The Locksley Dagger, Part 2

I thought I'd dreamt the whole thing till just a few minutes ago, but here it was in the cubes. All right: One end of this time rift was in Nottinghamshire, England, in AD 1195. And the time hook we were looking for was called the Locksley Dagger, a family heirloom. And I did know -- and the TARDIS computer confirmed -- that if Robin Hood had existed, he may have been one Robin of Locksley... or Lockesly, or Loxley. Or Robert of Huntington. Or Sir Robert Hoyd...

Anyway, it would be fun. I got to dress up again, like a medieval woodsman this time -- in woolen leggings and tunic, and leather jerkin and boots, all in mossy greens and earthy browns. And I'd even convinced the Doctor to play along...

The inner door opened, and the Doctor stepped in, and I gasped in delight. He was taking playing along seriously. From his hooded surcoat to the belt draped around his hips to his knee-high boots, he was drenched in vermillion and rusty red and cream and sandy brown -- darker cousins of his cricketing colours. He walked toward me, the surcoat swaying and his leggings pulled taut, tantalizing me with hints of the lean body under all that leather and muslin and wool.

His fingers under my chin returned my mouth to its usual closed position, and he leaned down to kiss me softly, quickly.

"You look wonderful," I breathed.

A whisper: "Thank you."

"Except for this." I tapped the long sword slung through the Doctor's belt.

"Strictly part of the costume, Ayren. I have no intention of using it."

"I hope not."

He smiled. "Are we on course?"

"Central England, late medieval period. Arrival imminent." I smiled then. "You don't really think we're going to meet Robin Hood, do you?"

His eyes searched my face for a moment, then looked upward, remembering. "Absolutely ages ago, I had a little holiday in Palestine with King Richard the Lionheart, and he did mention to me a Lord Locksley whom he considered a trusted ally -- even if he was Saxon."

I tugged playfully on his belt. "But just because there was a man named Locksley doesn't mean he was Robin in the Hood."

He considered this. "Ayren, there are places and times where Time Lords and TARDISes are considered myths, fiction." Grin. "But they're real, aren't they? Legends do have a basis in reality."

I was just teasing him now. "Yes, but--"

"Oh, I don't know if Robin Hood existed." He sighed with exasperation. "But wouldn't you like to meet a legend?"

"Well, apparently I already have."

He was trying to come up with a response to that, I could see, when the TARDIS threw us off our feet.

I tried to grab the console -- it spun around in front of me -- and the Doctor in his tumbling managed to kick me in the back. And then the ship stopped moving, seemed to hover for a moment while the Doctor and I exchanged wild-eyed stares, and then landed with a thud, as if it had fallen from two stories up.

I pulled myself up to peer over the edge of the console. The time rotor was dark and still.

The Doctor crawled across the floor, grasping my ankle as he came into reach. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." I nodded, catching my breath, glad to see he was uninjured. "What happened? Did we make it?"

He climbed to his knees before the console and punched at a keyboard, then he sighed. "It's 11:15am, Saturday, September fourteenth--" A glance at me and an embarrassed smile. "--1991."

"I see." I tried not to laugh. "Are we in Nottingham, at least?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment, then, quietly: "We're just outside New York City."

I did laugh then but sobered up quickly as it struck me. "A place called Sterling Forest?"

He checked the screen. "Yes... in the town of Tuxedo, New York."

"That's the other end of the time rift."

"So it is." His brows furrowed suddenly. "It couldn't be..." and he scrambled to his feet and pounded buttons on the other side of the console. "Impossible!"

"What?"

"The time rift is here."

"But I thought--"

"Yes, so did I." Then he brightened up and smiled and checked the instruments again. "But it's stable -- I suppose that's something. And since we're here, we may as well start at this end."

I fingered my tunic with disappointment. "We're not exactly dressed the part now, are we?"

I heard the viewscreen open and the Doctor laugh. "Oh yes we are." But he closed the screen again before I could get up off the floor to look at it. "You'll see," he said with a grin.

We stepped out onto a wide dirt path, drawing interested and bemused looks from the people strolling along it. "Hey, cool," a teenaged boy -- dressed in a bathrobe and carrying a long wooden staff -- called to us, giving us the thumbs-up. "I like your magic box, good sir knight." A man with long, wild hair, covered with mud and dressed only in short trousers, pushed a wooden wheelbarrow slowly along the path, his bare feet slapping on the hard dirt. "Bring out yer dead!" he drawled. "Bring out yer dead!" Three young women wearing jeans and T-shirts and running shoes passed by -- one of them croaked, "I'm not dead!" and they all laughed.

"Well, it's nowhere near as accurate as the historical re-creations we have at home," I commented. "That contemporary dress would never have been allowed."

The Doctor threw up his hands. "It's a Renaissance festival, Ayren! A celebration of the pomp and ceremony and adventure and romance of a bygone age. It's meant to be fun." He looked sad when I didn't imitate his enthusiasm. "And we even have English weather," glancing up at the overcast sky and waving his hand as if to point to the damp, chilly air.

I smiled at him and took his hand.

We explored the craft booths along either side of the path -- there was silver and pewter jewellry, dragons and pixies hanging on chains, earrings shaped like keys and hearts and swords and crossbows, claddaugh rings and pendants; sculptures of wizards and angels and knights on horseback, in plaster and metal and wood; capes and cloaks and coats in wool and leather; boxes and mirrors and suncatchers in stained glass; wind chimes and bells that sang in the breeze; hats! big floppy woolen hats in burgundy and black and royal blue with long peacock feathers jutting from them, crowns of dried flowers with long, streaming ribbons, peaked fairy-princess caps in pastels, improbable green felt triangular caps alleged to have been favored by Robin Hood himself; boots of sumptuous suede and leather that were more like something the outlaw of Sherwood would have worn; hand puppets and marionettes and dolls. In one booth a woman was painting elaborate designs on a child's face; a string of giggly youngsters, waiting their turn, was queued up with tired-looking parents. A young man in another booth wore an orange T-shirt with 14TH NEW YORK RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL emblazoned on it; he hawked T-shirts and mugs and posters covered with the same logo.

I watched the festival's attendees -- some were in contemporary street clothing; others made halfhearted attempts to dress for the period, like the wizard in the bathrobe. Few people were fully costumed, the Doctor and I among them; we garnered questions and comments and inspired a certain awe, it seemed -- crowds parted for us, or perhaps they were only standing back to take a look. When I remembered, I tried to inconspicuously examine those costumed -- one might be wearing the Locksley Dagger on a belt or in a boot. I didn't find it.

But the Doctor was right -- it was fun.

We passed the last of the booths and came upon a crowd gathered on a grassy knoll -- with some rather impolite pushes and shoves we got close enough to see what was going on; I was getting too caught up in it all to bear missing anything.

Soldiers in black leather, a band of them, all but their leader with swords drawn, brandishing them in the direction of a woman in a regal, bejewelled gown -- she stood tall and proud, and spit on the ground before the soldiers' leader.

"I would sooner marry a pig than you," she called, a mocking grin on her face, "and have swill for my wedding feast!"

The crowd roared with laughter...

...as did the soldiers, and their leader swung on them, his eyes wide at their betrayal. "She jests, you imbeciles! It is only her loving sport -- once we're married, I'll tame her." The soldiers guffawed again, this time at the woman.

"The sheriff of Nottingham?" the Doctor whispered to me.

"Aye, mayhaps, and the lady Marian," I whispered back.

And then a man with long, curly blond hair, green leggings and a brown tunic jumped into the clearing next to Marian, waving his longbow as he shouted, "Ho, there!"

The crowd cheered.

Lady Marian's hand flew to her chest as she stepped back from him. "Who are you?" she demanded.

He bowed. "Robin Hood, late the Earl of Huntington, at your service, my lady. Do these Norman swine hinder your passage through Sherwood?"

She had recovered her composure but still looked at Robin with moon eyes. "They do indeed, my lord."

The sheriff was having an apoplectic fit for the benefit of his immobile soldiers. "After him, you idiots!" But as they came to life again, half a dozen bowmen appeared from the trees behind Robin, arrows cocked and ready to fly, and the soldiers stood down. Robin whisked Marian away under the bowmen's cover, and the sheriff was left burying his face in his hands. "Ggrrrrr," and a stomp of frustration.

The crowd went wild with applause and laughter -- and then began to disperse. "Oh," I said with a sigh. "What happens next?"

The Doctor shrugged, but a child who barely came up to the Doctor's waist overheard me and turned to us -- he was wearing black tights and tiny boots and a plastic sword and a too-big T-shirt that said I STEAL FROM THE RICH AND GIVE TO PUBLIC TELEVISION. "In a little while Robin meets Little John and they have a fight but then they're friends, and then Robin and Will Scarlett rescue Jenny from the sheriff's men, and then later there's a joust, but don't worry 'cause Robin always wins."

I crouched down to the boy's level and smiled. "Thank you. You must be one of Robin's bravest men. What's your name?"

He giggled. "Littler John," and then he was suddenly shy and ran away.

The Doctor and I headed toward another cluster of craft booths. "This looks promising," he said.

Here were the weapons and armor vendors, their booths full of daggers and dirks and hunting knives; broadswords, claymores, epees, foils, sabres; tunics and hoods and gloves of chain mail. We searched each booth carefully, without seeming to, looking for a dagger with a plain ebony hilt and a black leather sheath -- the time hook -- and had our hopes raised several times when a knife here or there appeared be the one, and had them dashed when the knives differed in some detail.

We wandered around the fairgrounds, watching glassblowers and blacksmiths demonstrate their crafts, listening to the itinerant minstrels, and all the time looking for the Locksley Dagger. We caught the tail end of Robin Hood's battle with Little John on a wooden bridge over a small lake. Their staffs were lying discarded on the bridge, and John was dangling the kicking Robin over the edge of the bridge, threatening to dunk Robin. The crowd was screaming with delight and giving John the thumbs-down, but John ignored them and dropped Robin to his feet -- I wondered if Robin did indeed get dunked on warmer days.

The Doctor pointed to one of the actors, a man in brown leggings and red tunic at Robin Hood's side. "Ayren, do you see the dagger at his waist?"

"Ah. Do you think...?"

The crowd was thinning out now that the show was, for the moment, over, but the Doctor and I lingered, and our clothing finally caught the attention of the band of actors. They approached us.

"Strange attire for a woman of obvious noble birth," the man in red said to me with a charming smile, sweeping my hand to his lips. "Will Scarlett, at your service, my lady."

I nodded seriously, thinking fast. "I am Erin of Yorkshire, late a king's forester in Sherwood, now outlaw."

"Outlaw?" Robin Hood asked with a grin. "How so?"

"Alas" -- I rolled my eyes at the Doctor, his head bowed in greeting to the outlaw band as, I hoped, he got a look at the dagger -- "I fell in love with the renegade Duke of Gallifrey, upon whose head the good sheriff has placed a price, and I am guilty by mere association."

"Gallifrey?" Little John asked. "Where's that?"

"Near Aquitaine, is it not?" Will Scarlett said.

"Ah." Little John nodded.

"A lady forester and a renegade Norman duke! 'Tis a day for surprises, lads." Robin Hood gave a little laugh, his eyes bright with delight, and then he held up a hand for silence. "I beg your forgiveness, my lady, my lord, but I hear the sheriff's incompetent soldiers stomping through the forest. We must away! Fare thee well!" He waved to his band, and they followed him down the path, leaving us alone in the shadowy clearing.

"Was it--?" I began.

"No. The hilt was brown." His disappointment gave way to a grin. "Duke of Gallifrey? And why, pray tell, has the sheriff placed a price on my head?"

"You killed his captain, Guy of Gisbourne," I blurted without thinking, and clapped a hand to my mouth in horror. The unbidden words came with a sudden vision: a fair man in a bright blue cloak, sprawled lifeless in flickering shadows on a stone floor.

"Ayren--" The Doctor laughed uneasily, squeezing my shoulder. "--you sound like you mean it."

"Sorry," I said, and breathed again. "This place is really seeping into my imagination."

But the image of the azure cloak and the smoky gray stones chilled me, and the feeling didn't leave until we came to the food stalls. Then the aromas of barbecued chicken and corn on the cob and meat pies and a dozen other delicious-smelling things I couldn't even identify overwhelmed me, and it felt like a year since we'd had breakfast on the TARDIS.

"Oh, I'm starved. Let's go back to the TARDIS and get something to eat."

"Let's eat here," the Doctor said, gathering up a pouch hanging from his belt.

"You've got currency from this period?"

He raised an eyebrow at my surprise. "Well, I dug around into some old trouser pockets."

"But we weren't even supposed to come here."

"We might have had to eventually." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I've also got some silver marks that may do us some good if we ever get to Nottingham." He bounced the pouch in his hand, jangling coins. "Now, what do you want to eat?"

The Doctor went to stand in a food queue while I searched for a place to sit and found a long wooden table occupied only by two women at the edge of the crowded eating area. "Are these seats taken?" I asked, indicating the empty end of the table.

They shook their heads as they chewed at meat pies. "Help yourself," one said. She was young -- younger than my thirty years -- fair skinned and redheaded, and she smiled easily. "I'm sure you've been getting this all day," she said, "but that is a great costume."

"Thank you." I classed her and her friend in the somewhat-costumed category -- both wore the kind of billowy linen shirt that laced up the front that swashbucklers were supposed to favour, and dangerous-looking swords and longbows dangled from their ears.

"It's very authentic," the second woman said to me. She was older than me, her dark hair heavily streaked with silvery gray, and her eyes were large and friendly behind her spectacles. "Like Will Scarlett's," she added to her friend.

The red-haired woman rolled her eyes and sighed. "God, he was so cute."

I was confused. "I thought all the actors' costumes looked very authentic."

"He wasn't one of the actors," the older woman explained. "He was just wandering around -- he asked if we could direct him to the Nottingham road."

I nodded to let them know I was listening -- and I could almost feel the gears of suspicion turning in my head.

"He was so into it," the younger woman said. "He should have decided whether he was Will Scarlett or William of Locksley" -- that startled me -- "but other than that he was perfect -- his clothes were perfect. I mean, his boots were old and beat up, and he had this great vest that was covered with red lions... Oh, and his cape! It was a patchwork of different kinds of red cloth. God! It was great."

Her friend scowled playfully. "Oh, come on. You wanted to get him out of his clothes."

The younger woman half shrugged, half nodded. "Well, yeah." And then she sucked in her breath and grabbed her friend's arm across the table. "Oh. My. God. I'm in love."

I turned to see who had caught her attention so -- and saw the Doctor sauntering toward us, his blond hair lifted by the breeze, his surcoat fluttering around him, his sword slapping against his thigh. He was delicious.

I looked back at the redheaded woman, her eyes wide and her mouth open, and saw, for the first time, something of my mother in her face -- and it struck me that this woman could very well be one of my ancestors. "So am I," I said to her, very gently.

It took a moment for her to realize what I was saying. "He's yours?"

I couldn't resist smiling.

The gray-haired woman shrugged when her friend turned incredulous eyes on her. "We could kill her," she said casually to the younger woman.

"Nah. Let's just whack her on the head and steal him."

I stared at them, mortified, tensed and ready to run for my life -- and then I understood that they were joking. But what a thing to joke about!

"Hello." The Doctor placed two heaping plates on the table, smiled his dazzling smile, and sat down across from me, next to the redheaded woman. "Did I miss anything?"

"I think these women may have seen our friend," I said, biting back a grin -- the younger woman was staring at the Doctor with unabashed lust on her face, but he was looking at me and didn't see her.

"Our fri-- Ah. Where?"

"Will Scarlett, you mean?" the older woman asked. "He was over near the fortune tellers, maybe half an hour ago." She glanced at her wristwatch then as she kicked her friend under the table. "We'd better get going, if we're gonna catch Instant Shakespeare."

"Uh, yeah." They cleaned up the remains of their lunch, the red-haired woman lingering to steal glances at the oblivious Doctor. Her friend finally dragged her away, the pair of them giggling, the younger woman looking back until the crowd swallowed them up.

"What is so funny?" the Doctor asked around mouthfuls of fish and chips.

I smothered a laugh. "Nothing."

While we ate, I relayed what the women had told me. "If he really is a Locksley, he could very well have the time hook. He might have traveled along the time rift."

"So let's go."

Will

I am in Hell.

This was the only explanation I could make for myself. For all the times I had cursed Robin of Locksley to Hell, I was now here myself.

I was walking through a nightmare. There were people everywhere, more people than I had ever seen -- more than in the old village in the trees in Sherwood, more than at the hanging of our men at Nottingham Castle. People dressed like they wanted to die, in foolish, flimsy, bright clothing that would do nothing to deflect blades or arrows or disguise them in the forest. They carried no weapons, but I kept my hand on my dagger -- there were demons among them. One "man" jostled me, and I looked up into his face -- where his eyes should have been were large silvery circles; I saw my own reflection in them before I jumped back and fell in the dirt path.

"Chilout dood," the demon said. A hex? I saw now that there were letters on his shirt, but I could not read -- it could have been a spell. I stayed away from him.

Large, roaring creatures flew overhead several times, high in the sky. The air itself tasted dirty, foul. What place could this be but Hell?

I started once, when I heard my name called above the crowd's din. "Scarlett!" It was a man's voice, and when I tracked it to its source, I found a pack of the strange people gathered to watch a band of men more sensibly dressed for the forest facing off against a band of men in black leather armor. One of the men in black was dragging a squirming girl away.

"Sheriff!" one of the forest men shouted. "You must release my Jenny! What will I do without my beloved?"

A bored-looking man in black said, "Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn," as he examined his fingernails.

The crowd laughed, and coward though I was, I was the only one who stepped forward, intending to come to the girl's aid. And I stopped again as it struck me like a slap: the forest men and the soldiers were mummers. That man, who spoke like a boy-loving Norman, was meant to be me... That skinny weasel was meant to be John, by virtue of the fact that he carried a staff... There was not a one who even distantly resembled Robin, that preening fop could never be the sheriff, and I would not believe for a moment that the scrawny little girl could be Jenny MacReynolds, who couldn't even hide her shape in her loose work clothes.

"Hell is full of bad mummers," I said to no one, snickering to myself.

Aromas from the food stalls were making my stomach rumble -- good thing there were hawkers in Hell. I had a few silver pennies but none of the pieces of paper I saw these demon-people buying trinkets and talismans and food with. Fake it. I found a trampled piece of paper on the ground and headed for a food stall.

I smiled at the hawker and pointed to the monstrous chicken legs on the fire. He handed me one, and I held out the piece of paper and tried to look innocent.

"Yareel cumeadien," he snarled, and grabbed the leg back from me. "Beetit yapunk."

Another hex. I sneered at him, and when he turned away, I snatched another leg and ran.

That convinced me it was time to get away from here. I asked several people where I could find the Nottingham road -- on the off chance that I was not in Hell -- but no one knew.

I was sitting under a tree, sulking and wishing I'd gone back to the camp with Jenny, when a flash of heraldic red through the trees caught my eye. Leaning over, I peered down the path -- and nearly cried out. Finally, someone from home: a tall, blond nobleman, standing at the door of a fortune teller's hut. I tried to look casual, walking down the path, but I kept my hand on my dagger, just in case.

What's happening? I crept up and peered past him into the tiny hut. A gypsy in brightly colored rags, his long dark hair pulled back, was holding a woman's hand and staring into her palm. His eyes widened and then he blinked and shook his head.

"No, no," the gypsy said as he folded the woman's hand into a fist. "I will not read your future."

"Why?" The woman frowned. "What's wrong?"

The gypsy turned away. "Please. Here" -- he held out a piece of the money paper to the woman -- "I will not take this. Go."

"Come on, sweet," the nobleman said, but when the woman came to him, she looked straight past him to stare at me -- and then the man turned around.

"Ah... my lord," I said, bowing. "I'm Will Scar-- William of Locksley." The name would carry more weight. "Do you know where I might find the Nottingham road?"

Both of them stared at me for a long moment -- I tightened my grip on my dagger -- and then they looked at one another and smiled.

"I'm, er, the Duke of Gallifrey," the man said, "and this is... Erin of Yorkshire." She was dressed like a peasant woodsman, but she held herself tall and straight and had a face like a noblewoman -- she was probably some lord's daughter, running away from the prospect of marriage or a nunnery, thinking she could disguise herself among the serfs.

"My lord, my lady." Bow again. "What is this place?"

The duke sighed. "Hmm. That would be rather difficult to explain, but I can get you home again." My hand at my waist drew his attention. "Could I take a look at your dagger?"

His sword was a lot bigger than my dagger -- he'd probably take it by force if I refused, so I gave it to him and shifted my feet as they examined it.

"It looks so ordinary," the woman said -- she spoke like a noblewoman, too. "Is this it?"

"It certainly is," the duke said. "Will, do you remember where you were when you... arrived here?"

I nodded and waited an uneasy second, but he didn't offer my knife back, so I led them to the clearing in the trees where I found myself this morning.

The duke glanced around, mysteriously satisfied. "All right -- hang on to me, you two."

Is the duke a sorcerer? As long as he got me home, I didn't care. I took the duke's arm as I saw Erin do on his other side. She smiled at me.

The duke was fiddling with my dagger -- trying to twist the hilt, pushing the top of the hilt -- and now I wondered about his sanity. "There should be a reverse switch here somewhere," he muttered.

"Perhaps the sheath is part of it?" the woman said.

"Ah. Excellent idea. Will?"

Definitely mad, the pair of them. But I unbuckled the sheath from my belt and gave it to the duke -- it had no use without the dagger anyway.

"Right -- hold on." The duke slid the dagger into its sheath and held his breath like he expected something to happen.

A drop of rain splatted me in the face.

The duke sighed. "Okay, reverse." He slipped the dagger out of the sheath, turned the sheath around and slipped the dagger back in. "This could be a bit--"

I was blind suddenly. The ground dropped out from beneath our feet, and as we fell and fell, I clung to the duke's arm and at the same time wondered what would happen if I let go. I didn't try it. I think I screamed.

"--disorientating."

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the cold ground... I was lying on the duke's boot.

"If you wouldn't mind, Will," he huffed.

"Sorry."

He stood and helped Erin to her feet -- I lounged on the damp grass and breathed fog into the clean, sweet, cool air. Home.

"I assume this is where you started, Will?" the duke asked.

"Yes. This is Locksley Castle." I watched quarrymen haul stones up its crumbling parapets and mortar mixers stirring their paste in huge barrels.

"What happened?" Erin asked.

"Guy of Gisbourne and the sheriff of Nottingham burned it down." I glanced at the grave a few feet away. "And killed my father."

Softly, she said, "I'm sorry..."

With a shrug, I looked pointedly at my dagger, still in the duke's hands. "My brother shed Nottingham's blood with that blade."

The duke squatted next to me. "Then you should look after it well," and he handed it back to me.

"What about Gisbourne?" Erin asked.

"He's dead," I snorted. "And the sheriff." The woman seemed to sigh with relief.

"Will Scarlett! There you are, you daft bugger!"

Bloody hell. I closed my eyes, lay back and groaned rather than watch Angus MacReynolds stomp across the field. When he kicked me I looked up at him -- his eyes were as red as his beard, and cold breath steamed from his nostrils.

"Lord Locksley -- and our Jenny -- have been looking for you all day." I'd long given up hope that the Master Engineer for the rebuilding of Locksley Castle would be too busy to notice me slipping into the woods with Jenny now and again -- though I think he worried more that I was distracting his only apprentice, not his only daughter. I got to my feet, hoping to make a better impression, but the top of my head barely came to his chin -- I still had to look up at him.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, my lady." MacReynolds bowed to the duke and Erin -- and then his broad palm like a plank of wood smacked me in the head. "You get yourself back to Nottingham before his lordship sends out the guard for you."

I held my tongue only because I didn't want another smack. If his lordship really considered me his brother, his lordship's vassals would not feel free to smack me in the first place. I stalked toward the road muttering to myself -- and then I remembered the duke and Erin. He seemed to be staring around at nothing in particular, and she was engaged in a lively conversation with MacReynolds. Perhaps the duke was a sorcerer, but he had gotten me home -- and it would be only civil to rescue the lady before MacReynolds began explaining his new theories on the uses of limestone.

"My lord, my lady," I called. "We have no transportation, but Nottingham Castle is but two leagues." Robin's hospitality seemed a fair reward for guiding me back from Hell.

"Can I ask where you got your dagger, Will?" the duke asked as we walked. "It's just that I'm interested in acquiring a similar one."

"You're out of luck, then. My brother gave it to me -- he says it's been in the Locksley family for a hundred years." With a snort I said, "He just discovered recently that we shared the same father, and I don't think he likes it very much. I think he thought that if he gave me something that was Locksley I'd go away." I laughed. "Maybe there's another dagger around. Maybe if you told him you were a Locksley, too, he'd give it to you." Shut up! My tongue was wagging like it was loosened with mead and I was talking to Tuck or Jenny or Azeem. This man is a duke! "Where is Gallifrey, anyway?" I asked.

"Um, near Aquitaine."

And a Norman! "I suppose you've heard all the stories about 'Robin Hood' even there," I said, clenching my fists. "Well, he's not eight feet tall, he didn't bring an army of Saracens back from Palestine, and he cannot geld a horse with an arrow from half a mile away."

"And the rest of the stories?" Erin of Yorkshire asked, her voice teasing.

I scowled at her. "They're probably true."

[Part 3]