Date: Sat, 19 Dec 1998 07:57:54 GMT From: Michael Gouda Subject: Robin o'Wood (Part 4) Robin O' Wood ============= Part 4: Sir Guy of Gisborne --------------------------- Fytte the First Christmas had come and gone and it was a sad time in the greenwood, what with Hugh and Edward dead from the plague and Will Scarlock's health mending only slowly. In particular they missed Hugh's fiddle playing. But the year turned and Spring came in like a lion with its rumbustious March winds that tossed the daffodil heads and then went out like a lamb when the warm April showers encouraged the sweet-smelling violets. The colour in young Will's cheeks (who had once been Brother Dominic) returned and he and Much frolicked again. Then three more had arrived, smiling Richard Flute and the Quint twins, Peter and Tom, to replace and add one more to the two lost and now the band was nine, nine men and boys, who for various reasons, the call of hunger, defence of their loved ones, in some cases criminal intent, had gone against the Law of the Land and were now outside it, outlaws, whose very existence was an affront to the Sheriff of Yorkshire and his deputy, Sir Guy of Gisborne. Sir Guy, that tall man of elegantly cruel tastes, whose reputation had been bruised when, having been lured into the depths of Barnesleydale Forest by Robin Hood, he had been 'permitted' - the very word stuck in his craw - to crawl back home, bereft of cloak, sword and pride, and whose every design now was to kill this insolent 'man of the woods' in as slow and painful way as was possible. And now Sir Guy of Gisborne, his pale face bearded and frowning, stood in the presence of the newly installed Abbot of Doncaster (whose predecessor was yet another victim of Hood's outrage) and waited to be asked to be seated. The Abbot, a fastidious man, whose black habit was given a richness by the addition of the gold crucifix on his breast, motioned with a gloved hand to a chair. From behind, a tall lean monk entered silently with a flask of wine and poured two glasses. It was the best Italian from Perugia, tasting of dried fruit and Mediterranean warmth, rich, sweet. mellow wine, which lingered on the tongue like honey. Sir Guy sipped it appreciatively, mentally counting the cost of such an import. It crossed his mind that perhaps it would have been worthwhile going into the Church rather than the military if wine like this was among the benefits. The Abbot, thin ascetic face though the skin was loose at his chin, opened a small gold box and offered a comfit but Sir Guy refused. To take away the taste of such a wine with a sweetmeat would be a transgression indeed. "In the matter of Brother Dominic," said the Abbot, "my predecessor . . ." He paused and wiped his lips with a square of lace. Sir Guy felt a sense of personal embarrassment but was determined not to show it. It had been while under his protection that the late Abbot had been captured and killed. He took another sip of the wine and met the Abbot's gaze. The Abbot decided there was no need to mention his predecessor - and Guy's responsibility - any further - the point had been made. He popped another comfit into his mouth. It tasted of violets. "Though only a novice," he said, appearing to change the subject, "Brother Dominic's life was being dedicated to God and thus he must be returned to serve Him whether he likes it or not. The Good Lord alone knows what has happened to him while in the clutches of those sinful men." Sir Guy suspected that more dubious things had happened to Brother Dominic while under the authority of the late Abbot but he said nothing, only nodding. "And you have your own reasons for wishing Robin Hood brought to justice, I understand." The Abbot put his hands together as if he was praying. He looked insufferably smug. God's Teeth, thought Sir Guy, this man is determined to rub salt into my wounds. Again he remained silent though inwardly he seethed. "Have you any way of finding out where the outlaw lodges in the forest? Any informant close to him? The affair has been bungled on at least two occasions. A third time would leave you - us - open to ridicule." "I know of such a man," said Sir Guy, and again felt a sudden sharp twinges of humiliation. He had bargained with the man, William a Trent, the outlaw band's betrayal for Robin's life. Apparently the man had some perverted emotional feeling for Robin, was jealous of his deputy, the one they called John. And because Sir Guy had refused him the fellow once in his power, he had engineered their escape from Ferrybridge Jail and left yet another stain on Sir Guy's reputation. He wondered whether he could once more gain the man's trust, whether indeed the feelings were still as strong. Perhaps if he made promises in a legal document, the man might be convinced. "Robin Hood's notoriety grows," said the Abbot. "I hear he has been distributing money and food in the towns around, leaving them outside the plague spots, no doubt profits from the chests he stole in the attack on my predecessor." There it was again! This prelate probed him deeply! "Beautiful wine," said Sir Guy and placed his empty glass on the well-polished top of the table behind which the Abbot sat. The Abbot looked at it for a while thoughtfully, seeming to ponder the question of a refill. "So, Sir Guy," he said, obviously deciding against it, "you will keep me informed of developments. And I expect the return of Brother Dominic to his spiritual home as soon as possible. He is a tarnished soul, and must have the taint removed." It was an obvious dismissal and Sir Guy took it as such. He went out, pointedly forgetting to kiss the Episcopal ring on the Abbot's middle finger - for he was Bishop of Peterborough as well as Abbot of Doncaster. As he rode out through the Abbey gates, accompanied by his retinue, Sir Guy pondered. His spies had informed him that William a Trent was staying in Nottingley and the road back to Gisborne led through that market town. There was no plague in Nottingley. Perhaps he should call on the man on the way home. He spurred on his horse. Who knew what his persuasive tongue could do? What offer could he make? What does Trent need? Every man has his price, Guy thought. Fytte the Second Richard Flute smiled his engaging smile. It took in Allan Forrest and Piers Howard, the Quint brothers, the Spring sunshine, the nodding white wood anemonies, the green banks of dog's mercury and Piers Howard - especially Piers Howard. All unknowing, the lad - the object of his attention - stood, his back against a tree, his unruly shock of black hair softly touched by the breeze, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. Richard wondered what he was thinking about. Probably remembering some activity with his blond lover, Allan Forrest. They seemed as thick as thieves but, in Richard's experience, there were few who could withstand the excitement of a little extramural diversion, however well-wed they might be. Richard, hot-blooded, forever on the search for some new experience, new conquest, felt his cock stir in his fork. Spring was in the air - and between his loins. Like the sap coursing in the trees, it rose. His smile broadened as he felt the onset of the chase. Robin Hood sensed the restlessness in his men, felt it himself and had suggested to his deputy, John, the previous night that something would have to be done about it. An undertaking, a foray, something to give spice to their lives, in short they needed adventure. John, forever calm, and only really happy when his beloved Robin was out of harm's way and preferably in his own arms, attempted to dissuade but knew it was useless. Once Robin had an idea in his mind, no one could change it. As John thought of this, Robin himself emerged from the bothy they shared into the sunlight with an expression on his face that was so enthusiastic that John sighed inwardly. Robin called the men together and they sat down at the table in the centre of the glade. The boys, Will and Much, ceased tumbling about on the grass and, slightly out of breath, took their own seats. For a moment Robin surveyed his band. Blond Allan Forrest sat beside dark-haired Piers, as always, and Richard Flute, smiling, took his place next. John was at the foot of the table while the twins, Tom and Peter Quint, and the boys took the remaining side. "What's to do?" asked Allan, his thigh pressed against the warm one of Piers. "Some excitement, lads," said Robin. "I have an undertaking in mind." "Haven't we had enough excitement?" asked John though he knew it was hopeless to argue. "Trips to Ferrybridge to relieve those suffering from the plague. We buy goods in Nottingley and Barnesleydale . . . " His voice tailed off. Robin, though he might be the subservient one in bed, was the master of the greenwood. "Our mission is not to feed the poor," said Robin, "except insofar as that will influence them in our favour - and that we have already done. You care too much, John." He smiled to take the reproof out of his words. John knew it was futile, but nevertheless he tried one last time. "Dickon, Hugh Goodyear's son, is recovered from the plague, but has no one to look after him as a father should. Could we not bring him here with us? We promised Hugh we would care for him." "We cannot look after children here," said Robin ignoring John's pointed look at Much and Will who were playing some childish game under the table top which seemed to involve much hand movement and occasional giggles. "The Abbot's treasure boxes are by now almost empty," said Robin, a smile of anticipation touching the corners of his lips, "but rumour has it that Gisborne has plenty stored away in his strong rooms. Taxes that he has failed to return to the Sheriff, some proceeds from a Moorish Crusade, money that he has squeezed from those under sentence with promises of freedom." "Vain hope," said Allan cynically. "Vain indeed," said Robin, "for who would trust Sir Guy?" Piers felt his leg pressed by his lover and returned the pressure. Then was surprised to feel another pressure from the other side. A mistake surely! But Richard Flute's leg gently rubbed against his and he knew it was no mistake. Allan was his true love. Piers wore on his finger the ring which spelled out that love. 'You have my heart,' it said in old French. 'Guard it well'. But he could not in fact stop a twinge of excitement run through his body and into his groin. Two young men, both virile and wanting him. Who could not feel aroused? For a moment he considered the possibility of the three of them, naked amongst the soft Spring heather shoots, skin touching skin and cocks looking for places to find refuge. A bulge increased between his opening legs and both admirers noticed, each thinking he was the instigator. "So what say you to a quest to Gisborne Castle?" Robin looked at the twins, that enigmatic, indistinguishable pair who seemed to have an almost extrasensory relationship with each other. "How can we . . ." asked Tom Quint. ". . . get into the Castle?" finished his brother, Peter. Did they always think and talk as one, wondered Robin. "There is a friend who is an under steward and will leave the doors open." "More traitor's work," said John morosely. "The man has little to be loyal for," said Robin. "Sir Guy does not treat his servants well." A silence fell, interrupted by the sudden repeated chattering call of a green woodpecker from the trees around. "Edward would have seen something sinister in that," said John. "It is magpies that bring bad luck," said Robin, "not the yaffle." He looked round at the rest, and caught Richard's smile. What was that old saying, thought Robin briefly with perhaps just a prickle of unease. He smiles and smiles and is a villain? But then we are all villains here in one sense or another. "To Gisborne Castle then," said Richard, and smiled his smile while his leg pressed into his neighbour's and felt a response. Fytte the Third The village of Gisborne lay down the valley. It looked pretty enough from afar but when they got close they could see the holes in the roof-thatch, the wattle and daub walls that needed repair, the general hang-dog air of the inhabitants that bespoke a landlord who, while taking the rents doubtless as often as they fell due, cared little for his tenants' comfort or welfare. And if the village cowered like an ill-provided-for villein, then Gisborne Castle was truly a cruel overbearing taskmaster standing, as it did proud and aloof on rising ground, its strong stone walls menacing the surrounding countryside. Slit eye windows in the keep could observe what was going on below though would not admit observation - and even more importantly - the passage of arrows from outside. But if the walls appeared impregnable they, like so many other aspects of power, were always prey to betrayal from within and a little postern gate had been left inconspicuously unlatched so that, as the evening gloom fell, the outlaws slipped in, as quietly as shadows, to invade the apparent security of Sir Guy's stronghold. With their hooded cloaks covering faces and bodies, the nine men crossed the deserted area which in daylight would have been busy with soldiers practising manoeuvres, shooting at targets, tilting with spears. The intruders encircled the walls of the central tower to which yet another small door gave them access. From the main gatehouse behind them came the sound of drunken singing. "It seems that Sir Guy himself is not in residence," said Robin quietly, "or that man would find himself in trouble else." "And where is the Treasury?" asked a shadowy ghost beside him which from the size, Robin recognised as John. "And will it be . . . . " Tom's quiet voice. ". . . . open for us?" concluded Peter. "As I understand." "This friend, the steward," whispered Allan. "He must hate Sir Guy indeed." "Or love us more," said Robin. "His family live in Ferrybridge and have benefited from our generous giving." "Hugh's idea," murmured John, in case Robin should forget. Once inside there was a little light from a cresset torch burning in a sconce on the wall, enough indeed to make out the stone staircase which wound up the inside of the tower. "If we meet anyone coming down the stair, we are discovered," said Richard. "And we will be nine to one," said Robin, "and he will stand little chance." He drew a short stabbing sword from his belt and they proceeded upwards. But they met no one on the climb and at the top of the flight of stone steps there was an arch giving entrance to a corridor with windows down one side which must run down the whole length of the castle keep. The wall on the left was hung with rich tapestries whose coloured silks were illuminated by the flickering light of yet more torches set into wall brackets. "Sir Guy can light his rooms, even when there is no one there," said Allan in wonder and he and Piers gazed in awe at the scenes of knightly combat in a strange land where dragons breathed fire and unicorns cantered on slender hooves and laid their heads in young virgins' laps. "Is this the Treasury?" asked Richard. "Behind these doors," said Robin, indicating the massive oak doors which punctuated the spaces between the tapestries. He pushed open the first and peered in. It seemed to be a large room but it was so filled with chests and boxes and cases and caskets, with piles of silks and damasks and brocades, with sacks and pouches and receptacles of all kinds that there was scarcely space for anyone to enter, much less walk around. Moorish artefacts of gold and silver and Eastern trinkets told of prizes taken while on Crusades. They crowded the entrance and peered in. Robin lifted a sack and weighed it thoughtfully. It clinked as he lifted it. If all the containers were as richly full, then this was treasure indeed. "A veritable Saladin's cave," breathed Richard. And the others were struck dumb by the sight. Suddenly though there were noises from the other end of the corridor. John stiffened and drew his dagger. Robin put his hand on his arm. "There are many voices," he said. "We do not want a battle. Quickly! Into the chamber." Scarcely enough room to size a pickle but there had to be space sufficient for the nine of them. They bundled in. Someone tripped and Piers fell over a leg to land face down over a bundle of soft fabrics. The door was pulled shut and instantly black blindness. Someone else collapsed on top of him, an outstretched hand landing on the top of his leg, just below his buttock. He gasped. "Quiet!" Robin's soft voice from out of the darkness. Piers could smell if not see the others all around him, the wild marjoram smell of Robin, the muskier scent of someone else, Allan's familiar fragrance. He could hear the subdued giggles of Will and Much before Robin's murmured words quietened them. The hand on his leg moved up, clasped his buttock, then higher to where the drawstring around his waist held his leggings fastened. A practised touch undid it and then pulled down the material. He felt warm breath on his arse, the buttocks were parted and a tongue inserted into he crevice between. He gasped again but so quietly it was just an intake of breath. A warm hand sneaked between his legs and grasped his cock while the tongue flickered in and out, moistening, arousing and he could do nothing but open himself to the probe, wanting it further in, wanting the hand to quicken. As soon it did. While the voices outside the door, three at least, possibly more, paused, hesitated for a moment as if not certain whether to come in or not, Piers reached his climax, and spurted his seed into the white satin on which he lay, liquid pearls amongst the jewelled embroidery. The voices proceeded, receded, faded and finally ceased. The hands drew up his leggings and refastened the tie. There was a moment's quiet and then the door was opened letting in the light. "All's clear," said Robin. They got to their feet and Piers looked at Allan who smiled at him. At the door Richard caught his attention. His tongue slowly emerged from his mouth, licked his lips and disappeared. Slowly he winked an eye. "As much as you can carry, lads," said Robin, as if nothing had happened. They loaded themselves with booty and were off, unobserved, out of that traitorous, insecure citadel, into the starry night. Castle Gisborne had been well and truly plundered. Piers felt as if the same had been done to him and, like Sir Guy, he had been powerless to prevent it. Fytte the Fourth As a sullen grey morning light lit the eastern sky the band, laden and triumphant, returned to the camp. They dumped the burden of their spoils on the ground. It formed a sizeable pile. Allan yawned. "It will be good to get to bed," he said looking at Piers. John peered round suspiciously. "There is something amiss . . ." he started to say and as he spoke a voice rang out from the dark shade of the trees around the clearing, stern, harsh, authoritative. "Stand! Let nobody move!" Soldiers, iron-helmeted, leather corselets, white surcoats bearing the arms of West Riding - Sheriff's men - stepped out all around, each one with bow drawn, arrow strung and pointing at a human target. And the one who gave the orders, tall, bearded, the fur-trimmed cloak a token of his rank, instantly recognisable - Sir Guy of Gisborne. He strode up to Robin, dark hair contrasted with chestnut curls, pale complexion to weather-beaten brown, rich clothes against hempen tunic mud-stained and worn - and yet it was Robin who appeared the more highborn, and Sir Guy who could not meet his gaze. "Sir Guy," said Robin. "We meet again." "In your 'kingdom'," said Guy sarcastically, for he remembered how Robin had taunted him the last time they had met in the greenwood. "But not I think in your sovereignty." He turned to two soldiers. "Hold him," he said and they stepped forward to grab hold of Robin's arms. But Robin did not seem to be about to struggle and remained standing, composed, staring at Guy - an expression which seemed to annoy him even more. "And how was it that you found us here, so deep into Barnesleydale Forest?" "A woodsman, not unknown to you, I think," said Guy, "No one can walk in the forest and not leave signs - as you well know." He motioned one of the 'soldiers' forward. The man took off his helmet and showed his frowning face, the dark eyebrows that met above his nose. They knew him immediately. Robin looked at him and nodded. "So, William a Trent, you are a traitor indeed." Trent looked Robin in the eyes and his expression twisted as if a prey to conflicting emotions. "I hope he paid you well." "No money," said Sir Guy. "But his former affection for you has changed, I fear. Love is turned to hate and if he cannot have you then no one else will." There was a roar from John and he started forward, fists raised, each one capable of crushing a skull. Soldiers surrounded him but it needed five of them to bear him crashing to the ground and hold him there. And still he struggled until Robin's quiet command, "Be still, John, lad. I am not hurt," quietened him. "Not yet," said Sir Guy, "but soon you will dance by the neck from a tree branch and your men beside you - a lively caper indeed." "I thought you needed the Sheriff's signature on the Death Warrant, and that only after a fair trial, - before the execution," said Robin. "In certain circumstances," said Sir Guy, "but who's to know?" He smiled and it was a cruel smile. "But first a little 'fun' I think. To repay you for the insult in the forest." "Ah yes," said Robin, "the loss of your sword and your cloak - and your pride, perhaps. The first two you seem to have replaced but the last is more difficult to recover." Sir Guy moved close, grabbed the neck of Robin's tunic and, with one harsh wrench, tore it down so that Robin's bare chest was exposed. "I want to see you weep before you die," said Sir Guy, "and beg for mercy." From his belt he drew a dagger and with the sharp point drew it gently across Robin's skin but the tears he drew were blood-red for, although he could not restrain a wince of pain at he first cut, Robin made no sound. Not so John. He let out a terrific roar of anger and threw the five men aside, but they were on to him and more beside so that even that mighty man could do nothing but fume impotently, and fix his eyes on his beloved who was being so cruelly treated. Nor could the other outlaws do anything but stare, horrified. And even William a Trent gave a sharp gasp as the blood ran down Robin's chest and onto the ground. Sir Guy had started back when John had lurched towards him but now, seeing the giant man was well held, he returned to his victim. "Hold him very tight," he said to the soldiers and then, with one sharp cut, he severed the cord which held Robin's leggings so that they slipped down and displayed his cock and balls. Sir Guy's left hand went to the hanging ballsack and held it loosely in his palm. "And will you lose these without a tear?" he asked and, holding hem away from his groin, he moved the dagger closer and prepared to slash. Again there was a wild cry from John but he could not escape, and only watch horrified. They waited for the shriek which surely even Robin would not be able to hold back, when the cut was made. But the most unexpected sound came from William a Trent. His eyes were large and staring and his mouth twisted into a rictus of revulsion and pain. "No," he screamed and with his sword drawn, he leaped onto Sir Guy, plunging the weapon deep into his back. Sir Guy gave a great groan as he felt the iron plunge into and through his body. The other soldiers were startled and confused by this unexpected turn of events but managed to recover enough to stab at Trent with their own weapons. In doing so though they let hold of John who rose to his feet and attacked, with his bare fists, those nearest to him, knocking senseless any of Sir Guy's men who came within reach. Likewise, Allan and the rest were temporarily free so that they also could join the fight, picking up weapons let fall by those laid out by John. It was indeed a short fight. The soldiers, with the death of their leader and the apparent insanity of one of their number, were demoralised, the outlaws heartened by the prospect of success. John laid out three on his own and Robin, though encumbered by his leggings which hung from his knees, stabbed another, with the very dagger which Guy had so nearly used to castrate him. The glade was soon full of the sounds of Sheriff's men, groaning - or indeed dying. Because they knew the whereabouts of the camp, they must all be disposed of and those that were not already dead, had their throats cut. Robin and John looked down at the body of William a Trent which the sword thrusts of the soldiers had turned into a riven corpse. They had, however, spared his face and for the first time since Robin had known him, he looked at peace, his eyes closed, his mouth no longer twisted as if he was laughing at some private, bitter joke. In spite of his treachery, Robin was able to feel some pity for the sullen, tortured man who had suffered, sold himself and eventually sacrificed his own life for love. They would bury him, and the others, in the greenwood which had become the last resting place of so many. Only Sir Guy would they strip and leave for the crows and foxes to dispose of. For the time being, Robin's band was safe again, with wealth enough to last for months ahead. But they knew that the High Sheriff would not allow this outrage to his authority to remain unpunished, and their lives were always at risk. John took his beloved Robin back to their hut and attended to his cuts, which were only minor. The others, Much with Will, Allan and Piers and the three newcomers together retired to their own beds to talk of the day's doings and eventually to sleep. In the darkness of their hut, naked under the warm comfort of their coverings, Allan and Piers held each other close. "Aye, beloved," said Allan. "There in the darkness of the Treasury room, didst not enjoy it?" So it was you, nearly burst out Piers, but he held the exclamation back, not wishing to give his lover reason to think that he had ever doubted who the secret infiltrator of his private parts was. "It certainly excited me," admitted Piers. "There with all the others around and all unknowing." "But you recognised the action of my mouth on your cock," said Allan. Piers was bewildered. The mouth that had pleasured him had not been on that part of his body at all. So who? And whose? And who had Allan? And was it Richard that both of them . . . ? The confused thoughts scrambled through Piers' brain. Until he dismissed them for that was all in the past and Allan need never know, must never know. Nevertheless Piers was not one to let a lesson learned go to waste. "Indeed I did recognise the mouth," said Piers. "But I have thought of another pleasure from the mouth and tongue which will give you delight. Lie down on your stomach, my beloved, and let me . . . " -- _ _ _ _ _ / | / (_) __| |__ __ __ | | / |/ | |/ _| \/ _\/ _\| | /_/|__/_|_|\__|_/\_|\_,_\__ |_|