THE GATHERING

"Here." As usual Nasir used a single word where any other member of the band would have used at least half a dozen. Robin glanced up. He had abandoned the rope making some time ago, when they had reached a respectable length, and had been using the time to sit quietly and try to plan an offensive. All that he was able to come up with, no matter how hard he thought about it, were variations on 'run very fast and try not to get shot'. The theory was sound, certainly, and hopefully it would work.

"What?" He rejoined the little group, whose ranks had now been swelled by Much and Edward. Will was hovering, as impatient as ever, and Tuck appeared to be asleep. Nasir didn't elucidate, unsurprisingly, but merely held up the finished product. Robin was impressed. Having shaped the length of bone as well as he could, Nasir had bound it tightly with strips of unused material, thereby hopefully ensuring that it would be more or less silent when it was thrown up at the trapdoor overhead. Fixed firmly to it by means of a length of spare bow cord that somebody had been carrying, was the home-made rope. A second such set, a lack of material making the rope several feet shorter than the first, lay nearby.

"Perfect!" Taking the adapted piece of bone, Robin tested its weight. The balance wasn't quite right, but he wasn't inclined to worry about something like that. Now all that remained was to get it up to the door. Uncertain of his own aim he offered it back to Nasir, but the Saracen shook his head and pointed at John.

"Me?" John shrugged. As a shepherd he had developed an excellent aim with a variety of weapons that were considerably less sophisticated than a bow and arrow - most shepherds did. Slings and stones and catapults were, naturally enough, rather easier to acquire when living on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere.

"Do you think you can do it?" Robin asked him. He nodded.

"I think so. Give me a moment."

"Take all the time you need. We don't want any accidents." Robin watched as the big man climbed to his feet and began to pay out a practical length of rope. "Do you think that the holes in the grille are big enough to get that thing lodged in?"

"They'll have to be, won't they." John smiled at him. "Otherwise we're back to the old plan, of me having to lift two or three of you up there. I never did think much of that idea."

"It's not exactly efficient." Robin thought about how he had used just that method to escape the last time that he had been a prisoner, and smiled to remember it. The wobbling, the desperate whispers, the constant danger of the awkwardly balanced piles of wriggling people toppling into a helpless tangle... Not to mention the decidedly unhelpful mutterings of the elderly man who had shared the cell, exalting in his own inability ever to escape. He was probably still here somewhere, undoubtedly still muttering sweet nothings to his pet rat, and being very cheerful about the fact that he would never again see the light of day. Still, each to his own.

"I think..." Staring up at the trapdoor, John tried to pick a likely spot where the grappling hook would be liable to hold firm. "I think about there, where the hinges are, it might just catch."

"Only one way to find out."

"Yeah." John seemed about to throw the hook, then paused. "If this doesn't work, and I make a hell of a noise, and all of the guards come running and see to it that we're executed immediately... well I just wanted to say that this has been the strangest fortnight of my life. And definitely the best."

"Yeah." Robin thought back over the events of recent days - the deer that Much had shot, the first encounter with Gisburne, the beginnings of their life as outlaws, and thieves on the roads through Sherwood Forest. Certainly the strangest of times, but probably the most fulfilling. "No regrets?"

"And there never will be." John took a deep breath. "Well here goes then." He weighed the hook one last time in his large, strong hand - then let it fly. It soared up in the air, dragging its rope behind it in a train of muted green and brown; and stuck fast just beside the hinges of the door far above them. Robin grinned, and Will gave a much hushed whoop. John gave the rope a tug.

"It's secure." He glanced around at them all. "So who's going up?"

"Me." Robin could see that both Nasir and Will were volunteering, but he was determined to do this much himself. So far he didn't seem to have contributed much beyond getting them all captured in the first place, and that hadn't exactly required a great deal of skill. "Where's that knife?" Nasir handed it across.

"Cut here." He pointed to his forearm, just above the back of the wrist. Robin nodded, then putting the knife into his mouth, he took hold of the rope and began to climb.

It was easy going, for the knots made good hand holds, and his arms were strong. In no time at all he was at the top of the rope, and was peering up into the semidarkness of the chamber above. He could see nobody, although he could hear the voices of nearby guards. They were playing some kind of game as far as he could tell; something that seemed to involve arguing, and some kind of gambling stakes. Wherever they were and whatever they were doing, clearly they were not able to see into Robin's cell, or at the very least not clearly enough to be a threat to him. Keeping one eye open in case somebody did come, he changed his grip on the rope, took up the knife, and gritted his teeth. This had better work. Drawing the knife across his arm he cut into the skin. The blood welled up immediately, and he reached forward to let it run onto the bolt. Thicker than water, and with a texture more suited to the task of lubrication, the blood was easy to smear across the length of the bolt. He rubbed it on as well as he could, then gently pulled. Nothing happened, and he pulled a little harder - then with a faint scratching noise that was a mere whisper compared to the screech of earlier, the bolt slid back. He grinned, then lowered himself back down to join his friends.

"It works fine. Get the other rope up John. I don't think we're likely to get a visit today, and we might as well be ready. We won't get anywhere if we can't see to get the other line in place."

"If you're sure you want to take the risk." Concentrating hard, John hurled up the second padded bone hook. This time it took several tries to make it fix itself somewhere secure, but his attempts were soundless enough not to be a problem. Meanwhile Nasir cut a length of material from the end of the first rope, and used it to fashion a bandage for Robin's arm. Marion hovered nearby whilst it was tied on, worrying about the need for proper herbs and poultices.

"It's only a cut," Robin assured her. She smiled.

"I know. Will you be able to fight?"

"It's only a cut." All the same, climbing down the rope had not been pleasant, and he knew that climbing back up again would worse. Perhaps a rest in the meantime would do it good.

"You should rest," Marion told him, as though reading his mind. He nodded.

"You're right. We all should. We'll take it in turns to keep watch at the top of the rope. If anybody comes, tug the ropes free, and drop back down. It should be possible to stay up there safely enough if you hold on to the rope. I'll take first watch."

"No." Will was already heading towards the rope. "I will. You're not much good to us one-handed, Robin."

"It's only a cut." It was the third time that he had protested that, but he still didn't quite believe it himself. Still, the discomfort had been worth it. Marion jabbed him in the ribs.

"You'd say that if Gisburne beheaded you. St Peter would try to admit you through the gates of Heaven, and you'd be insisting that you're not really dead because it's only a cut. Rest Robin."

"Alright." He gave her hand a squeeze, then sat down on one of the drier bits of floor. She sat down beside him, listening to the gentle buzz of conversation as Will and Nasir discussed the best way to stay up the rope with as little effort as possible. It was a strangely reassuring noise, and although she didn't believe that she would able to go to sleep, she wasn't terribly surprised to find that she was drifting off. She wondered what time of day it was, and tried not to think of what was scheduled to happen early tomorrow. In the end, holding tight to Robin's uninjured arm, she let herself relax and tried to think of happy thoughts. Once upon a time that had meant memories - of her father; of the days before he had gone away to fight in the Holy Land, when they had still been together; of her life in Leaford Grange before she had become the ward of Abbot Hugo de Rainault. Now, however, she had a new set of happy thoughts to think of, and as her head drooped onto Robin's shoulder she thought instead of Sherwood; of watching the fish in the river; of listening to Will and John argue; and of walking hand in hand with Robin through the trees. Lost in the beginnings of deep sleep she smiled. No matter the difficulties, she liked her new life. It was, she now knew, all that she had ever wanted.

**********

She awoke to the sound of voices, and the realisation that even the partial light of earlier had gone. Far above her, a dark shape against the latticework of the trapdoor, was a figure on watch - Edward, to judge by the size. She stood up, a little stiff from sleeping on the cold floor.

"Ow." Trying to work some life back into her body, she rubbed her arms. Her friends were also beginning to stir; Much wriggling to get rid of the kinks, Tuck groaning, and Will pretending that nothing hurt. Nasir was already awake, seated quietly nearby in the way that he always seemed to be whenever she awoke. With his remarkable instinct for the passage of time he had probably been awake for some while, performing his prayers silently so as not to disturb his friends. John yawned and stretched.

"I could eat a horse," he pronounced thoughtfully, and rubbed his head as though feeling that it could probably do with being even more tousled than it already was. Marion glared at him.

"Aren't you stiff?"

"No." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm less used to comfort. I don't remember anything about my life with de Belleme, but I get the feeling that I probably slept somewhere very like this. Anyway, what's being stiff got to do with wanting to eat a horse?"

"Everything. I couldn't eat a thing." She rubbed the back of her neck. Nearby Nasir rose to his feet, predictably unaffected by the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

"The castle is asleep," he told them, with quiet confidence. Robin nodded.

"We're probably not going to get a better chance than this."

"Then what are we waiting for?" John gave one of the ropes a tug, and Edward slid back down to join them. "I'll try to get the door open, but I won't be able to get much leverage. It's not going to be easy."

"I reckon me and Nasir can fit up there as well." Will was rubbing his hands together, ready for the off. "Might take a bit of manoeuvring, but we'll do it. Between us we ought to be able to get it open."

"Well just remember that you have to do it quietly." Robin wondered if he should volunteer instead of the inescapably noisy Scarlet, but knew that his arm would hold him back. He consoled himself with thoughts that he had done what needed doing. He still hadn't been able to think of a better way to stop that confounded bolt from squeaking.

"When I want to I can be so quiet I'd make Nasir seem noisier than a royal pageant." Will's boast was meant in jest, but he seemed serious enough. "Come on. Let's get that door open."

"Right." Unsure how easy he would find it to climb the rope, John took hold of the longer one and began to climb it. It swayed and spun in a lazy circle, but he managed it easily enough. As soon as he had got some way ahead, Nasir jumped up to catch hold of the shorter rope, pulling himself up with relative ease, and reaching the top before John did. The bigger man glared at him, and Nasir smiled back in lofty innocence. A few minutes later Will had joined them, hanging awkwardly onto both ropes in an attempt to fit in between the other two men.

"Get your elbow out of my face, John." Pushing closer to the trapdoor, Will tried to get a firm grip on it. John edged out of his way, experimenting with the best way to avoid falling whilst not actually holding onto anything. He settled in the end on bracing himself against the door, and holding on to the cold metal latticework from which it was made. Nasir had obviously found a handhold as well, and at Will's whispered word they began to push. The ropes swung and swayed, John nearly fell, and the lid barely lifted. John swore softly and pushed harder.

"Keep at it." His voice showing the strain even at such a low volume, Will wobbled dangerously and clung grimly on. They all pushed as hard as they could - and slowly, very slowly, the door began to raise. Having been holding on to nothing but the door, Will suddenly found himself slipping. His feet braced against the ceiling, but that was not enough to prevent him from falling. As the trapdoor lifted further up he himself started to drop. Between them Nasir and John caught him, and pushed him up into the widening gap. He wriggled through, and with John's help from underneath, managed to hold the door open so that Nasir could also slip through. Together the two men hauled the door open the rest of the way, whist John clung to the edge of the hole.

"Well help me up then!" He had had to relinquish his hold on the ropes in order to allow the door to open, and was left dangling, without anything to push against to help him climb out. Will grinned down at him.

"You look rather good where you are."

"Ssh." Nasir was looking towards the night guards - three men who at present were asleep. He had retrieved John's knife, and was clearly mulling over the idea of killing the three guards before they had a chance to awaken. He had begun to learn that Robin didn't always approve of such actions, though, and had apparently decided to grant them a temporary stay of execution. Will nodded.

"Alright. I don't think they're going to wake up in a hurry though. Probably drunk. Who wouldn't be, if they had to be sitting up on guard duty at this time of night?" He shrugged. "Well, except you of course." Nasir rolled his eyes in response to the jibe, then crouched down to help John pull himself up. Will also leant a hand.

"Thanks." John stretched, beginning to discover that his muscles were rather more stiff than he had imagined. Clearly he wasn't all that immune to the trials of sleeping on cold stone floors after all. "How secure are those ropes? It's not going to make the door slam shut again if the others climb up them?" Nasir shook his head.

"Too heavy to shut if they climb one at a time." It was a long sentence for him, and he moved away as though anxious to resume his usual silence. Will leant down through the hole so as to reduce the need to raise his voice.

"One at a time," he hissed. Robin waved a hand in answer, although Will couldn't see a thing in the cell below. A few seconds later Edward joined him at the top. Assuming that it would only be the longer of the two ropes that would be used, John cut the other one free and directed the others to help him overpower and tie up the guards. They gagged them as well, then rolled them over to the trapdoor.

"Nice work." Having made an admirably quick ascent, Marion scrambled out of the hole and smiled at the sight of the bound guards. Much came next, elated and anxious, and beaming at the slap on the back that he received from John.

"Are there any more guards?" he asked. Will shook his head.

"Not here. Maybe in the corridor outside."

"We'll deal with them soon enough if they're there." John bent down, hauling a struggling Tuck up the last bit of the climb. "Just make sure that you all keep quiet, or the alarm will be raised before we can get twenty paces."

"And we want surprise on our side for as long as possible, especially if I'm going to stand a chance of getting Albion back." Showing a good deal of agility despite his wounded arm, Robin climbed up and stretched his limbs. He hauled up the rope and tugged it free, then watched in guilty enjoyment as the three guards were dropped down into the cell. He hoped for the sake of the first one down that he had had the presence of mind to roll clear before the other two landed on him, then dismissed the thought and helped John and Will to lower the trapdoor back over the hole. The blood was dry by now, and no longer doing its work as a lubricant, so they did not bother drawing the bolt. The likelihood of it squeaking and raising the household was too great.

"Will, how much do you remember of the route you took out of the castle from here?" The initial part of their escape now over, Robin was turning his mind to the next step. He smiled fondly at Marion. "I took a different way out, and I don't think we'd better try that one again."

"I don't know. I suppose all we did was get out of the building by the quickest route and then run for the gates. But the gates won't be open at this time of day, Robin."

"Then perhaps we can go over the walls." He wished that he could believe it would be easy; that the small number of guards on duty at night would put up no real resistance; that they could overpower them without raising any alarms. In practice, of course, it could not be that simple. Knowing that they were going to be captured they had left camp without their bows - not that they would have been left with them anyway in the dungeons - and their swords and other weapons had of course been taken away; bar John's rather small knife. The three guards, according to a rough heap now assembled on the floor, had been armed with two swords between them, one of which had a chipped blade; three daggers, two of which looked as though they had never been cleaned, and had therefore gone rather rusty, and a short handled, leather-bound club, that looked as though it was fashioned from a length of hard wood. Just the thing to lay out recalcitrant prisoners, he supposed, but not necessarily a lot of use against soldiers.

"What we need is a hostage," suggested John. "Somebody that we can use to get the guards to open the gates for us. That way we can walk straight out of here without needing to fight anyone."

"It won't be easy to get to the living quarters from here," Tuck told him. "There'll be some guards to go through first. I'd imagine that they've been overly cautious since the last breakout from the dungeon."

"Not cautious enough to do something about their cell doors only being locked with a bolt," pointed out Will, with a certain amount of derogatory amusement. John laughed.

"Norman cunning," he said wryly, "usually relies on the idea that nobody else is cunning enough. They're conceited."

"Which is good news for us." Robin was thinking fast, and beginning to realise that he was actually quite good at it. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. Will, take Edward, Marion and Much and head for the main gates. Try to be inconspicuous. Deal with any guards you find there, but only if you can do it without raising the garrison. Here." He handed over the undamaged sword, and gave Marion the club. "Sorry Edward, but you can't be seen fighting with anybody. Just in case."

"Of course." He looked sad, almost as if the idea of running off into outlawry with these men as his companions was a tempting idea. "What will you be doing?"

"I have to get my sword back. When Gisburne made us his gift to the Sheriff, he didn't include our weapons in the presentation. Tuck, you'll have to show us the way to his bedchamber."

"Certainly." The idea obviously appealed to the friar, and Robin clapped him on the shoulder with a comradely smile.

"Alright, we'd better not waste any time. We might be due for another patrol through here before long."

"How do we get past the guards in the corridor outside? There are sure to be some." Will quite fancied the idea of engaging somebody in a little swordplay, even if he was supposed to be being quiet. Robin hesitated, then handed Nasir the two least tarnished of the knives.

"Deal with them," he said quietly. The Saracen gave a brisk nod.

"He'd better be quiet," observed Edward. Will grinned.

"He will be." Nasir had already moved ahead of them, approaching the door as though it were some wild beast that was not to be disturbed. His feet made no sound on the flags, and the rest of the group remained equally quiet. Will's instincts urged him to go and help, but he hung back. Killing might be one of his greatest talents, but he had a long way to go before he was Nasir's equal.

The door was stout and heavy. Nasir laid a hand on it, apparently trying to judge just how much of a noise it would make when opened. It was little more than a barrier; an extra obstacle to close the dungeon off from the rest of the world, and had no handle to turn. It was kept shut merely by an outsized latch made of wood; another reminder that the Normans seemed to consider the depth of their dungeon pits, and the locks on the doors of the smaller, conventional cells, enough to keep their prisoners locked away. More fool them, Tuck thought grimly, unable to keep his mind from the inevitable fate of whatever guards waited beyond that door.

"What if there's more than two of them?" asked Edward. Robin raised a hand for silence.

"Once that door is open any sound we make could carry throughout the castle corridors," he whispered. "That's why it's there - to stop the screams disturbing the lords and ladies too much."

"It doesn't work," Marion told him, looking faintly pale. He took her hand.

"Ssh." His eyes were sympathetic and consoling, but he pushed her into silence anyway. She understood.

Up ahead Nasir had pulled the door open without a sound. The corridor beyond was lit by several flaming torches clipped to the walls, giving a good, if shadow-patterned, view of what lay ahead. Sure enough there were guards there; three of them, dressed in the Sheriff of Nottingham's coat of arms, but wearing it without an ounce of pride. Typical Nottingham soldiery, slovenly and not in the least conscientious, interested only in the pay and the perks of their job. Nasir didn't give a second thought to any one of them as he slipped up behind the first and slid the knife, neatly and quietly, into his ribs. The body close to his stiffened and arched, and Nasir pressed his hand over the gaping mouth. No sound escaped; and, seconds later, no further breath. He lowered the body to the ground, eyes never once leaving the two other guards stationed nearby.

They began to turn at the same moment, inspired by a sixth sense, perhaps, or just by chance. Nasir was easing the knife from the dead man's back, crouched beside the body in a position that did not make it easy to fight, but didn't hurry his movements or react with anything other than his usual deadly cool. His wrist flicked once, and a guard fell with a knife embedded in his chest. The second guard froze, mouth opening to shout. Whether it was in fear or in sudden remembrance of his duty to the rest of the castle didn't matter a jot to Nasir. He merely threw the other knife.

"Nice work." Will's words were almost soundless, but Nasir heard them. He glanced up, not answering, nor even acknowledging the compliment with one of his usual expressions or gestures. Instead he merely retrieved the two knives, and cleaned them judiciously on the sleeve of one of the dead men. Robin moved past them, eyes on the end of the corridor.

"We split up now," he told them, although so quiet were his words that they could hardly hear them. "Count to a hundred, Will, before you take your party out."

"Right." Scarlet rather liked the idea of confronting Gisburne in his chambers, but was secretly rather touched that Robin trusted him to take charge of Marion's safety. Besides, with luck he could have a little excitement of his own by the castle gates. Marion didn't look quite so happy with the arrangement, but she smiled sadly, and gave Robin a quick hug.

"Good luck," she whispered to him. He nodded.

"And you. Make sure that Will behaves himself. We'll meet you by the gates as soon as we can."

"Hurry." It wasn't a plea exactly, but he understood the emotion behind it, and nodded gently; then gesturing his group onwards, he disappeared on down the corridor. Marion watched them go, thinking about those long lengths of bare rooms and interconnecting passages, all door less, most without decoration, all acting to emphasise and transmit the slightest sound. In the dead of night there was no other noise to mask those made by the escaping outlaws, and it seemed impossible that they should remain undiscovered. She heartened herself with thoughts of Robin's skill, and tried to summon a smile for the benefit of Much.

"Come on." Ushering them back into the shadows, Will began to count, and Marion turned her own mind to the same task. It was better than allowing her mind to wander. Better than thinking always of the worst.

**********

The castle seemed to be dead, which was good in Robin's opinion, but didn't say a lot for security. The Sheriff had probably never had to bother about intruders before, and hadn't given a thought to the possibility of night-time assaults from either inside or outside the walls. It would be interesting, the outlaw mused, to try this all again another day, and find out whether or not the Sheriff had learned from his mistakes. Such was the conceit of the average Norman lord that he doubted it.

"Here." They had come to a fork, and Tuck gestured down one side of it. So far they encountered only one guard, laid low very swiftly by a single blow from John's large right fist; but they were beginning to notice changes in the corridors now, and were ready for a change to the routine. An occasional rug brought a touch of colour to the drab stone; here and there a tapestry hung from the walls, or a painting of somebody's ancestor. A large battle axe was clipped to a bracket further along, but it proved impossible to move without making a noise.

"I'm glad I'm not a Norman." John gestured about as they walked. "There's no soul to this place. Better to live in the forest."

"It's less wet in a castle," pointed out Robin. John smiled.

"But with all the ghosts and spirits and demons that supposedly live in Sherwood, it's still not as creepy as this place. How much further Tuck?"

"Nearly there." The friar brought his fingers to his lips. "Gisburne usually has a guard or two on patrol near the living quarters. Around this corner there's a flight of stairs, and there'll probably be somebody at the top of it."

"Nasir?" Robin didn't need to say anything further, but merely gestured ahead. The Saracen vanished.

"Handy fellow to have around," John observed dryly. Robin smiled.

"Isn't he just." He listened, waiting to hear some sound of his friend's progress, but could detect nothing. As quietly as he could, he edged towards the corner - and jumped violently when Nasir appeared around it. John laughed, trying hard to be quiet about it.

"Is the coast clear?" he asked. The Saracen nodded his curly head, then gestured back the way he had come, holding up three fingers. Robin frowned. Three guards waiting for them? It wouldn't be so easy to deal with them without making a noise. He nodded though, and followed Nasir's lead. Just as Tuck had said there was a flight of stairs up ahead; a vast, broad flight of shallow stone steps that swept upwards and downwards in a mighty curve. Halfway up it lay the body of a soldier, a neat knife hole in the middle of his chest. Nasir's work, clearly enough.

"Up or down?" asked John. Nasir's hand whipped up in a cutting gesture to be silent, then signalled for the others to copy his actions, pressing himself against the wall and edging softly up the steps. Nobody argued, and they followed on in a train. It seemed foolish to speak now. After a few seconds Nasir halted, and pointed on around a shallow corner, again holding up three fingers. Robin nodded, then pointed at the knives that Nasir held. Could he deal with two of the guards, his eyes were asking. Nasir nodded, then twitched his fingers in what must, once, have been a sign language he had used frequently with his fellows back in the East. Robin could only guess that it meant that the guards were positioned too awkwardly, or were too spread out, to be dealt with all the same way. He nodded, and hefted his sword in his hand. He was still far from being an expert with such a weapon, although he had become adept enough at handling Albion. That was a perfect sword, created by a master in the art of metalwork, finely balanced and anxious to please Herne's Son. This one was an ill cared for cheap blade, damaged and showing signs of rust. It would have to do though. He lifted his free hand and mimed counting down with his fingers - five, rhythmically down to none.

They broke cover at the same moment, bursting around the corner as though fired together from the same cannon. Nasir's arm was already moving, flinging a knife with all of the deadly accuracy at his disposal. One of the guards fell before he had even had the chance to turn and see his attackers. Robin ignored him, leaping over his body and hurling all of his weight at the second of the guards. A blade whistled past him, and he trusted it not to touch him. Nasir's aim was better than that. Beneath him his opponent wriggled, but Loxley was ruthless. He stabbed him as quickly and as cleanly as he could, then rolled off and stood up. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and he felt his body reacting to the tension. John clapped him on the shoulder.

"We'll turn you into another Nasir yet."

"Ssh." Tuck pointed at a heavy door which stood in the wall right beside where they were standing. "Gisburne's never been a heavy sleeper."

"So this is where the beast has made its lair." John tried the handle of the door, and it moved easily under his hand. "No lock."

"He doesn't think he needs one." Tuck held a finger to his lips. "Watch him. He'll pretend to be asleep, and then slit your throat with the knife he always keeps beside him in bed. He's full of charming little tricks like that."

"Great." Pushing the door open the rest of the way, John peered inside the room. He could see Gisburne's bed, illuminated by a single, guttering candle. The blond head was still, and the only sounds that he could hear were the deep breaths of a man asleep. "Looks alright."

"Don't you believe it. He stabbed one of his own servants to death just a few months ago, because he mistook the poor fellow for a thief. That's why he doesn't have as many guards patrolling the corridors as he might; he's certain that nobody can creep up on him."

"Then we won't creep." Losing the silent gait that had carried him throughout the castle, Robin walked briskly into the room. It was clear before he was halfway to the bed that Gisburne was awake.

"Wolfshead." He sat up, eyes spitting hatred. "You're a dead man."

"I feel rather well for a dead man. Perhaps you're getting the two of us confused." Robin gestured for the others, and they followed him in. Tuck pulled the heavy door almost shut, and settled himself to watch the corridor through the crack.

"I'll have the guards in here before you can even think of getting away." Gisburne was already reaching for a bell beside his bed, presumably there for him to summon a servant in the morning when he awoke. Nasir let fly with one of his knives, and it embedded itself in the shelf beside the bell, a mere finger's width from Gisburne's hand. The steward gasped.

"Naughty naughty," admonished John, striding forward and taking the bell out of reach. "We didn't tell you to ring for the maid."

"You won't get away with this." Gisburne was too angry and too proud to show fear, but he was not immune to it. Robin smiled.

"We plan to get right away with it. Back to Sherwood, preferably. Now where are our weapons? You didn't give them to the Sheriff. We all noticed that."

"They're in the armoury." Gisburne sounded defiant, even though he was certain that they were planning to kill him. Robin shook his head.

"I don't believe you. A fine sword like Albion? You'd take it for yourself before you let anybody else get hold of it."

"Here." Nasir had been searching the room whilst they talked, and he had clearly found what he was looking for. Gisburne paled, backing up against the headboard with as much pride as he could maintain, as the Saracen stalked towards him with Albion outstretched. He made no move with it against Gisburne though, and instead, with the slightest of smiles, flipped it to point hilt first at Robin. Loxley smiled.

"You know I think he thought you were planning to kill him. What's wrong, Gisburne? Not ready to die yet? Too much that you still want to accomplish?"

"Yeah. He wants to be Sheriff before he dies." John shook his head. "Shame. After tonight I doubt de Rainault will even let him stay on in the castle, let alone keep any chance of succeeding him." He threw a heavy, tapestried cushion at Gisburne's head. "Never mind, lad. You can always run away into the forest and become an outlaw."

"I--" Realising that any threats he tried to make would lack conviction, Gisburne fell into silence. John laughed.

"He's speechless with delight."

"Never mind that." Hauling the steward from the bed, Robin laid Albion against his breast bone. "We're leaving the castle, Sir Guy, and you're going to lead the way."

"I'll make a noise and rouse the garrison." The steward was furious, and growing more so all the while. Robin smiled a thin smile.

"Then you'll be the first to die - and probably the last, given the speed of my men. Do you really want to die for nothing, and know that we'll escape anyway?" He pushed the livid Norman towards the door. "Coast clear Tuck?"

"Seems to be." The friar edged the door open and peered out. "Nobody's coming."

"Then let's go." Robin pushed Gisburne out into the corridor, letting him go first in case there was somebody waiting out of sight, ready to attack. John came next, holding Will's recovered sword, and Nasir brought up the rear. He carried himself with a new fluidity of movement, as though the restoration of the twin swords to their place on his back had somehow improved his balance. Tuck edged along just ahead of him, unaccountably nervous now that their goal was so nearly in sight.

They made it from the castle without incident, although Gisburne's foot dragging and time wasting nearly caused a catastrophe outside a room filled with sleeping guards. Robin pushed him ahead, wondering if perhaps it wouldn't have been simpler to leave him trussed up in his room.

"You'll never get out of the grounds." The steward's conversation had become decidedly limited, but the outlaws ignored him. He was full of threats tonight, and none of them carried any weight.

"You're like a minstrel that only knows one song." Little John cuffed him over the head. "Now shut up and head for the gates."

"Dead men." Gisburne was spitting the words with venom to spare. "You're all dead men."

"Oh do shut up." Rolling his eyes Robin began to coerce him across the yard. Shapes moved in the shadows, and he was more than aware that they were being watched.

"Robin!" Marion broke cover just ahead, a bloodied sword in her hand and an elated smile on her face. "The guards..."

"I know." Loxley pulled her into a one handed embrace. "Just stick close. I don't think they'll dare put Gisburne at risk."

"Shoot them!" Suddenly recovering his wits from the pit of his rage, Gisburne turned his head towards the lurking shadows and spat the words out in a fury. "Shoot them all! Guards!"

"Shut up!" Robin gave him a heavy push, then broke into a run. Nobody fired, but the guards had begun to move in. John grabbed Gisburne's arm, keeping him in place as a cover of sorts.

"We were starting to think you'd gone home without us." Taking his sword, Will flashed a grin at the others. "What took you so long?"

"Sir Guy insisted on a chat and a goblet of wine." John looked about. "How do we get out from here?"

"This way." Working on pure instinct, Robin led them along the length of the wall. Behind them were clear footsteps. "Just how many guards are out here, anyway?"

"Not many. There were a couple that tried to stop us, but we killed them." Will was keeping one extremely suspicious eye on Gisburne as they ran, but he took the time to answer Robin's question. "We might have made a bit of noise..."

"Just a bit," offered Much. Will glared at him.

"I'd like to see anybody else do it quieter," he spat. Robin shook his head.

"Never mind that now." They had reached the gates, which towered above them in testimony to the pride and strength of the walls of Nottingham Castle. A couple of figures were just discernible standing close by, but neither of them made a move. Robin pushed Gisburne forward.

"Open the gates," he ordered. Gisburne shook his head.

"Not if the king himself ordered it. I won't help you to escape, Wolfshead."

"I wasn't talking to you." Laying Albion's glittering blade along the back of Gisburne's neck, Robin raised his voice so that all who were close by could hear it. "Open the gates, or Guy of Gisburne dies!"

"Dogs! If you do as he says I'll have every one of you flogged!" Gisburne's fury was growing. Robin pushed hard enough with the sword to draw blood, and the young steward fell silent.

"Did you hear me, guards? What do you think the Sheriff will say if he knows that you let his steward die here tonight? There won't be a single one of you left alive by this time tomorrow. Now open the gates!"

"No!" Seeing that the guards were moving to do Robin's bidding, Gisburne let out a tortured cry. Robin clubbed him with Albion's hilt, and the Norman collapsed at his feet. The guards hesitated.

"Open the gates," Robin told them, no longer raising his voice. Slowly, with clear uncertainty, one of the soldiers did just that.

"No..." Gisburne was trying to rise to his feet, but couldn't manage it. The anguish and humiliation in his voice might have been affecting were he anybody else, but as it was Robin was not inclined to feel any sympathy.

"We should take him with us," Will muttered. Loxley shook his head.

"Too difficult. Just run."

"But Robin!"

"Just run." Taking a deep breath, Robin gripped Albion with both hands. Sometimes fighting was the answer. Sometimes strategy. Sometimes there was only luck to be trusted in. With a yell that undoubtedly awoke the whole castle, and brought the Sheriff tumbling from his bedchamber, he led the charge.

They ran as one; a mass of seven with Edward in their centre, Marion keeping up with a pace that seemed glorious in its mad speed. She heard shouts and roars of anger behind her, and knew that there were arrows thudding after them. People were calling, asking questions. Shouting in anger. She imagined the many people who lived within the walls that might intentionally be getting in the soldiers' way, and smiled to herself. It seemed as though they didn't have a chance - but she knew that they did. Of course they did, when they were led by the son of Herne.

"Where are the horses?" His breath sounding tortured, John gasped the words out. Will grinned.

"Ask Much. I sent him to wedge the stables doors shut."

"It won't keep them for long." Much sounded embarrassed, and John banged him on the back so hard that he nearly sent the boy tumbling.

"Good work!" They were gathering speed all the time, and the angry noises of the castle were fading. The soldiers were coming after them, they were all aware of that - but Sherwood was ahead, and nobody was going to stop them now. It was as if all the world was celebrating with them, and the pure, bright white light of the moon set them all a glowing with its triumphant cheer.

And then it was over, with only the smallest details to deal with. They took Edward to Wickham, and from there to the place some way away where the villagers were waiting in hiding. Edward's wife was weak with worry, and it took Marion some while to enure that she would be well again given time. Already the vilagers were anxious to return to their homes, although it seemd sensible for them to keep out of the way for the time being. Edward had already decided that he and his family would spend the next few days with relatives of his wife in another town. It was just a precaution, but it sounded like a sensible one to Robin. Gisburne would be fighting mad for the next couple of days, but it would probably be his own men who would experience the full venting of that rage. Tired out, and happy to spend a few hours relaxing before heading home, Robin let Marion see to his arm, whilst the others enjoyed Wickham's gratitude to the full. It was rising dawn before they finally took their leave.

Sherwood was warm and bright. Robin took the lead, walking ahead of the others at a surprisingly unhurried pace. The danger, he felt sure, was over, and now that he was back in the forest he felt as though he were safe from anything. The birds seemed glad to see them back, and even a pair of deer wandered their way as though in greeting.

"Home at last." John tipped his head back, enjoying the early sun as it filtered through the trees. Marion smiled.

"Home," she commented wryly. "It really is, isn't it. I never thought that I could think of a forest as my home, but I certainly never thought of Nottingham Castle this fondly. Even Leaford Grange didn't feel this wonderful when I came back to it after being away."

"Maybe you never came back to it after being locked up in a dungeon for the best part of a day." Striding into the lead Will sent rabbits and the two deer scrambling for cover. "I'd feel at home anywhere where I know there's some roast venison and a jug of ale waiting for me."

"You're not telling me you aren't happy to be back?" John was still basking in the sunlight, his bearded face a mask of radiant joy beneath its fringe of shaggy hair. Will smiled.

"Of course I'm happy to be back. It may be a soggy forest, but it's home, isn't it. Always will be, so long as we're all in it."

"See?" John banged him on the back, and turned around to address the others. "He really does care. Says he doesn't but he does."

"Oh I care alright." Will didn't look back. "I care about that ale and roast venison."

"Why you--" John tried to catch up with him, but Will broke into a run, jogging backwards and taunting the bigger man with rude gestures. John chased after him, and the others, following on behind at a more sedate pace, heard them crashing onwards through the trees. A bird squawked indignantly. Robin laughed and pulled Marion into a hug.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. She smiled up at him.

"I'm fine now."

"Good." He hesitated. "I didn't mean to put you into any danger you know. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You were." She rested her head against his shoulder. "And I was never really in any danger. None of us were. It just seemed like it at the time because we didn't know what was going to happen."

"Precisely." Tuck was walking along with a swing in his step, looking rosy and jaunty and generally pleased. "You have good instincts, Robin. You always know when you're doing the right thing. Don't lose sight of that. We're all safe, and so are the people of Wickham. Thanks to you, Edward and all the other men are back with their families."

"But if it hadn't been for me they would never have been taken away." Robin was staring into the trees, a thoughtful expression on his face. "There was a lot I didn't think of, when I agreed to accept the destiny that Herne planned for me. I knew about the dangers to myself, and I thought about all of you as well, and how you would be affected. But I never gave a thought to the ordinary people."

"They know the risks, Robin." Marion thought about Wickham, as well as all of the other villages that had shared in the takings from various robberies. "You're helping to make their lives better. Save their chidren from starvation, protect them from being arrested for not being able to pay their taxes... They're not going to blame you if it gets them into trouble occasionally."

"I suppose." He ruffled her hair, smiling at her squeak of protest. "I'm lucky I ran into your room that day, aren't I."

"Yes." She straightened up so that he could see her smile. "I'm glad you realise it."

"We're all lucky." Much sounded shy, but was clearly anxious to have his say. "Must be, mustn't we."

"I don't know." Tuck's expression was very serious, although he couldn't quite keep the smile from his eyes. "I won't feel very lucky if we get back to the camp and find that Will has eaten all the venison. Come on Much. Let's hurry on ahead and see if we can rescue some."

"Alright." Happy at the suggestion Much broke into a rough jog that Tuck could just about keep up with. Robin watched them go, glad to see that Much was in such good spirits. It had been so short a time, but clearly the boy was already growing tougher. In the days before his father's death he wouldn't have handled that terrible dungeon nearly so well, and would never have been able to keep up during the hair-raising escape. Now he was growing fast.

"Where's Nasir?" Marion was resting her head on his shoulder again, her arm around his back. She sounded sleepy, and he could almost imagine that she had her eyes closed. He glanced back, certain that the Saracen had been behind them just a short while ago. There was no sign of him now though.

"Gone." He smiled. Trust Nasir to make a quick and silent exit. Perhaps he had just been hungry, and had decided to take his own, quicker route back to the camp - or perhaps he had decided to let the two young lovers have a little time alone. Either way Robin was grateful to him. "Well at least we don't have to worry about him not leaving us any ale."

"Ale." She gave a little laugh. "I'm actually quite getting to like that stuff. I thought it was horrible the first time I tried some."

"I'm corrupting you." He managed to sound as though he regretted it. "You were a proper lady just a few weeks ago. Back then you'd never have been looking forward to a drink of ale after running headlong away from all those soldiers." He reached up and brushed something from her hair. "You wouldn't have had twigs in your hair, either. Or leaves."

"I've woken up in the morning with worse things than twigs in my hair." She gave a small laugh. "Spiders, ants, a centipede or two... But I don't mind."

"Just as well. I can keep the soldiers out of Sherwood, but I can't keep the insects out even for you." While they were both still laughing he slowed to a halt and held her at arm's length. "Marion..."

"What?" She knew that he was being serious now, but didn't let it worry her. He hesitated, then let everything come out in a rush.

"They weren't going to execute you, you know. It's not too late. The rest of us don't have any choice, and probably never did, but you do. You could be safe again. Warm at night. No more spiders in your hair, no need to get used to drinking ale, or eating stale bread. If you want to go back, I'd understand."

"Idiot." She punched him on the shoulder, none too gently. "If I wanted to keep the spiders out of my hair I wouldn't have stayed with you in Sherwood in the first place. You all have your reasons for being here. Will hates Normans; Tuck hates injustice; John would stay with you if Herne decided that your destiny is to discover if there really is an end of the world to sail to, and so would Much... And so would I. I might have a big inheritance, and a big family home, and my father might have had a title, but I can still see when people are being wrongly treated. I want to help the people of England just as much as you do."

"I know." He pulled her back into his embrace. "I just wanted to be sure. We've started now, you know. From now on there won't be any let up."

"I know." They could hear the sounds of the others now; Will's voice raised in cheery chatter as he sprawled by a new fire in the nearby camp. John was laughing at something, and Tuck's own distinctive laugh joined with his. The sounds of home; the sounds of family. Marion smiled, but one thought stopped the smile from being as big and as carefree as it might have been. She cocked her head on one side, listening to them all, then glanced up at Robin.

"Are we ready, Robin? All of us? There's no turning back now, but can we really do what Herne wants us to?"

"Yes." He hadn't been sure himself until today, when he had seen his men in action against the soldiers. Even the handful of robberies that they had committed hadn't convinced him as much as that escape from Nottingham Castle. "We're ready. We can do this."

"Good." She took his hand and led him onwards through the trees, pulling him through the last of the undergrowth and into the camp. The scene before them was one of easy camaraderie and merriment, and Robin smiled to see it. He had had so many doubts, from the moment he had first spoken with Herne, to the moment when he had led the escape from Nottingham, but now the doubts were fading away, and he knew that he would not see them again. He didn't even stop to wonder whether he had any regrets about the life he might have led. There would have been no point, for this was his life now, and always would be.

It had been the strangest of fortnights, but it had led them all on to its inescapable conclusion. They might have been diverse, and they might have distrusted each other to begin with, but they were a team now. For better or for worse. And as he moved to sit down beside the fire and join his loyal friends, Robin didn't need to look to know that Herne was watching. From now on, perhaps, he always would be; because from now on, nothing was ever going to be the same again.

THE END