Lyth and listin gentilmen
That be of freebore blode
And I shall you tel of a gude yeman
His name was Robyn Hode.
The Geste of Robyn Hode (anon)
He was tall and handsome and commanding and Will Scathelock hated him on sight.
They had stopped Scathelock in his miserable journey through Sherwood Forest, offering him a drink and a bite of venison in exchange for news or any song. He was by then tired of his own company, had recited the whole of Aristotle, was hungry and thirsty and - perhaps - lonely.
He had enjoyed university. He had loved the cut and thrust of debate, the sea of ideas. Then he had cut down one professor too many. They had withdrawn his scholar’s privileges and flung him out, to wander the roads, seeking a little employment as a scribe. Will Scathelock wrote a beautiful hand. He hated every farmer, every silly boy, every dry clerk who demanded that he write down their trite, foolish words.
But he had done so. Even scholars have to eat. These bandits did not seem hostile, though he had no doubt that he could annoy them sufficiently to cast him out when he was sick of them.
For the moment, however, he allowed himself to be led off the road into their camp.
It was well-ordered and clean. A deer was roasting over a proper charcoal fire. Dishes, cutlery and a barrel of wine were all arrayed correctly. Will’s stomach rumbled. That venison smelt delicious. A young man was mending hose. A tall woman was braiding the hair of a small, rebellious child. Various men sat on sawn logs, cleaning weapons. A fat cleric was staring into his cup as though the mystery of his lost sanctity lay in its depths.
‘Who have we here?’ asked the tall handsome man.
‘Will Scathelock,’ Will allowed the tall man to engulf his hand. ‘Scholar.’
‘The reward for learning hasn’t been rich,’ commented the tall man. ‘I am Robin Hood, and this is my forest. If you mean us no harm, sit, there will be meat soon and there is wine and bread now.’
‘I thank you, and I mean you no harm,’ said Scathelock.
Robin sat him down on a log and fetched bread and wine. Scathelock dipped bits of bread in wine and ate slowly. He was very hungry. He did not want his treacherous stomach to revolt and shame him under the regard of those penetrating brown eyes. This Robin Hood understood about men.
The strange thing was that he also liked them. Robin adopted Scathelock, partly because he was so acerbic. No one else argued with Robin. Scathelock argued with him all the time. But he was not only annoying, but often right. Robin was prone to leap into situations. Scathelock was a planner. Together they made a formidable, bickering, difficult team, but a team nonetheless.
Robin had many lovers, Scathelock none. He was not interested in the maidens, or the young men, who cast amorous glances his way. After a few wounding rebuffs, they stopped trying. His virtue was his armour, they said. He would never endure another person close enough to touch that cold heart.
Will Scathelock opened his eyes. It made no difference. It was still dark.
In this cell it was always dark. Not black night but deep dusk. He clenched a dirty fist on his bare knee and heard the clink of his manacles. He was firmly attached by ankles and wrists. He knew the attachment was firm because he had spent days hauling on it with no result. In all the time he had been in the cell, he had not been able to move more than four feet from the wall. He was naked. He was blind. He was filthy.
Chained just out of reach, Robin Hood seemed to be sleeping. Will Scathelock could just hear his ragged, soft breathing. Sometimes he had to strain to hear it and gulp down his own fear, his own pulse drumming wildly in his ears, when he thought that Robin had died and he was alone.
Robin Hood was still breathing. Will Scathelock was not alone. He was, however, perilously close to breaking point and he wondered coldly what form it would take; he hoped that he would not scream or beg, but he was no longer sure. It was not that he was more afraid than usual; Scathelock was always afraid, it was part of the background radiation of his consciousness. It was, perhaps, the darkness, which stripped away one sense he relied on to warn him and made him more vulnerable both to assault and to loneliness. He could hear and speak, but he could not touch Robin and he could not see. This drove him down into the depths of his own mind, and he feared the monsters who swam there more than any real enemy. Only when he could speak or listen were they kept at bay, and he knew where they were lurking. Not even following the army to Jerusalem had shown him such darkness, such loneliness, such terror. Even in the desert, there are always stars.
The others of their company were far away, alwatys watched by the Sherrif’s soldiers. Even if they returned the crew would not be able to find them and perhaps would not try. Robin and Scathelock had been scouting for news about a gold shipment which might be travelling through Nottingham. They had foreseen that they might be away for days: it was possible that no one had missed them. It wasn’t unusual for Will and Robin to become interested in some mystery and sleep out for nights.
Their capture by the silent guards of a strange priesthood was sudden, brutal and puzzling. Unspeaking, they had shoved Robin Hood and Scathelock into this dungeon underground and left them there. They had been in the cell for so long that Scathelock had given up what hope he had, which was never so much as to incommode him. What kept him alive, he considered, was how much he hated Robin Hood. For Robin Hood had not despaired. Robin Hood kept telling him that someone would come. If he had not been manacled Will Scathelock might have strangled Robin Hood himself. He had screamed at him into the dimness to stop hoping, that hope was false, that there would be no rescue, that they would die in the darkness, in the filth.
Then Robin Hood had fallen silent, and silence was worse.
At irregular intervals they heard other cell doors open. Still the guards did not speak, but they could hear what happened to the other prisoners. Woundingly loud in the underground stillness came screams and the thud of falling bodies. Then, always, a choking gurgle followed by a hollow silence in which a whisper started echoes.
The Priesthood of the Holy Name had come for the others, one by one. There was chilling evidence that others had inhabited their cell before them. The floor was stamped earth, soaked with old blood which sprang up as a stench when water or urine softened it. A lot of blood had been spilled near where Will Scathelock was lying and his skin crawled as his naked torso and buttocks came into wincing contact with it. Even the manacles which confined his wrists and ankles were black with old stains.
No one had come for Robin or Scathelock, though they knew that one day the dark soldiers would stop at their cell door and they might be allowed to fight for their lives. To judge from the fate of the others whose death rattles they had heard, they would lose. Once a day a hooded priest opened the door, put in a dish of water and a loaf of bread, replaced their bucket, then closed the door. He never spoke. After a few days they shrieked at him to respond, but he never replied.
'Will? Are you awake?' asked Robin Hood. The scholar answered, valuing precision as usual.
'I'm awake, or perhaps I should say, I am now awake.'
'How long has it been, do you think?'
'No way to tell the time down here. We cannot tell day from night in this eternal blackness. But they've fed us twelve times; I've scratched a tally on this wall, in case it should be of historical interest when the King takes over this disgusting castle and finds our bones.'
'Twelve days then.' Robin Hood's voice was still rich and deep.
'Probably,' said Scathelock. 'I'm hungry, but I have been since they threw us into this hole. And I observe that my beard has grown and so have my nails and my hair. We are probably not imagining this, Master Hood. The chances of us sharing a Vision of Hell as a result of drinking a dish of Mother Hammonds disreputable ale is as likely as Friar Tuck taking up Abstinence and abandoning his old cup-mate, gluttony.'
'Very witty, i’faith. It must have been awhile. The scrapes I gave myself trying to get one handcuff off have scabbed over and started to heal.'
'Remarkable, i’faith,’ the voice was scathing.’ Considering the number of people who have died and rotted down here, you'd think you'd have gangrene by now.' Will Scathelock's cut-glass scholar’s voice was husky with thirst and loathing.
'Well, I’m glad to have all my limbs.'
Will Scathelock exploded into rage. 'Must you be ....'
'Cheerful?' Robin Hood was angry and suddenly Will Scathelock was wary of annoying Robin so much that he retreated into muteness. Silence gnawed at him in the darkness. Robin Hood went on 'I'm chained in a cell underground. I've been listening to what sounds like constant murder happening outside. I'm dirty and thirsty and I've got no one to talk to but you, Will Scathelock. Why shouldn't I be cheerful?'
Will Scathelock was about to snarl a retort when the cell door slammed open. Two cowled men came to Robin Hood. They stooped and unlatched the manacles and hauled him to his feet. Robin could barely stand. The guards dragged him roughly upright between them. Will Scathelock observed that the one with the crossbow kept well back and his aim never faltered. He leapt up, staggering as his limbs cramped at the sudden movement. 'Where are you taking him?'
'Peace, perhaps we can barter for our lives,' Robin said, and staggered as he was struck across the face.
'Silence,' hissed the first guard, the first word they had heard any of them say. The door clanged shut behind Robin Hood.
Will Scathelock was too furious to slump into the hollow his body had worn in the dirt floor. Instead he stood with his back against the wall, as he felt he had stood all his life. Time passed. He scuffed his bare feet in the dust, scratched the wall with his black rimmed nails, combed back his hair with his fingers. They had taken everything from him. First, the weapons. Finally clothes. He had never felt so acutely naked and vulnerable. Years appeared to have passed since Robin Hood had been taken from him. For the first time he admitted to himself that he needed Robin Hood exactly as much as he hated him. The darkness pressed closer. He swallowed dryly.
All Will Scathelock had ever wanted was to be safe. He had always known that Robin Hood would get him killed, though he couldn't pin down any action of his which had not been taken in the interests of keeping Will Scathelock in one piece. Now it had come, he felt strangely empty. There is an advantage, he thought, in the worst having actually happened. This is what I was afraid of, dying alone in the dark, and now I have come to it, for Master Hood is dying even now, and then they will come for me.
The door slammed open and a body was thrown inside, impacting with a grunt of pain. Not dead, after all. Will Scathelock dropped to his knees, stretching to the extent of the manacles.
'Robin!'
'I can't see,' mumbled Robin Hood. 'Blood in my eyes. Will? Where are you?'
'Here,' Will Scathelock felt around in the darkness. 'You can follow my voice; turn toward my voice. I'm here, here. Robin. This way.'
He saw a dim shape crawling across the filthy floor, smelt a human scent, then touched Robin Hood's arm and dragged him close. Robin sagged. His face was sticky. Will Scathelock smelt blood and felt gently for the source. A small cut on the forehead. Someone had hit Robin Hood with an armoured fist. A kick would have done more damage. The bone underneath felt whole. He drew a sharp breath of relief and wiped some of the blood away.
'What did they do to you?' Scathelock attempted his usual precise diction and heard his voice quaver shamefully.
'They called us unclean,' mumbled Robin Hood. 'Going to kill us tomorrow. Unclean. Heretics. Their chief priest says we have to die. Tomorrow.'
'No rescue, after all,' murmured Will Scathelock.
'You always said there would be no rescue,' said Robin Hood.
Chains clinked as Scathelock hauled Robin Hood into his arms so that he lay as close as he could, his bloody brow against Scathelock's neck. 'You stink,' chuckled Robin Hood weakly.
'So do you. I'd give everything I've ever stolen for a hot bath. We're going to die,' said Scathelock, and kissed Robin Hood on the mouth.
Robins’ hands fumbled up to clutch bare shoulders and missed, sliding down to the flat belly, cupping and stroking. The kiss went on. Will Scathelock tasted salt and dust. Their mouths meshed like a gear. The kiss broke only when Robin Hood gasped as Will Scathelock with dirty hands began to caress him.
'This is mad,' commented Robin Hood. 'You're still chained. We're going to die.'
'Don't talk,' Will Scathelock recaptured his mouth.
They were breathing faster. Sweat broke on their skin and puddled to mud in collarbone and groin. Straining for purchase on the dirt floor, they grappled like wrestlers. Their embrace was rough. Strong heartbeats throbbed in the throat where Will Scathelock's mouth clung and then bit. This was no sweet mating of lovers but a breaking of restraints, a hard contest, long-denied, gripping with fingers like talons.
Perhaps it was the dark. They could not see expressions, only hear the short fast breathing, feel the touch which grasped the penis, stroked the balls now hard with sperm. Robin Hood, who could move, buried his face in Will Scathelock's thighs, taking his penis into his mouth, tasting the skin. The clasp of the strong, sucking mouth was so piercing that Scathelock threw back his head and groaned with something close to pain as he came. He shuddered the length of his manacled body. Robin Hood lifted his head and Will Scathelock kissed his saturated mouth, sliding hands now wet with sweat and blood along and around the erection until he felt Robin's thighs tremble and the hot spurt of semen onto his belly.
'I always loved you,' gasped Robin Hood, gathering Will Scathelock into his arms.
'I love you,' responded Scathelock. 'I'll never leave you.'
When Little John and the others fought their way down to ransack the dungeons of the Holy Name and Marion found them, they were asleep so deeply and curled so closely together that she ordered them bundled up and hauled out still in their embrace. Marion never forgot the sight of how they lay, pitiable and beautiful. They were breast to breast and belly to belly, legs intertwined, Will Scathelock's head on Robin Hood's chest, their arms wrapped around each other as though they had meant to die so. They were so painted with mud and blood and sexual fluids that the only similar sight she could recall was a holy image of two martyred saints, Cosimo and Damien, who had gone to their heavenly reward wrapped in each other’s arms.
It was obvious that they were not badly injured, and she could not bear to wake them and watch the image break apart - it seemed cruel, almost irreligious. Because of this she rode in the back of the cart with them and when they had arrived in the camp, ordered them carried to the pool of sweet water, warmed by the sun, to bathe. She left a flagon of wine and a loaf of bread and some cheese - not too much, for they had clearly been starved. Then she ordered the whole camp to leave them alone, to wake as they would. She had wounds to tend and roasting to supervise.
Therefore they woke in sunlight. Robin Hood opened his eyes and found that he was held fast in a cage of limbs. He was holding Will Scathelock, who questioned him, nagged him, complained, made his life difficult, and whom - it seemed - loved him, as much as he loved Will.
And by some miracle, they were lying on soft grass in sunlight. Real sunlight. He raised his head to look around.
‘Will, wake, we’re either in Nottingham Forest or in heaven. Which is how I expected Heaven to look, it seems.’
He flung himself flat on his back in the grass.
Will Scathelock woke with empty arms to see Robin Hood lying supine entirely covered with mud and filth. His eyes were bruised, his hands, his body bloomed red and black. He looked like a casualty of some forgotten war, left unclaimed on a battlefield.
'Robin Hood,' murmured Will Scathelock, trying to rise to his knees and failing. 'Master Hood. Rouse yourself. Robin Hood! Don't you dare die before you can remind me that I should never give up.'
'Will?' Robin Hood shifted shoulder and hip and flinched.There were black shadows under his eyes, Will Scathelock saw, possibly matching his own. Some scars would take a long time to heal. Robin Hood shook his head. He opened his eyes and Will Scathelock saw him smile.
Robin Hood saw Scathelock's hair falling over his brightening eyes and wonderingly reached to touch his lover's wet face. A tear tracked down through the mire. Will Scathelock, weeping? That cold, philosphical student? Rescue from prison was always possible, but to see Will Scathelock crying was unthinkable. But then, unless he had indeed been granted a Vision, Will Scathelock was his lover now. It had taken twelve days in the dark and the certainty of imminent death to make him declare himself, which was also, he reflected, like Will Scathelock. Robin Hood dragged himself up onto one elbow.
'This is Nottingham Forest,' he said. ‘We’re home.’
'Evidently,' Will Scathelock replied. 'You were always one for the restatement of the obvious.'
'And there is your bath,' commented Robin Hood, hauling himself onto all fours. Will Scathelock coughed and sat up, shedding filth. They crawled, neither trusting their feet. It was only a little way to the sun warmed pool. They fell into the water with a splash and Will Scathelock sobbed as the warm water stung his new skin. He opened his mouth and drank, and it felt like his whole abused body sucked in moisture as it birthed clouds of mud and blood into the fluid warmth. He ducked under, feeling the drag of the water on his hair, watching Robin Hood roll like a dolphin in delight. So clean. So bright. After twelve days underground, the water reflections hurt his eyes. He closed them and floated, weightless, stripped, newborn. For once, he was possessed by joy, not analysing, not thinking. He heard Robin Hood laughing aloud as he surfaced, spouting like a whale.
Their mouths met and they kissed, cradled in the kindly water. Robin Hood lay beside him, Will Scathelock's head in the crook of his arm, anchored by one foot. The waves subsided around them and grew still.
'Did you mean what you said?' asked Robin Hood.
'Did you?'
'Yes,' said Robin Hood.
'Yes,' said Will Scathelock.