Lady Outlaw

Chapter 18

Scarborough Castle, Scarborough, North Riding of Yorkshire

It had been raining heavily since the very early hours of the morning, with no signs of it abating. The skies over Scarborough Castle were a roiling mass of grey clouds and a brisk wind swept in from the North Sea, whistling through the battlements and making the noose on the gallows, set up in the inner bailey ready for the afternoon's entertainment, whip to and fro continuously.
Guy of Gisborne stood in the castle keep's doorway, looking out at the rain-washed bailey with his arms crossed. His mood was sombre. Alice had returned to him the day before, confirming Hood's plans to rescue Allan, but Gisborne was aware that he needed to implement it from the inside of the castle, too. Vaisey was anticipating Hood's arrival, and Devereux had stepped up his guard's presence in preparation. Gisborne needed a way of distracting them without drawing attention to himself.
Leaving the shelter of the doorway, he headed out of the bailey and hurried towards the guards quarters in search of Burne. The guard had done an excellent job of keeping Alice safe on the journey to and from Filey, and Gisborne had allowed him a late start that morning as a reward. However, he needed to discuss the best way forward with someone, and, other than Alice, Burne was the only person he could trust.
The rain sluiced down the garrison walls and ran in rivulets along the walkway as Guy strode towards the guards apartments. His leathers were streaming with water by the time Burne admitted him to the dorm room that he shared with nine other guards. Luckily, he was alone.
"Sir Guy, is everything alright?" Although he had the morning off, Burne was already dressed in his guard uniform, minus the heavy chainmail, which he would don later that day.
"We need to run through the plans again," Gisborne said, keeping his voice low. "What are your arrangements with Hood?"
"He is meeting me at the postern door at mid-morning so I can update him on our plans," Burne explained. "What shall I do about the guard detail on the door?"
Gisborne thought for a moment, stroking his chin with a gloved hand, pensively. "I shall place you on the door until noon so you can speak to Hood undetected," he said. "It will free up Devereux's men to patrol the bridge and bailey. It might even be an idea to allow Hood and his men access that way so that the guards on the main barbican don't see them."
"So I should allow them in straight away?" Burne asked. "I mean, someone might recognise them if they are seen in the castle grounds."
An idea came to Gisborne, one that he knew Hood had used on a number of occasions when sneaking into Nottingham Castle. It should be easy enough to set up, but he would need to do it himself so he did not implicate Burne any further. Although the guard was loyal, it was unfair to expect him to put himself in danger for Guy and Allan.
Quickly and quietly, he outlined his plan to Burne, hoping against hope that it would work.

Allan had not slept well. It was difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position on a hard and dirty stone floor, with only a few stalks of blackened hay to cushion his body. Plus, he was filled with such intense fear and apprehension that it was virtually impossible for him to relax.
After managing mere scraps of slumber, he had abandoned all thoughts of sleep and moved to sit in the corner of the cell with his back against the wall, contemplating his life so far. He remembered his last conversation with Roana in stark clarity, and the horror on her face when he had told her about Laney. It had hurt her; he could see it written all over her face. But he had felt the urge to be honest with her extremely strongly, more so than he ever had with anyone before. She had been upset, but she hadn't turned him away. She hadn't stopped loving him, he was sure. He clung onto this belief and the small kernel of hope that it gave him. Roana wouldn't leave him here to die. She, Robin, and the gang would rescue him. Wouldn't they?
Being cooped up in here, it was impossible to prevent his thoughts from adopting a morbid tone. He had no idea what was happening on the outside, and had to rely on Gisborne for sporadic crumbs of information. Guy was adamant that the hanging would not go ahead, but Allan wasn't sure who to trust. The Sheriff had been known to bring a hanging forward to foil Robin's plans, something that would be branded on Allan's memory forever. The outlaws had been too late to save Allan's brother, Tom, after he was captured and sentenced to death for being a member of Robin's gang, and Allan would never forget the sight of his lifeless body hanging from the rampart. Although he and Tom had been at loggerheads at the time, Allan was devastated to lose him. Tom was family, after all; the only family he had left. His father was an abusive drunk who could be dead now for all Allan knew or cared, and his mother had disappeared when he was a child. Tom had been his only remaining family, and the Sheriff had taken that away from him.
Roana was his family now, along with Robin and the gang. He just hoped that they wouldn't be too late to rescue him.
There came the faint jangling of keys in the corridor outside and the heavy dungeon door creaked open. Footsteps could be heard walking towards the cells. Scrambling to his feet, Allan approached the latticed cell door and peered out. His heart sank. It was the Sheriff and Bridlington.
"Here he is - our little spy," Vaisey said, jovially. "I trust the accommodation caters to your needs."
"Oh, absolutely," Allan replied, sarcastically. He indicated the almost bare floor. "The bed was heaven, and I love waking up to rats sniffing at my face. I'll be sure to recommend this hotel once I get out of here."
Vaisey sucked in his breath, audibly, and shook his head, regretfully. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, my dear boy. I'd make the most of these delights while you can, because later today.."
He drew a finger across his throat and grinned, before mouthing, "Bye-bye."
"Of course," Bridlington said as Allan curled his lip at Vaisey. "There is a way out of here."
Allan glanced at him, quickly, and Vaisey said, in a puzzled tone, "There is?"
Bridlington approached the door and rested his hands against the latticing. He looked through the gaps, his dark brown eyes bloodshot and his blond hair tousled. He had clearly been sampling the delights of his father's wine cellar the night before, if his appearance was anything to go by. "Give me Roana and you walk free."
"What?" Vaisey snapped.
"What?" Allan said in disgust.
Bridlington nodded, complacently. "I still want to marry her. Convince her that it is the best course of action for everyone concerned, and you will walk free."
"Wait a minute," Vaisey roared. "He is my prisoner."
"He is in my father's dungeon, which means he is my father's prisoner," Bridlington said, dismissively, his eyes not leaving Allan's. "So - what do you say?"
Vaisey looked apoplectic with rage, but he couldn't possibly be angrier than Allan.
Allan pushed his face close to the door and, enunciating clearly and concisely, said, "There is no chance in hell that you are getting your hands on Roana. So, do your worst to me."
He moved away from the door and sat down in the shadows, turning his shoulder away from them. The conversation was over.
"Well, there's his answer," Vaisey sounded buoyant again. "Let's go, Bridders."
"You'll regret this," Bridlington growled in Allan's direction, and Vaisey laughed, his voice receding as he headed out of the dungeons.
"How will he regret it when he'll be dead?"
Allan sighed and put his head in his hands. He didn't want to die, but he would rather do so than allow Bridlington anywhere near Roana. It wasn't happening.
Almost immediately, there came the sound of more footsteps heading back towards his cell, and Allan sat back, resting his head against the scuffed stone wall.
"The answers still no," he shouted in exasperation.
"Oi. Look sharp, outlaw," came the dulcet tones of the jailer. "God's man 'ere to see yer."
"Who?" Allan stood with a sigh and approached the door again. A tall figure in robes stood behind the jailer in the corridor, face in shadows.
"The good friar 'ere 'as come to pray with you before, well, this afternoon." The jailer looked mildly uncomfortable.
"It's alright, mate," Allan waved them off. "Prayers aren't gonna help me."
"You'll be surprised, my child," the friar said, quietly, and Allan looked at him, sharply. In the faint light from the lit candle in the sconce on the wall, a familiar brown eye came into view, above a rounded nose and a full, straggly beard.
"Uh, alright. Let him in, jailer."
"You haven't got long," the jailer groused, his keys jangling as he unlocked the door with bad grace and shoved the door open. "They'll be comin' for yer soon."
"Then let us pray quickly, son," Little John said, entering the cell and winking at Allan.
Allan watched as the jailer walked away down the corridor. Once he was satisfied the man was out of earshot, he turned to John, relief stamped all over his face.
"Thank God you're here," he said, keeping his voice low, then gestured to John's robes. "Literally. Where'd you get this from?"
"Gisborne," John replied. Allan raised his eyebrows in mild surprise and John glowered. "Don't ask."
Allan muffled a laugh. "Fair enough. Where's Robin?"
"Posing as a leper out in the bailey." This time, they both choked back their mirth, and John continued with a grin on his face. "We are friars from the local monastery with our leper friends, visiting Scarborough to offer counselling to the good people of the town, who are here to watch an innocent man hang."
Allan shrugged. "Less of the innocent."
"... watch a MAN hang."
Allan grinned and nodded. "That's better. Is Ro here?"
"Of course she is," Little John whispered. "She's our archer on the wall walk."
Allan felt a wave of relief wash over him, and the weight on his shoulders lifted instantly. Suddenly, he felt that he could handle anything. Yes, he was a condemned man, waiting in the dungeons to be executed, but he had friends who wouldn't turn their backs on him, and he had the love of a woman who would risk her own life to save him. He couldn't want for anything more.
"Alright, what's that plan?"

The inner bailey was teeming with activity. People crowded around the gallows, talking in groups or standing alone, waiting in anticipation for the afternoon's entertainment. The guard presence was unusually high, with guards stationed at interims throughout the area, quiet and watchful islands in a sea of over-excited people. A raised platform had been erected against the side of the tower, sheltered from the steady drizzle by a canopy decorated with Devereux's coat of arms, and surrounded by wooden barriers and a row of deadpan guards. On this, the nobility sat on beautifully chairs carved from walnut. Prince John occupied centre space, flanked by Vaisey on his left side and Devereux on his right. A bored-looking woman and Bridlington were seated to Devereux's right; on Vaisey's left sat Gisborne, who appeared unsettled, sitting on the edge of his chair with his chin in his right hand. His index finger tapped his cheek, restlessly.
Allan, being escorted up from the dungeons by the jailer and two guards, caught Guy's eye, and the black knight acknowledged him with an imperceptible pause of his finger-tapping.
Allan looked away and towards the gallows. His stomach was churning and he felt sick as the noose caught his eye, swaying in the sea breeze. Turning his head away deliberately, he glanced out over the surging crowd, who were now jeering and shouting abuse at him. He desperately searched the faces for someone familiar, but there were too many people, too much activity.
Blinking, he allowed himself to be yanked forward by the jailer towards the gallows. Someone threw a mouldy cabbage at him and it splattered against his leg. Allan shook it off, scowling in the direction it had come from, and looked into Will's familiar green eyes. He gave him a nod and melted back into the crowd. Relieved, Allan allowed himself to be dragged onwards.
The rain began again in earnest and a sharp wind blew through the bailey, taking the jeering crowd by surprise and whipping the canopy covering the raised platform into a frenzy. Stepping up onto the gallows, Allan eyed the noose, which was swinging from side-to-side. His throat was suddenly dry, and he looked out quickly, over the heads of the people gathered below and at the hooded figure stood on the wall-walk, bow in hand, tucked into the side of the turret to avoid detection. Roana.
He quickly ran his gaze along the rampart and spotted two guards further along the rampart. Much and Djaq. On the right hand side of the bailey, a figure swaddled in rags which covered the head and the lower half of the face, and a robe that reached to the ground, lurched along the wall-walk, carrying a bundle of sticks that concealed a Saracen's bow to all but those who knew where to look. Robin.
Adrenaline began to course through Allan's veins and he returned his gaze to Roana, who had moved forward slightly as the executioner placed the noose around his neck.
Over on the raised platform, the Sheriff of Yorkshire had stood and walked to the front to address the crowd. He was a well-built man with thinning grey hair, combed back over his head. His dark coloured eyes were the only physical attributes that he shared with Bridlington, and they stared out over the assembled crowd, coldly.
"People of Scarborough," he called out, authoritatively. The crowd quietened immediately, and the drummers lined up against the keep wall began to beat a steady tattoo, adding tension to the proceedings.
"By order of Prince John, we will today punish the man before you for his misdemeanours as an outlaw," Devereux continued, reading from the scroll in his hands. "He has stolen, lied, and committed heinous crimes against the king and country in the shire of Nottingham, and for that, he will hang." The crowd began to murmur, excitedly, as Devereux turned to face Allan on the gallows. "Allan A Dale of Nottingham, for the crimes mentioned, you will on this day, 14th August 1193, hang by the neck until you are dead."
Allan looked around wildly and saw Roana nock an arrow, raising her bow. He braced himself, holding his breath, terror racing through his veins.
"Stop!" The voice rang out, clear as a bell, slicing through the tension like a knife. The atmosphere in the bailey was suddenly one of confusion as the drumming stopped and people looked around, bewildered.
Up on the platform, the formerly bored-looking woman was on her feet, an expression of distress marring her lovely features. Beside her, Prince John looked disgruntled; Devereux approached her and spoke to her, soothingly, but she pushed him aside.
"Do NOT hang that man." She stepped off the platform, waving aside the helping hands of the guards, and began to move through the crowd towards the gallows. Allan watched her progress in puzzlement, noting how the people made room for her to pass with respect and a touch of fear.
Reaching the gallows, she stopped below him and looked up, her face pale and her long, chestnut locks already darkened by the rain. She met his baffled gaze with her own, a mixture of wonder and amazement clearly evident on her features.
"Allan?"
With dawning realisation, Allan looked into cerulean blue eyes identical to his own. His stomach somersaulted with shock.
"Ma?"