"It's bloody freezing," grumbled the rough-looking man as he tried to shift closer to
the fire.
"Stop pushing, Will!" returned a young red-haired man beside him. They formed part
of a group of disreputable-looking fellows huddled around a fire that appeared to be
giving off more smoke than heat. All around the forest clearing was silent, save for the
sound of water dripping from the bare branches. The other members of the bedraggled
band consisted of a tall, bearded bear of a man, a dark, watchful-eyed Saracen and a fat,
red-faced friar. All were dressed in matted furs and stained leathers, even the friar
hiding his threadbare cassock beneath a coat of rough-cured sheepskins. Weapons were
evident everywhere, daggers at belts, swords and longbows within hand's reach.
"Do you think Robin'll be back soon?" the red-haired youth asked hopefully.
"Much!" Will Scarlet replied, exasperated, "That's the twentieth time you've asked
that! And for the twentieth time - I DON'T KNOW!"
"Well, I'm hungry, Will!"
"I know, lad." He ruffled Much's hair affectionately. "We all are."
"Bet you never thought you'd see the day you'd be sick of the King's venison, eh
Tuck?" The ursine giant asked the friar with a wry smile.
"You're right, John. What wouldn't I give for a lovely, soft, warm loaf of freshly baked
bread."
"Tuck!" rejoined Will. "You're only making it worse!"
"So, do you think Robin'll bring us some bread, then?"
"Right! That's it, Much!" Scarlet leapt on him, wrestling him about the clearing. They
rolled, tussling down a shallow slope, and came to rest at the feet of a slim, well-made
young man. Although similarly dressed, there was something in his strong, clean limbs
and fair, handsome face that spoke of a life other than physical labour and hand-to-
mouth subsistence.
"Robin!" Much pushed Scarlet away and leapt to his feet, "Did you get any bread?"
"Yes, Much, I did." With a smile quirking his lips and sparkling in his blue eyes, he
clapped Much on the shoulder, then held out a hand to help Will to his feet. Together
they climbed the slope to the clearing, where he unslung a heavy bag from his shoulders
and handed it to Tuck.
"And not only bread but cheese, eggs, butter and oatmeal."
"Praise be to the Lord," exclaimed Tuck, as he unpacked the haul and began to
prepare a meal.
"Robin!" Little John rose to his feet and extended an enormous hand to clasp Robin's.
"Welcome back."
"It's good to be back, John." He turned to the Saracen, who nodded a silent greeting.
"Nasir."
"Sit down, Robin," urged Tuck. "The fire's finally starting to get going." And indeed,
the clearing, so dank and dismal only a few minutes ago, was now cheerful, not only with
flickering tongues of flame but with the warmth of comradeship.
"I've brought something else as well," continued Robin, settling himself on a log by
the fire. "Huntingdon is full of news of our dear friends, Gisburne and the Sheriff."
"The King's hanged them?" Scarlet asked eagerly.
"No, Will." Robin's mouth twisted wryly. "They're to be pardoned."
"What!" Will's astonishment was mirrored on every face. "But they were to be
executed. You said so. How can they get pardoned just like that?"
"It's not 'just like that,' Will. They will have to buy their pardons. King John needs
money for his war and this is an ideal opportunity for him. He's set Gisburne's pardon at
1000 gold marks and the Sheriff's at 4000."
"Pheeeoooww!" John whistled. "That's a fortune! Do you think the Sheriff can raise
it?"
"I think between him and the Abbot Hugo they can probably manage the 4000, but I
don't see him forking out 1000 for Gisburne."
"Will Gisburne be able to raise it himself?" asked Tuck.
"I doubt it," answered Robin, looking pensively into the flames. "His estates can't be
worth much over 100 marks a year. He's got no family and I don't see him having many
friends with that kind of money."
"Good!" Will spat. "At least we'll be rid of one of them. When will it happen? I'd like
to be there. To see Gisburne dance on the end of a rope." He smiled savagely.
"It won't be a hanging," answered Tuck quietly. "He's a nobleman. It'll be the
headsman's axe." He looked fixedly at Robin, who continued to gaze at the fire.
"The fine is due by the end of the month. They're to stay in gaol at Newark until it's
paid."
"Hey!" Scarlet became animated. "What if we were to steal the money for De
Rainualt's ransom. Hugo will have to get it to Newark somehow. Then we'd be rid of
them both!"
"No Will," Robin answered. "We've more important things to do."
"More important? What could possibly be more important than seeing those two
villains getting the chop?"
"Helping the villagers through the winter. Since Gulnar's men destroyed all the grain
hidden in Hobbe's Cave, they don't have enough to last the winter."
"What about the stuff we got from Grimstone?" asked John.
"It's a help, John, but not enough to last until spring."
"Well, then," interjected Will, "if we steal the Sheriff's ransom we can use that to buy
them enough grain to last ten winters!"
"But that's just the point, Will. There's no grain to buy, never mind how much money
we have. We need to steal some from somewhere." His forehead furrowed in thought.
"Now King John is at Warwick but the grain and the army are still at Newark, although
they'll be marching in a few days. The way I see it we have two choices. Either to attack
the granary at Newark, which will be heavily guarded, or to ambush the supply wagons
while they're on the move with the army."
"I'd suggest the ambush, Robin." John's deep voice was thoughtful. "We could block
the road with a fallen tree, or create a mud hole for the wagons to get stuck in."
"That's good, John," replied Robin. "Now, it would need to be somewhere that
wouldn't block the road too much, so the soldiers could carry on past it but the other
wagons couldn't."
Scarlet rubbed his chin moodily. "If it was mud, they'd have to unload the wagon to
shift it but, still, it's risky. I mean, we ain't talking about the Sheriff's dolts here. These are professional soldiers and they ain't going to leave the wagon unattended."
"Well what do you suggest, Will? Attacking the granary in Newark?"
"Nah, I like that even less. There must be another way to get that grain."
Much looked up from where he had been poking the fire. "Robin?" he began uncertainly.
"What is it, Much?"
"Well, it's just that the grain won't be going with the army."
Everyone looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"You make bread out of flour not grain."
"Of course!" Robin exclaimed, slapping Much on the back. "Much! You're a genius!"
Much grinned with pleasure and embarrassment. "They'll have to mill the grain first, and
that means taking it out of Newark."
"Well done, lad," John congratulated him.
"Not bad, not bad," conceded Scarlet.
"That which was lost can be found, that which was broken, mended."
The bright mist swirled around the head of Herne the Hunter, silhouetting his horns
against the dark walls of the cave. His black eyes shone, gazing into another world, into
another time. The air was heavy with strange, sweet smells.
"That which was lost? Do you mean Marion?" Robin asked, frowning. The hope,
unbidden, rose in him, Was there a way to get her back?
"Open your heart; this will be the only chance."
The only chance. His mind was racing...What was it? "When will it be, Herne? How
will I know?"
But already the light was fading, the mist darkening, and, once more, he sat in a dank,
seeping cave opposite a worn and aging man. His face troubled, Robin rose silently to
his feet and left the place of dreams.
Once outside he breathed deeply, expelling the last of the cave's strange perfume. The
glade was peaceful and quiet, the soft winter sunshine filtering through the branches and
dappling the ground, the water running into the pool behind him, sounding sharp and
clear. By contrast his heart and mind were racing and roiling. Marion might be brought
back, but there would be only one chance. When? God, he wanted it so much, he almost
wished Herne hadn't told him. The hope was fuel to the smouldering embers of his pain.
As he made his way back through the forest he thought of Marion. Her gentle
mischievous eyes, her beautiful hair spun from autumn leaves, destined to be hidden
under a stiff wimple or, worse, shorn off. Her lithe, free limbs never to run and leap
through the green of the forest but to kneel cramped on the cold flagstones of Halstead
Priory.
"Robin." Tuck's quiet voice woke him from his reverie.
"Tuck!" He clasped his fat friend by the shoulders. "I've just come from Herne and I
think there might be a way to get Marion back."
Tuck frowned. "What did he say?"
"That which was lost can be found."
"That which was lost?"
"It's Marion! It must be! We haven't lost anyone else, have we?"
"What else did he say?"
"That there would be only one chance." Robin was pacing up and down with barely
suppressed energy. "I must go to Halstead and see her. Come on, Tuck, let's find the
others." He sprang away to head down the track.
"Robin!" Tuck called. "Wait, I want to talk to you about something."
"What is it, Tuck?" Robin demanded impatiently. "Can't it wait?"
"No, Robin, it can't." Tuck was implacably serious.
Robin came over reluctantly. "Can we at least walk back while we talk?"
"All right, but slowly."
They walked together in silence for a short way. Then Tuck took a deep breath "Look,
Robin, you won't like what I'm about to say, but I want to know what you're going to do
about Gisburne."
Robin stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Tuck with an incredulous expression
on his face. "Do about Gisburne? What on earth is it you think I can do?"
"He's your brother, Robin. You can't just let him die." Tuck spoke with quiet
conviction.
Robin's eyes narrowed and his voice became hard. "And what exactly would you
have me do, Brother Tuck? Break into Newark gaol and carry out a daring rescue? Beg
the King for mercy on his behalf?"
Tuck looked straight at him. "You could pay the ransom."
Robin laughed harshly. "It may have escaped your notice, Tuck, but I don't happen to
have 1000 marks to hand just at the moment."
The Friar's voice was quiet. "You could ask your father for it."
Robin stared at his friend in disbelief, "You're not serious. You can't possibly be
suggesting that I tell my father Gisburne is his son."
"Don't you think he has a right to know? Don't you think he has a right to decide for
himself whether or not to pay the money?"
Robin ran a hand violently through his hair, striding up and down. He stopped and
spun to face Tuck. "Gisburne is a vicious, arrogant and narrow-minded man, just the
type my father most despises! Do you think he'll thank me for telling him that…that
recidivist is his son? Not to even mention the fact that Gisburne is our enemy and has
deserved this fate many times over!"
Tuck continued to look Robin straight in the eye. "You must do as your heart tells
you, Robin."
Robin turned abruptly and, without another word, stalked off in the direction of the
camp.
His eager and optimistic mood destroyed by Tuck's words, Robin strode up the forest
path. His emotions seethed within him: pain, guilt, but mostly anger. Anger at Tuck for
exposing the wound, anger at Lady Gisburne for revealing the secret, anger at Gisburne,
anger at his father, but, most of all, blind, white-hot anger at the cursed twist of fate that had caused this dreadful abscess in his soul. What was any man supposed to do with the knowledge that his most hated enemy was in fact his half-brother? And not only that, but the knowledge that the circumstances of his birth had contributed directly to his character.
If he, Robert, had grown up in a household of hate, fear and pain, would he be any better? Then there was the choice to be made. Did he leave Guy to be executed by the King, and rid not only himself, but all his followers, the villagers and their families, of a cruel tyrant responsible for killings, torture and repression, or did he give his father the chance to save this unknown son, a son born to the woman he had loved so dearly in his youth? He pushed the thoughts aside, down into the deepest part of him. There were more pressing matters to consider. The ambush to steal back the grain was to take place at the Kelham mill, two miles outside Newark, in three days time. Will and John were to recruit some of the more reliable villagers to help, and tomorrow he would go to Halstead and see Marion.
Chapter 2
By the next morning snow had begun to fall, thick heavy flakes drifting down from
the iron grey sky and, by late afternoon, the world was muffled in a deep, white fleece.
The forest was quiet: birds silent and reproachful, small mammals curled tight and still
in winter burrows. The road through Sherwood that led to Halstead Priory was pristine
and untrodden, save for the occasional delicate imprint of a deer's crossing. Robin's step
was sure even through the deep snow. He moved briskly, anticipation of the meeting to
come carrying him easily over ditches, drifts and fallen trees. He still wasn't sure what
he was going to say to Marion. He only knew that whatever happened he was incomplete
without her, his life in Sherwood cold and lacking without the warm smile of her love.
He knew she had suffered a terrible shock when she had seen the body of his evil
double, the man of clay created in his image by the wicked Gulnar. She had thought him
dead, that the past was repeating itself, that she could never safely give her heart. And he couldn't promise her that it would never happen again...He could only tell her how hollow his life was without her.
He had almost reached the open weald that stretched up to Halstead when he heard
the horses behind him. Slipping effortlessly into the trees, he blended motionlessly with
the shadowy trunks. There were four riders, their horses weary and spent, stumbling through the heavy snow. Two were rough-looking soldiers dressed in well-worn leather gambesons and steel helmets. They were armed with swords and crossbows, mounted on rough ponies, and had the hard-eyed look of mercenaries. The third man was middle-aged, of stocky build, with white hair wisping from beneath his
helmet. He was better dressed, with a plain dark tabard and thick cloak covering his suit
of chain mail. His face was dark and weather-beaten, his eyes keen and watchful. It was
the fourth rider that drew Robin's attention, however. Obviously a woman, she was
swathed in a heavy fur cloak. Expensively gloved hands lightly controlled a fine mount,
whose rich harness glinted in the fading light. Her head and face were muffled against
the cold by a soft hood of silver fox. As they reached the edge of the forest, the middle-
aged man turned to the others.
"There it is: Halstead Priory. We'll rest there tonight and carry on in the morning. God
willing we can reach Newark tomorrow." The others did not answer but merely pushed
their horses on up the hill towards the grey walls of the Priory. Robin looked
thoughtfully after them from his hiding place, waiting until the travellers had entered the
Priory gate before hurrying on himself.
The Abbess wasn't particularly pleased to see Robin. Although Marion was only a
novice and, thus, technically allowed visitors, the Abbess was of the opinion that the
outside world was best left there, especially when it took the form of a handsome young
man. In addition, the presence of the four travellers made her more conscious of Robin's
outlawry. She frowned as she showed him into a small, cold room.
"You can wait here. I'll have Marion sent for." She paused, as though to add
something else but, obviously thinking better of it, went out, closing the door. Robin
looked around the spartan room, a narrow cot and a wooden stool were the only
furnishings, the window was shuttered against the falling night, the sole illumination
from a guttering rushlight. Softly, he walked to the heavy oak door and eased it open a
crack, listening.
In the main guest refectory where ordinary travellers were housed, the man in the
blue tabard was growling at the nuns.
"Come on, hurry up and get a room ready! Can't you see my lady is exhausted? Make
sure it's warm and the bed isn't damp! Where's that wine? Quickly now!"
The lady in question was reclining in a chair beside the blazing fire. She had removed
her furs to reveal an expensive gown and fur-lined pelisse. Her glossy dark hair was
covered by a silk head-dress, one corner of which was drawn over the lower half of her
face and fastened with a curiously wrought silver pin.
A young novice hurried up to her. "Please, my lady, a room is ready for you now." She looked up as the tabarded man moved towards her and offered his hand. She took it gratefully. "Thank you, Gilbert."
Her voice was low, and hoarse with fatigue. He motioned peremptorily to the novice to
bring the furs. The young nun guided them up the corridor to the guest room, holding a
wax candle so its rich, clear light gleamed against the stone walls and floor of the priory.
The same golden light illuminated the two travellers as they approached Robin, his eye
still to the crack in the door...an eye that narrowed thoughtfully as they passed. Soon,
however, his eye was drawn to another figure in the corridor, a slight, graceful figure
softly dressed in the pure white linen of a novice. His heart leapt as he recognised Marion
and he pulled back into the room, allowing her to enter.
"Hello, Robin." Her voice was quiet, and her face composed. Only in her eyes was
there a hint of wistful sadness.
"Marion." It came out almost as a whisper, echoing the empty longing and
blossoming hope filling his heart.
She sat on the edge of the cot, clasping her hands in her lap, unable to quite meet his
gaze.
"How is everyone?"
"They're all well and send their love. Much has grown another two inches, and so
has Tuck!"
She smiled faintly but was silent. He knelt beside her, gently taking her hands in his.
"Marion, we miss you so much. Sherwood is a dark, cold place without you. My life is a
dark, cold place without you."
She looked up, the hint of a tear on the lash of one eye, her voice faint, "I miss you
too, Robin, and Sherwood. Life here isn't quite what I had imagined." She smiled faintly.
"There's a price to be paid for leaving the world and it's a little higher than I expected."
"Aren't you happy, then?"
Her face was thoughtful. "No. I feel safe, and contented, and I keep busy, but happy?
No, not happy."
"Then why stay? You know you can return to Sherwood any time, Marion. We all miss
you. It's like a part of us is missing, a very special, beautiful part."
"Oh, Robin!" She stood up, pulling her hands away, and walking to the window, "Part
of me wants to be with you but I'm afraid. There's a price to be paid for happiness too,
and I don't know if I can meet it. I have been healing here in Halstead, but the wound was
very deep and I don't know if I will ever really recover."
"Then let me take you somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Nottingham, from
Sherwood, from the past. Let us make a new life together." As he said it, Robin felt his
heart yearn, to live quietly with Marion, safe and happy, rearing children and growing
old together. The dream was almost tangible, filling the room. He could see it reaching
out to Marion, touching her frightened, hurting heart with its sunlit promise. He crossed
the room and took her in his arms, very gently. Reaching up a hand to trace the lightest
of touches on her face, he looked into her moss-green eyes. " I love you, Marion, as I
have never loved anyone in all my life. I will make any sacrifice for your happiness. I
left my family and my previous life. I will leave Sherwood and this life too. And if you
ask me to go away from you then I will, but only the knowledge that it is your wish will
enable me to bear life without you."
The tear in Marion's eye spilled silently down her cheek, silvery in the dim light. "I
don't know, Robin. Part of me wants to be with you, part of me wants to be in Sherwood
and part of me wants to stay here where it is safe. I'm just not strong enough to choose.
One day I will be, and then either I'll take my vows or I'll come to you. I have to make
sure I take the right path."
His finger gently caught the tear and he touched it to his lips. "I understand." He
released her and stepped back towards the door. "I will wait for you, Marion, until the
very last minute of my life. You know where to find me."
"In Sherwood." Her voice barely brushed the air.
"In Sherwood." He echoed her words, the faintest smile ghosting his lips, then
slipped silently out the door, the touch of her tear an ache on his skin.
Robin made camp alone that night, wrapped warmly in his cloak, the rustlings and
cries of the night as familiar to him as the sound of his own breath. Sleep, however,
eluded him, and he sat gazing, unseeing, into the embers of the fire. His heart still ached
from seeing Marion, his ears still echoed with her words, but his love sustained the hope
of her, and there was nothing more he could do except wait. As the night drew on, he
found himself hearing other words, words that awakened a deep pain, a gut-churning
sickness. The harder he tried to push them away, the more they tormented him.
Eventually, in the cold, stark light of morning, he accepted the inevitable and turned his
steps towards Huntingdon and his father.
