"DOESN'T MEAN I LIKE YOU"
"What do you think, lads? Should we venture home, or get a room for the night?" asked Robin, as he, Guy, and Allan shook the snow off their coats and stepped inside the well-lit and toasty warm interior of the Trip Inn in Nottingham.
Allan shrugged. "I'm for stayin' here. What about you, Giz?"
Guy glanced out at the deepening twilight and the driving snow.
"Meg would want me to stay, I'm sure, and not try riding home in this storm."
"I'll see if we can get a room, then," said Robin. "Be right back."
He returned a moment later. "We're in luck. There's one room left."
"Good. Then let's have some supper."
The men found a table near the cheerfully blazing fireplace and sat down. The tavern was filled to capacity with travelers taken by surprise by the spring storm, along with the usual crowd of regulars engaged in eating, drinking, and playing boisterous games of chance.
"What're goin' to have?" Allan asked over the din. Then he added, with a laugh, "I don't think they serve squirrel stew here, mates!"
Robin was immediately reminded of Much. Much had stuck to his sworn oath that he would never again touch squirrel meat once they left the outlaw camp behind. They had faced frequent hunger in the past, first as crusaders and then as outlaws, and Much had never dealt well with it. Now, as the Lord of Bonchurch Lodge, Much no longer missed meals, and had grown contentedly stout in his middle years.
Robin ran his fingers absently over the table's rough surface while he read the evening's menu chalked up on the board. It suddenly occurred to him that they were sitting in the same spot where he had confronted Allan after finding out he had been spying for Gisborne. Was that little notch in the tabletop made by the arrow he had fired at Allan's bag of betrayal money? If Allan was aware that they were seated at the very same table, he gave no sign, and Robin decided to say nothing of it, even in jest. Some things were better left unsaid, and some events of the past were better not revisited.
He looked across at his two companions. They were a study in contrasts. Guy, dark and somber, Allan, all sunny smiles and jokes. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, the two men had an affinity for one another that amused Robin. Years ago, a lifetime ago, it hadn't been so funny. Both men had been his enemies—one, the brutal servant of Vaisey, the other a traitor to his friends and fellow outlaws. Yet now they sat down together as the closest of friends.
How strange life is, Robin mused. One never knows the turns life will take, the roads we'll travel down. Or who we'll end up traveling down those roads with.
Of all of them, Guy had changed the least, thought Robin. He looked, at forty-five, much as he had at thirty-five, when he'd married Meg. A few lines had etched deeper into the hawk-like features, and a sprinkling of grey was visible in the dark mane of hair, but his back was still straight and his broad shoulders unbowed.
He had lost none of his skill with a sword, nor the power of his presence. He still turned heads when he walked into a room. His deep voice and icy stare demanded, and received, respect. Some people liked him, others feared and hated him even yet, but none were ever wholly indifferent to Sir Guy of Gisborne.
Allan a Dale was as boyish as ever. He walked without a cane now, though he still limped noticeably. Allan seldom walked alone. He always seemed to have a crowd around him when he made the rounds in Locksley, a flock of tow-headed, noisy boys and girls who adored their fun-loving papa. Allan's clan was constantly growing with new additions, as his wife Catherine produced babies on an amazingly regular basis. Already there were five little a Dales, with another on the way.
His legs might be crippled, thought Robin, but there's nothing wrong with his—
"What can I get for you gentlemen?" asked the serving maid. Her wide, coquettish smile was aimed mostly at Guy.
Of all the men in the tavern to make eyes at, it would be Guy—tall, dark, handsome, and brooding Guy. But her smile, however inviting it may be, is wasted on him.
Guy was the exception to everything Robin had been lead to believe about good-looking men. No roving eye, no flirting with every female in sight for him. He was as loyal in love as he was in friendship. For many years Marian had been the focus of his all-consuming passion, until he, Robin, had put a decided end to that. Meg was now the fortunate recipient of Guy's love and loyalty.
Allan was not above flirting, however, and the maid soon shifted her attention to someone who would return it. Between the giggles and blushes on her side, and the jokes and grins on his, the men placed their order for food.
It's a good thing Cate isn't the jealous type, or she'd smack him one, thought Robin. I should talk, though. How long will it be before I get truly comfortable with the idea of Marian and I living next door to Guy? How does Meg deal with it? She knows all about Guy and Marian's history together, but it never seems to bother her. Perhaps I need to learn a lesson from her and not let it bother me, either.
After the maid set tankards of ale in front of them, and sashayed off to the kitchen, Guy and Allan fell to discussing young Rodger's riding lessons. Robin let his mind wander back to the events surrounding their arrest and imprisonment by King John.
On just such a cold, snowy day as this one, the king's elite guards had arrived without warning in Locksley, and lead him and Guy away in shackles, in front of their wives, their children, and the rest of the villagers. Thereafter they had spent four wretched months together in prison.
Gisborne and I have been friends, of one sort or another, since that memorable day when we threw Prince John down the well in Nottingham Castle. Long ago, when I hated the very sight of him, I might have said, "Of all the people to be stuck in prison with, it would be Gisborne!" But looking back, I couldn't have asked for anyone better.
We could do nothing but stare at the walls and each other, and wait, and wonder what King John would do with us. Yes, we had our fun with the prince, but we paid for it many times over. Indifferent and infrequent meals, dirty straw, no way to bathe or wash our clothes unless we pleaded with the guards to take pity on us. Cold and dark most of the time.
What if I had been locked up with Much? He'd have driven me 'round the bend with his chatter and his complaining. Allan? His jokes would have worn thin in short order. Little John? I'd have ended up talking to myself just to hear the sound of a human voice!
With me and Guy, it was team up and help each other to survive, or kill each other. After a week cooped up in that dark pit, Guy lost control. He ranted and screamed and pounded the walls and the bars of our cell until his hands were bloody. I held him and did my best to comfort him after he fell on his knees and sobbed in utter despair. The next day it was my turn to lose all hope, and his turn to comfort me.
We shared our meals and nursed each other through illness. To keep our sanity, we talked. For hours we reminisced about our childhoods. We spoke of our worries and our fears for our wives and children. We admitted, reluctantly, to our own fear of death. We found out how much alike we were in ways we never imagined. We grew closer than ever before, because we only had each other.
Then Tuck came to see us, and what a friend he proved to be! He relayed messages for us to family and friends who were forbidden to see us, and he worked tirelessly to get us released. He reminded King John that he was not popular in some quarters. If he were to disregard the pact he'd signed and the promise he'd made to his brother Richard, and go ahead with his plans to execute myself and Guy, there would be trouble, possibly even open rebellion, from the people of Nottingham, and he didn't need any more trouble than he already had to deal with. Tuck saved our lives, I've no doubt, and risked his own neck while doing it.
Archer, too, proved his courage and his loyalty to us. I wasn't happy with my brother when I found out he'd agreed to work as a private guard for King John after Richard's death. But I understand him now. He did what he had to do. He's a born survivor. Like Guy. Ever the pragmatists, both of them. They accept the world as it is, and their place in it.
Has some of that rubbed off on me? Here I am, forty years old, my youth behind me, and many of my ideals in the past, too. All those years that I followed and supported King Richard, believing that he was the saviour of England, and where is he now? He hardly spent any time in England, and now he's dead. I once railed against Guy for blindly following Vaisey, but I did the same thing for a king who disappointed so many.
After I was arrested, all I wanted was to return to Locksley, to be with Marian and Eleanor. Time was when I would have championed my ideals, stood up against the tyrant, defied King John, and faced the consequences.
What did I do instead? I reasoned, I argued, I bargained with him, and finally I even begged to be allowed to go back home. Guy laughed when he found out, because he did the same himself when he was brought before King John. We both stood to lose so much that was precious to us, so we did what we had to do to survive.
Perhaps Guy is right after all. "Do what you can here," he tells me, "Help the people of Nottingham if it makes you feel better, and stop trying to save the whole of England. You're just one man, so accept that and be satisfied."
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Their meal arrived, and as soon as the maid ceased her flirtations with Allan and her sidelong glances at Robin and Guy, they dove into the meat pies and the crusty loaves of bread. Allan gobbled it all down with messy fingers, but Guy ate slowly, with the restraint and gentlemanly manners of his upbringing. Robin smiled.
Guy. As much as I know and understand him now, he's still an enigma to me in many ways.
I remember the night the guard took our blankets away because he "complained too much" over our meager meal. He raged at the top of his lungs at that guard, calling him every name he could think of, until I reminded him that it probably wasn't a good idea—we might get worse treatment if we made too much of a fuss.
We must have laid in that damp straw in our cell for an hour, tossing and turning and miserable, until Guy suddenly rolled over and pressed the length of his body against my back. I was startled and began to pull away, but he snickered, yanked me back over to him, and threw a restraining arm across my shoulders.
"Relax," he said to me. "Look, it's freezing in here without our blankets, so we might as well try to keep each other warm. I'll warm your back first, since I got us into this, and then you can return the favour. Do we have a deal?"
"Well, okay, sure, why not?" I answered him. "It beats freezing to death."
He wedged his thighs up under mine, and draped his arm across my chest. I instantly felt warmer. Not sure if it was because of Guy's body heat or my own embarrassment, but the warmth was very welcome nonetheless.
In the Holy Land I'd often slept cheek by jowl in a tent crammed full of other men, huddled together to keep each other warm on those cold desert nights. If it wasn't Much by my side, it was some other man, friend or stranger. I supposed that this was no different. If it meant survival, so be it. Guy didn't seem discomfited at all by the intimacy.
We were silent for a moment, and then Guy's voice sounded near my ear.
"This doesn't mean that I like you, Locksley, so don't get any funny ideas during the night."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You, either," I said.
"Not to worry," Guy replied. "You're a bit bony for my taste, anyway."
I finally began to relax. I found it comforting, after the initial awkwardness, to have a warm body pressed up against me and an arm over my chilly shoulders, even if that warm body belonged to Guy of Gisborne. Just before dropping off, a thought came to me.
"I wonder what Vaisey would say if he could see us now!"
I had no idea I had voiced my thought aloud, until I heard Guy's laughter rumble against my back.
"He'd say we deserved each other," he replied. "Now, go to sleep, Robin."
I did as I was told. It was not until awakening hours later that I realized I had never taken my turn at warming Guy. Guy had let me sleep undisturbed.
I rolled over, to see Guy, cold and shivering and wide awake and watching me. He mumbled, "You owe me one." And then came his smile, the smile of a true and caring friend.
What an amazing man. Screaming in a towering fury at the guard one minute, making ribald jokes the next. The same man who would have killed me, with pleasure, only a few short years earlier suffered willingly all night to keep me warm instead. What a complicated, unfathomable, impossible man!
As they finished their meal, Robin looked over at Guy, and wondered if he remembered that night, too.
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Allan left them, after they ate their meal and drank another round of ale, to catch up with some friends and try out a new tavern game trick he'd learned. Robin and Guy shook their heads at the loud shouts and guffaws coming from the other end of the room.
"Are we going to rescue him if he gets into trouble?" asked Robin, as he and Guy sat at a game of chess.
"It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten himself into trouble cheating the other patrons out of their money with his underhanded tavern tricks."
Guy thought back to his first acquaintance with Allan, and a certain "Gotcha!" moment. "He's on his own this time," he added.
He looked up at Robin and smiled. "And you're not paying attention to the game, my friend, so it's checkmate for you."
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The innkeeper had already told them that The Trip was crowded due to the unexpected storm, so they had to take what they could get as far as a room for the night. Allan grumbled under his breath as they ascended the stairs behind him later that evening.
"Let's just hope we don't end up in the honeymoon room," he said. "Fancy all of us, in one bed."
Robin laughed. "If it's the honeymoon room, Allan, at least it'll be a big bed."
"Not bein' funny, gents, but if we have to share a bed, can I at least not be the one in the middle?"
"What's wrong with the middle?" said Guy. "It's the warmest spot."
"Yeah, but Robin snores."
"I do not!"
"Yeah, you do, and loud, too. Guy, I don't know what you do in your sleep, but I don't want to find out."
"What's the matter, Allan?" said Guy with a lecherous smirk. "Afraid I might mistake you for Meg in the wee hours?"
"You just stay over on your own side! If you so much as put a toe on me, I'll kick you out of bed onto the floor! You too, Robin."
The room they were led to, though small, had a fireplace and several beds.
"Well, that's a relief," said Allan, as he stripped off his shirt and boots, and burrowed under the blankets.
Robin pulled off his own clothes and boots. Guy threw a few more sticks of wood on the fire, and then undressed as well. He climbed into his bed, and looked over at Robin. He gave him a grin before he blew out the candle.
"If Vaisey could see us now, eh, Robin?"
Guy remembered. Oh, yes, he remembered all right. Robin laughed in the darkness, and heard Guy's answering laugh as he settled down in his own bed.
"Go to sleep, Guy. And, pleasant dreams, my friend."
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Author's Note: A thank you to all the readers and reviewers thus far, I appreciate it very much! Okay, some of you may be thinking, "you listed your story as drama/angst, so where is it?" Not to worry, there's plenty coming up! (this story has Guy as a main character, after all, and Guy and drama/angst go together like peanut butter and jelly) Rodger and Eleanor will be a bit older when we see them next, and you know their parents can't hide all those family "skeletons in the closet" from them forever. There will also be much more of Guy, Robin, Marian, Meg, etc. as well. Stay tuned!