William's guards dragged Sir Guy straight up to the castle keep before anyone could get a contrary word in.
"He's a nobleman!" Lady Marian shouted over the clank of metal, rushing up the long bridge after the guards. "He has rights!"
"That's right! Everyone, halt!" cried William at the back of the prisoner escort. His men halted, and he charged to the front of the procession. "Take Sir Guy to the great hall instead! It's his right!"
William's mind churned fast. He had suspected Robin Good would show up in disguise, and he was fairly sure Robin had been among the competitors, but in all of William's anxiety about throwing a good man into the Dungeon of Despair, it had not occurred to him that an innocent man could wind up there in Robin's place. Something had gone wrong with the trap, and now it was William's job to set things right.
He cast a sympathetic look at the poor cucumber caught in the middle of this mess. Sir Guy was a complete stranger, but William shuddered to think of the fate that awaited the prisoner if justice failed him.
The guards carried Sir Guy to the great hall. Inside, castle servants in the middle of cleaning jumped out of their way in alarm. The guards placed the prisoner in front of Prince John's throne, while Lady Marian moved to the side of the room. Although having a reputation for a gentle temperament, Lady Marian seemed on the verge of dealing someone a righteous thrashing.
"Hey, what's the holdup?!" Prince John's booming voice echoed down the hallway, seconds before his glaring face appeared. He still held his ham. "I ordered for Robin Good to be thrown into the Dungeon of Despair!"
"He's not Robin Good!" Lady Marian cried. "He's just a really good archer!"
Prince John gritted his teeth and muttered, "He's not that good."
William took a diplomatic step toward him. "Even if he were Robin Good, he would still have rights as a nobleman, and as the real Sir Guy is a knight, it would cause a scandal among the royal court if he didn't get a chance to prove his innocence."
The prince exhaled. "Always a catch…"
He stalked toward his throne while the rest of the royal procession arrived. Anne and the other ladies, including a bewildered Princess Isabella, moved to stand by the side wall with Marian. Prince John pounded his ham against his armrest like a gavel.
"Okay then, here's the load down," said Prince John. "This stranger is accused of being Robin Good in disguise on the grounds of winning an archery tournament that only Robin Good could win. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty, of course," the cucumber replied faintly, his green face looking paler. "I—I grew up in Normandy, and I only arrived in England a few days ago, and I don't even know who this Robin Good character is."
Prince John's lip curled. "Oh, so you just happened to come to England and just happened to decide to enter an archery contest that only Robin Good could win?"
Sir Guy, if possible, grew more disturbed, "Well, when you say it like that, it sounds downright suspicious, don't it?"
"What evidence do you have to prove your identity?"
Sir Guy began to brighten. "I have my driver's license in my back pocket!"
He wiggled his shoulders, shooting looks at his captors. They released him, and he quickly pulled out his wallet. He passed his license to William, who carried it over to the prince.
"What's that for?" Prince John asked.
Sir Guy paused, frowning. "…I don't really know."
Prince John accepted the card, glanced at it for two seconds, then tossed it over his shoulder.
"An easy forgery, whatever it is!" he declared.
"It looks pretty real to me," William said quickly.
A troubled murmur arose from the spectators. Sir Guy's face glistened with sweat.
"This… This is all a big misunderstanding," he stammered. "Let me send for my friends at the royal court. They'll come and prove my identity."
The prince considered his suggestion. "It's an idea, but that would require me to use up precious resources."
Glad to see the prince being lenient, Willam suggested, "Maybe a messenger pigeon?"
"Costs five hams to use one of my pigeons in my realm," said the prince. He glanced at the accused cucumber. "Got enough?"
Sir Guy swallowed. "Fresh out."
Prince John did not skip a beat. "Then I rule you are Robin Good, and you'll spend the rest of your days in the Dungeon of Despair. Sheriff, take him away."
William's heart sank like a rock.
"Sir," he tried, "with all due respect—"
Prince John rounded on him. "Would you like to join him?"
Gulping, William signaled his men, and the two guards on either side of the poor cucumber grabbed hold of once again.
"Wait!" Sir Guy protested, thrashing. "I appeal to the the justiciars! And I appeal to Queen Eleanor—"
Prince John slammed his ham down, eyes blazing.
"Don't you dare sully my mother's name with your criminal lips! Say goodbye to daylight!"
The bite in his voice was palpable. The guards did not hesitate another second. Regardless of whether any held sympathy for Sir Guy's pleading cries, none wanted to be sent to the dungeon with him. They hauled the aghast Sir Guy down the hall, and the doors closed behind them.
The echoing clank smote William's heart, and he longed to cover his ears to block out Sir Guy's muffled pleas, but he could do nothing. Not here, anyway. Even so, when he saw Anne watching him with imploring eyes, he felt ashamed at his inability to help an innocent soul under his own roof.
"This is ridiculous!" Lady Marian cried, rushing forward. "Sir Guy is my friend, and I can vouch for him."
"How do you know that's not Robin Good wearing a clever Sir Guy disguise?" Prince John challenged.
"Because — I know Robin Good too," she answered, looking suddenly flustered. "I can tell which one is which!"
"We need more evidence than just the word of a little girl," he sneered.
She drew herself up. "Who is the king's ward, sir."
"And I still outrank you," he threw back.
Marian pursed her lips, her eyes flashing. At once she spun on her heel, marching toward the big oak door.
"Fine!" she declared. "Then I'll ride to London this moment and let Queen Eleanor know what you've been doing."
"Excuse me?!" demanded Prince John, snarling.
Lady Marian whirled around and lifted her chin.
"To put it in the King's English," she said, "I'm telling your mother!"
William's jaw dropped. The prince reeled back, sputtering. The whole hall grew dangerously quiet, broken only by Marian's storming steps. She made it just to the door before a shout burst from the prince's throat.
"Tattle tale, go to jail! Take her to the dungeon with Sir Guy!"
William whirled toward him in alarm. The guards at the door immediately crossed their plunger quarterstaffs in front of the doorway, blocking Marian's exit. The rhubarb pivoted again, glaring at John.
"You wouldn't dare," she said. "I am the king's ward, and only the king himself can send me to a Dungeon of Despair."
"Prophetic words, my lady," John said under his breath.
Without thinking, William hurried to the prince and dipped into a deep bow, nearly slamming his nose into the stone floor.
"Put her under house arrest instead, Your Highness," he pleaded. "It's a better sentence for the king's ward."
Princess Isabella drew near. She did not always interfere with her husband's dealings, but the severity of the situation obviously stoked her into action.
"He has a point, my lord. If word gets back to King Richard of mistreatment toward his charge, he may abandon the crusade to deal swift retribution."
That caught the prince's attention. His lips thinned beneath his brunet mustache, and his calculating eyes glanced at Marian, weighing his options. At last he straightened.
"Take the Lady Marian to her chambers, and do not let her leave until I say so."
The guards bowed and lowered their staffs, but none dared to grab hold of the thin rhubarb. She gave the prince one last defiant look but allowed the guards to escort her out of the room.
William let out a slow breath of relief. Although he still had Sir Guy on his conscience, at least today had not gotten worse.
Or so he thought.
Just as William lifted his head, about to head over to Anne, Prince John rounded on him.
"And, Sheriff," he added, "make sure no one can come in or out of town. Absolutely nobody is going to tell my mother anything. Are we clear?"
William's face fell. "But Your Highness—"
"I said," Prince John growled, "are — we — clear?"
He bowed his head, trying not to grimace. "Yes, sir."
Bethlingham shut down as though it were under siege. Prince John ordered more guards on the walls and forbade them from letting anyone out without his permission. Out-of-town merchants visiting for the fair were now prevented from returning to their families. Other merchants started hoarding up food to sell back at exorbitant prices. Serfs and peasants could not go out to work in the fields, which threatened the town's supply of crops. Every wagon that managed to leave the gates was checked at least three times for secret messages, and the wagon drivers had to pinky-promise not to say anything to anybody. A wandering minstrel, cut off from his traveling lifestyle, could be heard singing his newly penned song, "Not in Bethlingham", which rose to popularity overnight among the imprisoned populace.
Inside the castle, a heavy silence had settled on the halls. The staff skirted through the corridors, fearful of drawing attention to themselves. The chambermaids avoided Prince John's quarters if they could help it, and those who were sent to make the beds or deliver room service wore a perpetual look of ultimate suffering.
As lady of the castle, Anne was allowed at certain times of the day to visit and to serve Lady Marian and Lady Myrtille, who were kept in separate rooms. The former spent many hours pacing the stone floor and always asked for an update on Sir Guy, drooping whenever Anne gave her the solemn news of his continued imprisonment.
"I know I could've handled the whole thing better," Lady Marian sighed as Anne passed her a bottle of root beer. "Prince John is still a king's son, and could still be king someday, so he deserves proper respect, but somebody had to stand up for Sir Guy. I couldn't stay silent."
When Anne reported this to William in his chambers, he hopped off his bench with a groan and plopped face first onto the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace.
"This is all my fault," he mourned.
Anne came over, leaning against him in an invisible hug.
"No, Will. Using a fundraiser to catch Robin was my idea."
"But I'm the one who had the authority to implement it." He exhaled into the rug. "Meanwhile, Sir Guy is the one suffering, all because I couldn't stand up to Prince John."
She adjusted his blue velvet collar. "He would have thrown you both in the dungeon in the same breath. At least we can still find a way to help Sir Guy."
William closed his eyes, feeling like a failure. His one chance to deal with a tyrant had been squandered through his own cowardice, and now his town was suffering under his care. If he made a mistake now, he and Anne could be tossed into the dungeon within his own castle, and they would rot away in mildew and darkness, if despair did not claim them first.
Anne laid her cheek against his voluminous hair, her invisible fingers massaging his red scalp.
"God has the answer, Will," she reminded him. "Don't give up."
He sighed again. "I'll try."
The wind whistled outside, playing with the chimney as though it were a pan flute. Anne continued to caress his hair, then she suddenly lifted her head.
"What about our ballroom-dancing lessons, Will?" she asked, her mouth slowly spreading into a smile. "Would His Highness let us leave for those, since I paid four shillings for them?"
William could not believe his ears. He opened one eye. "We're captives of a tyrant, and you're thinking about dancing of all things?"
Anne chuckled and tweaked his voluminous hair, much like she had done when they were courting.
"My bold liege," she sang, "don't you think a few lessons are just what we need right now? At a school near Sherwood Forest, run by an old friend of the Mocksley children…?"
He brightened, catching on. "Oh, clever!"