The servants had acted quickly during his brief absence from the Great Hall. Gisbourne now sat at the table and stared down it at the bread, cheese and cold mutton arrayed before him. He stabbed at the mutton with his knife and transferred some of it to the platter before him, and held out his goblet to the serving boy nearby to fill from the jug.

As if on cue, the Captain of the Guard appeared with two other guards, shepherding a small line of dishevelled men.

"The prisoners, my lord. The outlaws we took near Lincoln yesterday."

Gisbourne glanced up, then sat back in his chair and surveyed the prisoners.

There were five of them....men who all looked to be in their twenties and thirties. Unkempt and ragged. All had their hands bound with rope before them. There were shackles on their feet. They wore sword-belts, but their scabbards were empty, having been dispossessed of all the weapons they had possessed.

They stood in a line near the table.

Gisbourne lingered his gaze over them. He had hoped against hope one of Robin Hood's men might be amongst his rabble - but no.

He spoke to the Captain. "Did they prove troublesome to capture?"

"No, my lord. They were like a bunch of village idiots. Didn't bother to cover their tracks. Most of them didn't think and got themselves cornered."

Gisbourne raised a half amused eyebrow at this, and rose to face the line of captured men.

"You're all going to hang," Gisbourne told them coldly.

One swiftly crossed himself, another fell to the straw-strewn flag and babbled a plea for mercy; Gisbourne ignored the plea.

"The one at the end proved the most troublesome to capture," the Captain said.

Gisbourne looked to the end of the line, to the last man there. A tall man in his thirties, long ragged dark hair tangled across his face. He was the only one who met Gisbourne's eye. As he did so, Gisbourne could have sworn the man gave a smirk.

Gisbourne felt irritated. "You. On the end. Who are you."

The answer was clear and somewhat arrogant. "Their leader, my lord."

Gisbourne surveyed him with not a little curiosity. "Step forwards," he ordered.

The man took a step forwards and then stood still and stared back at Gisbourne as if to say; Well?

Gisbourne was intrigued.

"Take the others away," he told the guards. "Put them back in the dungeons to await their fate."

"And this one, my lord?" The Captain of the Guard indicated the silent surly looking individual.

"He shall stay." Gisbourne nodded at the Captain of the Guard to go - then glared at the man as he lingered. "It is not as though I cannot look after myself, man!" His hand went to his sword hilt in a meaningful gesture. "Look at him; his feet are shackled and his hands are bound - what threat does he pose?!"

The Captain of the Guard hastily ducked his head in respectful withdrawal, and he and his men shepherded the other four prisoners away. One guard remained to hover in the background, keeping an eye on the remaining prisoner from a distance.

Gisbourne moved to sit at the table once more, taking the Sheriff's ornately carved high-backed chair. From that location, he lifted his goblet to his lips and drank, watching the prisoner over the rim of it.

The prisoner merely stared back at him. He made no attempt to bolt, merely stood calmly with his bound hands relaxed before him. Gisbourne felt a certain amount of respect. This man knew he was going to his death and yet he seemed to face that prospect with courage.

Gisbourne did not want the nearby guard to be privy to any of the conversation, so he beckoned the man. "You. Come here."

The man came.

"Sit," Gisbourne commanded imperiously, jabbing a finger at the bench at the table to his left.

The man sat, and said nothing.

Gisbourne looked at the prisoner, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The individual's shoulder-length ragged hair was tangled and matted, his clothes were muddy and filthy. He had a narrow face, which looked gaunt from lack of food.

Gisbourne's mother's voice suddenly rang in his ears - her voice from his early childhood on an occasion when he had wanted to beat an itinerant labourer who had entered their family castle and been caught robbing the stale bread from the dole chest: _"Where is your Christian decency, Guy?"_

Damn you, Mother, Gisbourne thought resentfully.

In order to banish her sad and disapproving face from his mind's eye where it had suddenly appeared, he glared at the prisoner and nodded briefly at the bread on the table. "You may eat."

The man's response was unusual. Most cowering serfs who were prisoners and had not had a decent meal for a while would have fell upon the food in a most uncivilised way, cramming it into their mouth. This man merely stretched out a long arm, and broke off a piece of bread. He took controlled small bites at the food, whilst Gisbourne watched him warily. Then he took the ale jug and poured some into a beaker and drank.

Gisbourne could contain his curiosity no longer. "Well? You've been fed - what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Thank you?" the man ventured with not a little note of cynicism in his voice.

Gisbourne glared at the man. "Don't be sarcastic with ME, serf! Who are you? One of the bondsmen to a nearby manor? A villager? Who."

The man asked a question in return. "Do you remember Adam Bell, my lord?"

Gisbourne harrumphed. "THAT despicable outlaw. My men soon finished him off."

"I was one of his men, my lord."

Gisbourne leaned forwards and stared at the man. "I heard from the Sheriff that none of Bell's men rushed to his aid when MY men rode him down in that hostage exchange between the Sheriff and Robert of Huntingdon."

"That's because we'd already parted company with him, my lord. We'd moved on. You see, he was old, and gone soft in the head. Oh, we captured the Sheriff's nephew easily - but once we were holding him for ransom, Bell had no stomach for murder. He listened to Robert of Huntingdon and thought we should spare the life of the Sheriff's nephew."

Gisbourne snorted. "Precocious little brat is now lapped up safe and sound with his mother in Normandy." He lifted to his goblet to his lips to disguise a smirk to himself at the thought of de Rainault's hopes of taking control of his dead brother's lands through his young nephew dashed to pieces by the collaboration of Robert of Huntingdon and Adam Bell.

"Is he, my lord." The man's voice echoed Gisbourne's contempt for the Sheriff's nephew.

"So what happened?" Gisbourne was interested. "With you and Bell."

"We were ashamed of him, my lord. Huntingdon bested him in a fight and he started thinking THEIR way. The rest of us ousted him as leader. Told him he could come with us where we were headed next, but he didn't want to. So he left us."

"So who took over as leader in YOUR band," Gisbourne said.

Moth's reply was cold and simple. "Myself."

He elaborated on his story. "We headed north and away from Sherwood. New hunting ground. Went up to the Scottish borders, took advantage of any unrest there. Some of the band I took from Adam Bell died - but we always managed to...obtain new men."

Gisbourne stared at him. "And now you're back to cause trouble, it seems. Those other four in the dungeon - are they part of your latest band?"

"Aye, my lord. that they are." Moth answered. "Or rather...they WERE."

"And my men caught you at work robbing on the Lincoln Road. Not a very...competent band of men you have there," Gisbourne sneered.

"That's the way it goes," said Moth, "the bunch I was with were new recruits and I was trying them out...seein' how good they were. Obviously they weren't very good. Otherwise...you'd never have caught us." He gave Gisbourne a filthy grin. "We're just as slippery as Robin i the Hood and his men, my lord."

Gisbourne looked down his nose at the man. "And just as criminal. You all deserve to be hung. And hung is what you will be, very soon."

"Listen," said Moth, "I didn't intend to become an outlaw. Various circumstances forced me into that line of work. I used to be a soldier, my lord. I fought for King Richard in France. Was there at the siege of Chalus when he was felled by an arrow."

"And?"

"Was injured, got sent back to England," said Moth. "No work going. Stole to eat - got caught. Became outlawed. Joined up with Adam Bell. We were all looking out for each other, my lord. Like it was when fighting for King Richard. You know what I mean?"

Gisbourne nodded slowly, thinking back over his past campaigns. He could understand that.

"I suppose you want me to pardon you AND your men so you can terrorise everyone on the Lincoln Road again," Gisbourne said sarcastically.

Moth gave a dismissive gesture. "Nah, you can hang the men you caught me with. After all, they got me caught with them - bleedin' bunch of use THEY are." He leaned forwards. "But if I was you, my lord, I'd spare ME. I was once a soldier for King Richard. I know how to fight. I could join your guard."

Gisbourne raised an eyebrow. "And what would I do with YOU in my guard."

Moth's reply was unexpected. "Well you want to get rid of Robin i the Hood and his men, don't you?"

Gisbourne stared at the man, and seeing the knight's curiosity had been caught by the mention of Robin Hood, Moth hurriedly continued.

"Look, I got seven other men hiding out in the Lincoln woods. Better men than those inept bastards you caught me with yesterday. Let me go back to them, and organise 'em. We'll go into Sherwood - finish off Robin Hood and his men. With the help of your soldiers, of course."

He gave Gisbourne a twisted smile. "I could do both, my lord, you see. Be a soldier in your guard - AND the leader of my men. Move back and forth between the two. I was a soldier, so I know how they think. I've also been an outlaw - so I know how outlaws think, too. Lot of information I could pass onto your men if you make me one of them. But they'd have to know I was one of them. Wouldn't want to be killed by accident; them not knowing who I was. Whose side I was on."

"And YOUR men?" Gisbourne asked guardedly.

"Oh, they'll be happy just to get into Sherwood to finish off Robin Hood and his men off. See, most of 'em were part of Adam Bell's band same as me - they've never forgotten being driven out of Sherwood. They'll want revenge. I can exploit that."

Moth sat back and spread his hands in explanation, now confident and at ease. "We was on our way to Sherwood anyway, my lord. To see off those bastards. We have a better chance of doing that if your soldiers support us at right time - and you have a better chance of finishing them off, because of the simple fact we will already be in Sherwood. Lookin' for 'em. Trailing 'em. And we'll find them. We'll sniff them out." He laughed. "The poor bastards won't know which way to turn once we've sniffed them out for your soldiers."

Moth leaned forwards again to speak in a more confidential tone. "One more thing, my lord. If you're behind this all...but you let me do the actual finishing of Robert of bloody Huntingdon - that'll keep your hands clean, won't it? I mean, you bein' the Earl's bastard son an' all. Oh, I heard about that in Lincoln," seeing the taken aback expression briefly cross Gisbourne's face. "Word gets around quick, my lord. You don't want to get on the wrong side of the Earl, I'm thinking. Not if he's going to acknowledge you and give you monies and land. Fix you up with a rich heiress," he winked knowingly. "If he hears you killed his legitimate son....well, none of that'll happen, I'm thinkin'. You won't get rewarded for killing your legitimate half-brother - even though he's an outlaw. Blood is blood, and the Earl will see it that way. He's that kind of man."

Gisbourne considered everything and studied the man critically. Moth met his gaze.

"Shouldn't be hard to finish him off," Moth said. "Robert of Huntingdon, I mean. They say he's gone stone blind. I mean, it's easy enough to finish a blind man off." He chuckled. "Not as if he can see a sword strike comin'."

He was strange, this outlaw. Gisbourne wanted to despise him, but found he could not. The man spoke with intelligence and cunning. He had also once been a soldier, had fought for King Richard as Gisbourne himself had done. He knew about loyalty to a King, to a lord. He knew about battle. Gisbourne could identify with that, even though this man was below his social class.

"What's your name?" Gisbourne demanded at last.

"William Moth, my lord." Moth inclined his head in respect, but not in subservience.

Gisbourne eyed him suspiciously. "And what's in this for YOU, William Moth. When it's over, when Robert of Huntingdon and his men have been obliterated from Sherwood and indeed from the face of this earth....what do you WANT as reward?"

"I want a pardon," said Moth. "For me and for whoever of my men are alive at the end of finishing off Robin i the Hood. An' I want a place in your guard. A job for life. I want to do again the job I was good at doing."

"Back to honest ways?" Gisbourne asked sarcastically.

"An' why not? Everyone deserves a second chance, don't they?" Moth suddenly grinned. "Except....Robin i' the Hood."

Gisbourne grinned too.
 
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