voice and eyes were as steady and serious as Robin's own. Robin shrugged.
"He will. I'm sure of it. Wiping out a village is a pretty serious business even for a Norman, and they don't want another Loxley. The time isn't right for it, and they've learnt that it's not the way to increase the amount they get in taxes. They'll free the villagers alright."
"Before or after they execute us?" asked Tuck, eyebrows raised until they almost met his clean-shaven tonsure. Robin glared at him.
"I did suggest that you all stayed behind in Sherwood. My original idea for me to come alone."
"Aye lad, but you've said yourself that you'd never be able to get out of here on your own. We all knew the risks, and we know them now." John's smile was as gentle as any that Robin had ever seen. "We're just thinking aloud, that's all."
"Yeah." Will nodded his agreement. "And my thoughts say that we should be making some preparations right now, just in case. There's no sense in waiting for the dark if we've got to give the villagers a chance to get clear first. We don't even know if they'll be gone by nightfall."
"Which leaves us where?" Marion sounded worried, and Robin wished that he had left her at least back in Sherwood. Damn her determination and courage! He smiled at her.
"People have escaped even when they were being settled on the execution block. There are seven of us, after all."
"We'll be chained up if we're taken to the execution block," John reminded him. "Wouldn't it be better to escape before then?"
"Or at least have an idea about how to escape?" added Will. Robin sighed. It seemed to him that since taking command of this little group; since the very first moment when he and Much had been captured by Gisburne and been started down this strange and dangerous path, he had mostly been acting on instinct alone. Herne had told him to do as much; to trust in his feelings and do what they told him to do. He had not yet had the chance to get any real practice in planning anything in great detail. He nodded.
"Alright. We climb up there. One of us stands on John's shoulders, and another on the shoulders of that man. Then we reach up and open the bolt. We did it before, Will."
"That dungeon wasn't quite so deep as this one. I don't know that we'll be able to reach that far." Will was trying to judge the distance, and failing dismally. The gloom made it too hard to se properly, but to experiment might well be too dangerous if there were any guards above them, watching. Too dangerous for the people of Wickham, as well as for the outlaws themselves. "Did I mention that I really don't like this plan very much?"
"Next time a whole village gets kidnapped we'll just storm the castle shall we?" Robin sighed. "Alright, what do we do? Can you hold three of us John?"
"I'm not completely sure that I can hold two of you." John eyed the others speculatively. "It'd depend on which of you it is I suppose. I could probably manage--" He frowned. "Where's Nasir?"
"Nasir?" Robin looked around, but could see no sign of the seventh member of the gang. "Well he's got to be down here somewhere, hasn't he."
"There." Will pointed, just as the black-clad Saracen, excellently camouflaged in the dark room, emerged from the shadows at the other end of the dungeon. He had clearly come at the sound of his name being called, and his expression carried a certain amount of amused innocence.
"Have you found something?" Interested, Robin looked in the direction that the Saracen had come from. Nasir nodded back into the shadows, clearly indicating that he had indeed found something of use. Whilst the others watched he stepped up to the nearest of the dangling skeletons, and gave it a sharp pull. It came free from its chains easily enough, the stout iron rings having been designed to fit snugly around wrists that still had some flesh on them. Much squeaked.
"That's not good, that isn't. You'll make the ghosts angry."
"No he won't, Much." Robin's voice was not much above a whisper, but the resonance that it carried seemed to calm the boy immediately. "The ghosts want us to escape. They don't like the Normans any more than we do. What's your plan, Nasir?"
"Here." With a sharp twist that made Marion flinch and Much look away, Nasir broke off one of the lower arm bones. It snapped with a sound like dry wood.
"You're a grim sod, aren't you?" Will's voice was filled with amusement, although even he was a little dubious about putting the skeletons of fellow victims to use in some way. Nasir glanced up at him, expression hard, though not without a certain humour of its own. Without answering Will's charge he began to tear the clothing from the skeleton, using John's knife to cut it into strips. The material was old, but like all peasant clothing it was strong stuff - needed to be, since it was hardly ever replaced. It still seemed to have a good deal of its original strength, and after a few quick knots to connect some of the strips, showed the makings of a fine and usable rope. Robin began to smile.
"And with that bone as a sort of hook to catch up on the door..." He nodded. "It could work. But will there be enough material to make a rope?" In answer Nasir pointed onward into the darkness further down the dungeon.
"There must be more bodies." Will headed off into the darkness, disappearing from view almost immediately. In this part of the room the air felt horrible; almost poisonous; noticeably damp and cold. He coughed, and peered carefully into the murk.
"Anything?" John's sudden appearance made him jump violently, and he glared daggers at the bigger man. John laughed at him. "Not easy to see anything back here, is it?"
"No." Will was thinking about the many people who had probably lived out the last of their days locked up here, and his heart stirred with fresh hatred for the Normans. He walked on further, feeling wetness at his feet, and hoping that whatever it was, it was no more noxious than more damp-blackened straw. Finally he saw what Nasir had seen; a pile of skeletons, all tossed together into a heap, as though some earlier resident had been trying to make the cell more habitable by clearing away the dead. It was a truly unpleasant sight; some six or seven men, all tumbled together into a jumble of bones. Nearby, leaning against the pile, was another body, clearly a little more recent, and undoubtedly that of whoever was responsible for building the pile in the first place. Will imagined him dragging himself back here, knowing that his last moments had come, and wanting to take his last sleep in the company of his friends. Was that the sort of end that might come to him, and the six people who meant so much to him? He dismissed the thought, angry with himself for such melancholy.
"Well there's certainly enough material here to make at least one rope." Turning his back on the scene, John returned to the others. To return to the slightly lighter, slightly less dank part of the cell was almost a pleasure, and he wished that it were a little warmer as well. The damp and the cold that he had just experienced did not feel as though they would be easily dispersed, and perhaps could not entirely be until he could feel fresh, free air upon his body again, and bask in the warmth and green-tinted sunlight of Sherwood.
"Good." Robin clapped Nasir on the back. "Although we still have to deal with that squeaky bolt. Is there enough of this damp mess on the floor to act as some kind of lubrication?"
"I don't know that it would work." Bending down, Will rubbed his fingers on the mass of strewn straw and running water. "We need to be sure."
"We certainly won't get a second chance if it doesn't work," observed Tuck.
"Maybe we don't need anything." John was beginning to get an idea. "Maybe we already have what we need."
"What?" Marion's voice was encouraging, her interest piqued. All of this invention and discovery was exciting to her, and helped to keep her mind off the unpleasant surroundings. John felt a little awkward at the sudden large audience.
"When I was a shepherd," he told them, "I used to have to improvise. You're out alone for months at a time, and sometimes hardly even see another person, let alone a peddler who can sell you something worthwhile. Still need to grease string sometimes though, don't you. And oil a blade, all that sort of thing."
"So what did you use?" asked Robin. John looked uncomfortable, for he was unwilling to go any further for fear of upsetting Marion. Nasir finished his tale for him in the end, though in typically mute form. He straightened up from where he was still working on his rope, and mimed using John's knife to cut his own skin. Marion winced. John smiled a little apologetically.
"Well I'd use sheep's blood, or maybe the occasional wolf's. But that's the idea, yeah."
"And it works?" Robin supposed that there was no reason why it shouldn't, and nodded his head without waiting for an answer. "Alright. So we've got our rope, and possibly a way of getting it up to the hatch - always supposing we can make that bone stick up there without making too much of a clatter about it. We've got something to grease the bolt... All we need now is the right moment."
"Which shouldn't be long now." Tuck was standing directly beneath the trapdoor, listening intently. "Do you hear that?"
"Lots of footsteps." Marion tried to find a place from where she could see something of the world above, but could see nothing at all save a faintly lit grey ceiling. "Voices too."
"They're letting the people of Wickham go." Robin thought that he heard one or two voices that he recognised, although it was impossible to make out individual words. There seemed to be an argument of sorts going on, which made him smile. Wickham had always been a spirited village, and he could easily imagine Edward telling the Norman guards exactly what he thought of them.
"Yeah, well I hope they appreciate all of this." Will had discovered that one of his shoes had a hole in it, and cold, wet, black liquid was beginning to make his foot feel decidedly less than happy. "When we get back to Sherwood there had better be plenty of venison left. And lots of ale."
"Don't talk about food." Much looked miserable. "I'm hungry."
"We all are." John had been trying not to think of food for some time now, a strange concern, he couldn't help thinking, when there were so many other things to worry about. "Perhaps they'll feed us."
"I doubt it. The execution date has probably already been set." Robin had managed to miss meal time in the dungeon the last time he had been incarcerated there, and had no wish to discover what the prisoners were fed on. Probably whichever of the inmates had died within the last week. "Can you hear something else?"
"Footsteps." John seemed able to hear a little more clearly, which might have been through naturally good hearing, or might just have been because his head was closer to the roof. "Not a big crowd though. Guards?"
"Maybe." Robin didn't sound sure. "Get back everyone. Away from the door."
"They're not coming for us already?" Marion stood beside him, peering up as the heavy door of the cell was raised. It took two struggling guards to lift it, which wasn't encouraging from the point of view of the prisoners who were trying to escape. Seconds later a round, pink face appeared.
"Company," announced a revoltingly cheery voice. "Stand back."
"Company?" Robin wondered who had been badly behaved enough to deserve being locked away with them in this particular cell. Surely there couldn't be anybody else who had annoyed the Sheriff that much? His question was answered almost immediately, for in the square of pale light there appeared a shape - a man, and one that Robin knew.
"Edward!" Shocked he took a step forward. "But you can't put him down here. He hasn't done anything."
"Doesn't have to have done something." The guard poked at the headman with his outsized bunch of keys, and leaning over the hole, Edward lowered himself down as best he could. The shock of the sudden chill in the deep dungeon showed on his face as he landed, and he shivered.
"Not exactly de Rainault's finest guest chamber, is it." He looked back up at the guard, and watched as the grinning face moved away. The door crashed shut again, and immediately, if it were possible, the chill was increased. Footsteps faded away into muted echoes and then silence.
"What's going on, Edward?" Crowding around Wickham's headman, the outlaws all seemed to ask the question at once. He shook his head, looking serious.
"I know what you've done for us all, and I appreciate it. More than you'll know. It can't have been easy, giving yourselves up like that. Gisburne think that he caught you through his own skill, and he came to crow as much to us all, but none of us believed it."
"We wanted to make it look good." Robin shrugged, a little embarrassed by the effusive thanks. "With Gisburne the way he is, the best and quickest way to get you out of here seemed to be to let him have his moment of glory."
"And speaking of which..." John clapped Edward on the shoulder. "Why exactly are you still here?"
"Ah." Edward looked apologetic. "They, er..."
"Oh let me guess." Throwing his hands up in the air, Will turned his back on them all. "They want you to witness our executions."
"Yes." The headman looked as though he was trying to find an excuse for himself. "To make sure that the message gets across I suppose. Does it... complicate matters for you?"
"Not necessarily." Robin smiled at him, being as confident as he knew how. "It just means that you'll have to escape with us, that's all."
"And become an outlaw. That won't help his family." Marion sounded earnest, but Robin shook his head.
"I don't think it'll be a problem. They'll be angry for a while, and the Sheriff will make a lot of threats, but they won't do anything. They'll probably be too embarrassed. I hope."
"Robin's right." Tuck was remembering his long association with Robert de Rainault, and knew exactly how he could be expected to react. Edward would be the last thing on his mind when he discovered that Robin and his men had escaped. Marion nodded.
"Of course." She too had plenty of experience of the Sheriff and his moods. Not that it helped, for even if they didn't have to worry about Edward being re-arrested, they still had to worry about getting him out. Leaving him behind when they escaped certainly wasn't an option. Edward looked uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry. I suppose you have an escape plan, and I'm getting in the way."
"I shouldn't think so." Robin had problems enough worrying about his own men, to whom he was only just getting used. The last thing that he needed was somebody else along for the ride - somebody that he had never seen fight, or even run. Edward was a farmer, which didn't necessarily mean that he would be of any use at all during the escape. "Do you have any idea when they're planning to carry out the execution?"
"In the morning, as far as I know." Edward remembered the guards, and everything that they had said to him. Their mocking and their jokes, and their assurances that he would be back home by this time tomorrow. "At first light." He smiled uncertainly. "If it makes things any better, I don't think they're planning to kill Marion."
"Oh well, that's alright then." Will sighed. "Great. That doesn't give us much time, Robin."
"I doubt it's noon yet. We can make our preparations while there's still light to see by, and then wait until nightfall, just like the original plan." Robin hoped that Edward could keep up. He was the sturdy sort, so there shouldn't be too many problems, but it did add complications to an already far from simple situation.
"Nightfall." Will rolled his eyes. "Why does it have to be nightfall? They might not be able to see us so well, but we can't see them either. We can't see anything come to that, and we're not exactly familiar with our surroundings."
"I've lived in this castle for years," offered Tuck. "And so has Marion."
"And you spent a lot of that time down in the dungeons did you?" Will shook his head. "Look never mind me, I'm just grousing. Just remember that we've got a long way to go before we get out of here, and we don't know how many people we're going to have to get through before we reach open ground. We got lucky last time."
"Then maybe we'll get lucky again." Robin turned to Nasir. "How's that rope coming along?" The Saracen held up a length, made from most of the clothing worn by the three skeletons that were hanging from the chains on the walls. It was a good length, but not yet long enough.
"Keep at it. And work on that hook." Nasir nodded his acquiescence and Robin turned to Will. "Get the rest of the material. Help him make the rope. If possible we're going to want two. I don't think one person will be able to lift that trapdoor on their own."
"Right." Will thought about the dank, dark furthest reaches of the cell without enthusiasm, and clapped Edward on the back. "Come on. You can help."
"Of course." Edward seemed eager to be of assistance, which presumably was a reaction to his being indirectly responsible for the whole situation. Robin watched them depart.
"Worried?" asked John. The band's young leader smiled ruefully.
"I think we need to make an agreement that we'll never get captured on purpose again."
"Well look on the bright side - it's all good practice. By the time we get out of here we'll have every right to call ourselves the best in Sherwood."
"Always supposing we get out." Robin grinned. "You're right of course. I have a sneaking suspicion that Herne might have planned a fair amount of this."
"Then let's hope that he knows what he's doing." John raised an eyebrow. "You know, if they're not planning to execute Marion they just might turn up at any moment and take her away. Then where would we be?"
"Good point." Robin's eyes travelled up to the hatchway. "Do you think we should make our move now? Is Will right?"
"Will doesn't really think we should move now. Like he said, he's just grousing." John also looked up at the heavy door. "Our best chance is at night. The difficult bit is going to be in waiting that long." He grinned. "And keeping Scarlet entertained. I wouldn't put it past him to test out Nasir's rope by climbing up there and killing a few Normans, then dropping back in here to wait for night with the rest of us."
"I wouldn't be surprised." Robin smiled at the thought. "Night is a long time away though, and it's true that anything could happen before then. The Sheriff could decide to have us all killed right away... Marion could be taken somewhere where we'd never find her..."
"Or England might revolt against her Norman masters, and we might be released by a new king elected by the peasantry." John grinned at him. "Anything's possible Robin. Hasn't meeting Herne shown you that?"
"Yes, I suppose it has." The leader of the group sighed. "You're a wise man when you want to be, Little John. Maybe you should be Herne's Son instead of me."
"Ha. I'll settle for being Herne's Son's friend. I may have a reasonable brain in my head, but I'm noleader of men or inspirer of the oppressed masses. Yours is the name that'll be remembered a hundred years from now Robin. Yours are the words that everybody stops to listen to."
"Herne's words. Herne's name."
"He chose you for a reason." John banged him encouragingly on the shoulder, and in the process nearly broke his collar bone. "Come on. How are you at making ropes?"
"I don't know. I used to be fairly good at milling corn, and I think I'm getting pretty good at stealing money from merchants. I haven't had much experience beyond that."
"Then it's time you learnt." The big man guided him back to Nasir, who was beginning to work on the first set of battered clothing delivered by an unhappy looking Will. "It's an easy knot. Quick and simple, but strong. See?"
"I see." Robin tried to copy the movements, and found it easy enough. It felt good to have something to do besides think, and he welcomed the work. Marion hovered behind him, and Tuck chatted to Much nearby. If it hadn't been for the all-pervading chill, and the noticeable dampness in the air, they might almost have been back in Sherwood. Robin wondered if they would all make it back there, and then forced himself to concentrate on nothing but the rope. They would get through this. They had to. It was their last test as a band, and they had to make it through. Surely Herne would see to that?
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