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Less than sober and in a complete funk having failed yet again to successfully woo Marian, Guy snapped at the Locksley guards to piss off home! The servants too. Even Thornton. Thus, he found himself alone on Christmas Eve with no protection from outlaws and vagabonds, no dinner on the table and no clean underwear. Added to that, the fire was dwindling with no logs or kindling to hand and it was snowing like crazy which meant that going to Nottingham, either on horseback or by foot, to sup and warm himself at the Trip Inn was out of the question. Only a fool would venture out in such foul weather.
Guy’s stomach rumbled. There was probably some food in the kitchens, but he was feeling too sorry for himself to bother to go look and he certainly wasn’t capable of cooking anything, as he had no idea how one went about such a thing. He would have to make do with the flagon of wine he was currently working his way through and jumping up and down at regular intervals to keep his circulation going.
He was mid-jump when the fireplace exploded.
‘Fucking, Christ!’ Guy exclaimed as he landed on his backside and found himself covered in snow and soot.
‘Language, Gisborne,’ Robin Hood scolded, stepping out from the hearth, brushing snow and soot from his clothing.
‘You!’ Guy snarled.
‘Expecting someone else?’ Robin said. ‘Father Christmas, perhaps?’
‘No. He doesn’t come until I’m tucked up in bed and—’
Furious at his embarrassing admission, Guy made a lunge for his sword, which was leaning against the hearth. Another shower of snow and soot cascaded from the fireplace, followed by an indignant-looking outlaw. Then several more, one after the other.
‘Don’t you people ever use fucking doors?’ Guy raged.
‘Not usually, no,’ Robin said. ‘Besides, the door’s blocked by a huge snowdrift, so the chimney was the only way in.’
‘Rubbish.’ Guy stomped over to the front door and yanked it open.
The outlaws helped dig him out of the pile of snow that fell into the manor. That done, Robin poured him a cup of wine and suggested he sit in front of the fire to dry out.
‘There is no fire,’ Guy said miserably, as well you know. ‘And if you’ve come to rob me, you can forget it. I moved all my wealth to the castle last week.’
‘We haven’t come to rob you,’ Robin said. ‘We’ve come to spend Christmas Eve in front a cheerful fire, eating and drinking.’
‘Good luck with that.’ Guy plonked into the fireside chair despite it being covered in snow and soot.
Undeterred, Robin began giving instructions to his gang: Much to the kitchens, Will and Little John to repair the fire, Allan to the cellar to find wine and Djaq on lookout duty.
‘You’re very welcome to join in with the festivities,’ Robin told Guy.
‘Like I want to spend time with the likes of you.’
‘Well, if you’re going to be a miserable sod all evening, then you can jolly well go to your room.’
‘You don’t tell me where to go in my house.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s my house,’ Robin said. ‘Now, what’s it to be? Join in or leave?’
Guy glanced at his sword. The other outlaws were all elsewhere, busy with their tasks. He could take Robin down. It was a fleeting thought. Even if he skewered the cheeky outlaw, he would have the others to deal with, and escape by way of the front door would only be achievable with a very large snow shovel.
Robin chuckled having cottoned on to Guy’s thought process. ‘You might as well face it, Gisborne. We’re snowed in, so we’re all going to have to rub along together, for this evening at least.’
‘Stuff you!’ Guy said. ‘I’m going to bed.’
He stomped up the stairs on the pretence of doing just that. However, he had other plans. Snow was soft and if Robin Hood could climb up house struts to access the upper windows, then surely Guy could climb down by the same means, drop into the soft snow and make his escape. He would grab his horse, ride to the castle, summon the guards and head back to Locksley where he would capture the outlaw gang. That would make a fine Christmas present for the sheriff.
Upon looking out of a second floor window, however, Guy realised his plan would never work. The snow was several feet deep; he’d never seen anything like it. If he jumped, he would sink into the powdery white, and a horse would struggle to make headway in such deep drifts. He was stuck in the house with a bunch of outlaws downstairs.
He decided to go to bed after all.
***
Despite the heap of blankets on top of him, Guy shivered. His stomach ached with emptiness. He’d left the wine downstairs. And he’d forgotten to leave a tribute for Father Christmas, so the jolly-faced man would likely give Locksley Manor a miss tonight. As if to rub salt into his wounds, he could hear laughter and, poking his head out of the blankets, he smelt the distinct aroma of roasting meat and woodsmoke. He threw back his covers and raced downstairs.
There was a roaring fire burning in the hearth.
‘Where did you get the wood for that?’ Guy demanded.
‘Used our initiative.’ Robin nodded towards the dining table, now minus all its chairs bar one.
‘Those were my chairs!’ Guy roared.
‘Actually my chairs,’ Robin said. ‘Besides, tell me just how often you entertain here?’
Guy growled in lieu of an answer. Robin was right. No one ever came to sup with him, apart from Marian who came only once because Guy had threatened to disembowel her father if she didn’t.
‘Grub’s up,’ Much declared, placing a succulent, crispy brown goose upon the table. Djaq added bowls of carrot, turnip and swede to the table and Will a jug containing thick goose fat gravy.
Saliva rushed into Guy’s mouth. ‘Where did you get all that from?’
‘The goose we brought with us,’ Robin told him. ‘The rest we found in the kitchen.’
‘I found, you mean,’ Much grumbled, clearly not meaning his words to be quite so audible.
Robin shot him an irritated look and then turned back to Guy. ‘There’s enough for everyone, including you.’
‘If you think I’m going to eat with the likes of you then—’
‘Suit yourself,’ Robin interrupted. ‘Let’s tuck in lads.’
The outlaws proceeded to dive on the food while Guy stood miserably by growing ever more hungry. He wondered where they would sit, but it seemed none of the outlaws minded sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, perching on side tables or standing. Unable to stand it any longer, Guy plonked himself on the one remaining chair, tore off some goose flesh and stuffed it into his mouth.
Cake with cream followed the main course, washed down with wine Allan a-Dale had fetched from the cellar. Ruddy-faced and merry the outlaws laughed at silly jokes, teased each other mercilessly and spoke of Christmases past. Guy listened, envious of their apparent happiness.
‘Right,’ said Robin, coming to his feet. ‘Time for some fun and games.’
Guy looked up, uneasy. Was he about to become the target of their fun and games? Quickly, he jumped to his feet, ready to race for his bedchamber and barricade himself in.
‘Excellent,’ Robin said. ‘We have our first willing participant.’
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Guy said backing away, eyes on the stairs and his escape route.
‘Come on, you lazy lot.’ Robin motioned the gang to get up. ‘Pass-the-parcel is no good with just two players.’
Was he, Guy, going to be the parcel?
‘You don’t happen to have a lute handy, do you?’ Allan asked Guy.
‘A what?’
‘A lute. You know, an instrument. So I can play some music for the game.’
Guy shook his head, confused.
‘Never mind. I’ll improvise,’ Allan said.
Much produced an oddly shaped, parchment wrapped bundle.
‘Everyone into a sitting circle,’ Robin said. ‘You too, Gisborne.’
It dawned on Guy that this wasn’t going to be a game where he had his long hair chopped off, or be stripped naked and drawn on, or made to sing Auld Lang Syne backwards. It was a childhood, and somewhat childish, game of pass-the-parcel.
He joined the circle of outlaws.
Allan a-Dale sang and the parcel went around the circle of men and one woman. When it stopped at Guy for the fifth time, he was certain it was going to be a trick. There would be something nasty in the middle and the laugh would be on him. So, when it got to the last layer of parchment, and yet again Guy held the parcel, he refused to open it.
Robin drew his bow. Guy opened the parcel.
Inside was another piece of parchment. ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ Guy said.
‘No, no, read it,’ Robin told him.
Guy opened the parchment and scanned the words.
‘Out loud, please, Gisborne.’ Robin fingered his bow.
Guy read. ‘A tree is known by its fruits, a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.’
Everyone clapped.
Guy glowered in an effort to mask the little part of him that felt like crying, though he had no idea why.
‘Next game,’ Robin announced quickly.
Blind Man’s Bluff, Mumblypeg and Capture the Flag followed. Guy found himself smiling. Then laughing.
After much hilarity and worn out from their exertions, Djaq suggested a rest. Much went to the kitchens and soon returned with bread and cheese. Allan fetched more wine. The jokes became more childish, as well as more risqué. Guy told a particularly ribald one about a priest and a meat sausage. The outlaws giggled and spluttered in response.
Then it was back to the games. Robin asked Guy to suggest one.
‘Hide and seek?’
The game lasted a long time, mostly because everyone was quite sozzled by now and those who were found kept hiding again until Guy announced that he’d found twenty-seven outlaws and that surely couldn’t be right.
Tired after all the energetic games, the gang, along with Guy, sprawled in front of the fire. Occasionally someone spoke of some inconsequential thing or other, but mostly they were content to sit or lie in silence, listening to the crackle of the flames and the soft patter of snow on the window shutters.
When the fire began to dwindle, Guy suggested they chop up some more furniture to feed it. In went the last dining chair, along with a side table and a small bookcase, minus the books.
Robin yawned. ‘Time for bed, I think.’
‘I’m sleeping here,’ Allan said. ‘Where it’s nice and warm.’
Everyone agreed that despite the house having several bedrooms, the living room would be a sensible place to sleep on such a cold night. Robin told Much to go fetch some blankets.
Guy thought of his bedchamber. It had its own fireplace and, with a bit of effort, he could light a fire and warm the room. However, full of food and drowsy from all the wine he’d drunk, he wasn’t so keen on the effort bit and decided to stay where he was. He gratefully accepted a blanket from Much.
Thus, after an evening of delicious food, wine and merriment, his cheeks aching from having smiled and laughed so much, Guy snuggled up in his blanket alongside Robin Hood and his outlaw gang.
He’d been the butt of many a joke that evening and he hadn’t cared. Come the morning, he probably would. No matter. Tonight, he’d had the best Christmas Eve ever.