Chapter Text
The miasmic stench reached him even in the depths of sleep. The cloying reek of animal and vegetable decay worked its way insidiously into Gisburne’s nostrils, filling his dreams with the sweet, nauseating aroma of rancid matter, ancient tombs, wriggly larva, and dead things.
Filled with inexplicable horror, Gisburne struggled his way up through layers of consciousness and awoke, sweating and gasping, in the half-darkness of early morning. Although the foul smell remained still in his nose it was less marked now, and he assumed that it had been nothing more sinister than the drains creating that disgusting dank odour. Neither could he see anything in the room, so he lay back again in his bed, relieved that the hideous creature that had swum before his terror-filled eyes was nothing more than a dream-phantom. With a huge sigh of relief, Gisburne settled back down once more for sleep.
Within seconds, the stench had returned – only this time it was much, much worse. Gisburne’s eyes flew open at once; the room seemed darker and the aroma of decay directly under his nose.
And then he let out a shriek of terror as his eyes focussed on the foul, misshapen face that now peered into his: what monstrous denizen of Hell was this? Was the Sheriff sleepwalking again?
“Mornin’, my lord!” the hideous face said cheerfully. “It’s a lovely day an’ there’s a nice bit of breakfast waitin’ for you down in the Great ‘All, so get down there as soon as you can – only the Sheriff wants to ‘ave a little word with you. All right?”
“Yes, yes – thank you, Baldrick,” Gisburne croaked, feeling his olfactory nerves screaming in agony at the strength of the (thankfully) unique and distinctive scent of the Sheriff’s servant. It was at times like these that Gisburne regretted the fact that Baldrick didn’t have a best friend who could have had a quiet word in his ear about his distressing personal hygiene problem.
As his manservant helped him to dress, Gisburne tried to guess as to the possible nature of the Sheriff’s talk. Did this perhaps mean that he was about to be sacked? He discarded this as unlikely, since he and the Sheriff – a man, in many ways, after his own heart – were on passably good terms. Perhaps Robert de Rainault was about to return to the post of Sheriff of Nottingham? As far as he knew, de Rainault had not yet succeeded in bringing to justice the outlaws Derek and Rodney de Trotteur of Peckham Rye, the task for which he had been (Gisburne supposed temporarily) absented from Nottingham; if he had, then Gisburne surmised that de Rainault would be returning. On the other hand, if he hadn’t been successful, then he’d still be returning – so Gisburne was no better off after his cogitations than before.
Once washed, shaved and dressed, he rushed along to the Great Hall. Here he found Sir Edmund Blackadder – Baron of Brent Knoll and Weston-Super-Mare and, in Robert de Rainault’s absence, the Sheriff of Nottingham – pacing pensively up and down whilst Baldrick, and the Sheriff's other personal servant, Percy, patiently stood by; Baldrick contentedly stuffing a chicken with what looked worryingly like a dead rat and Percy attempting to avoid the snapping jaws of the mastiffs who were trying to steal bits of his master’s breakfast.
“You wanted to see me, my lord?”
“Ah, yes, Gisburne, I did – come and break your fast with me.” The Sheriff gave his steward permission to be seated at the board. “Baldrick, kindly remove your hand from that chicken’s backside for just a moment and make up a platter for Sir Guy, if you would. Preferably before you clean your hands on your underbreech-oh, never mind – just get on with it.”
“Er – by your leave, my lord Sheriff, I’ll – er – see to my own food,” said Gisburne hastily, as Baldrick began to pick over the food on the table with his bare hands.
“What? Oh yes, of course,” nodded the Sheriff. “I quite understand; a hand that has been inside both a chicken’s bottom and Baldrick’s breeches is not the one that I’d choose to handle my food either. And Percy – perhaps you ought to feed those dogs properly instead of fannying about trying to stop them from eating my breakfast.”
“C-certainly, my lord,” stuttered Percy. He looked over the food spread out on the board. “Shall I offer them a little leg, my lord? A little breast? Or a little thigh, perhaps?”
“Yes, yes, Percy, whatever you like – as long as you don't take all day about it.”
“So –” began Percy timidly, “y-you don’t mind if I give them a little of the chicken then, my lord?”
“Sorry, Percy? I thought you were referring to yourself. Well, a little chicken thigh, leg or breast, or your own – it’s up to you. Those dogs are so stupid they probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway. Just don’t come running to me when one of those damned dogs bites your leg off. Now then, Gisburne. Where was I...”
“You said that you wanted to see me, my lord,” replied Gisburne chewing awkwardly through a mouthful of food.
“Ah, yes, Gisburne; I did, didn’t I. Well, Gisburne, to begin with, I have a little teaser for you.”
Gisburne blanched. “Oh no! Not that little red-haired serving wench with the unusually shaped birthmark again, my lord!”
“No it is not, Gisburne!” retorted Edmund testily. “Mind you, I know exactly what you mean about the – er – lady in question. However, my little poser in fact runs this wise. See if you can guess as to what it is I am describing.”
“Oh good,” said Baldrick excitedly. “I love riddles! How many words are there, my lord?”
“Ooh, yes!” squeaked Percy, waving a chicken-leg enthusiastically. “Is it a book? A play? A poem?” He shook the chicken leg and looked rather blank for a few moments. “Another book?”
“Percy,” said Edmund acidly, “there are times when you are as welcome as a mighty blast from Beelzebub’s bottom.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Percy delightedly. “Thank you very much, my lord!”
“Actually that wasn't a compliment, Percy,” Edmund informed him as the servant’s face took on a familiar, lugubrious expression. “I was merely stating the blindingly obvious. You know,” he continued, narrowing his eyes at both Percy and Baldrick, “ - there are times when I wonder why I don’t just sell the pair of you to a travelling fair as The Stupidest Men In All Of Christendom.” He turned his attention back to his steward. “Now then. What am I describing, Gisburne – enormous; grey; wrinkled; long, prehensile nose; protruding tusks; small, piggy eyes; huge, flapping ears; personal hygiene problems at either end...”
“Your mother, my lord?”
“No!”
“Um – Baldrick, my lord?”
“No – although size apart, the comparison stands, I grant you. No, Gisburne. I am describing an elephant.”
“Why?”
“Because I am comparing myself to one. And do you know why?”
“You’ve started having these urges to charge things, roll naked in mud, and leave funny little steaming piles in the passageways, my lord?”
“No, Gisburne! Although...the rolling naked in mud does rather sound like fun...and the little steaming piles can be blamed on Baldrick...” He shook himself and then cleared his throat. “No, Gisburne, the reason why I am comparing myself to an elephant is that there are – certain similarities between us; namely, the enormous nether-parts and the fact, that apart from anything else, elephants are renowned for their great memories.”
Gisburne stared blankly at his master. “So, my lord?”
“So, Gisburne, it is with some regret that – despite my fabulous memory, I have to announce the fact that not only have we been at home to Mr Cock-up, but Mr Cock-up has knocked at the castle gates, stormed and entered them, and taken possession of all that lies within.”
“I’m - sorry, my lord – I’m not quite with you...”
“Well then, I’ll give you a little clue, no? We have the King of Scotland coming to visit us, have we not?”
“Why yes, my lord. But not for another month.”
“Quite so.” Edmund turned and glowered at Percy. “Percy, when exactly did you tell me that His Royal Tartanness was coming to stay here in Nottingham?”
Percy screwed up his face and spent the next few minutes in turgid calculation. “Um – the 22nd of – um – May, my lord?”
The palm of Edmund’s hand made swift contact with the back of Percy’s head. “It’s the 25th of April, you pea-brain.”
“B-but that's tomorrow, my lord!” gasped Gisburne.
“Yes, Gisburne: it’s tomorrow. And this is what comes of allowing Percy a brief moment of responsibility. At a time of great, personal weakness, that week when I was stricken with Nadger’s Whoop, I allowed Percy off the leash – and allowed the bluebottle of incompetence to fly right up my nose. You see, Gisburne, what Percy omitted to tell me was that although he had indeed received some – rudiments of education, he was not terribly hot on the matter of months and numbers. Indeed, during the period when those very subjects were being taught, Percy here was being beaten half-senseless by a mighty-thewed Turkish eunuch for failing to get to grips with the principles of (a) basic hygiene, and (b) not baring one’s bottom to the Baby-eating Bishop of Bath and Wells without due care and attention.”
“So what does all this mean, my lord?” enquired Gisburne, still relatively clueless and eyeing Percy’s hang-dog expression with not a little empathy.
“Gisburne, what this means is that very shortly you and I are going to be piloting a small, low-slung marine vessel up Turd River without any means of propulsion – and it’s all thanks to Percy!”
Suddenly Gisburne remembered something else. “It’s much worse than that, my lord. I suppose you do know to whom the King of Scotland is related, don't you?”
“To some other homicidal tartan-clad, caber-tossing in-bred yobbo, I presume,” retorted Edmund.
“No, my lord. Even worse. He’s related to Robert of Huntingdon, my lord. His uncle, I believe.”
“Robert of Huntingdon? Who’s he, then?” And then he remembered. “Oh my God! Robert of Huntingdon! Robin Hood!"
“Quite so, my lord.” Gisburne pounced on one of the letters that were strewn under a pile of bread rolls. “And there’s worse to come, my lord. He says here in this letter that he particularly desires to meet with his nephew during his visit, as he has heard rumours that his nephew has been disinherited because he’s become an outlaw.”
“And if he finds out that his nephew is an outlaw and that he has been disinherited and that I've been trying to have him killed, it’ll be window-tapestries for all of us! What are we going to do, Gisburne?”
“I have a cunning plan, my lord,” interjected Baldrick smugly.
“How cunning is this plan of yours, Baldrick?”
Baldrick beamed proudly. “My lord! It is a plan as cunning as something that is very cunning, my lord.”
“Well – all right, Baldrick – I’m game for anything; the Lion of Scotland is not a man to have on the wrong side of you unless you have suddenly lost the will to live – which incidentally is what may well happen to you, Baldrick, if this plan of yours is as pathetic as I fear it might be. All right. I pray God that I will live to regret this, but tell me what this cunning plan of yours is anyway.”
“Well, my lord,” said Baldrick craftily. “My cunning plan is this: why don’t you make a pact with Robin ‘Ood an’ tell ‘im that you’ll do somethin’ nice for ‘im, if ‘e agrees not to drop you in the moat with all the other little turds and doesn’t breathe a word to ‘is uncle about you tryin’ to chop ‘is ‘ead off.”
Edmund paused, thought for a while, and then took a deep breath, “Baldrick, that is without doubt the most stupid plan that it has ever been my misfortune to hear. It is illogical, impractical, deeply flawed...and it might just work. Right, Gisburne. Have my carriage prepared at once and bring your own horse. You, Percy, and Baldrick will go into Sherwood and fetch Robin Hood back to the castle. Then I’ll have a quiet word in his ear and see if I can’t get us all out of this.”
“Us?” said Gisburne suspiciously.
“You’re in this too, Gisburne – right up to your neck. Don’t you forget that. You’re the one who’s spent more time trying to wipe Robert of Huntingdon from the face of the earth than me, after all – but as Sheriff, it ill behoves me to be seen doing the same thing. William of Scotland could make life pretty damned difficult for me, too, if he so chose. And if I go down, then you bastards are going down with me. Got that?”
“Yes, my lord,” chorused Gisburne, Baldrick and Percy obediently.
Despite not having been able to eat as much breakfast as he would have liked, as he swept off to carry out the Sheriff's orders Gisburne permitted himself a small smile: it was getting to be quite like old times!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Robin?” Tuck asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry about me, Tuck,” grinned Robin. “This could turn out to be very interesting! Besides, I have a cunning plan up my sleeve.”
“How cunning exactly?” asked Marion.
Robin grinned even more. “My plan is so cunning that you could pin a tail on it and call it a weasel!” he replied.
“Come on, wolfshead!” barked Gisburne, who was feeling very uncomfortable by now with the eyes of the outlaws not exactly making him feel welcome in the greenwood. “How much longer are you going to pither about for?”
"Don't worry about me, I'll be all right," Robin assured the others. "And besides, the Sheriff has no idea what I've got my sleeve, has he!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Edmund greeted his outlaw guest with an uncharacteristic warmth which at first rather disconcerted Robin. “Ah! My dear friend!” he exclaimed ingratiatingly. “Come in, come in, come in! I am delighted to be able to make your acquaintance once more, Bob – I can call you ‘Bob’, can’t I – Bob?”
“Of course – Eddie,” replied Robin.
“Oh, ah ha ha ha,” laughed Edmund stiffly. “I like your style, er – Bob, my – er – my old chum. You see, Bob, it grieves me that the first time we met should have been in such ill-starred circumstances. We’d already been travelling for many miles and for many hours when you and your friends apprehended Baldrick, Percy and myself in Sherwood. Consequently, I was not in the best of tempers and might well have said things – which I now regret. I am so pleased, therefore, that we are now able to meet on a more convivial occasion.”
“And I also,” replied Robin.
“Indeed,” continued Edmund, “I have been most anxious to meet you. I have for some time been keen to have some chat with you. And now you’re here!” He gesticulated to the board spread liberally with the finest foods and wines at his disposal. “Er – perhaps you would care to partake of a little food and wine?”
Robin turned and looked at the groaning board. “But Eddie! I am – overwhelmed by your generosity and kindness. To think that you’ve gone to all this trouble – just for me! This is a meal fit for a king, let alone an earl’s son turned outlaw. And there is far too much here for both of us, even if we were to invite Baldrick, Percy, and my dear old friend Sir Guy of Gisburne to dine with us. May I therefore request that at the end of this discourse, the remains of this fine feast be distributed amongst the poor and starving of Sherwood?”
At first Edmund was gobsmacked, but he recovered quickly, and gave another of his wooden laughs. “Ah ha ha ha ha ha! But of course, Bob! Ah ha ha ha! After all, you know, Bob, I so admire the work that you have been doing amongst the rural and urban poor of Sherwood. I strive constantly to emulate your example.”
“Oh, Eddie! I am at a loss for words!” sighed Robin, his voice trembling. “You flatter me so, dear friend. Please – I beg of you to leave me be for a while, lest my shameful, unmanly tears lessen my standing in your eyes.” Robin had to admit to himself that he was really rather enjoying this.
“Oh, there’s no need to feel uncomfortable, Bob!” Edmund assured him quickly. "We’re all chums together here, aren’t we!” He glowered at Percy, Baldrick and Gisburne. “Aren’t we!”
“Oh-yes-my-lord!” chorused Percy, Baldrick and Gisburne in wooden unison. “We’re-all-chums-together-here-aren’t-we! Ah ha-ah ha-ah ha-ah ha-ah ha!”
“Think of it!” gulped Robin, his lower lip quivering and his face full of an emotion that hovered between tearfulness and hysterical giggles. “Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham – the best of chums! Who would ever have thought it?”
“Who indeed, my dear Bob, who indeed! And – er – it’s – er – precisely because we are such good chums that – er – I feel that I can make so bold as to crave a boon of you, my dear chap!”
“Name it, and it shall be yours,” said Robin expansively.
“Well – er – it’s just that we have the King of Scotland coming to visit us tomorrow, and –er – ”
“The King of Scotland! He’s my uncle, you know.”
“Indeed, and – er – that’s why I was hoping that perhaps you could help me out of – er – a rather tight spot. You see, it so happens that in his letter to me informing me of his visit, he makes a specific request that you should also be present, since he has heard rumours that you have become an outlaw and have thus been disinherited. Now obviously, this makes things a little difficult – ”
“ – Because I am an outlaw and I have been disinherited.”
“Er, quite. And if he finds out that his nephew is an outlaw and that I’ve been trying to have him executed for treason – er – you can see that it's going to look rather bad for me, can’t you, Bob?”
“Of course, Eddie. I understand. So what is it that you’d like me to do?”
“Well, Bob. I was wondering if perhaps – if I arranged for you to have some clothes made as befitted an earl’s son and had a chamber prepared for you here - you would meet your uncle and – er – ”
“ – Pretend that everything’s normal and that I’m not an outlaw?”
“Well – er – yes, that’s right. You know, make small talk about how much you hate wolfsheads and outlaws, and how you’re sick of hearing the bloody peasants whingeing on all the time because they’re poor and they’re hungry, and how they damn well ought to get up off their fat backsides and get a job like everyone else. That kind of thing.”
“I understand perfectly, Eddie. And I’d be only too happy to help you out.”
“You would?” For the second time that day Edmund was gobsmacked. “Oh, but that’s wonderful, Bob! Ah – ah ha ha ha ha ha! Isn’t that wonderful, everyone!”
“Yes!” came the wooden chorus once more. “It-is-wonderful-isn’t-it! Ah ha-ah ha-ah ha-ah ha-ah ha!”
“After all,” continued Robin magnanimously, “you’re only doing your job, Eddie.” He pretended to be reading from a parchment. “Post Title: Sheriff of Nottingham. Duties to include extorting money from barons and peasants, killing people who don’t agree with you and actively seeking the death of the outlaw known as Robin Hood. Anyone else would have done the same.”
“Er – yes, quite,” replied Edmund.
“However,” Robin continued, “I must point out that if I do this for you, in order to save your skin, then you must do something for me in return.”
“Oh!” squeaked Edmund, terrified lest Robin’s demands be either embarrassing or expensive. “B-but of course, my dear fellow! Of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course, of course! Name your heart’s desire and we shall endeavour to fulfil it! Ah ha ah ha ah ha ah ha!”
“Ah ha-ah ha-ah ha-ah ha!” chorused his staff obsequiously.
Robin appeared to be deep in thought for a few moments, but then he shook his head. “Alas, for the moment I can think of nothing that I might ask from you. But grant me a little space and I shall no doubt be guided in my choosing. Now – if I may be permitted to return to Sherwood?”
“Indeed!” agreed Edmund, a little breathlessly. “Percy, Baldrick, see that this banquet is packed away so that my friend here can take it back with him to his friends in the forest. In the meantime, Robin-er-Robert-er-Dobbin, if you would just pop in and see my tailor – Gisburne will show you the way – I can get you fixed up with some suitable attire. Now your uncle will be reaching us in the first hour or so past noon, so if you could get to the castle as soon as possible tomorrow morning, I’d be very grateful; the guards will know to let you in unmolested.”
“My thanks to you, Sheriff!” Robin gave an elegant bow. “I look forward to our further acquaintance – not to mention spending more time with my much-loved old chum Sir Guy of Gisburne! Good day to you all!”
“Good day to you, fair master,” chorused Percy and Baldrick as they assisted Robin towards the exit with his burden of uneaten food.
“Pity all the food’s gone,” sighed Gisburne, once he and the Sheriff were alone. “I could just eat some of that roast suckling pig now.”
“Never mind that, Gisburne! We’re off the hook! I’ll be able to entertain William the Lion without the slightest qualm! Unlimited supplies of whisky, here we come!”
As he watched his master gleefully rubbing his hands, Gisburne found himself wondering (a) if the plan would work and (b) if it didn’t, what chance Edmund might stand against a ferociously under-fed killer haggis...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~