The Bishop's troops had swamped Nottingham that morning, with great fuss and fanfare, but since then the town had fallen quiet. It stayed that way as the sun peaked, and the same eerie quiet persisted into the afternoon. Meg was bored. She itched to know what was happening, but remained on the ground leaning against the same tree trunk. Guy had been adamant; with the town full of soldiers and teetering on the brink of battle, the streets were no place for a solitary, unarmed woman.
But the longer the inactivity continued, the more families around her slowly drifted back into Nottingham. Folk had come in from the villages too, full of questions, prepared to linger here at a safe distance. Matilda had been one of them. Meg might not have had any answers – in fact, she had a few questions of her own - but the reunion had warmed her heart. Matilda was delighted to see her back.
"Come and see me as soon as you can," she urged. "I can always use some help."
She'd been glad of the company, but after a while Matilda had left, declaring she couldn't waste all day sitting round waiting for men to decide what they were doing. Meg was feeling exactly the same when – finally - the outlaws appeared, loping across the fields.
Archer was with them; Guy wasn't. She ran to meet them.
"What's happened?"
"He's alright," said Allan. "He won't have a comfy night's sleep, but they won't hurt him."
"You let them take him," she accused Robin.
"No choice, Meg." He picked up her hands, clasped both his around them. "Listen, it wasn't the time to object. I'll argue for his neck; I won't argue to keep him out of the dungeons for a night."
"Take me to him, please."
"I can't. I'm sorry."
"Of course you can – if Richard has the castle, you can come and go as you please."
"Look, it's not that simple."
"Of course it is."
Archer stepped up, easing Robin aside; he took a gentle hold of her arms.
"Listen Meg," he soothed, "you saw him yesterday, after he heard about Isabella. You know what he's like. If you turn up he goes off his head with worry."
"He doesn't want me there again, does he?"
"No. That's what Robin was reluctant to tell you."
Meg pushed away.
"Alright then, what are we waiting for? Let's get back to camp."
He looked at her suspiciously, but everyone else seemed to take this at face value. They entered the forest, and splintered into twos and threes as they walked. Meg manoeuvred until she was walking near Allan.
"I want to go to back," she said quietly. "Will you come with me?'
"Oh no." Allan shook his head. "If I go against what Robin says I'll get in all sorts of strife. Besides, what's the point? You can't do anything."
"I just want to see him, is that so hard to understand? After all, tomorrow he might...." Meg swallowed the rest of what she'd been about to say, afraid tears would come.
"Men," she muttered instead, stalking off.
She hadn't given up. Lagged a little, so that at last, when she took a few steps back and then turned to slip away, she thought she'd managed to leave undetected. Until a few minutes later, when Archer fell into step beside her.
"I knew you'd try this," he said.
"Leave, please, unless you're planning to come with me? No, I thought not. I have to go to him, why can't any of you see that?"
"Because it doesn't make sense. Listen, Meg." He halted her, a firm hand on her elbow. "You wouldn't get past the entrance. And even if you did, the cells are full tonight. Anything you might say to him, they'd only make sport of it after you'd gone. Or while you're there, which would be worse. He wouldn't thank you for it."
Meg hung her head, kicking a root in frustration. Hearing it stated so baldly, she could see he had a point.
"What can I do then? Do I just sit here in the forest, chopping vegetables, waiting until someone comes along and tells me it's alright - or not? Oh we're sorry Meg, there was nothing we could do....we couldn't get to you in time, but he said goodbye..." tears were flowing now, and her nose running. "Do I just let them kill him, and live the rest of my life wondering if there was something I could have done? Answer me that!"
He'd already tugged her into an embrace, hugging her against his chest. Meg resisted at first – it should be Guy holding her head, his warmth and his scent consoling her – but comfort it was, and Archer crooned reassuring words over her until her sobs lessened, and then pulled a kerchief out of his doublet and handed it to her.
"It's clean," he said indignantly, as she held it up to examine it. "Oh alright, I may have polished my blade with it a couple of times, but only after I'd cleaned it."
Meg gave a watery smile, and tried to tidy herself up.
"Come on – sit here a minute." He led her to a log; she sat, hugging her knees. "Is that was this is about, you want to help him? I don't think you can, neither you nor I. Robin and Hubert are his best hope now."
"Maybe not. But if I'm not there, I won't know, will I?" She sniffed back fresh tears. "You're right, it would be foolish to go now. But tomorrow – when he's brought before the king...will they take him to the Great Hall?"
"I'd say so, I imagine they'll.....hang on, I know what you're thinking. I'm not sure the tunnel's a good idea Meg."
"Will you come with me? Or at least don't tell the others where I've gone? No one needs to know I'm there, none of them in the hall will know either. I'll stay out of sight, I'll just be able to hear what's happening."
Archer was silent, considering.
"Alright," he said at last, "I'll come with you. We'll go at first light, before the others wake. But you'd better behave. I don't intend to get caught spying on a king's private council. Best not to goad him, I would say, with so much at stake."
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The chains dragged painfully at his wrists as the guards escorted Guy to the Great Hall. That's why they do it. Well, he hadn't cared then and he didn't now. He could tolerate any indignity they threw at him, as long as he could get through this day alive, and with the hope intact that he could return to Meg.
He'd told Robin to keep her away, and was glad of it. But the thought this might go badly, that he might not see her again, had been a knife to his heart in the night. Worse by far than the cold, and the hunger, and the discomfort. The jibes of Murdac and the others, asking was the view much better now that he'd chosen the right side, had almost been a welcome distraction. But eventually, getting no response, they'd grown tired of it and slept, as much as the fitful rest of crowded prisoners equated to sleep. Then he'd been left prey not only to his fears, but sunk in despair that perhaps the deepest truth was that for the things he'd done he didn't deserve clemency, and had no right to wish for it.
"I know the way," he growled now, shaking free of the guards' grip.
But it was false bravado. Fear coiled in his gut, worse even than on the battlefield. This was different. Not the sharp, sudden surge of battle, surrounded by men who would fight and maybe die with you, but the culmination of months of dread, knowing that it was coming, and that he would have to face it alone.
No – not alone. As he entered through one of the lower doors he saw Robin and Hubert among the assembled nobles. They each acknowledged him with a nod, but their expressions gave him no real reason to hope. He waited, flanked by guards, while the king concluded other business. When it was done he looked up, and gestured Guy forward into the open space in the centre of the hall.
"Now, Guy of Gisborne," he began. "It baffles me, I confess, why the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Earl of Huntingdon – both men I value highly – seem so keen to save your miserable hide. Hubert tells me you've been indispensable for over half a year, that you even surrendered your weapon in a skirmish to save his life. A courageous act, certainly. But is that enough to absolve you of treason, of conspiracy, of murder – well, the list is long, I won't go on. I have to say I am...unconvinced."
The king stretched one leg before him and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the makeshift throne.
"You Robin, for example. What of your brave, wonderful lady? Doesn't she deserve something more, doesn't she deserve justice?"
Robin stepped forward.
"I think, sire, that if she could see who he's become, she would be arguing for exactly the same outcome I am." Guy glanced at Robin; the outlaw met his gaze.
"Strenuously," he added. The word fell between them with a slight, sad twist of a smile; a shared memory.
But Richard shook his head.
"I'll never understand you," he muttered, "and I don't say that about many men."
"People change, sire; I've changed."
This gave Richard pause. He stepped down and approached Robin. He stopped a single pace away, and regarded him curiously.
"So, is it true? I've heard you don't kill now, unless you must."
"I killed yesterday, and the day before."
"For me," murmured the king. "Again."
He placed his hands on Robin's shoulders.
"I've asked a lot of you in the past, I know. Perhaps more than I should have."
"You use what tools you must," Robin shrugged.
"And I wear them down, many become useless, fail. But that's not been the case with you. Yet there's a cost, and it's been great. So then." He stepped back; Guy held still, waiting, as the gaze of the Lionheart fell on him. "I'm inclined to give you what you want – even if it means pardoning this murderer. But first I'd like to hear what he has to say for himself."
Richard strode back to the throne and sat down. Guy's skin prickled with sweat, his hands trembling in spite of himself. He gripped his chains to steady them.
"You served Vaisey through all his plots and treasons," the king addressed him. "Why? What made you serve him?"
"I swore allegiance, when I was a youth and knew no better."
The king's gaze bore into him.
"And yet despite that you killed him, or thought you did." The accusation rapped out, harsh in the silence of the hall.
"Only when a higher order released me," Guy answered.
'What exactly do you mean?"
"I served Prince John. It was on his direct orders."
From the corner of his eye he saw Hubert shift uneasily. Well, what did he expect? If the king asked a direct question, what was he supposed to do? And if he was to be judged, then let it be for all of it.
"But it was no hardship. I wanted him dead," Guy confessed.
"How fortunate for you," the king said wryly. "So, that death was calculated. As mine was supposed to be. Tell me, how do I get past that, the fact that twice you've raised a weapon against your sovereign? The second time, only the life of an innocent woman – beyond that, one I've heard you cared deeply for...."
"And I live with that, every day," burst out Guy, guilt suddenly stripping his will to fight. He slumped in his bonds, head drooping. "If I'm to die for it, then so be it."
"Guy..." Robin, stepping towards him.
"Wait," barked Richard.
It was a voice accustomed to being obeyed, and the assembly did so. The hush was absolute. Guy heard the king rise and step from the dais; booted feet walked towards him. He halted a few paces away.
"So, Guy of Gisborne. Before I pass judgement, let me ask you one last question." Guy lifted his head. "You served Vaisey faithfully, every questionable, despicable thing that he asked you to do. Would you extend the same degree of loyalty to me?"
He straightened, held the king's gaze.
"If I swore it, yes."
This time Hubert groaned audibly.
Not so the king. Richard guffawed, a bark of genuine laughter. He glanced at Hubert, sharing the joke.
"I can see why you've taken to him," he allowed. "He's about as much an idea of tact as you do. Alright, enough, get his chains off...."
Dazed, Guy waited while his wrists were unshackled. It was done. He had survived. I'm free, Meg and I are free. How...has this really happened? Such great fortune! A few quick, shallow breaths escaped him. He didn't realise, at first, that what Robin was saying still concerned him.
"....but there's also the question of providing land for Guy."
"Now why would I do that?" Richard asked sharply. "Isn't it enough I've granted him his life?"
"This is something different. I've an old wrong to set right," Robin said stubbornly.
The Lionheart stood before Robin, considering, then strode back up to his throne. He slumped down into it.
"I will address this before I leave. You need your estate back – and your faithful gang must be rewarded. Lord knows," Richard waved a careless hand, "I've lost enough barons and earls in the Holy Land, and men killed in these sieges forfeit their land, so I'll be able to see all your men right, including him. But the question remains, why should I reward him? You've served me faithfully all these years, all he's done is serve those plotting against me."
"It's a long story, sire; it goes back to when we were youths." Robin turned to face Guy, acknowledging it was his story to tell.
"It's no secret – my father came back from the Holy Land diseased. A leper. My mother was harried by the bailiff, and planned to marry Robin's father. Before that could happen – a fire...." Guy paused, swallowed.
"...destroyed Gisborne manor," Robin continued. "And killed our parents, both mine and his. Or so we thought. Guy and Isabella were left orphaned and homeless."
"And what's this got to do with you?"
"Because the land, awarded Guy's father for his services in the Holy Land, reverted to Locksley."
"I see. And this was what, some twenty years ago?" he asked abruptly. "Well, there's no question of restoring those lands now, which I don't think is what you're suggesting? No. They're part of Locksley, they're yours. As is Knighton; you wed the Lady Marian, it's yours by right."
Then the Lionheart gave a long, hefty sigh. He leaned back in the throne, looking long and hard at Guy.
"As for finding you an estate," he said at length, "I have a proposal. Sir Guy – I've granted you a pardon. You're free to take it and leave, with no conditions. You may continue in Hubert's service, or make your living wherever you will. But if you want lands, you must earn them. To do that, you'll need to swear allegiance to me, and accompany me on my next campaign."
Guy swiped a hand across his face, struggling to keep up with his swiftly veering fortunes.
"Where would that be? For how long?" he managed.
"Probably France. Normandy's nothing but trouble, and I've a brother to sort out," huffed Richard. "And who knows how long? Maybe six weeks, maybe six months. It could even be a year."
A cry, quickly stifled, was heard. The king snapped his fingers and the guards tracked the source of the sound. They hauled Archer and Meg out of the tunnel to stand before him.
"What's she doing here?" snapped Guy.
"She can be very persuasive." Archer raised his hands in mock defence.
"We must do something about that tunnel," muttered Richard. "Anyone else there that we're missing? I know the Lady Meg, but who's this one? I've seen him with you Hubert."
"My half-brother....Guy's too," said Robin.
"No doubt part of this long story." The king rolled his eyes. "Very well – are we done here?"
Guy felt the choice he had to make close in on him. What had seemed a possibility, only moments before, now seemed to come at too great a cost. Half without realising it, he held out his hand; Meg rushed to take it. The Lionheart leaned forward in his throne.
"Service requires sacrifice, Sir Guy," he said, almost gently.
"Why are you doing this?" cried Meg.
"Hush...." urged Guy, drawing her up against him.
"Because it's justice," snapped the king. "Robin gave me five years, and almost everything he held dear on top of that. And his sweetheart waited five years for him. Are you so faithless you can't wait just six months?"
"But I'm going to have his child," blurted Meg.
Guy turned her in his arms.
"Sweetheart, is this true?" He cradled her face in his hands.
"I think so. I asked Matilda, she believes I am."
"Sire, surely this changes everything?" Guy heard Hubert ask, tempering the great swoop of joy he felt; he still had a decision to make.
"I don't see why," said the king implacably. "It's no more nor less than I require of any of my knights, many of whom have families. I can't let his deeds go without penalty, he must make amends. But I'm not completely heartless. Offer me this service, Sir Guy, and I'll make sure you are released to be back in time for the birth."
"And if he doesn't survive the campaign?" growled Hubert.
"Then that is in the hands of our God, my lord Archbishop," said the Lionheart, with equal steel in his voice, "not mine."