Sir Guy of Gisborne's Diary

Entry 27

The sheriff has told me to pack a trunk and get ready for travel. I have no idea where we are going and, at the moment, he is keeping tight-lipped. I need to know so I can work out what to pack. Are we going to London, to the countryside, to the seaside? Do I need to pack my lighter leathers or will I need the heavy-duty stuff? Will there be parties? Because if there are, I need to take my cosmetics. Will I require swimming trunks? Scratch that - I can't swim.

I cornered Vaisey after breakfast and all he would say was 'pack for hot weather'. So, I guess we're going to London.

The sheriff was in a good mood, for once. This was because his mercenaries, led by a crazed headhunter called Ellingham, had Robin Hood and his gang trapped in a barn in Nettlestone from which there would be no escape. Ha ha, how's that for a birthday surprise, you arrogant, cocky outlaw git!

Later . . .

We are not going to London. We're going to Portsmouth. Yay, crabbing, I thought. Wrong. From Portsmouth, we're heading to the Holy Land! But there are plenty of rock pools all along the coast of England, I told the sheriff. Why go all that way? He smacked me round the head. King Richard is in the Holy Land, he told me. We're going crabbing with King Richard, I said. Another smack - a hard one. And then I got it. We were going to kill the king, not on home soil, but in the Holy Land.

I went to my room, packed for hot weather, including heat-resistant eyeliner, and then spent a sad hour touching all my favourite things in case I didn't see them again. (I also packed my bucket and spade hoping we'd have some free time after we'd brutally murdered the king).

To Marian I said very little other than I was going away for a while and that when I returned things would be better, for both her and me. (I'll bring her back a souvenir: an egg timer or a hair ornament made of sand, both if I can successfully haggle with the sellers).

***

I couldn't find Allan a-Dale anywhere. Then I did find him, out cold. Drunk, I thought at first. But no. It turned out that Marian, dressed as the NightWatchman - even though I'd made her swear she'd give up being the caped crusader - had punched Allan on the jaw.

I stormed to the war room and got an even bigger surprise - Marian tied to a chair. Was this the sheriff's latest fetish? Damn it, but I wanted to be the one to tie Marian to a chair. The sheriff told me she'd tried to kill him; that's why he'd tied her up. He wanted to know how Marian could have knocked out Allan and then had the audacity to try to skewer the Sheriff of Nottingham with a sword. I, rather stupidly, blurted out that I'd recently discovered that Marian was the NightWatchman. The sheriff exploded and I got more and more flustered, trying to explain that I'd wanted to give her another chance; that I thought her charitable instincts were misguided and didn't merit a hanging. The sheriff, in that smarmy way of his, said oh how noble, although I can't help thinking that maybe you wanted a little something in return?

Too right I did!

The sheriff called for his guards and told them to pack a trunk for Marian. She was coming with us to the Holy Land. Great, I thought. We can sit on a blanket eating delicacies and, when we'd finished, we'd draw love hearts in the sand and then nip into the dunes for a quick fumble.

***

As we trundled off towards Portsmouth, the sheriff told Marian that I'd been to the Holy Land before. At this point, there seemed no reason to deny it, so I told her it was true. You tried to kill the king, she said. I merely nodded and then quickly changed the subject because I hate being reminded of my failure in that regard. I must have talked about the weather for a good two hours or more, not an easy thing to do on a sunny day without a cloud in the sky.

Nearing sunset, we stopped at a roadside inn, where we planned to spend the night.

How many rooms? the innkeeper asked.

I opened my mouth to say one double and two singles, but the sheriff jumped in before me and said three singles. Marian was to sleep in the barn with the horses. The thought of fiddling with Marian's lady bits with the smell of horse shit going up my nostrils didn't appeal and I decided to keep a lid on my desires and sleep in a bed that night.

I slept badly, dreaming that both Marian and Allan were taking it in turns to rub my shoulders, saying that they should have let me look after them. This dream morphed into Mr Paws saying via a series of woofs that I should have walked him instead of a guard thus preventing his falling to his death from the castle battlements. Dolly Marian appeared, unable to rub my shoulders because her wooden arms were too stiff. Then Binky bear, who batted her out of the way.

I awoke with a start, Binky's name on my lips, to find the sheriff sitting on my bed, rubbing my shoulders and shushing me. He told me that Allan had lost his nerve about going to the Holy Land to help kill the king and had run away. I said I'd go after him, but the sheriff said not to, that the two of us would do just fine. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that the sheriff would also lose his nerve and run away and then there'd just be Marian and me and I could book that double room after all.