THE TASTE OF SOOT

By Jo and Bridgid

It was a beautiful morning and Robert decided he would scout a bit further than usual. He circled far around the outskirts of the Glen, keeping as much as possible to thicker woodlands. He was surprised as he went at the nice homes nestled here and there, some of them quite separate from the town. Stopping at the edge of a particular section of woods, he smiled at the sight of an old mill by a pond. It looked entirely English and he stood there, admiring the structure.

A young woman drove up and parked so he faded just a bit more back into the shadows. Her arms were full of flowers and she called out to a young dog on a cable, "Hey, there, Merry! Let me put these inside and then I'll come get you."

Ahnna, arriving home from her visit with Joimus at the Greenery, figured Alistair would be in his office and as that had a separate door, she went there to show him her flowers. She opened the door and a thick, black smoke billowed out. Immediately she began coughing and dropped the flowers, screaming, "Alistair! ALISTAIR!!"

He had to be in there since his car was home and he'd never go off and leave Merry on the cable anyway, not unless he was right inside. She tried to take a step in the door, still screaming his name, as the smoke began to rise up and out into the blue sky.

Bridgid had just stabled Skipper when she noticed the smell. Smoke in the vicinity of a barn was bad news. She began checking around the Meridius barn and within moments ran into East who was doing the same.

They came through the front doors of the barn together and it was hard to miss. Black smoke billowed from behind the trees and they both knew it was the mill.

"Go get Joi, East! Tell her to call the fire department and have them bring my gear with them! I'm going right over there!"

He ran toward the house and she pulled Skipper from his stall. Mounting him bareback and bridled she brought him to a gallop toward the mill. The sound of sirens could be heard the moment she arrived on the scene.

As soon as the woman opened the door and he saw the smoke, Robert was sprinting across the yard toward the mill. He grabbed the young woman by her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. "My husband!" she moaned, out of her mind with fear. "My husband's in there!!"

Robert turned his head away from the door, sucking in a huge lungful of air, then lunged into the small room. In less than a second his eyes stung so terribly he could barely keep them open. The smoke filled the area and he could see nothing. He fell over a small table, landing hard on his knees. Where was the man? Where?? His hands found the footrest of the recliner and feeling up it, came to a pair of shoes. Quickly he stood, leaned over and grabbed the man up, slinging him over his shoulder. Robert was coughing hard, trying not to breathe, but the gas was starting to get to him and he felt dizzy, disoriented. He moved straight into the desk, almost fell again, then found the open doorway.

Bridgid had come up behind Ahnna, holding her back from trying to enter the room.

"Oh, Bridgid!" she cried, her voice cracking with hysteria. "Alistair’s in there! He’s IN there!" Her whole body was shaking. "Some…some man went in."

"Who?" Bridgid asked.

"I don’t know! I don’t know! I never saw him before. He…he just was…was…here, and…and he went in."

Ahnna watched, her hands clenched into tight fists, waiting for the man to come out with Alistair. It seemed to be taking forever. Then she became aware of the sounds of sirens getting closer. "Thank God," she moaned. "Oh, thank GOD!"

Just then Robert staggered out the door onto the small stone stoop. He swayed there a moment, then simply fell off to the left side, Alistair sliding from his shoulder and landing on his back in the phlox. Robert found himself on his hands and knees beside the man, coughing and vomiting over and over.

Ahnna ran up, flinging herself down beside Alistair just as the rescue truck screeched to a halt. "A...Alistair?" she murmured, touching his face. There was no response so she leaned closer. Oh, God...he was barely breathing. Was he breathing? She lost all awareness of Bridgid, of the man, of the medics running up. There was only Alistair, and sobbing, she put her mouth on his, frantically intending to start some sort of CPR but entirely forgetting in her desperation just what it was she was supposed to do. In the mere second before Bridgid pulled her back, she tasted the soot from his lips. That was all. Soot. Then someone was guiding her gently back and away from Alistair.

It was Tom and Steve's day off.

Two medics, Jerry and Angela who had been stationed at the Glen Fire Department arrived with the ambo and the fire engine. The firefighters went to work on the mill while the two medics took care of Alistair.

"He's in respiratory arrest, mate." Jerry said to his partner.

"Any burns in the airway?"

"Negative."

"Let's tube him then."

Angela handed the implements to Jerry. He inserted the laryngeal scope into Alistair's airway, placing the stylet and tube that would be used to fill his lungs right between his vocal cords. He got it in one shot, then he inflated the little cuff to keep the airway open. Angela listened to Alistair's lungs to make sure there was air going into them as Jerry squeezed the ambu-bag to force some air in. She nodded her head, indicating that he'd positioned things just right.

Jerry kept Alistair breathing while Angela started an IV to keep him hydrated. With the help of one of the volunteer firefighters they got Alistair into the ambulance and prepared to take him to the hospital in Coffs, letting Ahnna ride along in the front seat.

The rest of the team made quick work of the small but smoky fire which had been confined to Alistair’s office.

Bridgid had pulled the portable oxygen off the engine and attempted to give the stranger some help.

"You need to go to the hospital, too. I've called for another ambulance to transport you to Coffs," she said as she placed the non-rebreather over his face, helping him to a seat on a near-by stump. He seemed quite dazed and sat there, slumped, sucking in the oxygen, while Bridgid went briefly to check on the progress with the fire fighters.

BATTLE IN THE ER

Robert sat on a tree stump, the oxygen mask on his face, as the woman who’d attended to him stepped briefly away. She'd told him to wait, to just sit there and breathe deeply, that they would be taking him shortly to the hospital in Coffs. He had no intention of going to any hospital anywhere. His airways and lungs still hurt like crazy and he couldn't seem to get his mind to concentrate for very long, but one thing he knew...he was not going in any ambulance.

Sucking in a last few lungsful of the oxygen, he pulled off the mask and quietly disappeared around the back of the mill, making for the nearest section of woods. Damn, but he was wobbly! He rather made his way from tree to tree, hanging on to them, to low-hanging branches for support. After about half a mile of this, he was exhausted, his vision blurring. He was going somewhere. Where was that? He shook his head, trying to clear it, only succeeding in making himself go into a paroxysm of dry heaves that tied his stomach in knots and sent him, gasping and wheezing, to his knees.

He stayed there several moments, trying to gather enough strength to stand, trying to remember just where it was he'd been and where he was going. Blind instinct drew him on toward home. He fell over and over now, his ability to keep to his feet failing him. Finally he stumbled out of the woods into the front yard of Rose Cottage, not even really knowing where he was. Again he went to his knees, leaning forward, his hands on the ground, his head hanging low.

Julie came out her front door to water the potted pale pink geraniums and saw him just as he fell. Quickly setting the watering can on a bench, she ran to him, kneeling beside him, her hand on his back. "Robert? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

His arms folded suddenly and he fell forward, his left shoulder hitting the ground, and rolled over onto his back, gasping like a landed fish. He smelled of smoke and soot and there was black smeared on his face and hands. "Robert?" He was frightening her now with his efforts to breathe.

"Have you been in a fire?" she asked. "Robert...a fire?"

Had he been in a fire? He wasn't sure. The Saracens had come, burning tents in the night. He'd pulled a man out. Was it the crossbowman from Wessex? "Man," he gasped. "Inside. Had to get man out. Had to...."

"You got a man out of a fire? Is that it, Robert?"

"Man," he nodded. "Yes, fire."

"You need medical attention, Robert. You do!"

He shook his head 'no'.

"I could take you into the Glen. They may have something there that could help."

"N...no!" he whispered. "No Glen."

"But...Robert!"

"No!" He shook his head adamantly, making his nausea worse.

"What about Coffs, then? Will you let me take you into Coffs? You can't just lie here on my lawn, for Pete's sake, Robert!"

"I...I..." The dry heaves took him again and he doubled up.

"That does it, Mister!" Julie said firmly, running into her house to get her purse and keys.
She pulled the car up as close as she could to where he lay, driving heedlessly across her lawn, crushing several foxgloves. Opening the passenger door, she managed to get him to push himself enough to haul him up onto the seat. He didn't seem quite sure what she was doing and so she had him before he could even protest. He leaned his temple against the side window and she roared off toward Coffs.

Speed limits be damned, she drove as fast as she could and still keep control of the car.
"Wh...where?" he asked once.

"You just breathe, Robert. Let me worry about where."

He kept his eyes closed most of the way, his hands lying limply at his sides, his head wobbling back and forth against the window as she took the curves. Pulling up at the emergency entrance, she got out and dashed up to a policeman standing by the glass doors. "I've got a man in the car who's having trouble breathing. He was in some sort of fire. Get me some help!!"

She ran back and opened Robert's door. He nearly fell out onto the pavement. Julie held him in his seat with her arms until a gurney burst through the ER doors and was pushed hurriedly toward them by a couple of attendants. People were grabbing at him. He didn't like it and swung an arm, striking one of the men across his chin with the back of his hand. Where was his bow? He fumbled, but couldn't seem to find it. The Saracens grabbed him, forcing him onto his back. He was so tired, too tired to fight. They had him this time. He lay quietly a moment while they wheeled him into the ER. They paused briefly in an entrance area and one of the men reached into Robert's pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Here, you'd better keep this with you, Ma'am. The hospital prefers a relative hold onto personal items if at all possible."

"But...," she started to protest, "I'm not...."

A woman seated at a desk behind an open sliding glass window, spoke up. "Ma'am, we're going to need his insurance information. Can you step over here a moment, please?"

"But...," she protested again.

"Patient's name?"

"R...Robert," she stammered, then realized she had no idea what his last name was. Good Lord, how could she have never found that out? "Just...just a moment. I'll give you his insurance card." With shaking fingers she opened his wallet. The card was right on top. She stared at it blankly. Robert Loxley it said. "Loxley? How could...?"

"What was that, Ma'am? I couldn't quite hear what you said."

"Loxley," she repeated, clearing her throat. "Robert Loxley."

"May I please see his card, Mrs. Loxley?"

"But...I...," she stopped. There was a sign on the wall behind the woman's desk stating that only relatives of patients could be with them in the ER. "H...here," she said, handing the card to the woman.

"Address?"

"Um, I, um...." She looked in his wallet, finding his driver's license. Robert Loxley. It said the same thing as his insurance card. Of course it would say the same thing!
Robert had been wheeled behind the first curtained off area to the left. Suddenly a loud bellow roared its way out of it and one of the attendants came stumbling backwards through the blue curtain, almost falling before he managed to right himself.

"Robert?" She stepped quickly around the corner, peering into the cubicle. Robert was on his feet, glaring furiously at the remaining man, his body tensed, slightly crouched. The man who'd been pushed through the curtain headed back in, accompanied by a burly male nurse.

Good God, how many Saracens were there? They just kept coming! His head was pounding and the nausea was rising again up his throat. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision, trying to make some sense of what was going on.

"Listen, Mister," the male nurse was saying. "We've got to get you on oxygen for your own good. Do you understand me? You need oxygen." In one hand he had a syringe with a sedative the doctor had quickly ordered.

Robert had his left arm up as though he were holding a shield. The Saracens were trying to back him into a corner. He swayed on his feet, knowing he couldn't hold out much longer, and his left hip hit a metal table, toppling it over, sending instruments clattering to the floor. Two of the men made a grab for Robert, but he twisted his torso, and one fell against the wall, the other into the side of the gurney and then to his knees.

A deep male voice spoke up from just behind Julie. "What is going on here?" It was Maximus, who had come to the hospital, bringing Joimus with him.

"Richard?" Robert gasped as Maximus stepped around Julie to get a better view.

"Damn it!" the man on his knees gritted, grabbing Robert's legs. Robert overbalanced and fell, not exactly what the man had intended.

Oh, God, the king was here! Robert saw the arrow heading for Richard and as he fell, forced his body forward, twisting desperately so that the barbed end embedded itself in his side and not in his king's. He fell hard, still fighting, not certain Richard was all right. The male nurse was practically atop Robert now and Robert grappled with him, trying to keep his blade from his throat.

Maximus took in the scene, recognizing it for the battle it was. "HOLD!" he shouted, coming further into the room. Every movement stopped. He looked down at Robert, who was still gripping the nurse's arms. "It is done," he said. "The day is won."

Robert released his grip, propping himself on one elbow, staring up at Maximus in wonder. "You are safe, my liege?" he panted. "Unharmed?"

"I am unharmed," Maximus replied. "Rest now, soldier."

The nurse took advantage of Robert's preoccupation and quickly injected the sedative. Robert still had an arm extended toward Maximus and kept it there a moment, his eyes locked intently with those of the man he perceived to be his king. Then he began to blink and the focus went out of his gaze. Julie hissed in a sharp breath as she watched him. His arm dropped limply and Robert lay back on the floor, his eyes closing. The three hospital personnel all let out a collective sigh of relief then moved to get Robert hefted up on the gurney again.

"Careful there!" Maximus said sharply as one man let Robert's head brush against the gurney frame. They plopped him atop the mattress and before they had even straightened his limbs, the nurse clamped on an oxygen mask.

Julie's eyes were wide, unbelieving, at what she'd just witnessed. When the man with the commanding manner and voice stepped back into the main waiting area, she followed. "How...how...did you know what to do, what would stop him?"

Maximus smiled. "Experience." He looked from the closed-again curtain to the woman. "Who is he?"

"He just saved someone from a fire," she said, not giving his name.

It was Maximus' turn to widen his eyes. "Alistair," he murmured. He turned, looking for his wife. "Joimus," he began, "we have found the man who...."

But Joimus was staring at the woman beside Maximus. Could it be? She'd read all seven, seen the jacket photos many times. "Miss St. John?" she asked. "Julianna St. John?"

A KNIGHT’S TALE

Julie looked at the blonde woman who was obviously with the imposing man she'd been talking to. Her own head was whirling. She hadn't had time to process Robert's last name nor what had just happened in the cubicle and now she'd been recognized. She sighed. Did that really matter right now? Did anything matter but what was going on with Robert?

"Yes," she nodded distractedly, too worried about Robert to avoid a certain rudeness, "but that's neither here nor there." She looked back at Maximus, opening her mouth to ask him who he was, why Robert would have taken him for....

"General Meridius!"

Maximus turned, frowning at a reporter from a Coffs newspaper. "Not now, please. I have a friend here in grave danger. Please, not now." The way he said it was not a request and the expression in his eyes made the man back off across the room.

"General Meridius?" Julie repeated. "Are you a...?"

"He is," Joimus smiled, "but that, too, is neither here nor there at the moment. I'm sorry I...."

"Her husband," Maximus spoke up, his eyes going again to the curtains, "I believe he was the man who pulled Alistair from the mill."

"Is...is this mill near the Glen?" Julie asked, never having seen it.

"Not far at all," Joimus supplied.

"Then, yes, it is most likely Robert. He, I, um...we...live near there, too."

"You do?" Joimus was surprised. "I thought I knew every...."

"Oh, um, we've not been there long." She looked back at Maximus. "I was just coming out the door a while ago when he collapsed in the front yard. Said he'd pulled a man from a fire. He's...he's not doing all that well, I'm afraid. Do you know anything about what happened?"

"Only that a man went into the mill and carried Reverend Harris out. The medics were giving him oxygen but he disappeared while they were getting Alistair into the ambulance."

"Reverend Harris?"

"Yes, he is the Glen's pastor and lives with his new wife in the mill."

Julie was on information overload. "Why," Maximus continued, "would he leave like he did when he still needed medical attention?"

She herself was not sure of that. She hadn't even known Robert's last name until a moment ago. Oh, God...Loxley. How in heaven's name could his last name be Loxley?  "He...he's a very...private...man," she offered lamely.

A nurse came up to Julie. "You can go be with your husband now," she said. "He's asleep, but you can sit with him if you like. They'll be taking him for tests shortly."

"Tests?"

"Chest x-ray, that sort of thing."

As she approached the curtain, another nurse was just leaving, several vials of blood in her hands. "You can go on in. I've finished."

The head of the gurney had been elevated to help with his breathing and Robert lay there quietly, his eyes closed, breathing oxygen. Several monitors beeped, rather irritating her jangled nerves, and she stood by the railing on his right side a while, looking down at
him. They'd gotten him in one of those horrid hospital gowns. She always hated those things, but on him, it was just terribly...wrong. A thin white blanket was pulled halfway up his chest, his arms lying at his sides, an IV hooked up to his left arm. "Oh...Robert," she sighed, brushing a lock of hair off his face.

Pulling her hand back, she let it rest high on his bare right arm, her attention then attracted by the feel of the scar that crossed it diagonally. She ran her fingertip down its length, a good nine inches or so. How could he have gotten such a thing? And what had been going through his mind when he'd tried to fight off the three men earlier?

What no one knew was that during the battle for Jaffa, Robert had been surrounded by Saracens. Richard himself had been caught in the sudden onslaught, had been unseated from Fauvel and was struggling to gain his footing just to Robert's right. A Saracen archer, finding position on a broken wall, let fly his arrow at the king. Robert, struggling with a knife-wielding Saracen, had seen the archer release his arrow, had thrown himself in front of Richard, taking the shaft in his right side. Mounted Templars had ridden up just as Robert collapsed into Richard's arms. The Saracens left alive fled back into the hills, and Richard, still kneeling, supported the form of the man who'd just saved his life.

It was that moment that had changed everything for Robert. Richard himself had carried him to his own tent, sending for his own surgeon. Robert remembered no more than the carrying, the arrival in the tent, for the surgeon's pulling out of the barbed arrowhead had
sent him spiraling down into darkness. When he came back to himself, it was night and for a long moment he lay there, his side still screaming in pain, trying to remember where he was and why. Turning his head on the small cot where he lay, he looked across the
interior space of the large tent, his eyes coming to rest on a man seated at a small table, studying what appeared to be maps, his head backlit by a torch. Who...? But there could only be one man with such a burnished glory of red-gold hair.

He tried to raise himself on one elbow to see better, but the beginning of the effort sent hot pain searing through his side and he lay back with a low moan. Richard heard and got up, walking to stand near the cot. "I am here," the king said, "because of what you did today. I shall not forget it."

And he didn't. During their time of rebuilding the wall, which Richard himself participated in with his own hands, carrying heavy stones, the king would come back to his tent, hot and tired, and when he was clean would sit and talk with Robert. A close friendship developed between the two men, and in Robert, Richard found a man with whom he could share his inmost thoughts. It was, thus, that Robert had eventually come to know what that moment on the hill as Richard had seen Jerusalem meant to the king.

As their friendship grew and the battles with the Saracen continued, Richard discovered Robert knew how to fight with a sword as well as his longbow. Eventually Richard had knighted Robert somewhere halfway between Jerusalem and Jaffa.

"Time to take him to x-ray," a male technician said, pulling open the curtain.

Julie wandered back out to the main waiting area. Ah, the couple from the Glen were still there. "How is the reverend?" Julie asked.

Maximus looked up at her, his jaw grimly set. "Not well. Not well at all," he sighed. "They fear he may not last the night."

A DEFINITE UNDERSTANDING

When Robert was done with all his tests, the doctor decided to admit him at least for overnight, explaining to Julie that he wanted to keep him on oxygen longer and also to be able to check his blood oxygen levels. "Your husband was completely disoriented by
the toxic levels of the smoke he inhaled and has quite a lot of tissue irritation, though he seems to have escaped thermal damage. I did a bronchoscopy and I think he's going to be all right. It's just a good thing he wasn't inside the building longer than he was."

"And the man he saved?"

The doctor wasn't sure 'saved' was the right word. "Well, the man he pulled out is not quite so fortunate, I'm afraid."

"Is Robert awake?"

"No," the doctor replied, a bit of a strange expression crossing his face.

"Not because of the smoke?"

"No, not that."

"But the nurse explained it was just a light sedative he gave him earlier."

"It was. Obviously too light." Again the odd expression.

"What are you saying, doctor?"

"He began to wake up during the x-ray. Seemed to think he was being attacked or something, almost choked the tech. Kept hollering something in some language I couldn't understand. Sounded like some form of old English a bit, though. Never heard the like. Anyway, when I got there, the tech was starting to turn blue so I had to give him something a lot stronger than he'd been given previously. He'll probably sleep through the night now. I hope," he added.

"Do...do you think he'll be all right, then, when he wakes up again?"

"His mind?" She nodded. "Yes, he probably should. A lot of hours of concentrated oxygen will make a big difference. His airways will be irritated for a while, though. No strenuous exercise, nothing like that. He'll need a lot of rest and it would be best if he had someone with him." He looked at Julie. "Do you have to work or will you be able to stay home with your husband?"

"I...I work from home," she stammered, trying not to look guilty at her repeated sin of omission in not stating she was not Robert's wife.

"Good!" he said. "I can probably release him a bit earlier since he'll have someone with him. We'll just wait and see how his levels are doing tomorrow and make our decision then."

"May I go to his room now?" she asked.

"Certainly," the doctor nodded, giving her directions to the floor to which Robert had been moved.

She stood in the doorway of his room, looking at him, then pulled a small chair close to the bed. Resting her forearms on the bedrail, she leaned her chin on her hands. "Oh, Robert, I hope you'll forgive me for not disabusing them for what they're thinking here. But I just couldn't have you left all alone, you know. There doesn't seem to be anybody else in all of Australia who even knows you're on the continent."

His chest rose and fell regularly, but it seemed to her there was some indefinable 'flatness' to him that came with a deep level of sedation. She wasn't sure just why that was, but she'd noticed it before with other people. Something about their presence was either deflated a bit or perhaps just sunk somehow into the mattress. Robert was such a vital man that it bothered her to see that in him and she suddenly needed to touch him, to feel his warm aliveness beneath her fingers.

She let her palm slide down the full length of his right arm then curve under his hand. Lifting his hand, she explored his fingers, one by one, it having dawned fully on her that she could freely do so. Her mind began to write as her fingertips made their way very slowly over his knuckles then turned his hand, tracing the lines of his palm. Turning it again, she studied the patterns of the veins in the back of his hand. He had several smaller scars there as though his right hand had been forward in some scene of danger.

A nurse popped in to check his monitors. "He's resting nicely, Mrs. Loxley. Just what the doctor wanted."

Loxley. There it was again. Robert Loxley. There was no way she could write of late 12th century England and not be familiar with the name of Loxley. "It can't be your actual name, your real name, Robert...can it?" she whispered. It was just too...strange. He worked with wood, lived in a forest, guarded his identity...and that identity was... Loxley?? No, that was strange, stranger than anything she'd ever thought of in her wildest authorial imaginings.

"Stop it, Julianna," she berated herself. "Next you'll be dressing him in green, for Pete's sake!" Her mouth dropped open at the thought. Robert did seem to like to wear a lot of green, now didn't he? "No," she shook her head. "No."

She studied his quiet face. Perhaps the man just had some sort of intellectual, historically-based fascination with the time period? After all, he knew more stories of the Third Crusade than anyone she'd ever met. That must be it. He was a 12th century scholar gone a bit over the top. She breathed a sigh of relief, having come to that conclusion.

Maximus knocked lightly and opened the door part way. "How is your husband?" he asked. "He has my gratitude for what he did for my friend today."

"Sleeping," she said. "They had to give him more sedation, I'm afraid."

"Did something happen?" He came more into the room, studying the man on the bed.

"In x-ray. Seems like he tried to choke the tech."

"He and modern hospital technology do not seem to get along," Maximus smiled.

She turned so she could see Maximus' face better. "The smoke, they say, affected his mental state. I'm not sure why, though, it's made him feel like he's being...attacked."

"Memories of battle can remain most vivid long after the fact."

"Battle? You really think he thought he was in the midst of some...battle?"

"So it would appear, yes."

"And you knew that?"

"I did."

"But...but you are a general, right? It would make some sense if you were in his position, but him...."

"You know, then, that he has not been in battle?"

"I...I...."  No, she did not know that. She suddenly remembered his desk. "He...he has a sword on his desk...at home he has a sword."

"Would you describe it for me?"

She did and he nodded. "Ah!" he murmured. "That makes sense."

"Makes sense? WHAT makes sense?"

"The timing."

"Timing?"

"Of why he called me Richard."

She felt dizzy. Robert had called the general Richard. "But...but he couldn't possibly have thought...."

"Could he not?"

Her mind was turning flip flops, sliding hither and yon and back again, but the man standing in front of her seemed utterly composed, as though none of this were any big deal. Indeed, he was looking at Robert with a definite fond understanding in his eyes.

"I heard you refer to your husband once as Robert," he said, turning his gaze to Julie again. "May I ask for the rest?"

"Loxley," she croaked. "His name is Robert Loxley."

A smile widened Maximus' lips. "Ah," he murmured again. "I see."

"What do...?" she began, but he turned on his heel, heading for the door.

"I must go. I do not wish to be away from news of Alistair for long."

She ran to the door, watching after him as he strode to the stairs, thinking that she'd never seen a man walk with such a total yet natural air of authority.  He turned the corner and she looked back at Robert. "What do you see, General. What in God's name do you SEE?"

REALIZATIONS OF TIME

Julie spent the night in Robert's room. There was a recliner there that was made to fold down nearly flat so someone could sleep in it and since everyone believed she was his wife, there had been no problem with her staying. She woke early, quite starved, realizing she hadn't eaten since early the day before, and so went out in search of the cafeteria.

Robert's mind was slowly swimming toward the shore of awareness. He had no idea, though, of where he was or why he was there. His eyes still closed, he lay there listening to the annoying beep of something just to his left. Moving his left hand, he discovered it had some sort of thing clamped over one finger. Using his thumb and another finger, he pushed it off. Now, where was he? His side didn't hurt from the arrow. What did hurt was his chest and throat when he breathed. That's when he became aware of the thing over his mouth and nose. That, too, ended up lying on the bed beside the finger thing. What had people been doing to him that he was not aware of? He tried to think, lying there, lids shut, trying to figure all this out.

The cot in Richard's tent. He had to be there. The last he remembered was Richard carrying him there. He'd tried to protest that it wasn't fitting for the king to be carrying him, but Richard had simply scooped him up in his long arms and walked off the battlefield. He well recalled the pain of the deeply embedded arrow and the increase of that with the jostling involved in being carried. Richard had had to make his way over crumbled walls, fallen bodies, around dead horses. He remembered the doctor pressing his palm against his ribs while he pulled the arrow's shaft with his other hand. Then pain so excruciating that a bottomless pit of it opened up beneath him, swallowing him whole.

How much time had passed since then? He seemed to have lost all track of it. But Richard was all right. He knew that much. He'd seen him, spoken with him...hadn't he? Something wasn't right. Richard had looked different, sounded different...but yet. What? It had to have been Richard. No one else had such a commanding presence, spoke with such authority. He'd been fighting off the Saracen whose curving blade was seeking his throat. Yes, that much was sure. Then he'd fallen, the arrow piercing his side, and Richard had said it was time to stop fighting. That must be when the king had carried him here. Something about it all just didn't make sense, though.

He moved his hand high on his chest. No wound had been given him there. Why did it hurt so?  Then he began to cough and that made it hurt more. His throat felt raw. He must have gotten ill while he was recovering from his wound. When the coughing stopped, he lay quietly again, listening to the sounds around him.

Julie arrived back in the room at the same time as a nurse. "Good morning, Mrs. Loxley," the nurse greeted. "Did you sleep all right in the chair?"

Mrs. Loxley? Robert stiffened, more confused than ever. Marian? Was Marian here somehow in Jaffa? No, that couldn't be right.

"Well enough," a female voice replied. "I do hope Robert gets discharged today, though."

Robert peeked out under his lashes, seeing a woman with long golden hair standing just inside a door. She looked familiar but was certainly not Marian. He hadn't thought Marian was in Jaffa anyway.

"Just let me check your husband's vitals, Mrs. Loxley, then I'll be on my way. He should be waking up any time now."

The nurse turned toward the bed and gasped. "Oh! He's taken off his oxygen mask."  Quickly she leaned across him, retrieved it, and was about to clamp it on him again when his eyes opened and a hand gripped her arm.

"Mr. Loxley!" she exclaimed, startled. "Please, just let me get this back in place."

"Why?" he asked, frowning at her.

"You need the oxygen, Mr. Loxley, after the fire and all."

"Fire? What fire?"

"Oh, Robert, don't you remember the fire at the mill? You saved the Glen's pastor." Julie was getting concerned again.

He did remember a fire. The Saracen had set some of the army's tents aflame in the night. Peter from Wessex had been trapped in one. "There was no priest in the tent," he growled.

"Not a tent, Robert, the mill...the mill at the Glen."

"The Glen?" He'd heard that term before. "Where is this place?"

"It's where we live, Robert, the Glen."

"Not that. THIS place! Where is this place?"

"The hospital? You mean the hospital? It's in Coffs Harbor, Robert. I drove you here yesterday after you collapsed on the lawn."

"Coffs? Australia? This is Australia?"

"Of course it's Australia, Robert. Where did you think you were?"

"I...I saw...Richard," he almost moaned, leaning his head back, closing his eyes again. Oh, God...Australia. Of course he was in Australia. It had been his choice to come here. But he had seen Richard. He knew he had!

"Richard? Oh, yes, Robert! Yesterday in the ER you called General Meridius by that name."

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "Can you both just leave me alone?"

"But Robert...."

He turned his head away from them. Julie and the nurse exchanged looks. "His oxygen...," the nurse murmured.

"Check with his doctor, ok?" Julie suggested. "He doesn't seem to like the mask."

She went up right beside the bed, laying a hand lightly on his right shoulder. "I'll be just down the hall in the waiting room. I'll...." She didn't know what else to say.

When they had gone, he lay flat again, his left hand encountering the two objects that lay beside him on the cover. He swatted them off onto the floor. It was 2009. Richard had been dead since 1199. How could he so easily find 800 years ago more real, more present than now?

Ah, yes, the mill. He'd paused at the edge of the woods, enjoying its simple Englishness. Then there had been a woman opening the door, and black smoke. That was why his throat hurt, that breathing was still somewhat of an effort. He'd gone into the smoke. After that, everything rather blurred together. Julie. Julie said she'd driven him to Coffs. That he did not remember at all. There were fleeting images, sounds. Why had he thought Richard had been there? "I must have wanted it so," he said aloud.

"And what is it you wanted so, Robert of Loxley," a deep male voice asked from the doorway.

"Who...?" Robert looked toward the source of the words, startled by the 'of' put between Robert and Loxley.

"General Maximus Decimus Meridius," the man said, stepping into the room. Maximus deliberately used the title. He and Joimus had spent the night at a hotel near the hospital and had come back this morning. Joimus was still in the ICU talking with Ahnna.

"General?" Julie had mentioned a general had been in the ER, that he had thought the general had been Richard. "We...we have met?"

Maximus inclined his head. "In a small cubicle yesterday."

"You were there?"

"I was nearby in the waiting room. You pulled my friend from the fire and my wife and I were awaiting news of his condition. I heard sounds of, shall we say, battle and that attracted my attention."

"Battle?"

"Yes, you were being attacked."

"In the ER?"

"Battles may take place, I find, in the most unusual locations." Maximus smiled.

"Saracens," Robert whispered.

"Indeed."

"There were three of them, all coming at me. I...I...saw Richard...you? I saw you?"

Maximus inclined his head again. "It had to be stopped. There was danger of injury."

"To me?"

"More likely to the three Saracen," Maximus replied with a small laugh.

Robert stared up at the imposing man. "Your...your name is...Roman?"

"Quite so."

"But...but...."

"And yours is Saxon, true?"

Robert nodded, his mind racing beyond his ability to keep up with it, to separate into any reasonableness the thoughts flashing through it almost painfully. "You...you are a Roman general?"

"I was. Now I am a farmer. I raise wheat and horses in the Glen."

"You live in the Glen?"

"Not far from the mill where you saved my friend. Your wife says you also live near there?"

"My wife?" He'd almost forgotten! The nurse had referred to Julie as Mrs. Loxley. He pressed his hands to his face. Was there more he did not recall? Something as big as having a wife?

"Are you all right, Robert?"

"I...I think I'm still confused. There seems to be a lot I don't have straight yet."

"It will come. I have spoken with the doctors about the smoke. It seems to have been particularly toxic."

Robert stared again at Maximus. "How can you be a Roman General?"

"Not easily, I assure you. It took many years, much experience."

"I meant...."

"I know what you meant, Robert. I am a Roman General in the same way you are a Saxon."

"No one, not ever...."

"It is a difficult concept, I know," Maximus smiled. "But you are not alone."

Julie had come back down the hall, had been standing just outside the door after she'd seen Maximus enter. She'd meant to announce herself, but when the two men had begun talking, she found herself glued to where she stood, her hand braced against the wall, a slow trembling beginning deep inside her, growing by the minute.
 

Robert was...a Saxon?

Turning, she leaned her back against the wall, her knees feeling weak, closing her eyes as she continued listening to them.

"Mrs. Loxley?" It was the nurse, returning with a canula for Robert instead of the mask. "Are you faint? Come back into the room and sit down." She took Julie's arm, pulling her through the doorway.

"Mr. Loxley, I'm afraid your wife is feeling faint."

Robert and Maximus both looked quickly at the two women. Julie croaked, "Saxon," and keeled over, neatly caught by Maximus before she hit the floor.
 

IDENTITY CRISIS

'Saxon' Julie had said just before she fainted. Robert inhaled a deep breath, bringing on another attack of coughing. It was one thing for this Roman General to know but quite another for Julie.

The nurse looked back and forth between Robert coughing deeply on the bed and Mrs. Loxley lying now on the recliner. Quickly pressing the call button, she handed the cannula to the young male aide who hurried in the door. "Get this on him," she ordered, then turned back to Julie, who was already coming around. She took Julie's pulse...way too rapid.

The aide approached Robert with the cannula in both hands, expecting to slide it easily in place. Robert, clutching his upper chest and still coughing, sat up and glared fiercely at him. "Don't you even *cough* think about it *cough*, " he managed.

The nurse had about had it. "Get his wife some water," she snapped, taking the tubing from the aide's hands. "Now see here, Mr. Loxley, your lungs still need a greater amount of oxygen than the air in this room is giving them. You MUST let me put this in place."

Robert narrowed his eyes, tensing his body.

"Robert," Maximus said calmly, "consider letting it be so...for now. You may find it will result in your leaving this place sooner than later."

It was not a command, just spoken with a quiet authority backed by logic. Like Richard spoke with him...had spoken with him. Glancing quickly at Maximus, he let his muscles relax. "For now," he murmured, allowing the nurse to complete her task.

The aide had Julie sitting up, sipping water. "Are you all right now, Mrs. Loxley?" the nurse asked.

"I...I'm fine," Julie murmured, not really able to meet Robert's eyes right now,
knowing he'd heard what the nurse was calling her.

The nurse looked back at Robert. "Your wife has been by your side through this whole thing, Mr. Loxley, even spending last night right here in your room. I think the stress and lack of sleep is getting to her."

"I'm quite all right now, thank you," Julie insisted, still avoiding Robert's eyes, letting her own follow the nurse and the aide as they left. That took her glance past the General, whose lips were curved in the slightest grin.

"I should be getting back to the ICU," Maximus said. "Alistair has not recovered consciousness yet."

"Alistair? That was the man in the mill?" Robert asked.

"Yes, Reverend Alistair Harris. He was only married quite recently and his wife just lost her sister. There has been much for Ahnna to handle, I fear. My wife and I are trying to offer all the support we can."

"Do they think he's going to survive?"

"Nothing is certain. Not yet."

"Would...would you let me know?" Robert asked softly.

"Certainly." He dipped his head toward Robert, then looked levelly a moment at Julie, recalling well the identity his wife had given her. "Good day," he said, nodding to her.

Robert watched Maximus leave then slowly turned his gaze toward Julie, still in the chair just off to his right. "Have...have I married you, Julianna?" Truly, the way he was feeling, he might have done so and just not be able to recall it at the moment.

Julie licked her lips, sitting more on the edge of her seat, but not standing. "No, Robert, you have not."

"Then may I ask...why...?"

"When...when they brought you in, the attendant handed me your wallet, presuming because I drove you here and was by your side, that I was your wife."

"And you did not...?"

She shook her head. "I was going to, Robert, I was, but then they wanted to know your name and your insurance information and all that and...and...and there was a sign on the wall, you see, that only relatives could be with patients while in the ER... and...and...you would have been alone, you see, and...and...I, well, I didn't want that. I didn't want you to be alone. So...so...I didn't...I didn't tell anybody different...that I wasn't Mrs. Loxley." She sighed deeply. "I just...didn't."

"And you stayed with me all the while?"

Julie nodded mutely.

"Even during the battle?"

"You...you remember the battle?"

"General Meridius spoke to me of it, yes. You were there?"

"I, yes, I was."

He closed his eyes, not knowing just what it was she might have seen, but whatever it was, wishing she had not.

Julie stood, coming next to the bed, touching his right shoulder. "It's all right, Robert. I don't really understand, but it's all right."

He opened his eyes, tipping his head to look up at her. "What do you understand, Julianna?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

An odd sound escaped her throat. "I quite possibly do not understand a single thing, Robert. I heard...."

"You heard?"

"You and the General talking. I heard you talking."

He cocked an eyebrow and she continued. "You...you asked him if he were a Roman General."

Ah, she'd heard more than he'd thought. He pressed his lips together.

"And...and...he said he was. And...and...he said you...you were a...a Saxon." She stared straight into his eyes. "ARE you, Robert? Are you a Saxon?"

"And what if I said I am not?"

"I wouldn't believe you. Not now."

"So you find it easier to believe that I am Saxon?"

"I...I'm not sure 'easier' is the right word, but, yes. I'm not sure why, not at all. But I do."

He smiled. "And believing that, where does that take you?"

"Take me? Umm? It, well, let me see. It takes me someplace where there's no ground any more under my feet."

"Is that a place you think you can deal with?"

"I...I'm not sure, Robert. I'm not at all sure. "But I think I...I...might like to find out."

"Why, Julie? Why?"

"Because, because, because...of me. That's why, Robert. Because of me."

He looked faintly surprised. "Yes. Definitely. Because of me. Because of who I am, what I do, how I think, what I write. Because of all that and...and...because of more."

"There is more?"

"There hasn't been." She looked away. "But, Robert, you...you're more."

 

GOING HOME

By late afternoon when the doctor came around to check on Robert's progress again, he was told he could be discharged. "But I want you to rest up the next several days, ok. Let your wife here take care of you."

Robert's lips twitched as he listened to the doctor, but he merely nodded and glanced over to where Julie sat in the recliner.

She was still slightly mortified that he knew what she'd done, but his look bore only humor in it. He was looking himself again now that the cannula had been removed. She hadn't liked that on his face. He was so vital a man that having that in place disturbed her.

When the doctor had gone, she asked quietly, "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Let me take care of you."

He sat up straight in the bed. "Do you think I really need all that much taking care of?"

"The doctor said...."

"He did, true, but then he thought...."

"I know what he thought, but, still, you shouldn't be on your own. Not quite yet."

"You would worry about me?"

"I would." In fact, her brain had been most uncooperative the last hour, writing scenarios of him collapsing, unable to breathe, and all alone in his house. The sight of him doing just that in her front yard would not go away. Most of her life, her adventures, her drama, had been all in her head, which she then put down on paper. But Robert, well, he brought it all right there, right into reality, and though she loved it, she was still getting used to the fact of it.

"My house or yours?"

"What?" She'd been distracted a moment by her thoughts.

"You wish to do this taking care of me at my house or yours?"

"I...I get a...choice?"

"Would you like one?" His lips were twitching again.

Her mind raced, running scenarios of her in his home, him in hers. "Does it matter to you? You have a preference?"

"I am quite open at the moment."

"Well, I do have a guest room...and...and I know where everything is in my house...so I...so I could, um, probably take care of you more easily, um, there. If...if you're sure that would be all right?" 

"I would need to pick up some clothes, a few other things, but it sounds manageable." 

Just then the phone beside Robert's bed rang. It was Maximus, wanting to get his phone number so he could contact him in the Glen. Robert started to give him his home phone, then realized he wouldn't be there to answer it. "Just a moment," he said, putting his hand over the receiver, "what is the number at Rose Cottage?"  She gave it to him and he passed it on to the General.

"Now we've done it," she sighed.

"He knows."

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Is...is that all right? That he knows I'm not your...your...wife?"

"It would be inevitable, given time, would it not?"

"I suppose so. It's just I feel so awkward about it." Then she remembered what had happened in the ER waiting room. "His wife, she knew my name. I met her while you were still in the ER and she recognized me, said she'd read my books."

"It would seem our cover has been blown, if only with the Meridiuses."

"Will...will they...talk about it?"

"The General seems a most discreet man."

He began to push back his sheet. "I think I am supposed to be getting dressed."

"Oh! Um, yes, well, I'll just...just...go get a cup of tea...or something."

"Not terribly wifely," he smiled, swinging his bare legs over the side of the bed.

She got quickly out of the chair, trying not to stare, and hurriedly pulled his clothes from the closet. "Ooo," she sniffed, "They smell like smoke!"

"They seem to be all that is available, however."

She brought them to his bed, laying them beside him. "I'll wash them when we get home."

"Home," he repeated, looking up at her through his lashes.

She blushed furiously. "I'll...I'll be back shortly."  Then she was out the door. Halfway down the hall she leaned against the wall. "What are you DOING, Julianna?"  But she knew quite well. She was living one of her stories. 

 

 

IN THE FLESH

On the way home, Robert sat up straight, looking out the window, far different from when Julie had driven him into Coffs the day before. She couldn't actually believe all that had happened in such a short time or that he was permitting her to take him home to Rose Cottage. She'd never advanced a relationship in one of her books quite so rapidly. But, then, how advanced was it? She wasn't sure at all. She wasn't sure of anything, not really. A sudden thought crossed her mind and she acted on it, often being a creature of impulse.

"Robin," she said and his head turned.

Without thinking, he replied, "Yes?" Then he realized what she'd called him.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Why did you answer so easily?" she shot back.

"It is the nickname for Robert. Why shouldn't I answer?"

"No reason. None. Oh, look! Kangaroo off the port bow!"

"You are still probing," he said quietly.

"Do you mind?"

"What is it you wish for me to say more clearly, Julianna?"

"I wish for you to say you are Robin." She kept her eyes on the road ahead.

"I already said it was the nickname for Robert," he answered. "You wish more than that?"

"Um hmm." 

Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Julie, you know who I am."

"I think I just want to hear you say it, Robert. Say it aloud so I can stop thinking I've gone and fallen off the crazy cart."

"What if I said you had? Fallen off the, what did you call it, crazy cart?"

"Too late, Mister. I do think I've got your number now."  At least she hoped she did. And she DID have possession of his person. At least for a few days.

"You want me to say I am Robin of Loxley, is that it?"

"Are you, Robert?"

He sighed. "I have been."

"Are you not now?"

"Yes, I am now."

She pulled off the side of the road and turned to face him. "How?"

"How? That's who I was born as."

"How were you born as him?"

"Um, the usual way...I suppose."

"That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I mean."

He smiled. "I do know that."

"Then...how?"

"It's why, Julie, I prefer no one know...so I do not have to explain how."

"Maximus knows. Did you explain it to him?"

"He needed no explanation."

"You are a difficult man, RobinRobert."

"Thank you."

"I didn't really mean that as a compliment."

"I know, but thank you anyway."

"You're not going to answer me, are you?"

"Not yet."

"Some day?"

"Perhaps."

"I can wait."

"I imagine you could quite possibly do that. You seem to be a woman of somewhat tenacious will."

"Thank you."

"I didn't really mean that as a compliment."

"I know, but thank you anyway."  She smiled and pulled the car back on the road, ignoring him now as she drove, her mind full of her own wildly creative explanations for how the very real man beside her could possibly, possibly be Robin Hood in the flesh. 

 

THE PORTRAIT

 

Robert and Julie walked into his house so he could gather some clothes and bathroom things to take over to Rose Cottage. As he stuffed his brush, toothpaste and so on into a small kit in his bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror over the sink, running a hand through his hair.

Coming back out into the living room where Julie was waiting he surprised her by asking, "Do you know how to cut hair?"

"Whose hair?"

His hand went to his head again. "This hair."

"You want to cut off your hair?"

"Most of it, yes."

"But...why? I love your hair! Er, I mean, I think it's quite...um...nice. Why would you want to cut it?"

"I could show you," he said softly and went to a large closet, fished behind a rack of coats, and brought out a painting, which he kept turned away from her.

"What's that?"

"A portrait."

"Of...?"

Silently, he turned the painting so she could see it, his eyes intent on her face. She stared at it, her eyes widening.

"It's...it's...."

"Me. Only a bit younger."

She took several steps closer to him. It certainly did look like him, or like he might have looked several years ago. "You...you're in costume?"

"It is not a costume."

"Um, Robert, how, um, old is this painting?"

"Quite old."

She came close enough to touch it with a fingertip. "Sir Robert Loxley?"

He nodded and she sat heavily on the arm of the nearest chair. "It's...real?"

"Entirely."

"You're real?"

"The last I checked."

"Are...are...you really Sir Robert Loxley then?"

"No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'? I thought...."

"Robin Hode."

She slid off the arm of the chair into its seat. "Hode?"

"Spellings change, given time."

"How much...time?"

"A lot of it."

"But...but...you said this was Sir Robert Loxley, didn't you?"

"I did and it is."

"I'm lost. Are you a 'sir' or not?"

"I was knighted, yes."

Something in her was oddly relieved at his answer. She sort of needed him to be a knight...her knight.

"Truly?"

"By Richard himself."

She smiled. That was good. She liked that. "But you're not Robert Loxley?"

"Only for a time. It suited my purposes."

"I've gotten used to thinking of you as Robert, Robert."

"So did a lot of people."

"Should I call you Robin?"

"If you choose. It is my name."

She stared at the portrait again. "Do you have any idea how much you look like General Meridius in this painting?"

He turned it so he could see it himself. "True, though there are differences I can see."

"Not much, Rob...Robin."

"But this is how I wore my hair. This...," he ran his hand through his locks, "...this is too much fluff for my taste. It makes me feel as though I've lost my real self."

"Has it been a, um, disguise, Rob...Robin?"

"After a fashion. But I am tired of it. So I ask you again, do you know how to cut hair? I do not wish to seek out a barber in the Glen, nor even in Coffs, for that matter."

"My grandfather was a barber."

His eyes brightened. "And does this mean...?"

"It means, yes, he showed me how to cut hair when I was still quite young."

Robin strode to the bathroom, coming back with a pair of barber scissors, handing them to her.

"Now?"

"If you would." He went to the kitchen, sitting in a smaller wooden chair, waiting.

She gulped. She actually did love his hair the way it was. That was how she dreamed of him, the only way she knew him, and he wanted to completely change it. Following him at last, she stood in front of him, studying his head. "Perhaps," she whispered, more to herself than to him, "it would help me begin to think of you as Robin."

He tipped his head in a slight nod. "Exactly as in the portrait, if you can."

Sighing, she went around him and lifted one of his waves. "Oh...my," she moaned, and lopped it off, holding it in her hand, not wanting to let it fall to the floor. As she was behind him and he couldn't see what she was doing, she quickly slipped it into a pocket.

 

 

RIGHT…FOR MANY REASONS

As Julie worked on his hair she paid more attention to her careful
cutting and to the long waves that she now let fall to the kitchen
floor than to him himself. It was not till she was done that she took
several steps back and almost let the scissors drop from her hand when she beheld him.

"What?" he asked, noting her wide eyes. "Have I been butchered?"

"Robin," she gasped.

"What?"

"You...you're...Robin."

"Of course I'm Robin," he said, brushing remaining strands of cut hair
from his shoulders, and walking toward a small mirror in the hallway.
When he saw his reflection, he smiled and ran a hand over his smooth
head. "Ah," he sighed. "I'm back."

He returned to the kitchen, standing in front of her, cocking his head
as he saw her continued wide-eyed gaze. "Is something the matter?"

"Rob...Robert," she whispered.

"What about Robert?"

"He...he's gone."

Robin laughed. "You preferred him to me?"

"I...I...I'm just not used to...you."

"It is only the hair that is gone, Julie. I am the same man."

She wasn't at all sure about that. Even the face of the man who stood
before her seemed different, more rugged, more...more...battle-hardened. And definitely more like Maximus. "You look like you could be his brother," she murmured. "The General. Like his brother."

"A not unflattering comparison," Robin smiled.

"I need to think about this," she muttered, sitting in the chair Robin
had vacated.

"Have you then changed your mind about taking me home with you?"

She looked up at his smiling face, then down the length of him, easily
transposing his garb into leather pants and a tunic. Changed her mind? Not hardly! Robert's going might take a bit of getting used to, but this Robin, with his mere intense presence, was doing things unseemly to her insides.

"N...no," she stammered, though he hardly looked like he needed taking
care of at the moment. The close-cropped hair gave him an air of
strength and power that was almost overwhelming her.

"I shall be finishing my packing then," he said, and she watched his broad back as he walked away.

He was going home with her, not Robert, but Robin Hood was going home
with her. Her tongue ran across her suddenly-dry lips. She needed a
drink and wasn't sure tea would quite be enough. Weren't there novels where the heroine or the writer, even, got sucked into the pages of the thing? She just didn't know if she'd been sucked into his story of he'd been sucked into hers. Whichever, now that it had happened, she wasn't going to let go of it.

Robin returned with a small leather bag. Julie was still sitting where he'd left her, looking slightly dazed, so he set the bag down and began to sweep up his hair. She watched him distractedly, only focusing enough to flinch when he emptied the dustpan into the trashbin. Her hand went to her pocket, glad she'd saved that first shorn lock. Loxlely's lock. She giggled and he cast an odd look in her direction.

 

"I'm ready," he announced, not quite sure why he was letting himself be taken to her house other than something in him rather wanted to go.

"Oh, um, yes. Me, too," she said, getting to her feet, unable to remember where she'd set her purse. Ah, there, on the little table in the hall.

She drove them the short distance to Rose Cottage. "Here we are," she said lamely.

"Indeed, here we are." He waited for her to do something, but when she just stared at her hands curved over the steering wheel, he added, "Shall we get out of the car?"

"Oh, um, yes...yes, good idea. Get out of the car." Her mind was off, following the scandalous lead of her body, and there his hands were already touching her. She blushed. "Yes, let's get out of the car," she repeated.

Getting his bag, he followed her up to the door, waiting while she fumbled with her keys. Damn, she couldn't concentrate. He was right behind her, so close his breath was on her neck. How was a woman supposed to be expected to know which key fit in the damn lock!! At last...the right one...and she was opening the door and stepping into the refuge that Rose Cottage had become for her. Only he was still close behind her, and at her invitation, too, so that 'refuge' wasn't exactly the right word any longer.

He followed her into the living room, setting his bag down, taking a seat on the couch and blowing out a long breath, which made him cough. Oh, right! She'd been so distracted by his transformation from one man into another that she'd completely forgotten about the smoke and the hospital.

"You...you're probably tired?" she ventured.

He nodded, surprised himself at a sudden draining of his strength.

"Let me show you your room, then, Rob...Robin, and you can rest a bit while I see about supper."

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a woman watching over his well-being. Not that he'd ever known all that much of it, but it was nice, and he let her guide him up the stairs to a small guest room across the hall from her bedroom. It was all done in shades of blue and had belonged to the grown son of the older woman who had lived in the house before.

Slipping off his shoes, he lay atop the bedspread. "Thank you," he said, watching as she went to the door.

She left the door ajar and went to her own room a moment, a contrast to the blue room as it was all in pinks and mauves and white, liberally sprinkled with patterns of fully-blown cabbage roses. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looked at herself in the wide mirror across the room. Mirror. Yes. Alice through the looking glass. Rabbit holes and looking glasses. Her undoing.

Getting up, she brushed her hair, then walked quietly across the hall, pushing his door just a tad more open with the tip of one finger. He was asleep. Tip-toeing in, she gently spread a blanket over him, then sat in a padded chair, watching him. Yes, it was right that she'd asked him to come to Rose Cottage. Right for many...many reasons.

 

 

JUST TO...BE

She stayed in his room about ten minutes, trying to get accustomed to his new look. Asleep, his face relaxed, he looked still younger than the haircut already made him seem. She decided she liked it, though it was not something she'd ever have thought of for him herself. At least, with the way they kept plopping into rivers, it would dry a lot faster!

Going down to the kitchen, she found a whole chicken in the refrigerator, stuffed it, and put it on to roast. What else? He'd probably eaten more than his share of wild rabbits skewered on some spit over an open fire. Hmmm? Baked potatoes? Yes, potatoes were
always good. And, and...string beans. Some sort of bread? That would do.

After a while, the scent of the chicken roasting wafted up the stairs, waking him. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, looking for his shoes and inhaling the savory smell deeply. The sucking in of the air, though, brought on another spasm of deep coughing. Julie heard and flew up the steps, finding him leaning way forward, his arms clamped around his chest.

"Oh, Rob...Robin," she cried, kneeling worriedly in front of him.

"Fine," he croaked, still hacking, "I'm fine."

She went to the bathroom, bringing him back a glass of water. "Maybe this will help?"

He tried a sip, coughed again, almost spitting it out. Gradually the spasm passed and he took several long swallows.

"Thank you," he said as she took the glass from him, crouching in front of him again, her hands unconsciously resting on his knees as she worriedly studied his face.

Did the woman have any idea, any idea at all, of how appealing she looked gazing up at him so closely like that? His hands had been resting on the bedspread on either side of his thighs and he lifted them slowly, bringing them up, cupping her face. He said nothing, just stared intensely into her eyes a long moment, then leaned forward and took her lips with his.

Julie's mind reeled. She had once, somewhere in her third book, written a scene very like this. While the room around her blurred, there remained this one oddly, piercingly sharp memory of herself sitting at her computer, rereading what she'd just written, and
smiling rather sadly because such things just didn't happen in real life.

Her legs unable to support her crouch any more, she settled forward on her knees, leaning into his kiss, which he then deepened and slid his right hand behind her head, his left under her chin, gently tipping it further up.

When he finally released her lips, he moved back just enough to see her eyes again, probing them as deeply with his own eyes as his tongue had just probed her mouth. There were layers and layers to the woman. She was educated, cultured, successful... even so famous that she needed to hide herself away... yet he saw an unfulfilled yearning in her, saw a heart that despite great beauty still searched. She moved him, touched a longing in himself, and he kissed her again then pulled her head to his chest, holding it softly there.

Her arms went around his waist as he held her and she closed her eyes, trying hard not to think, not to write, just to...be.

 

ALL THAT MATTERS

Robin liked holding her there to his chest, but he was feeling again like he was going to cough and his attempts to stifle that cost him the moment. Releasing her, he turned his head to the side, unable to keep the coughs contained any longer.

Julie sat back on her heels, waiting for it to pass. It seemed somehow long ago that he'd gone into the burning building. Hadn't it been...weeks? How could it possibly have been just yesterday? That couldn't be right. So much had happened, too much for so few hours. But watching him struggle with the coughing brought it into focus that, yes, it had been truly only yesterday.

When he quieted again, he asked, "Chicken?"

"Ah, yes, it is. Do you think you're up for a bit of dinner, Robin?" There, she'd called him Robin without first almost calling him Robert.

"I'm hungry enough that I might be able to eat it even if it's still slightly alive."

Julie smiled, getting to her feet, holding out her hand toward him. He took it, kissed it lightly, softly, then stood, returning her smile. "Shall we go down?"

She nodded, not completely certain she was not dreaming this whole thing. When he held his arm for her to take, and she turned, sliding hers through his, she lost all uncertainty. She was, of course, dreaming.

Then there he was at her table, gratefully lifting the cup of hot tea she'd made him to his lips. "I...I thought it would be good for the cough...you know."

She enjoyed watching him eat, especially the way he broke off chunks of his bread and wiped it through the gravy. "It's good," he said, "all of it."  He had, indeed, been hungry.

After dinner, she made a fresh pot of tea and the two of them settled on the couch. That seemed natural somehow that they do that and not sit in separate chairs. "How strange," he commented, shaking his head, not finishing his thought aloud.

"Strange? To be in my house?"

"Strange that I would have to come to the far side of the world to find the loveliest Englishwoman of them all."

"You make me glad I'm English," she murmured.

"I, too, am glad you're English," he smiled. "I have spent much time in France, though mostly at war, and much time also in the Holy Land, almost completely at war, and I have seen women of many kinds but your Englishness takes my heart and makes it feel as though it has come home."

She loved the line, wanted to remember it for possible future use in her book, but at the same time one part of her mind was thinking that, another was quite lost in the fact that he had said it, even more lost in the sound of his voice as he said it.

Setting down his cup, he leaned toward her, smiling just slightly as he noted the instant parting of her lips in response to his movement. His mouth found hers again and he felt himself grow full with the wanting of her, but he was also aware of a great tiredness that seemed to go down into his bones. No, not tonight. Not when he was not fully returned to himself. So he contented himself with the kiss, with sliding his left hand around her body. She gasped as his hand brushed along the outside of her breast and he wanted her more than he thought he could bear. Pulling back, he wiped a hand across his face.

"Are you all right, Robin?"

He nodded mutely, closing his eyes. "Tired?" she asked, and at his second nod, she touched his shoulder. "Rest here," she suggested, her mind skittering with mounds of words as she imagined his head in her lap. When he actually did it, leaned sideways, settling his head across her thighs, the words in her brain crashed into each other, splintered, fell downward, their shards filling her throat so that she lost all power to speak. All she could do was look down at his profile, managing to breathe a little here and there, but nothing more.

She felt his head grow heavier as his body relaxed into sleep and his lips parted. Lowering her head, she kissed his shoulder. "Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the Glen," her mind sang soundlessly. "Robin Hood, Robin Hood...come now to me from then."  She didn't even care how. He was there and that was all that mattered. She let her hand run lightly over his close-cropped hair. "Robin," she whispered hoarsely. "Oh, my
God...Robin."

 

 

 

DESPERATION

He lay there all night, asleep with his head in her lap, and she didn't disturb him. She propped a pillow behind her head, sleeping herself off and on. Since she couldn't reach the lamp to turn it off, it was the light on his face more than anything that kept her awake. Simply, she could not get enough of looking at him.

About three she woke up from a short sleep, immediately her eyes looking down to him. The house was very quiet here in the wee hours and quiet always set her mind free to roam the passageways of words, gathering them in large woven synapsual baskets to string together into the fancies of her heart. So the lamplight was transposed into the flickering flames of their campfire somewhere in the heart of  England.  John's men, hired mercenaries, had been tracking her and Robin all day.  The wound he'd gotten two days ago as he'd come to the castle, fought his way down the long corridor and up the
curving stone steps to her chamber where Sir....Sir....ah, yes, Sir Guy had kept her hidden away, the wound had caused a great fever to descend upon him and now here, alone in the depths of the forest, he'd finally found rest in her arms.

Her fingers touched his brow and Robin stirred slightly in his sleep. That was good. She'd put that in the imaginary tale, too. He was most cooperative. He turned his face somewhat more into her body and damned if her nipples didn't respond.  Funny how strongly the nerve lines connected from there to lower regions.  She'd never felt anything quite so strong in her own body before.  She'd never get to sleep now. In fact, parts of her seemed more awake than they'd ever been before...ever.

Ok...ok...back to the imagination. The battle in the castle had been frightening in its intensity. Robin was all alone and Sir Guy had at least five men-at-arms blocking the corridor.  She had watched through the metal grating over the small window in her locked door.  A sixth man had come unseen behind Robin, his pike thrust into the back of Robin's left shoulder. Twisting, bleeding, he dispatched the man with a single blow of his sword, his eyes finding hers through the grating. Despite his pain, he'd smiled. "A moment more, beloved," then turned to deal with the five still facing him.

He had, of course, killed them all, retrieving the keys handily from one of them, and unlocking her door. Julie sighed. She knew she'd seen that in a movie sometime, a long time ago, but, hey, it worked for her even if it was a bit simplistic for her book.  Robin tensed at the sound of numerous men, Sir Guy's men, large, hairy and merciless, pounding up the stairs. His arm around her waist, he guided her to the tower window, looking down at the moat. How far? Oh, heck, why not make it really far! Far was good. Crocodiles? Ah, drat, no crocodiles in English moats, not even ones that went *tick tock*.  Double drat. Well, how would they get down? Vines? Flynn liked to use vines. Vines would work.

Thick ivy grew all the way up the side of the castle wall, all the way to the highest tower. "Do you trust me?" Robin said, holding her eyes with his own.  "With my life!" she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lowered them out the window. His left arm was useless, leaving him only with his right to cling to the vines as he tried to make his way as quickly as possible the several hundred feet to the dark, murky waters of the moat. She looked up the way they had come. Two crossbowmen leaned out the window, sending bolts whizzing closely past. One tore through the lace of her long, artfully-draped sleeve, ripping the delicate material. Julie chuckled. This was better than having to write seriously. And her nerve-endings didn't seem to mind at all that it was a bit over the top. All she had to do was look down at his face turned into her body and the things shot their own form of crossbow bolts to her, um, lower regions.

About fifty feet above the water, the vines broke, sending them plummeting down into the moat. It was deep and she sank beneath the dark waters, her arms still around his neck as bolts sliced through around them. A little cloud of his blood rose up, making a floating halo that seemed almost to encircle his head for a moment. Robin clamped his jaw tightly and swam with her underwater toward the arched stone bridge that crossed the moat. Darkness was falling rapidly, would soon obscure them from the sight of Sir Guy's mercenaries in the night. Yes, Julie thought, mercenaries in the night was always good. Horses pounded across the planking of the drawbridge as he held desperately on to the stones, moss-covered and slippery beneath his desperate fingers. No, she'd already used desperate in the sentence once. Hmmm? Oh, well. Desperate in the night with mercenaries was always good, too.

Night came at last. Robin had been leaning his cheek against the rocks for some while now, his blood draining out into the murky waters of the moat.  She'd torn off one of her long, artfully-draped sleeves and tried to press it against the wound, but the thin lace didn't staunch all that well and soon her fingers were wet with the blood of the man she loved. Cripes! Was she getting ahead of herself here? Maybe not. Maybe...not.

Painfully, with small, stifled gasps, he'd managed to claw his way up the bank, helping her, too, as her wide velvet skirts were heavy with the weight of the dark, murky moat waters. Together they'd rolled over the edge of the bank, and she lay atop him, their chests rising and falling in unison.  Something long, hard, pressed against her upper thigh but it was, alas, his knife. She smiled, looking down at him there on her couch. "And would you be happy to see me, my dear Mr. Hood?" she whispered.

He gained his feet and his one good arm around her slender waist (why did fictional waists always have to be so damn slender?), he guided her to a stable where he quickly and expertly stole a horse. Bareback, together, they rode then through the night, into the limitless forest. As the hours passed, she could feel his weight behind her sagging more and more into her. Twisting as far as she could, she looked back at him. His eyes were nearly glazed with exhaustion, pain, and the steadily-rising fever. It's the old hurt-comfort syndrome, she excused herself. Hurt the man in your story and then comfort him. Females liked that sort of thing. She actually did use it and fairly often in her books. She got a lot of fanmail about it, in fact.

They rode all night and through the next day, not stopping for food, water, or bathroom facilities. He was barely conscious by the time the second night finally rolled around and when they stopped in a small glen...yeah, Glens were good places to stop...she'd stopped in this one and he'd stopped in this one and now look...he was asleep with his head in her lap. Good...definitely, definitely good. And she didn't even care there were two definitely's in that thought!  She slipped off the horse's back, standing beside his leg. He didn't seem quite able to dismount but merely sagged toward her like a sack of flour a mouse had eaten a large hole in and all the flour was sifting out. Ack! That was terrible! She'd never write such a horrid sentence and shouldn't even really indulge in thinking one, for Pete's sake! He merely sagged toward her and she put her hands up, trying the best she could to lower him to the grass.

Gathering small twigs, she started a fire, added larger branches, until she had a place to warm him and keep the wolves away. Julie shrugged. She wouldn't deal with how the fire got started. That was up to her, wasn't it, and she blasted well didn't want to deal with the actual method used in getting a fire going.  She dragged him close to the fire and, propping her back against an oak...pine...beech....ack, tree...she pulled his head into her lap, watching as the flames cast their shadows across his handsome face. Her fingers traced the line of his straight brows, moving down to his lips, utterly mesmerized by their movement on his flesh.

"Julie?"

"Wh...what?"  Oh, goodness! She hadn't realized she'd actually been DOING it! She looked down at his face and her fingers were definitely on his lips.  The tip of his tongue came out and lightly touched one of her fingers and she gasped in a sharp breath, startled, pulling her hand away.

His lips curved into a small smile and he slid an arm behind her neck, guiding her head closer to his. Without another word, his mouth claimed hers and an instant barrage, an absolute barrage of crossbow bolts shot to their goal. "Robin, you...you're awake" she sighed, reaching out with a hand to balance herself, discovering inadvertently just how awake, indeed, he was.

It was his turn to gasp, his breath hissing in, and he turned himself and her at the same time, so that he lay atop her on the couch, his left hand finding inerrantly the curve of her breast. Lifting his head, he studied her eyes, looking for any sign she did not want this, then he smiled more widely at his findings and lowered his mouth to hers, lost in sudden and, yes, desperate need.

AN ISLAND IN THE SEA OF TIME

 

Robin spent the week at Julie's house, staying well after he could have gone home. They slept together, ate together, walked together, talked together, and made love several times a day. His coughing had stopped, his strength fully returned, yet he stayed. A second week began and still he did not go. She filled him in a way he'd not known for, well, quite some time. That week passed, too, and their delight in one another did not abate. Then the rains came and he stayed because...he stayed. He wanted to, she wanted him to. It was as simple as that.

Even when he watched her across the room making tea, his hands tingled from remembered memory of her touch. He lifted his right hand now, looking down at his open palm, smiling slightly. There were several things his hand remembered, the fletch of an arrow sliding through his fingers, the ache after battle when the hilt of his sword seemed merged with his palm, the reins of his great white horse, but among all these familiarities now remained the softness of her skin, the curve of  breast, the long slope of thigh. A man's hand was like that, knowing both leather and metal, hip and breast. That was the way it should be.

Julie filled the tea kettle, watching him through half-lowered lashes. She'd not written, not on paper nor on the computer, since his coming. It was all in her mind, in her heart, and she overflowed with the words of him. It was not an impatient overflowing, not in any way, more of an endless fountain pouring into some vast reservoir. It was all there, all of it. There was no sense of hurry, no need. Hurry would be out of place, inappropriate, in these days of speaking softly, of meshing bodies. She wanted no more than him, his presence. Was there, in fact, any longer anything other than that remaining in the world? She neither knew nor cared.

They had just returned from a walk through her gardens when the phone rang. She handed it to him. "Maximus."

"Good day, Robin," the General greeted. They spoke a while about Robin's returned health, then Maximus continued, "I have been waiting for Alistair to recover sufficiently to suggest this to you, but now that is so and he wishes very much to meet the man who saved his life. If you would consider it, my wife and I would like for you and Julianna to come for dinner tomorrow evening. Alistair and Ahnna will be here and it may be that the time has come for you to meet some of your fellow residents."

His hand over the receiver, Robin looked up at Julie. "The General would like for us to come to dinner at his house tomorrow. The reverend and his wife will be there as well. What do you think?"

She nodded yes. An island out of time such as they'd been having could never last. Besides, she liked the General and knew Robin did, too. If they had to take an outrigger to the mainland, this would be the best place to land.

"It will be our good pleasure," Robin said into the phone. "I look forward to talking with you again and meeting Alistair."

So it was settled. For the first time since either of them had come to the Glen, they would be going to someone else's house. Well, Robin had been in Alistair's, but that hardly counted as a visit.

 

SIMILARITIES

 

"I'm really glad, Ahnna, that I'll be meeting him at last, have the opportunity to thank him in person," Alistair smiled as he slipped on a tan sports coat.

"Well, my dear, I have a lot of thanks for the man myself!"  She couldn't even quite remember what he'd looked like. All she'd been able to see was the thick, black smoke pouring out of her husband's office. Then Robin had staggered out with him and they'd fallen into the phlox beside the steps. After that there was nothing but Alistair's still form, the taste of soot on his lips, the bundling into the ambulance. "If...if he hadn't...."

"But he did, my love. He did. We don't need to wander around in the land of 'if's'. It's past and I'm here."

She slid her arms around his torso, holding on. "It...it just frightened me so, that I might lose you, almost lost you."

He rested his chin atop her dark hair. "I love you, too," he whispered. "Always."

Robin and Julie had arrived a bit early at Maximus' suggestion so that they might walk down and look at the horses. Maximus had not seen Robin since the hospital, and when he and Joimus opened the door, both were startled by his appearance. Joimus had never seen him, but her husband had described him to her with his waving brown hair. But there on her doorstep stood, good Lord, her husband, for all intents and purposes! The resemblance was more than striking.  If you looked closely, you could tell he was a few years older than Maximus and his hair was not coal black, but those were minor details to the presence of the man.

Even Maximus tipped his head back and chuckled loudly. "Robin, good to see me!"

Robin ran a hand over his short hair. "This is how I always wore it...before."

"I've been telling him," Julie spoke up, "that he looks like you now, General. Seeing you side by side proves the truth of that."

The four of them walked down to the stables, with Maximus leading the way to Legion's stall. He stopped, turned, and waited for Robin's opinion.

Robin simply stood there, staring a long moment. "What is it, darling?" Julie asked.

"Rusty," Robin murmured, stepping closer to the large, white horse. "He is the image of my Rusty."

"Rusty?" Julie said.

"Oh, he had some fancy, long name, but I called him that for short. He was my horse, both in France and back in England."

"His name is Legion, Robin," Maximus supplied. "It would give me great happiness should you come and ride him when you like."

Robin had let the stallion smell his hand and was now stroking his neck, nearly mesmerized by the horse. "I would like that, Maximus." He turned to the General. "I was going to add 'more than you know' but I think you do know."

Maximus inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The four of them looked at some of the other horses and were just about up to the gate to the main house when Alistair's car pulled up. He sat there behind the wheel gazing in wonder at the two men walking side by side. "Did you know?" he asked Ahnna softly.

She looked past him out at the men. "Oh, my! I had no idea, darling. From here, in this evening light, it's hard to tell which of them is which."

Alistair wiped his hand over his mouth. "I didn't think there could be someone else with the presence of our General."  He shook his head. "I'm quite astounded."

Getting out of the car, he went around and opened Ahnna's door, a gesture he liked to perform for her. Taking her arm, they approached the two couples who had stopped next to the gate, awaiting them.

"Alistair," Maximus greeted, "and the beautiful Ahnna. I am so glad you could come. It has been way too long."

"General, Joimus," Alistair responded, then looked at the couple beside them.

"Alistair," Maximus said, "this is Robin. It is time you two officially met."

Alistair took Robin's hand, holding it between both his own. "There are no words to thank you enough. You risked your life, your health, to save mine. It is an act of bravery and kindness I shall never forget."

Robin smiled at Alistair, liking his quiet, sincere manner. "You are well it seems. That is all that matters."

"It matters that you, too, are well."  Alistair returned Robin's smile. "May I present my wife, Ahnna."

Ahnna smiled shyly. "Thank you," she murmured. "In saving my husband's life, you have also saved mine."  She meant that in every way possible.

Julie liked the line, made a mental note of it for further use. Ahnna looked to her like the heroine out of some book, a beauty regal yet fragile. Everybody greeted everybody else then they all went toward the house. "Your gardens," Julie sighed, pausing by some tall foxgloves, "they are exquisite."

"She owns the greenhouse...just there." Ahnna pointed to where the top of the Greenery stuck slightly up above some tall shrubs.

"Julie lives in a home swathed in roses," Robin said, his fingers curved through hers.

"Rose Cottage. It has a name," Julie explained, "though I am merely renting it for now."

"I'd very much like to see it," Joimus said. She still wasn't exactly certain just where it was either Julie or Robin lived.

Julie blinked. There it was. Her coming out party, no less. "Please, I'd like that. You, too, Ahnna."  See, she told herself, you can do it.

Robin's lips twitched. He knew how extremely private Julie was.

As they came up the brick walk toward the Meridius' house, Robin paused again. "It's quite...English, General."

"It is entirely English, Robin. Brought from Kent brick by brick."

Robin walked up, laying his hand flat on an outer wall, closing his eyes. England. He sighed, then turned and smiled at the others.

ROYAL CONVERSATION

 

As Joimus looked around her dining room table at the faces of her husband and their guests, she couldn't help smiling. She'd come to know Alistair and Ahnna very well already and now here were Robin and Julie, come at last out of their hidden bower somewhere on the other side of the Glen. She caught the sparkle in Maximus' eyes as he talked earnestly with Loxley, a clear bonding of understanding forming quickly between the two men.  They spoke a common language of the knowledge of the hardship and danger of battle, of endless rides, of seemingly insurmountable odds. Glancing at Alistair, she could see his interest in watching the other two men at the table, his awareness of their shared experience of life. He had had no part of such things himself. His battles were different in nature. Her eyes prickled with sudden tears as she observed him, thinking of what he had been through, of what a genuinely good man he was. Ahnna was seated just to her left around the corner of the big table, and Joimus reached under it to squeeze Ahnna's hand. When Ahnna turned to look in her direction, Joimus nodded slightly toward Alistair, whose eyes were on Robin, and she smiled and squeezed Ahnna's hand again.

Ahnna smiled back, understanding that Joimus was commenting in silent appreciation of Alistair. She mouthed, 'I know,' and turned to look at him herself.  How good it was to see him looking so healthy again. Except for a little cough now and again, he was pretty much back to normal.

Alistair was interested in the Crusades and asked Robin, "King Richard, this was a genuine quest for him then, not just politics?"

"He meant it, all of it, Alistair," Robin replied. "It was a thing he wished to do for his Lord, get back the Holy City. It was a simple, straight-forward desire but also gnawed him inside like a fire."

"I can't even imagine the logistics of such an undertaking," Julie commented.

"He was on top of it all, too. He was aware of everything, every aspect. I doubt there's ever been such a hands-on king." Robin sat back a little, his lips curving at the memory of his great monarch. "But he knew well that 'the show' was a big part of everything, of getting the loyalty and enthusiasm of others to be what was needed. The motto of the Plantagenets was, you know, 'As we are seen, so are we esteemed.'  He knew better than anyone how to enter a city and make it adore him."

"His appearance didn't hurt, either, I suspect," Julie smiled.

"He was, yes, the ultimate warrior-king...tall, well-built, strong, extremely handsome. Even the day he was finally freed from his Austrian captivity, he was attired in scarlet velvet and green, emblazoned with gold and pearls. It was the second of February and he entered the cathedral in Mainz in full shackles, hands and feet, came down the aisle and up the steps to the platform. Never was a man in shackles so unconquered. He stood there and raised his chained arms over his head, tipped his chin far up, and the people began to shout, 'Long live the king! Long live Richard!'  When his mother, then in her mid 70's came up to his side, he bent and kissed her and everyone stood and began to holler 'We love Richard! We love Richard!' over and over and over. Silently his lips formed, 'I love you' and wild cheers broke out and continued so long it seemed they'd never stop."

"Oh, my!" Julie breathed. "How I wish I could've seen that!"

"Emperor Henry, though, read a letter from King Philip of France, a terrible and accusing diatribe of hatred and manufactured crimes. The mood in the cathedral changed to angry muttering as the letter ended with a demand that Richard not be freed, that he be turned over to Philip and to Prince John instead. There was such a rustle of swords as I've only heard before at the start of battle. Richard had had a flashing smile on his face earlier but as the letter went on, the famous Angevin rage supplanted that."

"I imagine so," Maximus said softly.

"Then," Robin continued, "Archbishop Walter said that the king would conduct his own defense and such a roar of approval went through those gathered there. Richard, still shackled, took a step forward, robed in absolutely authority and said that as an anointed king he was accountable to no one but God. How his voice rose as he said the word 'God'. He was magnificent. But then he went on that he would voluntarily and cheerfully answer all the charges in the letter so the world might know his innocence." Robin smiled, his eyes half closed. "Then he stamped his shackled foot and all the English in the cathedral stamped theirs in response. He spoke for a long while, his words eloquent, captivating, and he ended with his voice reverberating through the dome, 'Forget the calumnies of my foes! Put faith in my actions! With God as my witness!' It was as though a great lion were roaring, and he raised his long, shackled arms above his head again. The crowd then screamed, howled for justice for their king, even all the bishops, and Emperor Henry was alone with his accusations. Still the Emperor had one last barb for his victorious prisoner. He demanded that Richard kneel and do homage to him. Richard's face bore clear evidence to what he thought of that, but his counselors advised him to consent, and so he did. Immediately his shackles were unlocked and everyone rushed up to embrace their freed king. We hoisted him up on our shoulders and as we carried him from the room, he reached down to touch fingers with those he passed."

So caught up was he with his description, he failed to notice he'd switched from 'they' to 'we'.

Joimus saw Maximus look at her and they exchanged understanding glances. Dinner conversation, Joimus thought. One never quite knew where it might lead.