In Nottingham Castle, a banquet was held to celebrate King Richard's coronation.

Sir Edward noticed his daughter was looking pale and hardly touching her food. Suspecting she was missing Robin, he asked her, "What is it, Marian? Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Father. It's simply..." She lowered her voice to prevent her Aunt Mary from overhearing. "I think I'll go mad if I have to spend another day cooped up sewing! I don't mean to be ungrateful, but there has to be something more worthwhile for me to do than sit and sew and listen to gossip."

"But it's your trousseau you're working on."

"Yes, and I have more than enough linens and garments to last me the rest of my life. Father, may I please be excused from sewing tomorrow? I'd like to ride home and make certain our servants are well. And I'd like to visit Locksley while Robin's away, just to be sure his village has everything it needs."

Before Sir Edward could reply, a courier from London was ushered into his presence.

"Milord Sheriff," the man said, "King Richard was crowned today at noon."

Sheriff Knighton rose to his feet and lifted his chalice in a toast. "God save the king! To King Richard!" he announced. His guests rose as well, lifted their goblets and echoed back, "King Richard!"

"Go on," Edward told the courier, inviting him to sit and dine with his guests. "Is there any more news?"

The courier, having left London the moment the crown was placed on Richard's head, knew nothing of the joust and Prince Geoffrey's murder. But he was pleased to relate the story of the uprising against the Jews and its consequences.

"Before the coronation began, riots broke out in London, protesting our new king's policy toward protecting the Jews. Your own Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, was instrumental in ending the riots and restoring peace. For his heroism, he is to be made a knight."

Color returned to Marian's cheeks. She smiled, feeling proud of Robin and excited for him. "When will the ceremony take place?" she asked.

"Silence, girl!" Aunt Mary scolded. "When will you learn, women do not speak while men conduct their business?"

"Forgive my daughter," the sheriff told the courier. "She is engaged to Lord Locksley, and therefore interested in your news. I will repeat her question. When will Locksley be made a knight? It will be two more years until he turns twenty-one."

"The king plans to make an exception and knight him tomorrow morning, despite his youth. Lord Sheridan has vouched for his readiness in skill at arms. And you, milord, already know the nobility of his character."

Sir Edward could not deny it. He knew Robin had what he termed a "heart of gold," but he believed the young man too often preferred bold heroics over quiet heroism. No doubt he had risked his life by charging in to still the riots, and for that, earned himself an early knighthood, which would have been his anyway within the span of two years.

But Marian looked pleased and happy again, so the sheriff stood and lifted his chalice in a second toast. "To Robin of Locksley," he proclaimed, and Marian blushed with pleasure as she repeated his toast.

...

Despite the murder of Prince Geoffrey, King Richard chose not to postpone bestowing the honor of knighthood on Robin.

On the battlefield, after acts of heroism, the king could grant a knighthood simply by touching his sword on each shoulder of the kneeling hero and dubbing him a "Sir," then giving him his spurs, a symbol of his new rank. But off the battlefield, there was a strict ceremony a prospective knight must follow.

At midnight, Robin began the ceremony by making Confession and taking Holy Communion. Next, with Much to serve him, he took a ritualistic bath, symbolically further cleansing away his sins. He was next clothed in a pure while linen tunic, symbolizing his purity, and had to spend the rest of the night on his knees in prayer, alone in the chapel.

Before his manservant left him, Much teased, "I'm not saying anything!"

"What is it, Much?" Robin asked, moved by the significance of the rituals, knowing his father and grandfather and so many other men he admired had done the same things before him.

"It's like a wedding," Much joked, "but you're the bride."

Robin grinned good-naturedly but sent Much away, wanting to restore the reverent mood and significance of this moment in his life. He got on his knees before the altar and began to pray to be worthy.

It was harder than he expected to pray nonstop for so many hours, waiting for dawn. He prayed for the soul of Prince Geoffrey and for his family's grief, but then found his mind wandering. He couldn't help thinking how proud Marian would be of his knighthood, wishing she were here in London so she could be present at tomorrow's ceremony. He prayed for her and her father, and her sour old aunt who wasn't sour with him, and he prayed for Much and his people, and asked the Lord for guidance to continue leading them. He tried to think of ways to improve their lives, and wondered if any of them would benefit from learning to read if he paid for a priest to teach them. His thoughts returned again to Marian, and he prayed he would be a worthy husband to her, and make her happy.

His mind dwelt pleasantly on her for a long time. He pictured her at her recent archery lessons and smiled. Her face had looked so adorable concentrating on hitting the target, he had wanted to forget the lesson and kiss her. But she had amazed him with her accuracy, hitting the center ring on her very first shot! She'd done it every time but one, when the wind lifted her arrow away from its mark.

He thought about kissing her at the top of the castle battlements, then reminded himself to pray when his thoughts grew too warm. He prayed and then thought of Marian again, this time enjoying thoughts of her delight as she stroked the muzzle of Lochinvar, his new foal.

He hadn't found a gift in London for her yet, and didn't know what to bring her. He'd bought himself a new bow, but nothing seemed good enough to express how he felt about her. It was the same with words. Nothing he could say could convey the feelings his heart held for her, so he didn't say anything.

"Help me to be worthy," he prayed again, wanting to be worthy of his knighthood, of his people, of the king, and especially of Marian.

He could become worthy, Robin realized, by using his sword for Christ and his king. King Richard said there might be a Third Crusade, and Robin prayed Pope Gregory would call for it to begin soon.

...

In another section of London, Guy of Gisbourne was fuming.

"You promised me Prince John would make me a knight!" he stormed at Vasey.

Vasey had heard enough. "Down on your knees, Gisbourne," Vasey ordered.

Gisbourne obeyed. Under Vasey's control, he had learned the hard way to obey when Vasey used that tone of voice.

Vasey drew forth his knife, and Guy wondered if the madman was preparing to slit his throat. Jumping to his feet, he unsheathed his sword.

"Oh, put it away, Gisbourne," Vasey said, disgusted. "I'm not going to harm you...not yet anyway. Back the way you were."

Reluctantly, Guy replaced his sword in its sheath and got down on his knees. What humiliating act did Vasey expect from him now, he wondered.

Vasey surprised him by striking each of his shoulders with the flat side of his knife and saying, "I, Vasey, dub thee, blah dee blah dee blah, Sir Guy of Gisbourne." Putting away his knife, he asked, "Does that satisfy you, Gisbourne, hmm? Or should I say, 'Sir Guy?' "

"That does not make me a knight!" Gisbourne shouted, rising to his feet.

"And everyone knows it! A clue...no. No one can guess you aren't a true knight, Gisbourne, as long as pretend you are."

"Pretend?"

"Yes." Vasey sing-songed out the word, weary of Gisbourne's thick headedness. "Perception is reality. So, Gisbourne, if you're so set on being a knight...be one."

"But how? I don't have any spurs."

"Then buy yourself a pair! Any metal smith can make them! Do I have to think of everything, Gisbourne?"

"But they are a symbol of knighthood! Only knights are permitted to wear them!"

"Yes, and you're so good about obeying the law! Grow up, Gisbourne. Prince John can't make you a knight any more than I can. Only the king can dub thee a 'Sir.' So, I just did, and you can either accept it and act the part of a knight, or reject it and wallow in self-loathing. Which is it to be, Gisbourne, hmm?"

Gisbourne considered, then answered, "That's Sir Guy of Gisbourne, to you."

Vasey smiled his evil grin. "Very good, Sir Guy."