The next morning, early, Robin rolled out of bed, slung his pack over his shoulder, and snatched his sword and purse from under the bed. He did not put his boots on, but instead slung them over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs, past the servants' quarters, and into the stable. When he caught sight of Much, dressed and depressed, holding the head of Robin's saddled horse, he wasn't surprised. This was how it had been since they had known each other – Robin made a plan, Much said he would not be party to it, and then ended up coming anyway after a good brood.

"This is why I love you," he whispered, taking the reins from Much's hand and clapping the man gently on the side of the head.

Much stewed. "I know I'm going to regret this. Just wait and I'll get mine saddled."

Robin blinked. "Yours."

"My horse. You don't think I was just going to let you ride off . . ." Much pointed to what Robin realized to be the manservant's own luggage lying in a heap by the stable door. He put out his hand to stop Much before he walked away.

"Much. Wait . . ."

"I've thought it all out, and it's either both of us or neither of us," Much said firmly, though he did not look Robin in the eye. This was one of the first times he had laid down an ultimatum for his master, and the whole situation was uncomfortable in the extreme.

"You need to stay here and cover for me," Robin said gently.

"And who is going to cover for you out there?" Much demanded, voice going thick with frustration and fear. "Out there where the real danger is?"

"I'll get myself a squire."

"Make me your . . ."

"No, Much." Robin had inadvertently raised his voice, but lowered it again for fear of waking the others in the building. "Just . . . no." He looked away. "What about your lodge?"

"It's a house!" cried Much in as loud a voice as he dared. "A bloody . . . spit of land! Master, I don't care about the lodge. I don't want Bonchurch. If you are so anxious to give me what I want, then let me come with you. To the Holy Land."

Robin sighed. "I can't do that."

"Well, that's decided then," Much's tone was falsely light as he drew himself up. "I'll just – ah – unsaddle your horse, you can go back to bed, and we can forget any of this ever happened."

"Stop it, Much. I mean it." Robin closed his eyes and rested his head against the lintel of the stall. "Look, it's not just because I need you to cover for me. After that, after I'm over there, I'll need someone to look after Locksley. I have no heirs, I have no capable hands in which to leave the fate of my peasants." He took Much's wrists and turned the manservant's hands palm-upwards. "Except for these. Be my hands, Much. Live at Bonchurch, be happy, and look after Locksley until my return."

Much's face had gone rigid, but his eyes glittered moistly in the light of the single lantern that lit the stables. He closed his eyes. "I'd still rather come with you."

"And I would rather there was no war at all. But sometimes the things we have to do and the things we rather do lead us down different paths, my friend."

"I know," Much nodded, his eyes gone red. "Alright. Go. Quick, before I change my mind."

Robin, his own eyes glassy, pulled his manservant into a hug. "The first Saracen I slay will be for you, my friend," he promised when he pushed away again. He took the horse by the bridle and led it into the courtyard. Much followed, watching him lever himself into the saddle.

"You'll die," Much warned him thickly.

Robin laughed incredulously and rolled his eyes. "I won't die."

"Yes you will. You'll die, and then I'll die. And you'll be guilty of suicide and murder."

"As always, your thought processes astound me, Much," Robin winked and turned the horse toward Locksley village and the open road.

Robin glanced over his shoulder at his friend, standing in the dimly lit doorway. He was admittedly proud of himself for making up such a brilliant reason why Much had to stay behind. It was partially true, that he needed someone to look after Locksley, but he was reasonably sure that Edward would take care of that without any trouble. But he could not bring himself to tell Much that the reason he did not want him coming to the Holy Land was because he was frightened for him. Scared to death that his poor dear friend, clumsy and innocent and absolutely no soldier, would be taken from him there. And then that would be the end of Robin of Locksley, whether he himself returned unscathed to England or not.

It was selfish, and Much would have hated him for mistrusting his ability. Which was why he must never be told. Better to let him think that he was fulfilling a crucial role, doing his master's bidding. Besides, such declarations of love did not suit Robin well. Best all around to leave things unsaid and spare them both the pain.

"I'll bring you back a Saracen shield!" Robin said over his shoulder as he began clip-clopping out of the courtyard and away from his manor and his Much.

"Just you come back in one piece," Much called softly.

"I will!" promised Robin, waving jauntily before turning around to face a new and daring adventure.