The Wolf's Head: Part 1
Title: The Wolf's Head
Author: corrielle
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/characters: Guy, Djaq, Marian, Allan, John, Will, and Robin. Guy/Marian-ish
Word count: 3,430
Summary: Robin returns to Locksley, and Guy has a choice to make.
Notes: Many thanks to endcredits, who graciously agreed to be my beta at short notice and gave me both excellent advice and much-needed encouragement. Also, this story probably wouldn't be here without my girlfriend Rae, who read it first.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to legend and the BBC, and I make no profit from this work.
Previously: Prologue
Part 1
The Sheriff was not happy to see Guy lose Locksley, and though he called a feast in honor of Robin's safe return, he also arrested three men from the village for stealing grain and sentenced them to hang the morning after.
The festivities were strained. No one talked too long or laughed too loudly, and the nobles in attendance, as if to show that they had no need of it, barely touched the abundance of food the Sheriff had ordered brought up from the castle's kitchens. Almost no one spoke to Robin of Locksley beyond a few murmured pleasantries, yet every eye in the Great Hall was on him, waiting to see what he would do. He had barely been back a day, and he had already spoken out strongly against the Sheriff's taxes and called the Sheriff's punishments cruel and ruthless to his face. Young Locksley, it was agreed, was either very naïve or very foolish.
Though the Sheriff had ordered him to be present, Guy wished to be anywhere but where he was. With Robin's return, he was landless once again, a man with an empty title and no holdings. His possessions and his wealth now sat in a room in the wing of the castle reserved for the Sheriff's favored men, and Vasey had promised him that he would not be forgotten, but it did not mean that he wanted to celebrate the man who had come back to take his place.
Even now, Robin was talking to Marian. She, at least, did not turn away from him after welcoming him home. It was to be expected, and perhaps excused. She had been betrothed to Locksley, after all, and further connection with him would not hurt her. Guy wondered what it was they spoke of. Both of them wore serious expressions, and once when Marian finished speaking, Robin shook his head slowly, and her face grew set and angry.
Behind them, the Sheriff approached, resplendent in his ermine cloak and carrying a full goblet of wine in his hand. He tilted his head to one side, as if listening to their conversation.
Quickly, Guy made his way to Marian's side. Locksley was not happy to see him, but he and Guy nodded at each other in acknowledgement anyway.
"Lady Marian," Guy said. "May I have the pleasure of your company?" He offered her his arm in such a way that she could not help but see that Vasey was nearby.
"Of course, Sir Guy," Marian said demurely.
Robin glared at Guy as they left, and Guy smirked back at him. She may have loved Robin once, but she did not seem unhappy to leave his side.
"How long had he been listening?" Marian asked as they moved away from Robin and the Sheriff stepped into the empty space beside him.
"Not long," Guy told her. "Certainly not long enough to hear anything foolish the two of you might have been saying."
Marian let go of his arm and looked over her shoulder. They had moved away from the rest of the guests and into one of the corridors that led away from the hall.
"You needn't lecture me about caution," she said. "And besides, sadness for the sake of men about to be hanged is not yet a crime."
"Not a crime, no, but too much sympathy can be dangerous," Guy said.
She took a step back. "How can you, of all people, say that? These are your men who will die in the morning!"
"They are not my men any more," Guy reminded her. "They are in Robin of Locksley's care, and they are his responsibility. If he wishes to speak to the Sheriff on their behalf, ask for lenience…"
"He has, this afternoon, but I suspect you already know that," Marian said, narrowing her eyes at him in annoyance. "And he accomplished nothing. In fact, one poor fool who thought he could claim to be from Locksley and be freed is going to get a noose around his neck as well, now. These men don't need lenience, Guy. They haven't done anything wrong."
"But the grain was stolen," Guy insisted, shifting uneasily. He had heard the tone of voice Marian was using before, and it worried him very much. She was convinced she was in the right, and would act in accordance with her conscience unless he could persuade her otherwise. "I saw the evidence, and I know very well how much the manor had in its stores."
"Yes, but think on this: you were a good master. Well-liked. Why, then, would your peasants steal from you? Why would they not simply come to you if they were hungry to the point of thieving?"
"Perhaps they were ungrateful," he suggested.
Marian gave him a withering look. "You can't possibly believe that."
She was right. Guy did not believe that the Scarlett boys would steal from the manor, and young Benedict was more timid than a mouse. He was no thief. But the Sheriff said that the crime was theirs, and there was nothing to be done about it.
"Then what am I to believe?" he asked her.
"Believe me when I say that I do not know how, but the Sheriff is testing Robin. He probably had his men steal the grain themselves. He will try to push Robin to act rashly, to defy the order of execution. But Robin can't refuse. You know that. If he pushes the Sheriff too far, he'll strike out at Robin. And at his mother. Robin won't take that risk."
"And that is wise of him," Guy said.
"But these men will die for the sake of this test! Men you know, men who trusted you, men who looked to you for help!"
Guy's fingers curled into fists. "What would you have me do, Marian?" he demanded.
Marian looked relived, as if she had been waiting for him to ask just that question.
"I am about to tell you a secret," she whispered. He had to lean in to hear her, and he could feel her breath on his face. "But before I tell you… you must promise me that if you will not help us, you will not hinder us either, and that you will not share my secret."
"What are you planning to do?" Guy asked, grabbing her arm. Whatever it was, it would be dangerous, and he would not allow her to put herself in harm's way even if it meant locking her in a spare closet until the hanging was over.
Marian removed her arm from his grasp. "Promise first," she said again.
"I swear. Not a word."
Marian smiled, and Guy was glad despite himself that he had made her happy.
"I know the identity of the Night Watchman," Marian told him. "And I know he plans to attempt a rescue at the hanging tomorrow."
"The Night Watchman?" Guy scoffed. "He's a do-gooder in a mask. He'll stand no chance against the Sheriff's soldiers."
"You underestimate him. I know his plan, and it is a good one. But… it needs you to succeed. Once the prisoners are freed, they will need a way out of the castle, and I do not think the Sheriff will oblige them by leaving the front gate open. If there was a way you could get the key to the South door in the abandoned wing…"
"How do you know about that?" Guy asked. The door was half-hidden behind old crates in a portion of the castle that hadn't been used for many years. It was one of Vasey's many escape routes that were supposed to be kept secret.
All Marian said was, "I listen when people talk. Now, will you help the Night Watchman, or will you not?" There was a finality about her question, as if his answer would change everything between them, one way or another.
"I'll let them out," Guy said, thinking himself mad even as the words left his mouth. If he was caught, he would hang in the company of four peasants and a masked man who had been fool enough to think he could snatch lives from Vasey's grasp, laugh at him in the seat of his power, and get away with it.
Marian breathed a sigh of relief, but before she could respond, Guy said, "One condition. You aren't going to be involved in this."
"Of course not." Marian laughed. "That would be foolish of me. I won't even be in the castle tomorrow morning. I'll be visiting friends at a manor across the river. Does that satisfy you?" The way she raised her eyebrows at him seemed to suggest that her safety was none of his concern.
"It does."
"I knew you were a good man, Guy," she said, laying her hand across his forearm. Her fingers were pale against the dark leather of his sleeve. "And I wish you good luck tomorrow."
There was a swell of music and voices from the hall, and both of them turned their heads toward it.
"They've cleared the floor for dancing," Guy said. "We've been gone too long. We should return."
"Yes, we should," Marian said. She took her hand from his arm and went on ahead of him, disappearing into the crowd while he still lingered in the shadows of the corridor.
#####
Clouds sat low on the horizon at dawn on the morning of the hanging, and by the time the sun was up and a crowd had gathered in the square, the sky had grown grey and featureless, and the sun was a dim, sallow disk burning sullenly overhead. Tension knotted in Guy’s shoulders as he stood at the Sheriff’s side on the steps to the castle. Even though no one in the crowd voiced it, their muted anger was thick and stifling in the stillness before the prisoners were brought up from the dungeon.
Vasey seemed to revel in it. He greeted those who had come to watch with a false, nasty geniality, and as the drum began to sound in advance of the condemned, he tapped his hand on his leg in time with the beats. At last, the prisoners stood on the platform of the scaffold, hands tied behind their backs. Vasey beckoned Robin of Locksley to come and stand with him on the steps, and with a flourish, the Sheriff handed him the rolled up order of execution.
As Locksley untied the order and held it in front of him, a voice from the middle of the square shouted, "Murderer!" Guy did not see who had said it, but from the way the crowd murmured in agreement, it could have been any one of them.
"Come, come, good people!" the Sheriff shouted over the rumbles of discontent. "Your young Lord Locksley is doing nothing more than what is right, than what is good. Is it heroic to let criminals go unpunished? No! Is it kindhearted to let these knaves steal from their master and their village?" He shook his head like a father explaining a deep truth to a small child. "Of course it isn't. And so, I say that we should applaud his bravery, his uprightness, his leadership." The Sheriff began to clap slowly, and each time his hands came together, the sound echoed against the high walls. Robin kept his eyes forward and his face calm, but Guy recognized the strain at the corners of his eyes, the control of a warrior who had decided that this was not the time to fight.
Robin unrolled the parchment that the Sheriff had given him and began to read, and ropes were fitted around the prisoners' necks.
"Let it be heard and known about the lands and realms of Richard, His Majesty, King of England," Robin read, "that on this, the 26th day of April, in the year of our Lord, 1192, the following men, having been tried under law and found guilty-Benedict Giddens of Locksley, Will Scarlett, of Locksley, Luke Scarlett, of Locksley, Allan a Dale of Locksley-these same men have been sentenced to be hanged by a rope until they are dead."
The Sheriff nodded to the executioner, and he moved to kick the stool out from under Will Scarlett's feet. At that moment, a single figure near the foot of the scaffold elbowed the guard at the bottom of the stairs in the chin. The guard's head snapped back, and the figure rushed up the stairs, his long brown cloak swirling behind him. The Night Watchman had made his entrance at last. He found his footing on the scaffold quickly, then he lunged forward and knocked the executioner to the ground. Though the Night Watchman was a small man, the force and velocity of his attack knocked the larger man on his back, and the force of the fall had him gasping for air.
The Night Watchman drew a short knife from his belt and cut the ropes that bound Will Scarlett's hands behind his back.
"Get on that platform! Stop that man!" the Sheriff yelled. He glared over at Robin of Locksley, who shrugged and held up his hands as if to say, "I have nothing to do with this." His innocent act, however, was ruined when he had the temerity to wink at Vasey. The fool even had the beginnings of a satisfied smile turning up the corners of his lips.
The Sheriff's guards tried to follow his orders, but the people, who had been content to be quiet until the Night Watchman appeared, were cheering and pushing in as close to the scaffold as possible, making it impossible for the guards to move, or even to draw their swords. Vasey shoved the member of his personal guard who stood nearest him toward the commotion.
"Help them! Cut through the crowd if you must!"
With one man free, the Night Watchman passed a second knife to Will, and the two of them went to work on freeing the other men. Benedict half stumbled, half fell from the stool he had been standing on when the cords that tied his hands were cut and the noose was lifted from around his neck, and the stranger from Dale shuddered in distaste as he passed the rope back over his head and let it drop.
The Night Watchman ran to the edge of the scaffold and motioned for the others to join him. Every eye in the square was on him, and so when he took off one of his gloves, tossed it onto the ground a few feet away from him, and pointed emphatically at where it landed, the people around it parted as cleanly as a tailor's shears cut cloth. The Night Watchman leaped from the platform and landed in a crouch, picking up his glove at he did so. The other men followed him, and instead of running toward the portcullis, as the guards at the perimeter of the crowd had expected them to do, they ran straight toward the entrance to the keep.
Neither Guy nor Robin made any move to stop them, a fact which seemed to enrage the Sheriff even more.
"Gisborne!" he bellowed. "Are you useless as well as landless? Get after them!"
Guy pointed at the first three guards to make their way back through the crowd. "You three, take the upper floors." Two more men scrambled up the stairs, and Guy ordered them to secure the entrances to the Great Hall. Another five were sent to secure the Sheriff's treasure room, and three more followed Guy when he finally ran into the castle.
Guy considered himself lucky that the castle was in an uproar. The noise outside and the unceremonious intrusion of the guards had the servants frightened, and frightened people screamed and made all sorts of other convenient noises. As Guy and his men made their way through the castle, a piercing female screech sounded somewhere nearby.
"You two," Guy said to the two men bringing up the rear, "go find out what that was."
He lost his last man when they passed by the kitchen, which was full of curious scullery maids.
"Search the kitchen staff," he ordered. "Make sure they're not trying to blend in with the castle servants."
The guard immediately began shouting for the maids to line up, and the more flirtatious among them didn't seem to mind being inspected in the least.
Once he was reasonably sure that no one was following him, Guy doubled back the way he had come. The main door leading to the South wing of the castle was not barred, but it was still heavy, and it groaned on its hinges as Guy swung it open. He looked for footprints in the dust to see if the Night Watchman and the peasants had already passed this way, but there were none. He reminded himself to send a patrol down the hallway where he now stepped some time soon. It would not do to have his footprints be the only ones in sight.
When he reached the secret door, he thought he was alone at first. He could hear nothing but his own breathing, and nothing moved in the dull light that filtered in from an arrow slit high above. Then, he heard soft footfalls and the rustle of clothing in the shadows to his left, and the Night Watchman stepped out from behind a corner, knife in hand.
Guy put his hands up. "It's me," he said. "You know who I am?"
The Night Watchman nodded, and the Scarlett brothers and the other peasants came out into the hallway. The man from Dale looked confused.
"I'm not being funny…" he whispered, "but weren't you one of the ones standing by all high and mighty while we almost got hanged?"
"We can trust him, Allan," Will assured him. The man called Allan still looked dubious about the idea of accepting Guy's help.
"You can trust me, or you can find your own way out of the castle. Now, help me move these crates. Quickly. All of you," Guy said. They were quick to obey, even Allan, and they had the door cleared in less than a minute. Guy did not look forward to putting them back they way they had been on his own. It would take more time than he would have liked, but there was no one he could call for help.
Only a simple wooden latch held the door in place, and when Guy flipped it open, the door swung out into an empty alleyway in Nottingham.
"Go quickly," Guy said.
The peasants slipped through the door first. Will Scarlett stopped in front of Guy as he passed.
"I won't forget this," Will said gravely.
Guy had never quite mastered the art of accepting gratitude from others, so he simply nodded in acknowledgment. It seemed to be enough, though, and Will followed his brother into the alley.
When only the Night Watchman remained, Guy studied the man who had led them all into this for the first time. He was a good deal shorter than Guy was, and not very bulky, either. A young man, perhaps? An idealistic younger son of one of the local nobles? It was difficult to say. The cloak he wore pulled over his head was made of plain brown cloth, and the mask that covered the upper part of his face was dark leather. The rest of his clothes were just as unassuming-a dark leather vest, a loose brown shirt, and boots that looked like they had been made for riding that came halfway up his calves. The Night Watchman didn't let Guy stare for long, though. He hadn't spoken the whole time, and he said nothing now as he and Guy stood alone by the secret door.
"Will you tell me who you are?" Guy asked.
The Night Watchman shook his head, but he reached into a pocket sewn into the inside of his cloak and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. He held the bit of paper out to Guy, who took it, unfolded it, and read the two words written in small, well-formed letters: "Thank you." Guy looked up to find the man still standing before him.
"I won't be thanking you if I am found out," Guy said. "Now go, and don't get caught."
The Night Watchmen cavalierly tossed his cloak over one shoulder, as if to say, "I won't," and followed Nottingham's newest outlaws into the alleyway.
Next: Part 2
Author: corrielle
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/characters: Guy, Djaq, Marian, Allan, John, Will, and Robin. Guy/Marian-ish
Word count: 3,430
Summary: Robin returns to Locksley, and Guy has a choice to make.
Notes: Many thanks to endcredits, who graciously agreed to be my beta at short notice and gave me both excellent advice and much-needed encouragement. Also, this story probably wouldn't be here without my girlfriend Rae, who read it first.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to legend and the BBC, and I make no profit from this work.
Previously: Prologue
Part 1
The Sheriff was not happy to see Guy lose Locksley, and though he called a feast in honor of Robin's safe return, he also arrested three men from the village for stealing grain and sentenced them to hang the morning after.
The festivities were strained. No one talked too long or laughed too loudly, and the nobles in attendance, as if to show that they had no need of it, barely touched the abundance of food the Sheriff had ordered brought up from the castle's kitchens. Almost no one spoke to Robin of Locksley beyond a few murmured pleasantries, yet every eye in the Great Hall was on him, waiting to see what he would do. He had barely been back a day, and he had already spoken out strongly against the Sheriff's taxes and called the Sheriff's punishments cruel and ruthless to his face. Young Locksley, it was agreed, was either very naïve or very foolish.
Though the Sheriff had ordered him to be present, Guy wished to be anywhere but where he was. With Robin's return, he was landless once again, a man with an empty title and no holdings. His possessions and his wealth now sat in a room in the wing of the castle reserved for the Sheriff's favored men, and Vasey had promised him that he would not be forgotten, but it did not mean that he wanted to celebrate the man who had come back to take his place.
Even now, Robin was talking to Marian. She, at least, did not turn away from him after welcoming him home. It was to be expected, and perhaps excused. She had been betrothed to Locksley, after all, and further connection with him would not hurt her. Guy wondered what it was they spoke of. Both of them wore serious expressions, and once when Marian finished speaking, Robin shook his head slowly, and her face grew set and angry.
Behind them, the Sheriff approached, resplendent in his ermine cloak and carrying a full goblet of wine in his hand. He tilted his head to one side, as if listening to their conversation.
Quickly, Guy made his way to Marian's side. Locksley was not happy to see him, but he and Guy nodded at each other in acknowledgement anyway.
"Lady Marian," Guy said. "May I have the pleasure of your company?" He offered her his arm in such a way that she could not help but see that Vasey was nearby.
"Of course, Sir Guy," Marian said demurely.
Robin glared at Guy as they left, and Guy smirked back at him. She may have loved Robin once, but she did not seem unhappy to leave his side.
"How long had he been listening?" Marian asked as they moved away from Robin and the Sheriff stepped into the empty space beside him.
"Not long," Guy told her. "Certainly not long enough to hear anything foolish the two of you might have been saying."
Marian let go of his arm and looked over her shoulder. They had moved away from the rest of the guests and into one of the corridors that led away from the hall.
"You needn't lecture me about caution," she said. "And besides, sadness for the sake of men about to be hanged is not yet a crime."
"Not a crime, no, but too much sympathy can be dangerous," Guy said.
She took a step back. "How can you, of all people, say that? These are your men who will die in the morning!"
"They are not my men any more," Guy reminded her. "They are in Robin of Locksley's care, and they are his responsibility. If he wishes to speak to the Sheriff on their behalf, ask for lenience…"
"He has, this afternoon, but I suspect you already know that," Marian said, narrowing her eyes at him in annoyance. "And he accomplished nothing. In fact, one poor fool who thought he could claim to be from Locksley and be freed is going to get a noose around his neck as well, now. These men don't need lenience, Guy. They haven't done anything wrong."
"But the grain was stolen," Guy insisted, shifting uneasily. He had heard the tone of voice Marian was using before, and it worried him very much. She was convinced she was in the right, and would act in accordance with her conscience unless he could persuade her otherwise. "I saw the evidence, and I know very well how much the manor had in its stores."
"Yes, but think on this: you were a good master. Well-liked. Why, then, would your peasants steal from you? Why would they not simply come to you if they were hungry to the point of thieving?"
"Perhaps they were ungrateful," he suggested.
Marian gave him a withering look. "You can't possibly believe that."
She was right. Guy did not believe that the Scarlett boys would steal from the manor, and young Benedict was more timid than a mouse. He was no thief. But the Sheriff said that the crime was theirs, and there was nothing to be done about it.
"Then what am I to believe?" he asked her.
"Believe me when I say that I do not know how, but the Sheriff is testing Robin. He probably had his men steal the grain themselves. He will try to push Robin to act rashly, to defy the order of execution. But Robin can't refuse. You know that. If he pushes the Sheriff too far, he'll strike out at Robin. And at his mother. Robin won't take that risk."
"And that is wise of him," Guy said.
"But these men will die for the sake of this test! Men you know, men who trusted you, men who looked to you for help!"
Guy's fingers curled into fists. "What would you have me do, Marian?" he demanded.
Marian looked relived, as if she had been waiting for him to ask just that question.
"I am about to tell you a secret," she whispered. He had to lean in to hear her, and he could feel her breath on his face. "But before I tell you… you must promise me that if you will not help us, you will not hinder us either, and that you will not share my secret."
"What are you planning to do?" Guy asked, grabbing her arm. Whatever it was, it would be dangerous, and he would not allow her to put herself in harm's way even if it meant locking her in a spare closet until the hanging was over.
Marian removed her arm from his grasp. "Promise first," she said again.
"I swear. Not a word."
Marian smiled, and Guy was glad despite himself that he had made her happy.
"I know the identity of the Night Watchman," Marian told him. "And I know he plans to attempt a rescue at the hanging tomorrow."
"The Night Watchman?" Guy scoffed. "He's a do-gooder in a mask. He'll stand no chance against the Sheriff's soldiers."
"You underestimate him. I know his plan, and it is a good one. But… it needs you to succeed. Once the prisoners are freed, they will need a way out of the castle, and I do not think the Sheriff will oblige them by leaving the front gate open. If there was a way you could get the key to the South door in the abandoned wing…"
"How do you know about that?" Guy asked. The door was half-hidden behind old crates in a portion of the castle that hadn't been used for many years. It was one of Vasey's many escape routes that were supposed to be kept secret.
All Marian said was, "I listen when people talk. Now, will you help the Night Watchman, or will you not?" There was a finality about her question, as if his answer would change everything between them, one way or another.
"I'll let them out," Guy said, thinking himself mad even as the words left his mouth. If he was caught, he would hang in the company of four peasants and a masked man who had been fool enough to think he could snatch lives from Vasey's grasp, laugh at him in the seat of his power, and get away with it.
Marian breathed a sigh of relief, but before she could respond, Guy said, "One condition. You aren't going to be involved in this."
"Of course not." Marian laughed. "That would be foolish of me. I won't even be in the castle tomorrow morning. I'll be visiting friends at a manor across the river. Does that satisfy you?" The way she raised her eyebrows at him seemed to suggest that her safety was none of his concern.
"It does."
"I knew you were a good man, Guy," she said, laying her hand across his forearm. Her fingers were pale against the dark leather of his sleeve. "And I wish you good luck tomorrow."
There was a swell of music and voices from the hall, and both of them turned their heads toward it.
"They've cleared the floor for dancing," Guy said. "We've been gone too long. We should return."
"Yes, we should," Marian said. She took her hand from his arm and went on ahead of him, disappearing into the crowd while he still lingered in the shadows of the corridor.
#####
Clouds sat low on the horizon at dawn on the morning of the hanging, and by the time the sun was up and a crowd had gathered in the square, the sky had grown grey and featureless, and the sun was a dim, sallow disk burning sullenly overhead. Tension knotted in Guy’s shoulders as he stood at the Sheriff’s side on the steps to the castle. Even though no one in the crowd voiced it, their muted anger was thick and stifling in the stillness before the prisoners were brought up from the dungeon.
Vasey seemed to revel in it. He greeted those who had come to watch with a false, nasty geniality, and as the drum began to sound in advance of the condemned, he tapped his hand on his leg in time with the beats. At last, the prisoners stood on the platform of the scaffold, hands tied behind their backs. Vasey beckoned Robin of Locksley to come and stand with him on the steps, and with a flourish, the Sheriff handed him the rolled up order of execution.
As Locksley untied the order and held it in front of him, a voice from the middle of the square shouted, "Murderer!" Guy did not see who had said it, but from the way the crowd murmured in agreement, it could have been any one of them.
"Come, come, good people!" the Sheriff shouted over the rumbles of discontent. "Your young Lord Locksley is doing nothing more than what is right, than what is good. Is it heroic to let criminals go unpunished? No! Is it kindhearted to let these knaves steal from their master and their village?" He shook his head like a father explaining a deep truth to a small child. "Of course it isn't. And so, I say that we should applaud his bravery, his uprightness, his leadership." The Sheriff began to clap slowly, and each time his hands came together, the sound echoed against the high walls. Robin kept his eyes forward and his face calm, but Guy recognized the strain at the corners of his eyes, the control of a warrior who had decided that this was not the time to fight.
Robin unrolled the parchment that the Sheriff had given him and began to read, and ropes were fitted around the prisoners' necks.
"Let it be heard and known about the lands and realms of Richard, His Majesty, King of England," Robin read, "that on this, the 26th day of April, in the year of our Lord, 1192, the following men, having been tried under law and found guilty-Benedict Giddens of Locksley, Will Scarlett, of Locksley, Luke Scarlett, of Locksley, Allan a Dale of Locksley-these same men have been sentenced to be hanged by a rope until they are dead."
The Sheriff nodded to the executioner, and he moved to kick the stool out from under Will Scarlett's feet. At that moment, a single figure near the foot of the scaffold elbowed the guard at the bottom of the stairs in the chin. The guard's head snapped back, and the figure rushed up the stairs, his long brown cloak swirling behind him. The Night Watchman had made his entrance at last. He found his footing on the scaffold quickly, then he lunged forward and knocked the executioner to the ground. Though the Night Watchman was a small man, the force and velocity of his attack knocked the larger man on his back, and the force of the fall had him gasping for air.
The Night Watchman drew a short knife from his belt and cut the ropes that bound Will Scarlett's hands behind his back.
"Get on that platform! Stop that man!" the Sheriff yelled. He glared over at Robin of Locksley, who shrugged and held up his hands as if to say, "I have nothing to do with this." His innocent act, however, was ruined when he had the temerity to wink at Vasey. The fool even had the beginnings of a satisfied smile turning up the corners of his lips.
The Sheriff's guards tried to follow his orders, but the people, who had been content to be quiet until the Night Watchman appeared, were cheering and pushing in as close to the scaffold as possible, making it impossible for the guards to move, or even to draw their swords. Vasey shoved the member of his personal guard who stood nearest him toward the commotion.
"Help them! Cut through the crowd if you must!"
With one man free, the Night Watchman passed a second knife to Will, and the two of them went to work on freeing the other men. Benedict half stumbled, half fell from the stool he had been standing on when the cords that tied his hands were cut and the noose was lifted from around his neck, and the stranger from Dale shuddered in distaste as he passed the rope back over his head and let it drop.
The Night Watchman ran to the edge of the scaffold and motioned for the others to join him. Every eye in the square was on him, and so when he took off one of his gloves, tossed it onto the ground a few feet away from him, and pointed emphatically at where it landed, the people around it parted as cleanly as a tailor's shears cut cloth. The Night Watchman leaped from the platform and landed in a crouch, picking up his glove at he did so. The other men followed him, and instead of running toward the portcullis, as the guards at the perimeter of the crowd had expected them to do, they ran straight toward the entrance to the keep.
Neither Guy nor Robin made any move to stop them, a fact which seemed to enrage the Sheriff even more.
"Gisborne!" he bellowed. "Are you useless as well as landless? Get after them!"
Guy pointed at the first three guards to make their way back through the crowd. "You three, take the upper floors." Two more men scrambled up the stairs, and Guy ordered them to secure the entrances to the Great Hall. Another five were sent to secure the Sheriff's treasure room, and three more followed Guy when he finally ran into the castle.
Guy considered himself lucky that the castle was in an uproar. The noise outside and the unceremonious intrusion of the guards had the servants frightened, and frightened people screamed and made all sorts of other convenient noises. As Guy and his men made their way through the castle, a piercing female screech sounded somewhere nearby.
"You two," Guy said to the two men bringing up the rear, "go find out what that was."
He lost his last man when they passed by the kitchen, which was full of curious scullery maids.
"Search the kitchen staff," he ordered. "Make sure they're not trying to blend in with the castle servants."
The guard immediately began shouting for the maids to line up, and the more flirtatious among them didn't seem to mind being inspected in the least.
Once he was reasonably sure that no one was following him, Guy doubled back the way he had come. The main door leading to the South wing of the castle was not barred, but it was still heavy, and it groaned on its hinges as Guy swung it open. He looked for footprints in the dust to see if the Night Watchman and the peasants had already passed this way, but there were none. He reminded himself to send a patrol down the hallway where he now stepped some time soon. It would not do to have his footprints be the only ones in sight.
When he reached the secret door, he thought he was alone at first. He could hear nothing but his own breathing, and nothing moved in the dull light that filtered in from an arrow slit high above. Then, he heard soft footfalls and the rustle of clothing in the shadows to his left, and the Night Watchman stepped out from behind a corner, knife in hand.
Guy put his hands up. "It's me," he said. "You know who I am?"
The Night Watchman nodded, and the Scarlett brothers and the other peasants came out into the hallway. The man from Dale looked confused.
"I'm not being funny…" he whispered, "but weren't you one of the ones standing by all high and mighty while we almost got hanged?"
"We can trust him, Allan," Will assured him. The man called Allan still looked dubious about the idea of accepting Guy's help.
"You can trust me, or you can find your own way out of the castle. Now, help me move these crates. Quickly. All of you," Guy said. They were quick to obey, even Allan, and they had the door cleared in less than a minute. Guy did not look forward to putting them back they way they had been on his own. It would take more time than he would have liked, but there was no one he could call for help.
Only a simple wooden latch held the door in place, and when Guy flipped it open, the door swung out into an empty alleyway in Nottingham.
"Go quickly," Guy said.
The peasants slipped through the door first. Will Scarlett stopped in front of Guy as he passed.
"I won't forget this," Will said gravely.
Guy had never quite mastered the art of accepting gratitude from others, so he simply nodded in acknowledgment. It seemed to be enough, though, and Will followed his brother into the alley.
When only the Night Watchman remained, Guy studied the man who had led them all into this for the first time. He was a good deal shorter than Guy was, and not very bulky, either. A young man, perhaps? An idealistic younger son of one of the local nobles? It was difficult to say. The cloak he wore pulled over his head was made of plain brown cloth, and the mask that covered the upper part of his face was dark leather. The rest of his clothes were just as unassuming-a dark leather vest, a loose brown shirt, and boots that looked like they had been made for riding that came halfway up his calves. The Night Watchman didn't let Guy stare for long, though. He hadn't spoken the whole time, and he said nothing now as he and Guy stood alone by the secret door.
"Will you tell me who you are?" Guy asked.
The Night Watchman shook his head, but he reached into a pocket sewn into the inside of his cloak and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. He held the bit of paper out to Guy, who took it, unfolded it, and read the two words written in small, well-formed letters: "Thank you." Guy looked up to find the man still standing before him.
"I won't be thanking you if I am found out," Guy said. "Now go, and don't get caught."
The Night Watchmen cavalierly tossed his cloak over one shoulder, as if to say, "I won't," and followed Nottingham's newest outlaws into the alleyway.
Next: Part 2