"So do we have a plan?" Benny asked Robin. They had run far through Sherwood, nearer to Nottingham than they had expected. It seemed that Robin knew little of when they would actually pass by and therefore wanted to be prepared for anything.

Robin smiled confidently but looked sideward. "Well… One could call it a plan in progress."

"In other words, no," Allen said, hoping that his annoyance was apparent. "And not from lack of trying. How many plans did I offer up? But no. You want to just see how things go."

"How hard can it be?" Robin asked. "I doubt that the Sheriff would arm the carriage with many guards."

"And if he did?"

"Then you can say that you were right and we will never hear the end of it!" he said, clapping Allen on the back.

"Great," Allen grumbled but no one was listening. "What a prize."

Friar Tuck was the only one who took any notice. "Robin is right Allen," he said in that soothing voice. He had been the one to warn of them the Sheriff's plans. Robin had always revelled in the fact that one of their most trusted spies was a clergymen. But Tuck was so much more than just a spy, he was also their friend. He was a small man but slightly large of belly. Only small tufts of hair remained around his bald head. Given his jolly appearance, it amused Allen to no end that this was one of the few men who had controlling sway over Robin. So when Friar Tuck informed them of the Sheriff transporting slaves through Sherwood, they naturally had to race to the rescue. It had been a calm few weeks since the failed execution and Allen had enjoyed the peace. But he could see from his friends face that Robin enjoyed the action far more.

The morning had been bountiful with five carriages and three carts, robbed quickly and easily. But the thing that took their notice was a single rider fast approaching them from the direction of Nottingham. It was Tuck with instructions of changing their plans. So instead of a well thought out plan, they were to act like barbarians and simply attack the guards. Sometimes, Allen did not know why he bothered.

John appeared, lugging a large cart behind him. Even with his abundance of strength, he seemed to be struggling a tad. His face was a little too red with the effort. He dropped it with quite the crash. "Yes, no one help!" he said dramatically.

"Actually, I wanted a little to the left," Robin said with a daring twinkle in his eye.

John raised his quarterstaff menacingly. "You move it then," he muttered darkly. The cart was a leftover item from a previous raid that morning. It involved a cowardly Earl who had cut his horse free and fled instantly. It all worked out well as it made for the perfect prop.

"I don't see why I have to play the beggar!" Leon groaned as Thomas took great pleasure in rubbing dirt over his face and through his hair.

"It is the penance of being a new Merry Man," Thomas said with a chuckle. "We all had our demeaning times, now it is your turn."

"Is the mud really necessary?" Leon squeaked. Despite himself, he was still used to being in a life of splendour. Mud was still foreign. Knowing this, Thomas rubbed all the harder.

"We need the horses to stop," Matthew told him kindly, explaining once more. "It would be too difficult to attack them elsewise. So you just have to stand there, pretend that your cart broke and enforce the fact that you are blind. Blind beggars cannot simply move their own carts. So they have to stop to clear the path and that is when we attack."

"Yes, yes, I know," Leon grumbled. "But I still find the mud unnecessary."

"Yes but it is mighty fun," Thomas said with a grin.

The sound of footsteps drew our eyes to Much as he ran down the path toward us. 'They're almost here," he called, fulfilling his job of lookout.

"I will wait a little way down the track," Tuck said regretfully. We all knew that he could never be seen with us. Everyone else headed into the shelter of the trees.

"John wait!" Robin called, looking to the cart. "They have to believe that the cart broke and that the horse ran off."

John strode forward and a quick motion, kicked hard at one of the wheels. With a mighty crack, the wood tore apart and the wheel fell clean away. "Remind me to never get on your bad side," Matthew said, slightly wide eyed as he followed John and Much to the left side of the track. Thomas and Roger went to the other. Robin, Benny and Allen ran a little way down the track and climbed low branches, bows at the ready.

Finally the party came into sight. There were six guards in total, one riding out in front, two on either side and one bringing up the rear. It was looking far too easy. What caught the outlaw's attention was the carriage that they rode alongside. It was a cage. And a small one at that. Inside there were about thirty people, men and woman. And even the occasional child. From what Tuck had told them, they knew that they were the servants of a French Lord. This Lord had wanted to gain favour with Prince John and had given away a number of his slaves.

The men hidden beside the track looked up to Robin for confirmation. But Robin held up a hand, not convinced that they needed to attack.

Leon's cart blocked a great majority of the track. Horses could easily pass it but there was no way of passing the carriage by without stopping. Leon played his part well. We had wrapped a stray piece of torn cloth around his eyes but even without this he would be convincing. He seemed to have a secret gift as he stumbled about the track, calling out for help. Allen had to work to maintain a straight face.

The leader in front of the carriage called for his men to halt and looked in anger at this delay. "Move out of the way immediately!" he said with menace and a strong French accent.

"I would, Milord," Leon said, even adding stutter to his voice. "Bu-but my cart! I fear that it has lost a wheel! And my horse! She fled. Please, oh please help me."

The guard rolled his eyes and waved a hand at two of his men. They were far less strong than John and could not even lift from the ground between the two of them. "Fools," The head guard muttered and gestured for two more to help. They too dismounted and struggled desperately.

Robin finally felt assured and confidently strode out, bow nocked and ready. "I'm afraid that slavery is not permitted in Sherwood," Robin said.

The Guard narrowed his eyes. "On whose authority."

"Whose do you think?" Robin said. Benny and Allen joined him, arrows also at the ready. The Guards leapt back as they saw the rest of the Merry Men emerge from the trees.

"You think to fight us," the Guard said, filled with fury.

"What gave us away?" Robin asked sarcastically.

"Well you have made quite the mistake!" the Guard said. Benny grew bored, knowing that he would just make a speech of our impending doom that he would never be able to bring about. He had heard it all before. So he lowered his bow and instead pulled a slingshot from his belt. Alongside it was a large stone. He weighed it up in his hand, judging the strength he would need. Then he quickly placed the stone in the slingshot, pulled back and sent the stone soaring. It flew quickly across the path to strike the Guard hard on his forehead. His eyes rolled back as he fell backward from his horse to the forest floor.

"Anyone else?" Robin asked charmingly. The other guards proved rather cowardly as they lay their weapons down. "Look at that Allen," Robin said to me, "Looks like my lack of plan worked rather well, don't you think?"

Allen rolled my eyes as he pulled some rope from his satchel and threw it to Matthew so the guards could be restrained. Benny held them all with his bow whilst Matthew, Much and Roger tied.

The rest of the outlaws turned their attention to those in the cart. It was obvious that the majority of these folk could not speak in a word in English. So they could not tell that they were being rescued. They saw only the weapons and thought the outlaws were another enemy. And they let their fear show. The cage was cruelly small, but they still found a way to race about it, trying desperately to get themselves as far from the bars as possible. Some screamed. Others muttered in what appeared to be prayer. Robin tried his best to calm them but even standing near to them only worsened their panicked state. He looked to Allen in desperation, knowing that he must have had lessons in French. But Allen looked to the ground nervously. He had always hated the French language and had quickly given up paying attention in those dreary lessons.

Robin gave him a look of incredulous disbelief. So he turned to Leon who looked just as lost.

Finally he turned to Much. "I can't speak French!" Much said with a laugh.

"I never would have guessed," Robin said sarcastically. "But you can whistle."

Much placed those cursed two fingers and once more let out that horrid high-pitched sound. Slaves and outlaws alike covered their ears and were silent.

And then we were surprised as a young girl pushed her way to the front of the carriage, shaking all the while. She must have been in her eleventh year, maybe twelfth. Her long red hair was plaited down her back. She looked to Robin bravely and said, "I speak English."

"Oh thank goodness," Thomas muttered.

Robin looked to her kindly, making a large gesture of untying his sword from his belt and throwing it far away. "Thank you," he said warmly. "Now would you please tell the others that we mean them no harm?"

The girl nodded slowly and spoke to the others in French. They still looked uncertain.

"Tell them that I am Robin Hood. And I will protect them."

A fair few looked up in surprise when he spoke his name. The girl spoke again. Gentle murmurings broke out as those who did not understand were quickly told. But they still seemed terrified.

Robin turned to Allen. "Did any of the guards have a key?" Matthew tossed over a small bronze key that seemed to match the lock. But before Robin opened it, he spoke again to the girl. "Can you please tell them that everyone is more than welcome to leave? But they would have to fend for themselves. And this is a dangerous place, especially for those who do not speak the language. But I swear I will protect you all. You just have to trust me. If you choose to stay, I will not let anything happen to you."

Finally they seemed to calm as she spoke and Robin unlocked the cage. No one moved.

"Nicely done," Tuck said as he joined them. "So do you have a plan?"

Allen scoffed at the idea which Robin happily ignored. "You said that we could hide them at the Church. We can feed them there, get them warm. Then find out their trades. And find them somewhere safe."

They spoke quietly, knowing now that there was now someone who could understand them. "You're not going to hand us over to them are you?" the girl asked, tears in her eyes.

"What did the Sheriff want them for anyway?" John asked.

"They were sending us to Edwalton," the girl said quietly.

Leon looked shocked. "No one lives there for good reason," he explained. "That was the location of one of the worst cases petulance that England has ever seen. It was quarantined too late and it began to spread. But by the time they released the quarantine, everyone was dead."

"Why would the Sheriff send slaves there?" Will asked, disgusted.

"Someone has to farm the land," the girl said.

"Economic gain," Leon muttered darkly.

The girl seemed to be getting more terrified. Robin stood close and smiled warmly at her. "What is your name?"

"Polly," she said.

"Well, Polly," he said. "I swear to you that you will never see that village."

Something about his words managed the smallest of smiles from her. "Thank you."

Allen busied himself with the issue of getting everyone in Nottingham. The cage would have to be abandoned of course. Far too conspicuous. He began to sort them into groups so that a few Merry Men would go with each group under a different guise. Quite a few Merry Men came to help, offering ideas and what not.

Allen was far too busy to notice Roger. He had separated himself from the group and was sitting in a trance off to the side. Robin however did notice and went to speak to him. "Are you alright?" he asked in concern. Roger was one of his most stable men he knew and had never acted in such a fashion.

Roger simply nodded. Not very convincingly. Finally he said, "I think I should go back to camp."

"Not unless you give me a good reason," Robin said.

Roger stared at the cart. More specifically at Polly.

Robin looked to. And his face changed in surprise. For he saw the similarities. "Is she…?" he asked, but trailed off when he realised how strange it would sound.

But Roger nodded. "She is my daughter."

Allen froze where he stood, pretending that he had not heard. He was instantly racking his brains, thinking back to that fire, trying desperately to remember the names of the dead. He remembered arriving in Doncastor, completely clueless as to why they were there. And then he saw Roger, in the worst state of fury and pain he had ever witnessed.

All he knew was that there had been a fire. A fire that had killed a Mother and her two children.

The young girl had been called Polly.

...

The Sheriff glanced yet again toward the main road. But still he saw nothing. Exactly what he did not want to see.

His guards stood nervously, knowing full well what the Sheriff was prone to do when his plans went awry. He had a tendency to take out his anger on those around him. And one could easily tell that his anger was brewing.

They stood as near as they dared to the village entrance. Some believed that even breathing in the air could be a cause of the plague. That was the terrifying aspect. No one knew the cause. All that was none was that there was no way to stop it.

But innocent lives meant little to the Sheriff. As long as tasks were completed. If the slaves lived, he would know the pestilence was over. And if they died, they were easily replaced.

"How long have we been standing here?" he asked calmly.

No man had the courage to answer. And besides, words were not needed. The cause of his problems was rather obvious. Even a fool could see.

Finally there was movement. The guards in question limped into view. Without the desired slaves. The Sheriff's fists clenched tightly. "Why would you dare show your faces here without my slaves?" he said, trying to withhold the fury.

They looked to each other, begging each other with glances for someone else to speak first. Finally, their leader stepped forward. The Sheriff noted the large bruise on his forehead and took slight pleasure from it. But that was where the good news ended.

"We were ambushed," he said, voice quivering, "by…"

"Don't you dare speak his name!" the Sheriff roared. He turned on his heel, striding slightly. He buried his face in one hand as he rubbed away the emerging headache. As he sighed, those around him thought how well he seemed to be handling everything. He absentmindedly flicked a hand to one of his own men who strode forward and stabbed his sword deep into the opposing leader. "The rest of you can go into the village," the Sheriff said, looking to Edwalton. "Start the test early. See how long you last."

Their terror was delicious. But it did not solve his problem. "Just once," he muttered to himself. "Just once, I would like something to go my way."

"Shall we return M'lord?" one guard asked, terror all over his face.

The Sheriff froze at his words. "Return? Return to what? Hood has defeated me again! I shall have those slaves and I shall have them now!"

The guard stammered, "but just before you were complaining. Saying that you did not particularly need them."

"Yes, but that was before Hood came into things!" the Sheriff said, not caring that he sounded like a child.

"M'lord," another guard said, pointing to the path, "Someone is approaching."

He was right. A lone rider was fast approaching them. The Sheriff raised a hand to his brow to block out the sun. But it was soon apparent that he did not know this man. And the Sheriff did not trust what he did not know. Whoever it was, he was handsome. Everything seemed too perfect. It made the Sheriff feel a little sick. Those perfect blue eyes and fair hair repulsed him. He was tall and well built, dressed modestly but in a tunic of fine dark blue material. A large leather belt held a fine blade that the Sheriff admired for a moment too long. It was the blade of a warrior. The Sheriff narrowed his eyes, awaiting the approach.

The stranger dismounted and looked to the Sheriff with a look that the Sheriff had not seen in a long time. Finally he figured out what it was. The man did not look to him in fear. Another repulsive aspect. Or perhaps not. It was rather refreshing.

"You are the Sheriff I take it?" he said, still displaying genuine confidence.

"Who wants to know?" the Sheriff asked curiously.

The man smiled. "Guy of Gisbourne.

The Sheriff looked unimpressed. "And this is important to me because?"

Gisbourne dismounted as he said, "I am currently in the service of Lord Drayton. He sent me to ensure you received his gift."

"Well you can go back and tell your Lord Drayton that his debts are far from settled because no slaves were received!"

"He feared that would happen," Gisbourne said. "That is why he sent me."

The Sheriff paused, still off-put that the man had not so much as shuddered in his presence. "You mean to say that you will retrieve them?"

"That is why he sent me," Gisbourne repeated.

Something was not right but the Sheriff could not quit pinpoint what it was. "Why did he not send you with the rest of them?"

"Well he hoped that he would not need me. I am more of a safety precaution. One that he hoped he would not need."

The Sheriff was still far from trusting him. But what did he have to lose?

Gisbourne smiled as he saw the other man relenting. "Tell me everything you know and I assure you, you will have your slaves."

Finally, the makings of a smile appeared on the Sheriff's face. "Those are the words I like to hear. I think I could learn to like you Gisbourne."