‘He’s coming round. Stand back and let him get some air.’
The room swam in Erasmus’ eyes as his brain attempted to resolve the details into something that didn’t look like it was being observed through a fish tank. His head ached, his back ached and there would be no paracetamol for centuries. He groaned as he opened his eyes. It was fairly dark, which helped with the headache, and Erasmus moved gingerly to take in his surroundings.
The room resembled the inside of a large barn, a long, stone affair with a wooden roof and straw on the floor. What little light there was came from torches stuck in sockets around the walls and Erasmus could see through the high, arched windows that it was still night in the outside world. He tried to move and nearly fell over. His arms were chained to the wall behind him and he couldn’t move them more than a few inches. His feet had freedom of movement but, if he was going to leave, he’d rather take all of his limbs with him.
At Erasmus’ first attempt at movement, two men detached themselves from the shadows and approached him. The first Erasmus instantly recognised as Gisburne. Even without his Norman helmet, his face had firmly chiselled lines and his cold blue eyes had a hint of steel about them. The other man was shorter, with a weasel-like countenance and small, piggy eyes. Unlike those of Gisburne, however, these darted around in a way which suggested intelligence and Erasmus realised he was in the presence of some form of authority. He set his own face into what he hoped was an impassive mask and watched as the man studied him with obvious curiosity.
‘So this is your mysterious nemesis, is it?’ the weasel-man said to Gisburne. ‘He doesn’t look that dangerous to me.’
‘He has some power, my lord,’ said Gisburne. ‘Twice he has managed to escape with his trickery.’
‘From what I was told by the guards, you fell over an anvil.’
‘I was put off my guard, my lord.’
‘Indeed.’ The man turned to address Erasmus. ‘And what powers did you use to put Gisburne off his balance?’
Erasmus considered his answer carefully. He was aware that he was in a very vulnerable position and that angering either man could be a very bad move at this point. ‘I couldn’t give you the answer to that,’ he said, trying to sound as mysterious as possible.
‘Oh, you couldn’t, couldn’t you?’ said the weasel-man. ‘Do you know who I am?’
Erasmus shook his head.
‘I happen to be the High Sheriff of Nottingham and I carry the authority of the King. You’ll answer my questions willingly or you’ll find we have other ways of extracting the information we desire.’
Erasmus considered this. Evidently the Sheriff was more dangerous than Gisburne, so he smiled in what he hoped was a placating manner. ‘I didn’t use any trickery,’ he said. ‘Gisburne fell over the anvil without my help.’
‘Did he indeed? As agile as ever were we, Gisburne?’
‘My lord,’ Gisburne tried to protest, but the Sheriff raised a hand to silence him. He continued to examine Erasmus. ‘And what were you doing in the castle?’
‘Looking for Robin Hood,’ said Erasmus.
The Sheriff flushed slightly. ‘You expected to find Robin Hood in Nottingham Castle?’
This reminded Erasmus that he hadn’t been alone. ‘What happened to Marian and the others?’ he said.
The Sheriff seemed somewhat taken aback by a chained man making demands. ‘They left,’ he said.
‘Safely?’
‘Well, we found five of my men dead on the floor and none of the outlaws, so I have to assume so.’
‘Five!’ Erasmus was impressed despite his misgivings about violence.
‘Yes,’ said the Sheriff. ‘Five soldiers. Oh well, c’est la vie.’
‘Such is life? Five people die and you just write it off as another day.’
The Sheriff looked at him, one eyebrow raised curiously. ‘Vous parlez français? Quand avez-vous appris cela?’ he said.
‘I learnt it as a child, but I’d prefer to stick to English,’ said Erasmus.
‘Well, well – an educated man.’ The Sheriff appeared to be re-evaluating Erasmus, which could be a good thing but, equally, might be fatal.
‘Get him off the wall,’ the Sheriff said to Gisburne. The brute opened his mouth to protest, but the Sheriff’s frown dissuaded him from actually saying anything. Reluctantly, Gisburne approached Erasmus, twisted his arm to gain access to the chains behind him, then slid out the bolt that held them in place. Erasmus rubbed his sore wrists gratefully as his captor beckoned him to join him at a low table in the corner of the room.
‘You interest me strangely,’ said the Sheriff. ‘Why would an educated man be seeking a rogue like Robin Hood?’
‘To learn about him.’
The Sheriff raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Do go on.’
‘We have stories about Robin Hood where I come from,’ said Erasmus. ‘Legends, if you will. They tell of a man who robbed from the rich to give to the poor. I wanted to see how true they were.’
‘News takes a time to travel to your part of the world I see.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Robin Hood stopped giving money to the poor a couple of years ago.’
‘He still robs from the rich?’
‘Oh yes, but what he does with that money…’ The Sheriff left the point hanging.
Erasmus’ curiosity was piqued. This was the first time someone had actually come out and said it. Something had changed and the Robin Hood of legend had given way to someone who was altogether more real and much less noble.
The Sheriff appeared to be musing on something, there was a strange glint in his eyes and Erasmus watched him closely. The man was undoubtedly clever, but there was a cruel streak there too. Perhaps that’s what it took to be a man of power under Prince John.
Gisburne, standing uncomfortably at the side of the room, cleared his throat. The Sheriff snapped out of his trance and stared at the man with a look of annoyance.
‘What is it?’ he snapped. Gisburne gestured in Erasmus’ direction and the Sheriff nodded slowly. ‘Oh, very well,’ he groaned and turned back to Erasmus.
‘About two years ago, Gisburne encountered a man answering your description in Sherwood Forest. Was that you?’
‘I don’t know, when was two years ago?’ The words were out of Erasmus’ mouth before his brain had had a chance to vet them. Not for the first time, he had stumbled on the linguistic difficulties of time travel. The Sheriff gave Erasmus a peculiar look, like the kind you’d usually reserve for the insane, whilst Gisburne just looked confused.
‘Sorry,’ said Erasmus. ‘What I meant to say was, I don’t have any real grasp of time – could you refresh my memory a little?’
The Sheriff nodded, but there was still something in his eyes that Erasmus couldn’t quite put his finger on. ‘Would you care to tell the story?’ he said to Gisburne.
Gisburne, sidelined and mystified by the conversation so far, took a moment to realise that the question was directed at him. When the fact registered, he puffed out his already prominent chest as if he were about to begin the solo from some mediaeval opera.
‘About two years ago,’ began Gisburne, and Erasmus was almost disappointed that he spoke rather than sang, ‘I was riding through Sherwood Forest. I’d received a tip from one of our foresters that Robin Hood had a camp near the Newark road and, acting on that information, we were attempting to encircle the camp and flush out the outlaws. I suppose it’s possible that the anticipation of catching that villain distracted me somewhat, but—’
‘Stick to the facts, Gisburne – we don’t want your life story,’ said the Sheriff.
‘My horse was disturbed by a loud noise,’ Gisburne continued, ‘and I was thrown from the saddle. Imagine that, a rider of my stature—’
The Sheriff waved his hand to prompt Gisburne to get on with it.
‘When I stood up I saw what I assumed to be a peasant, approaching me through the undergrowth. You, to be precise.’ Gisburne jabbed a finger in Erasmus’ direction. ‘I gave pursuit, but you disappeared into some kind of wooden box and it vanished into thin air with a noise very similar to the one that startled my horse. Two years later, I found you and that same box in Nottingham Castle—’
‘That will do, Gisburne,’ the Sheriff cut him off. He turned to Erasmus, ‘Is that a good enough reminder?’ he said.
Erasmus nodded and the Sheriff turned back to Gisburne, whose face was flushed with suffused rage. ‘Robin Hood would have hung from the castle walls if it wasn’t for that man,’ the knight snapped, pointing accusingly at Erasmus. ‘I want him tried as an accomplice.’
‘That’s enough, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff. ‘You can leave us now.’
‘You want me to leave you with that…’ he struggled for a word, ‘… sorcerer?’
‘If he cast a spell would you be able to stop him?’ asked the Sheriff. Gisburne didn’t answer.
‘If he turns me into a frog, I’ll give you a croak,’ the Sheriff reassured him. Less than impressed, Gisburne stormed out of the room. The Sheriff waited quietly until he was gone.
‘He’s a competent soldier, but a little too emotional for statecraft,’ he said to Erasmus once they were alone. ‘Must be all those blows to the head.’
Erasmus nodded. ‘It’s so hard to get the staff,’ he said sympathetically.
‘Anyway,’ the Sheriff continued, ‘Gisburne has been obsessed with that day for the last two years. You see, it defies explanation and, although that’s true for almost anything when your brain is as small as Gisburne’s, he has a particular problem with humiliations that involve…’ the Sheriff waved a hand dismissively ‘… dark forces. Can I offer you a drink?’
Erasmus was taken aback – he felt decidedly uncomfortable with his captor playing the genial host. He managed to request wine, but his brain was whirring as he tried to work out precisely what this weasel-faced man was up to. Did he think Erasmus would help him to capture Robin? He hadn’t been impressed with the outlaw but, if history didn’t say he’d helped with his capture, he’d have to refuse. The Sheriff passed him a goblet of wine which, he was glad to note, appeared somewhat more palatable than that served in the pub.
The Sheriff toyed with his own goblet and paced the width of the room thoughtfully. The wall was hung with a rich curtain and Erasmus couldn’t help noticing it was draped over a number of items which were presumably storage cabinets. Presently, the Sheriff stopped and turned to Erasmus.
‘How did you do it?’ he said.
‘Do what?’
‘Vanish into thin air – or at least appear to.’
Erasmus studied the Sheriff cautiously. There was no trace of humour in his face: his lips described a tight line and his eyes were dark and brooding.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I said magic, I suppose.’
The Sheriff shook his head. ‘I’m not one of these superstitious peasants,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in life’s little intangibles.’
‘You believe in God, though?’
‘God? Don’t be preposterous. Why should I believe in God? The bishops don’t. Religion is just a political device with a higher authority that ignores petitions from its subjects.’
‘Then what do you believe in?’
The Sheriff suddenly seemed annoyed. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘So you can tailor your answer to suit my illusions? I believe in things that make sense, but what I want from you is the truth – otherwise I may well let Gisburne send you off to whatever afterlife you believe in.’
Erasmus sighed. He was in a no win situation: clearly, losing his life before he’d even been born couldn’t be good for time, but was it safe to tell the Sheriff the truth? He was an intelligent man, but was it dangerous to give someone the germ of an idea without the understanding of how to use it? Could he tell the Sheriff the basic facts without being expected to give more, or could he bluff his way out of it? It was clear there wasn’t a rational lie he could tell that would explain the facts and the Sheriff had already denied belief in both magic and spirituality.
‘OK,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry,’ said Erasmus. He hadn’t really thought about it, but he had probably been using hundreds of words that nobody had ever heard over the last few days. ‘I meant all right,’ he corrected himself.
The Sheriff motioned for him to continue.
‘I’m from the future,’ said Erasmus. He waited for the Sheriff to respond, but the man remained silent for several seconds. Was the concept too unlikely, Erasmus wondered. Was the Sheriff considering the appropriate torment for a man who taxed his patience too far? Eventually, the Sheriff turned to the teacher with a new glimmer in his eyes. He didn’t, Erasmus was pleased to note, look angry.
‘The future,’ he said. ‘How very interesting. Are you saying you can make time stand still?’
Erasmus shook his head. ‘No. I can only travel through it.’
‘And what do you use to travel through time? Is it perhaps…’ he paused, ‘… this?’ He pulled aside the rich curtain, revealing one of the protruding lumps as the comfortingly familiar shape of Erasmus’ time travelling privy. Erasmus’ heart skipped a beat as the joy of finding he still had the machine was mixed with the realisation that its true nature had been compromised.
‘Gisburne seemed most obsessed with this,’ the Sheriff continued. ‘He had it dragged in here as proof that you existed and that he hadn’t just fallen off his horse.’
‘That is a little obsessive for something that happened two years ago,’ said Erasmus.
‘Gisburne is very proud of his ability to ride and fight. It makes up for his inability to think. If you took that away from him, he’d be no better than any peasant.’
Erasmus looked his machine over. Nothing appeared to have been tampered with – he didn’t want to ask any questions that might give the Sheriff ideas.
‘Of course,’ the Sheriff continued, ‘if he hadn’t fallen off of his horse, then we’d still have to worry about Robin Hood and his men. You couldn’t tell Gisburne that, though, he has a very black and white view of the world.’
‘What do you mean?’
The Sheriff sipped at his wine then swirled the dregs around in the bottom of his goblet. ‘When Gisburne was tipped off about the outlaw camp, we took a whole group of soldiers into Sherwood. The idea was that they would ride around the area as an unbreakable ring of steel. A siege inside a wooden castle, if you like.’
‘And that was supposed to starve them into submission?’
‘No. The plan was to test their resolve. If they broke out, they’d be cut down. If they didn’t, well, we could have had some footsoldiers brought up from the castle to go in and finish the job.’
‘Tell me,’ said Erasmus. ‘Have you put down a lot of rebellions in the past?’
‘Usually there isn’t the need. Outlaws just tend to stay in the forest and shoot the odd deer. This one had ideas above his station, though. I think I’d had his village burnt down or his family killed, something like that.’
‘You don’t know?!’
‘Well, you know how it is: a few peasants shot here, a couple hanged there, a village burnt somewhere else – it’s very hard to keep track.’
Erasmus fought back the urge to be sick. ‘What went wrong?’ he said.
‘Well, Gisburne fell off his horse and, obviously, the outlaws had been watching. Robin slipped out through the gap and made for my camp. I had a couple of guards, but they weren’t expecting trouble. The first thing I knew was when he burst into my tent, put a dagger to my throat and told me to call off the dogs.’
‘What did you do?’
The Sheriff grinned broadly and tapped his right temple. ‘I used my head,’ he said. ‘You see, the trouble with these people is that they don’t know how this country works. Robbing money from the rich and giving it to the poor is all very well, but what do you suppose the rich people do in response?’
‘Take more from the poor,’ said Erasmus.
‘Precisely. I told him that the poor just get trampled twice as much, that the only way you could break that vicious circle was to make changes on the grand scale. You have to deal with the real problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
The Sheriff looked at Erasmus as if he were an idiot. ‘Prince John, of course,’ he said. ‘Or haven’t you heard of him in this future of yours. People are taxed because Prince John wants the taxes.’
‘So you’ve told Robin Hood to assassinate Prince John?’
The Sheriff shook his head. ‘And cause a civil war? No, of course not. I’ve told him an organised rebellion needs funding and that if he continues to rob from the rich then the money can be kept as a fund for that rebellion.’
‘And you’re going to organise the rebellion?’
The Sheriff laughed coldly. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You’re as foolish as that young idiot. He gives me the money, I keep it safe and, when I choose to retire, I’ll have a large amount of money that nobody can trace.’
‘Won’t he expect the rebellion to happen soon?’
‘Rebellions are expensive things. The more money you have, the better your chance of being successful.’
‘And his men have gone along with all this?’
‘His men don’t know. For some reason, Robin doesn’t seem to want to explain the situation to them and I certainly don’t want them to know. Loose tongues, you understand.’
‘Didn’t they suspect when they weren’t caught?’
‘Outlaws are arrogant. They always assume I keep an army of dolts whose only job is to get shot in the back with an arrow. Unless you shatter that illusion, they’ll continue to believe it.’
‘You let them kill your men.’
The Sheriff shrugged. ‘They’re cheap enough to replace. Well, as long as you retrieve their armour, that is.’
Erasmus simply stared at the Sheriff. Here was a man who was obviously intelligent, who was well placed to make a positive impact on the country and to throw off an oppressive system and what did he do? He butchered the peasants, betrayed his own feudal knights and plotted against his own monarch just to build up a slush fund. If this was a typical mediaeval nobleman, then it was no wonder it took something as dramatic as the plague to break the system.
‘What happens when Robin’s men find out?’ said Erasmus. ‘They’ll want your head on a stick.’
‘Do you take me for an absolute fool?’ the Sheriff snapped, seemingly tired of Erasmus’ questions. ‘I’ve taken out a little insurance policy. At the first sign of rebellion it’ll be the end of Robin Hood and his men.’
‘Deloial!’ said Erasmus. Suddenly it all made sense – he’d wondered why he’d never heard the name.
The Sheriff nodded. ‘Well observed,’ he said. ‘He’s not too happy with you, by the way. He said something about cutting both of your legs off at the knee.’
‘He’ll have to catch me first,’ Erasmus muttered.
‘What?’
Erasmus chose to ignore the question and stay on the offensive. ‘Doesn’t it worry you that the Prince will be annoyed with his tax money going astray?’
‘It’s all very organised. I make sure the number of robberies are limited enough to prevent any outcry and keep the outlaws busy with a few political assassinations on the side.’
‘Like Friar Tuck?’
‘You’ve heard of him, have you? Meddling fool – trying to persuade people to stand up for themselves against oppression and tyranny. What kind of lesson is that coming from a Church that depends on it?’
‘Don’t the other outlaws in Sherwood present a problem?’
‘Marian, you mean?’ The Sheriff smiled.
‘Yes. Surely if her outlaws are continuing to rob the rich and give to the poor, then Prince John’s attentions are going to be firmly focused on you.’
‘Oh yes. I’ve been reasonably tolerant of her little schemes, but breaking in here and taking the tax money is beyond the pale.’
The news that Marian had been successful gave Erasmus a warm feeling, but he suppressed the smile he could feel rising to his lips. ‘Didn’t you plan for the money to be stolen anyway?’ he said.
‘By Robin Hood, yes. Do you suppose that Marian is going to give me the money?’
‘Probably not,’ Erasmus conceded.
The Sheriff drained his goblet and refilled it. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘It’s about time I put an end to that bunch of whores once and for all.’
Erasmus found the idea of labelling Maude as a whore extremely offensive. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,’ he said, with a lot more confidence than he felt.
‘You can’t let me?’ The Sheriff looked at him as if he’d just promised the moon on a stick. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘I’ll find a way.’
‘Well, you’d better find it quickly. I’m having you executed tomorrow.’
‘Executed.’
‘Of course – you don’t think I could leave you alive after telling you all this, do you? You have to die. It’s a shame really because, without you, none of this would have ever happened.’
Erasmus shrank back as the realisation sank in. He’d stuck his spoke into the wheel of history and now he was going to die over eight hundred years before he was born in a country where that wheel was, even now, beginning to fly off course towards a future where he might never even have existed.