[p.9]
CHAPTER 1

The bow had gone.
Robin took his hand from the hole in the hollow oak. He knew Much had taken it — no one else knew the hiding place. Much had gone into Sherwood to hunt deer. He was tired of the miserable diet of beans and rough bread they were forced to live on. The lad wanted meat.
Robin looked back through the trees to the watermill where his stepfather was lugging the heavy grain sacks through the door: then he turned and ran into the forest. He ran lightly and easily with fluent grace. Although barely an adult, his body was already hardened by years of labour in the open air. Life at the mill had given him a strong back and broad shoulders. It was a hard life but he had thrived on it.
He ran on deeper and deeper into the forest he knew so well, searching for the boy, hoping he found him before the foresters, or worse still, Guy of Gisburne and his men. To be caught carrying a bow was dangerous enough but to kill a deer would bring a terrible punishment.
It was spring in Sherwood. A fresh green seemed to burst from the branches. The great trees shimmered in the April sunlight, dappling the forest floor. The cycle of death and re-birth made whole areas into an impenetrable jungle where rolling skeletons of trees lay buried under a tangle of creepers and brambles. To most people, the forest was a place of evil, where demons called from the darkness and the howls of lost souls could be heard mingling with the cries of hunting owls.
Robin stopped running. Around him birds sang, and the wind moved through the trees with the sound of a distant sea. And then quite suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw Much standing over a stricken deer.
He gasped as if water had been suddenly thrown in his face; [p.10] then just as quickly the vision faded. He’d had many moments like this since childhood: they came unbidden and always took him by surprise. He had long ceased to be frightened by them but they always bewildered him. Once, when he’d been chopping wood, a picture of his stepfather, trapped beneath sacks of corn had flashed into his head and sent him racing into the mill. A few minutes later and Matthew would have suffocated.
He ran on: then in a small clearing ahead of him, saw a deer with an arrow through its side. One of his arrows. There was no sign of Much but Robin knew that the terrified boy had seen him and was hiding in the undergrowth. Without a word he dived into the bushes and dragged him out.
Much was a thin-faced boy of sixteen with a mop of curly hair. He was slow witted and gentle. He stood silent while Robin took back his bow and quiver, wrenched out the arrow and slung the dead beast across his shoulders.
‘He’s mine!’ Much cried suddenly.
‘Yours?’ retorted Robin angrily. ‘Nothing is yours! Not my bow or the King’s deer.’ His dark eyes looked anxiously into the forest.
‘He won’t mind,’ said Much. ‘Not one deer. Wouldn’t miss it, would he? He’s got plenty, the King has. Anyway, I’d tell him I was hungry.’ He smiled foolishly.
‘And he’d tell you it’s better to be hungry and have both your hands,’ Robin replied grimly and began moving off.
Much trotted up to his shoulder. ‘My hands?’ he asked.
‘And then they’d lop one off,’ said Robin, ‘so you’d remember what he’d said.’
He had to find somewhere to hide the deer quickly. There was a cave about a mile to the north. If they could reach it without being seen and wait there until dark they might stand a chance. But luck was against them and they were still some distance from the cave when they were seen by a party of soldiers led by Sir Guy of Gisburne.
Gisburne was Steward to Abbot Hugo, the Sheriff of Nottingham’s brother. He was a young man, arrogant and hot tempered. He considered the native English to be hardly [p.11] human, and enjoyed hunting them whenever they were foolish enough to break the forest laws. Gisburne was ambitious and tenacious. Very few people liked him. Everyone knew he was determined to gain power and position, even if he had to elbow others out of his way. He was proud of his physical strength and his skilful horsemanship. Several times he had asked the Abbot if he might join a crusade and seek glory in the Holy Land, but Hugo always refused him. He needed his merciless gamekeeper.
Gisburne was pleased when he saw Robin and Much with the deer. It had been a boring day and here at last was the chance for some action. For a minute or two he watched the two poachers as they hurried along through the trees below him, then almost casually he turned his horse and galloped down the hillside with his men close behind him.
When Robin saw the horsemen, he shrugged the deer from his shoulders and with a warning shout to Much took to his heels. As Gisburne came crashing through the trees Robin threw away his bow and quiver. The young Steward could easily have overtaken the fugitives but he preferred to let them run until they were exhausted. Alter all, it gave his horse some exercise. At length, drenched with sweat and panting for breath, Robin and Much could run no further, and as they stumbled to a halt their pursuers surrounded them. Gisburne trotted forward and watched while his men dismounted and grabbed hold of the two youths.
‘Do you know who I am?’ Gisburne asked, with brisk cheerfulness.
‘Yes,’ gasped Robin, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.
‘Well?’ Gisburne demanded.
‘My Lord of Gisburne.’
‘Good.’ Gisburne was pleased that he had been recognized. ‘Who are you, serf?’
Robin looked hard at his tormentor. ‘I’m not a serf — I’m a free man.’
Gisburne leant forward in his saddle and hit him hard across the face. He did this quite calmly and without rancour.
[p.12]
‘If I say you’re a serf — you’re a serf,’ he said. ‘Now then. What’s your name — serf!’
‘Robin of Loxley.’
Gisburne raised his eyebrows. ‘You aren’t Robin of Loxley because Loxley doesn’t exist.’
For a moment Robin was back in the burning village that had once been his home, watching the mailed knights cutting down the screaming women as they ran blindly among the horses and the flashing swords.
‘I was born in Loxley,’ he said quietly.
Gisburne smiled but his eyes were cold. ‘Then you had better forget it, hadn’t you?’ he replied, patting his horse as it moved impatiently under him.
‘Now then, you’ve broken the law of venison. Do you know what that is, boy? I’ll spell it out, shall I? No man shall carry a bow in the forest save a sworn forester. No man shall kill or hunt the King’s beasts. D’you know the penalty?’
Robin nodded.
‘Don’t nod,’ said Gisburne irritably.
‘Yes.’
‘"Yes, my lord".’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘That’s better.’
Much moved forward. ‘My lord — it was me shot the deer,’ he said nervously. He grinned sheepishly. ‘Much is my name, sir —’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Gisburne demanded. ‘Is he simple?’
‘He’s the miller’s son,’ said Robin. ‘His mother fostered me. He’s nothing to do with this — he —’
‘You’ll lose your tongue as well as your hand,’ Gisburne interrupted. ‘Tie them up.’
With his prisoners securely bound, Gisburne turned his horse and began slowly making his way back through the forest towards Nottingham Castle.

* * *
In the middle of a painted circle lit by flickering black candles, a naked giant struggled to free himself from chains [p.13] shackling him to the flagstones. His hair and beard were matted with filth, and his slack mouth was flecked with foam. His eyes stared blankly at the sinister and implacable figure of Simon de Belleme.
The Baron de Belleme was one of the most powerful men in England. He was also a magician and he worshipped the demon Azael. He believed Azael would give him power over the universe, power to destroy the balance of good and evil and make him immortal so that he could rule everlasting chaos with the Lords of Darkness. Many were the sacrifices he made to Azael in order to achieve this insane ambition. He had even killed his own wife, the Lady de Belleme. He feared the demon and would do anything to placate him.
But Simon also feared the prophecies of Gildas the Monk concerning the Hooded Man: so he had chained his naked slave in the Circle of Solomon hoping that Azael would speak through him.
The huge man shook and twisted in his chains as the demon possessed him. His limbs writhed and his eyes rolled up until only the whites were showing: his mouth fell open and a loathsome voice, cavernous and vile, spoke as if coming from the very depths of hell. ‘Beware the Hooded One. Herne’s Son will seek the Arrow. It is near — it is near...’
Simon threw himself to his knees. ‘What must I do?’ he cried, his voice echoing around the cellars of Castle Belleme.
The giant shuddered; the power of the demon surged through him and it spoke again.
‘A sacrifice! A sacrifice! A young girl — innocent — spotless...’ The evil voice died away and the giant lay still. Azael kid gone.
Simon stood up. Would the demon ever be satisfied? When would he grant him the immortality he craved? Time was running out for Simon. A malignant disease was eating at his heart and in a few years it would kill him. He had to find a sacrifice.
There was a girl: the daughter of a crusader killed in the Holy Land. Since her father’s death she had become the Abbot Hugo’s ward. Now she lived in Nottingham Castle under the [p.14] protection of his brother, the Sheriff. She was the perfect sacrifice for Azael. Simon smiled cruelly to himself. Both the Sheriff and the Abbot were terrified of him. He would visit Nottingham and demand to see the girl. No one would dare to stand in his way. No one would prevent him from becoming immortal. No one.

* * *
Gisburne had reached Nottingham with his prisoners and had taken them down to the evil smelling pit which served as the castle dungeon.
A massive iron grille secured by two heavy bolts covered this pit, and Gisburne watched as his men opened it and hurled Robin and Much into the blackness.
They lay half stunned as the grille clanged shut and the bolts were slid home. Much sobbed with fear. ‘Not locked in the dark!’ he moaned. ‘Not the dark! The devils will come!’
Robin put his arm around the boy’s shoulders to comfort him. ‘There’s no devils here,’ he said gently.
‘There are,’ sobbed Much. ‘I know there are.’
A voice spoke from the darkness. ‘The only devil is the one who captured you. Guy of Gisburne.’
In the faint light filtering down from above, Robin could just see the figure of a man: his face was gaunt and his eyes glittered fiercely. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked Robin.
‘Robin of Loxley.’
‘Loxley! There’s no such place.’
Robin nodded. ‘That’s what they tell us; but nothing’s forgotten.’
‘No. Nothing.’ The man stared at them for a moment and then turned away. ‘My — my wife’s folk died at Loxley. I wish to God she’d died with them.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Robin quietly.
The man turned back to him, his face wet with tears. ‘You said nothing’s forgotten. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t true. Sometimes I wish I could forget. But I can’t. I can’t forget that cold November day and the road to Nottingham. And the soldiers.’ His voice shook and he paused to control his grief. ‘They were drunk. Mercenaries. They took her from [p.15] me, and when they’d done they trampled her under the horses and they laughed. They laughed. I can still hear them.’
He broke off, unable to continue his story. ‘My name was Will Scathlock,’ he said finally. ‘But it’s Scarlet now!’
A second prisoner shambled out of the darkness. ‘I’m Tom the Fletcher,’ he muttered.
‘And I’m Dickon of Barnsley,’ whispered another.
‘How long have you been here?’ Robin asked them.
‘Two months maybe,’ said Dickon, who was a tall, fair-haired lad; ‘how do you tell?’
‘It’s longer than that,’ muttered Tom bitterly. He was also young, but shorter than Dickon, and bearded. All three were painfully thin.
‘And for why?’ Dickon asked harshly. ‘For keeping goats in the forest! Can’t do that can you? They might take food from the King’s deer.’
Robin turned to Tom. ‘What are you here for?’
‘Poaching,’ Tom answered and made the gesture of chopping off one of his hands.
Scarlet bared his teeth like a wolf. ‘I killed three of the swine who murdered my wife,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m going to hang.’
Robin looked up at the iron bars above them and watched the guard walk over them.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ whispered Scarlet. ‘It can’t be done.’
But if they stood on each other’s shoulders, thought Robin, they could easily reach the grille. Could they pull the guard down and knock him unconscious? Then there were the bolts to think about. But how could they slide them open from below? The more he thought about it the more impossible it seemed.
He told the others his idea and they stared at him as if he is mad. Even if they managed to get out of the pit, they argued, how could they escape from the castle? The main gate was sure to be heavily guarded. There would be sentries everywhere. Besides, none of them knew the way out. It was likely they would lose themselves in the maze of passageways [p.16] and steps and be caught long before they found their way into the courtyard.
‘But even if we made it without raising the alarm — even if we broke out of the castle — what would happen to us then?’ asked Tom.
‘We’d be outlawed,’ Scarlet told him. ‘Made wolfshead. Any man could hunt us. Even a serf.’
‘So where would we go?’ asked Tom.
‘We’d starve,’ replied Dickon dolefully.
‘Not in Sherwood,’ said Robin. ‘There’s parts of it no soldier will go near.’
‘There’s parts of it no one’ll go near,’ muttered Dickon.
‘That’s why we’d be safe. No one would follow. Not beyond Evil Mere.’
Tom shuddered. ‘You’d never get me to go there!’
‘There’s dragons at Evil Mere,’ said Much fearfully.
Robin looked at the frightened faces around him and shook his head sadly.
‘So you’d rather rot, would you?’ he said.
There was silence while each man thought this over, ashamed of their cowardice. Then Scarlet took Robin’s hand. ‘I’m with you,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ve nothing to lose.’
Much smiled trustingly as he also held out his hand. Finally Tom and Dickon agreed to try. Huddled together in the filthy pit they began to plan the escape.

[p.26]
CHAPTER 3

In the grey half-light of early dawn Robin made for Evil Mere. He wondered if Scarlet and the others had reached it. Perhaps, like so many who ventured into the forest, they were still wandering in circles.
He had never been afraid of Sherwood. He had spent most of his life there.
Since the time of the Conquest it had belonged to the King and the hard-headed, cruel men from Normandy who had made England part of their empire. Robin believed that a forest could never belong to anyone. It was a place of freedom, a wild and mysterious place that had grown from the heart of England; if anyone had a right to be there — and to hunt there — it was the people of England.
Thick mists swirled round him as he came to a marsh. Dead trees, half submerged, seemed to claw at him from the shadows. He smiled grimly. These were the dragons that men spoke of so fearfully.
He was wading cautiously forward when a strange bluish light appeared ahead. He could hear weird singing, high-pitched and faint as if coming from a great distance, and also the sound of many bells. He stopped in wonder and the light also slopped. It seemed to be waiting for him. Then it moved on a little way and, with his heart thumping against his ribs, Robin followed it.
The pale light hovered over the marsh like a luminous cloud. It crested the rising ground and passed in among the trees. Without warning, it enveloped him in a dazzling brilliance. He was aware of many voices whispering and calling to him from the heart of the light. And then, quite suddenly, it was gone.
It took him some time to get used to the darkness of the [p.27] forest again. He was sure the light had led him there for a purpose and so he waited patiently while the birds began to sing to the coming dawn.
Then over the brow of a hill he saw the antlers of an approaching stag. But it was not a stag. The horns grew from the head of a human figure who came towards him over the hill and then stood motionless. Plucking up his courage, Robin walked slowly towards the strange apparition. Two snakes were curled round his shoulders, and he was bearded and wild eyed.
‘Hooded he will come. Wolfshead. Outlaw,’ muttered the horned figure almost to himself. Robin stepped back in alarm.
‘Do you fear me, boy?’ the strange being continued. ‘I am your destiny. I am Herne. Herne the Hunter.’
‘Why should I fear you?’ replied Robin, mastering his fear. ‘You’re a man!’
The burning eyes bored into his. ‘I tell you I am Herne. And I shall notch you to my bowstring when the Wild Hunt begins.’
‘You’re mad!’ gasped Robin.
But he found he could not move. Something held him transfixed. Herne moved closer.
‘Mad?’ he whispered. ‘Yes, mad as a cheated hawk. You can’t escape. The blinded, the maimed, the men locked in the stinking dark, all wait for you. Children with swollen bellies — crouching in ditches — wait. The poor, the dispossessed. All are waiting. You are their hope.’
Herne’s fingers clutched at Robin’s ragged shoulders and he struggled to tear himself free.
‘Look at me!’ commanded Herne fiercely. Try as he might, Robin could not avoid the powerful eyes. They seemed to grow larger until they merged and became a black and bottomless lake into which he was falling. Then the lake melted away and a jumble of images appeared before him. He saw a monk, his face covered with blood. A willow wand split by an arrow. A parchment covered with strange symbols, whipped out of his hand by a gust of wind. An evil-faced man in black robes [p.28] offered him a knife. He saw Marion screaming with fear. A wild-haired giant barred his way across a stream...
Then suddenly he was back in the forest standing before Herne.
‘So must it be!’ muttered the old man. ‘You cannot escape. So must it be, Robin i’ the Hood.’
Robin turned and ran, with Herne’s voice echoing after him. The trees flashed past and brambles tore his legs. He ran in a panic from something he did not understand. Herne the Hunter was a forest god, not a crazy old man! He ran until he could run no further. At last, sobbing for breath he flung himself down and lay like a hunted animal until it was full daylight in the forest.
Then, wearily, he stumbled on, hoping to find his friends. He cut himself a rough staff for protection in case he was seen by one of the foresters. He was an outlaw now and could be killed by anyone. He reached a stream. The trunk of a fallen tree lay across it, making a primitive bridge. As he jumped on it Simon de Belleme’s giant appeared on the far bank to bar his way.
It was the giant of his vision.
The huge man advanced along the fallen tree, brandishing his staff. He snarled and tried to brain Robin with a lightning blow. Robin swayed back and the staff missed him by a fraction. He parried another savage stroke which almost knocked him into the stream. The giant came on remorselessly and Robin ducked and twisted as he backed away. He fought desperately but finally a sweeping blow sent him crashing to the water. The giant leapt in after him thrusting his staff at his head. He dived out of range and reached the bank, but as he did so he lost hold of his staff. He staggered out and looked round for something to use as a weapon. Behind him the giant hauled himself from the water. Robin turned and kicked him full in the chest but he merely grunted and came on.
A heavy branch lay nearby and Robin heaved it at the giant. It caught him on the forehead and with a groan the huge man crashed backwards and lay still.
[p.29]
Robin stood over him breathing hard. There was a five-pointed star — a pentacle — painted in red on the man’s chest. Round his neck hung a little leather bag. Robin opened it and unrolled the scrap of parchment he found inside. It was the parchment of his vision! He stared uncomprehendingly at the magical signs, and then it was snatched from his fingers and blown away by the wind.
Robin took water from the stream with the man’s hunting horn and washed the pentacle from his chest.
Immediately the brutal features softened and the slack mouth grew firm. The giant’s eyes opened, their savage expression replaced by bewilderment. Slowly he sat up and looked intently at Robin. ‘Where am I?’ he asked.
‘In Sherwood,’ said Robin.
The giant felt his head where blood dripped from the gash. ‘Sherwood?’ he repeated.
Robin nodded. ‘You were bewitched.’ The giant struggled to remember. ‘Belleme!’ he said finally. ‘The Baron de Belleme. His men captured me. I remember now. They took me to him. Yes and there was smoke — thick smoke — and voices muttering. And blood...’
He clasped Robin’s hand firmly. ‘You set me free,’ he said simply. ‘I owe you my life.’
He staggered to his feet still dazed from the blow, waded into the stream and began to wash himself.
Robin squatted on the bank and watched him with amusement. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘John Little. I’m from Hathersage.’
Robin laughed. ‘Little John more like!’
‘Little John,’ smiled the giant, rubbing himself vigorously. ‘I like that.’ He smiled at Robin. ‘And who might you be?’
But before Robin could reply a foot pushed him in the back, and sent him headfirst into the stream.
‘Robin of Loxley!’ laughed Will Scarlet.
Robin spluttered to the surface. Standing on the bank were Will, Dickon and Tom.
Much was not with them. He had run home to the mill [p.30] to tell his father of their capture and escape. Matthew knew he would have to hide his son from Gisburne and his men. They were certain to come looking for him. He resolved that the boy should remain free.

[p.36]
CHAPTER 5

In the courtyard of Nottingham Castle, barely three weeks after the escape of the prisoners, for which the wretched jailer was given fifty lashes, an escort of soldiers led by Guy of Gisburne prepared to leave for Kirklees Abbey with the Lady Marion. She was thankful to say goodbye to the Sheriff and to Abbot Hugo. She trusted neither of them to protect her from Simon de Belleme.
The Abbot pronounced a blessing. Then Marion turned to where Brother Tuck was standing. She could see he was near to tears.
‘Look after my bees, Brother Tuck,’ she said gently.
The fat monk nodded sadly. ‘I will, Lady Marion,’ he said.
The Sheriff called Gisburne over and told him that on his way to Kirklees he should stop at the mill to question Robin’s stepfather. Gisburne nodded and signalled the party to move off. Marion looked back and waved to Brother Tuck. He had been a good friend to her, the only one she’d had in Nottingham. She wondered sadly if she would ever see him again.
It was a long ride to Kirklees and Gisburne was a boring companion. All he talked about was his horses and the tournaments in which he’d fought, with a blow-by-blow account of every combat. In the end she let him drone on, and nodded from time to time to give him the impression she was still listening.
Her thoughts went back to the ragged young fugitive. She wondered where he was now and if he had met up with the others. She could still see him pulling the hood over his tousled hair and leaping from her window...
It was noon when they reached the mill. Matthew saw them coming and made Much hide in the trees where he watched in terror as Gisburne questioned his father.
[p.37]
Matthew said he’d seen none of the fugitives and though Gisburne threatened him he refused to say any more.
The Steward drew his sword. ‘I don’t like liars — especially Saxon liars,’ he said angrily. ‘Where are they?’
‘Where you’ll never find them!’ replied Matthew bravely.
With a cry of anger Gisburne cut him down.
Marion buried her face in her hands whilst Gisburne sheathed his bloody sword. He was quite calm. The man had defied him and he believed he was quite justified in killing him. He ordered the soldiers to burn the mill to the ground.
The men-at-arms took embers from the fire and hurled them on to the thatched roof. In a moment the building was a mass of flames. Gisburne turned his horse, took hold of Marion’s bridle and led her away from the burning mill while the soldiers formed up behind them.
Much still couldn’t believe his father was dead. He watched the party move off and then left his hiding place and crept over to Matthew’s body. He knelt beside it, feeling sick and empty, and alone. A wave of grief washed over him and his body shook as he wept uncontrollably.
An hour later he rose and stumbled blindly into the forest where he was found wandering aimlessly by Robin and the others.
‘He’s with the saints, isn’t he Robin?’ sobbed Much, throwing himself into his stepbrother’s arms, weeping and shuddering with shock. ‘He’s with the saints — with the saints.’
Robin already knew Matthew was dead. At the moment that Gisburne had killed him, the scene had flashed before his eyes. He held Much close to him while the boy fought for words.
‘It was Gisburne,’ he sobbed. ‘I watched — I saw it — I saw it. Kill! Kill! Kill!’
Little John, Scarlet and the others stood silent while Robin tried to calm the boy.
‘He was your father too — wasn’t he?’ whispered Much. ‘He was your father too!’
Robin fought to control his grief and anger. Silently he swore vengeance against Gisburne. He remembered his own [p.38] father, and how, wounded and despairing, he had left him with Matthew and ridden off into the rain never to return. Now was the time for vengeance. Herne had chosen him and he had accepted his destiny.
The outlaws moved swiftly through Sherwood to a point ahead of Gisburne and his men where they prepared their ambush. All of them had longbows and had learnt how to use them. Gisburne and his men were going to be the first to experience the power of these bows.
Robin made his companions cover their rags with leaves so that when they crouched in the undergrowth they would be invisible. This was to be a new kind of battle and he did not want Gisburne to know that only a few men opposed him. The attack would take the arrogant young knight completely by surprise. Outlaws were supposed to run when Gisburne rode through Sherwood; he would not be expecting them to fight back.
Will Scarlet told Robin he had once been a soldier. His master had forced him to fight. Half the time he hadn’t even known who the enemy was. He’d learnt that in a battle the greatest danger was being trampled to death by your own side.
‘I’ve never killed a man,’ said Robin quietly.
‘I know.’ Scarlet patted him on the back. ‘Hell’s full,’ he grinned. ‘There’s no room for us.’
A whistle from Tom, who had been posted as look-out, told them that Gisburne and his party were getting near. The outlaws took up their positions and waited for Robin’s signal. The first soldiers appeared below them and each man singled out a target, but as Robin prepared to shoot, he saw Marion and lowered his bow. Little John looked at him in surprise.
‘I know the girl,’ whispered Robin. ‘We’ve got to get her away from them before we attack.’
Gisburne’s path lay through large trees with dense undergrowth and rising ground each side. His men marched stolidly onwards whilst he rode in silence. Marion could not bear to look at him. She was revolted by the cruelty she had seen at the mill.
[p.39]
Suddenly Gisburne reined his horse and gave the order to halt.
Lying on the path, its point towards them, was a naked sword.
Gisburne told one of the men-at-arms to fetch it, but when the soldier bent down the sword slithered away from him and he jumped back in fear. ‘It’s bewitched, my Lord!’ he cried.
Gisburne dismounted and walked towards it. Again it moved away. The soldiers watched fascinated, all crowding forward and staring in amazement. Gisburne ran forward and put his foot on the moving sword. When he picked it up he could see pack thread had been tied to its pommel which led away into the undergrowth.
‘So it’s bewitched, is it?’ he sneered.
Led by Gisburne the soldiers charged into the bushes but there was no sign of the trickster anywhere.
But when Gisburne ran back to the path there was no sign of Marion either. He called furiously to his men who came lumbering back. Gisburne was sweating. He had to find Marion. Rapidly he ordered his men to search in different directions, leading some of them on towards Kirklees.
Moments later the path was empty. Ropes dropped from several of the trees nearby and Robin and his friends slid down them. Marion, who had been hauled up into the leafy branches by Little John was now lowered gently to the ground. Everything had happened so quickly that her mind was in a whirl. Here was her hooded man again standing before her with a welcoming smile. With green leaves mingling with his rags he seemed like Herne’s Son indeed — a spirit of the woodland. Gently he told her to go with Much to the secret camp. He would return he said, but first he had to settle matters with Guy of Gisburne. Before she could answer, he melted away into the forest with his friends.
Unhampered by armour they moved swiftly and silently, stopping every now and then to listen for the soldiers. Unwittingly, Gisburne had made things easier for them by splitting up his men.
The first clash came when Tom Fletcher saw four [p.40] men-at-arms skirting a forest pool. He shouted at them to attract their attention, knowing he was well out of range of their crossbows. They advanced on him, protecting themselves with their shields, but they had reckoned without the longbow.
Tom, who had proved himself as skilful an archer as he was a fletcher that is to say an arrowmaker — took careful aim at the leading soldier and let fly. The arrow sped to its human target, piercing the shield and going through the soldier’s chain-mail with sickening force. His companions saw how the shield was pinned to his body. Then another arrow splintered its way through a second shield, killing its bearer instantly. The remaining soldiers realized that they were up against something new. They turned and ran.
Tom’s third arrow hit one of them in the back. The final soldier kept running. He was nearly two hundred yards away when Tom’s fourth arrow hummed low across the ground and took him in the leg. Even at that distance, its force bowled him over.
Meanwhile, in another part of the forest Little John leapt down behind three men-at-arms and attacked them with his quarter staff. In a space of a few seconds he had knocked all of them senseless.
Another group was attacked by Scarlet, who rose from the bushes — a terrifying figure covered in leaves. With a bloodcurdling cry he drove them back and killed them without mercy. Elsewhere, other soldiers were lassoed from above and hauled struggling into the branches.
Gisburne could hear the cries from his soldiers all around him in the forest. He knew they were under attack but could see no one. As he charged across a small clearing, he ordered his men to spread out behind him. But five arrows hummed from the trees, and each of them found a target. The men left standing took to their heels while Gisburne wheeled his horse and tried to rally them.
‘Come back, you cowards!’ he roared in a fury.
Suddenly Robin appeared in front of him, an arrow trained on his heart.
‘Get down,’ he ordered tersely.
[p.41]
‘What have you done with her?’ Gisburne shouted.
‘Marion’s safe.’
‘Marion!’ Gisburne was outraged. ‘You ragged piece of filth! I’ll have you torn to pieces!’
‘Trial by battle, Gisburne,’ said Robin grimly. ‘That’s a Norman law.’
Gisburne looked around as the other outlaws arrived on the scene. He smiled cruelly to himself. This peasant was stupid enough to think he could fight a trained knight. Well, he would show him otherwise.
Gisburne drew his sword and attacked. Robin, with Albion in his hand, retreated, ducking and weaving as Gisburne’s sword flashed over his head. After a moment, Gisburne paused, puzzled that Robin was making no attempt to parry his blows or to come back at him. Again he attacked and again Robin sidestepped without using his sword. Gisburne slashed at him, angered and frustrated by his elusive but tempting target. He scythed at Robin’s legs but Robin jumped over the blade and landed lightly, ready for the next stroke. This time Gisburne thrust at his heart but Robin turned sideways and the sword flew past his chest without touching him.
The duel began to resemble a bullfight with Gisburne in his heavy armour charging, cutting and slashing but never landing a blow while Robin avoided the glittering point, sometimes by a hair’s breadth. By now, Sir Guy was breathing hard. This kind of fighting was new to him. He was used to standing toe to toe and hacking away at his opponent until he wore him down. Now he was tiring. His own armour was hindering him. Robin, on the other hand, was lightly clad and relied on the quickness of his movement to keep him out of trouble.
The outlaws watched the contest eagerly. Will Scarlet, who had taught him how to use Albion, waited expectantly.
Robin never took his eyes off Gisburne. To his friends it seemed as if he knew in advance where the next attack would come. By now he had sapped Gisburne’s strength and the knight was tiring fast. He lowered his guard as if pleading [p.42] for Robin to attack but the lithe young figure stepped back and beckoned him on again.
The knight lumbered forward and cut awkwardly towards Robin’s head. And suddenly steel met steel with a shock that numbed his arm to the shoulder. Robin had parried the blow and brought Albion into play.
Gisburne drew back and for the first time Robin moved forward. Robin’s counter-attack unnerved him and he parried clumsily while Albion flashed like summer lightning and drove him back remorselessly. The sword seemed to have a life of its own and Gisburne’s defence was now desperate. Suddenly his blade was ripped from his mailed hand.
Gisburne was no coward. He crossed himself and waited calmly for death. But Robin lowered Albion and shook his head. He had beaten Gisburne. Now he would humiliate him.
They stripped the young knight naked and tied him face down across the saddle of his splendid horse.
‘Tell the Abbot that Robin Hood and his friends hold Sherwood. And tell his brother the Sheriff that Herne’s Son has claimed his Kingdom,’ said Robin.
Tom took hold of the bridle and set off towards St Mary’s. The journey led him through several villages near the forest. And when the people saw the naked backside of the man who for so long they had hated and feared, they hooted with laughter and pelted the wretched knight with rotten eggs.
When he was in sight of St Mary’s Abbey, Tom let the horse trot on by itself. In the distance he could see Abbot Hugo out hunting, and he grinned. Gisburne’s appearance would cause quite a stir!

* * *
Back at the camp the rest of the outlaws talked excitedly of their success while Robin sat quietly with Marion, who told him why she was on her way to Kirklees. He found it hard to believe that such a beautiful and lively girl should want to bury herself away in a convent. She explained that Nottingham Castle had been little better than a prison. The Sheriff was not to be trusted and he certainly wouldn’t defend her against Simon de Belleme. She would be safe at Kirklees [p.43] and there would be plenty to occupy her. The nuns often went hunting; she would have a room of her own; they might even make her their beekeeper.
‘But you don’t look like a nun,’ stammered Robin.
‘Not yet,’ smiled Marion. ‘But I shall.’
‘Stay here with me,’ said Robin, taking her hand impulsively.
‘And be your May Queen?’ smiled Marion gently. ‘But what would I be when winter comes?’
Robin looked into her eyes. ‘I’d build a fire at the cave’s mouth, and wrap you in sheepskin, and hold you close.’
They were indeed very close. Leaning forward Robin kissed her and for a moment Marion held him to her, then breaking from him, she shook her head. ‘Take me to Kirklees,’ she whispered.
The light was slanting rose-red between the trees as Robin led her pony down the forest ways towards the safety of Kirklees Abbey.
They reached the abbey gate and Robin lifted her down and embraced her. He could hardly bear to part from her but he knew she would be safe at the abbey. After a moment the door opened and one of the nuns took her inside.
Robin’s heart was heavy as he made his way back towards Sherwood. He was so deep in thought he did not see that a swarthy man was watching him from a hill overlooking the abbey. His name was Nasir. He was a Saracen slave. And his master was Simon de Belleme.

[p.56]
CHAPTER 7

‘We are not going to Sherwood! Not with a thousand men, Hugo.’ It was three days after Robin had won the Arrow, and the de Rainault brothers were holding what was virtually a council of war. They were, as usual, attended by Guy of Gisburne who was now somewhat out of favour. His failure to see through Robin Hood’s disguise was a sore point with his masters.
The Sheriff however, was not a man to take defeat lightly. The effect of the outlaws on the people of Nottingham had been disastrous. From now on he could expect defiance, even opposition to his rule. There was only one way to counter this. Robin Hood had to be caught and publicly hanged. The solution was a simple one: how to achieve it was more difficult.
‘If we go into the forest, my lord Abbot,’ Gisburne interjected, ‘they’ll pick us off from the trees. Those arrows can pierce armour.’
Hugo was sweating. ‘Then what’s the answer?’
At this moment, Brother Tuck ran into the council chamber and spoke as if on cue. ‘The Baron Simon de Belleme,’ he announced.
The Baron strode in and his malignant presence seemed to cast a shadow before him. His eyes glittered with suppressed madness as he addressed the two brothers.
‘Not long ago I came to you, my lords, and asked to marry your ward.’
‘My lord Baron, she chose to —’ began Abbot Hugo.
‘I warned you then against Herne’s Son,’ the Baron reminded them. ‘Now he has the Arrow. It will increase his power.’
‘If he isn’t stopped he’ll have an army,’ exclaimed Gisburne.
[p.57]
The Sheriff glared at his brother’s young Steward. Gisburne had a positive genius for stating the obvious.
‘Very likely,’ sneered the Baron. ‘But he cannot be beaten by force of arms.’ He paused and his snake-like eyes narrowed. ‘But I can vanquish him. Fire must be fought with fire.’
‘But not with hellfire!’ Hugo blustered as he realized Simon de Belleme intended to use black magic.
‘You do see, my lord Baron,’ the Sheriff said smoothly, ‘you can hardly expect the Church to ally itself with er ... er, the Opposition, so to speak.’
Hugo spoke vehemently. ‘That would be blasphemy!’
The Baron sat down slowly and looked with meaning at the empty perch where the Sheriff’s favorite hawk used to be. It had died mysteriously the day after he had demanded Marion. The Sheriff followed his look and trembled.
‘Robin Hood must be destroyed,’ whispered the Baron. ‘We are all agreed on that. Though perhaps for different reasons.’ He leant forward. ‘I know he will come to me and I know he will come alone. Then his men will disobey him and follow him out of Sherwood.’
The Sheriff looked at him in disbelief. ‘How can you be so sure of such a thing?’
‘Because Azael has told me,’ the Baron replied softly.
Gisburne, the Abbot and Brother Tuck crossed themselves.
‘Has he indeed?’ sneered the Sheriff. ‘But what will fetch Robin Hood from the forest, my lord Baron? What magic will bring him?’
Simon was angered by the Sheriff’s mocking tone and spoke sharply. ‘The strongest magic of all — his love for the girl. Give her to me and he will come.’
Hugo stirred uneasily. ‘No, I cannot agree to this,’ he said. ‘It is —’
‘I don’t want her lands, Hugo — you can keep them,’ the Baron cut in swiftly. ‘But I must have Marion.’
The Sheriff looked at his brother. ‘Seems a small price to pay,’ he said calmly.
‘But she’s in Kirklees Abbey!’ exclaimed Hugo.
Simon de Belleme looked quickly towards Brother Tuck. [p.58] He could see that the fat young monk was shocked, which was just what he intended.
‘You’ve nothing to lose, Hugo,’ argued the Sheriff. ‘One headstrong Saxon virgin to put an end to a dangerous rebel. Seems like a bargain to me. Besides who’s going to know?’
Tuck could contain himself no longer. ‘You can’t do this, my lords!’ he cried angrily.
‘Be silent!’ shouted Gisburne.
But Tuck refused to listen. Marion was in great danger. ‘My lord Abbot, this is the most wicked evil that I —’
‘One word more — just one, Brother Tuck,’ warned the Sheriff, ‘and I’ll have the fat flayed from your back.’ He turned back to the Baron. ‘When do you propose to — er — take her?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow is the first of May,’ replied the Baron.
‘The Feast of Beltane,’ said the Sheriff.
Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re very well informed for a sceptic.’
‘Superstition’s a hobby horse of mine.’
‘Superstition indeed!’ mocked the Baron. ‘You’re a fool, de Rainault.’
The Sheriff controlled his anger. Since the sudden death of his hawk he was taking no chances. Once again he addressed his brother. ‘Well Hugo?’ he queried. ‘Do you agree?’
‘Only if I keep the land,’ said Hugo.
The Baron nodded his agreement and the three of them began to make their plans. Brother Tuck, appalled by the callous way the brothers were sacrificing Marion, hurried from the council chamber. Simon de Belleme smiled to himself. He knew exactly what the young monk would do; it was all part of his plan.
Tuck hurried to the stables and bribed the ostler to lend him a mule, then he left Nottingham and set out on the road north to Kirklees. He knew that if Simon de Belleme took Marion from the abbey there would be no one to stop him. Once inside his grim castle she was doomed. Tuck had to warn her, perhaps help her to go into hiding. He knew he could never go back to Nottingham but he was tired of being [p.59] the Sheriff’s whipping boy, and he’d seen too many evils committed in the name of God by worldly prelates like Abbot Hugo. He had become sickened by their cynical disregard for the poor and helpless. He resolved to lead the life of a wandering friar. His church would be the fields and hedgerows of the countryside. He would help the poor and praise God in his own way. But first he must save Marion.
He rode through the night and reached the abbey shortly after dawn. He had come to hear the Lady Marion’s confession, he told the Abbess. She nodded gravely and led him silently to Marion’s room where he told the startled girl of die Baron’s intentions.
‘I should have stayed in Sherwood,’ said Marion.
‘With an outlaw!’ said Tuck in astonishment.
‘You don’t know him, Brother Tuck,’ replied Marion blushing. ‘He loves me. He’s not a bloodthirsty ruffian but a man of spirit who cares about the ordinary people just as you do.’
Tuck sighed. ‘But you’re of gentle birth, little flower,’ he said. ‘You can’t be bride to an outlaw!’
‘Why not?’ she replied. ‘I love him.’
In the end there was nothing Tuck could do but agree to take her into Sherwood and hope that somehow they would find Robin and his friends.
This was precisely what Simon de Belleme had hoped for. Even he dare not remove Marion from the abbey by force. His men watched from hiding when Tuck and Marion entered the forest. They followed them for a while and then stepped out from the trees and barred their way.
Tuck lifted his robe and drew an ancient sword. The Baron’s men were surprised. They hadn’t come across an armed monk before.
Tuck thrust at them fiercely, belying his mild and innocent manner, and there was a howl as one man dropped to his knees with blood streaming from his thigh. The others rushed forward and despite Tuck’s courageous defense, soon overwhelmed him. Leaving him bleeding and half stunned they grabbed Marion and carried her to Castle Belleme where the evil Baron awaited her.
[p.60]
He lounged in a carved chair covered in wolfskins, attended by three women, two at his feet and one kneeling beside his chair with a jewelled chalice of wine. They were drugged and looked at Marion with expressionless eyes.
Simon stroked the chair with his long fingers. ‘Why did you shut yourself up in Kirklees?’ he asked Marion. ‘You’ll learn nothing there. Here you’ll learn everything.’ He smiled evilly. ‘The final mystery.’
Although Marion was frightened, she tried hard not to show it. Instead, she held her head proudly and spoke without trembling. ‘You savage! Has murder become the only thing that can excite you? How many deaths will you need to satisfy your devil?’
Simon stirred uneasily in his chair.
‘You’re terrified of him, aren’t you? You’re not his servant,’ she said triumphantly. ‘You’re his victim!’
The Baron stood up, white with anger. ‘Prepare her for my lord Azael!’ he screamed.

* * *
It was Dickon who found Brother Tuck. He had been hunting when he heard the sounds of combat, but when he reached the wounded monk, the Baron’s men had already made off with Marion. He helped Tuck back to the camp and when Robin saw his bloody face he remembered the vision Herne had made him see in the great cave.
Tuck clawed at his arm. ‘He’s taken the Lady Marion,’ he gasped. ‘The Baron ... the Baron de Belleme ...’
In silence Robin put Herne’s Arrow in his bell and picked up his longbow. Little John and Scarlet followed suit, but Robin shook his head. ‘I’m going alone,’ he said.
‘But he’s a sorcerer!’ said Little John.
‘That’s why. It’s me he wants.’
‘He’ll kill you, or make you his slave!’
‘No he won’t.’
‘We’ll raid the castle.’
‘And be slaughtered,’ said Scarlet.
‘Will’s right,’ said Robin. ‘We can’t fight in the open. Only in Sherwood.’
[p.61]
‘Then I shall come with you,’ said Little John impulsively.
‘No, John,’ said Robin firmly. ‘I’m going alone. Herne has prepared me for this. It was meant from the beginning.’
‘You’re a fool,’ cried Little John angrily, anxious for Robin’s safety. ‘You’re throwing your life away for a girl.’
Robin would have attacked Little John but Scarlet and Much grabbed hold of him. With an effort Robin tried to explain. ‘Listen, John, this isn’t an ordinary fight. This is a fight between Herne’s Son and a sorcerer the servant of a demon.’ Robin paused. ‘And if I fail, one of you will take my place.’ He began to move away. ‘And Herne will choose him,’ finished Robin. ‘So must it be!’ He ran off into the forest.
But Little John was stubborn and after a moment he turned to the rest of them. ‘If he’s not back by dawn, we’re going after him. Are you with me?’
There was a roar from the outlaws.
Scarlet cursed silently; he knew nothing he could say would change their minds. But Robin was right. In Sherwood they could take on an army. Once out of the forest they would be cut to pieces.

[p.68]
CHAPTER 9

The hands were begging, imploring. With thin, outstretched fingers that clawed the air hopelessly. Empty hands.
A huge sack tipped forward and, while grain poured out, the hands cupped to catch it. But then it changed into a shower of silver pennies and the hands withered and died.
A girl appeared through the stream of coins. She carried a wooden bowl and as she held it out it became a skull.
Robin woke suddenly and sat up, his mind racing. He could see the moon through the trees. The forest slept and it was still several hours until dawn.
Marion stirred at his side and opened her eyes. She looked up at him sleepily. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘Nothing,’ said Robin.
The dream nagged his thoughts like an aching tooth. Herne had told him that dreams had meaning, however strange they seemed. Was this dream meant as a warning? Did danger threaten the outlaws? He was still trying to puzzle it out when the sun rose through the morning mists and the outlaws woke and began preparing for the day ahead.
While they ate Robin told them his dream. He was sure that the answer lay somewhere in Sherwood and that they were meant to find it.
‘Which road do we take?’ asked Tuck, hitching his robe into the belt round his massive belly.
‘Towards Rufford,’ said Robin.
‘A wild goose chase on account of a dream!’ mocked Scarlet, picking up his bow.
‘It’s daft,’ muttered Little John. ‘We don’t even know what we’re looking for.’
‘We will when we find it,’ Robin said quietly.
Nasir slung his bow on his shoulder. It was several weeks [p.69] since he had joined them and he still hadn’t spoken. Scarlet was suspicious and watched him closely. The Saracen ate apart and prepared his own food. At first the others were uneasy about him. He never laughed and remained impassive and withdrawn. Only when Much played his wooden pipe would Nasir relax and seem to find comfort in the simple music.
The outlaws were moving off when Marion joined Robin, carrying her bow. Under his tuition she had proved herself a fine archer. Her eyes shone with excitement at the thought of action. But Robin took her to one side and asked her gently to stay at their camp.
She kissed him. ‘When my ancestors went into battle, wives and daughters fought beside their husbands,’ she said softly. ‘But if you want me to stay — I’ll stay.’
She turned away, hiding her disappointment, and Robin led the outlaws into the forest. It was several miles to the Rufford road but nobody spoke, and they moved so quietly that they passed a group of hinds drinking at a forest pool without disturbing them. Robin still didn’t know what he was looking for, but suddenly in his mind’s eye he saw a farm cart loaded with sacks of grain, and his heart beat faster. He knew they were getting closer!

* * *
In the village of Elsden, on the edge of Sherwood, a forest court was in progress at the Moot Hall. Abbot Hugo, with two of his clerks, sat at a rough table, their pens scratching busily. Nearby the Sheriff watched the proceedings with bored amusement. Gisburne, who had been out of favour with both the de Rainault brothers since the battle at Castle Belleme, signaled to his soldiers and they dragged forward two of the villagers while the rest watched in silence.
The man put his arm protectively round his wife’s shoulders. She was young and beautiful with long flaxen hair.
‘I accuse Jennet of Elsden and her husband Thomas of witchcraft,’ said Gisburne loudly.
Abbot Hugo and his clerks crossed themselves; the Sheriff merely gave Gisburne a mocking smile.
‘Are you sure?’ grunted Abbot Hugo.
[p.70]
‘I can prove it, my lord,’ Gisburne continued. ‘The whole village is terrified of them. Everyone’s in their power. She even tried to bewitch me, my lord Abbot.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Jennet.
‘Hold your tongue, woman,’ roared the Abbot, his heavy jowls quivering like an angry cockerel’s. ‘Hold your tongue or I’ll have it torn out!’
Gisburne unrolled a parchment and began to read. ‘ “I swear by almighty God that Jennet of Elsden is an evil and malicious witch. She cursed the fields to the east of Salswood and the corn became mildewed and rotten.” ’ Gisburne broke off and looked at the Abbot. ‘That statement was made by Hugh of Elsden,’ he said. He returned to the parchment. ‘ “I swear by almighty God that Jennet and Thomas are in league with devils who took my baby and put a changeling in its place.” Margaret of Elsden. “I swear by almighty God —” ’
‘All right, Gisburne, that’ll do,’ said the Abbot wearily.
‘I have ten such testimonies, my lord,’ said Gisburne.
‘Then we’ll take them as read.’ The Abbot looked at the two young prisoners. ‘Well? Have you anything to say?’
‘Ask him who wrote those lies!’ said Thomas.
‘Lies, you villain?’
‘It’s not us they’re frightened of,’ said Thomas, looking straight at Gisburne.
Jennet turned to the villagers who avoided her eyes shamefacedly.
‘He forced you all to testify didn’t he?’ She singled out one of the women. ‘Alice — have you forgotten how your child was cured?’ She turned to another. ‘Marjorie — we took away your fever when you were close to death. You come to us for help! You are our friends! We heal you!’
This was all the Abbot needed. ‘Oh, so you heal them do you?’ he said, his voice thick with menace. ‘You interfere with God’s purposes, do you? You’ve condemned yourself, woman — that’s blasphemy.’
Jennet’s eyes blazed. ‘Then shall I tell you the real reason we’re here, my lord Abbot?’ She pointed at Gisburne. ‘Because he wanted me and I refused him!’
[p.71]
‘You strumpet!’ roared Gisburne in a panic of embarrassment. ‘The devil speaks through her, my lord! She’s possessed! What more proof do you need?’
‘Look at his face!’ cried Jennet. ‘There’s the real proof!’
‘Be silent!’ roared the Abbot. ‘I’ve heard enough — the matter is proven. Death by hanging in four days.’
A gasp went round the crowd. Thomas dropped to his knees and begged the Abbot to spare Jennet but he refused to listen.
‘She tried to seduce my Steward. “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live”,’ he quoted. ‘That’s Exodus. “Neither shall ye use enchantment.” That’s Leviticus. Take them to Nottingham.’
The forest court was over, the clerks gathered up their rolls of parchment and, with Jennet and Thomas in chains, Abbot Hugo and his brother mounted their horses and rode out of the village.
‘What a paragon of virtue you are, Gisburne,’ laughed the Sheriff. ‘I’m really most impressed. If she’d tried to bewitch me, I think I’d have been inclined to let her.’
Gisburne reddened but kept silent.
‘I’ll have to be careful in the future,’ the Sheriff went on.
‘Careful, my lord Sheriff?’ Gisburne was puzzled.
‘Of you, Gisburne.’ The Sheriff smiled but his eyes were cold. ‘Especially when you don’t get what you want.’
‘I don’t understand?’ stammered Gisburne. ‘The woman is a witch.’
‘Yes, of course she is,’ said the Sheriff sarcastically. ‘And a very pretty witch too.’
He glanced back to where Jennet and Thomas stumbled on surrounded by the soldiers.
‘Shall I tell you why I came to Elsden today, Gisburne?’ he said quietly, so that Hugo couldn’t hear him. ‘To persuade my brother to find another Steward. So that you can work for me.’
Gisburne looked at the Sheriff with surprise. He could hardly believe his good fortune. After failing to catch Robin Hood he hadn’t expected this. ‘Did the Abbot agree?’ he whispered eagerly.
[p.72]
The Sheriff patted his horse and smiled. ‘In the end I decided not to ask him,’ he said softly. ‘This business with the girl has made me think again. You always seem to be making trouble, Gisburne. You provoke people. The killing of the miller for example was —’
‘He knew where Robin Hood was hiding —’
‘And you lost your temper.’
‘The wolfshead must be caught!’
‘Are you telling me, Gisburne?’ The Sheriff spoke softly but the young knight was suddenly made aware of his chilling power.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ he said.
‘That’s better, Gisburne,’ the Sheriff chuckled. ‘Don’t be too ambitious. If Robin Hood wants to prance about in Sherwood and worship Herne the Hunter — or any other bogey man come to that — why not let him? He can paint himself bright blue for all I care. Don’t forget, there’s a price on his head and sooner or later someone’s going to earn it. One of his own men most likely.’
‘And the Lady Marion?’ queried Gisburne.
‘What about her?’ snapped the Sheriff pettishly. ‘The poor girl’s gone native. He’ll tire of her — it’s only a matter of time. Imagine it, Gisburne! One woman and half a dozen men. That’s the perfect recipe for disaster.’

* * *
Robin was about to give up his quest when he saw a cart, heavy with sacks of grain, being driven down the Rufford road towards Nottingham. The outlaws pulled their hoods round their faces and stepped out in front of the driver. A smooth-faced little man, he looked nervously at them as he reined the horse.
‘Good day, friend,’ said Robin pleasantly.
‘Outlaws!’ stammered the driver.
Scarlet nodded. The man looked at Tuck, surprised to see a monk hobnobbing with criminals. ‘What are you doing with them, Brother?’ he asked.
‘I like ’em,’ Tuck replied with a grin as if that was reason enough.
[p.73]
‘You wouldn’t rob me, would you?’ implored the man. ‘I’ve only a few sacks of grain, and they ain’t mine.’
‘We won’t harm you, friend,’ said Little John with a friendly smile. ‘On your way.’
But Robin still stood in front of the cart and looked searchingly at the driver. ‘Is the grain yours?’ he asked quietly.
‘Er — no. It belongs to neighbours of mine at Barnsley. We’re bondsmen, scratching a living from bits of land that our masters have no use for.’
‘Come on, Robin,’ said Little John. ‘Let him go.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Robin, ignoring his friend.
‘James.’
Robin took Albion from its sheath while the others looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. The sword point travelled along the sacks, and stopped at one of them. The next moment Robin ripped it open. The grain poured out followed by a shower of silver pennies, just as in Robin’s dream. The outlaws gasped in astonishment.
‘Now, master carter,’ said Robin quietly. ‘I’ll have the truth.’
The wretched little man scrambled down from the cart while the outlaws scooped up the money. ‘You won’t kill me?’ he moaned.
‘Your name!’ Robin demanded.
‘Gregory — Gregory of Bedford.’
‘Hey — I’ve heard of him,’ cried Tuck. ‘He’s a tax collector!’
‘Is he, by God!’ said Scarlet.
‘Aye,’ the fat monk nodded. ‘He works for the Sheriff.’
Gregory looked alarmed as the outlaws closed round him. ‘It’s true — but I never wanted to. I was forced into it. I was, you know.’
‘You poor little chap,’ said Little John ironically.
‘I hate taking money from people,’ said Gregory with a sickly smile.
Scarlet drew his sword. ‘Then I’ll put you out of your misery,’ he whispered.
Gregory fell to his knees screaming for mercy.
‘A fat lot you’ve shown,’ muttered Tuck.
[p.74]
By now Gregory’s teeth were chattering with fear. ‘Listen,’ he gasped, ‘I’ve some money — money of my own. It’s yours if you spare me.’
‘What can we spend it on in Sherwood?’ asked Little John.
‘One thing’s certain,’ said Robin. ‘He can’t pass through Sherwood without being taxed.’
‘Let’s tax him a hand,’ said Scarlet.
‘Not enough,’ said Little John. ‘Make it an arm.’
‘Two arms! Two arms,’ said Much jumping up and down with excitement.
‘I know,’ said Scarlet slowly. ‘A poll tax!’
‘A p-p-poll tax?’ stammered Gregory.
‘Aye. Your head — you blood-sucking leech.’
Gregory collapsed in a blubbering heap.
‘What’s it to be, Gregory?’ said Robin. ‘Come on, you should know. You’re the tax collector.’
But before the terrified man could answer, Little John pointed down the road. A party of mounted soldiers was galloping towards them.
Much pulled at the horse’s bridle and turned the cart to straddle the track, while the outlaws sent a shower of arrows whistling towards their attackers. Several crashed to the ground but the rest charged on.
The outlaws fought in silence and quickly reduced the odds against them.
It was a savage fight. The soldiers were Brabançon mercenaries, some of the most brutal men under arms, but even so they were no match for the men of Sherwood and when five of their number lay dead, the rest mounted their horses and rode away.
Scarlet, his sword dripping with blood, cursed them for a cowardly lot and looked round for Gregory. But the tax collector was nowhere to be seen. He had seized his chance to escape when the fight began.
‘How did you know about the money?’ Little John asked Robin as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from a gash in his thigh.
‘A little bird told me,’ said Robin.
[p.75]
‘Was it a robin?’ asked Much slyly.
They drove the cart back to the camp with Little John lying on the sacks and cursing his bad luck. Marion was shocked when she saw the outlaws, for most of them were bruised and bleeding though Little John was the only one whose wound was deep.
An old servant of her father’s had taught Marion how to use plants, herbs and mosses — even spiders’ webs — to heal a wound, so she bound up Little John’s cut and kept it from being poisoned. Next, she made him drink a mixture of marjoram, bay and fennel to cool his blood and protect him from fever. The foul-tasting stuff made him gag but she stood over him and made him finish it.
The money was counted and Tuck reckoned it was worth around six hundred marks. The outlaws were pleased with their success and laughed and joked amongst themselves.
Tuck grovelled on the ground in mock terror, wringing his hands. ‘I never wanted to be a tax collector!’ he blubbered while the outlaws laughed and clapped. Even Nasir smiled.
‘I thought the lying pig would die of fright,’ said Scarlet.
‘He’ll die of something else when he gets back to Nottingham,’ Robin grinned.
‘He won’t go back to Nottingham,’ laughed Little John. ‘Not if he’s got any sense.’
‘But he’ll have to, won’t he?’ said Tuck. ‘Otherwise they’ll think he’s stolen the money!’
‘Looks like he’s in real trouble,’ said Robin.
‘With any luck, they’ll hang him,’ said Scarlet. And they all roared with laughter again.
No one took any notice of Marion but seeing them laughing together and obviously so very pleased with themselves made her angry. Finally she could bear it no longer so she got to her feet and walked off. Robin saw her go and realized at once that something was wrong. He left the others and followed her. But when he caught her up she ignored him completely.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nothing,’ said Marion looking straight ahead.
[p.76]
Robin took her arm but she shrugged him off.
‘This is daft,’ he said.
Marion stopped and looked at him angrily. ‘Oh, I’m daft now, am I?’ she said and moved off again.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Robin.
Marion paused. ‘What am I to you?’ she asked.
‘Everything!’ said Robin.
Marion nodded. ‘Everything. Yes. Wife, cook and nurse.’
Robin tried to take her in his arms but she pulled free. ‘I had more freedom in Kirklees Abbey!’ she said.
Robin stared at her. He still didn’t understand.
‘I came to Sherwood because I loved you,’ Marion said patiently. ‘Whatever happens — whatever the danger — I want to be with you.’
Robin shook his head. ‘We could all have been killed today.’
‘And do you think I’d want to go on living without you?’ she replied. ‘I’m one of you, I have to be. You’ve taught me to shoot and I can outride any of you. Do you think they’ll spare me if they catch us? We’re outlaws. And we’re bound together by the powers of Light and Darkness. Our fate must be shared, Robin. It must!’

* * *
That night, Gregory of Bedford limped into Nottingham to find the Sheriff waiting for him in a savage mood. The survivors of the fight on the Rufford road had already returned and Gregory’s hastily babbled story of the ambush made his master even more angry. Grabbing the tax collector by the throat, he hurled him to the floor and began kicking him round the council chamber. ‘He knew! He knew, my lord!’ screamed Gregory, slithering away from the Sheriff’s boots.
‘He knew because you told him!’ screamed the Sheriff hauling the little man to his feet again. ‘You were terrified, weren’t you, Gregory? So to save your cowardly skin you gave him the tax money!’
‘He knew where it was!’ Gregory spluttered. ‘He went straight to it!’
The Sheriff shook him like a hound with a rat. ‘Smell money, can he? See through sack cloth?’ He called to his guards. ‘Take [p.77] this villain out and rack him!’ He turned away and Gregory was dragged out, begging for mercy.
Gisburne, who had watched the scene with considerable satisfaction, poured out a goblet of wine and handed it to his master.
‘Don’t look so smug,’ said the Sheriff coldly.
‘No, my lord,’ Gisburne replied.
‘I was wrong about Robin Hood,’ said the Sheriff, ‘and I admit it.’ He gulped the wine.
‘Yes, my lord,’ smirked Gisburne.
The Sheriff’s fury burst out again. ‘Six hundred and eighty silver marks! I want the villain’s head!’
‘I’ll get it for you,’ said Gisburne.
Again the Sheriff controlled himself. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘All you’ll get in Sherwood is an arrow in your back.’
‘Then how, my lord?’ Gisburne was anxious to reinstate himself, perhaps even improve his position. ‘We’ll never get him out a second time. We’d need a ferret.’
There was a pause and then the Sheriff looked at him with sudden interest. ‘What did you say?’
‘My lord?’ Gisburne was puzzled.
‘But that’s brilliant, Gisburne! Positively inspired!’ The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder. ‘A ferret. Of course. That’s the answer.’

[p.85]
CHAPTER 11

The Sheriff stared disagreeably at the two traders who stood before him. They were Jews, forced to serve nobody but the King. This annoyed the Sheriff. He liked everyone in Nottingham to serve him.
It was difficult to know how to deal with Jews, he thought irritably. They weren’t aliens: Duke William had brought them from Normandy. Neither were they heretics: their right to exist was recognized by the Church. The Sheriff hated their quiet pride and the fact they were different. Like all tyrants he wanted everyone to be the same: to act the same and think the same. Anyone else was dangerous.
‘You need my permission to trade in Nottingham,’ he said coldly, ‘and I will not grant it. If you are still here by nightfall I’ll have you whipped to the gates.’
As they left he wondered uneasily if they would report him to the king’s justiciary. But what if they did? Prince John was ruling England now and the Sheriff was under his protection.
He leaned back in his chair as Guy of Gisburne clattered in. The young knight had ridden over from the Abbey of St Mary’s with a message from his brother.
‘The Abbot is angry, my lord,’ said Gisburne, pulling off his helmet.
‘The Abbot’s always angry,’ said the Sheriff. ‘He was angry as a child; I’ve still got the scars.’
‘He says —’
‘He says what?’
‘He says that the woman Jennet has made a fool of — er — made fools of us all and that —’
‘Do you really think she’d betray us?’ said the Sheriff coldly. ‘With her precious husband under sentence? I promise you [p.86] that when she’s led you to Robin Hood, you’ll be able to watch her die as well.’
‘If she returns, my lord,’ said Gisburne insolently.
‘What a worrier you are, Gisburne!’ the Sheriff chuckled. ‘You must learn patience if you’re ever to take service with me. And tact — you’re very short on tact.’
‘I believe in action, my lord.’
‘That’s the eternal excuse for not stopping to think,’ said the Sheriff.
Gisburne stood to attention. ‘I’m a soldier, sir,’ he barked.
‘Exactly,’ said the Sheriff.
He called to the two guards by the door. ‘Bring in the woman!’
Gisburne looked at him in astonishment. The Sheriff sniggered. ‘She returned at dawn. The outlaws lie in Sherwood powerless to move.’
The guards returned with Jennet and she knelt in front of the Sheriff, averting her eyes from Guy of Gisburne.
The Sheriff ordered her to lead Sir Guy to the outlaws. Gisburne was to take half the castle guard with him. This time, there were to be no mistakes.
Jennet rode at the head of the column with Gisburne at her side. The outlaws’ camp was well hidden but she led him without hesitation and at last Gisburne could see the stricken men sprawled in the clearing. He drew his sword and strode up to them followed by his soldiers. Robin lay on his back, his eyes staring blankly.
Gisburne bent over him, ‘Do you know me, Loxley?’ he sneered. ‘You’re a dead man.’
Without warning the dead man suddenly came to life, and so did the rest of them. The soldiers were taken completely by surprise. It was a desperate struggle but Robin’s men soon gained the upper hand. When Robin disarmed Gisburne and the soldiers saw that their leader was beaten, they threw down their swords and surrendered.
After her vision of danger, Marion had raced back to find the outlaws groaning in pain and unable to move. She had [p.87] forced salt down their throats and then pressed out the juice from houseleek leaves and made them drink it.
Now she followed Jennet who had run off the instant the outlaws sprang to their feet.
Jennet was terrified. The stories of Robin Hood were true, she thought. Nothing could harm him. She looked back and saw Marion chasing her. She knew she would never escape, so she stopped running and held out her hands in surrender.
In the camp the outlaws crowded round Gisburne.
‘Finish the pig!’ said Scarlet.
Gisburne looked at them with contempt. ‘Animals!’ he cursed.
Much frowned. ‘What’s wrong with animals?’ he said innocently.
‘If we are animals,’ said Robin quietly, ‘who took away our rights as men?’
‘Your rights!’ sneered Gisburne. ‘You’ve no rights, wolfshead!’
‘String him up!’ cried Scarlet.
Robin went very close to the young knight. ‘What’s your life worth?’ he asked.
‘Not a single penny,’ said Gisburne defiantly.
Scarlet saw Marion coming back with her prisoner. Jennet’s head was bowed and she was still weeping.
‘And what about this one?’ muttered Scarlet. ‘Taking you to be hanged, were they? And I believed it!’
‘She was to be hanged,’ said Marion who had heard the girl’s story. ‘And her husband with her.’
Scarlet stared at Jennet. He felt tricked and his heart was cold. ‘Husband! Ah, so you bargained, did you? Our lives for yours, eh? You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?’
‘Leave her alone,’ said Marion quietly.
‘If you hadn’t saved us, we’d all be dead,’ said Scarlet. ‘And she’s to blame.’
‘I had no choice!’ wept Jennet. ‘Do you think I could stand by and watch them torture my husband?’ But Scarlet turned away and refused to listen.
[p.88]
Robin looked at the weeping girl and then back at Gisburne. ‘If you’re not worth a penny, let’s see if you’re worth another man’s life,’ he said quietly.

* * *
In Nottingham Castle the de Rainault brothers were already celebrating. Abbot Hugo had ridden over from St Mary’s and was drinking heavily. He suggested to his brother that the outlaws’ heads should be stuck over the main gate of Nottingham as a permanent reminder to the rest of the English.
‘I’m not a gamekeeper, Hugo,’ said the Sheriff shortly. ‘Besides, the prevailing wind blows from that direction.’
‘And what do we do with Marion?’ asked Hugo wiping the wine from his thick lips.
‘I’m inclined to think we should pardon her.’
‘Pardon her?’
‘Why not?’
‘And then what happens to her?’
‘We marry her to the highest bidder,’ said the Sheriff.
The doors opened and Gisburne strode in past the guards. The Sheriff looked at him angrily. The insolent young dog was still wearing his helmet.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Where’s the villain’s head?’
‘On the villain’s shoulders,’ said Robin Hood, taking off the helmet and throwing it unceremoniously to the floor.
‘Kill him!’ the Sheriff screamed at the guards.
But Robin was ready for them. He hit the first with his mailed fist and as the man fell, he rammed the second guard against a pillar. The Sheriff drew his sword.
‘Put it away,’ panted Robin. ‘I’m here to talk.’
The Abbot had sobered up quickly. Like most bullies he was a coward. He scuttled behind the Sheriff’s chair. ‘Yes, yes, no swords, no swords, Robert!’ he howled.
The Sheriff stood his ground. ‘Where’s Gisburne?’ he said.
‘Where do you think?’
‘Murdered?’
Robin shook his head.
[p.89]
‘You see. You see, Robert,’ brayed Hugo nervously. ‘The girl betrayed you after all!’
The Sheriff ignored his brother. ‘So Gisburne’s your hostage?’ he asked Robin.
‘For Thomas of Elsden,’ said Robin.
The Sheriff smiled. ‘But he’s been sentenced to death. And suppose I tell you I don’t care what happens to Gisburne?’
‘And your soldiers?’
‘Soldiers have a habit of dying, don’t they? It’s an occupational hazard. So you have nothing to bargain with, have you?’
Robin drew his sword. ‘Haven’t I?’ he said.
The Sheriff lunged at him and Robin twisted the sword from his hand with ease. Then he held Albion’s point at de Rainault’s throat. ‘I think you’d like Gisburne back, don’t you?’ he said quietly.
The Sheriff was sweating.
‘Well?’ said Robin.
‘Yes,’ said the Sheriff stiffly. ‘I’d like him back!’
Robin made him sit and then pointed with Albion to a pen. ‘You kill men with that feather, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, this time its going to save a life.’
The Sheriff knew he was beaten. In silence he picked up the quill, and began to write.

* * *
The outlaws had tied Gisburne upside down over a stream and now they were swinging him to and fro like a pendulum. At the lowest point, his head went under the water, and each time this happened a roar of approval went up from the outlaws. The game was still in progress when Robin rode into the clearing with Thomas of Elsden at his side. Jennet sobbed with happiness as Thomas took her in his arms while the outlaws left Gisburne swinging and ran to cheer Robin.
He held up the pardon, ‘A gift from the Sheriff and his brother. With the seal of Nottingham and the Abbey of St Mary’s.’
‘So Gisburne’s worth something after all!’ laughed Little John.
[p.90]
Suddenly they all remembered Gisburne. The pendulum had stopped swinging and the wretched man was in danger of drowning. They hauled him roughly from the stream and revived him.
Robin watched them, with his arm round Marion. ‘It wasn’t Gisburne’s life I bargained with,’ he said quietly. ‘It was the Sheriff’s. And now he’ll hunt me until one of us is dead.’
He kissed her. It was ironic that their quarrel had saved them all from the gallows.
‘Gisburne goes free, to face the Sheriff. And for a while we’ll be left in peace.’
‘But it won’t be for long,’ warned Marion.
‘No — they’ll try again but we’ll be ready for them.’ He looked tenderly at Marion. ‘All of us!’
Marion’s eyes shone. She had finally been accepted as one of the outlaws.

[p.96]
CHAPTER 13

The villagers of Bystead, which was little more than a few huts in a forest clearing, looked in wonder when the Knights Templar trotted in, bearing their dead comrade and the frightened boy. They dismounted in the centre of the village with military precision and their leader took off his helmet. His red hair was cropped and his face was bearded and sunburnt; his blue eyes surveyed the villagers with contempt. He was Reynald de Villaret and he would teach these cattle to obey.
‘Occupez-vous des chevaux!’ he ordered.
The ragged onlookers stared at him so he repeated the command in English. ‘See to the horses!’ he barked.
The people were terrified but they knew better than to disobey armed knights and hurried to do their bidding, while the Templars pulled Much to the ground and then carefully took the dead man from his horse. Quickly and efficiently they pitched an eight-sided tent, decorated on each panel with a red cross, then they dragged Much into the tent and threw him down in front of their leader.
Reynald de Villaret stared at the boy intently for a while and then spoke in French to one of his companions. This was Heinrich von Erlichshausen — a big, thick-set man with a scar cutting down his hard face like forked lightning.
‘This is not the one!’ snapped de Villaret. ‘The thief we seek has only one eye. He was there. I saw him with them!’
Von Erlichshausen reddened. He was the one who had captured Much. ‘Then what should we do with this one, commander?’ he asked. ‘Shall I kill the little pig?’
De Villaret thought this over for a moment and then shook his head with a cruel smile. ‘No — not yet,’ he said slowly. [p.97] ‘Perhaps the other villains will come looking for him. And then, Brothers in Christ, we shall recover Beau Séant God fights with us! Are we not his soldiers?’
‘God fights with us!’ chorused the knights fiercely.
Much had not understood a single word. He stood grinning nervously at them, his eyes blinking rapidly. De Villaret prodded him distastefully. ‘You stink!’ he said in English. ‘Take him outside and tie the little animal to a tree.’
Robin and his friends had no difficulty in following the trail made by the knights’ heavy horses. From the high ground above the village they looked down and saw the Templars’ outlandish tent. De Villaret was making the villagers build a funeral pyre for the knight Little John had killed. The outlaws could also see Much. He had been tied to a tree at the edge of Bystead.
‘I’m going to get him,’ said Robin, stringing his bow.
‘We’ll all get him,’ grunted Little John.
Robin shook his head. ‘I’m going alone. I’ve known Much since he was born. Besides, one man has less chance of being seen.’
Marion kissed him and for a moment he held her close. She knew that what he was about to do was fraught with danger. He was risking his life to save Much. But she said nothing and smiled bravely.
Just as he was moving off the outlaws saw other riders below them.
It was the Sheriff. Sir Guy was with him and a column of men-at-arms marched behind them.
The Sheriff was on his annual tour of the county.
It was always a tedious business, he thought wearily, but only by visiting each village in turn could he ensure that everyone was paying their taxes and paying them in full.
The Angevin rulers believed in power, and power meant wealth. The King exacted huge sums from the barons, his tenants-in-chief, and they in turn taxed the people. They taxed their cattle, their ploughs, even the wool from their sheep. The crusades had brought a new tax — the Saladin tithe. And when King Richard was shipwrecked and taken prisoner by Duke [p.98] Leopold of Austria the people of England suffered the greatest tax of all to pay his ransom.
‘It’s a very curious country, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff as they cantered towards Bystead. ‘It seems to absorb people like a sponge. I mean, what are we — English or Norman?’
‘Norman, my lord,’ replied Gisburne stolidly.
‘That’s what I thought you’d say,’ said the Sheriff drily. He sighed. ‘Such a bore having to trot round the shire every year. But we won’t fill the exchequer by sitting in Nottingham twiddling our thumbs.’
‘Cattle have to be driven,’ said Gisburne.
They entered the village and the Sheriff looked curiously at the Templars’ tent. ‘What the devil’s that?’ he murmured.
De Villaret and the five other knights in their long cloaks advanced to meet him.
‘Nous sommes des Templiers de retour de la Terre Saint,’ said de Villaret, bowing stiffly.
‘Veuillez parler en anglais, chevalier!’ replied the Sheriff.
‘I am Frère Reynald de Villaret,’ said the Templars’ leader angrily. ‘I command here.’
The Sheriff looked him up and down. ‘I’m not sure I understand you, Frère Reynald,’ he said with a frown. ‘Command who here? I’m High Sheriff of Nottingham and I represent the King.’
De Villaret’s pale blue eyes stared back fanatically. ‘And I the King of Kings.’
The Sheriff coughed with embarrassment. ‘Yes — yes — of course. But I’d still like to know what you are doing in this village. It happens to be part of a royal manor which I administrate. These people are serfs — not Saracens.’
‘We are returning to our preceptory in Lincoln,’ said de Villaret. ‘We shall not remain here long, my lord Sheriff.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Gisburne rudely.
De Villaret glanced at him coldly and was about to speak to the Sheriff again when Gisburne interrupted him. ‘I’m telling you to move on,’ he said harshly.
De Villaret ignored him completely. ‘We shall continue our journey soon,’ he said to the Sheriff.
[p.99]
‘You’ll continue it now,’ said Gisburne.
‘Who is this clown?’ said de Villaret.
Gisburne was off his horse in a moment, sword in hand. De Villaret remained calm while his knights drew their swords and waited for his orders.
‘Put it away, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff quietly.
‘But, my lord!’
‘Do it, Gisburne!’ The command was sharp.
Reluctantly Gisburne obeyed and after a moment de Villaret gestured to the knights and they did likewise. The Sheriff relaxed and smiled benignly at the Templars. ‘Now, Frère Reynald,’ he said, ‘you were about to tell me what you’re doing here.’
‘Je crois que non,’ replied de Villaret angrily lapsing into French.
‘Why not?’ snapped the Sheriff who was determined to keep the conversation in English.
‘Because I don’t choose to,’ said de Villaret arrogantly. ‘An outrage has been committed against our Order.’
‘An outrage?’ repeated the Sheriff very intrigued. ‘What sort of an outrage?’
‘That’s our concern.’
The Sheriff was about to tell him that anything which happened in the Shire of Nottingham was very much his concern when Gisburne suddenly caught sight of Much. ‘I know that boy!’ he exclaimed and started forward.
‘Stay where you are!’ cried de Villaret.
But Gisburne was too excited to listen. ‘The half-wit, my lord Sheriff! The half-wit!’ he shouted.
‘Which one?’ snapped the Sheriff, looking straight at him.
‘There, my lord — there!’ cried Gisburne, pointing at Much. ‘The miller’s son. The miller who fostered Robin Hood!’ He rounded on de Villaret. ‘That villain’s mine. I want him!’
‘Vous ne l’aurez pas! C’est mon prisonnier!’ replied de Villaret, quite unmoved.
Gisburne pleaded desperately with the Sheriff. ‘My lord, are you going to —?’
‘Be quiet, man,’ said the Sheriff and then smiled placatingly [p.100] at de Villaret. ‘So Robin Hood has — er — crossed your path, has he?’
De Villaret stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Of course, I’m forgetting. You’ve been away, haven’t you? He’s the self-styled King of Sherwood — and a dangerous rebel.’
‘Does a girl fight with him?’ asked the Templar.
‘I believe so,’ said the Sheriff carefully.
‘And a friar — a fat friar?’
‘That renegade monk was the Sheriff’s chaplain!’ said Gisburne, tactlessly.
‘They will all die,’ de Villaret said calmly. ‘All of them. We have sworn it!’
The Sheriff could hardly believe his luck. ‘Then you have my blessing, Frère Reynald,’ he said, positively beaming at the Templar commander.
Gisburne stared at the Sheriff open-mouthed.
‘Come along, Gisburne,’ he said good humouredly. ‘It’s time we left the Brothers to their — er — devotions.’
Gisburne was furious. ‘My lord, I must protest.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ sighed the Sheriff. ‘Just get back on your horse and stop making an exhibition of yourself.’
Gisburne hesitated briefly but he had learnt not to disobey the Sheriff so he glared at de Villaret and got back on his horse. As the Sheriff left Bystead, followed by Gisburne and the men-at-arms, he turned and waved ironically at the Templars. ‘Good hunting, de Villaret,’ he called.
Gisburne cantered up to ride beside him. ‘They defied you, my lord!’ he said. ‘I was dishonoured.’
‘Now listen to me, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff quietly. ‘They are six of the most highly-trained fighting men in the Christian world and answerable to nobody but the Pope. There are two hundred more of them in Lincoln. Do you want them to start a crusade in Nottingham?’
‘But they insulted —’
‘Whatever outrage Robin Hood’s committed — they’ll avenge it. They will, you know — I’ve seen them at work. And they won’t stop until every one of the outlaws is dead. Tuck, [p.101] Marion, the lot. Which saves you time, money and soldiers. Surely that’s worth a little dishonour?’

* * *
In the trees above Bystead, Robin and his friends watched the Sheriff’s party ride away. It was time to rescue Much. In the village the funeral pyre was ready and the dead Templar, wrapped in his mantle, was being lifted on to it by the knights. They stood with drawn swords while the villagers watched the barbaric ceremony with awe.
De Villaret put a torch to the pyre. ‘We consign our brother to the fire which purifies,’ he intoned as the flames crept up towards the body. ‘He died in battle fighting against the enemies of Jesus Christ. A glorious death, my brothers!’
He knelt and the others joined him.
De Villaret began to pray. ‘Bend thine ear, O Lord, and harken unto me because I am helpless and unfortunate. Protect my soul.’
Robin had reached the outskirts of the village. The knights were chanting loudly as flames enveloped the funeral fire. ‘Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison,’ they cried.
Quietly Robin mingled with the villagers. They were so caught up in the ritual they failed to notice him. Carefully he worked his way through them until he was within striking distance of the boy.
When Much saw him, his eyes opened wide. Robin gave a warning gesture.
But de Villaret had seen him and sprang to his feet and the other knights broke off their prayers and followed him. Robin raced over to the tree and the villagers scattered, the women screaming and snatching up their children.
Robin fought like a tiger and de Villaret was surprised to find an outlaw who could use a sword so skilfully. But when the knights surrounded him, and there was no chance of freeing Much, Robin knew resistance was useless. He lowered Albion and let them seize him.
On the hillside where the outlaws were hiding Marion steeled herself to watch, and Scarlet looked at her with admiration.
[p.102]
The Templars bound Robin securely and led him before de Villaret. The magic letters engraved on Albion’s blade intrigued the commander. ‘Where did you steal this?’ he demanded.
Robin said nothing. De Villaret hit him in the mouth. ‘Where are the other scum?’ he asked.
Robin smiled but kept silent.
‘You will tell me,’ said the Templar calmly. ‘Everyone always tells me.’ He leant forward within inches of Robin’s face. ‘You’ll shout it to me,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll scream it! You do understand me, don’t you? What you took is sacred to us. Sacred! And we shall have it back, I promise you.’
De Villaret paused. He was breathing hard, fighting to control his temper. ‘Where is it now?’ he said sharply. ‘With the others?’
Robin still refused to speak so de Villaret hit him again.
‘We’ve taken nothing,’ said Robin quietly. ‘Let the boy go.’
De Villaret’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ah — so you have a tongue, have you? But a lying tongue. The thief is one of you.’
‘I speak the truth,’ said Robin.
‘And I shall prove you lie,’ replied de Villaret. ‘And prove it fairly by putting you on trial. Trial by battle.’
He turned to Heinrich von Erlichshausen. ‘And you, Confrère, shall be our champion.’
Von Erlichshausen smiled cruelly. By killing this arrogant peasant they would avenge their brother’s death.
The Templars took Robin outside and untied him. He was given a small, round shield and a strange and terrifying weapon. It was an iron ball with spikes, fastened to one end of a short piece of chain. The other end was attached to a wooden handle. The thought of what such a thing could do to flesh and bone made Robin shudder. One blow would kill a man or cripple him for life. The small shield seemed a pitiful defence and Robin wore no armour.
De Villaret and his knights watched eagerly while von Erlichshausen prepared for battle.
Robin crouched down as the big man whirled his mace [p.103] and charged forward aiming at Robin’s head. The young outlaw was amazed that the cumbersome weapon could be used with such skill. Von Erlichshausen seemed to make nothing of its weight and swung the terrible thing as if it was a child’s toy. It whistled towards Robin’s head and he ducked out of range.
The knight smiled grimly and stood back waiting for Robin’s blow.
He swung the mace with all his strength and the impetus almost pulled it from his hand. Von Erlichshausen made no attempt to avoid it but simply blocked the blow with his shield. It numbed Robin’s arm to the shoulder.
They circled and once again the knight whirled his mace through the air. This time Robin blocked it with his shield but the brutal blow knocked him off balance and he fell to one knee.
The watching knights gave a savage cry. But as von Erlichshausen prepared to finish him off Robin swung his mace at the knight’s knee and he crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. Robin scrambled up hurling his shield straight at de Villaret. The knights lunged towards Robin and he took to his heels. They lumbered after him but he outstripped them easily. De Villaret called them back.

* * *
Robin stumbled into Marion’s arms while his friends crowded round excitedly. The trial by battle had drained his strength and he had failed to rescue Much. Little John wanted to attack at night but Robin shook his head.
‘The Templars think we’ve stolen something from them. Siward took it — the lad with one eye.’
‘And he’s in Nottingham by now,’ muttered Scarlet.
‘Then we go to Nottingham,’ said Robin grimly.
They looked at him as if he was mad.
‘Robin Hood!’ shouted a voice. It was de Villaret. He had ridden out of Bystead and was calling up to the wooded hillside. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘I can hear you,’ called Robin. After a moment de Villaret’s voice floated up to them through the trees. ‘You have until dawn,’ the Templar cried. ‘Then we shall hang the boy.’

[p.112]
CHAPTER 15

Robin’s fame spread through England and the people, who knew he was their champion against the oppression of the barons and the proud and greedy men of the Church, gave him all the help they could. The story of the Templars’ humiliation was even heard in London, and Prince John wrote to the Sheriff demanding the outlaws’ capture. But Robin and his friends were masters of Sherwood and so they continued to harry the roads to Nottingham taking money from the fat lords and giving it back to the poor and unfortunate.
But, as well as their war against injustice and cruelty, the outlaws were constantly busy providing themselves with food. Little John had proved himself a clever fisherman but sometimes, instead of catching fish, and unknown to the rest of the band, the giant would sometimes slip away to visit a girl in Wickham, a tiny village by the river.
Early one morning, while the rest of the village was still asleep, Little John sat talking with her in the cow shed.
‘Is he as handsome as they say he is?’ asked Meg slyly. She was a pretty girl with long tousled hair and a dimple in her chin.
Little John was puzzled. ‘Who?’ he asked.
Meg giggled. ‘Robin Hood o’ course! There’re so many stories about him. Some people say he’s Herne the Hunter’s son. They say he can make himself invisible.’
‘We all can,’ said Little John suddenly feeling jealous.
‘Get away,’ jeered Meg. ‘D’you think I’m silly?’
‘That’s why they can’t catch us,’ said Little John.
Meg gave him a sly smile. ‘Go on then,’ she said, ‘make yourself invisible.’
‘Oh, I can’t do it here,’ said Little John quickly. ‘I’d have to be in the forest. It won’t work anywhere else.’
[p.113]
She kissed him. ‘If I lived in the forest, could I do it?’
‘I’d have to teach you!’ said Little John seriously.
‘That’d be nice!’ smiled Meg. She kissed him again. ‘And if I did live there would you marry me?’
‘Of course I would,’ said Little John uneasily, wondering what was coming next.
‘And we’d jump through the fire at midnight with flowers in our hair,’ said Meg. ‘Wouldn’t we?’
The question was never answered. Suddenly a voice shattered the quiet of Wickham. ‘Is everybody dead?’ it shouted harshly.
Little John shot to his feet. He knew that voice. It belonged to Guy of Gisburne. He ran to the shed door. The tall young knight, escorted by two of his men, was leading his horse into the village and people were peering nervously at him from their huts.
‘You miserable slaves!’ bellowed Gisburne angrily. ‘Is this how you serve your lord? Lying in bed with the sun up?’
He was in a bad mood. His horse had thrown a shoe and he needed a smith in a hurry.
Little John picked up his fishing rod and kissed Meg hurriedly. In a panic he squeezed his way out of the door. Unluckily he put his foot in a wooden bucket and, losing his balance, grabbed at some poles leaning against the wall and sent them crashing noisily to the ground. Little John went sprawling. Hearing the clatter, Gisburne looked round and saw him. ‘Wolfshead!’ he shouted. ‘Take him!’
Little John got the bucket off his foot and threw it at the soldiers as they came charging towards him. He ran for the safety of the trees cursing his stupidity in staying so late with Meg. The two soldiers pounded after him but he knew he could outrun them. As he ran further into the forest, a rope snaked down ahead of him. He grabbed it and, in a moment, was hauled up into the branches. Then the soldiers run up and stopped, mystified by his sudden disappearance.
In the tree, Scarlet and Nasir watched the soldiers while Little John got his breath back. Below them, Gisburne’s men crossed themselves superstitiously. It was devil’s work; the [p.114] fugitive had disappeared into thin air. They backed away muttering uneasily. The forest was full of demons with terrible claws that could tear them to pieces. They turned and ran.
Robin and Marion were counting the outlaws’ latest haul when Little John and the others reached them.
‘Gisburne’s men were after him,’ grinned Scarlet. ‘But Nazzy and me fished him up.’
‘Where was this?’ asked Robin.
‘Near Wickham,’ said Little John uneasily.
‘What were you doing there?’ said Robin.
‘I was fishing,’ said Little John guiltily.
Robin looked at his friend; he always knew when anyone was lying. ‘What’s her name?’ he grinned.
There was a pause and then Little John decided to make a clean breast of it. ‘Her name’s Meg,’ he said.
Robin nodded. ‘And did they see you with her?’
Little John shook his head.
‘That’s just as well,’ said Robin. ‘Don’t go there again.’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ said Little John beginning to feel angry.
‘Because you can vanish into Sherwood and the people of Wickham can’t!’ answered Robin.
Little John sat down heavily and sighed. But he knew that Robin was right. Harbouring an outlaw was a serious crime and the thought that he might have caused trouble for the villagers made him uneasy.
A mournful song drifted through the air and the little band looked at one another. Was this some trick of the Sheriff’s to catch them? Without a sound they picked up their weapons and went in the direction of the sound. When they were nearer they could hear the words of the song:
My heart is heavy as a stone
My tears they fall like rain
It was a doleful and depressing ballad and the singer was sobbing his heart out. The outlaws peered at him through the leaves.
He was a young man, dressed in a bright blue tabard with [p.115] wrinkled yellow hose and he slowly jogged his way down the path on a very tired old horse.
For she who is my own true love
I’ll never see again
he warbled.
Robin jumped out in front of him.
‘Maybe she’s heard you singing,’ he said.
Marion and the others appeared and surrounded the singer who looked at them nervously, but nevertheless insisted that they let him pass.
‘When you’ve paid us,’ said Tuck hitching his thumbs in his belt.
‘Paid you for what?’ asked the young man angrily.
‘Disturbing the peace,’ said Little John.
‘And frightening the birds,’ added Robin with a grin.
‘Get down!’ said Scarlet.
The lad shrugged and climbed off his ungainly mount.
‘You won’t find a penny on me,’ he said. ‘I’m a minstrel.’
‘A minstrel?’ laughed Little John. ‘That explains it.’
‘Explains what?’ asked Scarlet.
‘The bad voice and the empty purse,’ replied Little John with a wink.
Robin smiled at the young man. He was obviously harmless. ‘What do they call you, lad?’ he asked.
‘My name’s Alan,’ the youth answered. ‘Alan a Dale.’
‘You’ve nothing to fear from us, Alan. So on your way.’
Alan heaved himself up into the saddle again and the old horse, which had been standing patiently cropping the grass and swishing away the flies with his mangey tail, plodded off again down the path.
‘Where are you going?’ called Marion. ‘To Nottingham?’
Alan nodded.
‘To seek your fortune?’ she laughed.
‘To kill the Sheriff!’
There was a moment of astonishment and then the outlaws ran after him. Robin grabbed the horse’s bridle and it lumbered to a halt.
[p.116]
‘To kill the Sheriff?’ repeated Robin with amusement ‘And how do you mean to do that?’
‘With my sword,’ Alan replied simply.
‘With his sword!’ mocked Scarlet. ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’
‘And if I am to die,’ said Alan dramatically, ‘then so be it. But I shall rid England of a tyrant!’
‘He’s right round the maypole,’ said Scarlet.
‘Why do you want to kill the Sheriff?’ Robin asked him.
Alan dismounted again. ‘Have you seen a flower crushed in a mailed fist?’ he said. ‘The world has become an empty place and life means nothing to me. The flowers, the clouds, the golden glittering sun —’
‘Why do you want to kill him?’ Robin repeated patiently.
‘How can I begin?’ said Alan brokenly. ‘How can I find the words to —’
‘You don’t seem to have any trouble,’ grinned Little John.
‘He’s going to marry the girl I love,’ said Alan.
The outlaws laughed. The idea of the Sheriff of Nottingham getting married was ridiculous.
‘He’ll never marry,’ said Marion. ‘He hates women.’
‘I tell you he’s marrying Mildred,’ said Alan angrily. ‘Mildred de Bracy. Baron de Bracy’s daughter.’
‘You’re aiming a bit high for a minstrel, aren’t you?’ smiled Robin.
‘ “Amor vincit omnia”,’ said Alan.
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Tuck.
‘What’s it mean?’ said Scarlet.
‘Love conquers everything,’ said Marion.
‘I said he was mad,’ said Scarlet.
‘To save the lady of my heart,’ said Alan, in a suitably dramatic voice, ‘I would ride through fire.’
Little John laughed. ‘Not on that horse you wouldn’t!’
But Robin and his friends felt sorry for the romantic young minstrel and persuaded him to abandon his journey to Nottingham. The thought of him trotting up to the castle on this sway-backed nag and challenging the Sheriff to mortal combat had them shaking with laughter, but they wanted to learn [p.117] more about the Sheriff’s intended marriage. So they sat him down, gave him a haunch of venison and listened, doing their best not to laugh.
Alan told them he’d been minstrel to the Baron de Bracy, a violent man who spent most of his time fighting in tournaments, which were often little more than pitched battles. Since he was away from the castle for days on end, Alan had been able to spend most of his time singing love songs to Mildred.
‘She was lonely,’ explained Alan.
‘And a bit deaf,’ said Little John keeping a straight face.
The two of them had fallen in love but then, because of what Alan described as ‘a cruel stroke of fate’, one of the Baron’s tournaments had finished earlier than usual and he had come back to find the two lovers together. De Bracy had hurled Alan into his dungeon while he decided how he was going to kill him. But then, while her father had slept, Mildred had released him.
‘How old is Mildred?’ asked Marion.
‘Sixteen,’ he replied.
‘Life’s not a love song, Alan,’ laughed Robin. ‘You’d better forget her.’
‘Don’t be so heartless,’ said Marion. ‘How can he? What kind of life will she have with the Sheriff?’
Alan told them that the powerful Baron had chosen Robert de Rainault to be his son-in-law and had practically forced him to agree to the marriage. A large dowry, and the thought of what the Baron might do if he refused, had finally decided him.
‘When is the wedding to be?’ asked Robin.
‘As soon as Mildred’s brought to Nottingham,’ groaned Alan hopelessly.

* * *
The Sheriff sat in a large wooden bathtub and looked angrily at Guy of Gisburne. Across the tub was a plank, on which lay a trencher of bread, some cheese, apples and a flagon of wine. A servant was sprinkling rose petals into the water and occasionally some of these landed on the Sheriff. Gisburne [p.118] had told him how he’d seen Little John in Wickham and was doing his best to explain why he’d failed to capture him.
‘And I suppose none of the villagers knew he’d been there,’ said the Sheriff, fuming at Gisburne’s incompetence.
‘None of them,’ said Gisburne. ‘They were lying, of course. Might I suggest we drive them into the forest and burn Wickham to the ground. As an example, my lord.’
‘An example of what?’ said the Sheriff, flicking rose petals from his shoulder.
Gisburne’s expression was blank.
‘I’ll tell you, Gisburne, shall I?’ said the Sheriff working himself into one of his rages, ‘since you’re obviously incapable of answering my question. An example of your stupidity. An example of your ignorance. An example of your total failure to control the people of Sherwood and destroy the power of Robin Hood!’
He threw an apple at the young Steward and knocked the rest of the food into the water. The flagon of wine gurgled its way to the bottom of the tub while he screamed: ‘Those people are my property! The fields they work are my fields! And your masterly plan is to drive them into the forest to join up with that wolfshead!’ He splashed his way out of the tub and ordered Gisburne to fetch him a towel. After he wrapped himself in it, he prowled round the room like a Roman emperor about to throw Christians to the lions.
‘I have it,’ he said at last. ‘A fine. A heavy fine. A hundred pennies from every man. Now rub me dry!’
Gisburne was furious he’d been given such a menial task but he had to obey.
‘And at the same time I’ll double the reward — harder Gisburne — for any outlaw brought to Nottingham, dead or alive. The way to a man’s obedience is through his pocket!’ He pulled away irritably, suddenly reminded of his forthcoming marriage. ‘Baron de Bracy’s son-in-law! Why in Heaven’s name did I agree to be united in the unholy bonds of matrimony? Is it worth the money, Gisburne? Is it worth a thousand marks?’
Gisburne said nothing.
[p.119]
‘Why don’t you answer?’ snapped the Sheriff.
‘I assumed the question was rhetorical, my lord,’ Gisburne replied.
The Sheriff glared at him. ‘Never assume anything, Gisburne. Except an occasional air of intelligence. You’d better go and fetch her. And the ghastly man who’s supposed to be her father. Though I imagine that’s a matter of some doubt, considering he spends most of his time on horseback. You’ll get on famously with him. All he ever talks about is harnesses and helmets. No wonder his coat-of-arms is a rampant boar.’
The Sheriff sniggered at his pun and began climbing the stairs to his bed chamber.
‘And when will the — the ceremony — take place, my lord?’ asked Gisburne.
‘When I’m drunk enough to go through with it,’ replied the Sheriff continuing up the stairs. ‘Good night, Gisburne.’

[p.125]
CHAPTER 17

‘Why aren’t you eating?’ the Sheriff asked Mildred coldly.
They sat with Gisburne in the Great Hall of the castle on the eve of the wedding. Tears trickled down Mildred’s face and plopped into her soup.
‘I’ve no appetite,’ sniffed Mildred.
‘No appetite,’ repeated the Sheriff sarcastically. ‘No appetite for anything, have you?’
Mildred burst into tears.
‘Emotional creature, isn’t she, Gisburne?’ sneered the Sheriff. ‘Any mention of our forthcoming nuptials and she positively overflows. I sometimes wonder where it all comes from.’
Gisburne, who had overeaten as usual, asked the Sheriff if he was expecting many guests.
‘It’s a wedding, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff, sipping his wine, ‘not a celebration. Oh, I made a list of people. But then, after I read it, I began crossing them off and I went on crossing them off until there was nobody left to cross off.’ He paused. The wretched girl was still weeping. ‘Do try to control your joy, Mildred,’ he said.
He looked sourly at Gisburne. ‘Fortunately, most of my relatives are either dead or living in Normandy. Which amounts to the same thing.’
‘What about the Abbot Hugo, my lord?’ asked Gisburne.
‘My dear brother had a sudden and totally uncharacteristic surge of piety and hurried off on pilgrimage to Walsingham. Thus saving both his soul and the necessity of providing me with a wedding present.’
A servant came to the Sheriff’s side and told him that a girl from Wickham had arrived from the castle and was begging to see him. It was Meg.
[p.126]
‘Not another of your little mistakes, is she, Gisburne?’ said the Sheriff nastily.
Meg knelt nervously at the Sheriff’s feet. ‘It’s about the outlaws, my lord,’ she said. ‘I can help you catch them all of them.’
The Sheriff’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m listening,’ he said quietly.
‘If you pardoned the village, my lord, I could —’
‘If? If? Do you think I make bargains with scum like you?"
Meg began to weep.
‘Oh God, not another one!’ he groaned. ‘Stop howling, woman, or you’ll have something to howl about. Whether I pardoned the village or not would depend on your information, wouldn’t it?’
‘You can catch them tomorrow, my lord,’ Meg told him.
‘Tomorrow?’ breathed the Sheriff, looking quickly at the three chests of silver, ‘but I’m being married tomorrow.’
‘I wish you joy, my lord,’ said Meg humbly. ‘They’re coming here to the castle.’
The Sheriff laughed unpleasantly. ‘Who told you this fable?’ he said.
‘It’s true!’ said Meg vehemently. ‘I heard them!’
‘Get out!’ said the Sheriff and threw a bone at her.
‘But, my lord —’
‘Guard!’ called the Sheriff. ‘Throw this lying trollop out!’
Meg was dragged away still protesting loudly that she was telling the truth.
The Sheriff’s sour mood had suddenly evaporated and he looked amiably at the young Steward. ‘How very amusing!’ he murmured.
‘But suppose it is the truth, my lord!’ said Gisburne.
‘I hope it is,’ chuckled the Sheriff. ‘Because we’ll be ready for them, won’t we?’
‘But the wedding — ‘
‘The wedding will proceed,’ said the Sheriff. He leered at Mildred. ‘How could I possibly disappoint my bride. She’s so looking forward to it, aren’t you my dear? Besides, Gisburne, the capture of Robin Hood would be a fine feather in your cap and an excellent wedding gift for me.’
[p.127]
Mildred could bear it no longer and asked the Sheriff if she might go to bed.
The Sheriff nodded briefly. ‘Escort Lady Mildred to her chamber will you, Gisburne,’ he said coldly.
Gisburne bowed and hurried out with the girl. The Sheriff watched them go, poured himself another goblet of wine and, deep in thought, walked slowly over to the three chests of silver.
Meanwhile, Meg hurried away from Nottingham to find Robin and his friends waiting for her in the darkness of the roadside. There were three large chests in the Great Hall, she told them, and she had primed the Sheriff to expect an attack. This was still part of the plan that Little John couldn’t understand. Why Robin wanted their enemy to know that they were coming was totally beyond him.
Robin thanked Meg for her courage and asked Tuck who would be most likely to perform the marriage ceremony. The portly monk was sure it would be Father Giraldus from the Church of St John’s. He was an old crony of the Sheriff’s and one of the most tight-fisted rascals alive.

* * *
The following morning Giraldus offered no resistance when the outlaws slid down from the trees in front of him. Neither did the two monks he had brought with him from St John’s. All three were stripped of their vestments, tied hand and foot and dumped down among the roots of a giant beech.
While Robin and Nasir dressed themselves as the two monks, Tuck helped Alan into Giraldus’s robes. The young minstrel was panic-stricken at the thought of having to play a priest.
‘Think of Mildred,’ said Marion who was dressed as a village girl and had on a wide-brimmed straw bonnet to hide her face.
‘But — but I’ve never married anyone!’ said Alan in a panic, turning to Tuck. ‘Can’t you do it?’
‘The Sheriff knows me, you fool!’ Tuck chuckled. ‘Besides, if I married them they’d really be married — even if I crossed my fingers. But if you do it, it won’t count.’
‘It won’t get that far,’ said Robin.
[p.128]
‘You hope,’ said Little John.
Tuck gave Alan a little book. ‘Just mumble over that,’ he said.
‘Can he read?’ said Scarlet who was dressed as one of the castle guard.
‘He doesn’t have to,’ grinned Tuck. ‘Half the real priests can’t. Not many of them know any Latin either!’
‘I can’t stop shaking,’ said Alan.
‘That’s all right,’ laughed Robin. ‘You’re a young priest. It’s your first wedding.’
‘And maybe your last,’ said Scarlet.

* * *
An altar had been built in the Great Hall of Nottingham Castle and two large candlesticks placed each side of it. On the steps in front of the altar stood the three chests of silver. Serving maids were decorating the grey drabness of the hall with garlands of flowers and all was bustle and excitement as Gisburne marched in with almost the entire castle guard. He wore his best armour, brightly polished, and a long cloak trimmed with fur. Bringing his men smartly to a halt he turned to address them.
‘As you all know,’ he said pacing up and down pompously in front of them, ‘today sees the marriage of your master, Lord Robert de Rainault, High Sheriff of Nottingham, to the Lady Mildred de Bracy, youngest daughter of Baron de Bracy. It is to be a joyful occasion and nothing must be allowed to spoil it. There is a rumour that Robin Hood and his followers mean to steal the Lady Mildred’s dowry. Well, I’d like to see them try!’
The men laughed dutifully. Unfortunately their laughter coincided exactly with the entrance of the Sheriff, who thought they were laughing at him.
‘Are you trying to be funny, Gisburne?’ he asked coldly.
Into the hall came Alan in his borrowed robes flanked by Robin and Nasir. They wore the monks’ habits with the hoods pulled well over their faces and walked with their heads bent low, carrying two large crosses.
Gisburne hurried over to them. ‘Where is Father Giraldus?’ he asked.
[p.129]
‘I am the bearer of bad tidings, my lord,’ stammered Alan nervously. ‘I have been sent in his place.’
‘What bad tidings?’
‘He is sick, my lord.’
‘But he dined here two days ago!’ said Gisburne in surprised tones.
‘Indeed he did, my lord, indeed he did,’ said Alan quickly. ‘More’s the pity.’
‘What in Heaven’s name do you mean?’ asked Gisburne completely mystified.
‘On his return to the church, he was seized with the most dreadful pains,’ said Alan improvising wildly. ‘Vehement gripes in the bowels all through Evensong, a most unseasonable sweat throughout his body — a loud singing in his ears — a fearful trembling in his limbs —’
‘Probably the pork,’ grunted Gisburne unsympathetically. ‘Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. And you are —?’
‘Father Matthew, my lord.’
Gisburne hurried over to the Sheriff, and explained matters.
‘I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,’ said the Sheriff, ‘judging by the way Giraldus pigged himself the other night.’
Robin and Nasir walked slowly to the altar and knelt in prayer, flanked by the castle guard, while the Sheriff sent Gisburne scuttling off to fetch his bride.
Outside the castle, Marion drove up on a cart loaded with hay and stopped at the gatehouse. Much was with her, wearing a smock and a battered old straw hat. A soldier came forward and looked at them suspiciously.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked stolidly.
‘I’ve a gift of mead and honey for the Sheriff,’ said Marion giving him a dazzling smile. ‘It’s from the villagers of Wickham and Elsden.’
‘Mead, eh?’ said the guard licking his lips.
‘Like to try some?’ said Much handing down a bottle. The man looked round hastily, made sure no one was looking and then took a swig.
‘D’you know who we saw on our way here?’ said Marion [p.130] looking down the road to the distant forest. ‘Robin Hood and his gang.’
The guard wiped his lips hastily and handed back the bottle. ‘Are you sure?’ he said.
‘Coming out of Sherwood,’ went on Marion. ‘Looked like they was heading this way!’
The guard called his mate and they looked out nervously from the gateway while Marion drove on into the courtyard. Under the hay, the rest of the outlaws waited tensely. They were past the guard but the most hazardous part of Robin’s plan had yet to begin.
Marion halted the cart near the stables and she kept watch while the outlaws slid out from under the hay, and began to unload it. Scarlet, in his helmet and chain-mail, pretended to be watching them. The scene would look innocent enough if anyone else happened to come by.
The outlaws kept their longbows in the cart. And they didn’t unload the straw skeps they had borrowed from the beekeeper in Wickham.
Inside the Great Hall the wedding was about to begin. Alan trembled on the altar steps while Gisburne led Mildred up to the Sheriff. She gasped when she recognized the young priest and the Sheriff frowned irritably. If the girl was about to have another crying fit, he thought he would strangle her.
‘In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu —’ began Alan.
‘You bless us at the end of the ceremony!’ snapped the Sheriff.
Alan blushed and began again. ‘I — er — charge you — if — if you know of any reason — any reason why — er — these two should not — not be joined in wedlock —’
‘Get on with it!’ snarled the Sheriff impatiently.
‘To — to speak now or from this moment — er — remain forever silent —’
Mildred was still staring at the minstrel as if she was in a dream.
Alan turned to the Sheriff. ‘Will you have this woman to be your wedded wife?’ he said, trying hard to remember the words that Tuck had taught him, ‘and live under God’s holy law —’
[p.131]
‘For as long as you both shall live,’ finished the Sheriff impatiently. ‘Damnation, man, I know it better than you do! Yes, I will.’
Robin was beginning to wonder what had happened to the others. His plan was simple. To get Gisburne and his soldiers out of the Great Hall on a wild goose chase. Only then would they be able to steal the silver.
‘Will you have this man to be your wedded husband — er — in sickness and in health —?’ stammered Alan to Mildred.
A man-at-arms appeared at the far end of the hall. It was Scarlet. ‘Outlaws! Outlaws!’ he called in a panic.
Gisburne’s hand was already going for his sword.
‘They’re in the castle, my lord Sheriff!’ called Scarlet. ‘They’re coming in through the kitchens! Hundreds of them!’
This was too much for Gisburne and he left the Sheriff’s side and raced down the hall with the castle guard hard on his heels.
The Sheriff was about to follow him when Robin threw back his hood and took Albion from beneath his habit. The Sheriff stared stupidly while Mildred threw herself into Alan’s arms and Scarlet and Nasir opened the main doors. The cart rumbled in and stopped in front of the altar. Little John and the others jumped down and began loading the dowry.
‘You’ll have to find another bride, Sheriff,’ said Robin pushing him backwards with the point of his sword.
‘When the Baron hears of this,’ rasped the Sheriff, looking in astonishment at Mildred who was still kissing Alan passionately, ‘he’ll have you both torn to pieces!’
Little John and Tuck lifted the second chest on to the cart.
‘You’ll never get out of here alive!’ raged the Sheriff. As if to give point to his words Gisburne and his men could be heard coming back. But the last chest was now loaded and the cart already beginning to move. Alan and Mildred jumped on and the outlaws hurled the beehives down the hall.
The straw hives burst open and a cloud of angry bees rose into the air as Gisburne and his men reappeared. They howled and danced as the bees began stinging them.
[p.132]
By now the cart was heading across the courtyard with all the outlaws safely inside it. It swept through the gateway past the startled guards and trundled off down the road. In the hall the soldiers were howling in a frenzy as the bees got under their armour. They ran to and fro slapping their chain-mail, they rolled on the floor, but there was no escape.
The Sheriff ran to his bath tub with bees buzzing spitefully round his head. He ripped his clothes off and dived in. A moment later Gisburne followed him.
The two men groaned with relief as the cool water soothed their stings. But when the last of the bees had buzzed away from the tub in search of other victims the Sheriff began laughing. He laughed until Gisburne started to wonder if his master had finally gone mad.
‘Stones,’ giggled the Sheriff. ‘Nothing but stones.’
‘Stones, my lord?’ said Gisburne hoping he was harmless.
‘Stones, Gisburne!’ chuckled the Sheriff. The chuckle was followed by a groan. ‘By God, there isn’t an inch of me that hasn’t been stung.’
‘But — I — don’t understand,’ said the young Steward.
‘You wouldn’t, would you, Gisburne?’ sneered the Sheriff. ‘It’s just that I don’t have the same confidence in your ability to protect Nottingham Castle that you have. Which is why last night I had the silver taken from the chests and replaced with stones.’
The Sheriff paused to let his words sink in; then he smiled triumphantly. ‘So now I have the dowry without having to marry that awful girl. And the Baron will think Robin Hood has it so he can’t ask for it back. It’s all worked out remarkably well in the end, you see.’
The Sheriff turned round in the bath. ‘Scratch my back, Gisburne,’ he murmured.
So the Sheriff had tricked Robin for the second time, and when the outlaws broke open the stone-filled chests and saw what was in them they swore that one day they would have their revenge.
But Tuck married the young minstrel to the Baron’s [p.133] laughter and they went north into Scotland where Alan found service with the king. Before they left, Mildred gave Robin a gold necklace that had once belonged to her mother.
And it paid the fine for the villagers of Wickham.