A fanfare of trumpets blared, cutting through the damp afternoon's stillness in the assembled crowd of spectators forced to gather in the outer bailey of Nottingham Castle.
Sheriff Vaisey, shadowed as always by the brooding black hulking form of Sir Guy of Gisbourne, almost skipped down the castle steps, chortling to Gisbourne as he tripped along. "Oh, yes! This is good! Remind me, Gisbourne, to give you a raise in pay after today's glorious event! A clue...no."
"What is happening now?" Marian asked her father from their vantage point, dreading whatever evil announcement the sheriff was about to proclaim.
Quickly scanning the crowd for any sight of Robin or his men, Marian was more than relieved when she couldn't spot them. To her mind, Robin's absence could only mean two things. First and most important, he wouldn't be throwing himself into danger, a great relief to her. And second, no one else must be in need of a rescue. The sheriff's summons could only mean some ridiculous proclamation, meant to cause trouble and havoc against the people, to benefit Vaisey. Paying close attention, Marian knew she needed to listen carefully, so she could accurately inform Robin what was happening, as well as develop her own plan to counteract the Sheriff's scheme, as the Nightwatchman.
"People," Vaisey raised his voice to call out, insincerely. "My dear, dear people."
Having gathered their attention, he broke into a malicious grin and continued. "I, Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, have called you here today, to witness a glorious spectacle...to whit, the coronation of a king!"
Signalling the trumpets to burst forth in another fanfare, Vaisey enjoyed the murmurs circulating throughout the crowd as they questioned his surprise announcement.
Marian rapidly blinked her eyes in confusion, wondering what the sheriff could mean. Looking to Gisbourne for answers, she saw that Sir Guy was giving nothing away. An evil sneer, however, played upon his lips, and he kept his arms folded across his massive chest, awaiting the sheriff's pleasure.
"You won't be crowning Prince John," Kate, the potter's daughter from Locklsey, whined loudly. "We have a king! King Richard!"
"Long live King Richard!" someone else in the crowd cried out, and Marian's eyes almost filled with tears when the cry was taken up and shouted, again and again.
Vaisey waited patiently for the cries to die down on their own accord. "Long live King Richard," he echoed, snidely. "Of course, the glorious Lionheart is, and ever will be our king, unless, of course, his life is cut short by some stray Saracen arrow. And what a tragedy that would be, hmm?" Whispering an aside to Gisbourne, he chuckled, "A clue...no."
Lifting his voice again, he readdressed the crowd. "No, my friends! I did not summon you here, away from your tedious daily tasks, to crown another King of England! That is the duty of the Archbishop of Canterbury, hmm? No! But there is one amongst us, whose evil thieving ways have led others to call him king! Can any of you guess whom I refer to? I thought not. Well, then, my friends, allow me to spell it out for your feeble brains. From noble, to nothing! From high lord, to low criminal! From hero, to zero! I give you...Robin Hood, King of Sherwood!"
Marian gasped with the rest of the crowd, seeing Robin stagger down the steps of the castle, having been pushed by a guard from above.
He didn't look himself. His wrists were bound before him, and he looked pale and disoriented. A bloody wound to his head explained his disorientation and apparent weakness.
The sheriff was gleefully laughing, and Gisbourne looked more vibrant than Marian had ever seen him.
Where were Robin's men, Marian wondered. They must be close by, ready to save him! They had to be! But the sheriff was speaking again.
"Gisbourne, since the Archbishop couldn't make it, why don't you do the honors, hmm? I believe it's tradition to first anoint the head of God's Chosen with holy water, and then, oil. Oh! We seem to be out! What a conundrum! Whatever shall we do?"
"Pitch," Gisbourne sneered. "I'll anoint his head with pitch."
"Very good, Gisbourne! Shouldn't someone be singing? A choir of prepubescent boys? Oh! I like it! This is good!"
The choir from Saint Mary's Church appeared, when Gisbourne tore back a curtain that had been concealing them on the platform. "Sing, you pimply faced sluggards!" the sheriff screamed. "And make it something snappy!"
Marian's mind was racing. Whatever the sheriff had in mind for Robin would surely spell his death. Unless, of course, his gang showed up, and saved him. Not counting on that happening, her mind raced, trying to think of a way she could save him herself.
"Wake up, Robin," she implored, her voice so low even her father barely heard her. But Robin looked stunned, unable to think, barely able to keep his footing. His head was bowed, his eyes shut, as Gisbourne lathered pitch on top of his head. It ran through his hair, down his nose and cheeks, dripping over his shoulders and splashing onto his boots.
"A little more, I think," the sheriff crowed, excitedly. "Coat him in pitch, Gisbourne! Wash away his many sins!"
Sneering, Gisbourne took a bucket of pitch, and threw the contents over Robin, who shivered upon the impact, but otherwise, appeared unfazed.
"Very good!" Vaisey cried. "And now...trumpets please!" Another fanfare blared forth. "The crown itself! Shall we say, a blazing emblem of glory, for our less than glorious hero? Gisbourne, again, he's all yours."
Sneering triumphantly, Guy of Gisbourne unsheathed his sword, then strode to an open fire, spearing something burning in its dancing flames.
"The Crown, my lord sheriff," Gisbourne sneered, holding forth a flaming circlet on the end of his swordpoint.
"Kneel, Hood," Vaisey commanded, licking his lips in glee as he shoved Robin to his knees.
"Watch how quickly our little Robin red breast can become fried chicken!" the sheriff crowed, dancing about the platform. "Oh, yes, this is good!"