Date: Sat, 19 Dec 1998 07:57:54 GMT
From: Michael Gouda <stachys@eurobell.co.uk>
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 . . . "

     
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