Post of the Month

~ July 2005 ~

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Robert ~ Written by Siiri.  Posted on the HoS Yahoo group January 2005.

The crackling of the campsite fire was growing low.

Where he stood before it, Robert turned his head to listen more intently, focusing the hearing of his right ear upon it. Flames sputtered and spat.

He went down on one knee and reached out to his right. His fingers touched the bundle of firewood gathered by Much before he had gone fishing. Robert's fingers strayed over the brittle dry lines of the firewood. Good for burning.

He selected some of it, and listening to where the fire burned low, fed the sticks into the fire.

From some distance behind him there came a slight stir of movement, a gurgle, an indistinct mutter. Robert jerked his head round to the sound, immediately alert.

"All right," he said softly to the maker of the noise, "I'm coming."

He remained where he was on one knee for a moment and lifted his face with pleasure to the warmth of the sunshine.

They had struck camp for the past two days in a secluded area of Sherwood, not too far from the village of Sedgeley. He was alone in camp for the moment. It was a lazy June afternoon, Much had gone fishing, John had taken himself off somewhere - presumably to see Meg, Robert guessed - Nasir and Will had gone hunting. Alan had been sent to Nottingham two days ago on an errand and to gather news - they expected him back if not this day then the next. Tuck too was off on a mission. And Rhiannon had slipped down to the stream nearby to bathe.

The indistinct noise behind him came again, and showed signs of turning into a wail.

Rising, Robert turned and crossed the camp to the maker of that wail, walking easily and confidently, sweeping his stick before him with the ease of an expert and avoiding a pail of water set near the hearth.

He guided himself without the need for sight, aided by the lay of things he had established in his mind, aided by his senses and by an uncanny sense of direction and of awareness that he found he could not explain away to anyone adequately. He could only describe the sensation as "feeling with his face". He knew when he was coming close to a large hard object in his surroundings - he somehow could feel its presence with his face. A patch of hardness amongst the soft blurs of his surroundings which he felt around him. The outlaw band had given up trying to understand this phenomenon by now and just accepted it as a skill he had. A skill or instinct he had because he was blind.

The small clearing they had set up camp in was ringed by large broad oaks. Robert's stick met the roots of such a tree, and he felt himself under cool shade. Kneeling there on the moss, he reached out his hand and found the edge of the coarse blanket lain on the moss, and his hand traveled up the blanket to gently rest upon the small form of his daughter. Ellie.

She had been sleeping where Rhiannon had lain her on the blanket under the tree, but now she was moving, kicking small legs and protesting at the absence of her mother. Robert smiled as his fingers lingered over the small plump curved face and discovered his child's eyes were open. Was she looking at him? He wondered. He consciously turned his face down towards his child and smiled.

"We've been left in charge of the camp, Ellie. What do you think to that?"

He was met with a gurgle, and the feel of a small hand encircling his forefinger. Leaning close over her, he gently touched his face to her tiny one and nuzzled her soft cheek, making her chortle. He took the other little hand which was waving around in empty air and kissed the tiny palm and put the tiny fingers to his own cheek. He laughed quietly as he felt the small fingers move to his nose and grab hold of it.

At 5 months old, Ellie was becoming very interesting to him, starting to coo and babble in patterns becoming recognizable to his ears, and little hands had started to reach out and grab hold of his fingers and his hair, and his nose and an ear. Such close contact with his child was a delight, and it was the major way of communicating and connecting with her at this early stage of her life.

He felt the little hand relax around his forefinger as the child settled, content in the presence of one of her parents. Perhaps she would go back to sleep now.

Robert straightened up to sit quietly beside where she lay in the cool shade, and sitting there in the quiet camp with the crackling of the campfire nearby, he listened to the sounds of the peaceful summer forest around him, one hand down by the baby, idly stroking her cheek and her soft wispy hair, and he thought back over the past year....

A year had passed since Mordred had been defeated on Ranulf's Tor. It scarce seemed believable. He remembered it all as clear as day...

So much had happened since then....

Robert thought back to events of more than a year ago - and before, when he had been "sighted".

But he had never really been sighted, he knew that. He had been in all truth blind since birth - the "sight" that he had had back then had just been the Powers of Light and Darkness settling into his blind eyes at birth and planting visual images of the worldaround him directly into his mind and interpreting them for him.

For he had needed that interpretation of those images. His eyes had never physically seen. He had been born without pupils, without other inner workings of the eye needed for sight, Herne had told him. Therefore his eyes were incapable of seeing, and always had been from the moment of his birth.

It had just been the Powers of Light and Darkness which had pumped visual images into his mind from the world around him since the day he had been born. Giving him a strange artificial "sight" - which had been needed for him to possess in order to journey along the path which had taken him to become Herne's Son.

And when the Powers had removed their power and restored his blindness to him so he had the power to then defeat Mordred - the visual images had gone. As if they had never existed. His visual concept and memory had vanished, and - so folk said - his eyes had changed from what people had said had once been their normal appearance. His irises ringed only a circle of white of eye, and according to his friends, his eyes moved oddly. Robert could not begin to imagine how they looked, but he was aware that his eyes, his blindness, drew the attention of others outside the friends who had grown accustomed to him over the past year. Folk who did not know him stared at him, he was aware, a lot of the time with a strange mixture of fascination and horror.

Robert cared not. After he had lost his visual concept, he had felt as though a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. The burden of sight, which he should have never had in the first place, had been removed, and now he could truly be himself.

He held in his head the fact that for the first twenty-one years of his life, he had "seen" in some artificial manner - whatever "seeing" was like. But he had only "seen" in some false engineered way courtesy of the Powers of Light and Darkness.

But although he held that fact in his mind, he held no memories connected with that "sight". His memories were clear, right back to earliest childhood - but they were memories only of hearing, touch, smell and taste. He had no sighted memories. He dreamt blind, and he imagined blind. If people asked, he told them he had been born blind, for it was the truth.

He was proud to be who he was - and happy to be who he was. He did not wish for sight - whatever having sight was like. He could not comprehend what it was like to see. The same as he could not comprehend what light and darkness and colours were like.

For him, being blind was all he had ever known. His world of four senses was all he had ever known. Hearing sounds, hearing and feeling movement around him, sifting scents and tastes - discovering new shapes and lines and textures all the time - that was all he had ever known, it was his world, and he was content with it. His world was vivid, enriching and fulfilling as it was, and he had no desire for the addition of another sense with which to perceive all that was around him.

The child beside him stirred; Robert smiled, and without turning, put down his hand to his side, and laid it gently on the stomach of the tiny form beside him. The stirring stopped, and still without turning to face her, keeping his face uplifted to the sound of the treetops above them, he moved his hand up, and his gentle fingertips traced softly over the little round face. The eyes had closed, she was sleeping. He gently stroked the cheek with a loving fingertip and smiled to himself afresh.

Ellie was only five months old, but he already connected and communicated with her on levels that the others bar Rhiannon could barely seem to understand. He could not see her, could not make eye-contact with her, she was only five months old, and could not talk to him - but already they communicated and had developed deep bonds. He read her by listening to her; he knew every nuance of her baby babble. And he read her by touching her - stroking her face and head, her tiny curled fists. He often touched his face gently to hers, mischievously rubbing noses with her, making her coo with laughter, or rubbing his cheek affectionately against hers. Little hands now reached up and would grab hold of his nose or an ear or a lock of hair, and to feel those little hands start to reach out and touch him, brought unspeakable joy to his heart.

He wondered if she realised yet that he could not see her like everyone else could. Perhaps not yet, but perhaps soon she would start to realise. She would come to learn what "blind" meant - and she would come to learn what it meant from the sighted viewpoint. But Robert was determined to teach her what "blind" meant from his viewpoint too.

He longed for the days, not too far away now, when he would take these little hands as she tottered her first steps. Longed for the day when he would hear her little voice start to form recognisable words, to deepen their communication

And one day, that little voice he knew would probably start asking him the questions that the children of Wickham, of Sedgeley and Maybury asked him curiously: "Why are you blind? Why do your eyes look strange? Can't you see ANYTHING? What is blindness like? Is it all black, all dark? Isn't it frightening? Don't you wish you could see?"

Questions Robert knew he would have to try and answer for her, he thought now. But he was well-versed with answering them from village children by now - he could answer the questions his own daughter asked.

For now, it was enough to listen to her babble and stroke her sleeping face, to keep watch over her - and and to help her grow and learn and be a good father to her. He did not need sight to be a good father. He had never thought he did, nor had Rhiannon.

At thought of his wife, Robert smiled, and turned his head in the direction she had gone, to the stream several hundred yards away, to bathe.

They had been betrothed by Tuck, standing under the cool shade of a large tree in Sherwood on a fiercely hot August day, their hands linked as they had solemnly given their vows. Robert vividly remembered the feel of the moment and cherished it - the serenity of the heavy hot day, the calm undercurrent of joy, the nearness of their friends who had stood quietly by and witnessed the betrothal. He remembered the feel of Rhiannon's hand in his, the feel of sliding that thin betrothal ring onto her finger, accompanied by the calm but delightful feeling that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

That feeling had come to him again when Ellie had been born....

The summer in Sherwood had been long and hot, the autumn mellow - but by contrast the forest winter had proved harsh. Too harsh for a by then heavily pregnant Rhiannon to deal with. So Robert had taken her to the village of Sedgeley to winter there.

Sedgeley was a small village on the far side of the forest - a long way from Nottingham, from Wickham, and from all the other usual places Robert knew that the Sheriff and Gisbourne associated he and his men with.

Robert no longer frequented Wickham, aware that Edward the headman's life and indeed the lives of the whole village could be put in jeopardy if there were any hints that the village continued to have strong associations with the wolfsheads. The outlaws still gave aid to Wickham when needed, as with many other villages and settlements around Sherwood - but took care not to be seen there.

Sedgeley was safer, and the people were friendly, and as a result, the outlaws had forged bonds with the village in the past year. Half the size of Wickham, the people of Sedgeley eked out a living much the same as the other villages in the area, often struggling to survive. The harvest had been bad for them, Robert had relieved a rich fat grain merchant who had traveled through Sherwood of his supply, and had shared out the sacks of grain between several hard-hit villages, Sedgeley being one of them. Sedgeley had been grateful and as a result they had willingly taken Rhiannon in when the harsh winter weather had struck and she became too heavily pregnant to be able to travel around quickly with the outlaws.

It had helped that Meg, formerly of Wickham, had that Autumn, had married a man from Sedgeley and gone there to live. Rhiannon had sheltered there with them throughout the harsh and often snowy winter.

Robert had gone to visit Rhiannon at Sedgeley whenever he could, and now the memories of those times pleasurably filled his head. There had been long evenings of sitting in peace before the warmth and crackle of a fire in the shelter of a dwelling, having the warmth of her sitting encircled in his arms, his hand lain upon her ever-growing stomach, feeling all the kicks, the wondrous twitches and movements of the little life inside her which was something of them both. He had never felt before the beauty of a child before its birth - and the fact that this child was his child doubled the wonder and enchantment for him. He had used to lay his cheek and ear against Rhiannon's stomach and listen, and feel, aware with wonderment that only Rhiannon's skin was between him and their child.

Those evenings in Sedgeley, those hours snatched from forest life, had been some of the most magical, contented times of Robert's life so far. He, his wife, and their unborn child. He had felt that he had everything he could possibly want when his arms had encircled Rhiannon and their unborn child; he had neither asked nor wanted for anything more.

Winter had passed, the snows had melted in February. Robert's fingers had felt the first hard buds sprouting from bare twigs in the forest, his ears had recognised the change in the music of the birds as Spring approached, his nose had noticed a different scent in the air - his whole being had sensed a difference around him in the forest as one season changed slowly and fluidly into another. And in the first week of March, Ellie had been born.

Rhiannon had given birth in Sedgeley, and by chance more than any plan, Robert had been visiting her when she had suddenly gone into labour. He had stayed with her for the birth, determined not to move from her side, determined to share this experience with her, though Meg, who had attended Rhiannon, had scolded him for wanting to be present and told him it was not meet for a man to be present.

But Rhiannon had snatched at his hand and had asked him not to leave her, and so he had not. Thus he had been present as their child came into the world.

The experience of being with his wife as she had given birth had been a blur of confusion for Robert; fearsome, even frightening, yet mixed with a great awe and wonder - sitting beside Rhiannon where she lay, the feel of her hot hands holding fast onto his, her nails digging into his palms, her crying out which was then mixed with the cry of a child, and Meg had told him he had a daughter.

A daughter.....

Meg had given the baby into his arms lapped in a blanket only minutes after birth - to feel this stirring, warm, wailing little bundle placed into his arms and know that she was his and Rhiannon's, had wrought feelings in Robert that he had never known existed before. To touch his fingertips to that little screwed up face for the first time and to feel over the tiny fists with their fingers curled up like flowers starting to unfold, to touch his face to hers for the first time in pure unspeakable love - the love of a father for his child - had been nothing less than sheer wonder at this marvel of creation.

It had been love at first touch for him, and he had then been made aware with a vast new enormity of what being a father to this tiny life meant - now, and in the future....for as long as he lived.

He and Rhiannon had named their daughter Eleanor, for the mother he had never known, the mother who had died giving birth to him and who had never had the chance to hold him as a newborn; the mother who had not been as lucky as Rhiannon to survive the perils of child-birth. Baptised by Tuck, Eleanor's name had soon been shortened to Ellie. And Robert found life yet again took a delightful new turn for him to experience and explore and enjoy - the role of being a father to a child.

Now that he and Rhiannon had become parents, they had a new responsibility - responsibility for this little life who slept safe and warm between them at night, and the village of Sedgeley continued to feature in their plans for Ellie. Harsh Nottinghamshire winter and an infant did not mix well, so it had been decided between Robert and Rhiannon that Rhiannon and Ellie would spend the summer with he in the forest and return to Sedgeley with Ellie to winter there when the snows came.

It had been a joint decision, taken calmly. They were husband and wife, lovers and life-partners - but they were also a partnership and took joint decisions on such things, both of them being practical by nature. Rhiannon had not liked the idea of being parted from Robert for another winter, but she was, as John had said "a sensible lass" and Robert knew she would do whatever it took to keep Ellie safe and well. So she had agreed with Robert that come the winter, she would return to live at Sedgeley with Ellie.

Meanwhile, though, they had the summer stretching before them, and Ellie seemed to be flourishing in the forest. She seemed to be adapting to the outdoor life, as he and Rhiannon - and the rest of the outlaw band seemed to be adapting to having a baby in camp. Robert twitched a smile to himself as he thought back over the first days of having Ellie with them, and how the band had behaved. Some, it had to be said, were adapting more quickly and easily than others...

As for Herne....

Herne had come to Rhiannon and he and Ellie in the forest shortly after Ellie's birth. Perhaps to see the child for himself and to satisfy his curiousity, thought Robert. Herne was forever an enigma, but that was the way things were.

Herne had blessed Ellie, called her a child of Sherwood, and quietly had gone away again, saying nothing as to how he felt upon this addition. But Robert sensed Ellie was accepted. She was not only his daughter - through Rhiannon's blood-tie with Robin of Loxley, Ellie was also Robin's niece, and the grand-daughter of Ailric.

So Ellie had been acknowledged and accepted by Herne. And as for the Powers of Light and Darkness....

"You must acknowledge that I am a husband and a father now, and I will not place my own personal family on a lesser scale of importance to everything else." Robert's words to the Powers, spoken after Ellie had been born, when he had sat alone by the stream, now came back to ring in his memory. "I am Herne's Son, but I am also my daughter's father. Things have changed. I must protect my own, as well as the folk I am called upon to protect as Herne's Son. I will give my all to both callings - but never make me choose between them."

And the Powers had been silent. Robert had sensed that silence meant an acknowledgement and acceptance of sorts....

So much of the past year had been taken up with acknowledgement and acceptance, Robert thought now. In so many different ways, by so many different people. Chief acceptance had been to do with his being blind, and yet still being Herne's Son. Many people from the villages, upon first seeing him blind, had been full of shock, horror, fear and trepidation at what would come to pass now Herne's Son was blind. Many times at first, Robert's interaction with the villages of the area had not been easy. He had found he needed to prove himself to them, although he had nothing to prove to himself. Slowly though, over the months, the people in the area had come to accept his blindness as they had seen what he was - Herne's Son still, Robert of Sherwood, who was a man who simply just happened to be blind.

And the fact that he still held Albion had helped to bring acceptance and acknowledgement of his continued role of Herne's Son. As surely as the longbow he carried was the symbol of his being Robin i' the Hood, Albion was the symbol of his being Herne's Son - a sword of Wayland, and object of power, and under his care.

Taking his hand from where it still lightly lay resting on the sleeping form of Ellie, Robert now quietly draw Albion from its scabbard at his hip. He held it supported in both hands for a moment, one hand under the pommel, the other under the flat of the blade, feeling and enjoying the perfect balance of it in his hands, then he moved his right hand and traced sensitive fingertips slowly from left to right along the length of the blade, over the engraved runes he could feel on the blade. Understanding them, reading them, by touch.

_Herne's Son is my master, I cannot slay him._

But whilst Albion could never be used against him to slay him, Robert knew full well that other swords could....

Robert was no fool. Being blind meant he could not continue to use some of the fighting methods he had employed when he had been in possession of that strange artificial "sight" - or the same fighting methods the outlaw band still employed. He accepted that.

But over the years, Robert had used a sword more than any other weapon, and he had a history of physical training with a sword behind him. This, Nasir had realised, and it had not been long after Mordred's defeat a year ago, that the Saracen had taken Robert in hand and taught him methods of fighting without sight. In particular, close-combat with a knife.

Robert had been eager to learn, and Nasir had proved a thorough and capable teacher. Robert's memories of his sword training as a boy had come to the fore, though they were memories lodged in feeling and hearing his opponent, and he had drawn upon them and developed his own ways of fighting; his own strategies of attack and defence

He had learned how to block strokes from an opponents weapon whether he used quarterstaff or sword, learning to tell from the sounds and feel of his opponents movements where the next blow could be coming from.

He had learned quickly - born blind, he was in many aspects a blank page when it came to learning something - no visual concept impeded his learning, no past memories of the artificial sight he had been given clouded anything he was taught. His blindness having been restored, his ears quickly found their ability to track and focus in minute detail, his awareness of movement around him blossomed into incredible sensitivity and vividness - and a whole host of other sensitive awarenesses had unfolded to him, some of which he could not describe adequately in words to the rest of the outlaw band, but awarenesses which he understood, had learned how interpret and explore and exercise until now, they were honed to deadly accuracy and sharpness.

Robert had had a full year during which Will and John - and Nasir in particular, had trained him, and for a year he had worked assiduously on all his blind skills - skills which had been there since the day he had been born and which had been operating on some vague level in the back-burner of his brain and his behaviour and his senses throughout the first twenty-one years of his life when he had had that artificial sight. Upon the restoration of his blindness, those skills had surged to the fore with the energy of having been suddenly released, never properly exercised before - but now they were constantly exercised to their full, and now, a year later, those skills were extremely fine-tuned, like fine-tuned strings on a harp. The blind childhood that Herne had spoken to Robert of, a phase which he had experienced after the restoration of his blindness, had now been worked through with all its learning, its exploring and discovering and resultant delights. And now he stood firmly in the adulthood of his blindness - a competent man who just happened to be blind.

His chief weapon was his knife - a sharp-bladed Saracen knife which Nasir had given him a year ago. But Robert still kept Albion girded firmly to his side. Even if was to be used as a last resort for defence and attack, he was still the guardian of the sword.

He did not take the view that it was tragic that he could not use Albion to its full because he was blind. Instead, his view was that whilst he was unable to use the sword to its full as a weapon because he was blind and it required sighted skills to employ its use to the full in a weapon sense - he could still resort to using it when all else failed - and most importantly of all, it was the symbol of being Herne's Son - and he was the Guardian and Keeper of it.

It was the same as his fighting with the band now. He may not be able to physically lead from the front in a skirmish, but he still directed operations, and held the reins of the band very firmly in his hands. He assessed situations, came up with strategies and ideas, and when he could fight, he did.

And he was lethal when he fought. Being a father had given him an extra edge - he had a child whose future he sought to defend, and he had no intention of being killed by anyone who launched an attack on him. Being blind gave him another edge in the form of the clear-cut knowledge that other people had sighted skills he did not possess, therefore he must strike first before he was struck.

He had turned out to be lethal with a knife in close combat, with soldiers or with other assailants he had encountered over the past year, and he killed them because it was kill or be killed.

And he had no intention of dying.

The treetops above him stirred slightly in the summer breeze and Robert turned his face up to the sound to listen.

_"Nothing's forgotton."_

No, he did not forget Robin. He did not forget how Robin had been held back from the point of death by the Powers of Light and Darkness, only to be held in limbo and brought back by them when Mordred had needed defeating. Used in many ways by them as a pawn. Robert would never forget Loxley perishing on Ranulf's Tor - that time, for real....

Robin, during his brief time with them a year ago, had been a man living on borrowed time, and he had known it. Had accepted it. Had tried to tell Marian he lived on borrowed time - was not OF this time, and so no plans for their future could be made.

Would that she had listened....

Robert lowered his head from listening to the soft rustle of the treetops, to instead listen to the crackling of the camp fire. It crackled and spat - spat like the last time Marian had spoken to him, a voice spitting with confusion, bitterness, venomous anger.

"Herne's just a false god! And you follow him blindly! Why have you forgiven him for not saving Robin at Ranulf's Tor? For not even BEING there?"

Robert shuddered to himself, remembering her last words to him.

At first, the band had fostered hopes Marian would rally herself from her remote, depressed state after Robin's death. But she had continued to withdraw, no longer believing in Herne, or in the Powers of Light and Darkness, until her heart had seemed to become a cold hard little stone.

She had functioned; ate and slept and kept with them throughout the summer and autumn and winter following Robin's death. But she had spoken less and less, and least of all with Robert. She did not believe that his blindness had been restored rather than inflicted, she did not believe that it was a liberation to him rather than a constraint.

She did not believe in a great many things now, the outlaw band had come to find to their dismay as time had passed. Did not believe, could not believe - did not WANT to believe.

She had grown numb and detached. She had started to see things that everyone said were not there. She had started to talk increasingly of this child she saw, whom she was convinced was lost in Sherwood. She seemed to believe this child was hers and Robin's - a boy of five or six years old. With her hair and Robin's eyes, she had described to the horrified band one night by the camp fire. Dressed in peasant clothes and carrying a little long-bow. Always hiding from them, but she caught glimpses of him. And he would not come to her when she called him.

She had wanted the outlaws to search for this child. They had not known how to deal with her strangeness save try and placate her and reassure her. Sometimes of an evening, when they were sitting quietly by the warmth of the fire, she had asked softly aloud: "Have you been looking for the child today? Do you have any news on where we might find him?"

And usually either John or Tuck had replied gently: "Nay lass. We looked, but we couldn't find him." And had tried to distract her from that topic of conversation.

Every time this had happened, Robert had felt a collective shudder, a chill, sweep round the group at the fireside.

When Ellie had been born, Marian had seemed to have awoken from her detached state at first. Having previously maintained a detached cold politeness with Rhiannon throughout Rhiannon's pregnancy, when Ellie had actually been born, Marian had showed signs of unfreezing, and had come eagerly with the rest of the band to see Ellie. For the first time in months, she had talked animatedly to Rhiannon, held the baby and talked softly and lovingly to her.

"Perhaps the child will be the healing of her," Tuck had said hopefully to Robert.

Perhaps. They had hoped. When Rhiannon had rejoined the band in the forest in April, with Ellie in tow, Marian had been eager to help. To mind the child, to play with her, to rock her to sleep when she cried. She had been more than happy to stay at camp minding the child whilst the others had been away. She had been a great help, and better still, had seemed happier in herself. She had talked less of the missing child in the forest which needed to be found.

But then she had begun to take Ellie "for walks" in the forest. Holding the baby in her arms and walking the deer trails through the trees to show the child the forest.

At first, she had not strayed far from the campsite with Ellie or been gone for any length of time with the child. But one day, they had returned to camp and had found Marian had disappeared with the baby. And she had not returned.

Rhiannon had been frantic with worry, and a very real sense that something was wrong had pervaded the camp of outlaws. Immediately, they had spread out to search in pairs.

It had been Nasir and Much who had found her and Ellie. Much had come racing back through the forest to alert everyone that she had been found, whilst Nasir had stayed with Marian to keep an eye on her where she had been found.

"She's at the top of the cliff by the lake!" Much had babbled in fear to Robert and Rhiannon. "Standing there by the edge....with Ellie in her arms!"

They had all rushed to the scene.

Marian had indeed taken Ellie to the cliff-top which overlooked the lake. Upon reaching there, joining Nasir at the scene, the outlaw band had all frozen with horror.

Robert thought he would never forget the wayRhiannon's hand clutched at his arm in desperate fear as she had whispered to him in description: "She's right on the edge, Robert. Standing there, holding Ellie in her arms. Right on the edge...."

"Naz?" Robert had whispered to the presence of the Saracen on his left a few yards away.

The Saracen had drawn close and touched his arm and replied quietly: "I cannot persuade her to move away from the edge of the cliff. I dare not press her. She looks dazed....confused."

On the other side of Robert, Rhiannon had gripped his arm even tighter as she had whispered in fear: "Robert, you talk to her. I cannot. I dare not trust myself.... She will see me as a threat..."

Gently disentangling his arm from Rhiannon's frightened grip, Robert had taken a few steps forwards alone towards Marian, feeling before him with his stick, and had halted when he had judged he was just several yards from her.

"Marian," he had said softly, "are you all right?"

Silence had come ahead of him. Then a little restive wail from Ellie, and the sound of his child had sent fear through Robert's heart sharper than any knife.

"Marian," he had said softly again, "we've been very worried about you. We've been looking for you everywhere. Why have you brought Ellie up here?"

Silence again.

"Marian," Robert had pleaded softly, "please come over to us away from the edge and give Ellie to Rhiannon."

Marian's voice had sounded bewildered as she had said simply, perfectly calmly: "Why should I give her to Rhiannon? She's my baby. Mine and Robin's."

At that statement, Robert had felt as though ice flowed through his veins. Here before him stood a woman he had once loved unreservedly. Now she was like a stranger. A disturbed stranger who lived in a fantasy world - a disturbed stranger who stood on the edge of the crumbling cliff edge with his child clutched in his arms...

"Marian," he had said gently, "you sound so very tired. You've done a great deal of work today looking after Ellie. Why don't you let me hold her for a moment whilst you sit down and have a rest?"

There had been further silence. Robert had reached for the waterskin slung over his shoulder. "You must be thirsty, too."

There had been another silence. "Yes," Marian had said at last, "Yes, I am thirsty. I meant.....I meant to stop at the stream and drink....but I forgot."

"That doesn't matter. We've got water. Here." Robert had held out the waterskin to her. "Come and slake your thirst and let me hold Ellie for you for a moment whilst you drink."

He had spoken as calmly as he could muster, had hoped his hand did not echo the trembling he was feeling inside.

For a moment, all around them had been nothing but frozen silence, here at the top of the cliff. He had sensed the half ring of outlaws a few yards behind him, frozen too, none daring to speak or move.

Then he had heard Marian move oddly calmly towards him, felt her hand touch his, reaching for the waterskin he had been holding out to her, and feeling for the child in her arms, Robert had taken hold of her and lifted her into his own arms, Marian relinquishing her for the waterskin with no resistance at all.

Robert had held the vaguely protesting Ellie thankfully close to him as though he would never let her go.

As soon as Marian had given Ellie to Robert to hold and reached for the waterskin and drank from it, Nasir, John and Alan had moved behind her, blocking her path to the cliff edge should she take it into her head to do anything stupid.

But she had not. She had merely drank from the waterskin and had then asked Robert to give Ellie back to her. When Robert had said gently but sadly; "I cannot, Marian. She is not safe with you...." Marian had slowly sunk to her knees and curled up in a tight ball on the ground as though withdrawing completely from the world, as though she had no strength left in her at all.

Somehow, slowly, they had coaxed her to her feet, using the most gentle, patient methods they knew. John had finally lifted her up in his arms to carry her, and they had walked back to their camp with her, a heavy pall of sadness laying over them as they all realised that this situation could no longer go on.

Marian had not protested at being carried back to camp. John had said later that she had felt like a little girl in his arms. A tired little girl who needed protection. Once back at their camp, Marian had taken a blanket and had curled up to sleep under a tree, between some roots - "as though the tree could protect her," Rhiannon had described to Robert.

Whilst Marian had slept, the outlaw band had talked long into that night, grouped around the fire, and they had sadly come to the decision that they could no longer look to Marian. She was endangering herself, not to mention the band as a whole - and Ellie.

"The lass needs to be somewhere where she will be cared for," Tuck had said to Robert. "Cared for with gentleness and understanding. She needs to be somewhere where she feels safe - and where she cannot endanger herself - or anyone else. I believe I know where she will receive the care and understanding she needs."

The next day, Robert and Tuck - whom she had always trusted and talked to the most - had taken Marian to Halstead Priory. Back to where she had left a year previously.

Marian had gone with them meekly enough to Halstead. She had enjoyed seeing the Prioress again and had seemed to enjoy being within Halstead's walls once more. She had asked if she might walk around the herb garden she had once helped tend.

A brief audience with Marian had been all the Prioress needed to assess her.

"Poor child, her mind is touched by grief," she had told Robert and Tuck in the refectory whilst Marian had been visiting the herb garden in the watchful presence of a sister. "She needs to be kept safe, on that I agree. Yes, we will take her and look to her. Give her light duties and....well, we will see what happens. Perhaps if she has a structure to her daily life, structure to her mind will return."

Marian had returned to them in the refectory and the news had been broken to her gently that she was to stay here.

She had seemed pleased, though puzzled. "I need to rest," she had said simply in response, as though in agreement to the plans for her. And then Robert had felt her tug at his sleeve, almost in the way a small and bewildered child seeking reassurance would do. "Will you come back for me tomorrow?" she had asked.

"No, not tomorrow," Robert had told her gently.

"Next week?" Marian had persisted.

"No," he had replied gently again.

Marian had started to grow edgy and resentful. "Why not?"

"Because you need to have a rest, Marian," Robert had explained softly to her. "A long rest....until you feel better."

"Lass," Tuck had said just as gently, "I'll come and visit you. I promise. We won't forget you. Nothing's forgotten."

_"Nothing's forgotten"_ Those two words, words which Robin had initially said, had seemed to snap something in Marian and she had turned on both Robert and Tuck suddenly with a ferociousness of bitter, angry feeling, venting forth her tirade about Herne being an empty God and cursing him for not saving Robin on Ranulf's Tor.

"Go," the Prioress had said quietly to them through Marian's unbalanced ranting. "You can do no good for her by lingering."

Robert and Tuck had taken their leave.

"I feel as though we have abandoned her," Robert remembered saying sombrely to Tuck as they had walked away from Halstead along the track and into Sherwood once more.

And Tuck's answer had come back just as sombrely. "Nay, lad. We haven't abandoned her. But there was simply nothing else we could do."

Robert wondered now how Marian was faring, in the calm confines of Halstead Priory....

A blackbird chattering in the tree above him jerked him out of his memories. Putting his hand down to his side, his fingers gently touched his daughter's face. Sleeping soundly. He turned his head to listen around him to the summer sounds of the forest, always alert. All was well. The forest was quiet and peaceful. Rhiannon would no doubt return soon, and the others. Robert wondered if Tuck and Alan would be amongst them. Both had left the camp two days ago, each going on a seperate errand. Robert wondered how each of them had fared. However they had fared, there was bound to be much news to hear.

Robert sat beside his sleeping child and waited.