----------Scene B----------

"Master, it is really very strange. I am so hungry – oh, to sink my teeth into a juicy bit of ham– but the thought of eating makes me want to retch."

"Hush, Much – be easy." Robin laid a comforting hand on Much's neck. He glanced outside into the spreading twilight as others of the king's guard moved about the camp. Torchlight sprang up, masking the grimness beyond in shadows. Robin's own stomach heaved at the memory of the day's carnage but the way his manservant's thin frame quivered worried him – Much was on the verge of collapse. He needed to report to the king soon but he could not leave his friend in this state. "You should not have gone back to the battlefield. You were lucky to have come back before nightfall and before the human vultures came out."

Much continued to tremble as he sat on his pallet, as if he were still out in the battlefield and not in the relative safety of their tent. His eyes were wide as he stared at his master.

"But you ordered us to bring back all the wounded we could before nightfall."

"Not you, Much!" Robin replied, exasperated. "I expected you to stay here and help care for the wounded as they came in, as you usually do."

Much blinked and gazed vaguely about him. "You looked and sounded so fierce. I did not even think not to obey."

Robin bit his lip. He shied from thinking of both the savagery he had met and that he had countered with. The Holy Lands had stripped him of much of his illusions about himself.

On the one hand, he had discovered depths that pleased him.

On the other hand, he had discovered depths that frightened him.

"Just rest a while, Much," he said more gently. "It has been a hard day."

"It has been a horrible day!" his friend shuddered. "This was worse than the usual skirmish. So many dead."

Robin shrugged as he tugged at the neck of his surcoat and mail in a futile attempt to catch a non-existent breeze. He grimaced at the stench of the soiled wool. "Saladin is determined that we do not breach the walls of Acre. He has bought their garrison many extra days with such tactics." He peered to the east where the huge Saracen army lay cloaked in the deepening night. "Negotiations are not going well and Richard is determined to break the siege. I doubt this was the last assault Saladin will send our way."

Much coughed and wiped his nose. "Now that Saladin has taken the True Cross we could have used another holy relic to aid our cause."

Robin scoffed and handed him a waterskin. "Well, that isn't an option, thanks to Sir Jerval." He leaned against a tent pole and gazed at the sky.

Much gratefully sipped the warm water from the skin. He swallowed hard and coughed and shuddered again. However, Robin was heartened to see something of Much's normal spirits in his outraged glare.

"A cat bone!" Much spat. "I could not believe that such a fine knight as Sir Jerval had had the gall to fake a splinter of the True Cross with a cat bone. I mean, the Cross wasn't even made of bone, cat or otherwise."

Robin rolled his eyes and grimaced. Sir Jerval had died of fever during their winter in Cyprus, only weeks after reuniting with Richard. More than seven months later he still found it difficult to forgive the man for the lie. His anger was not so much over the loss of the relic– he had not entirely believed in it – ­but for the revelation of what could best be described as his naïveté. With a sarcastic laugh he said, "Speak no ill of the dead, but perhaps Sir Jerval thought it less dishonest if he used something other than wood."

"His squire did not think so. His master was barely cold in the ground before he was falling over himself to confess. We would never have known if he hadn't told." Much shook his head. "Deceitful! I do not mean that Sir Jerval was such a horrible man – because he wasn't – but – deceitful! I am glad that you did not accept his sword."

Robin scowled. "I do not want to be known as the Crusader who defended the Holy Land by the grace of the True Cat Bone."

"That does not sound very heroic," Much agreed. "Do not fear, Master. Not that I wish to feed your vanity but you have done admirably taking over for Sir Jerval. The men look to you as their true captain despite your youth."

"I am not vain!"

"Indeed? Don't I remember you mentioning your elevation in the letter you promptly sent to Lady Marian?"

"No! Besides, I will have you know that I wrote the letter to Sir Edward. The Sheriff would have been interested in being informed of what a son of the shire has accomplished."

"Hah!" Much scoffed. "You just wanted to look modest; you knew he would pass the letter to his daughter anyway. Really!"

"Well, I am glad to see that you are feeling normal again," Robin muttered. He sighed and rested his head against his fist. "Edward is taking his time answering."

"Master, what did you expect when you refused to wait for the royal courier? The little lad to whom you gave the letter was headed for his family's home somewhere near Angoulême. Who knows who he gave the letter to next or where it has wandered." Much waved his hands. "Perhaps it is even on its way back to Cyprus."

Robin glared at him but forbore to answer.

Much took another sip of stale water and stoppered the skin. He looked at Robin. "This adventure is not quite what I had thought it would be, Master," he confessed. "It is hot, and dusty, and everyone here hates us even when they aren't trying to kill us and are even on the same side. I mean, the French – oh, the French and their King Philip! I thought we were here to defend the Holy Lands. But despite our armies Jerusalem has fallen and is not likely to be easily won back. I do not mean to criticize – although it sounds like it and perhaps I do a little – but the kings disagree so much. About money, about power, about women, about who has insulted whom – just about everything. The sun may be shining directly overhead but Richard and Philip will not even agree if it is noon or midnight!"

"There is more scheming than I had expected," Robin agreed grimly. "Perhaps I should be thanking Sir Jerval for opening my eyes to the truth that a smile means nothing. There are many good and honest men with us but one must learn to read a man's heart." He sighed again. "And only God can truly do so."

"Well, I can ignore the French but the English anger me. One does not have to lie to his brothers in arms, especially those he has convinced to abandon everything!" Much declared hotly. "One does not have to sell his honor for – for a cat bone!"

Despite himself Robin smiled. "You are absolutely correct about the choices we make, my friend. I promise you the next time a cat – which will undoubtedly be full of bones – crosses my path I will run in the opposite direction."

"You are pleased to mock me but it is good advice you should try thinking over," Much insisted, waving the waterskin vigorously.

Robin laughed softly, shaking his head, and the two men lapsed into a comfortable silence as they looked out at the camp. Short, meaningless clips of conversation drifted to them, along with the aroma of roasting meat. The men would welcome the rare treat but Robin screwed up his face at the smell – at times he still found it challenging to eat roasted meats after a battle.

"It was terrible out there," Much said softly, echoing his thoughts.

"They fight well. And fiercely." Robin murmured as he peered into the gloom. A cooling breeze finally eddied through the tent and he took a deep breath, grateful that the wind did not come from the direction of the recent battle grounds.

"As do you." Much nodded and continued with a tinge of pride in his voice, "The men are always talking about how King Richard admires your skill, about how few can match you in battle, and lay bets about how many you can –"

"Enough, Much." Robin closed his eyes and fought to keep his voice low.

Much gulped and changed the subject. "Yes, well… ah, it is no wonder the Saracens fight well. Heathens."

"This is their home." Grateful to avoid the other matter Robin lifted a shoulder. "I have spoken with some of the local peoples as we traveled through the cities. Did you know they consider this their Holy Lands as well? Both sides are willing to shed so much blood. I cannot help thinking this is a terrible way to treat the land of our Lord."

"You think too much, Master."

Robin smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of his head. "I think too much, I don't think at all. You are hard to please."

Much fidgeted and sighed. "We are going to be stuck here for a while, aren't we?" he asked in a low voice. "We will not be back in England by spring."

The misery in the other man's voice stung Robin. "Yes, by spring, I promise," he said rashly.

"You do not know that, do you?"

Robin looked at his companion before turning his gaze to the ground.

Much swallowed and nodded jerkily. "Just as long as we see England again, Master."

"We will," Robin swore. He moved to Much's side and gripped his shoulder. "Trust me, Much – I will get us both back to England safely when this is over. And we shall hold a feast and you shall have beef and pork and whatever else you desire until your belly hurts."

"Oh, do not mention that!" Much moaned. "Every night I see barons of beef and cutlets and mutton chops dancing through my dreams – but not goat. Never goat. I have had enough of those nasty beasts here." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "In my dreams the tables groan beneath all the dishes at a truly huge feast, held at the castle when you are married to the Lady Marian."

Robin rummaged about his pallet while he got his voice under control. Much's artless words scraped against old regrets. Private regrets. Still, it was past time for the other man to know. In a careless voice he said, "There will be no wedding waiting for me."

Much gaped at him. "The – the betrothal was dissolved? But Sir Edward hasn't even sent a letter."

"Sir Edward was not pleased with me that last week." Robin grimaced at the memory of that surprisingly painful meeting with his betrothed's father. "He would not agree to my marrying Marian before I left and would not agree to letting the betrothal stand, thus forcing Marian to wait for a man who might never come back. He said he would fail in his duty as her father. In short, Edward tossed me out."

"Master!" Much yelped. "You knew since before we left? And didn't tell me?"

"I did not particularly wish to talk about it with anyone."

"For four years?" Much fumed, but suddenly calmed and stared at his master. "Oh. That – that's just as long as you were betrothed."

Robin rolled his eyes at Much in exasperation. "Coincidence."

"Are you sure that Edward meant it? He was very pleased with the match."

Robin shrugged. "I spoke to Edward one last time the day before we left and was left in no doubt. And –" He shrugged again.

"But what did my lady think?"

"Not sure." Robin remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke he could not hide the resentment that still pricked him. "But Edward dotes on his daughter and would do what she wants. Marian would not speak in private with me after I told her I was leaving. I was still invited to supper with the knights but I would see her only briefly, and then she would be so very polite and would immediately engage someone else in dull conversation." He scowled. "That woman. She could at least have seen me off. She even gave her ring to her father to return. Thornton is keeping it safe somewhere."

Much scratched his ear. "Well, in all fairness my lady had a right to be angry with you. You did not consult with her before you decided. Women like to be asked even if you pay them no mind."

"Whose side are you on? And what do you know of women?"

"I am a fair man, Master," Much stated primly, "and a wise one that knows that women like all the things we do not do."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Bah, anyway it was for the best. I am free now! Cyprus in particular was most enjoyable. The ladies there were pleasing to the eye and they liked and admired me." He gave his friend a smug smile.

Much blinked at him. "But then why –" He stopped and clamped his mouth shut.

"What?"

"Ah – well…"

"Go on," Robin urged with a laugh. "You make me curious."

Much sighed. "I do not sleep so well of late and I sit up, to think of things. It is very quiet and rather peaceful, as long as there aren't people dying in the next tent over." He stopped to fidget, and then with another nervous glance continued, "In the past month, ever since we joined the siege, you have begun to… ah, speak in your sleep."

Robin felt himself redden and hoped fervently that Much would not notice. He remembered his dreams with perfect clarity. "I have not! Anyway, even if I do I am surely just repeating idle talk I have had with Richard."

"Each time you only ever say the same name and it is not that of our king, Master. I would hope not, sighed as it is in such a voice that I must blush…"

"Much!"

"Well, you asked! And you do! I have excellent hearing and it is not hard to remember, since I have heard it every night for so many nights and –"

"You've made your point, Much!" Robin snapped. "And for your information 'tis just out of old habit." He snatched up his sword and belted it on.

"New behavior for an old habit," Much said skeptically. He cringed beneath the glare Robin threw his way and hurriedly added, "Anyway, I have changed my mind. I cannot believe my lady has been so cruel and not written a letter of forgiveness, which would be a gentlemanly thing to do, even though she isn't a gentleman. I must confess that I am very disappointed in Lady Marian. She was not kind – and she is usually such a kind lady. I am very disappointed."

"Glad you have finally seen the right, Much." Robin swept him a mock bow before he checked his weapons and walked out of the tent. "Get some sleep. I do not think the Saracens will send out anyone else this night and perhaps we shall all have a restful time. And on that happy note, 'tis time for me to attend the king."

----------End Scene B----------