Much perched miserably in the tree. The hood from his tunic provided little protection from the rain. It was early April, and with those first buds of spring came mist, drizzle and downpours. The young man shivered as his wet clothing clung closely to his goose-pimpled skin. He thought of his friends huddled close to the fire or tucked away in the cave. Why had they insisted he keep watch? Who would possibly choose to travel on a day like this? Even tax collectors took shelter from the rain.
“That’s it,” Much said through chattering teeth. “If they want to keep watch, they can sit out in the rain!”
Much glanced at the road one last time and froze. Then he pushed the heavy soaked hood from his head as if he feared his eyes were deceiving him. From the tree’s branches, Much could see a man on horseback or, more precisely, a knight upon his charger. The glint of chain-mail almost caused Much a moment of panic, but then he realized that it wasn’t a knight he had met before. This man’s cloak wasn’t blue but burgundy, and the horse he rode was white not black. In addition, this knight was indulging in an activity Gisburne would never engage in: he was singing.
Much slipped from the tree and, stepping over puddles, he crept towards the road. He had always found music irresistible.
The voice had a deep, rich timbre. Much crouched silently in some bushes and carefully brushed some leaves aside. He expected to see a young robust warrior, but, on closer inspection, he observed an old man with a barrel chest.
“I could not easily be consoled, Fair Knight, once I had left you in sorrow,” the man sang, “for my heart is not inclined to anyone else, nor does my desire lead me elsewhere, for I desire no other...” *
The white horse neighed loudly and the knight laughed. “I never claimed to be a troubadour, my friend.” The horse snorted and tossed his head. Suddenly, the knight pulled sharply on the reins. A peasant with a longbow had just appeared on the road.
“Greetings,” the knight said.
The peasant smiled shyly. “I like your singing,” Much said.
The knight seemed taken aback at first, but he quickly recovered. “Why, thank you. You have admirable taste for a serf.”
“I’m not a serf," Much explained. "I’m an outlaw.”
“Ah...I suppose that’s why you carry a bow. I thought you were just a poacher. Well, go ahead and shoot me, boy. I’m not afraid.”
Much’s brow creased in confusion. “I’m not going to shoot you.”
The knight drew himself up indignantly. “I’m prepared to die.”
Much gaped up at the knight. He was beginning to wish he had summoned the others. They would know what to make of this strange knight. Much decided to follow the path that always seemed to serve his friends best. He quickly notched an arrow and raised his bow.
“Give me your money,” Much said, trying to sound bold.
“But I haven’t got any.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t need it,” the knight replied.
Much tried to remain disinterested, but his curiosity overwhelmed his better judgment. “Why?” he asked.
“I cannot attain what I seek with silver or gold.”
“You can’t?”
“No.”
Much scratched his head and a drop of water rolled down his nose. He shivered.
“You’re soaking wet,” the knight said, seemingly oblivious to his own sorry state. “You should seek shelter before you catch your death.”
“Yes, I suppose I should.” He studied the knight, still debating what to do with him. He couldn’t leave him on the road. Robin would never do that. “Come on,” Much said at last. “You’d better come with me.”
Robert de Rainault sneered at the tall dripping figure. The pathetic creature had presented itself to him briefly before darting over to the inviting glow of the hearth.
“Well?” the Sheriff demanded.
The knight rubbed his icy hands together but said nothing. His teeth must be chattering, the Sheriff thought, who was in a generous enough mood to excuse his steward’s lapse in manners. Of course, warm dry clothes and a goblet of wine usually improved the spirit.
“My-my lord...”
Ah, now the teeth were chattering.
“I’ll catch him. He’ll be hiding in one of the villages, or may-maybe somewhere in Nottingham.”
“I don’t see why it matters. He isn’t from this shire. Is it worth catching your death in order to catch one vagabond? He isn’t our concern, Gisburne.”
“I won’t have criminals in this shire,” Gisburne said gruffly.
“Oh, won’t you, Gisburne?” The Sheriff poured some more wine into his goblet. “Do you really think the King cares about one petty criminal when he has to contend with Llwelyn? Why, even Robin Hood has become a secondary concern.”
“Hmm...Robin Hood,” the knight muttered. “My lord, do you think he might have joined the wolfsheads?”
The Sheriff directed an icy glare at his steward, wishing the fire had taken the chill from Gisburne’s bones, for it might have been worth the effort, then.
“He could be in Sherwood,” Gisburne persisted, a sneeze adding emphasis to his statement. “May I be excused, my lord?” he added quietly. The Sheriff scowled and dismissed the knight with a wave of his hand. Gisburne headed quickly to his chamber, his shoes squelching on the stairs. He hurried down the drafty corridors and, when he finally reached his chamber, he burst eagerly through the door.
“Who are you?” he exclaimed.
A pretty, young woman, with dark hair and eyes, turned to face him. She might have been a welcome sight if she wasn’t blocking the wardrobe.
The rain had stopped. The outlaws stumbled out of the cave like a family of sleepy bears. John yawned and Will rubbed his eyes with both fists. Tuck and Nasir carried out the stag they had killed before the weather had turned: the stag Tuck had insisted on dragging into the cave despite everyone’s objections.
Robin stepped out after Tuck and Nasir. He looked at the gloomy sky and the heavy dripping trees. He was sorely tempted to turn back. Then he remembered. “I’d better check on Much.”
John winced, looking guilty. “Aye, the poor lad must be soaked through.”
“I’ll cook some stew," Tuck said over the stag's back. "That should warm his belly.”
Will, who was as protective towards Much as an older brother might be, had resolved to find some dry clothes for his friend. However, his intentions changed when they entered the camp and found Much and a stranger seated comfortably before the fire.
“Who’s ’e?” Will shouted, thrusting a finger in the air.
“I am Sir George de Giraut,” the knight answered. “This young man took me prisoner.”
“Much, you should have signalled to us first,” Robin said. “You could have been hurt.”
Sir George chuckled. “Oh, there was no chance of that happening, I’m afraid. He had an arrow aimed at my heart almost instantly.”
“You robbed him at least, didn’t you?” Will demanded.
“I couldn’t," Much said. "He didn’t have any money.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Sir George admitted, smiling at the outlaws. “I fear you’ll have no choice but to kill me.”
“Kill you?” Tuck cried. “We’re not going to kill you!”
“It’s quite all right. I understand, brother. As a man of the cloth, would you permit me to say a short prayer first?”
“We are not going to kill you,” Robin stated firmly.
“Oh, Heavenly Father,” the knight began.
“We aren’t going to kill you,” Robin repeated. “I promise.”
“...please grant me the strength – ”
“He’s mad,” Will muttered. “Completely mad...”
Suddenly Sir George was on his feet. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes blazing. “I’m not mad!” he protested furiously. “I fought at Acre and Ascalon! I was with Richard when he defeated Saladin! I once faced eight men in a drunken brawl!”
“I faced twelve,” Will retorted, rubbing the back of his head as if he still remembered the fight. The knight’s face fell for an instant, but then he managed to rally his courage again.
“It’s fortunate that you have faced a dozen men. You’ll need all of your strength when I challenge you.”
Will laughed. “Challenge me?”
Sir George reached for his sword, the one Much had neglected to collect from him. Scarlet favoured Sir George with an unpleasant leer.
“Will!” Robin said.
“What?” the outlaw snarled, whipping around to face his leader.
Robin was shaking his head emphatically. Will grumbled a protest, but he obeyed Robin’s command all the same. Sir George watched in astonishment as the hot-tempered outlaw stormed away.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the knight asked angrily, his dark eyes narrowing.
“You must forgive me, my lord," Robin said. "It was selfish of me to interfere, but good men are hard to find and I couldn’t risk losing this one.”
“What are you talking about?” Will shouted from across the camp. “That’s a load of 'ogwash, that is!”
“Oh, I see,” Sir George replied. He had been so enthralled by Robin’s explanation that he had barely noticed Scarlet’s outburst. He studied Robin, appraising the young man. “You’re of noble birth!”
“’E’s an earl’s son,” Will spat, seeking revenge.
Robin shot him a dirty look, but it was too late.
“An earl’s son! But this can’t be true! Why, to live in the forest like an animal, you’d have to be...to be...”
“Robin Hood?” the outlaw suggested.
“That’s it!” Sir George cried, clapping Robin on the shoulder. “You’re a clever young man, aren’t you?”
“I try to be.”
“Well, don’t try to be too clever, or you’ll find your head in a noose.”
“Thank you," Robin answered, trying to keep a straight face. "I’ll try to remember that. But, come, you must be hungry. Eat with us.”
“I can’t. I’m fasting.”
“Fasting!” Tuck cried in horror.
“Yes. You see, I’m on a quest.”
Will and John stared at the knight, then sputtered with laughter. Sir George flushed again and Tuck leapt in before their guest could issue another challenge.
“A quest, my lord? Why, then, you must eat with us. You need to keep up your strength.”
“Hmm...perhaps you are right, brother," Sir George said. "I’ll begin fasting once I’ve found my squire.”
“You lost your squire?” John howled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
“Lost him? Well, of course I haven’t lost him! I know exactly where he is or, at least, I think I do...” Sir George said, suddenly seeming rather anxious.
Robin handed him a cup of water. “When did you last see your squire, Sir George?” he asked gently.
The knight glanced at him in surprise. Then his brow furrowed. “Well, now, let me think...It couldn’t have been more than six or seven years ago...”
“You really don’t remember me, do you?” the lady said, taking a step forward.
“Should I?” Gisburne studied her closely and shivered.
“Get out of those clothes, Guy.”
“What?”
“You’re chilled to the bone,” the lady replied with a smile. She brushed past him and headed for the door. “I’ll return when you’re more suitably attired.”
Gisburne heard the door shut, but he remained transfixed to the spot. If her skirts hadn’t swept against him when she'd passed, he might have believed that the lady was a dream. He might just as well have been asleep, for he moved to his wardrobe in a trance, barely noticing what articles he removed from it.
He dressed slowly, his mind not on the task. He was just stepping into his left shoe when there was a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
It opened and the lady walked into his chamber.
“Look, who are you?” Gisburne demanded. “What do you want?”
“Your help.”
A pair of eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why? What’s happened?”
The lady looked down, studying her hands. "My grandfather has disappeared,” she said quietly. “I believe he’s heading to Nottingham...to see you.”
“Me? Why?” Gisburne stared at her, confused. “Who is your grandfather?”
“He is Sir George de Giraut,” the lady explained calmly.
“Enide?” Gisburne cried in astonishment.
She smiled again, her lips curling in an almost feral smirk. “So, you remember me after all.”
“But...but...the last time I saw you, you were-were – ”
“A little girl with freckles, tangled hair and a grubby surcoat?”
“Uh...yes,” the knight admitted.
“Well, I’m not a little girl anymore, Guy.”
“No, you certainly aren’t,” Gisburne agreed, casting an appreciative glance at her body. Another lady might have blushed, but not Enide. She had spent much of her life among boys and men. She had been raised by a man and, now that she had entered womanhood, she found that she understood men or, at least, their weaknesses. She decided to close the distance between them. Gisburne watched her approach in wonder, then almost jumped back in surprise when she laid a hand on his chest.
“I’m so glad you remember me," Enide said. "It’s much more awkward asking for help from a stranger. You’ll help me find him, won’t you? My grandfather was very fond of you. You were his favourite. I’m certain.”
Gisburne grunted a retort. “I was not!”
“Well, you were his last squire,” Enide argued, a little impatiently. “That has to mean something.”
“I’ll tell you what it means,” Gisburne said, moving away from her hand. “If Sir George comes here, I’ll encourage him to return home.”
“Encourage? Surely, you mean force, Guy!”
“But he’s Sir George!”
“Exactly! Do you think a few words of encouragement will stay him from his course?”
“Course? What course?”
“Well...I don’t know exactly, but it’s madness and folly, I tell you! Oh, you must stop him!”
“The Sheriff might spare some men,” Gisburne suggested, sounding doubtful.
“No!" Enide commanded firmly. "No one must know! I will not have him dishonoured. We must keep this to ourselves.” Enide gazed at Gisburne pleadingly, and then the door burst open.
“My lord, the-Oh, I didn’t realize that...” A guard stood awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes fastened on the lady.
“What?” Gisburne asked irritably.
“My lord, the wanted man, the-the vagabond...”
“Yes?”
“He was seen in the alehouse down the street!”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“See that my horse is saddled.”
“Yes, my lord.” The guard backed away gratefully, and Enide immediately grasped Gisburne’s arm.
“Guy," she said, "my grandfather – ”
“Will have to wait,” Gisburne replied brusquely, pulling his arm away.
Enide followed him to the door, only to have it slam in her face. “Guy!” she shouted furiously. “Ooooh!”
“Have some more meat, my lord,” Tuck suggested, having warmed to their guest’s healthy appetite.
“Thank you, brother," Sir George said. "I must compliment you on this fine repast.” Then he sighed when he remembered his fast.
“My lord, what is this quest that requires such sacrifice?” Tuck asked.
The knight accepted another portion and chewed thoughtfully a few times before answering. “I have heard tell of a reliquary that belonged to Saint Cuthbert. I mean to find this sacred object if I have to travel the whole of England to do so.”
“A worthy quest, indeed!” Tuck said.
Robin sounded less enthusiastic. “Why did you choose this quest?”
Sir George hesitated and, for a moment, Robin thought that the knight was trying to evade the question. Then, he regarded the outlaw with mournful eyes.
“My son spent his last days at Durham Cathedral. The monks told me that he saw Saint Cuthbert before he died and that this brought him great comfort. If I can find the reliquary and return it to the cathedral, I will also die happy.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that was finally dispelled by Scarlet.
“Saint Cuthbert?" Will said. "Ain’t he dead?”
“Yes, Will,” Tuck answered wryly.
“Like ’is squire?”
“My squire isn’t dead!” Sir George stated indignantly. “Do you think I would travel all the way to Nottingham if that was true?”
Robin started laughing, almost choking on his venison. “His squire isn’t dead,” Robin gasped, as John thumped him vigorously on the back. “You saw him in Wickham four days ago.”
“What?” his friends cried.
“Haven’t you worked it out yet?”
Everyone shook their heads except Tuck, whose eyes grew wide in wonder.
“No! It can’t be! Do you really think so?”
“It has to be.”
“Who is it?” John demanded.
Robin grinned mercilessly, but Will had already begun to follow his line of reasoning.
“What?" Will cried. "Gisburne?”
“That’s it!” Sir George said, slapping his thigh. “Edmond of Gisburne!”
“Edmond!” Tuck exclaimed.
“No...that isn’t right...”
“Guy?” Robin suggested helpfully.
“Of course! I could never forget him! It was almost a fortnight before he even came close to hitting that quintain! It was strange because he could outride all the other boys. I wonder how he managed to master it in the end...”
“Gisburne?” Will and John questioned in disbelief.
“Hmm...Yes, but not Edmond...Ah, I remember! Good man to have in a battle, though he was an appalling brute. ”
“Let me get this straight,” Will said, who was still having trouble grasping the situation. “You’re going to ask Gisburne to go on...on...?”
“A quest,” Tuck said.
“This quest with you?”
Sir George nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“And you think 'e’ll go?”
“He has to. There is no one else.”
“But...there has to be!” Will said.
“No, I’m afraid there isn’t. More than half of my squires are dead. The others refused outright. Guy is the only one left.”
“Well, he is good at finding crosses,” John joked, punching Will in the arm.
“Yeah, very good,” Will grumbled, still mortified that he had believed Gisburne and his men were lepers.
“Is he really?” Sir George asked in excitement.
“Aye," John said. "He took – ”
Tuck cut him off quickly. “John...”
“Uh...I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.”
“I’m looking forward to it!” Sir George answered, oblivious to the outlaws’ remorseful glances. He stood and stretched. “Well, I had better be on my way. As you have reminded me numerous times that I am a guest and not a prisoner, I’d better go before I wear out my welcome.”
“No, don’t let him go!” Much cried, already imagining Sir George languishing in the dungeon.
“Why, what’s the matter?” the knight asked, turning abruptly on his heel.
“We can’t let you leave, Sir George,” Robin said.
“I thought you said I was a guest.”
“You are, which is why we insist you stay. Gisburne will still be in Nottingham tomorrow.”
The knight raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that I stay here for the night?”
“You may have to sleep in worse places once you start on your quest,” Tuck argued.
“Hmm...this is true.”
“And we’d love to hear more about Saint Cuthbert’s reliquary,” Robin added.
“Hey!” Will protested.
“And all about your squire...Guy.”
A beautiful grin spread across Scarlet’s face. Suddenly, both he and John were leading Sir George back to the fire, while Tuck scooped out another helping of stew.
* Taken from Raimbaut de Vaqueiras’ Kalenda Maia ni fueills de faia.
