Chapter 8

"You know, Tuck, on a day like this I can actually believe that spring will eventually come to Sherwood."

Tuck smiled. "Aye, it's been a long winter right enough, Robin, but there can't be much of it left now."

They were seated at the mouth of a cave bathed in a pool of soft winter sunshine, the air latent with the unseen promise of spring. Tuck was sewing and Robin fletching arrows. From the clearing below came the sound of clashing steel and occasional roars – Scarlet and Nasir at sword practice.

Robin sighed, "Spring in Sherwood: it was always Marion's favourite time of year. It just won't be the same without her."

"Aye, Robin." Tuck nodded sadly. "The most beautiful flower of them all will be missing."

Robin pushed the arrows aside morosely and stood to stretch his legs, breathing deeply the fine air. "I think I'll join Scarlet and Nasir for a while." He grinned half-heartedly. "After all they say that war is a sure cure for love."

He was halfway down the slope towards the others, when they were interrupted by shouts, and John and Much came crashing through the undergrowth into the clearing.

"Robin! Robin!" The boy was gasping and could hardly speak.

Robin placed a gentle hand on his heaving shoulder. "Easy now, Much. Get your breath back." He looked quickly at the older man. "John?"

"We've just seen your father on the Newark road." His voice was grim. "Riding as if the devil himself was after him. Or, perhaps, that should be that he was after the devil."

Robin frowned in confusion.

"Gisburne!" blurted out Much. "The Earl, he's chasing Gisburne."

"Gisburne!" Robin's exclamation of shock was matched by Scarlet's eager shout, and even Nasir hefted his weapons in anticipation.

Robin flashed a worried look at Tuck before turning to John. "What horses have we?"

"Only one, tethered at the stream. The others are stabled at Wickam for the winter."

Robin left the clearing at a dead run, making for the stream. Behind him, shouts of anger and confusion exploded.

"Robin!" Scarlet was livid.

"Wait, lad!" John was worried.

The drumming of hooves, quickly fading, was their only answer.

"God's blood!" Will cursed, and made as if to follow.

Nasir laid a silent hand on his arm and motioned down the path to Wickham. "Horses."

"He's right, Will." John was always practical. "We'll get the others from the village and catch them up."

Reluctantly, Scarlet allowed himself to be steered away. Tuck, with a despairing glance heavenward, followed.



 *    *    *    *

The morning had seemed interminable to Gisla, the fine wedding clothes dragging at her shoulders, the heavy jewellery weighing her down, and the fussing of the waiting women irritating her almost beyond endurance, so that she had finally sent everyone away so she could sit in peace for a time. At least she should be grateful that FitzAllen seemed to have no female relations eager to welcome her to their twittering brood.

Flinging wide the shutters, she looked out of the solar window into the gardens below. She breathed deeply of the mild air, the bright sunshine accentuating the dull shadow on her heart. Opening her hand slowly, she revealed the silver pin Guy had given her and, taking a deep breath, she brushed it lightly with her lips before fastening it to the front of her dress, incongruous among the heavy gems.

"You are always with me," she whispered, "whatever may happen." Then she drew herself up, composed her face, smoothed her gown, turned, and walked towards the door.

Gisburne was oblivious to the glory of the day around him. Only the rhythm of his horse's hooves mattered to him, as they matched the desperate drumming of his heart, beating out his fear that he might not be in time. Behind him the Earl of Huntingdon seemed to be keeping pace. At first he had tried shouting at Sir Guy, trying to get his attention, but had soon given up and was now just doggedly following, despite the punishing pace. Guy hadn't taken the time to give more than a passing thought to the Earl's sudden appearance, any more than he had thought about the route through Sherwood that they had followed. It was the shortest. That was all that mattered.

Flashing through another village, chickens and children alike scattering from their path, and thundering across a wooden bridge, Gisburne recognised the river Trent and knew there was less than another two miles to Southwell. His horse was suffering now, blowing and stumbling, and he encouraged it urgently as they pounded along the woodland path, avoiding the crowded market town. The beast responded valiantly, and soon they were rushing headlong from the dark trees into the bright sunlit meadow surrounding the Minster, and Sir Guy could mercifully rein his mount to a halt and slide to the ground.

A bright noisy crowd was milling around outside the building, servants, knights, ladies and children, all cheery and chattering. Finely caparisoned horses were stamping and tossing in the sun, and richly canopied carriages waited expectantly. His eyes strafed the turbulent gathering and, in a sudden space, he saw her, dark hair glistening, unbound, outshining her heavy ornaments. Her eyes met his, bottomless and unreadable as her face blanched and mouth trembled, and although he was too far to hear her gasp, her stumble made him take an involuntary step forward.

But it was another who caught at her arm, frowning solicitously and speaking unheard words of concern. Another who led her, silent and unprotesting, through the congratulatory crowds to one of the waiting carriages. And just as she reached it she turned without stopping, her eyes dark with anguish and lips heavy with pain, as she looked back at him. She raised a hand to touch the silver pin, before stepping up into the carriage and out of his view. Within minutes the conveyance had rumbled out of sight, taking the crowds with it, and leaving Gisburne motionless beside his exhausted horse.

For a long moment he stood frozen, unable to act, speak or even think, as the dark wave of despair flowed outwards from his heart and engulfed him. Then it spilled out and, with an inarticulate howl, he turned and rammed his fist as hard as possible into the nearest tree trunk, then rested his temple against the blood-stained bark, clutching his head with his torn and bleeding hand, and fought for control of himself.

"Guy." The voice was soft behind him.

Gisburne turned slowly. The Earl, he'd forgotten about him.

"Guy," Huntingdon began again awkwardly, "I'm …sorry." He gestured towards the road down which the party had left. "I had no idea."

"Why should you?" Guy answered stiffly, collecting his horse and starting to rub it down with a handful of dry grass, trying to find some comfort in the familiar task. Then he stopped, frowning, as he remembered how the Earl of Huntingdon had come to be here in the first place.

The Earl saw Gisburne turn to him with the unspoken question in his eyes, and steeled himself to provide the answer.

"Guy," he began, "I came to Nottingham today to tell you something very important." He stopped, thinking that maybe this wasn't the best time, but it was too late to turn back now. Gisburne had left his horse and now stood in front of him with arms folded expectantly.

"Well, what is it?"

"It has to do with your mother."

"My mother?!" The blue eyes flashed. "She's dead."

"Yes, I know," the Earl spoke softly,. "but before she died, she told a great secret, a secret that she had kept, alone, for many years."

Gisburne's breath hissed.

"A secret that she kept from you." The Earl's eyes looked steadily into those of his son. "And from me."

Guy's face was motionless, save for a tightening around the eyes and mouth.

"It is I who am your father, Guy."

A slight frown now creased Gisburne's forehead as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. "She…" His voice was hoarse. "She told you this."

"No." The Earl faltered. "Not exactly."

"Then how do you know?"

"She told me."

At the sound of his enemy's voice, Gisburne had whirled and drawn his sword before he had even comprehended the words. Robert of Huntingdon walked noiselessly out from the trees, arms spread wide, weaponless.

The Earl cast an alarmed glance at Gisburne, but he was stock-still, trying desperately to make sense of what he was hearing. The Earl of Huntingdon, his father? Then that meant that Robert…No! It must be a trick, a cruel trick, just like those his step-father Edmund had liked to play. The wolfshead was smiling at him, smiling!

"She told me at Croxton, when she died. Remember? We were both there."

But why? Gisburne thought. What would be the point of such a ruse? And the Earl…? If it had been the wolfshead alone…

Robert took a step closer, and Gisburne raised his sword. "Stay back!" he barked.

"It's true, Guy." The Earl's voice was placatory but Gisburne kept his eyes on the outlaw.

"Why? Why would she tell you?" His voice was harsh but the blade had dropped slightly.

"I don't know, Guy. I've asked myself the same question many times. Maybe she just wanted there to be a chance for everything to be right between us?"

"Right?" Gisburne almost laughed aloud, dropping his sword point to the ground and looking from the Earl to the outlaw. "What's right about this?"

"Nothing, Guy," replied the Earl, "but we can change that. Come back with me to Huntingdon. That's why I came to Nottingham this morning."

This morning? Guy thought. It was a lifetime ago, and now I have lost Gisla, and gained a…family? How strange that they could have been there all along and…

Wait a minute. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled suspiciously as he turned towards the Earl. "My mother died well over a year ago. Why didn't you tell me then?"

The Earl looked somewhat embarrassed but Robert spoke up. "He didn't know."

"That's the truth, Guy. Robert didn't tell me at the time."

Gisburne's face twisted into a sneer. "Well, that's hardly surprising. The only thing I don't understand is why he told you at all?"

The Earl was angry. "To save your life, Guy! Despite your being his enemy, he wanted to save you from the headsman because of what you are to each other."

"I see," Guy spoke very softly. "And when did he tell you?"

"I don't remember exactly."

Guy turned to the outlaw. "Well, Wolfshead?" he snarled. "When was it? As soon as you heard I was in gaol – where incidentally you put me! Or was it perhaps a little bit later than that?"

Robert looked confused. "Well, yes. It was a little later. I…I…needed time to…" His voice trailed off.

"Yes," Gisburne spoke with bitter satisfaction. "Needed time to think, time to decide, did you want me as your brother or not?"

"Guy." The Earl's voice was almost pleading. "That's not fair."

"And you?" The voice was edged with ice. "How long did you take to decide? A week? A month? Well, whatever it was it was too long."

He sheathed his sword and walked over to take his horse's bridle.

"Had I reached her in time things might have been different, but now it's my turn to decide."

He mounted up.

"And I say nothing has changed." His voice was thick with scorn. "To the man who let my mother suffer for years protecting his good name, I say you are not my father. I have need of none. And to you, Robin Hood – " He spat the name. "The next time I meet you – look to your life." And with a cry he spurred his horse into the woods.

Robin and the Earl were nearly halfway back to Sherwood by the time Scarlet and Nasir caught up with them.

"Where's Gisburne, then?" demanded Scarlet, looking around. "Don't tell me you've let 'im escape again!"

"Looks like it, Will," answered Robin sheepishly, with only a quick glance at his father.

"You're useless, you are!" He looked a Nasir in disgust. "Nobles, eh?"

Robin laughed and clapped Will on the shoulder. "Never mind, Will. Next time it'll be your turn."

They spent the rest of the journey back to the camp pretty much in companionable silence, and the light was starting to fade to a soft gold, and the air turn colder, as they arrived.

"They're here!" Much's excited voice rang out and he leapt out from his hiding place to escort them into the camp. "Robin! Robin!"

"Hello, Much!" Robin ruffled the lad's hair affectionately as he dismounted wearily. It had been a very long day.

Much was beaming from ear to ear, his face suffused with happiness.

"What is it?" The boy was obviously bursting with some news.

"You'll see, Robin, you'll see!" He grinned delightedly. And as they entered the clearing, lit from above by the dying light of the sun and the sharp, bright light of a new moon, he did see. Standing at the edge of the fire, the glow suffusing her blazing hair, was Marion.

"Marion," he breathed, hardly daring to believe it was her until she came forward, took his hands in hers, and gently kissed him. "I'm home, Robin, home to stay." And he felt such a rush of happiness, that the whole world seemed at that moment to be as warm and safe as Sherwood.

Later that night, once again cradling his love softly in his arms, after so many nights of dreams, he asked her why she had returned.

She smiled mysteriously. "It was all Gisburne's doing."

"Gisburne?" The name evoked strange feelings still, but they were not confused anymore. The future was clear: the path had been chosen, and walk it they must.

"Yes," answered Marion. "It's strange but even he has someone to love him, someone who would suffer pain and fear for him. How could I do anything less for you, who are so much more deserving?"

He looked at her, troubled.

"Although if you don't kiss me this minute, I may change my mind again." She grinned impishly and he bent his head, laughing, to fulfil her command.