A Robin of Sherwood story, by Jacquie Groom

It was a quiet summer evening in Sherwood Forest.  The sort of evening when the sun seems tohave forgotten to set, but hangs, huge and golden, low in the sky, casting a strange light over everything.  Quiet and peaceful, even the birds seemed to have ceased their endless chatter, as if in awe of the strange beauty of the evening.

As always, the outlaws had gathered round the campfire, feasting on cold venison and luscious fruit.  Robin, the fading sunlight playing on his golden hair, sat on a treestump, his eyes distant and dreamy.  Marion, on the other side of the clearing, was tying up the bunches of meadow flowers she was drying for herbal uses.  The other outlaws lounged around, enjoying the peace of the moment.  Few such times came to them these days.

As if the silence in the trees was suddenly too much for him, Scarlet was the first to talk. 'Much !' he said, slapping the younger man on the shoulder. 'How about some music ? A couple of good songs ? I've had enough of moping around !'

Much looked questioningly at Robin, who smiled, and nodded. He had little need for music himself, but he knew how easy it was for the quiet moments to slip into melancholy. 'Yes, go on, Much. I haven't heard you play for a while.'

The Miller's son got out his simple flute, and put it to his lips.  Robin, expecting one of the usual country songs, sat up, suddenly alert, as he recognised the lilting, hesitant sound of dance music.

'Where did you learn that ?' Scarlet interrupted, torn between disgust at the 'noble' music, and amazement that Much played it so well.

Much flushed bright red. 'When the Sheriff slammed me in the dungeons. Heard it all the time, I did. Only thing to do. Shall I play somm'et else ?'

Before Scarlet could jeer again, Robin intervened. 'No, play on, Much. Let's hear what you've learnt.' And with a pleased smile, Much played on.

It was a tune Robert of Huntingdon had known well. One he had danced to on innumerable occasions, with the ladies of the Court. A favourite. As the simple melody flooded the clearing, Robin lifted his head, and smiled at Marion. As she returned his smile, Robin got up from his hard seat, brushed off the twigs and leaves that clung to his clothing, and crossed over to her side. Bowing low, he smiled again. 'My lady,' he said, with a look both charming and hesitant, 'May I have this dance ?'

Their steps matched as if they were one. There was a strange beauty to their dance, among the tall, majestic trees, in the dying light of the sun.  The other outlaws looked on in silence, for once reminded of the different world those two came from. A world of wealth and power. Of dance and music. A world they had willingly given up for Sherwood.

As Much's music came to an end, Robin took both Marion's hands in his own, and impulsively pulled her towards him. With a fleeting look of panic, Marion broke from his embrace, and fled. Robin was left there, stricken.

'What did I do ?' he asked, turning to John.

The large man shrugged. 'I don't know, lad. But you'd better go after her. Find out what's bothering her.'

Robin nodded. As he left the campsite, he could hear the first notes of one of Scarlet's favorite rowdy ballads.

As he had expected, Marion was by the riverside, her slender arms wrapped round her legs, eyes staring far into the distance. Quietly, Robin moved to her side, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. 'What's wrong, Marion ?' he asked. 'What did I do ?'

Marion turned to him, a faint smile on her lips contrasting with the unshed tears in her eyes. She shook her head. 'It was nothing you did, Robin. That was a beautiful dance, a truly magical moment.'

'Then why did you run away ?' Robert sounded puzzled.

'I was just thinking. Remembering. We danced together at Huntingdon Castle, didn't we ?'

'For Owen of Clun.' Robin's voice was gruff, remembering in turn the events which had brought him to Sherwood

Dismissing the unwelcome memory, Marion continued. 'That evening; it seems so long ago. All those candles burning. You, so handsome in all your finery...'

Robert blushed. 'I didn't think you'd even noticed me,' he murmured.

Marion smiled, a light, teasing smile. 'How could I not notice you ? The Earl's son !' Then the smile faded, and she carried on with her story. 'That evening, Gisburne was determined to taunt me. Humiliate me somehow. He insisted in calling me Lady Wolfshead. And then he asked me if we had danced in Sherwood.' She paused for a moment, biting her lip. 'While we were dancing tonight, it occurred to me that I never had danced in Sherwood before. Not really danced. We laughed and played, gambolled round the fireside, but never truly danced.' She smiled up at the handsome young man. 'It was a moment to treasure, Robert. But it also made me sad. I can't explain why.' She moved closer to Robin's side, seeking and finding the comfort she needed. And together, arm in arm, they watched the golden sun disappear beneath the horizon.

Long after, when summer was gone, and Marion had retreated, brokenhearted, to Halstead, Robin often thought back to that perfect evening.  Sometimes he thought it was his one true memory of her.  The only one where he did not stand as a pale reflection of her dead husband.  It was Robert and Marion who had danced in Sherwood, not Robin of Loxley and his wife.  And although he felt slightly ashamed of his feelings, the thought still comforted him.  And, a wistful smile on his face, he would sit by the fire, and dream of the night when Much had played. And Marion had danced with him, in Sherwood.