‘When I stood up I saw what I assumed to be a peasant, approaching me through the undergrowth. You, to be precise.’ Gisburne jabbed a finger in Erasmus’ direction. ‘I gave pursuit, but you disappeared into some kind of wooden box and it vanished into thin air with a noise very similar to the one that startled my horse. Two years later, I found you and that same box in Nottingham Castle—’
‘That will do, Gisburne,’ the Sheriff cut him off. He turned to Erasmus, ‘Is that a good enough reminder?’ he said.
Erasmus nodded and the Sheriff turned back to Gisburne, whose face was flushed with suffused rage. ‘Robin Hood would have hung from the castle walls if it wasn’t for that man,’ the knight snapped, pointing accusingly at Erasmus. ‘I want him tried as an accomplice.’
‘That’s enough, Gisburne,’ said the Sheriff. ‘You can leave us now.’
‘You want me to leave you with that…’ he struggled for a word, ‘… sorcerer?’
‘If he cast a spell would you be able to stop him?’ asked the Sheriff. Gisburne didn’t answer.
‘If he turns me into a frog, I’ll give you a croak,’ the Sheriff reassured him. Less than impressed, Gisburne stormed out of the room. The Sheriff waited quietly until he was gone.
‘He’s a competent soldier, but a little too emotional for statecraft,’ he said to Erasmus once they were alone. ‘Must be all those blows to the head.’
Erasmus nodded. ‘It’s so hard to get the staff,’ he said sympathetically.
‘Anyway,’ the Sheriff continued, ‘Gisburne has been obsessed with that day for the last two years. You see, it defies explanation and, although that’s true for almost anything when your brain is as small as Gisburne’s, he has a particular problem with humiliations that involve…’ the Sheriff waved a hand dismissively ‘… dark forces. Can I offer you a drink?’
Erasmus was taken aback – he felt decidedly uncomfortable with his captor playing the genial host. He managed to request wine, but his brain was whirring as he tried to work out precisely what this weasel-faced man was up to. Did he think Erasmus would help him to capture Robin? He hadn’t been impressed with the outlaw but, if history didn’t say he’d helped with his capture, he’d have to refuse. The Sheriff passed him a goblet of wine which, he was glad to note, appeared somewhat more palatable than that served in the pub.
The Sheriff toyed with his own goblet and paced the width of the room thoughtfully. The wall was hung with a rich curtain and Erasmus couldn’t help noticing it was draped over a number of items which were presumably storage cabinets. Presently, the Sheriff stopped and turned to Erasmus.
‘How did you do it?’ he said.
‘Do what?’
‘Vanish into thin air – or at least appear to.’
Erasmus studied the Sheriff cautiously. There was no trace of humour in his face: his lips described a tight line and his eyes were dark and brooding.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I said magic, I suppose.’
The Sheriff shook his head. ‘I’m not one of these superstitious peasants,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in life’s little intangibles.’
‘You believe in God, though?’
‘God? Don’t be preposterous. Why should I believe in God? The bishops don’t. Religion is just a political device with a higher authority that ignores petitions from its subjects.’
‘Then what do you believe in?’
The Sheriff suddenly seemed annoyed. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘So you can tailor your answer to suit my illusions? I believe in things that make sense, but what I want from you is the truth – otherwise I may well let Gisburne send you off to whatever afterlife you believe in.’
Erasmus sighed. He was in a no win situation: clearly, losing his life before he’d even been born couldn’t be good for time, but was it safe to tell the Sheriff the truth? He was an intelligent man, but was it dangerous to give someone the germ of an idea without the understanding of how to use it? Could he tell the Sheriff the basic facts without being expected to give more, or could he bluff his way out of it? It was clear there wasn’t a rational lie he could tell that would explain the facts and the Sheriff had already denied belief in both magic and spirituality.
‘OK,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry,’ said Erasmus. He hadn’t really thought about it, but he had probably been using hundreds of words that nobody had ever heard over the last few days. ‘I meant all right,’ he corrected himself.
The Sheriff motioned for him to continue.
‘I’m from the future,’ said Erasmus. He waited for the Sheriff to respond, but the man remained silent for several seconds. Was the concept too unlikely, Erasmus wondered. Was the Sheriff considering the appropriate torment for a man who taxed his patience too far? Eventually, the Sheriff turned to the teacher with a new glimmer in his eyes. He didn’t, Erasmus was pleased to note, look angry.
‘The future,’ he said. ‘How very interesting. Are you saying you can make time stand still?’
Erasmus shook his head. ‘No. I can only travel through it.’
‘And what do you use to travel through time? Is it perhaps…’ he paused, ‘… this?’ He pulled aside the rich curtain, revealing one of the protruding lumps as the comfortingly familiar shape of Erasmus’ time travelling privy. Erasmus’ heart skipped a beat as the joy of finding he still had the machine was mixed with the realisation that its true nature had been compromised.
‘Gisburne seemed most obsessed with this,’ the Sheriff continued. ‘He had it dragged in here as proof that you existed and that he hadn’t just fallen off his horse.’
‘That is a little obsessive for something that happened two years ago,’ said Erasmus.
‘Gisburne is very proud of his ability to ride and fight. It makes up for his inability to think. If you took that away from him, he’d be no better than any peasant.’
Erasmus looked his machine over. Nothing appeared to have been tampered with – he didn’t want to ask any questions that might give the Sheriff ideas.
‘Of course,’ the Sheriff continued, ‘if he hadn’t fallen off of his horse, then we’d still have to worry about Robin Hood and his men. You couldn’t tell Gisburne that, though, he has a very black and white view of the world.’
‘What do you mean?’
The Sheriff sipped at his wine then swirled the dregs around in the bottom of his goblet. ‘When Gisburne was tipped off about the outlaw camp, we took a whole group of soldiers into Sherwood. The idea was that they would ride around the area as an unbreakable ring of steel. A siege inside a wooden castle, if you like.’
‘And that was supposed to starve them into submission?’
‘No. The plan was to test their resolve. If they broke out, they’d be cut down. If they didn’t, well, we could have had some footsoldiers brought up from the castle to go in and finish the job.’
‘Tell me,’ said Erasmus. ‘Have you put down a lot of rebellions in the past?’
‘Usually there isn’t the need. Outlaws just tend to stay in the forest and shoot the odd deer. This one had ideas above his station, though. I think I’d had his village burnt down or his family killed, something like that.’
‘You don’t know?!’
‘Well, you know how it is: a few peasants shot here, a couple hanged there, a village burnt somewhere else – it’s very hard to keep track.’
Erasmus fought back the urge to be sick. ‘What went wrong?’ he said.
‘Well, Gisburne fell off his horse and, obviously, the outlaws had been watching. Robin slipped out through the gap and made for my camp. I had a couple of guards, but they weren’t expecting trouble. The first thing I knew was when he burst into my tent, put a dagger to my throat and told me to call off the dogs.’
‘What did you do?’
The Sheriff grinned broadly and tapped his right temple. ‘I used my head,’ he said. ‘You see, the trouble with these people is that they don’t know how this country works. Robbing money from the
rich and giving it to the poor is all very well, but what do you suppose the rich people do in response?’
‘Take more from the poor,’ said Erasmus.
‘Precisely. I told him that the poor just get trampled twice as much, that the only way you could break that vicious circle was to make changes on the grand scale. You have to deal with the real problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
The Sheriff looked at Erasmus as if he were an idiot. ‘Prince John, of course,’ he said. ‘Or haven’t you heard of him in this future of yours. People are taxed because Prince John wants the taxes.’
‘So you’ve told Robin Hood to assassinate Prince John?’
The Sheriff shook his head. ‘And cause a civil war? No, of course not. I’ve told him an organised rebellion needs funding and that if he continues to rob from the rich then the money can be kept as a fund for that rebellion.’
‘And you’re going to organise the rebellion?’
The Sheriff laughed coldly. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You’re as foolish as that young idiot. He gives me the money, I keep it safe and, when I choose to retire, I’ll have a large amount of money that nobody can trace.’
‘Won’t he expect the rebellion to happen soon?’
‘Rebellions are expensive things. The more money you have, the better your chance of being successful.’
‘And his men have gone along with all this?’
‘His men don’t know. For some reason, Robin doesn’t seem to want to explain the situation to them and I certainly don’t want them to know. Loose tongues, you understand.’
‘Didn’t they suspect when they weren’t caught?’
‘Outlaws are arrogant. They always assume I keep an army of dolts whose only job is to get shot in the back with an arrow. Unless you shatter that illusion, they’ll continue to believe it.’
‘You let them kill your men.’
The Sheriff shrugged. ‘They’re cheap enough to replace. Well, as long as you retrieve their armour, that is.’
Erasmus simply stared at the Sheriff. Here was a man who was obviously intelligent, who was well placed to make a positive impact on the country and to throw off an oppressive system and what did he do? He butchered the peasants, betrayed his own feudal knights and plotted against his own monarch just to build up a slush fund. If this was a typical mediaeval nobleman, then it was no wonder it took something as dramatic as the plague to break the system.
‘What happens when Robin’s men find out?’ said Erasmus. ‘They’ll want your head on a stick.’
‘Do you take me for an absolute fool?’ the Sheriff snapped, seemingly tired of Erasmus’ questions. ‘I’ve taken out a little insurance policy. At the first sign of rebellion it’ll be the end of Robin Hood and his men.’
‘Deloial!’ said Erasmus. Suddenly it all made sense – he’d wondered why he’d never heard the name.
The Sheriff nodded. ‘Well observed,’ he said. ‘He’s not too happy with you, by the way. He said something about cutting both of your legs off at the knee.’
‘He’ll have to catch me first,’ Erasmus muttered.
‘What?’
Erasmus chose to ignore the question and stay on the offensive. ‘Doesn’t it worry you that the Prince will be annoyed with his tax money going astray?’
‘It’s all very organised. I make sure the number of robberies are limited enough to prevent any outcry and keep the outlaws busy with a few political assassinations on the side.’
‘Like Friar Tuck?’
‘You’ve heard of him, have you? Meddling fool – trying to persuade people to stand up for themselves against oppression and tyranny. What kind of lesson is that coming from a Church that depends on it?’
‘Don’t the other outlaws in Sherwood present a problem?’
‘Marian, you mean?’ The Sheriff smiled.
‘Yes. Surely if her outlaws are continuing to rob the rich and give to the poor, then Prince John’s attentions are going to be firmly focused on you.’
‘Oh yes. I’ve been reasonably tolerant of her little schemes, but breaking in here and taking the tax money is beyond the pale.’
The news that Marian had been successful gave Erasmus a warm feeling, but he suppressed the smile he could feel rising to his lips. ‘Didn’t you plan for the money to be stolen anyway?’ he said.
‘By Robin Hood, yes. Do you suppose that Marian is going to give me the money?’
‘Probably not,’ Erasmus conceded.
The Sheriff drained his goblet and refilled it. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘It’s about time I put an end to that bunch of whores once and for all.’
Erasmus found the idea of labelling Maude as a whore extremely offensive. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,’ he said, with a lot more confidence than he felt.
‘You can’t let me?’ The Sheriff looked at him as if he’d just promised the moon on a stick. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘I’ll find a way.’
‘Well, you’d better find it quickly. I’m having you executed tomorrow.’
‘Executed.’
‘Of course – you don’t think I could leave you alive after telling you all this, do you? You have to die. It’s a shame really because, without you, none of this would have ever happened.’
Erasmus shrank back as the realisation sank in. He’d stuck his spoke into the wheel of history and now he was going to die over eight hundred years before he was born in a country where that wheel was, even now, beginning to fly off course towards a future where he might never even have existed.
Chapter Seventeen
It was, Erasmus thought, usually at this point that the master villain, having told the hero all his plans, left him in an easily escapable situation whilst he went off to polish his nails. Unfortunately, the Sheriff had never seen any of the outings of James Bond and seemed unaware of the rules of the game. Not only had he failed to give Erasmus any indication of how he intended to dispose of Marian, he’d left him in the same inescapable dungeon in which he’d found himself several days before.
This time, however, there was no hope of rescue, since none of Marian’s band were imprisoned with him and because, as far as they were concerned, he was now gone from their lives for ever. It was, Erasmus reflected gloomily, something that could easily become true if he couldn’t find a way out.
He looked around the dungeon; the only other prisoner seemed to be the man who talked to the wall. It seemed he must have recently had a tiff with his stony-faced friend, because he was sitting with his back to it and his arms crossed in a purposeful fashion. Erasmus looked up at the ceiling: the trapdoor was roughly placed over the centre of the room so, even if he could have scaled the walls, there was no way he could then reach the trapdoor and escape. The walls themselves were largely formed from the natural rock of the crag on which the castle stood. Here and there, mortared stones filled holes that would originally have led to the warren of caves and tunnels which honeycombed the town. There was nothing obvious that could be used to chisel away at the mortar, either. The only solid items in the dungeon were himself and the madman and Erasmus imagined that, insane as he was, his companion was unlikely to allow the teacher to use him as a tool to gouge at the wall. Erasmus stared at his own feet, noticing in passing how dirty his boots had become, and contemplated his situation.
It had come as a shock when he’d discovered that Robin Hood was corrupt. Deviations from the traditional legend aside, there had been nothing to suggest that the greatest outlaw of them all was working hand in gauntlet with his arch-enemy. That Deloial was corrupt in some way he had suspected, but then he’d never liked the man. You could never trust the quiet ones – a lesson Erasmus had learnt from numerous physics classes through the years. It did explain Marian’s attitude to Robin, though: if she’d come to Sherwood to join with the outlaw then found he was actually working for the Sheriff, then it was bound to shatter her illusions to some extent. It spoke volumes for her character that she had
taken up the gauntlet herself, rather than retreating into a life of cynicism or denial.
The most upsetting thing was that the Sheriff was right: history showed, or had shown – it wasn’t going the same way at the moment – that Robin’s impact on mediaeval England was minimal. It had taken a plague that wiped out a large part of the population of England and a rebellion that grew out of it to break the King’s monopoly on power and to mark the beginning of the end of serfdom. Even after that point, it had simply drawn the battle lines for an even bigger rebellion several centuries later. If the historical impact of Robin was so small, then perhaps a change to history didn’t matter.
Erasmus shook his head – no, Robin might not have made a difference in himself, but without his legend there would have been no Peasants’ Revolt in the fourteenth century, no civil war in the seventeenth and no suffrage movement in the nineteenth and twentieth. People needed heroes – they needed something to cling to and aspire to. The question was, how could he fix the problem? He couldn’t go back to where he’d broken history and make sure that things went the right way second time (or rather third time) around: simply turning up had thrown Gisburne’s horse, so there was no telling what turning up twice in the same place could do. Could he go back home and stop himself from making the journey? No, probably not: if he hadn’t made the journey, then he couldn’t possibly come back and warn himself not to make it. Erasmus wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if you hit a paradox in time, but he didn’t want to be the person to find out.
It was clear that what he had to do was to try to mend history so that it more or less ran along the right lines. That way, legend would only remember the good times and the influence of Robin would remain for future generations. Which brought him back to escaping from the dungeon: clearly any plan to save history by making Robin back into a hero would be seriously jeopardised by the death of the only man who could make it happen. He looked around the dungeon again – there was still nothing obvious he could do. The madman seemed to have moved: Erasmus couldn’t see him at the moment. He studied the shadows but, curiously, the man seemed to have vanished into thin air. Moving across the room to the place he had seen him last, Erasmus found vast amounts of straw, neatly piled against the wall. He prodded at it, expecting to find the madman hiding underneath, but there was nothing but straw.
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