Chapter Text
I
— Good morning, my lord! —Brother Mark said solemnly, clutching a huge "judicial" book.
— I've seen better,—Guy muttered grimly in response and inquired — Has the coroner arrived?
— Yes, just now. But I see, has your mood been spoiled since morning already?— the sympathy in the monk's voice was absolutely sincere.
— If knowing how...This is quickly done.
Guy glanced sideways at the crowd of foresters whose reports he had just heard. No, they themselves were not to blame - it was the poachers. These just completely lost all shame, because the day of St. John was approaching for good Christians and the feast of Litha with orgies, drunkenness and outrages for the pagans. And given that the latter prevailed here ...
In general, all the surrounding poachers almost crowded into the forest for meat for the festive feast. In advance, since everyone has known from time immemorial that blood cannot be shed on Litha, there will be no Blessing, and, therefore, no harvest. Guy was especially interested in what kind of "immemorial" and "time" were they, who are these "everyone", and who came up with this nonsense? In the present case, everything pointed to the horned Sherwood scarecrow and his son.As always, as soon as someone begins to talk about ancient traditions and customs from time immemorial - see if there is a living author of these fables somewhere nearby. Usually he is, and even in good health - at least, he always flees very briskly..
However, these reflections were of little comfort, since there was a sad consequence of these same tales - the number of poachers in Sherwood increased very sharply, but deer, on the contrary, decreased. But the foresters still caught and brought back several villains
In addition, yesterday another “troublemaker” fell on their heads - in the corner of the hall, on a pile of straw, a hefty white swan sat, tied by a rope by its paw to a ring in the floor.
Just like a criminal, although that was exactly what it was, because it arbitrarily left the habitat allotted to him on the pond of Abbot Hugo and, having penetrated into someone's poultry yard, started a fight and a brawl there. As a result, it was discovered by the owner of the goose house right at the scene of the crime and, although with difficulty, was caught and taken to the castle
However, in the process of capture, the monster inflicted bodily harm on the catchers. With a beak. Where he could.
The funny thing about this story is that such an outrage was not the first time. Why the feathered beast could not sit on the monastery pond next to its own wife, Guy could not understand
— What a devilish bird! If it were my will, I would break your neck!
The swan hissed in resentment and flapped its wings, raising dust and straw into the air.
Guy sighed heavily, wondering when the churchman would arrive - the messenger was sent to the monastery at dawn - and finally take his treasure.
Afterward, the straw will have to be ordered to be changed, because it has already managed to spoil half the hall here, damn waterfowl! And such rubbish all the time. And also the court!
That's why Guy really didn't want the abbot to show up in the middle of the proceedings, especially the common lаw 1 - there already will be such a farce that you can run anywhere.
— Sir Guy, shall we begin then?— Brother Mark, who doubles as court clerk and toll treasurer, cautiously suggested.
—And, what, it is possible otherwise? — Guy grimaced and made a sign to his sergeant.
The guards opened the doors, and on one side the hall was filled with plaintiffs-witnesses-petitioners-visitors. On the other side, soldiers dragged the defendants.
He stepped up to the platform and said:
— I, Guy of Gisburne, Deputy Sheriff of Nottingham, by the King's Grace, administer justice on his behalf in his absence. May justice and law prevail, and may God help us.
And, sitting down in an armchair, he turned to the monk:
—Brother Mark, first general complaints, and only then placita соrаnае2 with this fucking poaching.
—As you wish, my lord,— the monk put aside one thick book and drew another equally significant one towards him.
— I wish not to participate in this all. Аt all!—Guy said gloomily. —But there's no other sheriff here but me, and things don't get done by themselves. So swear in everyone involved, let's get started.
***
Robin hoped that with business this unpleasant, sucking sense of anxiety would pass and the nocturnal vision would fade away, but this did not happen. So in search of consolation and in an attempt to understand what the strange dream means, Robin came to the sacred grove behind the cave and now sat on a large flat stone, like a table, exposing his face to the wind. Here, in the blissful coolness from the shadow of ancient oaks, among the stones covered with runes, it was always so good
He often came to this place to calmly think, make an important decision for himself, be alone. In some way, relax. In the camp, this could not be done for many reasons, and this urgent need, unfortunately, did not disappear.
On some of his questions, Robin received an answer that came to him here as an insight, and on some, alas, no. But he still did not lose hope of ever finding them.
Here, for example, lately the thought has been especially haunting, is he going in the right direction himself and leading his people? And those strange words of Herne about the real place to be taken. Why was he chosen at all? Is it only to protect the unfortunate peasants from the arbitrariness of the king and sheriff? He doesn’t do that very well, to be honest with himself
He does everything in his power to help those who ask for his help. But what about those who didn't get there? Who even lives on the other side of England? Or is he just setting an example, paving the way for others? Does it give hope that something can be changed, that evil can and should be resisted?
And to be completely honest with himself, he got involved in all this only because Herne said that he was the Chosen One! That's why Herne didn't let him go when Robin wanted to leave. So this is his place after all?
But why, then, was there the long-held feeling that he does not understand either his position or his goal? As if he were playing a game, a big, dangerous one, but a game nonetheless! It’s not that he didn’t like this occupation, but somehow it very quickly lost its original charm for him, and there weren’t really any profits from this process. What does he do to see the result? Well, he distributes money to the peasants, everything else, well, he saves them from reprisals, succeeds, and then what
Raise the people to revolt and throw the Normans out of England? The peasant were not eager to leave their fields and grab weapons, even if they had them. Well, they will take in their hands what they had, and ... and then what? They will never get support from the local Saxon barons, because these barons will never be able to agree not only with the rebels, but also with each other and do something together. Robin was forced to admit to himself that he had long been overcome by doubts about the success of this enterprise, and his desire to raise people to rebellion had noticeably diminished. After visiting the king in Nottingham, even more so. Robin grimaced once more at the memory
However, it was in Nottingham that the hypocrisy of the surviving Saxon nobility was revealed to Robin in all its glory. There is nothing to say about the hope for the king. And the prospects for revolution, too. What can a handful of poorly armed peasants do against an army? Nothing. Even if he, Robin of Loxley, is at the head of the uprising, a man whom the Norman nobility hates and fears, as the devil is afraid of incense, and revered by the Saxons
Or maybe he should become his father's successor and the next Herne? And if we consider that Robin has more than once encountered the fact that he is considered here as the human incarnation of the Oak King, who rules the bright half of the year, then .... But his father did not say anything to him, at least Robin did not remember this. That he is the Son - he said, but about the incarnations - his own or the Oak King - no. It will have to be clarified. But if he, Robin of Loxley, is really the Oak King, then who is the Holly King born on Lita - his eternal enemy, with whom should he fight on Samhain? After all, then his human incarnation must live somewhere here. And who is the Queen of Summer - the wife of the Oak King? After all, she, too, must have a human body. Is it Marion? And if not? Or is it something completely different here?
All these and other questions with doubts began not exactly after meeting King Richard, although for some time it seemed so to Robin. No, before, but they were so obscure and vague that Robin easily coped with these strange thoughts of his, and they were lost in the stream of others. And in the spring after the story with Marion's father, everything returned and even intensified. Although, it would seem, what did this have to do with the family business?
Thinking about his wife was also quite strange. Something bothered him, despite all their love and desire, but he could not understand what it was. It was like something was missing and Robin couldn't figure out what it was. And the dream in which Marion said goodbye to him and left with her father only added misunderstanding.
Perhaps he was still jealous of her for Sir Richard, although he was afraid to admit it to himself. The old crusader did not really accept the choice of his daughter, but rather resigned himself to it, and Robin felt this well. Father and daughter then talked for a long time, and for both the conversation was not easy, it was evident. And Sir Richard then asked Robin to take care of Marion and keep her safe. Although "asked" is not quite the right word, and after this conversation, Robin left a not very pleasant aftertaste. But he tried not to show it. He did not want to upset Marion and give Sir Richard reason to doubt him. He did it well and for no reason. Or was old Leaford himself jealous of his daughter? Unsure of Robin's feelings for her? Was he afraid that Robin would not be able to protect his wife, and was simply afraid for her future? And everything went only after that incident? Well, they barely made it. And all of Gisburne!
Then Robin managed to get rid of all these questions and doubts, but a week had not passed before the incident with the Jews happened, and it was all over again. And then his father said that it was enough just to aim and act without thinking. He said a lot of things, especially about finding the true purpose, but for some reason did not specify how this is done.
All these words did not add a drop of clarity, bringing only a headache and nervousness, and Robin increasingly came to the ancient stones behind the cave, because he found solace for himself only there and nowhere else.
But the cromlech was also the only place where he didn't feel like the Hooded Man, not the Son of Herne, not the King of Sherwood, not even Robin of Loxley, but just—probably just himself! It calmed him down and gave him the strength to move on. He could sit here for hours, falling into a state of half-asleep-half-awake
And now he began to listen to the rustle of the leaves, which suddenly turned into a howl of the wind. Very cold. This wind threw a flurry of icy grains into Robin's face. Snow
Opening his eyes, he realized that he had somehow found himself in the middle of a snow-covered field, riding a huge black horse. In front, on a similar horse, sat his father in a luminous crown of deer antlers. And on the right hand of Robin himself, another equally magical horse was digging the frozen ground with its hoof, restrained by the firm hand of a rider in a dark cloak with a hood thrown over it. A crossbow was strapped to the saddle, a sword hung from the belt. And from this man came something that Robin could not describe, but immediately recognized this feeling - he remembered it too well from some of his dreams. Thus, strange and incomprehensible, but at the same time in something magical. Recently, they have become more frequent.
Who was this rider? Robin could not concentrate on this thought, because he saw how the Horned One raised a horn to his lips and blew the beginning of the hunt. He was answered with a completely terrible howl of dogs, rushing towards them along with the crowd in the most bizarre attire.
"What the coven-bunch!" - Robin managed to think.
—It's time! —Herne turned to him and winked, narrowing his eyes cunningly. The eye of the forest god flashed mysteriously red for a moment. The rider rode up very close and took a place a little behind, as if guarding, and suddenly it dawned on Robin: he had already seen him! He saw him in his dreams and every time he could not understand who he was. He turned to look at his face, but the fur-trimmed hood concealed his master's secret perfectly. Robin made up his mind, turning his horse around, rode very close and stretched out his hand to throw off this hood - and fell off the stone
He didn't get up right away. He lay down for a bit, just sprawled out in the grass, recovering from what he had just experienced and remembering his previous visions. Especially the day before. Robin came to the conclusion that all this was not without reason, and the person in those dreams was the same now.
And he finally decided to tell his father about it.
_____________________________________________