Robin Hood: The Dungeon #36

By the time Tuck, Wulfhere and Marian arrived at the castle, the show was over. The ribald rivalry coming from within led little to the imagination as to what had happened. The bawdy songs about the capture of the famous Robin Hood were loud, lewd, drunken and none too clever. Tuck and Marian were furious over the complete absence of the outlaws, but Wulfhere correctly deduced that they had been routed and had to flee or be captured. It was impossible to tell in fact how many had been captured besides Robin. Wulfhere and Tuck had been told to check on Marian at the Orphanage or her nearby apartment and rendevoius at the castle in time for the attack, but they hadn't planned on just missing her and tracking her through-out the night.

Inside, in the dark, against a cold, stone floor which smelled of urine, Robin awoke to the realization that he was severely beaten. Had they continued to pummel him after they'd beaten him unconscious? He remembered... being descended upon by a vast multitude. He given as good as he'd gotten for as long as he could. They had been expecting him. He knew they would be, but he had played it as a game. He should have been more careful. He had been so cocky. They weren't going to get Marian a second time. He'd show them. He should have rallied all of Nottinghamshire. They would have come to save Marian, wouldn't they? Now it was too late. It was all over. Without Robin to rally them, to lead them, they would submit to the sheriff. In fact, now that the sheriff had captured Robin, the sheriff would likely send the mercenaries on their way and leave the people to their meager lives. As for Robin himself, well, he was done for, that was a sure as the daily rise of the sun. Would he face a trial? Would he be tortured? Was he alive because the sheriff thought he could get his money back? Did old Sheriff Brewer really think that Robin had stashed away all the money he’d stolen? Probably not. Robin realized his breathing felt liquidy. He spat. He couldn’t see in the utter darkness, but he could taste the blood. The sheriff was probably planning on what to do with Robin now that he had finally gotten him.
Robin attempted to get to his knees. his legs felt like tenderized meat. Even in the dark, he was dizzy. His head ached. He could feel where it was matted with blood. He tentatively touched a wet patch to the left of his crown and swooned from the odd sensation in his head and the tactual squishiness that met his fingers. He broke his fall with his outstretched hands and realized they were raw and scraped. The sudden pitch in his upper body angle brought about a sudden nausea and he vomited on his hands and knees in the dark.
Sheriff James Brewer was ecstatic. No one had ever seen him so giddy. It was frightening. The sheriff would look wistfully up into the distance and talk longingly of Robin’s summary execution. Then his eyes would refocus and he would engage people around the room on what kind of tortures to subject Robin to first. They would have to start him out slow, they didn’t want to overdue it too quickly, his pain might become to intense to register further torture. He might expire. The sheriff wanted to see Robin weep. He wanted to see Robin lose control of his bowels, of all his bodily functions. He wanted to clear a field big enough for all of Nottinghamshire to gather to witness the humiliation, lest anyone think such behavior might be tolerated. he’d heard of such public tortures in London. Spies or traitors would be disemboweled in front of their families and the countryside would gather and buy souvenirs to mark the occasion.
There would be a public trial where the sheriff, an expert at trials, would explain how Robin had perpetrated these crimes on the people themselves. Which, when you stop to consider that the sheriff was a public servant and the money Robin stole was the public funds, was actually true. The public would be screaming for Robin’s head. Why, the sheriff would find himself in the awkward position of having to protect Robin from the people of Nottingham. He’d seen such things before with his own eyes.

Robin Hood: The Capture 35

Unable to carry on without getting lost or possibly fall asleep in midstride, Marian waited until she came upon  a dense copse of alders and made a quick and hopefully silent turn to the east, hopefully straitening out her path. She had no idea how far behind her pursuers were, but she new tracking was harder at night, unless you were some kind of hunting animal. After about a quarter mile she found a tree that she could climb quickly. When she got high enough, she waited to see if her hunters would track her here. If they wanted to kill her, they could climb up after her, but she thought she could probably jump down on them, thus taking them with her. If they had bows, it would be harder, but not impossible. She would be a difficult target, straight up a tree in the dark was not an easy shot for anyone.
After a time, two men came by. They had a dog with them. So much for losing them. The hound stopped at the tree, sniffed it, pissed on it, and sniffed it some more. Essentially, the hound had masked her scent with his own piss. Now the dog was confused. it circled the area, and found the scent that had led them here. The dog wanted to go in this direction, and after circling around in the dark, the hunters didn't seem to realize that they were going back the way they had come. If they were any good at tracking, they would take their bearings when they got to a clearing and could see the stars. At this point, they would realize they had doubled back and come back for her. Marian remembered a stream about a mile south. She climbed down and doubled back to the stream and took of down the shallow stream bed approximately going North by North East. She hoped she wouldn't slip in the slick stream bed in the dark.

John approached the door to the heavily fortified manor house known throughout Nottingham as the Castle. There actually was a Nottingham Castle, but it belonged to King John, and only visiting royalty or their guests ever stayed there. The sheriff's house was smaller than Lincoln's manor house, but was bigger than most of the houses in Nottingham. It was structured like a castle, with heavy stone walls, and crenellated sentry towers, though they formed only a third story.
The heavy wooden door was barred but there were no guards in sight. Unsure how to proceed, John knocked at the door. After a time with no response, John knocked again. He half expected the sheriff to answer the door in his nightshirt. A small window opened at eye level in the door.
“Who goes there?” demanded a tired an angry voice. John couldn’t tell if it was the sheriff or not. John, unsure how to respond stepped back a little hoping that he couldn’t be seen in the dark. “Who the bloody hell is it? You pounded on the door loud enough a minute ago! What in bloody blazes on earth do you want?!”
“It’s Little John, of Sherwood forest!” John said with an air of authority he didn’t feel. “Open up in the name of Robin Hood! We’ve come for the hostage!”
“He says he’s here on behalf of Robin Hood!” said the voice to else someone inside.
“Well, that will mean Robin Hood’s around back waiting for us all to poor out the front!” said the second voice. The little window shut with a little slam on little John, and he could hear footsteps and shouts heading for the back of the house.
“No it doesn’t!” shouted John at the door. “Bloody Hell! They know Robin’s in the back! Get back there!” John yelled to his companions. He took off himself to get around the house. Will blew a horn, signaling trouble.

People storm castle's but rarely does a castle storm people. The sheriff's men came rushing out of the castle's rear and side doors as if it was on fire. Except they had their swords out, their pikes raised, they were armed and armored. They were wildly incoherent. They hadn't actually thought Robin Hood would come knocking on the sheriff's door. Robin took one look at the oncoming hoard and turned and ran. He never had a chance. If the sheriff hadn’t repeatedly made it abundantly clear that he wanted Robin Hood taken alive, they would have killed him for sure. As it was they captured him to within an inch of his life. The surprise attack was on the other foot. All the men waiting to come to Robin’s aid rushed in alas too late. A few of them weren’t as lucky as Robin and met their makers that night. Guards on the towers picked off the outlaws easily. The retreat was sounded, and the merry men carried off their wounded and made their way back to Sherwood considerably less merry.
Marian was still some way off from the inn when she heard the hounds. To her credit, she never stopped. Beaten, hungry, bruised, scratched and scared, she stumbled on to the last. Only as they overcame her did she lose her nerve and fall to the ground, sobbing. There, covered in mud, shaking and spent, she gathered the last of her resolve, pulled her two daggers from their sheaths, struggled to her feet to face her pursuers; only to fall once again to her knees upon seeing who it was that had been on her heels all this way.
Tuck and Wulfhere the hermit stared in disbelief at the wraith at their feet. “Saints be praised!” Tuck said. “We thought we’d never find you. Come lass, the Sheriff has a hostage and if it isn’t you, then it’s probably a trap for Robin Hood.

Robin Hood: The Mole 34

When news reached the sheriff that there was a mole within his inner circle, he flew into a rage. To be sure, he was lately ready to fly into a rage a the drop of a hat, but this particular rage had some seething to sustain it. It wasn't really a surprise, after all. Robin seemed to be able to handle the mercenaries in stride. He obviously had contacts in every village in the shire, why not among his trusted allies? The shire had revealed itself to be almost completely on Robin's side anyway. The damage the mercenaries were doing both to the shire and to the sheriff's reputation, his ability to get anything done; not to mention his coffers was becoming more irreparable every day. Yet, it was hard not to believe that if he just persevered with his current course, success was bound to be imminent. Robin would be dead, and all would be worth it. The shire might never return to normal, but the sheriff was planning on retiring within the decade, and living out his life at one of his well, appointed monasteries. The thing about rebellions was; they had to be crushed. The leader had to be made an example of. There was no other course to take.
Now, as to the business of the mole. Who could it be? They were all such sycophants, it could be any of them. Still, it would be unlike the gentry of Nottinghamshire to side with commoners. Robin Hood held a certain mystique that was attractive to various craven buffoons, but admiring the cut of someone’s jib and giving information to the enemy were two different things. When Cedric had posited the idea to him, the sheriff had to wonder how he himself had not seen it earlier. If a cretin like Cedric could see it, it must have been obvious. Cedric had not been especially helpful in this matter since he had become smitten by the Valkyrie, as she was known behind her back among the gentry of Nottingham. In fact, Cedric hadn’t been useful since arresting Marian. Ah, now that had been a stroke of genius. It had actually drawn Robin Hood right into the town square. ...twice. If only there was some way of finding out who the mole was, perhaps that person could be used to draw Robin Hood back into town. The sheriff wouldn’t fail again. Of course, Robin Hood wasn’t fool enough to think he could stage another rescue, was he?
The sun raked through the summer leaves in the late afternoon, casting shadows through the forest that stretched out into the evening. Birdsong filled the air and was carried on the breeze. The messenger wasn’t out of breath, he had strolled in with the day’s news as if he had no more than idle gossip. The sheriff knew there was a mole and was setting a trap. Whoever it was, had not long to live. The gossip as to who it might be was all any could talk about. Robin didn’t see it as idle gossip. He had to get Marian out of there. If the sheriff found her out, he might kill her before he had a chance to think better of himself. In many ways, Marian was hated more than Robin himself, because she was from Nottingham. Robin had lived in Edwinstowe, though he had been born near Barnsdale, and still had kin there.
The townsfolk in Nottingham were better acquainted with Marian, and her work at the orphanage was well respected. The gentry saw her arrest and subsequent flight as a betrayal of trust. Never mind that until her arrest, she had done nothing wrong, and that her escape had been merely to save her innocent life.
Robin knew she was in grave danger. His first instinct was to fly down to Nottingham immediately and spirit her away, but he knew that he needed a plan. He gathered Tuck, Wulfhere, John, Will, and a few other trusted advisers.
The rumor was that after Marian’s escape last spring, the sheriff did not trust the gaol. It was said he had the traitor locked up in “the Castle.”
Marian didn't know who had started the rumor that the sheriff had found and captured a spy who was feeding information to Robin Hood. She was pretty sure that she was the only spy feeding information to Robin. Cedric had been visiting the orphanage when he told her the news. He even took credit for deducing that there was a spy in the first place. He was clearly quite proud of himself. Hilde had gone more pale than usual and had to excuse herself. She had gone to her room, packed her things and left. Marian's heart was beating so hard that she could barely think at all. In her room, she cut her hair to the nape of her neck, dyed it with henna and changed into her foresting clothes, which were basically the same breeches and tunic that all the foresters wore. They were dark and earthy and looked nothing like the Danish clothes Hilde wore. She walked out of her door and into the woods a hundred yards away. After about an hour walking steadily north towards Sherwood, she realized that she was being followed. She continued North but veered Eastward toward Derby. That was six hours ago. She had no food or water, but she dare not stop. She reckoned whomever was following her was hoping she would lead them to Robin Hood, and so probably wouldn't molest her en route, but she couldn't take that chance. She wanted desperately to get word to Robin that she wasn't a captive of the sheriff, but she couldn't see how to do that until she could get somewhere safe. She was thirsty and hungry and had gotten pretty scratched up trying to lose her pursuers in a thicket of thorn bushes. She had her daggers with her, but she doubted she'd be as successful with them this time around. It was going to be dark soon. She hoped whoever was following her would stop for the night, knowing that she would have to make camp also. She wasn't going to. She was going to make for the inn in Worksop.
Robin, John, Tuck, Will Skarlett and several of the foresters had gathered in a thicket just outside Nottingham. They were making their final preparations for storming the sheriff's castle. The plan was that John and Will would cause a diversion at the front of the castle and draw as many guards out as possible, and Robin would sneak in the back and rescue Marian. The remaining foresters would wait in the shadows and wait until the last minute before joining in. This would make for a double surprise attack. The only problem was, they didn't know where in the castle Marian was being held. They didn't even know the layout of the castle.