The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 53 - A Ballad of Heroism & Tragedy

Clouds covered the sky this late summer morning and seemed to want to shut out the sunlight to match the prevailing mood. Only a gentle breeze blew. It left the castle's flags hanging from their poles and accompanied the people pilgrimaging into the castle courtyard on their way to the market square.

Everything that had testified to the cheerful tournament was gone. What the fire had not destroyed had been removed, and now lancers carried black banners to match somber faces. The number of the sheriff's men was exceptionally high that day so there was another sheriff's man for almost every guard in the castle as if expecting an uprising of the soldiers. After all, they had to watch their beloved Lady walk to the gallows today. One or two grim expressions could be detected even among the lawman's men.

"No weapons! No blades, no daggers, no bows!" proclaimed three guards at the iron gate, taking into custody without exception anyone caught with the flash of steel today. On this day, nothing was to be brought into the fortress that could be considered a weapon of any kind. Even the odd pitchfork was taken away to nip any thoughts of riots right in the bud.

"What's this?" one of the men with the sheriff's crest on his chest snapped at a ragged man, his hands already reaching for the wicker basket on his back.

"Just firewood for a few pennies. Would you like some? Maybe for the wench back home, sir?" the man with the black teeth babbled, and the guard screwed up his face in disgust.

"This is an execution, not a weekly market!" the guard blathered instead and pushed the man on so roughly that he stumbled and fell to the ground. Wood rattled and clattered, some brushwood twigs shifted, and a sword hilt emerged between a bundle. In the man's chest, a nest of bees began to buzz with agitation while the guard spat to the ground just a little way beside him. "Filthy vermin! Get out of here, or I'll kick your ass!"

"Sir, yes sir, sorry sir," the ragged man babbled. With erratic fingers, Will Scarlet quickly grabbed the numerous timbers to conceal the short swords hidden in the basket and hurriedly got to his feet to limp away from the gate. Nervously, he wiped his dirty fingers on his even more soiled clothes, which were in complete contrast to his last disguise and bristling with filth. The wild thumping in his chest would not calm down so quickly - now it was all beginning.

A down-and-out traveler raised his head in alarm at the sight of this scene, and Robin's green eyes flashed alertly from beneath the hood of a ragged robe pulled low on his face. Although he had been stooping down until now, the man with dark brown hair straightened a little more against the wooden staff to watch the scene.

As Scarlet crashed to the ground, Robin's fingers tightened around the bow disguised as a walking stick. But by then, the guard was already turning to the next man. Robin breathed a sigh of relief and then turned just beyond the gate, keeping close to the wall behind the crowd of onlookers.

Guy of Gisborne, meanwhile, shifted uneasily from one leg to the other. He also stood off to the side of the action, turning his head vigilantly in every possible direction.

"A little donation for a poor old man?" croaked Robin, holding his grubby hand.

"Get out of here!" growled Guy, noticeably irritated.

As a low laugh reached his ears from under the cloak, he would have loved to sink his fist into Robin's face. His nerves were already frayed, and now was not the time for jokes!"What's this nonsense?" he hissed, refraining from giving Robin an angry jab for this action. "Damn you, you're late!" he then rumbled indignantly and grabbed Robin's upper arm to pull him the first few steps with him.

"You really are heartless, Gisborne. Have you no flattering words to spare for my outstanding disguise?" Robin taunted additionally, literally grinning dirtily at Guy from under his hood.

Guy preferred to stab Robin with a flashing blade instead of a sharp look. "I have no patience for your stupid jokes, Hood. We must make haste. Marian is being held in a chamber in the east wing. We must free her before she is led to the gallows."

Guy looked around warily once more, then knocked on a side door. A nervous-looking servant peered through the narrow slit from the shadows. When he recognized Guy, he breathed a sigh of relief and stepped aside.

Robin, too, let his eyes wander once more. It met John's, and they both nodded to each other before Robin slipped through the door and disappeared inside the castle with Guy.

In the courtyard itself, there was a dense crowd of servants and burghers, while the presence of the nobles was only in moderation today. Despite the fire disaster, only a handful had remained from the previous day's feast to witness the execution of Lady De Burgh. Whether out of disgust at her crimes or pity would probably remain an unrevealed secret. Some were still hoping for a pardon, which would indeed have been understandable given the Lady's high title. After all, the young maiden was still Earl De Burgh's only child and the fiancée of Sir Guy of Gisborne.

Earl de Burgh sat on a brought-out chair with a padded back and seat - and yet anyone could probably imagine that a father might never have sat harder. His fingers were wrapped around the backrest, gripping the wood so tightly that his knuckles stood out white, though he was visibly struggling for dignity. But his face was paler than usual. Deep circles stood under his eyes, in which little of the wise shrewdness was visible today, but profound exhaustion and the wrinkles on his skin seemed more resounding than the day before. Almost as if he had aged many years in that one night.

The executioner tied the nooses, and a monk in a brown robe handed him wine to calm his mind. Greedily, the man in the black hood grabbed the cup and the jug simultaneously. Then the gentle Friar Tuc and another mon strode past the three snares and carefully blessed them individually.

"He that denieth his iniquity shall not prosper, but he that confesseth and forsaketh it shall obtain mercy," he said, crossing himself while his brother watered the knots with wine, the blood of Christ. "For the Lord, your God is gracious and merciful, and will not turn his face from you if you turn to him. Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out," at this, Tuck clasped his hands and fixed his eyes on the sky, the latter grazing the battlements.

"What a terrible day," murmured one of the drummers seated there, leaning against the parapet of the battlements leading to the Courtyard's interior. There the three men waited for the moment when they would be given the signal to accompany and lead their Lady's final walk. One of them leaned against the wooden parapet; another dangled his legs over the sloping depths of the wall. The third behind them was biting into an apple with relish, letting his eyes wander over the square.

"Yes, truly a black day to lead a lady to the gallows for saving the common people, isn't it?" hummed the bright voice as Alan-a-Dale tapped his fingers on the drum and then passed the rest of the apple to the other drummer as a matter of course. He tilted his head from right to left, already composing the first lines in his mind. The feather on his hat bobbed excitedly, as did the restlessly pounding heart in his chest. "I wonder how this story of Lady De Burgh will end... will it be a lament or a hero's song?"