Post of the Month

~ March 2010 ~

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Will/Timothy ~ Written by Annie & Rhys.  Posted on the HoS Yahoo group May 2008.

Will headed West through Sherwood, dodging through the close-knit trees, following first a myriad of small deer trails that no other human save the outlaws ever walked, and then the winding path of a stream that he knew would lead him past the Lincoln Road and Darkmere.

He paused on the fringes of the trees and looked ahead of him at the Lincoln Road that cut through Darkmere. It was narrow here, only just big enough for a cart to pass along, and it twisted away through the trees in both directions.

Darkmere was aptly named. Scarce sunlight reached through the large, ancient boughs to touch the ground gold. The age-old trees stood like sentinels, each emerging from the darkness to glower at him, before letting him pass by.

Will stood on the track for a moment, hand on sword-hilt and looked around him, then made for the large oak whose branches overhung the road at the point where the hard packed earth and stony track twisted East, away from the nearby stream.

The tree was easy to climb. Will's hands and feet skilfully sought firm holds on its knots and bumps until he reached the thick bough that overhung the twist in the track.

He stood on the wide bough, one arm wrapped around the upwards fork of another, and he absorbed his surroundings. Then he slid down to sit on the bough, and he watched, ever-wary, knowing he was screened by the leaves from any traveller who passed by on the Lincoln Road beneath.

Time passed. Two youths from Benfield trudged along the road back towards their village - then in the opposite direction a while later, there came a carter. On both occasions Will jumped down from the tree to block their path and asked them questions. He knew the lads from Benfield. No, they had seen nothing untoward on the Darkmere Road two mornings ago; no wagon or cart pulled to the side of the road, or hastening its way along the track abnormally fast. No sign of Gisbourne or soldiers, either.

The carter came from Lincoln and was apprehensive at being waylaid by what was obviously an outlaw, but answered questions easily enough once he realised Will was not going to take his life or his cargo. Yes, he travelled this road once a week, taking cloth to Nottingham for the market, but last time he had travelled this route, he had seen nothing out of the ordinary. Will inspected the contents of the cart but found nothing but bolts of woollen cloth.

He did not mention Robert's disappearance to either parties. It would do no good to spook the villagers and have them believe Herne's Son was quite possibly dead - and he did not want the carter to spread any gossip back in his home town of Lincoln in case the Lincoln outlaws were around to hear it. If they were not responsible for abducting Robert, then they could surely use his disappearance as the ripe opportunity for coming into Sherwood, and Will preferred to buy time there and hopefully either find Robert or what had become of him, before they faced the Lincoln outlaws.

He returned to his seat on the tree bough overhanging the road, screened by the leaves. Then a well-dressed man on horseback with manservant in attendance rode leisurely past along the road under the trees, heading for Nottingham. The purse at his belt looked full of coin, but this time Will did not alert the travellers to his presence; it was not worth it; not worth robbing him. They did not need coin; they needed Robert.

More time passed. The sun in the sky above moved round to its noon height, and then round to early afternoon. There were no more travellers, and nothing to do. Unlike Much, who could happily sit in a tree for hours and play sentinel, Will quickly grew bored and restless. He sighed and jamming one foot against an upwards sprouting branch, made his position secure and leaned back against the main trunk.

_Robert, where ARE you.... Who's got you? - Gisbourne? - soldiers? - that bleedin' Lincoln mob?_

He was realistic, and realistically, judging by the scene of the scuffle and the blood, things did not look good for Robert's well-being - but there was always a chance that that blood was not Robert's. And the absence of Robert's body strengthened that chance.

Unless....Gisbourne or soldiers had taken the body for it to be displayed in Nottingham.

_One of us needs to go to Nottingham an' find out if that's what's happened,_ Will thought now. _An' ask questions there. Maybe the Sheriff's returned...._

He sighed and rested his head back against the trunk behind him. He hadn't slept for most of the night, what with being on watch at the camp and having all sorts of possible scenarios involving Robert play through his mind. He closed his eyes against the sunlight that filtered down through the trees from above and allowed his exhausted mind to drift.

He jerked out of his doze as a faint sound filtered through to his ears. A clicking - no, a tapping, a regular rhythmic tap. The tap of a stick against hard packed stony ground. And it was coming this way.

Will recognised the sound, he recognised the rhythm of the sound, and his heart leapt into his mouth. He had heard this sound countless times before in the year that had passed - had grown so used to it, he scarce noticed it, or had scarce noticed it when Robert had been around. Now, with Robert's absence, memory flooded back and he noticed the sound immediately - a sound that had been absent for the last couple of days was now conspicuous to him. The sound of a blind man's guiding stick finding the way ahead.

Will leaned urgently forwards and peered through the green haze of the leaves, squinting against the slanting fingers of sunshine, to catch the figure that approached. In a flash between the gaps of the leaves, he saw the figure below him - a man's figure, young and straight and tall, hood covering his head, left hand wielding a long stick - but no stick like a staff - a long slender stick which was extended before him and tapped from side to side, following the verge of the road as it curved around beneath the tree.

Joy and relief flooded Will's exhausted heart and commanded it, over-riding any urge to be wary. He immediately leapt down from the tree bough in mock ambush just behind Robert as he passed, and clapped a friendly hand on Robert's shoulder, pulling him back a step with a: "Where the bleedin' hell have YOU been?!-"

He stopped short, as the man immediately swung round to face him and flailed out an alarmed arm in response. The hood fell back from covering the man's head, and with shock, Will found he stared into the face of not Robert, but a stranger - a dark-haired stranger whose face held alarm and whose dark eyes flicked restlessly about without focus.

"What the?-" Will began in shock, staring at the blind young man.

Timothy's heart was pounding; it had leapt up into his mouth by the sudden swish of branches and the leap of a person down from the tree above to land just behind him on the track. His shoulder grabbed by a rough hand to halt him and an equally rough voice in his ear made his first thought that he was about to be set upon and robbed. He panicked, sure that any moment he would feel a dagger driven into his ribs, and flailing out an arm in the stranger's direction in self-defence, immediately tried to twist away from the heavy hand clapped on his shoulder, but the hand jerked him back and a rough voice with a London accent demanded: "Oi - what you doin'?"

Timothy wasn't about to listen or engage in conversation. His adversary was close behind him; Timothy sharply jabbed his elbow back into the man's stomach, causing him to momentarily double up in pain and release his grip on Timothy's shoulder. Twisting round immediately, guiding by the grunt of pain the man issued, Timothy swung his fist round and smacked it across the man's jaw with such force that the man fell backwards away from him and hit the ground.

Will immediately sprang up with a cry of rage, and grabbing Timothy around the neck from behind, pulled him down onto the grass in an effort to subdue him. Timothy gasped, winded, as the ground came up to meet him with a thump, and he found the man's hands grabbing his shoulders, trying to press him face-down against the earth and stones of the track. He twisted round, and clamped his hands around the man's upper arms and struggled with him.

Timothy was well-used to fighting, Ever since he could remember, he had experienced his fair share of fights in the dust or mud at the village of Felden, and he had learnt to defend himself like any other boy. He could more than hold his own in a fight if he could wrestle with his opponent, he knew how to employ his strength and now with his fighting spirit urging him on, he was a formidable opponent. This stranger had unknowingly done Timothy a favour by pulling him down onto the ground to fight, for Timothy knew that when he was in close proximity to his opponent then he was on a level with them.

They rolled over and over on the track, gasping their breath out as they struggled with each other, delivering blows, scratching, gouging and kicking, grabbing handfuls of shirt or jerkin or hair, delivering out of breath curses at each other.

Will's rough cloak had twisted around him as they rolled on the ground and it impeded his movements. He paused to pull it off - and was caught across the face by a glancing blow from Timothy. Will angrily launched a fresh attack and caught Timothy by the neck of his jerkin, clawing at his throat.

Timothy gasped, startled, then twisted away, and sitting up, caught the stranger by the hair and hung on grimly. Will found enough purchase to swing his fist around; it smacked Timothy hard across the jaw - and Timothy suddenly found himself knocked flat on his back from the force of the blow, blood trickling from his nose and running down into the corner of his mouth.

Before he knew it, the man flung himself at Timothy afresh, pushing him back down against the mossy ground as Timothy tried to sit up. His fingers clawed down one side of Timothy's face as Timothy's head cleared from its blow. "I'll gouge your bleedin' eyes out!" the man's harsh voice yelled furiously into Timothy's face, his hot sour breath puffing against Timothy's stinging cheek.

"Go ahead - won't make any difference to me!" Timothy yelled back, caught his attacker behind the neck with both hands, locking his fingers tightly together and used all the strength in his powerful arms to pull the man with a thud down onto the ground beside him. Once his assailant was down, Timothy immediately twisted around onto him, reversing the situation. He straddled the man and finding his wrists, pinned his hands to the ground on either side of him.

"Look, you bleedin' STUPID cross-eyed bastard, I ain't gonna HURT yer!" Will yelled out aggrievedly, struggling where he was pinned.

"So say you!" Timothy yelled back at him, struggling to keep him pinned down against the ground.

Will's face was growing scarlet with effort as they grappled. The blood from Timothy's nose dripped down onto him as they struggled. Will's fists clenched around Timothy's wrists, twisting them painfully but he did not bargain for the strength in Timothy's hands. Timothy wrenched his right hand free, and swinging his clenched fist round, clipped Will hard across the jaw.

Stunned, Will let go and fell back onto the ground, and Timothy quickly scrambled to his feet. As he rose, he quickly scanned both hands over the earth for his guiding stick on the ground, found it and took it up as he got to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose.

He lurched forwards several steps, sweeping from side to side over the moss and grass with his stick - and suddenly came up against the large trunk of a tree. He briefly felt over it with one hand in recognition, then swiftly turned to put the comforting solidity of the tree at his back, and faced in the direction of the man's heavy breathing some ten yards away.

Will made to sit up - and at the man's movement, Timothy immediately whipped his dagger out from the scabbard at his belt.

"Don't move!" Timothy threatened, levelling the dagger in the man's direction. Still keeping his distance, he circled warily around the man a few steps, away from the tree trunk where he could be pinned against if rushed at, and then he stopped and lifted his head high to listen to the slight shifts of movement the man made down on the ground before him those ten yards away, alert for any signs of another attack launched at him.

Will remained where he sat sprawled and studied the young man, surprised. He knew only Robert's experience of being blind, but had thought Robert was the rare exception rather than the rule - the rare exception of a blind person being able to look after themself.

Having spent a year in Robert's company he could now read many of the signs in this man - the listening, the scanning, the awareness. This man was just as alert as Robert and clearly knew how to defend himself. The dagger levelled in his direction was no idle threat.

"Look, you bleedin' stupid, cross-eyed BASTARD, why don't you bleedin' LISTEN to what I'm tellin' yer? - I ain't gonna hurt yer!" Will shouted across to the man again, but this time more annoyed than threatening.

He knew from past experience that you did not spook the blind. Any sudden or sharp movement, or rush towards them, could be interpreted by them as an attack if they did not know the person who seemed to rush at them, and they could lash out in reflexive self-defence. Who could blame them for doing so; they could not see, and Will agreed with the premise that it was best in time of peril to strike before you were struck. This man had a dagger and looked to be extremely capable of lashing out. Will did not want to be slashed.

Timothy almost laughed at the irritated name-calling; it was nothing new to him. "So why did you jump on me from above?" he demanded.

"Thought you were someone else; someone I knew." Will's hurried breathing was subsiding; he wiped his bloodied nose on his sleeve and carefully studied the blind man's face. The face was aware, but the eyes were not. Neither eye went what Will would term as "straight". The left eye kept sliding inwards, the right eye kept drifting upwards. They moved without focus, flicking randomly about. Will suddenly was reminded sharply of Robert.

"Do you often attack people you know in such a way?" Timothy asked with sarcasm.

Will wiped his nose on his sleeve again. "Wasn't meant to be an attack. Was meant to be in fun. He'd have recognised me."

"Fun?!" Timothy's voice was incredulous.

"I didn't put a bloody knife to yer throat, did I? Just clapped you on the shoulder and asked you where you'd bin - it was you that bleedin' turned on me!" Will retaliated.

"I thought you were a footpad - and for all I know, you could be." Timothy still held his dagger levelled in the man's direction. He jerked his head round to Will's movement as Will rose to his feet, and he brandished his dagger afresh. "Don't come any closer! - lest you have a desire to be filleted like a fish," Timothy warned.

"Oh, you're frightening, you are," Will said quietly with meaningful sarcasm. "Blind man."

Timothy frowned at the sarcastic tone and swung his head in angry response to it. "So what if I'm a blind man. I'm a blind man with a dagger, my friend, so you'd best have a care."

That was true enough. Will rubbed his chin and stared at the stranger. He was tall, slim and healthy-looking - no more than twenty-five, Will judged, and so in the prime of life. He possessed an air of confidence about him and did not speak like some cowed villager. There was almost a foreign air about him, though he did not speak English with any foreign accent.

"Can you see anythin'?" Will asked curiously at last.

"I might be able to," Timothy said defensively; sometimes it was not good to proclaim he was totally blind; especially to a stranger who had the potential to attack him.

Will looked at the young man and laughed, for a shaft of bright sunshine slanted down under the trees at an angle and hit Timothy full in the face; he did not flinch from the brightness in the slightest.

Timothy frowned, swung his head in bewildered irritation and kept his dagger levelled at the man. "What are you laughing at?!" Timothy demanded.

"You, my friend," Will said, "are as blind as a bleedin' BAT. Ain't yer."

Timothy was puzzled. "How did you know?"

"Ain't hard to tell." Will surveyed the dark eyes thoughtfully. Dark pupils, unlike Robert - but the same sort of restless movement with the eyes.

"Besides," Will said, "it's how you act. I know. I bin around a blind man this past year, now. Blind as a bleedin' bat, he is, just like you - an' just as much trouble."

Timothy with some puzzlement registered the faint note of affection in the man's voice. It was the note of affection of a comrade; a loyal friend. With that piece of information divulged, it was only too easy to put two and two together. There was only one blind man who could reside in this rough sounding individual's company - and Jenet of Elsdon had said Herne's Son's blindness had seemed to occur a year ago. But he still kept his dagger levelled at his previous opponent. "I heard Robin i' the Hood had gone blind," Timothy said.

Will watched him warily - and watched the dagger too, ready for the first sign of another attack launched at him. "You heard right then, didn't yer?"

"You're one of Robin i' the Hood's men?" Timothy asked.

Will was guarded. "I might be."

"So you won't harm me, then, will you," Timothy surmised.

"That depends on what you bin doin'," Will said meaningfully.

Timothy frowned. "I heard that Robin i' the Hood's men do not harm the ordinary folk, the peasants. They hold Sherwood as theirs and kill the soldiers and rob the idle rich who may be stupid to pass through here - but they do not hurt the ordinary honest folk."

"You ain't dressed like a village peasant." Will looked the young man critically up and down. He wore jerkin and trousers of good quality cloth - the jerkin was unlaced at the neck in this heat and it showed a fine cambric shirt underneath. His belt was of good leather also.

Timothy ran his fingertips of one hand nervously across the front of his jerkin, aware of being studied; the man's attention directed at him was like a weight pressing against him. "I realise that. But these clothes are not exactly the grand ones of a nobleman either, are they. Wouldn't you say they are more of an ordinary towns-person?"

Will studied the young man critically. "You steal them clothes?"

Timothy frowned and swung his head in irritation. "You honestly think I can SEE to bloody steal? How far do you think I'd get running away after stealing something? Blind thieves can be hung for stealing just as easily as sighted ones, you know. No, of course I did not STEAL these bloody clothes! - they are mine! Can't you see that they fit me?"

Will looked him up and down and nodded to himself in thought.

Timothy after a moment's hesitation, sheathed his dagger and then put his hand to the purse at his belt. "I have but three silver pennies in my purse, and a rosary of amber beads. "You're welcome to take them if you wish - but take me to Robin i' the Hood's camp."

Will just laughed at him. "I can't eat silver pennies - and what would I want with a bleedin' rosary?"

"To do penance? You sound sorely in need of it," Timothy said wryly.

Will glared at him. "On your way, blind man."

Timothy frowned and folded his arms and stood his ground squarely on the track, blocking Will's path. "No. I want you to take me to your camp."

Will made a dismissive sound and gesture, and half turned to leave. "You can go whistle - we ain't a charity who gives out free meals to all the strays we encounter."

Timothy cut in. "I do not want to come to your camp because I seek a free meal. I want to come because I know Tuck. I was at Thornton Abbey with him, years ago."

Will stopped short.

"Has he never mentioned me to you?" Timothy asked, trying and failing to read Will's silence. "My name is Timothy. I was left at Thornton Abbey as a foundling - Tuck and the other monks at Thornton raised me. Has he never mentioned a blind boy he knew at Thornton?"

Will scratched his head and then the name hit him. Timothy. He had heard Tuck mention the name once, in conversation to John, a year ago, when they had been talking about Robert and what implications his blindness would have for the outlaws. Tuck had spoken of his previous knowledge of the blind and had mentioned the name of Timothy. A boy at Thornton - a blind boy....

He looked Timothy up and down. "What are you - a failed monk?" Will asked suspiciously.

Timothy laughed, relaxing somewhat, and rested his hands on his guiding stick before him. "No, far from it - though if I ever had taken Holy Orders, I'd have failed them disgracefully by now. No. I left Thornton Abbey at fifteen years of age. But I'd known Tuck all my life up till then."

Will's sharp eyes regarded the blind man keenly - he spoke calmly and with honesty about the past, and Will could not find anything there to be suspicious about. "So you ain't come from Thornton Abbey now, have you?" Will said.

"No," said Timothy, "I've been in foreign climes for the past eleven years. I came back to England three months ago and headed for Nottingham. Upon hearing that Tuck was alive and well and living in the forest with the outlaws, I walked into Sherwood from Nottingham. I set out yesterday from Nottingham. And been walking ever since. I came into Sherwood to find Tuck."

Nottingham..... Will was curious. He scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully at Timothy. "So you've come from Nottingham...." he said slowly at last. "I bet you've heard all the latest news and gossip from there, ain't you?"

He suddenly wondered if this man had heard anything suspicious relating to Robert's disappearance. If Gisbourne had Robert and had taken him to Nottingham - surely some sort of gossip or speculation would be circulating there by now, wouldn't it?

Timothy wondered at the man's thoughtful tone, but was only too ready to appear helpful in return for what he wanted. "Yes, I've heard lots of news and gossip which I would be only too pleased to relate to you and the rest of the outlaws once I have a warm fireside to sit by this evening. So will you take me to your camp so I can see Tuck?"

"This ain't the best time for social calls, blind man," Will said irritably, thinking of their continual search for Robert. He wasn't about to give up searching - he knew the others weren't - and doubtless everyone would be returning to camp that evening tired. emotional - and maybe....maybe one of them would have bad news. Will could barely stomach that possibility.

"Well, let Tuck be the judge of that - after all, he's the one I've come to see - not you," Timothy replied. "I don't even know who you ARE, save you be one of Robin i the Hood's men."

Will considered the matter and looked at Timothy curiously again. "Think Tuck would be glad to see you?"

"I am sure of it," was Timothy's instant reply.

Will searched the young man's face and saw nothing but honesty there. "And you come from Nottingham, you say."

"Aye," Timothy replied. "I walked there from Southampton where I landed in search of Tuck."

Will studied him. "Long way to walk to see someone."

Timothy leant his hands on his guiding stick and spoke with sincerity. "Well, Tuck means a lot to me. I have not known these past eleven years whether he be dead or alive. When I arrived in Nottingham I heard he was alive and living in the forest with the outlaws, part of Robin Hood's men. I wanted to see him again."

Will dropped his gaze to study the guiding stick. Guiding stick for a blind man - long and slender, used for feeling the way ahead, not for fighting with or for leaning upon, like a staff. It was made of black wood - ebony, he realised. The silver knob gleamed in the hazy light beneath the tall trees of Darkmere. "And you're blind. How did you think you was goin' to find us?" Will asked sarcastically.

Timothy gave him a smile. "I thought I would walk along the Lincoln Road and I might stumble across him or one of you. Fact is, I was right."

"You was lucky," Will corrected.

"So will you take me to your camp?" Timothy pressed. He listened and as he got no answer, continued. "Look, I swear on whatever God is important to you that I will not betray your whereabouts. I cannot see where you will take me anyway - once I step off this track I follow with my stick, I am lost. I could lead no-one to you."

"You got a tongue though, ain't yer - you can tell people where you bin," Will said.

"Well that's just a risk that you're going to have to take," Timothy retaliated with, "but do you honestly think I would want to bring harm to Tuck?"

Will considered him suspiciously for a moment longer. Instinct told him that the man spoke the truth. Tuck HAD mentioned him briefly in the past and doubtless would know him. He trusted Tuck. But he wondered at disturbing Tuck's past for him right now, by bringing Timothy to camp.

Will suddenly realised how little he knew of Tuck's past, before the man had joined them in Sherwood six years ago after being the Sheriff's chaplain. He knew Tuck had been a monk at Thornton - but realised he knew very little else.

This man was clearly from that little known past of Tuck's....and Will was suddenly curious about that past.

"All right," Will said grudgingly at last. "I'll take you to camp. I was about to turn back for there anyway."

Timothy smiled, relief flooding his heart. "I will need your arm for
guidance."

After a year, Will was well used to guiding Robert whenever he decided he needed assistance, and did not baulk at the request. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't get very far without it, would you?"

Timothy took several steps towards the direction of the man's voice, sweeping his stick before him, then paused. "What's your name?" Timothy asked out to the man.

"William Scathelocke." Will surveyed the blind man, still uncertain as to how to deal with this individual. "Well, it was. They call me Scarlet now."

Scarlet was a colour and Timothy was bewildered. "Why?"

"Well, blood's scarlet, innit?" Will said irritably.

"Oh, and you've caused more to be spilt than your fair share, I presume," Timothy said with humour. "Hence the change of name." He refined his focus on the man's presence and headed towards him once more.

Will watched Timothy as he approached. The young man used the long guiding stick with the same ease as Robert did; like it was a part of him. "So what happened to you, then? Illness, accident?"

Timothy took a final step forwards the man so he directly faced him. His guiding stick running over the ground before him found a pair of feet standing firm and slightly apart on the path.

"I was born blind," Timothy said simply.

He carefully put out his hand and found the man's shoulder, He curiously ran his fingertips over the shape of the shoulder, and found the man was a little lower than his height, and of a stockier build. Round shoulders, muscled upper arms. The shape of the man stood still, unafraid - not defensive like many people who he explored by touch. Yes, this man was used to a blind person, Timothy thought.

He carefully moved his hand up the man's shoulder and neck as though he were examining a wild animal that might bite, and he laid his fingers against the man's jawline. Strong and set. A stubborn chin, pricked with stubble. The man smelt of sweat, of worn old leather, of woodsmoke, of treebark and of bracken that he had clearly been brushing through.

The mouth was unsmiling. Timothy carefully passed his fingers over it and touched nose, and cheekbones. Ordinary cheekbones, a straight sharp nose, a brow of middling height that suddenly creased as his fingertips touched it. The man was frowning at him. Timothy felt himself frowning back in response, but from curiosity rather than annoyance. He could not tell whether the man's frown was curiosity or annoyance. The man's narrow eyes blinked as he carefully passed his fingertips over them.

"You are used to the blind," Timothy said at last. "Not many people would stand without a word and let a blind stranger feel their face." He passed his fingers carefully over the face again, seeking expression, a response that he could recognise at his words. "Does Herne's Son feel your face?" He was interested, curious.

"What do you know of Herne's Son?" Will asked suspiciously.

"As much as any villager hereabouts." Timothy wondered at the fresh note of suspicion in the man's voice. "You forget that I said I was raised in this area. And the monks at Thornton Abbey may not have encouraged me to think or talk about the old ways, the old gods, but the villagers of Felden did."

"Felden..." Will muttered.

"Aye. A village near to the Abbey," Timothy replied.

"I know of it." Will suspiciously watched Timothy's face, trying to seek answers of his own within it.

"Have you ever been there?" Timothy asked.

He kept moving his fingers slowly and carefully over Will's face as he asked the questions and watching him, Will felt almost hypnotised. The man was exploring his facial responses as he gave the answers, Will realised. Learning about him. This man was astute and adept. This man was intelligent - certainly no blind beggar from the gutter.

Will was guarded in his answer. "A few times."

"I spent much time there as a child. It was only a short distance from Thornton Abbey. As a child, I used to play with the other children from Felden. And listen to all the superstitions, all the old stories, from the villagers. About the old gods, about Herne, and his son."

Timothy moved his hand down to the man's shoulder to rest it there, his examination of his previous opponents face completed. But he was still curious about this individual and he listened to the man before him; the breathing, the slight shift of movements, sensing the peculiar aura of suppressed aggression which seemed to surround him.

For a moment they stood, face to face, still uneasy with each other, Timothy's hand on Will's shoulder, and there was silence between them, broken only by the slight sway of the trees above and the chatter of a blackbird as it broke cover. The noise echoed up into the sky above Darkmere.

"Come on then," said Will at last. "Let's get off the bleedin' Lincoln Road before someone comes along. Don't do for us to be seen."

He touched the back of his hand against the blind man's arm as a signal that he was there ready to act as guide - something he did with Robert which he unconsciously did now with this blind man. This blind man's response was the same as Robert's; he moved to stand at Will's left side and immediately ran his hand down Will's left arm to lightly grasp his elbow just as Robert did - and Will suddenly felt an odd, almost painful, clenching of his stomach at the familiarity of the hold of his elbow - yet this was not Robert at his side...

He suddenly felt Robert's absence more keenly than ever.

"We're turnin' right off the road," Will told the man, "an' then over some rough ground. We'll move fast, so you'd better bleedin' keep up. We should get into deep forest as soon as possible, where it's safest for us. Better cover."

He moved forwards, and found the young man moved forwards with him, as lightly and as easily as Robert did when needing a guide. They left the edge of the Lincoln Road and headed through the tall trees of Darkmere, where no man passing through, whether he be peasant or soldier, liked to wander.

Timothy followed where he was led, keeping a light grip on the man's elbow. Their path under the canopy of trees he could hear and feel above twisted and turned. They walked in mostly silence, save for an occasional muttered command by the man to duck his head, or to swing sharply to the left or the right, or to ware with his stick some obstacle out to his left side that he may clip. Timothy was surprised that this blustering, aggressive individual had not only actually offered his arm for guidance but also seemed to know how to guide a blind person. He guessed that the knowledge stemmed from a close day-to-day living with the blinded Herne's Son.

He followed all the commands the outlaw uttered; this individual knew the forest and he did not. And he followed the man's guidance, knowing that sooner or later, they would stop somewhere, meet with other strangers, and amongst the strangers he would hear Tuck's voice for the first time in eleven years.

They walked fast, across old leaf mulch and rough ground that sloped away to the left; scrambling up a bank and then down again. The sound of the stream which had previously been on Timothy's left, swung round to his right, and then faded. He could not feel the sun on his face and lost all sense of direction. He could not tell where he had come from or where he was headed. He did not know this place. Sherwood was vast; he only knew the Lincoln Road that to him ran like a vein through it - and now he had stepped off that road, he felt he had been plunged into the forest's very innards. There was nothing to do save trust his guide, who, he sensed, still observed him with some lingering suspicion.

The blind man was young and fit and was well able to keep pace with Will. He matched his own stride to Will's easily, immediately reacted to instructions, did not babble away on unnecessary conversation or ask stupid questions, and Will could not find anything to criticise him over. Instead, Will watched the man with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. He held his head high, as Robert oft did - and though the oddly moving eyes did not see, he kept turning his head as though scanning thoroughly around him. Turning his head, not to look, but to listen - to absorb the atmosphere, the movement around him - to FEEL, Will realised. Feeling without touching, was how Robert described it, and now Will could see in this young man the same skills of information gathering as Robert
had.

His was a pleasant, intelligent face; responsive, interested to all that was going on around him. Will dropped his gaze to the man's sharp dagger tucked in his belt, at the hand that wielded the long slender guiding stick. The hand had grazed knuckles from where he had hit Will hard across the jaw. This man wasn't afraid of fighting, of standing up for himself, of facing the world, and despite he seeming to possess an annoying ability to always have a ready answer for anyone that challenged him, Will felt a grudging respect for the man. Not many possessed the bravery to fight Will Scarlet - and not many could lay him flat on the ground with a blow to the jaw.

The ground levelled out, became more grassy; swathes of bracken brushed Timothy's left thigh and hip as they walked, sending their comforting earthy scent rising to his nose. He swept his stick over the ground ahead of him, and found a narrow clear space through the bracken which seemed to lead ahead without end.

"It's a deer trail," Will said, seeing the mixed curiosity and bewilderment on Timothy's face as the stick deftly explored from side to side as they walked. "Good paths to take. Narrow, often fringed and hidden by bracken, and lead deep into the forest. Not trodden by anyone except the deer an' us."

"The outlaws?" Timothy asked.

"Yeah," said Will grimly, "the outlaws. So, you've heard tales of us, have you?"

"Aye. I've spent the past eleven years out of England, and tales of you all have even come across the seas to Lisbon where I was," Timothy answered.

Will felt almost peculiarly proud. "What sort of tales?"

"That you hold Sherwood and consider it your kingdom. That you ensure the people of this area do not starve in winter. That you oft make a laughing stock of Robert de Rainault, Lord High Sheriff." Timothy smiled.

Will spat aside into the bracken in disgust. "He deserves all he bleedin' gets from us."

"I have no doubt he does," was all Timothy replied with quietly.

Will nudged him lightly with his elbow. "Turnin' left now, off here and onto another route. Pushin' through the bracken."

Timothy's stick skimmed back and forth over the grassy wider track they had stepped onto, finding occasional tree roots snaking across their path as they walked fast on. "What were you doing in Darkmere? Hunting?"

"Yeah," Will said darkly, "but not deer."

"Soldiers?" Timothy hazarded.

"Why? - You seen any?" Will asked, then took a swift glance at the man's face and cursed himself inside. Will hated making mistakes.

Timothy laughed quietly, happy to tease the man over his faux pas. "No, I haven't seen any. None on the road from Nottingham, anyhap."

That, thought Will, was at least something.

Timothy registered the tone of the outlaw's voice and was curious. "You seek soldiers out when they do not seek you? Isn't that inviting unnecessary trouble for a bunch of outlaws?"

"We already have bleedin' trouble," Will said irritably, "cuttin' a couple of soldiers if we come across them ain't goin' to add much more trouble than we have already."

He struggled with himself for a moment, unsure as to whether to tell this stranger anything - but he would hear about it sooner or later, when he got to camp, Will reasoned to himself. He finally found the words. "Robert's gone missin'."

Timothy was taken-aback. "Your blind leader?"

Will's reply was terse; he did not want to start a question and answer session as they walked. "Two days now. I was lookin' for him. We all are. We've bin tryin' to find out what's happened to him. Maybe someone's got him. We don't know who."

Timothy fell silent, registering the tone of Will's voice that clearly said he did not want to discuss this matter further whilst they moved across the forest, and Will shook his head to himself at the irony of the situation; they had lost a blind man - but now he had found and was taking to camp a completely different one; and probably one they could do without.

He glanced across at Timothy as they walked. The man's light grip on his elbow, the trusting manner at being guided, the way he turned his head to listen whilst the eyes roved around and yet saw nothing - It reminded Will all too painfully of Robert. A blind man.

"Not ANOTHER bleedin' one!" Will muttered to himself under his breath, with fondness and worry for Robert mixed, and they headed on.