Note: I had Robin and Much landing in Sandwich because that is where Richard landed in 1194, before he headed to attack Nottingham Castle and take it back from John.

----------Scene C----------

"Well, you kept your promise, Robin. Sort of. We did return to England in time for spring, if not quite the exact way I was thinking of. Ah, spring! I can even smell the greenness."

"See? Trust me, Much!"

"You almost did not keep the one about both of us returning safely, you know."

"Ah, but I knew you were the one person I could rely on to make sure of it, my friend." Robin regarded his manservant with affection. "Thank you."

Much blushed and sputtered, but preened a little. "Yes, well… it would have been horrible if we did not both see these shores again." He dropped to his knees and hugged himself. "Oh, forgive me for ever leaving!" He patted the grass. "And thank you, thank you, for not pitching and churning and bowling me about."

"The crossing from Calais to Sandwich was as smooth as you please." Robin laughed before he returned to their belongings piled on the ground. Opening bags he began rummaging through the contents. "Much, did you keep everything we have ever owned these past five years? Why did you bring it all back?"

"It took a lot of effort to find many of those things, I will have you know! I wasn't just going to waste it all."

"Well, we cannot take all these back with us to Locksley. With so many knights crossing from here there are no good horses to be had for a reasonable price so start sorting, Much, and keep only what you and I can comfortably carry."

"Master, not that!" Much squealed as he lunged for the shabby shirt knotted from multicolored yarns that Robin had just pulled from a pack. He clutched it protectively to his chest.

"Much, that is in awful shape." Robin eyed it dubiously.

Much tugged the disreputable garment over his head. "It traveled with us to the Holy Land and back. It would be nearly blas – blasphemy to abandon it now. Besides, I need it for warmth." He patted the shirt affectionately.

Robin cocked a disbelieving eyebrow but returned to his rummaging. Periodically he paused to catch his breath. He had fully recovered from the injury and subsequent festering of the wound that had cut short his service in the king's guard, but the long days in bed had sapped his strength and he was still painfully thin.

"Oh." Much pawed through a large leather bag. "You will want to decide about these." He pulled out a folded garment that he solemnly handed to Robin.

Robin took the surcoat. The red cross was faded, the white wool dulled with a grey-yellow hue. He fingered the neat stitching halfway down the left side that almost disguised the jagged rent with the faint brown stains.

Much glanced between the surcoat and his master's expression. "I brought your mail too. And mine. The king may have sent you home to recover but he made it clear that he would welcome you back – indeed, that he rather expected you to return. I wasn't sure if you – we – would still need them."

"Do you recall, Much, the wagering by the soldiers on what my tally of the enemy would be in each battle?" Robin's face was drawn. "Easy money for those with faith in my ability. Such a heady reputation as archer and swordsman I had – renowned and feted amongst worthy comrades, so quickly.

"And then one day I watched you scrubbing the blood out of my surcoat yet again and suddenly I could match each drop to the face of the Saracen who had yielded it. Just another mark beside my name, another coin clinking into a clutched fist that might lie open and cold the next day."

Slowly but firmly Robin shook his head. "No. Pope Gregory's war may go on but mine is ended. I have told the king I will not be returning to the Holy Land." He handed the surcoat back to Much.

"The mail is costly," Much protested as he pulled out his own surcoat and armor.

"So it is," Robin agreed lightly. He looked about the busy port city and then nodded at the shabby little church that stood further down the street. "Give them all to the priest and tell him it is a gift."

"We could sell them to another crusader and get enough money to buy supplies and even horses." Much hesitated and then added, "Particularly if it is known they belonged to the hero of Acre."

Robin shot Much a look that silenced him. "No. Give them anonymously to the priest. Leave their fate to God."

Much nodded and pushed the clothing back into their bags. Hefting the laden bags over his shoulders, he trotted toward the church. Robin watched him until he entered, then returned to examining the contents of the packs. He had almost finished sorting the items when Much came hurrying back.

"The priest could barely thank you, he was sniffing back so many tears," Much said, panting. He shook his head. "It is a mean little place. The knights going to the Holy Land are not overly generous and the ones coming back hasten on to Canterbury and do not stop here unless they have already died on the crossing."

"Hardly surprising."

"Oh, the priest says he will gladly take what we have, even rags. The poor can find some use for them. I think even the priest himself will find uses."

Robin nodded. "We will leave these with him before we go."

The two repacked what was to be taken with them, pausing at times to argue over the disposition of selected things. Robin won almost all the disputes with the simple expedient of a firm "No, Much".

Finally they were finished. Looking at the discarded pile Much made a face. "That's almost all of it! I should have just dumped my packs in Calais." Angrily he kicked at the pile.

Robin gave an apologetic shrug as he tied off his own small pack. "Sorry, Much, but we simply cannot carry so much by ourselves. I didn't think it would be quite so difficult to find horses. Richard's army has cleaned this city out. Perhaps we will have more luck further north."

"Speaking of King Richard – will you join his guard once more when he returns?" Much stopped his tirade and gave his master a troubled look. "He favors you and trusts you. Will you leave for Aquitaine with him?"

Robin smiled and shook his head again. "I am looking forward to nothing more than to return to my own small corner of England, and to my even smaller Locksley, where I shall settle down to being a placid old goat." He laughed.

"No goats," Much said firmly and then grinned. "Locksley it is!"

"I do not understand your aversion to goat. It was better than starved old horse that the armies were lucky to eat at times." Robin sobered and frowned. "I thank God it is not like that here. Still, I've been a neglectful master to my people. The Holy Land is in our past now."

"I for one am happy never to see it again," Much declared forcefully. "It is a savage land."

"No, not a savage land. It is ancient, patient as time, waiting for us to purge our madness." Robin sighed. "Until the next time it all starts up again."

Much scowled. "The things you pick up! I wonder you don't wear robes and turbans such as those of the dervishes we saw in Cyprus."

"Why, Much! I would have thought you would be the first to insist that I am not one with any sort of foresight, and that I am certainly not a wise man." Robin laughed, and then squatted beside his sword and bow. He patted them before picking them up. "My memories and these are more than enough for me."

Much nodded at the sword. "You did not make friends accepting that when you rejected Sir Jerval's."

Robin strapped on the sword, his hand lingering on the ivory hilt. "As one of the captains of the garrison at Acre Akil may have been my enemy but he was a good man, who always treated us with courtesy when we parleyed. He honored me with his last request." His jaw tightened. "I wish I could have spoken up for Akil with Richard, or at least been there for him at the end." He shouldered his bow and quiver.

"No, you do not!" Much cried out. He trembled as he struggled to control his voice. "I am glad that you were so ill and that I had to care for you so that I was not there either. Just from what I heard – it was revolting, Master. Richard was unstoppable and the others were no better. They wanted blood – even more than had already been spilled – and to be quit of Acre as soon as possible. Richard wouldn't wait for Saladin to complete the deal. The taking of the city – all those poor prisoners– it… it…"

Robin nodded wearily. "Stop thinking of it, Much. I have heard the taking of a city under siege is brutal. I have no stomach for such."

"I just want to go home," Much whispered. He picked up his pack.

Robin clasped him about the neck and gave him a gentle shake. "Come, my friend, let's drop off this stuff with your friend the priest. There should be plenty to help dry his eyes!"

They escaped the church and the grateful priest as quickly as they could and started along the road westward. Robin listened indulgently as Much chattered about his plans now that he would be master of his own holding.

"When I get my Bonchurch I shall hold a feast," Much stated happily. "Of course, not just for myself. I shall make hot spiced wine and invite everyone who wishes to come and raise a cup. Of course, it will be nothing like the feast you will have upon your return, Master. Cakes, and roasts, and plenty of fresh brown ale. The grandest affair Nottinghamshire will have seen in many years. Oh, my belly aches already at the thought. And everyone shall dance all night while I shall sleep with my toes toasting before the fire. A true English fire!"

Robin tugged his cloak higher up his shoulders. An English spring was chilly compared to the heat of the Holy Land. "A fine celebration we shall have but I doubt it will the most memorable of the shire," he replied in a thoughtful voice. "Such a special and joyous occasion has surely happened long since in Nottingham, at the castle."

"Ah." Much grimaced. "That was not quite what I meant but since we are on that subject – as you said, the past is over and done with. You have done quite enough gallivanting outside England and amongst the ladies. Locksley needs a mistress and you need a wife, for goodness knows I will not always be there to keep you out of trouble. You must think about finding a pleasant, understanding young lady with whom to have many children who will drive you mad."

"Pleasant and understanding, is it?" Robin smiled faintly at Much. "Come, let us pick up the pace. It will take us several weeks to reach Locksley."

As he walked along the road, now only absently attending to Much's meandering commentary, Robin did not betray how his thoughts lingered over Much's advice. There were some things he did not share with someone as fiercely protective as his former manservant.

All during his convalescence, once his mind had cleared, he had had little to do but think. The years in the Holy Land had torn him apart and at first the thoughts of the man who had lain on his pallet in the stifling tent had been almost those of a stranger, scattered fragments that had not described the whole. He had spent long days and nights piecing himself together and pondering the outcome. He had been pleased to find that he had not been as changed as he had feared, and that the darkness unearthed did not control him unless he let it. By the time they had left the Holy Land he had known with certainty who Robin of Locksley was and what he believed. And what he wanted.

He glanced at the trees above him and considered yet again the niggling hope that had been hardened in those hours of delirium and contemplation. He had had never allowed himself to acknowledge that hope outside his dreams but in his weakness he had found and clung to it. Ever since it had tantalized him despite himself, and now back in England he found himself smiling in mingled self-mockery and anticipation.

The chance of that hope coming true was very small – practically non-existent– and indeed had likely been dashed years ago by that described celebration at the castle.

But…

Winning long odds was hardly new to him; his chances of surviving his injury in the Holy Land had not been particularly good either.

Everyone in Nottingham had known Robin to be a light-hearted lad – what they had tended to forget was what a very stubborn one he was as well and in that the past five years had not changed him.

He never gave up.

Even if all he had to work with was little more than half a plan.

Fin.