"Shut up, Bonchurch!" King John ordered Much, all the while smirking triumphantly at Robin. "What's the matter, Locksley? Pudgy got your tongue?"
"I'm sorry to hear Mistress Fitzhugh is dead," Robin replied honestly. "Yet I'd like to hear what part you accuse me of playing in her tragic death."
"Oh, yes, by all means! We can't have the legendary name of Robin Hood tarnished now, can we?" the king giggled. Turning nasty, he shouted, "Well, too late, Locksley! After the people hear what you caused, they'll piss all over your legends."
"That is revolting!" Much couldn't help saying.
"Not as revolting as what Locksley did! Bring forth the witness!"
Isabella had no wish for Robin's returning accusations to be aired in such a public forum. Laying a jewel-bedecked hand on her husband's arm, she slyly suggested, "My king, wouldn't it be better if we were to convene to a more private place?"
"Why?" the king pouted. "I want everyone to know the evil things Locksley did!"
"But consider the element of surprise, my liege! If everyone present hears, it won't give us time to arrange the details to their most damaging effect! Besides, it wouldn't do for the nobles to listen to Locksley's answering false charges. You know how persuasive his silver tongue can be."
"Oh, you adorable girl! You think of everything, don't you? Very well then, Locksley, you will follow me to a more private chamber. Come!"
So saying, the king swept past Robin and Much, with Isabella at his heels. As she passed Robin, she smirkingly whispered up at him, "How do you like my mourning gown? Hideous, perhaps, but made of the finest Bruges satin. I never let anything touch my skin unless it's the finest cloth, or flesh."
"You pushed her, didn't you?" Robin accused, out loud.
"Stop!" the king ordered. "What did you say, Locksley?"
A terrified hush fell over the room, as everyone held their breath.
"Mistress Fitzhugh did not throw herself from the battlements," Robin told the stunned gathering. "The queen pushed her, to stop her from telling you the truth!"
More silence followed a collective gasp, broken by Isabella's tinkling laughter. "How terribly absurd," she mocked. "Me? Push her? You've lost it, Locksley! You dare accuse a helpless woman, to try and save your own skin?"
"It's better than committing murder," Robin snarled back, glaring at his former paramour. "And you, with your poisons and your mustard bombs, have never been helpless."
The king, delighted by the exchange, laughed merrily in amusement. "Oh, let's just have our little fun here! No need for privacy! You know how I crave an audience!" So saying, he returned to his throne and flung himself sideways onto its seat, hanging his legs over the armrest.
Furious, Isabella could barely hide her sneering lips and flashing eyes. "Very well, my king," she almost spat, sitting regally upon her own throne. "Let's all listen to Locksley's venomous lies!"
"I'm not the one who poisons," Robin answered. "You are."
All present knew it to be true, but nobody else had the courage to speak it aloud.
Seizing his chance, Robin made the accusation he had come to Nottingham expressly to make.
"Your Majesty, I enter grave charges against the queen. I have proof that she coerced Mistress Fitzhugh into poisoning my wife, using the same vile brew she herself poured in your wine."
"What proof?" Isabella sneered.
"Much?" Robin invited.
Much, who never could get completely used to not being Robin's servant, opened his knapsack and, one by one, pulled forth a variety of objects, beginning with one of his son's toy soldiers. "I know it's in here somewhere," he stated, nervously, rifling through the sack. "I distinctly remember putting it in here this morning, when you handed it to me! No! That's my comb! Eve likes me looking nice. Do you think my hair needs combing, Robin?"
"Much!"
"Oh! Sorry! Yes...I'll find it! Here it is! No, that's-"
"You see!" Isabella mocked. "He has no proof!"
"Here it is!" Much cried at last, pulling forth the cup that Marian had used to drink the poisoned milk, and holding it proudly aloft.
"An unwashed cup?" the king declared, in wry amusement. "That's your proof? Surely, Locksley, you can do better than that!"
"Any alchemist can tell you what this cup's residue contains. It's the same poison Isabella put in your own goblet, that made your taster ill. My wife suffered the same symptoms, but in her case, it almost killed our unborn child."
"Didn't it?" the king asked, disappointed. "Pity. Bored with Miriam growing fat. Bored with your accusations, too, and your so called proof!" Turning to his queen, he smiled and said, "Izzy wouldn't poison her Johnny, now, would she?"
"Of course not, my king! Don't I owe everything, to your royal beneficence? Locksley's only trying to distract us away from his crimes, by concocting such a ridiculous story! Why don't we listen to the testimony of your witness, yes, my magnificent king? And then, of course, we can go somewhere private, and I'll..."
He closed his eyes, his face leering in eager anticipation as he listened to her whispered plans.
"Yes! Of course!" he cried. "Bring forth the witness!"
The crowd parted to allow Annora's sobbing old nurse to shuffle forward. The king, growing more and more impatient at the slowness of her rheumatic steps, drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. "Hurry up!" he whined. "Old people are so disgusting! Really! There ought to be a law, to protect my eyes and nose from their offensiveness!"
When the ancient, wheezing woman almost reached the area before the thrones, she lost her footing and stumbled. Immediately, Robin was there, carefully lifting her up by her arm and supporting her before she fell.
"Are you alright?" he asked, with kind concern.
In answer, the old woman spat in his face. "You're the one what done it!" she accused. "You're the one what made my poor lost lamb so miserable, she killed herself!"