Anne had a private audience with Princess Isabella the next morning, requesting for her to ask Prince John on Anne and William's behalf for leave to go to the dancing lessons.

"Our wedding anniversary is coming up in a few weeks," Anne confided (which was the truth), "and I had been hoping we'd do something special" — which was also the truth.

They were fortunate Anne had garnered so much favor with the princess, and even more fortunate that the princess still maintained some favor with her husband. Prince John begrudgingly gave the couple permission to leave the locked-down town (though he cheered up significantly when Anne offered him a ham).

On Monday afternoon, William and his lady strolled out of the castle, as calm and as inconspicuous as they could, but they had ordered their carriage to be hitched to their fastest sheep, and William hid his wooden sword beneath his cloak.

The coach was about to exit the castle courtyard, when one of the royal guards, a scallion named Dan, flagged them down with his unloaded crossbow. He hurried to the door and dipped his head. He was part of Prince John's retinue and usually accompanied his master when the zucchini traveled outside Bethlingham.

"Your pardon, Sheriff, but Prince John has ordered me to go with you," he explained. "Can't be too careful with the giants in Sherwood Forest."

"Ah. Yes," William said, keeping his face neutral. "You can ride up front with the driver."

Dan bowed his head and shut the door, momentarily rocking the carriage when he swung himself up. Leaning back in his own seat, William exchanged aghast looks with Anne.

Now, what?


Robin had not felt like going back to Bethlingham that weekend and had focused his fundraising efforts on other towns. Crushingham in particular needed a lot of attention, having even less ham per capita than Bethlingham. Focusing his mind on helping those less fortunate forced Robin into a state of perpetual gratitude rather than self-pity, and he could almost forget the archery contest.

Almost.

He expected to be hounded with news of Sir Guy's victory everywhere he went, but strangely, word had not spread with its usual alacrity. When Robin dared to ask a Crushingham innkeeper, who usually heard everything first, what he thought about the contest, the innkeeper stated he had not heard anything from the direction of Bethlingham all weekend.

Weird, to be sure, but at least Robin did not have to hear any new ballads written in Sir Guy's honor.

Or think about Sir Guy and Marian.

"…There I go again," he exhaled to himself and promptly focused on handing out hams to the line of orphans waiting to be fed.

On Monday, he spent the early hours with his green hat extended like a bucket, asking the tradesmen on their way to work if they would like tickets to the pancake breakfast the Merry Men would be hosting next week.

"If you haven't got a penny, a ha' penny will do," he informed them. "If you haven't got a ha' penny, then God bless you!"

But many did not have a coin to spare, and by the time he made it back to camp to join the Merry Men for a meager lunch of hot dogs without buns or condiments, Robin's hat held barely anything.

"Still more than what we had yesterday," he cheered himself, slipping the coins into a mostly empty piggy bank. If he focused on the small victories, he would not get discouraged.

But I could have bought more hams with that golden arrow, that nagging thought would slip in.

He tried to ignore it.

After washing his plate, he pulled out his thin, green bed roll and settled himself under their favorite oak tree, ready for a refreshing afternoon nap. He had barely gotten comfortable, however, when he heard Bill's stomping footfalls march right up to his side. His nephew gave him a push.

"Okay, you've done enough moping, Sir Robin Good of Mocksley."

Robin opened one eye. "I'm not moping. I'm resting. I've been up since before dawn fundraising—"

But Bill cut him off with another firm shove. "You're the hero of Sherwood Forest! You don't lie down and let your rival win. Fight for your woman!"

Wincing, Robin raised his head, giving the gourd a wary sweep with his gaze.

"Like how?" he asked.

"You should go up to that Guy fella and demand a rematch! Loser has to leave Marian alone."

Robin scoffed, flopping back down, and rolled to face the wide tree trunk. "And once Marian finds out, she will tell me she never wants to see me again. It's her choice."

"But in all the ballads, the hero—"

"It's" — Robin looked over his shoulder, punctuating each word to make his point — "Marian's — choice — not — mine."

"That — sounds — like — an — excuse — to — me."

Robin rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his patience. "Your sister got engaged last month, right?"

"Yeah."

"To a great guy, right?"

"He's okay."

Robin nodded, coming to his point. "And what if a second fella showed up, saying your sister was his woman, and he deserved her, and then he challenged her fiancé to a contest, with your little sister as the prize?"

"Well, as her brother, I'd probably take the second one by the scruff, haul him out the door, and toss him into… the… moat…" Comprehension dawned on his smooth face. "Oh."

"Exactly."

Bill heaved an elaborate shrug of exasperation. "I'm just watching out for you, Rob. It's what family does."

"I know."

Although uncle and nephew, Robin was a little boy when his eldest sister had Bill. With such a small age difference, the two had grown up like cousins (and still bickered like siblings). Bill had an abrupt, albeit well-meaning, way of offering solutions, expecting Robin to deal with all his issues as though they were only a long line of archery targets.

Mollified for the moment, Bill took a step back, but he continued to look firm. "You should still stop moping."

"Resting," Robin returned. "I've been selling tickets to the pancake breakfast all morning."

"Oh, that reminds me. We got a few more people to sign up for dance lessons." He gave Robin's bed roll a tug. "Why don't you take their information to Gaffer Swanthold? That usually cheers you up. Hint, hint."

"Sure, sure," Robin muttered, knowing Bill wouldn't let him nap until he had adequately proven he was not sulking. He climbed to his feet and reached for his quiver. "If it'll get you off my back for an hour or two."

"Your terms are acceptable."


William cast his mind about for ideas. The previous night, he and Anne had discussed several options: going straight to London and dropping any pretense about the dance lesson, going straight into Sherwood to find Robin themselves, or leaving word with Master Swanthold and hoping he would trust them enough to convey their message. The presence of a royal guard, a clear act of suspicion on Prince John's part, canceled out the first two options, and the third was still problematic.

Lowering his voice so that the clatter of the carriage wheels masked his voice to anyone listening outside, he said to Anne, "How can we shake that guy if Prince John ordered him to follow us into the dance school? It'd be suspicious if we tell him to wait outside."

"Maybe I could send him on an errand?" Anne suggested, leaning against him so that she could be heard.

"He won't buy that. We have servants to get you things."

"Oh, even guardsmen have enough chivalry in their bones to help a lady, Will."

William frowned. He knew she meant it innocently, but some men would not take it that way.

"I'd rather not have another man acting chivalrous around my wife," he muttered.

Her eyes glittered. "Oh, Will, maybe that's the answer!"

She whispered her idea. Immediately, William brightened, nodding.


"Robby, my boy!" Master Swanthold cried when his red-haired daughter showed the band of disguised veggies through the back door. "And there's Billy, the little scamp. You guys get bigger every week!"

No matter the age of the younger members of the Mocksley family, the old grape still saw them as children. Robin shot his nephew a "He means well" look and removed his Groucho Marx glasses.

"Got some signups for ya, sir," Robin explained, pushing back the hood of his blue cloak.

"Sure, thanks! Sit down, boys, and we can fix you something. Maken, do we have any cocoa left?" he asked his daughter.

They gathered in the front room, which had enough chairs for them. Robin caught Master Swanthold up on his work in Crushingham and the preparation for the pancake breakfast.

"Heh, heh, you should ask little Marian to help you out with that," the grape grinned. "She was always good at organizing banquets for her father after her ma died."

The cocoa Robin was sipping no longer tasted sweet. He lowered his cup, trying to keep his smile in place.

"Marian is probably too busy," he said simply.

"You've spoken to her?"

"A little bit," he said vaguely.

"Talk to her again then!" Swanthold smirked. "I have a feeling she won't say no if you ask."

Robin looked away, trying not to wince.

"Ahhhh," Friar Cluck called to them, anxious. He had moved to the lattice window, gazing anxiously at the street. "We may have some company, fellows."

The faint sound of carriage wheels became audible, along with the complaints of a few sheep.

"Must be that de Wendenal couple, right on time," said Master Swanthold cheerfully. "Sir William and Lady Anne, I think."

Bill, meanwhile, joined Friar Cluck, hopping on a stool to peek out. He immediately drew back.

"Robin, hide!" he hissed. "It's the cops!"

"What?" Robin blinked, bewildered.

"The sheriff!" Friar Cluck cried, drawing the curtains with a snap. "The Sheriff of Bethlingham is here!"

"How did he find us?" Little John gasped.

Robin spun toward Swanthold. "Is there anywhere that we can hide?"

"The costume room!" he directed. "Quick!"

They dove through the door at the back of the room. Some of Swanthold's patrons liked to wear costumes in order to practice moving in ball attire, so he had several mantles, cloaks and long gowns hung up on clothing racks. Bill and Big Red ducked behind a row of garments while Little John and Friar Cluck crouched behind a large changing screen. Robin, however, stayed by the door, holding it open a small crack.

The front door opened without a knock. A tall, well-dressed lady in a blue cloak, whom Robin recognized as the sheriff's wife, entered first, with the red sphere of her husband just a few steps behind. A skinny scallion appeared at the back, but before he could crossed the threshold, the sheriff spun and planted himself in front of him, barring the doorway.

"Sorry," the sheriff said with an air of authority, "but no young bachelor may watch my wife dance without my permission. You can keep a lookout for giants by the carriage."

The scallion opened his mouth to protest, but the sheriff drew himself up.

"By the carriage," he ordered. "Now."

The scallion drew back, his purple-lidded eyes narrowing in thought. Evidently, taking his chances against giants seemed less hazardous than dealing with a jealous husband because he smartly saluted with the crossbow he was holding and spun away. The sheriff shut the door, looking triumphant, and his wife smirked at him, like she was trying not to laugh. Seemingly emboldened by her mirth, he strode to the other window and pointedly clipped the curtains shut.

Master Swanthold hopped forward, dipping into a welcoming bow.

"Sir William and Lady Anne, I presume? It's great you could make it!"

The couple murmured greetings, but the sheriff seemed more focused on peeking out at his carriage.

"Today," Swanthold continued, "I'll be leading you through some of the steps still popular with Queen Eleanor. First up, the foxtrot!"

At that cue, his daughter energetically pressed a button on a cassette player, and elegant violins hummed from the speaker, inviting the veggies to participate. Immediately, a door opened, and pairs of red, bushy-tailed foxes in tuxedo jackets and ball gowns entered on their hindlegs. With dignified looks on their furry faces, they glided in time with the music. Swanthold swayed, nodding in approval at the foxes and vixens, but the sheriff spun from the window and scurried over. He shut off the cassette with a swift click, earning disappointed groans from the foxes.

"Not your style?" Master Swanthold guessed, perplexed but polite.

"Actually, Master Swanthold," the tomato said in a low voice as his wife joined his side, "we came here to discuss something more urgent than footwork."

Swanthold's white eyebrows shot up. "Eh?"

The sheriff's head moved side to side, as if searching for hidden enemies. "We need to get in touch with Robin Good!"

From his hiding place, Robin gulped a little. Swanthold's glasses nearly fell off his face. Maken's gaze darted toward the costume room, but she quickly turned her face away.

"Take five, guys," she told the foxes, ushering back to their quarters.

Swanthold did not look away from the sheriff. He calmly took out a handkerchief and wiped his glasses.

"What makes you think I know how to get in contact with Robin?" he asked calmly.

"It's common knowledge that you taught the Earl of Mocksley's children," the sheriff answered. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but you just got to! Prince John has completely taken over Bethlingham, and an innocent man is in the Dungeon of Despair, and Lady Marian needs help!"

At these words, something shifted inside Robin. Any thought of self-preservation plummeted out of his mind, and he promptly flung the door open and burst into the room.

"What about Marian?!" he demanded.

The four veggies whirled around, gaping. The sheriff brightened with relief.

"Robin! Great timing!"

"Robby, run!" Swanthold cried. "He has a royal guard outside!"

"He has no survival instincts!" came a hiss from the costume room which might have been Big Red.

Robin ignored the warning and strode up to the tomato. "What happened to Marian?"

"House arrest," Lady Anne answered, stepping forward. "She tried to go tell Queen Eleanor about a miscarriage of justice, and Prince John locked her up — and it's nice to meet you, by the way," she added. "My husband's told me a lot about you."

Robin remembered to dip his head politely before he turned to the sheriff. "What can I do?"

"Go to Queen Eleanor or de Longchamp for us," he replied. "Somebody has to hear about Prince John imprisoning Sir Guy and shutting down the town. We're going to run out of what little food we have if nothing changes."

Robin frowned. "Why was Sir Guy imprisoned?"

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Well, uh, he won the contest, so Prince John, uh, well, he thought Sur Guy was… you."

"Me?" Robin stared at him. "Sir Guy looks nothing like me."

"But he won the archery contest," the sheriff explained, "which we, uh, set up as a trap. For you."

"I knew it!" Friar Cluck cried from the costume room, earning surprised looks from the sheriff and lady. "I just knew it!"

Robin spun and called to him, "Okay, you were right! Now, why don't you guys get out here?"

Reluctantly, his four friends joined them, sizing the sheriff up, but Robin did not share their suspicions, even at the admittance of the archery contest being a trap. If the sheriff meant him harm now, the tomato would not have brought his wife along and risked her getting hurt.

"How do we get in to see Queen Eleanor?" Robin asked. "They don't let just anybody see the queen mother."

"We're still working on that part," Lady Anne sighed. "Ordinarily, I would go myself and ask for an audience, but Prince John sent one of his guards to go with us."

"And he's likely here to report back to Prince John our movements," her husband added glumly. "Prince John has made it clear he'll throw me, with my wife, into the Dungeon of Despair if we displease him. If we mess up today…"

He trailed off, shuddering. Robin remembered the terrible description which the sheriff had given him once about the dreaded dungeon, and he nodded slowly.

"And it's not like Lady Anne can go with us as an escort," he pondered. "It'll be suspicious if you went back to Bethlingham by yourself."

"Our only hope is for you and your men to go to London," the sheriff said.

"But outlaws can't just stroll into a palace," Robin returned. He started to pace. "Maybe send a messenger pigeon?"

"It'll cost five hams to use one within Prince John's lands," Lady Anne sighed, drawing her blue cloak around her. "I didn't think to bring any with us."

"And we don't even have enough petty cash to buy one," Little John said somberly, pulling out the pull purse which he kept their funds in.

Robin, however, barely heard him. He gazed at Lady Anne — or rather her cloak, when she had pulled it tight. He stepped over and held up a fold of his own blue cloak.

"Hey, we're twinsies!" he noticed.

"Can we focus, Rob?" Bill clipped.

"Of all the times to notice fashion," Big Red muttered.

Robin, however, swept his gaze over Lady Anne, hopping around her. "And you're almost as tall as me…"

Lady Anne's eyes lightened, catching on. She pulled her hood over her headdress.

"And if we both go out like this…"

Robin copied her. "And one of us goes to Bethlingham…"

"While the other goes to London…"

"Oh, that is pretty clever!" Friar Cluck nodded.

"It's impossible enough to work!" Little John cheered.

The sheriff, however, looked alarmed. "Out of the question, Anne! Too dangerous."

Lady Anne pushed back her hood. "Oh, Will, what else can we do? Think about Sir Guy! How much longer can he last in the dungeon?"

"But there are giants in the woods," he countered, "and it's a long way to London." He turned to Robin. "Do you at least have a wagon?"

"Not here," said Robin, "but my men can borrow one at the Blue Lobster Inn, which isn't too far away. The innkeeper helps us out all the time."

"But still," the sheriff said, "if anything happened to Anne…"

He gazed helplessly at his wife, as if the prospect of losing her had struck him with full force. In that moment, Robin remembered standing on that hill by the seashore when he had watched Marian board the ship which took her faraway to Normandy, with no promise of return. He gave the sheriff an understanding look.

"My men can protect her," he promised. He nodded toward Bill. "My nephew here is one of the best."

Bill tipped his scarlet cap. "Guilty as charged."

"And Little John is super with a quarterstaff," Robin went on, and the gourd nodded modestly. "Big Red is great with a bow, and Friar Cluck can swing a sword like it's nothing. They know how to get through the forest safely."

"And we have to try, Will," Lady Anne pleaded. "We might not get the chance again."

The sheriff regarded her, thinning his red lips. Turbulent emotions crashed across his goateed face, but at last he exhaled, nodding in agreement.


Music blared from the cassette player, loud enough for anyone outside to hear. Swanthold went through with the dance lesson with the couple, as they needed to buy time for their plan, and it would look suspicious if anyone emerged from the school too early. Having nothing else to do, Robin and his friends joined in, partnering with the well-dressed foxes who guided them through the steps. It was not until the sun began to sink behind the treetops that they dared to launch their plan.

"At least in the shadows, I'll probably look a little more like a sweet potato," Robin smiled at Lady Anne.

"But I hope people won't begin to say I lost my girlish figure," she answered, glancing with a sudden frown at his bulky, masculine shape.

For added security, Robin loaned her his funny glasses to disguise her identity while she traveled. If anyone recognized her on the road, word might get back to Prince John before Robin and the sheriff could complete their scheme.

With the shadows increasing in size and darkness, the sheriff and his lady bade one last farewell in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Be careful, Will," she said. "It'd be boring if I had to spend our wedding anniversary alone."

The sheriff smiled. "Wouldn't dream of missing it, Annie."

Raising the funny glasses, she stooped down and planted a kiss on his forehead (Robin and his friends politely looked away) before she followed the waiting band into the back room. With a last look at her husband, Lady Anne slipped out into the alley with Bill, Little John, Big Red, and Friar Cluck, and they started down the lane toward the trees.

The sheriff sprinted over to the bench by the back wall and pressed his red nose against the lattice window. He watched his wife until the group disappeared into the shadows of the forest. With a sigh of mixed emotions, he turned away, hopping towards the door.

"There goes mine," he said to Robin. "Let's go get yours."

Outside, the tomato signaled to one of his servants to bring the carriage over, and the tread of wheels mixed with the bleating of sheep soon rumbled over to them. Robin wrapped himself up in the blue cloak and followed the sheriff outside.

"Stoop a little," the sheriff said out the corner of his mouth. "My wife isn't quite that tall."

Robin complied, bowing his head. They drew close to the carriage now. Robin kept his eyes toward the ground, and the scallion from before opened the carriage door for him.

"Is my lady not feeling herself today?" he asked as Robin climbed in.

The sheriff cleared his throat. "You, uh, might say that."

"I would," said the guard, sympathetic. "She looks rather green."

Robin jerked the hood down and lunged onto the tufted seat, burying himself into the corner. The sheriff shut the door and dropped the curtain, listening. Robin held his breath, keeping a tight hold on his trusty yew bow in case he had to shoot his way to safety. Fortunately, there came a sound of the coachman coaxing the bleating sheep to move, and the carriage rocked forward. Sighing, the sheriff hopped onto the seat opposite from Robin.

"Just a little further," he said gratefully before his face grew somber. "Your men will get Anne past all the giants, right?"

"Of course," Robin assured him, pushing back his hood. "We've been dodging them for years now and haven't been caught yet!"

"Yet," the sheriff muttered.

Robin formed a lopsided smile. "Hey, at this point, her ladyship is a lot safer in the forest than where we're going, Sheriff."

"That's true." The sheriff leaned back in his seat. "Small comfort."