A Highlander / Robin of Sherwood story

The character of Elenore belongs to Elaine Nicol.

Duncan MacLeod sat down at the breakfast table with a groan.  Tessa, hair and clothes immaculate, tapped him on the shoulder.  "Late night ?" she asked, picking up her briefcase.

MacLeod grunted.  At the moment, he felt every one of his four-hundred years.

Richie, sitting across the table, dug into his bowl of cereals, peering at a brochure propped up in front of the sugar bowl.  "It was a good bar, wasn't it ?" he said, his mouth full.

"Great," MacLeod said, unenthusiastically.  "I don't know why I let you drag me around to these places."

"Because you like them," Tessa said, ruffling his hair.  "I'd better get to work.  See you later."

Managing a smile, Duncan looked up and kissed her.  "Later," he agreed, pouring himself a coffee.  He took a sip, then peered at the brochure Richie was reading.  "What is  that ?" he asked eventually.

Richie shrugged.  "Came in the post.  Details of some sale of antique weapons in London.  I didn't know you'd had all the mail redirected."

"I didn't," MacLeod said.  "Let me see it !"

Richie passed over the booklet.  "Someone's marked one item," he said, spooning up more of his breakfast.  "About half way through. Must be some antique friend of yours."

"Very antique," Duncan retorted, flicking through the sale details.  Then he stopped, his face suddenly turning serious.  "Albion !" he muttered.

"What ?" Richie asked.

"The envelope !" Duncan asked, searching through the papers on the table.  "Where's the envelope it came in ?"

Richie pulled a face, but eventually fished a plain, brown envelope out from among the clutter on the table.  "Here !"

Grabbing it, MacLeod glanced at the writing.  "Connor !" he exclaimed, getting up from the table, and heading for the bedroom.

"Mac ? What is it ? What's wrong ?" Richie said, following him.  But he could already hear the shower pounding down and, puzzled, he sat down to wait..

"I've got to go to England," Duncan said, coming out fully dressed, carrying a small bag.  "You stay and look after Tessa."

"Why ? Is it an immortal ? Someone out to get you ?"

But Duncan shook his head.  "Nothing like that.  A friend.  He must be in trouble.  Or - or dead.  That was his sword up for sale.  I've got to go and find out what's happened to him."

Richie sat down, the sale brochure in his hand.  "Albion," he read.  "Looks old."

"It is," MacLeod agreed, picking up the phone. 

"Can't I come too ?" Richie continued.  "I've never been to England."  But MacLeod just gestured for him to be quiet.

Some minutes later, putting down the phone, MacLeod smiled at his young friend.  "Looks like you're in luck," he said.  "Tess has to go down to Marseille, to sort out some items for their next exhibition.  So you can come with me, if you really want to."

"If I want to ? You bet I do," Richie said, rushing off to pack some things.  "Just you try and stop me !"

"So who is this friend of yours ?" Richie said, leaning across MacLeod to peer out of the small window.  "An immortal ?"

MacLeod nodded.  "Robert of Huntingdon.  Also known as Robin Hood."

Richie leant back, a huge grin on his face.  "Robin Hood ? You must be kidding !"

But the Immortal shook his head.  "Robin Hood," he repeated.

"You mean - Maid Marion, the Merry Men, the Sheriff of Nottingham - all that - it really happened ? I thought it was just legends."

"Not the way Robert tells it," Duncan said.  "You should ask Elenore about it.  She was around when it all happened."

"I will," Richie said.  "If I see her again."

"Oh, you'll see her alright.  She'll most probably be waiting for us at the airport. Not much can happen to Robert without Elenore knowing about it. She was the one who helped him, when he found out he was immortal.  I suppose you could say she was his mentor."

Richie was silent for a moment or two, digesting the startling information.  "But how could Elenore teach him how to fight ?" he asked, his face clearly puzzled, "If she didn't know how to fight herself ? I mean, - didn't Connor teach her ? That must have been centuries later."

Duncan just shook his head.  "No-one needed to teach Robert of Huntingdon how to fight," he said with a faint smile.  "That, he could always do."  Then his face turned solemn once more.  "She just had to teach him to want to live."

As Duncan had said, Elenore was waiting at the airport.  Smiling, she kissed both Duncan and Richie before dragging them off to the cafeteria.  Over weak coffee and chocolate biscuits, she told them what she knew. 

"I take it Connor contacted you ?" Duncan asked, taking a mouthful of coffee and wincing.  "Ellie, this is awful !"

"But the biscuits are good," she said, opening another packet and taking a bite.  "Yes, he sent me the sale brochure and a note.  Here !" she said, passing him a scrap of paper.

"You've got to sort out Robert," Duncan read.  "I've tried, and failed.  He's your responsibility.  Connor"

"Charming," Richie said.  "Does he often send love notes like that ?"

Elenore shrugged.  "We understand each other.  Look, the sale's this afternoon.  We've got to get Albion back.  Agreed ?"

"Definitely.  No matter what's happened to Robert, I don't want that sword falling into the wrong hands.  It's too powerful."

Richie looked puzzled.  "It's just a sword," he said.

MacLeod looked at  him.  The sort of look which implied that Richie knew nothing.  "Is it ?" he said.  "Richie, that sword is unique.  Ancient.  The one remaining sword made by Wayland the Smith.  It has powers you can only imagine."

Richie glanced once more at the brochure.  "Here it only says that it's most probably medieval.  Provenance unknown."

"Well, we know it," Elenore said, as they prepared to leave.  "Albion belongs with Robert. That's all there is to it."

"He could  be dead," Duncan warned, as she strode towards the taxi-ranks.

But Elenore shook her head.  "He's alive," she said.  "And miserable again."

Richie ran his finger down the polished blade and peered at the markings.  "They look like the those things Darius sent you," he commented.

"Runes," Duncan agreed.

"What do they say ?"

Elenore sighed.  "Herne's son is my master.  I cannot slay him," she intoned.

"Herne's son ? Who's he ?"  Richie glanced at the two immortals, who sat with blank, immobile faces.  "Hey , look ! Just tell me if I'm asking too many questions."

"You're asking too many questions, Richie," Duncan said, taking the sword back from the young man.  The auction had been popular; it had cost him quite a bit to buy the sword.

"But you're being so mysterious.  Where are we going, anyway."

"Nottingham," Elenore replied.  "To find Robin."

"Robin ? I thought his name was Robert."

"Robin, Robert.  What difference does a name make ?"

And with that, Richie had to be content.

It was a small, scruffy two-up two-down terraced house.  Richie peered out of the car window as Duncan knocked on the door.  It didn't look at all like he'd imagined England would.  "Where are all the castles, and royalty, and the beefeaters and all ?" he asked Elenore.

She laughed.  "Welcome to the real world," she said, as Duncan turned back down the path.

"Sold," he said, getting back in the car.  "The new owner has no idea where Robert  lives now."

Richie blinked.  "Robert of Huntingdon lived here ? But the place is a dump !"

Duncan gave a short, dry laugh.  "For Robert, it's a palace.  He's always given away every penny he had.  No-one could persuade him to spend any on himself."

The young lad sat back, clearly shaken.  "You mean that 'Take from the rich and give to the poor' stuff was for real ?"

"Every word of it," Elenore said quietly.  "He means every single word."

"So ? Where do we go now ?" Richie asked as Duncan drove the hired car out of  Nottingham.  "I mean, he could be anywhere in the world, couldn't he ?"

Elenore shook her head solemnly.  "Not Robin.  He never strays far from Sherwood."  She touched Duncan's arm.  "No -  take the second road on the right.  They've built the new visitors' centre in the old place.  He won't be there."

Richie leant back.  "I really don't get this, guys.  D'you mean he's spent - what, 5, 600 years, in the same place !"

"It's longer than that," Elenore replied.  "I met him in 1206." She was silent for a moment; Richie was surprised to see tears shining in her eyes.  "I think he was the saddest person I've ever seen."

"Why ? He was immortal, wasn't he ? It must have been great -"

"It's not always like that, Richie," Duncan said.  It was getting dark outside; the streetlamps were coming on.   As the rush-hour traffic built up, and their pace began to slow, the dark-haired man tapped impatiently on the steering wheel.  "Ellie ? Do you think we should stop somewhere for the night ? I don't really fancy searching Sherwood in the middle of the night."

"Afraid of ghosts ?" Elenore said with a gleam in her eye.

"No," Duncan said after a moment.  "Outlaws."

He hadn't been thinking straight.  Hurrying southwards, fleeing the disarray.  It was  over.  The Jacobite rebellion, Bonnie Prince Charlie - all over.  England - and Scotland - were firmly under the Protestant rule of  house of Hanover, and would remain so. But no matter who had won or lost, he felt the same as he did after any battle.   Sickened by the loss of life, deafened by the noise, blinded by the sights.  Close to tears, he rode through the night, paying little attention to where he was.  His companions thought him dead.  But he was not dead.  He could not die.  He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

Then suddenly, he had felt it.  The buzz.  An immortal, somewhere, among the trees.  And before he had time to focus, his horse was rearing, and he was staring down the double barrels of a shining flintlock.  He reached for his own weapon.

The moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds, and for a second he could clearly see the man who was threatening him.  The highwayman.  He sat on a handsome grey.  A tall figure, slim of build, with straight, fair hair tied back.  A dark mask covered his face, but blue-grey eyes shone through.  And, meeting those eyes with his own, MacLeod instantly felt he had nothing to fear.

"You are in Sherwood, stranger," the Highwayman said quietly.  "There is a toll to be paid for safe passage through these woods."

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said.  "I have little gold or other riches, but you are welcome to what I have.  And," he added, catching the glint of moon on the other immortal's sword, "You'll not be needing the sword.  I've not come for your head. "

 "Robert of Huntingdon," the fair-haired stranger, lowering his gun and putting it back in the bucket holster.  "Also known at Robin i' the  Hood.  Welcome to my Kingdom, Duncan MacLeod."

Richie was full of questions.  As they sat round a ridiculously small table in the pub, bar-meals balanced precariously on their knees, he tried to get more information out of Elenore.   "But what's he like ?" he asked again.  "Errol Flynn ? Kevin Costner, Patrick Bergin, Sean Connery ? Which ?"

Elenore shook her head, her mouth full of pie.  "You'll meet him tomorrow," she said.

"If we're lucky," Duncan said quietly.

"Stop worrying," Elenore said, tapping her friend on the shoulder in a friendly fashion.  "You worry too much.  In spite of everything, Robin's a survivor.  He'll be somewhere in the forest.  Most probably in Herne's cave."

"Can you find it ?"

She nodded.  "It's not difficult, if you know what to look for.  Many's the night I've spent there, over the years."  She gave a shiver.  "I wish you'd known him, Duncan, before..."

"Before what ?" Richie insisted.

"It's something we don't like to talk about," Duncan said, giving Richie a stern look.

"You mean someone was killed ?"

"Herne," Elenore said quietly.  "Lord of the Trees.  The Forest God."

"A God," the young lad said, aghast.  "He was one of you lot ?"

"He was an immortal," Elenore confirmed.  "And when the spirit was in him, he was Herne the Hunter.  Robert was his chosen son.  Herne's Son, balancing the powers of good and evil.  And one day, an evil immortal, fired up with ideals of witchfinding, came to the Forest..."

"Taran," Duncan said.

"Taran.  And he sought out Herne, and murdered him in his own grove.  On Holy Ground, Richie.  Holy to Herne, holy to Robin, and, at that time, holy to most of the common people round here.  Christianity was something for Sundays, for the lords and ladies.  The old religion was for life, and death, and every day."

"What did Robin do ?" Richie asked, his face pale.

She shrugged.  "What could he do ? He knew what was happening, but got there too late.  But there was no quickening.  All that Herne was, all that he had been - it was lost forever.  And Robin has never forgotten.  Never forgiven."

"And ?"

"And  what ?"

"What about Taran ?"

"He's not been seen since.  Something - something happened, when he killed Herne.  But he vowed to kill Robin, too."

"So Robin's stayed there, all these years ? Just in case he comes back ? Seems crazy to me."

"It's not just that," Duncan said, staring out of the window into the dark night sky.  "He feels such a responsibility towards the people of this area.  He really cares about them.  He couldn't leave.  There aren't many immortals with such a -"  He paused for a moment. "Conscience."

Richie said nothing, but glanced at Elenore.  She smiled slightly wistfully, then put a firm hand on Duncan's shoulder.  "There are some," she said quietly.  "Believe it."

She couldn't sleep that night.  So many, many years ago.  But it seemed like yesterday to her.  Was it really eight hundred years since she had stood at Nottingham Castle, one face in the crowd, watching King Richard reclaim his land ? So long since she had seen the outlaw, Robin i' the Hood, appear with his men to stand by Richard's side ?

How could she forget Robin Hood ? Not the fair-haired, aristocratic Immortal she had come to see, but the first son of Herne.  Robin of Loxley, with his dark hair and his forest-green eyes.  Eyes which could look through you,  see into your soul.  Eyes you could remember through the centuries.   A man in a million.

But he had died.  Shot through by the Sheriff's arrows, dying so that his companions could live.  Dying for the people, for the country.  The Summer king, who dies to rise again.

And Robin Hood rose again, when Herne called Robert of Huntingdon, son of the Earl, to be his son.  And, taking up the mantle of the Hooded Man in the forest of Sherwood, wielding Albion for the good of the people, the common folk even began to forget that Robin Hood had ever worn a different face. 

But some did not forget.  Marion, Loxley's wife, did not forget.  And although she loved Huntingdon dearly, she could not bring herself to risk losing her love a second time.  And so she fled, and took refuge in Halstead Priory.

And that was where she, Elenore, had met her.  Also seeking refuge, on holy ground, away from the Game, away from the bustle and the  dangers of the Crusades.  And, wandering round the grounds, she'd been unaccountably drawn to the tall, solemn girl, whose eyes seemed to cry out in pain.

"May I sit here ?" Elenore asked, sitting on the bench without waiting for a reply.

The other novice nodded, smiling shyly up at her.  "Please do," she said.

"Thanks," Elenore responded, leaning back on the wall, enjoying the late autumn sunshine.  After sitting in silence for a moment, she  reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out an apple.  "I'm new here," she said with a smile.  "Elenore of Brionville. Can't get used to the food yet.  I always seem to be hungry !"

Marion turned and smiled.  "I'm Sister Marion.  Don't worry - if I managed to get used to this life, you should  be able to."

"I'm not so sure," Elenore said with a sigh.  "It all seems so - quiet."

"Peaceful," Marion agreed.  "I love it.  But -" She paused, a strange, wistful look on her face.

"But what ?" the Immortal asked, curious about this quiet, beautiful novice.

She shrugged. "Sometimes - just sometimes, I miss the freedom. The trees, the night sky above the campsite ..."

Elenore took a bite out of her apple. "Campsite ? " she asked.

A slightly bitter look marred the novice's face.  "Haven't you heard all the others gossiping about me ? The Wolfhead's wife ? The outlaw nun ?"

Suddenly she recognised her. "You're Marion of Leaford ? Loxley's wife ? But what are you doing here ?"

Marion shrugged.  "Why do any of us end up here ?"  She sat in silence for a moment, punctuated only by Elenore crunching on her apple.  "Robin died," she said briefly.

"I'm sorry," Elenore said, impulsively taking Marion's pale, thin hand and squeezing it. " I met him, years ago, when I came with Richard to Nottingham. He was a wonderful man."

"He was," Marion agreed, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"And you've been here ever since ?"

She shook her head.  "I was with Robin's successor for a while.  But ..." She fell silent once more.

Elenore glanced at her pale face.  "It's all right," she said comfortingly.  "I didn't mean to pry."

But Marion shook her head.  "It's good to talk.  Sometimes I feel as if it's almost a dream - something that happened to someone else.  Robert - we called him Robin - was such a sweet boy.  And I began to care for him.  But there was an  - incident.  I thought him dead, and it nearly killed me.  When I found out that he was alive, I knew I could not live through the agony of losing someone I loved again.  So I came here."

Elenore sat and considered her words.  Marion had lost two men she loved.  And the pain had driven her to seek refuge in a convent.  Whereas she, the immortal, could love and lose men through countless lifetimes.  How would she cope ? Her reverie ended as she realised Marion was speaking once more.

"He's still out there somewhere.  In Sherwood, with his men.  My friends."  She put her hands piously together.  "I pray for them."  And then another lightening chance came over her face, as she laughed gently.  "Not that they'd be grateful for that."  As she spoke, a bell rang in the chapel, and she folded her hands in the large sleeves of her habit, and smiled at Elenore.  "Lauds," she said.  "We'd better go."

"I suppose so," Elenore said with a certain degree of reluctance.  She wasn't quite sure if the life of a nun was the right one for her.  But Holy Ground was what she needed, and there were few other possibilities for a woman.  Hurrying across the orchard, she picked up another windfall, and dropped it in her pocket.  You never know ...

"Is this Sherwood ?" Richie asked the next morning, shivering slightly in the crisp morning air, as they tramped through the autumn leaves towards the trees.  "I thought it would be bigger."

"It used to be," Elenore said.  "And back in  those days, we wouldn't be wandering around like this.  It used to be a dangerous place, full of outlaws. And not only relatively friendly ones like Robin. There -"  She broke off, a strange look on her face.  She glanced at Duncan.  He nodded briefly. 

Richie peered into the trees.  "He's out there ?" he asked.

"Yes," Duncan said.  And then he smiled, and pointed into the greenery.

A man was standing in the undergrowth.  Tall, with long, fair hair hanging loose round his shoulders.  He was dressed in brown jeans and shirt, with a leather, ringed tunic over the top.   Elenore brushed away the brambles blocking her path, and wrapped her arms round him.  "Robert !" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  Holding him at arms length, she looked him up and down, shaking her head.  "You're not still wearing that tunic, Robin ?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.  "You were wearing that the first time I saw you."

There was something else about him which reminded her of the first time they had met.  The look on his face.  A look of utter despair.

It was late autumn; the apples were ripe, and the novices had been drafted in to help pick them.  Elenore, delighting in the extra freedom and exercise, had climbed willingly into one of the trees.  Up there, perched high above the Enclosure wall, she could see the surrounding trees of  Sherwood.  While Sister Marion, on the ground, fetched another basket, she gazed out into the reds and golds of the autumn forest.  Suddenly, a glint of sun on metal caught her eye.  Shading her eyes, she peered into the undergrowth.  Someone was out there.  A flash of golden hair.

"Sister ? Is anything wrong ?" Marion had climbed up beside her.

Elenore tore her eyes away from the trees.  "I just thought I saw someone out there.  Hiding in the forest."

Marion shaded her eyes against the low sun, and followed her friend's pointing hand.  Her face fell.  "It's Robin," she said baldly.

"Robin Hood ? Your Robin ? What's he doing here ?"

"He's not my Robin any more," she said sharply.  She was silent for a moment, then swung her legs over the branch.  "He must want to see me.  But ..."

Her voice trailed off.  Elenore looked at her.  "You don't want to see him," she stated.

Marion shook her head.  "I've found peace, here in Halstead.  But seeing him, or any of my friends, brings it all back.  The pain, and the joy.  The friendship and the agony.   And I begin to wonder whether I'm doing the right thing.  And they tell me about Robert, and how miserable he is ... Elenore, I can't go through it all again."  She collapsed to the  ground, her face buried in her hands.

Elenore jumped down from the tree, and hovered over her friend.  "Would it help if I saw him ?" she asked.

Marion glanced up at her through  tear-stained eyes.  "Would you do that for me ?" she asked, slightly warily.

Elenore nodded.  "You've helped me so much since I arrived.  It seems the least I can do in return."

 The other nun wiped her tears away, then gave a slightly shaky smile.  "I've never had another woman for a friend," she said.  "It would mean a lot to me if you'd see Robert."

"What should I say ?"

"Tell him I'm happy.  That I'm well.  That I've found what I was looking for."  She paused for a moment.  "That I miss my friends."

Elenore put a hand on her shoulder.  "Don't worry," she said quietly.  "I'll talk to the Lady Abbess.  I'll see  Robin for you."

He was standing in the Abbess' room, his back to her.  Tall and blonde, he had a longbow slung over one shoulder, and a sword hung from his waist.  He turned as she approached.  "Marion ?"

There was a note of pleading in his voice that made her heart cry out.  "No," she said softly.  "A friend of hers."

He looked at her, straight in the eyes. 

And then she sensed it.  That strange, not-quite-buzz.  The faint hint, available only to those who were most sensitive.   Robin Hood, whoever he really was, was also a pre-immortal.

She crossed over to him.  "I'm sorry," she said quietly.  "Marion sent-"

"Couldn't she even bear to see me herself ?" His voice broke.

Elenore shook her head.  "She's been through some hard times.   She's just beginning to pull herself together.  To see you now ..."

He grabbed her hand; pulled her close.  He looked so pale; almost haggard.  Without quite knowing why, she lifted a hand to his cheek.  "You should take more care of yourself," she said.

He sighed; a heartbreaking sound.  "How can I, when all I can do is think of her ?"  He tightened his grip on her hand.  "Does she still love me ?"

"I don't know.  She says she's well.  She's at peace." 

"Does she talk of me ?"

Elenore did not know what to say.  She could not give him false hope, yet she was so aware of his pain, and wished she could help him.  "She said she misses her friends," she said eventually.

"But not me."  He broke away from her, and buried his head in his hands.   

After a moment, he turned and headed for the door.  As he opened it, he glanced back at her.  "Thanks for seeing me," he said.  "Tell Marion I love her, if you can."

"Take care, Robin," Elenore said with a faint smile.  "I'll see you again."

That day, long long ago, his face had held the same bleak expression she saw now.  "Oh, Robert," she whispered with a groan.  "What have you been doing to yourself ?"

He held her close to his chest, then nodded to Duncan.  "Good to see you," he said, with a nod of his head.

"My liege," Duncan said with a grin, bending his knee.

Robert raised an eyebrow.  "Still going on with that nonsense ?"

Duncan nodded.  "As long as we're both here."

The blonde immortal's face crumpled.  "We're all here,aren't we ? That's the problem.  We are here, and they - Marion, Herne, Will, Nasir, Claire - they're all dead."

Elenore's ears pricked up.  "Claire ? Who's Claire ?" she asked.

But Robin Hood had disappeared.

"Where'd he go ?" Richie asked, turning round in astonishment.

"Bother !" Elenore said, with a certain restraint.  "I wish he wouldn't do that !"

"Are you going after him, or shall I ?" MacLeod asked, leaning on Albion.

Elenore sighed.  "Give me Albion.  I can make a good guess of where he's gone.  Can you find your way to Herne's Cave ?"  MacLeod nodded.  "Right - see you there."  Then she, too, slipped into the undergrowth and disappeared.

Richie sat down on a tree stump, and ran his fingers through his red-gold hair.  "So that's Robin Hood," he said eventually.

MacLeod laughed. 

"Is he always so ..." Richie searched for the right word.  "Miserable ?" he finished.

"He's lived a long time, Richie.  And he's had to bear some pretty hard burdens along the way.  But we've spent some good times together, over the centuries."

"Why did you bow to him ?" Richie asked.  "I've never seen you do that before."

Duncan perched on the tree stump, his back to Richie's.  "Ancient history," he said pensively.  "His father - or adoptive father, we've never been able to work that one out - the Earl of Huntingdon, was brother to the King of Scotland.  We were very, very drunk one evening, at a small inn not far from here.  And," he said, started to grin, "Somehow or other, I ended up swearing allegiance to him as my rightful king.  Just a joke, but we've kept it up ever since."

"Right," the younger man said slowly.  "But what is it about him ? What are all these burdens he's got to deal with ?"

MacLeod shrugged.  "You'd better ask Elenore about all that.  She knows more about it than I do. "  He got up, and headed into the trees.

Richie did not follow.  "I'll go back to the car," he called out.

Strange, how all the trees began to look like each other.  Richie, crunching through the leaves, peered up at the grey sky.  He rubbed his arms.  Surely he should have got to the car by now ? Fighting back a sudden feeling of panic, he carried on.  The car park must just  be down the track a bit further.

And then the path fizzled out, and a large holly bush blocked his way.  He swung round.  Nothing looked familiar.  There were no signs of civilisation at all, no sounds barring the birdsong and the soft rustle of the leaves falling from the trees.

There was no doubt about it.  Richie was lost.

He sat down for a moment, wondering what to do next.  He'd only been walking for fifteen minutes or so; he couldn't be far away from the car.  And Duncan and Elenore were out there somewhere.  It wasn't all that bad.

And then the mist came down.

He'd never thought of himself as the kind of person to get scared.  A toughened young thug by the age of seventeen, expert at house-breaking and picking pockets, he'd then followed it up by over a year in the company of the Immortal who had adopted him.  And such things he'd seen ... beheadings, threats and dangers.  A world he never knew existed.  A world he still had trouble believing in, on those rare occasions when he set his mind to thinking about it all.

But there was something about the eerie whiteness which surrounded him which was totally outside his experience.  It was as if the forest was watching him, listening to him.  Used to the city streets, the lack of lights, of signposts, of signs of civilisation made him feel totally alone in a strange world.

There were shadows in the mist.  Vague shapes, dancing, moving around him.  He tried calling out.  "Duncan ! Elenore !"

But there was no answer.

He set off through the mist.  He could barely see a yard in front of him.  And before he'd taken more than half a dozen steps, he tripped over a trailing root, and tumbled headlong into the damp leaves underfoot.

He lay there for a while, winded, groggy. The mists around him swirled and appeared to coalesce into shapes - human shapes, animal shapes.  He saw antlers; figures running.  A man with two curved swords raised high in the air.   Other figures followed - some tall, some smaller. One tremendously fat.  A woman, bow raised high. And a man with flowing hair, and green eyes which seemed to pierce through the milky white fog.

And then someone was with him, helping him to get up.  Richie peered upwards, and saw the blonde hair and blue-grey eyes of Robert of Huntingdon.  "You !" he muttered, rubbing his head.

Robert nodded.  "Me.  Are you all right ?" He gave a faint smile.  "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Richie.  Richie Ryan.  I'm a friend of MacLeod's."

"I guessed that.  What happened ?"

Richie shrugged.  "I got lost. And then the mist came down -"  He stopped for a moment, rubbing his head.  "It was so weird .."

"What was ?" Robert asked.

Richie shook his head.  "Figures in the mist," he said eventually.  "I must have bumped my head, or something.  I could have sworn I saw -" He broke off.  "Nah - it was nothing."

But the Immortal seemed interested.  "Tell me," he urged.  "Sherwood - can be a very strange place at  times.  Full of ghosts.  We're closer to the past, here."

Richie glanced around, his eyes wide.  "Ghosts ?" he asked.  He shuddered.  But he thought for a moment. "There was a man with curved swords," he said after a while.  "And a big guy - really tall.  And a couple of others."

Robin said nothing.

"And then there was a girl.  Looked  pretty.  And a man.  Long dark hair.  And these piercing green eyes ... came right out of the mist, and seemed to look right at me."

"My men," Robert said after a while. 

"As in - Robin Hood and his Merry Men ? Really ?"

"Really," Robert said.  "Nasir, the Saracen.  Much, Will, Tuck, Little John - their spirits still roam free over Sherwood."

"And the girl ? And the man with the green eyes ?"

Robert stopped.  "Marion," he said abruptly.  "And Loxley, my predecessor."

"Really ?" Richie turned to ask him more.  But the Immortal was gone.  "Robert ?" he called.  But there was no reply.  "I wish he wouldn't do that !" Richie grumbled.  "Robert!"

"Richie ? Is that you ?"

Not Robert, but Duncan.  "Mac !" Richie yelled.  Then, to his relief, the bushes parted, and MacLeod  stood in front of him.  Richie ran up to him.  "Boy, am I glad to see you !" he panted.  "This place is really creepy!"

MacLeod glanced around.  "I rather like it," he said.  "But I thought you were going to wait in the car ?"

Richie shuffled his feet around in the drying leaves.  "Got lost," he said eventually.  "Then the mist came down, and I suppose I panicked."  He was quiet for a moment, then looked up at MacLeod.  "Mac ? Do you believe in ghosts ?"

The dark-haired immortal turned and walked down the overgrown path.  "In Sherwood, I do," he said eventually.  "Why ? Who have you seen ?"

"Robert said it was his men.  But when I tried to ask some more, he disappeared again."

"Did he mention Loxley ? Or Marion ?"

Richie nodded.  "Where are we going ?"

"To the cave."  

"Who is this Loxley guy, anyway? Why's Robert so touchy about him?" Richie asked, quickening his pace to try and keep up with MacLeod.

The dark-haired immortal stopped, and leant against an old oak-tree, staring into the distance.  "Robin of Loxley was Herne's first son, the first Robin i' the Hood.  Marion was his wife. When Loxley died, Robert took over, and fell in love with Marion."

"So ? What happened ?"

But MacLeod just shook his head.  "Not my story," he said bluntly.  He looked at the curly-haired youngster, who looked as if he could ask questions all afternoon.  "Look, Richie - follow the path to the right, and you'll get straight back to the car.  Wait for us there, OK ?"

Richie nodded, and left.  But, after a moment, he turned back.  "Take care, Mac, won't you ? I don't like this place.  And Tessa'd kill me if I let anything happen to you."

The immortal gave him a lop-sided smile, and carried on towards Herne's cave.  Richie, still feeling uneasy, wandered uneventfully back to the hired car.

Elenore sat by the stream, her arms wrapped round her knees, and waited for Robert.  She was sure he'd turn up sooner or later; he always returned to this particular spot when he was troubled.  She could picture him, sitting on the long, flat stone he'd worn smooth by centuries of thinking.  Ever since the first day she'd sat by him.  The day she'd told him about being immortal.

"Marion ? What's wrong ?"  Elenore ran over to where Marion stood, her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with dry sobs.  Tentatively, she put a hand on her friend's shoulder.  "What is it ?"

With a sob, Marion turned, and buried her face in Elenore's shoulder.  "Robin," she whispered.  "Robin's dead."

"No !" Elenore gasped.  "What happened ?"

"I'm not sure," Marion said between sobs.  "Tuck just came to tell me.  He was shot.  An arrow ... the others tried to take him to Kirklees, but he bled to death.  Oh, Elenore," she whispered, lifting her eyes to look at her friend.  "If only I'd seen him.  Just once more.  I did love him, you know.  It was just too -"  Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath.

  "Come, let's walk in the garden," Elenore said.  "We can talk easier there."

As they walked out into the sunshine, the colour returned to Marion's face.  "He was a good man," she said, with a shaky smile.  "He deserved better than me, better than this.  I was never able to forget ..."

"He loved you," Elenore said quietly.  "Nothing's forgotten."

"Nothing's ever forgotten," Marion echoed.  She was quiet for a while.  "I just wish I could be with the others.  They'll be at the lake, shooting flaming arrows for him. I should be there."

"You could slip out," Elenore suggested.  "I'll cover for you.  If it would help you to say goodbye."

Marion bit her lip.  Then, slowly, she looked up at her friend.  "Come with me," she urged.  "I daren't go alone.  But with you there -"

Slowly, the Immortal woman nodded.  "I felt like a walk, anyway," she said, slipping her arm through Marion's.

It was a sad little group that met by the lakeside.  The sun was setting; a huge, red ball, hanging low in the dusky sky.

"Glad you came," Will Scarlet said with a sniff. 

"Little flower," Tuck said with a sympathetic smile.  "It's good to see you, back where you belong.  I just wish Robin could have seen -"

Marion hung her head.  "Was he very sad ?" she asked in a broken voice.

"E were never the same, after you left, lass," Little John said, putting a large hand on her shoulder.  "But it weren't that what killed him."

"I know," Marion said, putting an arm round Much, whose large, brown eyes looked sadly down at her.  "But it doesn't help much."

Nasir, standing stock-still by the lake, said nothing.

"What are you going to do ?" Marion asked, as she watched the others prepare their bows.  "Stay in Sherwood ?"

Little John shook his head.  "We've all lost heart, lass. I'm heading back to Derbyshire.  If I'm going to lose my head, I'd prefere to do it where I belong.  Much is coming too."

Scarlet nodded.  "I'm back off to Lichfield.  An' Tuck's goin' to try and persuade them to take him back at the Abbey."

Scanning their sad faces, Marion felt as if she was truly witnessing the end of an era.  The end of Robin Hood and his Men.  Even more so than when Loxley had been killed.  This time, it was over.  She picked up her bow, and took an arrow.  Aiming out over the water, she pulled the string taut.  "Goodbye, Robert of Huntingdon," she said quietly.  "Herne protect you."

Elenore stood in the shadows, strangely moved by the ceremony.  But as she watched the flaming arrows soar through the darkening sky, her mind searched out through the forest.  For she was sure she had not been mistaken.  Robert of Huntingdon was an  immortal, and he was out there somewhere.

The buzz, when it finally came,  was unmistakeable.  She whirled round, sending her heavy habit swirling round her ankles.  A sound strangely like a sob, and a flash of golden hair.  She hadn't been wrong.

She took a deep breath.  She could imagine what he was going through - the confusion, the pain.  She had to talk to him, help him if she could.  At least she could explain the rules of the strange game they were caught up in.

Robin's companions had finished their ceremony.  Elenore moved silently to Marion's side, and touched her on the sleeve.  "Marion ?" she asked in a low voice.  "Would one of your friends see you safely back to Halstead.  There's - something- I have to do."

Marion smiled. "Of course.  Won't you ?" she said with a smile at Will and John.  "Not that I really need protection in Sherwood.  It was my home for so many happy years."

"Good years," Scarlet agreed.

"The best."

She waited until they had left, then slipped through the trees, to where the small stream ran into the lake. She closed her eyes as the familiar buzz ran through her mind.  A figure sat there, golden head bowed low over bent knees.  A picture of misery.  He lifted his head as she approached, his eyes narrowing as he, too, felt the strange whispering in his mind.

"Robert ?" Elenore asked, her heart going out to the young man.

He jumped up.  "Keep away from me," he muttered.  "I'm cursed.  A ghost..."

But Elenore just shook her head.  "Not a ghost.  Just immortal."  And, taking his cold hands between hers, she'd begun to tell him all he needed to know.

"What's the point ?" he said after a while.  "So I'm going to live forever, unless someone chops off my head.  My friends think I'm dead.  Marion has left me.  If I reappear..." His voice trailed off.

Elenore thought for a moment.  She'd heard Marion talk of Herne.  "You could just say Herne brought you back," she suggested.

For a moment his face brightened, but then it clouded over once more.  "No." he said bluntly.

"Why not ? You say he's a god -"

"He is a  God."

"Then -"

"If he could bring his sons back from the dead," Robert explained quietly, as if he was talking to a child, "He would have saved Robin.  If anyone deserved to live, it was him.  Not me."

"Then leave," Elenore said.  "Travel.  Take your mind off things.  There's a whole world out there. "

"Would you come too ?" he asked, turning his intense, blue-grey eyes on her.

Sadly, she shook her head.  "Not now.  There are ... things I have to avoid for a while."

"I will go !"

The strange voice made them both jump.  Elenore turned round, scanning the tree-line.  A dark-haired man, clad in black, stood there.

"Nasir !" Robin exclaimed, getting up to embrace his friend.  Then he remembered.  "Nasir ? Did you overhear ..."

The Saracen nodded.  "I heard."

"And - and you don't mind ?"

He shook his head.  "Among my people - there are legends of such things.  I would stay with you, if you wish it." 

"Of course I do," Robert said, taking Nasir's hand and squeezing it.  "Oh, it's good to see you again, my friend."  He turned to Elenore.  "I will go," he said, his face taking on a determined look.  "But there is something I have to do first."

The cave was surrounded by water; a torch burned beyond the opening.  Mists hung low around the entrance.  Elenore felt as if her heart was beating faster than usual; it seemed to echo around in the eerie silence.

"Herne !" Robert called out, unattaching the rough boat moored there.

A figure appeared in the mists; Elenore gasped.

Robert turned to her.  "Did you feel it ?" he asked.

She nodded.  "He's one of us."

"So, my son.  It's finally happened."

Robert looked up at him.  "You knew ?" he asked.  "All the time ?"

"I am Herne," the old man replied.  "It is my duty to know such things."

"Then why couldn't you tell me ?"

But Herne just shook his head. "And now you are leaving."

Robin nodded.  "But I will return."

"You will, my son.  You will."

"But what about you ?" Robert asked, kneeling down before the Horned One.

Herne opened his arms wide.  "But this is all Holy Ground, my son.  I am in my own domain.  What harm can come to me ?"

 Elenore sighed.  It was still so clear to her; she could picture Herne standing there, arms outstretched, surveying his Kingdom.  She'd never seen the Forest God again.  Never seen him alive.  She'd arrived, with Robert, just a bit too late ...

Richie sat in the car, his coat wrapped around him.  It was cold.  Chin on his knees, he stared out into the trees.  Trees, trees and more trees.  "Come on, Mac," he muttered to himself. 

Suddenly the passenger door opened, and a slender, fair-haired figured slipped in.  "D'you fancy a drink," Robert of Huntingdon said casually.  "There's an inn near here - the Blue Boar."

Richie turned to look at his passenger.  "You sure ?" he asked.  "Duncan and Elenore are both out looking for you."

"I know.  That's why I need a drink.  Coming ?"

Richie shrugged, then turned the ignition, and backed out of the parking space.

"What is all this about ?" Richie asked as he followed Robert's directions.  "You've got those two really worked up."

"I know," Robert groaned.  "They worry so. "

Richie thought for a while.  "It's not like Duncan to worry without reason," he said eventually.  "Or Elenore, come to that."  He glanced at the fair-haired young man.  He barely looked older than Richie, and he had a hounded look on his face which Richie seemed to recognises.  A 'they're all out to get me' look.  He thought for a moment, then, as they pulled in to the pub car-park, looked Robert straight in the eyes.  "Would talking help ? To me, I mean.  I've not got the years experience the others have, but I know ..." His  voice trailed off. He swung round.  "Hey - don't go disappearing on me again !" he called as Robert got out of the car.

But Robert bent down and smiled.  "OK," he said.  "I'll talk.  Perhaps it would help"

"Ever been in love, Richie ?" Robert asked, a faraway look in his eyes.

Richie shrugged. "Who hasn't ? I generally go from one disaster to the next."

Robert laughed.  "Who doesn't, at your age ?"

"You loved Marion, right ?" Richie asked.

Robert nodded.  "She was my life.  When she left me - I had nothing left to live for.  Imagine the irony - a man with eternal life, and nothing to live for !  But I found things to do - there were still the people to help, here and elsewhere."

"Elsewhere ? I thought Duncan said you'd always stayed in Sherwood."

"I did, after all those who knew me had died.  When there was no more danger.  And since Herne was killed, I've not left the area."

"Why do they feel responsible for you ?" Richie asked, taking a sip of his beer.  "You seem pretty capable of looking after yourself."

"I am !" Robert said, looking frustrated.  But then his face softened.  "I suppose I brought it on myself.  A couple of hundred years ago, I - I suppose I went through some sort of crisis.  I wanted to end it all.  Kept asking them to take my head.  Even tried to take it myself, a couple of times.  The three of them - Duncan, Elenore and Connor - sorted me out.  And even now - they still get worried."

"So ? What are they worried about this time ?"

Robert sighed, then picked up the glasses and went to the bar.  "I fell in love again," he said.  "The first time in -"  He broke off suddenly, his eyes narrowing.

"What is it ?" Richie asked, recognising the look in Robert's eyes.  "An immortal ?"

Robert nodded, reaching automatically for his sword.  But there was nothing there.

"I think this is what you were looking for," Elenore said, appearing behind him and putting a long package in his hand.

"Albion !" Robert exclaimed, running his hand lovingly down the brown paper.  Strangely, it almost seemed to glow.  But then he put the package down.  "You must have paid a fortune for this," he said sternly to Elenore.

Duncan put brimming glasses on the small table.  "Correction.  I paid a fortune for it," he said, sitting down with a grin.  "And I would appreciate knowing just why I did."

Robert looked round at his companions.  "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right.  You deserve an explanation."  He took a deep breath.  "Some years ago, I met a young girl.  She was about 10 or 11 at the time.  Her name was Claire."

He leant back in his chair, a strange, wistful  look on his face.  "She loved the forest.  Some days she'd run from tree to tree, hugging them all.  Other times, she'd just sit and stare up at the tree tops.  I met her parents, and became a friend of the family.  I was like her big brother.  It was - nice.  I'd never really had a little sister before."

He sighed.  "After a few years, her parents moved away.  I really missed her for a while, but  - well, you know what it's like."

Elenore bit her lip; Duncan nodded sadly.  An old, old story.

Robert looked at them both sympathetically.  "About six years ago, I was wandering through the Forest, when I met a girl.  She was leaning against a tree, staring up at the sky.  She took my breath away. "  He smiled a little, remembering.  "Her hair was long and auburn, her eyes huge in her pale face.  It was like stepping back in time."

"Marion ?" Richie enquired in a whisper of Elenore.  She nodded back, her face unreadable.

"It wasn't Marion, of course," Robert said, glancing at Richie.  "It was Claire, my little sister, all grown up.  But there was a strange resemblance.  Anyway, Claire ran up to me, and fell into my arms.  Before I really knew what was happening, she was kissing me."

He took a long drink.  "Later, she told me that she'd always loved me, and that for years she'd dreamt of coming back to Sherwood to find me again.  We were so very happy; it never even occurred to her that I looked just the same as I had when she'd first known me.  She just accepted it as the normal way that age differences seem to disappear as you get older." 

"What happened then ?" Elenore asked quietly, after Robert fell silent.

He shook his head.  "It was just wonderful for a while.  She was studying at Nottingham University, but she moved straight out of the student accommodation, and into my house.  We were blissfully happy.  Until - until just over a year ago.  She was doing post-grad work, studying forest management, and particularly ancient woodlands.  One day she felt tired; the next day she could barely get out of bed.  It grew worse and worse; some horrible, muscle-wasting disease.  The doctors knew of no cure.  But then we heard of a possible treatment in America.  The NHS had already written her off; I sold everything, chasing one miracle after another.  But it was all in vain."  He took a deep breath, pain etched on his handsome face.  "Claire died three months ago.  But the bills still kept coming in.  In the end, I even had to sell Albion.  But it didn't seem to matter, anyway.  I'd have almost welcomed someone taking my head.  It would have solved a lot of problems."

"Robert, why didn't you tell us ?" Elenore admonished him gently.  "We could have helped, raised funds, anything !"

The blond-haired immortal just shrugged.  "It was something I had to deal with myself.   But I'll be all right. You don't need to worry about me."

But Elenore and Duncan, exchanging glances, did not look convinced.

"Robert - come back to the hotel with us," Elenore pleaded, as they left the pub together.

He shook his head.  "I've all I need in the forest." 

"You're not camping out, are you ?" Richie said, aghast.

Robert nodded.  "I've done it most of my life - why stop now ?"  He smiled at the youngster.  "Firelight on the cave walls, the owls hooting in the forest, the stars and the moon - you should try it."

"But you need somewhere to live !" Elenore insisted. "This isn't the thirteenth century any more !"  She stepped closer to him, slipped her arm through his.  "Why not leave with me, tonight ! We could be in Paris by nightfall, anywhere in the world by tomorrow.  It'd be fun."

But  the blond immortal shook his head.  "I can't leave Sherwood," he said in a quiet, but definite voice.

"Why not ?" Duncan asked, opening the car door.

"You know why not.  Now, I'm fine - so you can stop worrying about me.  Why don't you just go home ?"

Duncan gave one of his widest grins.  "You can't get rid of us that easily.  We'll see you tomorrow."

Richie was about to get in the car, when suddenly, he made up his mind.  "Did you mean it ? Can I camp out with you ? I'd really like to see what it's like."

   Robert looked questioningly at Duncan.  "Is it all right with you ?"

Duncan glanced at Richie, then shrugged.  "He's a big boy; if he wants to stay -"

"Yes !" Richie said with a grin.  

"Why did you want to stay ?" Robert said as they strode together down leafy paths.

Richie ran his hand through his curly hair.  "I'm not sure. You made it sound good.  And - earlier - when I got lost - I sort of felt there was more to this place than just a load of trees.  You, and Duncan, and Elenore - you all seem so sure that there are ghosts here.  I just kinda wanted to see more for myself."

"You're not scared ?"

He shrugged.  "Sure, I'm scared.  But I like to stand up to my fears."

Robert raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  Richie smiled.  "This is going to be great !"

  Then suddenly they stepped into a patch of mist.  "Woah," Richie said, moving fractionally closer to Robert.  "Are you sure you know where you're going ?"

The blonde immortal laughed.  "I know every square inch of this forest.  We're just passing into an older part of Sherwood. Hardly anyone comes this deep any more.  Some people - even the people who are supposed to take care of the woods - don't even know it exists. "

The mist cleared as quickly as it had come down; they stood in a small clearing, facing a gaping cave mouth.  The ground looked marshy.

"Take care where you walk," Robert warned.  "This used to be water, years ago.  It's easier to get home, now, but I miss the way it used to be."  He reached up, and lit a torch.  The flickering flames lit up the darkening sky, and made strange patterns on the cave walls.

Richie glanced around.  He looked edgy.  "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea," he said, while he watched Robert spread blankets on piles of bracken. "I'm in the way - I don't belong here."

But Robert stopped preparing the camp, and stood behind the young man.  "No, Richie.  I'm rather glad to have you here.  It's been a while since I've had someone to talk to.  Come on, it's not so bad.  D'you fancy something to eat ?"

Richie shrugged.  "Pizza ? Burgers ? Or should it be venison, out here ?"

"Those days are long, long gone.  It's stew.  But it tastes good.  I had a good teacher."

"Who ?" Richie asked, dipping a finger in the pot which was bubbling on a low fire.

  Robert smiled.  "Friar Tuck."

Sitting round the camp fire, Richie looked across at the fair-haired immortal.  He looked pale; almost other-worldly in the firelight.  Suddenly the boy remembered something he wanted to ask.  "Are you really a king ?" he asked.

Robert smiled.  "King of Sherwood.  Lord of all the eye can see."

"No !  Duncan was saying something about the King of Scotland."

Pouring himself another glass of wine, Robert shook his head, a sad smile on his face.  "I used to believe I was the eldest son of the Earl of Huntingdon, nephew of the King of Scotland.  I was brought up to think of myself as the son of one of the most powerful men in England.  I had duty and responsibility drummed into me from the time I could talk.  I believed it - my family believed it - and even my father, although he called me a changeling and a fool, believed I was his son. I'm sure of it !" His face, glowing red in the firelight, was earnest; his eyes had a faraway look in them.  Richie was sure Robert was barely aware of him.

"So ? What changed that ?" Richie asked eventually.

Robert shrugged.  "Gradually it became apparent, from meeting other immortals, that they were all foundlings.  No matter what loving family they had been brought up in, sooner or later the truth came out.  So I had to conclude that my father was not my true father, and that it was actually a good thing that I was struck out of the family tree."

"Struck out ? But that's dreadful !" Richie said, aghast.  "Why ?"

"Richie ! I was an outlaw ! Wolfshead, banished ! How could I remain heir to Huntingdon ? My father married again; he had other children.  And by the time I worked out that something strange must have happened at the time of my birth, there was no one left to ask; no-one who would have known.  I had passed out of history into the books of legends and myths."

There was really nothing he could say. Richie nodded, slightly sadly, and, reluctantly, left the warm fireside for the pile of furs and blankets Robert had prepared for him.  After a while he grinned.  "Robert ? You're still the nearest thing to a king I'm ever likely to meet !"

For a while there was silence in the cave.  Only the faint crackling of the firewood, and the occasional shriek of an owl disturbed the peace. 

"Richie ?" The voice woke him out of a light doze.

"Yeah ?" Richie answered sleepily.  "What is it ?"

Robert sat there, by the dying embers of the fire.  "Richie, I owe you an apology," he said.  "I got you here under false pretences."

Richie sat up.  "What are you talking  about ? I invited myself here !"

"And I surprised the life out of Duncan and Elenore by agreeing to it.  You see, I knew that with you here, those two would stop worrying and leave me alone."

"Why ? Why do you want to be alone ?"

Robert turned away; he stood, silhouetted against the moonlight.  "Because Taran is coming !"

"What !" Richie was on his feet in seconds, trailing furs and blankets behind him.  "He hasn't turned up for centuries, and you say he's coming tonight ?"

Calmly, Robert nodded.

"Why are you so sure ? Why didn't you want Duncan here ? He's a good man with a sword -"

Robert interrupted him, gesturing for silence.  "I know.  He's just about the best I've ever seen.  But this is something I've got to deal with, and I don't want Duncan interfering, taking over. "  He stalked around the cave mouth, peering out into the dark shapes of the moonlit forest.  "Look, Taran will come.  I know it.  Because Taran was never afraid of me.  Taran was afraid of Albion.  And now he thinks Albion is gone."

"Something's wrong !"  Duncan MacLeod slammed down his glass, spilling some of the whisky in the process.  "We've missed something."

Elenore glanced at him, raising her eyebrows.  "We have ?"

"Yes ! We've been had.  Why would Robert have agreed to take Richie to the Cave ?"

The immortal woman took a careful bite of the dark chocolate which had been served with her coffee.  "Because he wanted us to stay away," she said eventually.

"Exactly.  And why would he want us well away ?"

She thought for a moment.  "He's expecting someone ?"

"Taran !" they exclaimed simultaneously.

Duncan grabbed Elenore's arm.  "Come on.  We'd better get going."

"I just don't understand what all the fuss is about this sword," Richie said, watching Robert polish Albion.  "It's just a sword, isn't it ?"

Robert shook his head.  "Anything but.  Albion is special.  There is still some of the old magic in it; something which keeps it loyal to Herne, and to me.  It cannot harm me"

The lights shone brightly in the Great Hall at Nottingham castle.  And Guy of Gisburne, his blue eyes hungry for victory, fought the injured son of the Earl of Huntingdon.  The Sheriff, nursing a sword-cut from a close encounter with Robert, looked on as Gisburne closed on the outlaw.

A sword lay on the table.  Albion, brought to the castle by the men who had arrested Marion. Albion, Loxley's sword.  The sword she had offered to Robert, only to be met with refusal.   Huntingdon did not think himself worthy.

Gisburne had no such scruples.  Disarmed, he grabbed the shining weapon, and bore down on Robin Hood.

Pinned against the wall, sword long gone, gasping with pain from his injured leg, Robert was helpless.  Was this how it was all to end ? He shut his eyes, and waited for the blow.

A blow that never came.  Albion, raised high in Gisburne's hand, seemed to glow.  And the look on the Steward's face changed, from triumphant gloating to surprise, and then to agony.  Astonished, unbelieving, Robert watched as the fair-haired knight crumpled to the floor, letting Albion fall with a clatter.

Robert ran his fingers down the runes.  "I arrived too late to save Herne, that day.  In spite of his immortality, he was an old man.  He was not strong.  But Taran was still there when Elenore and I burst into the clearing.  And I unsheathed Albion."  He paused, looking far into the distance.  "It was a dark, moonless  night, but Albion glowed angrily, with a strange, unearthly light, from the moment I entered Sherwood. It almost seemed to drag me towards  the villain who had killed an old man in this, his holiest of places."  He sighed.  "I'd seen a lot of things.  But I don't think I've ever been so scared as I was that night.  And Elenore ...?"

"She was scared ?"  Richie looked stunned.

"Richie - she was terrified.  Anyone would have been."

The young man thought for a while.  "So you think Taran is coming ?"

"I know he is."

"And you're going to kill him ? Here, in the cave ? Isn't that as being as bad as he was ?"

Robert shook his head.  "Those events defiled this place.  But it is still sacred, to me and to a few others who still believe in the Forest Lord.  Taran would not come here again."

"Why not ?" Richie still looked puzzled.  When Robert did not answer, the lad strode over to stand by the immortal.  "Look - if I'm asking too many questions -"

Robert shook his head.  "Don't worry - I don't mind.  It's just that some questions don't have easy answers."  He put a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder.  "I'm glad you're here, even if I did get you here under false pretences.  Don't worry - you're safe enough.  Listen - have you seen Duncan take a quickening ?"

Surprised by the change of subject, Richie nodded.  "A couple," he said nonchalantly.  Then he grinned.  "It really freaked me out, the first time.  Talk about fireworks !"

Robert nodded.  "Well, when Taran killed Herne, there was no Quickening.  But somehow - it was as if something was taken out of Taran.  Not only did he not gain anything from the beheading, he lost something too.  He almost seemed to - shrivel up. "  He took a deep breath.  "Look - I witnessed this, and I still don't quite believe it.  It was almost as if the ground, the air, the cave, the trees - the entire grove turned against him.  Not with fireworks and pyrotechnics, but a thick, deep fog which seemed to descend from the trees and envelope him.  And when I lifted Albion, the fog cleared, and he was - changed.  Diminished.  He had been a tall, handsome, charismatic man - but when he fled the forest that day,he looked more like a shrivelled old man. And the last thing he saw as he ran, was Albion, blazing with fury. "  The immortal glanced around.  "This place is still angry with him.  I can almost feel it, in every blade of grass, in every tree, every stone.  And Taran knows that."  Once more, he put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.  "Listen, Richie.  I'm going to the lakeside, to face him.  To end this once and for all.  For your safety, you must stay here.  Agreed ?"

Richie, slightly shaken by Robert's revelations, nodded.  Robert smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and slipped out of the cave mouth.  Richie watched him go. 

     But as Duncan MacLeod well knew, Richie Ryan rarely stayed where he was told.  Before Robert was totally out of sight, Richie slipped out of the cave, his heart beating wildly as he headed into the mist.

The moon shone on the stream;  Robert stood on the small bridge, staring down into the clear water.  How many times had he stood here, over the years ?  He could remember standing in the same spot with Marion, holding her hand, smiling into her beautiful, sad eyes. And more recently he'd watched as Claire dangled her feet off the side, dabbling her toes in the water.  Happy memories.

But now, he stood alone, watching the treeline, searching with eyes and mind for the distinctive buzz which would tell him of the approach of his enemy.

Albion hung by his side, a familiar, comforting weight; his oldest friend.  Somehow, he could almost feel a tension in the sword, as if it too was waiting.

And then he felt it; the bell-like sound which rang through his mind.  An immortal, nearby.  He pulled up his hood, and crouched down in the shadows.

It was strange, Richie thought, the forest at night.  It had seemed so eerie, so mysterious to him earlier, when the mist had come down.  But now, in the moonlight, he could somehow see things clearer than in the light of day.  However, he was not used to tracking in the dark, and Robert slipped through the undergrowth as if he was part of it.  Before long, he was out of sight, and Richie was well and truly lost.

And then he heard something.   Twigs snapping, a dull thud, then a harsh, unfamiliar voice muttering a stream of curses.  Taran ! It had to be ! So Robert had been right all along...

Richie hid behind the nearest oak, and waited, holding his breath, as the succession of noises grew closer. 

Taran was nothing like he had imagined.  The immortals he had seen, evil or good, had all had a certain - something - about them.  Something charismatic.  Something compelling.  But this man was truly ugly.  Warped.  And filthy.

But he obviously knew where he was heading.  And he was easier to track than Robert.  Taking care not to disturb a single twig, Richie slipped out of the shadows, and tagged along.

Robert waited, his hand on Albion's hilt.  Taran was out there, somewhere.  He could sense it.  And every now and then, the moonlight glinted through the trees, catching something shining in it's beams.  It could be a dropped chocolate wrapper.  Or a sword.

"Huntingdon !"  The voice took him by surprise.  It was harsh and angry.  "Huntingdon ! I know you've lost that devil's plaything you called a sword.  Stop skulking in the shadows, you pagan, and face me, man to man."

Richie could see them both, caught in the flickering light of the moon on the water.  He stood perfectly still, well downstream from the enemies, hidden in the undergrowth.  He was aware of nothing but the two men; it was as if the rest of the world did not exist.

And then someone grabbed his arm.

"Mac ! What are you doing here !" Richie gasped as he swung round to face his assailant.

"What's going on ?" MacLeod asked, glancing around.

"Taran.  He and Robert are out there.  They're going to fight !"  As he watched his Immortal friend's face cloud over with worry, he looked slightly puzzled.  "Can't you sense them ?"

MacLeod shook his head distractedly.  "Not at this distance.  Something to do with the mist and the trees.  They have a dampening effect."  He turned to Elenore, who slipped silently to his side.  "We've got to stop this," he said.

Elenore nodded.  "Where is Taran ? Can you distract him, while I get Robert out of the way ?"

Duncan took a few steps forward, to examine the terrain and pinpoint the relative positions.  He looked grimly confident.  "No problem," he said.

"Yes problem !" Richie interrupted. "Why are you doing this, guys ?  I mean, I know he's your friend, but shouldn 't you let him fight his own battles ?"

"Keep out of this, Richie," Duncan said firmly.

Usually, that was that.  But not tonight.  Richie looked up into his friend's dark, intense eyes.  "No !" he said.  "I won't.  I might have only met him today, but it seems to me that I understand him better than you two do.  You treat him like an incompetent child that can't be allowed to go out to play in case he hurts himself.  This is his past, his life, his fight.  You've got to let him fight it."

After a moment, Duncan lifted his head.  "You're right, Richie," he said.

Richie's eyes opened wide with surprise.  "I'm right ? Did you say I was right ?"  He turned to Elenore. "Did you hear that ? He said I was right ! You're my witness, OK ?"

Elenore laughed.  "He is right, Duncan.  We've treated Robert like an invalid too long.  Let him deal with this."

"But -" Duncan began, doubts clouding his eyes once more.

"No buts," Elenore said. "Your problem, Mac, is that you care too much.  You've got to let go.  It's his battle, his religion, his country.  Don't interfere."

MacLeod let out a long sigh.  "I know.  But it's hard.  And ..."  he shook his head.  "I care a lot for Robert.  Somehow, it's easier to fight other people's battles myself, rather than sit back and watch them face the dangers."

Elenore slipped her arm through Duncan's.  "I know," she said softly.  "I know."

The moon had come out from behind the cloud, shining down on the water, illuminating the clearing.  "I know you're out there, Huntingdon," Taran's voice echoed through the wood.

From where they stood, Robert's friends watched him move silently across the bridge.

"I see you lost that precious sword of yours !" Taran taunted his enemy.  "Don't feel so brave without it's devilish magic, do you ?"

It seemed as if Albion was alive.  Suddenly the sword was wrapped round with an eerie blue light.  Robert leapt out of the shadows.  "Me, lose Albion ?" he jeered, lifting the burning sword high above Taran's head.  "Never !"

For a split second, Taran froze.  Robert moved in, aiming at his enemy's neck.

But the evil immortal was quick.  Too quick.  His sabre, jewels in the hilt glinting in the moonlight, flashed through the night sky, meeting Albion with a loud metallic clash.

The fight had begun.

As the men and their swords fought each other, clash after terrible crash in the still air of the forest, Duncan turned away.  It was so hard to watch.  He felt over his shoulder for the Katana, comforted by the sword's solid presence.  "I don't care what they say," he said to himself.  "One false move on Taran's behalf, and I'm out there."

Richie, a few steps away from the immortals, chewed on his fingernails as he watched.  It was strange, watching Robert fight.  His style was different to Duncan's, but he was good.  Really good.

The moon slipped behind a cloud; the change distracted Taran just enough for Robert to catch his arm.

Albion's eerie light flared as it touched the man's sleeve.  Taran jumped back with a yell. 

Richie held his breath as Robert, a strangely exuberant look on his face, moved in, Albion squarely aimed at Taran's neck. 

Taran, eyes wide open with terror, stepped backwards, lashing wildly with his elegant sabre.  As his movements grew wilder and wilder, Robert and Albion seemed to blend together, until they were one.  A fighting unit, a team.

Until a hidden root caught Taran unawares.  He floundered wildly, trying to avoid the unavoidable.  And a fluke of a balancing gesture with his sabre somehow caught under Albion's hilt, and sent the ancient sword flying through the air.

Taran landed inelegantly on the soft grass, his head hitting the ground with a dull thud.  Robert, breathing hard, watched, as if mesmerised, while Albion flew, hilt over tip, through the night sky.  

Out of sight, Richie, Duncan and Elenore watched.  "Come on, get it back," Duncan urged under his breath, as he waited for the old sword to hit the ground.

But it never did.  Somehow, the sword swerved in the air, and appeared to hover there, in the middle of the clearing, glowing faintly with a clear, blue light.

Robert took a step closer to his sword;  Taran, a look of absolute horror on his ugly face, slowly got himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving Albion.  "What have you done to that devil's instrument ?" he spat at Robert.

Robert, faint amusement in his eyes, shrugged.  "You'd better ask Albion," he said nonchalantly.

The fair Immortal's carefree attitude appeared to annoy Taran even more.  With a growl, he rushed towards Robert, his sabre raised.  But Robert was not even watching his enemy.  Automatically stepping to one side to avoid the blade, his eyes were fixed on the patch of mist which had enveloped Albion.

A patch of mist which was coalescing, taking shape.  Until it became apparent that Albion was not floating, but was being wielded by a man.  A strangely insubstantial man, but definitely a man.  Tall, dark-haired,  with a handsome, otherworldly face, and piercing green eyes.

"Loxley !" Elenore gasped from her hiding place.

"Really ?" Duncan asked, looking more closely at the ghostly shape.  "I always wanted to meet him ..."

"So did Robert," Elenore added quietly.

"So, brother, we meet at last !" Robin of Loxley called out to his successor.

Robert's eyes narrowed.  "Why you ?" he asked.  "Aren't I good enough ?"

"Of course you're good enough !" Loxley called back, as he approached the now cowering Taran.  "It's just that this is Herne's fight, not yours.  And he's deputised me ..."

"Why you ?" Robert asked in a low, dangerous voice.  "I've waited for this man for centuries.  You can't come and take over now !"

"Can't I ?" Loxley replied, his green eyes shining as Albion, glowing happily, clashed with Taran's sabre.

"Robert ! Let him !"

The command came from the other side of the clearing.  A tall figure, shrouded in mist.   Richie, watching with terrified fascination, could have sworn there were antlers growing from his head.

"Herne !" Robert's voice was full of awe.  He dropped to his knees.

"My son," Herne said with a smile.  "Let your brother deal with this.  Keep the blood of my murderer from your hands.  It is bad enough that such an act was once performed in the heart of Sherwood.  Do not let it happen a second time."

Robert, his eyes shining bright, stared up at the man who had called him away from his comfortable life in Huntingdon, had given him a purpose, a reason to life.  "But -" he started to argue.  But then, looking at Herne's relentless, ageless eyes, he nodded.  "I submit to your will, father," he said quietly.  "As always."

Loxley laughed as he circled the terrified Immortal.  Taran, his eyes wild with fear, lashed out, somehow forgetting all his science and skill.  He slashed at Loxley's arm, only to yell out with frustration as his sabre met only shadows and mist.

"You're mine," Loxley grimly.  "Mine, and Albion's."

"Never," Taran said with a gasp.  But he was tiring, and knew it.

Albion's light flared up, and the ancient sword came down with a metallic crash on the elegant sabre.  In a flash, the sabre broke into a thousand shards.

Taran stood there, transfixed, totally at Loxley's mercy.

"Herne ?" Loxley called out, glancing at the Forest God.

And Herne nodded grimly.  "Do it," he said.  "The wrong must be redressed.  The balance must be maintained."

Albion's light changed from icy blue to fiery red.  Lifting high, the ancient sword flew through the air and neatly removed Taran's head from his shoulders.

Richie, involuntarily shut his eyes.   But then he forced himself to watch.  Slowly, almost in slow motion, Taran's body crumpled to the ground.  But instead of the pyrotechnics he had seen at other beheadings, the forest mist appeared to gather over the body.  And, with a shudder and a shimmer, the immortal's body appeared to - evaporate - and be swallowed up into the forest air. "Wow," Richie gasped.  Duncan moved a step closer to him, and squeezed his arm.

Herne's voice echoed through the clearing.  "So must it be !"

"So must it be," Loxley echoed, lowering Albion to the ground.

"So must it be," Huntingdon repeated, moving over to where his brother stood.

With a faint smile, Loxley handed the sword to Huntingdon.  "Your sword, I believe," he said.

Huntingdon shook his head, putting his hand on Albion's hilt, on top of Robin's.  "Our sword," he said. 

Then another shadowy figure emerged from amongst the trees.  Tall, elegant, beautiful, she walked over to where the two men stood.

Richie caught his breath.  "She's gorgeous," he said quietly.

"Isn't she ?" Elenore said with a quiet smile.  "She always was."

Marion put her hand on Albion's hilt, looking first at Robin, then at Robert.  "I love you both," she said quietly, her eyes smiling.  "I always did."

"Have you always been here ?" Robert asked, looking at Marion in stunned amazement. "In Sherwood ?"

"Always.  Where else would we be ?" Loxley responded.

Robert's face seemed to turn paler yet in the moonlight.  He looked down at the ground.  "There have been times when I've hated you," he said slowly.   "For leaving me," he said, looking at Marion.  "And for being the first and the best," he finished, glancing at Loxley.

"We know," Marion said.

 "And we understand," Loxley added.  "But you never were second best, Robert of Huntingdon.  Just different."

Robert smiled.  "What now ?" he asked.

"You live," Herne said sternly from amongst the trees.  "For as I told you many years ago, my son, you have a job to do.  How you chose to interpret it in this strange new age, is up to you.  But my son you remain, now and always."

"So must it be," Robert said slowly. 

Marion took one of his hands.  "Nothing's forgotten," she said with a sweet smile.

"Nothing's ever forgotten," Loxley finished, taking his other hand.

And then they were gone.

Feeling bereft, Robert glanced round the empty clearing.  Then his eyes narrowed.  "Richie ?" he called.

Slightly sheepishly, the lad stepped forward.  "Yes ?" he said.

"I thought I told you to wait in the cave ?"

Richie shrugged. 

Duncan strode out from the trees to stand by his immortal friend's side.  "Glad to see it's a general problem, and not just me he ignores," he said with a grin.  Then he put his hands on Robert's shoulders, and held him tight. 

"I know," Robert said quietly.  "I know.  It's all right now."

"Really ?" Elenore asked, coming forward to join them.  "D'you mean you're ready to join the rest of us, out there in the world ?"

Robert shook his head, but his eyes were smiling.  "Not exactly.  This is still where I belong.  Sherwood Forest. But - somehow I feel totally free !"

Duncan nodded happily.  "And what are you going to do with your freedom ?"

The fair immortal thought for a moment.  "I'll have to see.  But - there is one thing I'd like to do."

"Go on," Duncan said, as they wandered slowly back to the cave.

"Claire's work on ancient woodlands.  I'd like to carry on what she started.  Of course, it'd mean going back to the beginnings, study -" His voice trailed off.

"You can do it," Elenore said, slipping her arm through his.  "You know you can."

Robert smiled.  Then he raised an eyebrow.  "Think Connor could rustle me up the appropriate papers ? Could  I pass for a mature student ?"

Duncan laughed.  "They'd never know how mature !"  He stopped, and looked Robert straight in the eyes.  "Good luck.  And watch your head, Robert.  Taran wasn't the only immortal with evil intentions."

"I know," the fair-haired man said, his face serious.  "But with Taran, it went deeper than just the Game.  Taran was someone Herne had to deal with."

"I understand that now.  At least I think I do."  He turned to see where Richie had was.  "Ok, Richie ?"

The young man was walking along in silence, his face thoughtful.  He glanced up at MacLeod.  "That was quite something.  Where those people real, or what ?"

"Call them ghosts, mirages - whatever you like.  They were real to me," Robert said quietly.  

Elenore looked up at the stars, a slightly sad, faraway look in her eyes.  "I'm so glad Marion is back in Sherwood," she said.  "She never quite belonged in a convent."

Lost in their own thoughts, they wandered slowly back to the cave.

Richie's silent mood did not last long.  Sipping a hot drink by the fireside, he looked at Robert and shook his head.  "I just don't get it," he said.

"What don't you get,  Richie ?" Duncan asked.

"Why Robert, when he's suddenly free to do anything he wants, should decide to go back to school.  It's not what I'd do !"

"I can imagine," Duncan laughed. 

"I think it's a great idea," Elenore said.  "And a fitting tribute to Claire, if you finish her work.  But where will you live ? You're not going to stay in the cave for ever, are you ?"

 Robert glanced around him.  "Not all the time," he said.  Then he laughed.  "To tell the truth, I'll be glad to get somewhere else to live.  These days, I seem to miss things like showers, washing machines and microwave ovens.  I must be getting old !"

But Richie still shook his head.  "But Robert, what are you going to do about money ?   I thought you were totally broke !"

Robert smiled.  "I was.  But then some idiot went and paid a totally inflated price for this old sword of mine ..."  And seeing the look in Duncan's eyes, Robert of Huntingdon began to laugh.

For the first time in many, many years ...

The end ... for now