Contents

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five

Acknowledgements
 About the Authors

Paul Magrs (Author)

Paul Magrs was born in 1969 in the North East of England. He has written
numerous novels and short stories for adults, teens, children and Doctor
Who fans. He teaches Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan
University.

Doctor Who (Author)

Doctor Who is the longest running sci-fi show in the world, and a flagship
BBC property. First appearing on air in 1963, it follows the adventures of
the Doctor, a Time Lord who travels through time and space, fighting alien
monsters and saving the universe.
For Jamie
 Chapter One

Gold had come to the Greenwood.

In just a few days the colours had changed and the wonderfully deep
emerald greens were beginning to fade. There was a definite chill in the air
and the ground was crisper underfoot. Late-afternoon sun came slanting
through the canopy of beech and oak, and the forest had a golden glimmer.
The man-at-arms swayed unsteadily through the trees, lurching from one
rough trunk to another, propping himself up and catching his breath. He was
utterly lost by now. For a while he had thought he could find his way back.
He was sure of it. Yes. The castle – his home, such as it was – lay this way.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Bleeding, wounded, exhausted, he gathered up
his scattered wits and plunged deeper into the woodland.
He knew he was taking a chance. This was enemy territory. These woods
were the realm of the lawless: the Wolfshead and his men. If they found
him, wearing the armour and bearing the insignia of his master, who knew
what they’d do to him. There were dreadful stories about the way these
ne’er-do-wells lived, here in the secluded heart of the endless forest.
But there was no use dwelling. He staggered on through the soft, crumbly
earth, his breathing ragged, his whole body streaming with feverish sweat.
It was autumn … so how long had he been the witch’s prisoner? Days?
Weeks? Time had ceased to have meaning as he lay there, trussed up in her
hovel, beholden to her malign will. How had he let her overpower him? He
could hardly remember. Some noxious kind of incense … She made him
breathe it in deeply, until his senses swam and he hardly knew himself.
She had scrambled his wits and leeched his blood. She had preyed upon
him.
Yet he had escaped. This morning she had left her home, grunting and
grumbling, and he’d taken the opportunity to finish sawing the last of his
leather bonds with a shard of broken crockery he’d managed to hide away.
 Freedom had made him panicky, excited, and his limbs were shaky with
lack of use. All he could think about was getting away from her filthy den
and returning to the castle …
But hours had passed. He had crashed through the trees with no real
sense of direction. The woods were endless. Each cracking twig made him
jump. Had she already discovered he’d gone? Was she coming after him?
Mother Maudlin had warned him: she’d never let him go. She never let
any of her playthings go …
Her hideous, twisted face. Those burning amber eyes. He’d rather die
here and now in the middle of nowhere than ever have to see her again.
Another sharp noise. Inside his filthy rags and battered armour, he
jumped, his heart racing. But it was just a bird. A large rook alighting on a
branch. A foul, gimlet-eyed creature, staring at him. It was oily black, like a
piece of darkest night brought to life, and staring at him with amber eyes.
‘No …’ he murmured, feeling a great despair welling in his chest.
Still staring beadily at him, the rook let out a long, raucous cry. A shout
of raw triumph.
It was her. Suddenly he knew it.
He watched the huge wings unfurl and beat once, twice, three times,
upon the golden air …
And he turned with horrible slowness, attempting another escape. But it
was like wading through blood and guts on the quagmire of a battlefield.
The rook slipped darkly through the air. And then she was upon him.
Mother Maudlin had her plaything back.

The man-at-arm’s cries had barely faded before another rude noise shattered
the peacefulness of the woods.
It was like the trumpeting of a circus parade: a transdimensional
hullabaloo that ripped open a box-shaped gap in the space-time vortex. A
flashing light announced the arrival of the TARDIS and, all of a sudden,
there it was. The painted wooden sides of the box wavered slightly for a
moment and then the whole thing turned solid, sinking an inch or two into
the mulch of golden and orange leaves underfoot.
The doors flew open and out strode the most extraordinary-looking man.
Tall and gangly, his eyes were bulging as he glared at his new surroundings.
He was swathed in a long rust-coloured coat and yards and yards of an
immense multicoloured knitted scarf. His ensemble was topped off by a
wide-brimmed hat jammed over masses of curly hair.
‘It isn’t Scotland,’ he called back into the dark recesses of the box. His
voice was grand and hectoring. ‘And I believe we’ve drifted back a few
centuries, too. So the Brigadier will just have to wait a little longer for the
pleasure of our company.’
Presently he was joined by his two travelling companions: a dark-haired
girl in green eyeshadow and a blue trouser suit, and a square-jawed military
man in a navy blazer and a duffel coat. Their names were Sarah Jane Smith
and Harry Sullivan. The pair of them were natives of the twentieth-century
British Isles and they had been travelling haphazardly through space and
time with the Doctor for some months.
Sarah looked disappointed. ‘Oh, I was looking forward to seeing the Brig
again.’
‘Soon will, Sarah.’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘The TARDIS will catch up
with him eventually. We just have to work out when and where we are, and
then we can be on our way.’
‘A bit like getting your bearings at sea, I suppose,’ said Harry. He was a
naval man and relatively new to making trips in the Doctor’s space-time
machine. The whole thing was still an incredible source of wonder to him.
‘Are you sure you haven’t steered us off course on purpose?’ Sarah asked
her Time Lord friend. She knew he was resentful of the Brigadier’s
instructions: Present yourselves at Loch Ness forthwith – I need your help,
Doctor. The Doctor loathed being told what to do, by Time Lords, UNIT –
anyone, in fact. And yet these people still called on him for his unique
brand of help, when all he really wanted to do was wander aimlessly
through the cosmos …
‘So where do you think we are?’ Sarah asked him, hoping to stave off the
sulk she could see was imminent.
‘Oh … about eight hundred years too early, I should think.’ The Doctor
sighed, as if he couldn’t care less. ‘Somewhere in the middle of England. In
the deepest, darkest woods of England, from the looks of things.’
Harry laughed. ‘It isn’t very dark at the moment.’
He had a point. It was late afternoon, and the golden sun was lighting up
the foliage wonderfully. Shafts of amber light made the glade around them
radiant. ‘Yes, it’s quite nice, I suppose,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘If you like
that kind of thing.’
 ‘Eight hundred years,’ Sarah said, with a shiver. ‘What’s that, the Middle
Ages? I didn’t enjoy them much the last time I was there …’
The Doctor glanced at her, trying to recall ‘last time’. But for him that
had been in a different incarnation, and it tended to give him a slight
headache, remembering things that had happened while he was wearing an
earlier face. ‘Oh, the Middle Ages aren’t all bad, Sarah,’ he said, with one of
his sudden, disarming grins. ‘At least the air’s fresher than what you’re used
to. And also – listen to that! Listen to all that lovely quiet!’
At that very moment there came a huge burst of violent noise from the
undergrowth. Three bearded men in rough, shaggy clothes emerged from
their hiding places and started yelling all at once. They rounded on the
startled newcomers, brandishing evil-looking daggers. In just a few seconds
the Doctor and his friends were surrounded.
‘I say,’ Harry gasped, at knifepoint, as one of the newcomers singled him
out as the biggest threat. ‘A medieval mugging!’
Sarah rolled her eyes. Harry was trying, as usual, to make light of the
situation.
‘Leave the talking to me, Harry,’ the Doctor warned him.
Then a fourth figure emerged from the bushes, smartly dressed and
carrying a large bow with an arrow nocked ready to fly. He was handsome
and bearded and auburn-haired. His eyes twinkled as he smiled at them all.
‘Welcome back to Sherwood, Doctor.’
 Chapter Two

It had not been a great week for Robin Hood.

Only yesterday, Marian had left for Kirklees Priory, taking two horses
and Friar Tuck, threatening not to come back again. She had glared at Robin
before mounting and taking off into the sunset.
‘I’ll see if I can talk to her,’ Friar Tuck had said, patting Robin on the
shoulder.
Then they were gone, and he was left alone with his fellow outlaws, all
looking to Robin for direction and a cheery word. Marian’s going had
seemed to all of them like an omen of dreadful things to come. Their happy
band was breaking up at last, and darker times were coming to Sherwood
Forest.
‘Never mind her!’ Robin tried to jolly them along. ‘She’ll be back again.
You’ll see!’
But, on the inside, he didn’t feel quite so optimistic. Later, as he took a
miserable nocturnal stroll by the river, he was clapped on the back by a
concerned-looking Little John. The consoling pat almost winded him, and
Robin grinned at his friend. ‘She says I’ve changed. I’m not the same man.
She’s used to me being all devil-may-care and swashbuckling. And then
caring and kind in my quieter moments.’
John frowned, trying to work out what he meant. ‘But you are just the
same as ever! I’ve known you … how many years? You haven’t changed a
bit.’
Robin sighed. ‘Marian reckons that I’ve become cynical and
disillusioned. It’s like I’ve forgotten what we’ve been fighting for all these
years.’
Little John raised his fighting staff and shook it. ‘For the common man!
For the little people! For the humble poor! And to liberate England from its
oppressors and the pretender King John!’
 Robin nodded. ‘Yes, of course. That’s what it’s always been about. But
years have gone by, and here we still are. Living in caves and under trees,
roasting stolen deer and waylaying unwary travellers.’
John beamed at him. ‘I think it’s a grand life. What could be better?’
Robin didn’t like to say it, but he’d always imagined that they would
have somehow triumphed by now. He’d dreamt that their wicked opponents
would have been vanquished and swept away. Good King Richard would
have returned in triumph from the Crusades abroad and been enthroned in
London, ruling wisely and well over his subjects. By now, after all these
years of living as an outlaw, Robin would have been able to return to his
ancestral home of Locksley Hall. He could marry his beloved Marian
properly, and the two of them would be raising a family and living off the
land. There would be no more use for bows and arrows, hunting missions,
sword fights, desperate escapes or any other hair-raising adventures.
‘I’m getting too old, John,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is. I’m almost forty-
five. I thought we’d all be settled down by now.’
It was hard to get through to Little John sometimes. Robin’s trusty right-
hand man could be stubbornly slow. He just couldn’t see what was so bad
about their lives – to him it was all perfect.
The following day Robin’s predicament haunted him. How to get Marian
back? How to convince her that he wasn’t the miserable, disappointed
grump she’d accused him of becoming?
The morning saw him and his men patrolling the furthest boundaries of
their woodland home, doing a spot of hunting, and muttering among
themselves about the increasing presence of the sheriff’s men.
Will Scarlet was his usual suspicious self. He looked hounded and
perplexed by the world around him most of the time. ‘It’s been like that
since they put in this new Sheriff of Nottingham. They say he’s worse than
all the previous ones put together. He’s even worse than the old rotter we
blew up all those years ago.’ Will grinned for a brief second at the happy
memory before returning to his usual surly self. ‘They say he has weekly
hangings and beheadings and flayings just for fun! And he’s got King
John’s ear …’
Robin took on a hearty tone he didn’t quite feel. ‘We’ll boot him out,
same as we did all the others. And if the so-called King John shows his
pointed nose in this county again, we’ll scrag him! Take him prisoner!’
 His loyal band of men cheered, but it was nothing they hadn’t heard
before. Robin had been promising a proper revolution for twenty years or
more, and even the most steadfast Merries were starting to question his hit
rate.
Little John, though – still the most loyal of all – cheered as
enthusiastically as ever.

So this particular day passed in the same way as many others in the
Greenwood, though there were none of the sheriff’s soldiers to batter and
no deer to shoot. The only moment of excitement came from Much bagging
a couple of lethargic rabbits, and as the afternoon shadows lengthened
Robin was starting to think that it was time they returned to their home in
the heart of the forest.
But then his men said they’d heard something strange in the glade just
ahead. Robin himself caught a faint whisper of that noise: a weird, hurdy-
gurdy hallooing noise that he was sure he recognised …
But it couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be who and what he suspected it
might be – could it?
Robin’s heart started to beat faster. He hurried through the tall ferns and
rustling branches. Ahead he could hear his men leaping into action. They
yelled and jumped out on poor unsuspecting souls like this almost every
day of the year. They robbed and tussled and filled their bags with loot, and
it was usually all quite straightforward. Robin mostly left them to it. If he
was nearby, he would come sauntering into the scene at the last minute,
looking dapper and debonair in Lincoln green. He would introduce himself
by name and his captives would look thrilled at the thought of being held-
up by the legendary outlaw.
Today, though … Today something was different.
For the first time in weeks and weeks he felt excited. And as he
swaggered through the undergrowth and into the glen – he even felt
hopeful.
His Merries had surrounded the strangers. All three looked outraged or
terrified. A dark-haired girl, a brawny man and another man, dressed up like
an outlandish travelling player. And they were all staring open-mouthed at
Robin.
But Robin’s attention was taken up by the solid blue shape of the police
box sitting under the shelter of the trees.
 Before he knew it, he was grinning and calling out, ‘Welcome back to
Sherwood, Doctor.’
But where was the Doctor?
The three strangers continued to stare at him in astonishment.
None of them was the Doctor. None of them looked even the slightest bit
like him.
‘Come out, Doctor!’ Robin cried challengingly. ‘It is I! Your old friend
Robin-in-the-Hood! Your sparring partner of old, Robin of Locksley!’
The Merrie Men were gathering round now, advancing towards the
strange blue box. Little John looked particularly nervous. He didn’t like the
way it hummed.
‘Now, look here,’ the girl snapped. ‘Will you put those dangerous things
down? You’ll do someone a mischief.’
The younger man’s eyes were bright with sudden glee. ‘I say! Did I hear
you right there, old chap? Did you really call yourself Robin Hood?’
The girl made a loud hooting noise of derision. ‘He’s pulling our leg,
Harry, you idiot. There was no such person. Not really. Just a legend.’
‘Oh,’ said the man called Harry, looking as if he felt rather foolish.
Robin grinned at them all and flung down his weapons with a clatter. He
threw open his arms and gave a deep bow, shouting, ‘Oh yes, there is
indeed such a person! And I am he! Robin Hood, the notorious outlaw of
Sherwood Forest, at your service!’ He frowned. ‘Though, judging by your
garb, you people are pretty well off. I should probably steal everything you
have upon your person if that’s all right? That’s how these things usually
go.’
The young girl and the man with the square jaw started staring again.
Then the taller, older man in the swathes of multicoloured wool was
suddenly darting forward, his face shining with manic glee. Before Robin
knew it, he was clasping both of Robin’s hands in his and shaking them
warmly. ‘Well, I must say, we’re delighted to meet you, Mr Hood. Now tell
me, how is it that you seem to know my name, hmm?’
‘Your name?’ Robin frowned, disconcerted by the man’s strange manner.
‘The Doctor.’ The Doctor grinned.
‘But you’re n-not the Doctor,’ Robin stammered. ‘You’re nothing like
him. Though that’s his TARDIS over there …’
The three strangers went rigid. ‘Doctor! He recognises the TARDIS!’ the
girl hissed.
 ‘I know,’ said the curly-headed man sombrely. ‘Which leads me to think
we’ve got a kind of mix-up going on. A mix-up … with time.’
Now, it was well known that Little John didn’t hold with philosophical
discussions like this. As far as he was concerned, there was good robbing to
be done. ‘There’s a toll to be paid, for travelling in our woods,’ he said
bluffly, brandishing his staff.
Robin chuckled and stepped back to let his men go about their work.
The Merries waved their weapons, and Sarah, the Doctor and Harry were
forced to empty their pockets. Sarah had nothing but a lipstick; Harry had
nothing at all; but the contents of the Doctor’s endless pockets fascinated
everyone. He produced a yo-yo, an apple, a bag of jelly babies, his sonic
screwdriver, fourteen conkers, a tennis ball, several unidentifiable electronic
gadgets and finally a small sack of something rather heavy.
‘Oh!’ he said, weighing it in his hand and remembering. ‘This is from a
rather recent adventure of ours on the planet Voga.’ He tipped a little of the
bag’s glistening contents into his palm for them all to see. ‘Gold,’ he
murmured softly, and the Merrie Men gasped. ‘Will that do to pay our toll
for strolling in your woods?’ The Doctor grinned.
 Chapter Three

Sir Guy of Gisborne wasn’t impressed by the sheriff. Yes, as a local

landowner Gisborne had to more or less do as he was told. After all, the
sheriff had dozens of men-at-arms, and a castle – you couldn’t really argue
with that sort of thing. So, when the sheriff called, there was nothing to be
done but to don the old armour and come running. Gisborne didn’t want to
lose Locksley Hall, but that didn’t mean he had to respect the jumped-up
villain.
Take today, for example. Sir Guy had been looking forward to a relaxing
afternoon romping around his small estate on his horse, bullying a few
peasants, doing a bit of shooting, and generally enjoying himself. Instead he
had been summoned to the ghastly Nottingham Castle.
Recently rebuilt by this latest in a long line of sheriffs, it was something
of an eyesore in Guy’s not-so-humble opinion. But, again, there was
nothing to be done. And, when the call came, he had to ride out in full
armour to see his sheriff.
It was evening by the time he clattered across the drawbridge. Up went
the new portcullis and Sir Guy thundered into the spacious new courtyard,
where picturesque servants scattered across the cobbles at his approach. He
leapt off his gleaming stallion and flung the reins to the nearest lackey.
‘Feed him and rub him down,’ he snarled, and took himself off in the
direction of the sheriff’s chamber.
Every wall was rigged out with old-fashioned torches, burning flames
that filled the corridors with smoke and the reek of beeswax. They were a
dreadful waste of money. What was the point of lit passageways? The
wastefulness of it rankled Gisborne. Yes, he’d stolen his own mansion, but
he still had to pay for its upkeep.
Sir Guy swaggered into the main reception hall – again, brilliantly lit and
carpeted with the finest rushes – and sighed at the decor.
 ‘I’ve had this place done up again.’ The sheriff’s self-satisfied tone raised
the hackles on Gisborne’s back.
‘I don’t like it,’ Sir Guy muttered, and marched towards the blazing
fireplace at the end of the hall. The sheriff was perched ostentatiously on
some kind of tapestried chair. It was the most lavish and outrageously
comfortable piece of furniture Gisborne had ever seen. His soul cried out in
furious, silent envy at the sight of it.
The sheriff had noticed. ‘It’s imported from France. King Philip sent it to
the king, who didn’t like the colour, and so he had it sent to me. It’s the very
latest thing. See? It has both a back and arms to rest upon!’ He gave a kind
of wriggle, to show just how comfortable he was.
Through gritted teeth Gisborne asked, ‘Why did my lord summon me
here forthwith this evening?’
‘Hmm?’ The sheriff peered at his pet knight and sipped from his pewter
goblet. Devilishly handsome, Sir Guy was. That sleek blond hair and the
dashing scar on his cheek – they made the sheriff rather envious. In
Gisborne’s presence he felt quite inadequate. He counteracted this by
behaving in an affected lordly fashion, and now pretended to act as if he
couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had wanted Gisborne for.
‘Oh! Oh yes! You see, the thing is, the knights who brought this delightful
chair from London also brought the exciting news that His Majesty King
John will be joining us for a little sojourn here, at Nottingham Castle, in the
very near future. Isn’t that a marvellous honour? It will be wonderful,
showing off all the improvements I have made to the place …’
Fear mingled with excitement made Gisborne’s mouth go dry. The king
himself, here in their midst! If Guy could just get a little access to the royal
ear, he might be able to make his case. After all, Guy was a knight of the
realm. Who better to be living in this castle than an actual sir? The sheriff
was nothing more than a pretentious government official with ideas above
his station. Surely the king would see that as soon as he arrived. Perhaps Sir
Guy’s moment for advancement to the position of Sheriff of Nottingham
had arrived at last.
‘Th-this is very exciting news, my lord,’ the knight said, trying to keep
his voice calm.
The sheriff was watching him. He knew of Gisborne’s ambition. Still, he
rather liked the impetuous man.
 ‘We must prepare a very special festival,’ the sheriff said, standing up
and stretching in front of his blazing hearth. ‘A special jamboree to honour
the king. Any ideas, Gisborne?’
Sir Guy had plenty of ideas, as it happened, but he wasn’t feeling
particularly generous this evening. He shrugged. ‘A feast with the local
nobles and knights, of course. Some minstrels and fools, I suppose. A
dance. And an execution or two, I should think – that kind of thing always
goes down well with royalty.’
‘Ha!’ The sheriff’s eyes gleamed excitedly. ‘I’m already well ahead of
you, Gisborne!’
‘Are you, my lord?’
Suddenly the sheriff was striding across the rush-strewn flagstones. ‘Yes!
We’ll have an execution – in fact, we’ll have a dozen of ’em! And a
wedding, too! How about that, eh?’
‘A wedding, my lord?’
‘Yes! Yes! And guess whose wedding?’
Gisborne frowned. He was bored now by this sly, capering little man.
‘Would it be yours, sir?’
‘Indeed! You and the nobles and the knights and the King of England
himself will be guests at my fabulous nuptials. Just imagine, Gisborne! It
will be the event of the decade!’
‘Is that so, my lord?’
Suddenly the sheriff shouted: ‘Bring her here! Bring her in! Sir Guy
wants to get a look at my intended bride.’ One of his poor servants scurried
off out of the chamber.
Gisborne glared at him. ‘Who is it?’
The sheriff was just about bursting with glee. ‘Just you wait and see! My
men took her prisoner last night as she was travelling through Sherwood
Forest with no protection at all but a flimsy little bow and arrow, and a fat,
ineffectual friar.’
Sir Guy’s jaw dropped. ‘Marian,’ he gasped, almost under his breath.
‘Marian!’ chorused the sheriff happily, clasping his hands together as the
doors were flung open by the servants and the most beautiful woman in all
of England was thrust into the room, followed by a large man with a bald
head and a profusely sweating brow.
She was exhausted and besmirched, staggering into the hall on unsteady
legs. Her gown was torn and she still had leaves in her hair. The maid
Marian looked as if she was trying her hardest not to give away just how
terrified she was. She raised her chin and trembled only slightly as she
faced up defiantly to both the sheriff and Sir Guy.
Gisborne, with difficulty, kept silent. What use could there be in giving
his true feelings for Marian away? What could be gained from revealing
how he longed to live with her here in the castle when he became sheriff?
For now he hardened his heart, and his expression, as he glared at the
captured Marian and the flustered, blustering Friar Tuck.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Marian said, spitting the words at the
sheriff.
‘I think I already have,’ he said, preening. ‘What do you reckon,
Gisborne? A wedding and a dozen funerals – won’t that be a fitting tribute
to our glorious King John when he comes to stay?’
‘Whose funerals will they be?’ Gisborne asked. The knight already knew
the answer. He just wanted the sheriff to say it out loud. He wanted to see
how Marian and the friar would react.
‘Why, we’ll be hanging Robin Hood, of course,’ purred the sheriff. ‘And
as many of his so-called Merrie Men as you can lay your hands on, Sir
Guy.’
 Chapter Four

Of course, the Doctor was regaling them with elaborate stories as they
marched through the woods to the outlaws’ secret den. By the time they
reached what appeared to be a small, secret township hidden under the
trees, he had grown quite boastful.
‘Oh yes,’ he was saying, as his eyes darted keenly around their
surroundings and at everyone’s fascinated expressions. ‘You should have
seen the final battle between the giant silver knights and the Vogans! Why,
if my friends and I hadn’t happened to be there, it would have gone a lot
worse for the galaxy!’
The Merrie Men seemed perplexed by the strange words the Doctor was
using, but Robin just kept nodding and smiling encouragingly, as if he
could follow everything the Time Lord said.
‘Well, this is quite impressive!’ Harry gasped, taking in the sight of the
encampment in the woods. There were treehouses high up in the tall
beeches and oaks, with rope ladders stretched tautly between. Camouflaged
huts huddled together in the undergrowth and, as twilight started to deepen
around them, lanterns were lit, shedding a golden radiance on the secluded
village.
Sarah had to agree with Harry, but her thoughts were elsewhere. When
she got a chance, she elbowed the Doctor in the ribs, and whispered, ‘Oi,
you! So, how do they all know you, then? Have you really been here
before?’
He bent closer and gave one of his peculiar facial shrugs. ‘I’ve absolutely
no idea. Some of my earlier peregrinations in history have become a little
vague to me, I must admit. It feels rather like I’m missing whole episodes
from my past.’ He jumped up and down on the hard-packed earth, as if
testing the gravity of the situation. ‘But really … You’d think I’d remember
running about with Robin Hood, wouldn’t you?’
 Sarah gave him a long-suffering look. ‘I should think you would, yes!’
Harry had joined them. ‘Robin is treating you like some sort of hero,’ he
said. ‘Like a legend.’
This seemed to please the Doctor no end. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’
A tall, sweet-faced man with long, wavy hair bounced up to them and
introduced himself. ‘I’m Allan-a-Dale,’ he said. ‘Robin’s a bit busy with
chores, but he says that if you want to freshen up before supper, you can use
my place if you like.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr A-Dale,’ Sarah told him, and they followed
him into one of the rough but clean shacks on the perimeter of the camp.
Already there was a large firepit blazing in the central glade, with a spit
turning and the delicious aroma of roasting meat wafting through the trees.
Harry’s stomach gave an audible grumble.
In Allan’s spartan shack Sarah washed her face with fresh spring water as
their host produced some kind of wooden lute and played them a sprightly
tune.
‘So tell me,’ the Doctor asked him. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’
Allan continued to pick out an elaborate tune and shook his head sadly.
‘No, the Doctor who came here all those years ago, and who helped us in
the battle against the old Sheriff of Nottingham, was a different man
altogether. Rather taciturn of visage. Whey-faced and judgemental and not
at all happy to be here. Also, he was a Celt.’
Sarah raised her eyebrow at the Doctor. ‘Ring any bells?’ she asked.
‘It’s no one I remember being …’ he murmured. ‘But, then, time has a
habit of playing very strange tricks on me. Perhaps it’s a future me! When
was this, Allan?’
‘More than twenty years ago.’ The minstrel smiled. ‘That was when the
whole of Nottingham Castle rose up and flew into the sky. The Doctor and
his friend Clara Oswald helped to bring it down again by shooting a golden
arrow and making the whole thing light up in a thunderclap of bright and
fiery fragments.’
Harry chuckled. ‘I must say, that does sound rather like something you’d
be involved in, Doctor.’
‘And there were knights that the Doctor described as ro … robots! That
was the word!’ Allan added, remembering with a shudder. ‘They were metal
through and through, lumbering about like sleepwalking giants.’
 The Doctor looked perplexed. ‘The name Clara Oswald seems to ring a
deep and distant bell.’ He shook his mass of brown curls as if to loosen up
his memory cells. ‘Well, if I’ve been here before, it hardly matters. I trust
that I didn’t do anything too disastrously awful?’
‘Oh no indeed,’ Allan said, looking puzzled. ‘The Doctor was
instrumental in reuniting Robin with his love, Marian. And they have barely
been parted in all the years since. But forgive me – how can you be the
Doctor when you look nothing like the man I remember?’
‘Go on then.’ Sarah laughed. ‘Explain to him, Doctor.’
The Doctor did his best, but Allan couldn’t quite follow all the talk of
cellular regeneration. ‘You are a legend,’ was how Allan put it, trying to
sum up his own feelings on the matter. ‘That’s what I think. You are more
than just the man we see before us. And more than the man who visited us
all those years ago. Your outer aspect is only just one facet of your
legendary self, like a character from an old tale or a ballad.’
The Doctor was, to put it mildly, delighted. ‘What a very perceptive
fellow you are!’ He beamed.
Sarah rolled her eyes. The Doctor was horribly susceptible to flattery.
‘Are we ready to join the others again?’ Harry broke in. ‘That roasting
venison is smelling awfully good …’

The evening was a very pleasant one, even if Allan-a-Dale did play a couple
too many songs to entertain the gathered hordes.
There really were quite a lot of people gathered there that evening. Sarah
had expected just the Merrie Men that they had met earlier – a hard-bitten,
hard-living crew, used to life in the wild. Instead she found men, women
and children of all ages. All had flocked into the Greenwood from the
surrounding villages of Nottinghamshire to make their homes with Robin
and his men. It was more like being at a suburban barbecue than feasting in
the forest with dangerous outlaws.
‘It’s much safer here,’ the gigantic man known as Little John told her as
he ate, meat juices running down his chin. ‘Our people aren’t safe in the
villages hereabouts. Not these days. The sheriff and his men are more brutal
and greedy than ever before. They take what they want and slaughter our
folk without a second thought. These are the darkest days I think we’ve ever
known.’
 The huge man’s simple, gruff eloquence touched Sarah as she listened.
She nibbled on a helping of rather delicious smoky venison and talked to as
many of the woodspeople as she could that evening. She realised that she
was behaving exactly as per her training as a journalist: asking questions
and learning everything about them as quickly as she possibly could.
‘Quite a welcome, isn’t it?’ Harry grinned at her when she bumped into
him later by the light of the firepit. ‘Can you believe we’re really here?’
Sarah’s restless mind was still mulling over the possibilities. ‘Isn’t it all
too perfect, though?’ she asked him. ‘Doesn’t it feel just a bit too much like
the legends and the old storybooks? I was thinking, what if we’ve wandered
into some kind of film set, or a theme park …’
Harry chuckled at her. ‘It all seems real enough to me.’
Sarah Jane remembered her very first journey into Earth’s past. She’d
smuggled herself into the TARDIS, with similarly cynical thoughts about
theme parks and film sets. But, just like that time, the world around her
tonight appeared solid enough. Sarah decided that she simply had to accept
the fact that the Doctor had randomly managed to propel them right into the
middle of the adventures of Robin Hood.
When she said as much to Harry, it made him grin. ‘Where is the Doctor,
by the way?’
She shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him for an hour – not since he was holding
forth about our time on Nerva Beacon with the Wirrrn, making everyone
shriek with all his talk of giant insects and twitching legs …’
‘I wonder if he ought to be quite so indiscreet about his goings-on in
outer space,’ Harry wondered aloud.
Sarah was gazing round at the mass of faces lit by the campfire. ‘I can’t
see any sign of him.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’s all right.’ Harry smiled. ‘Shall we go for seconds?
I’m still starving.’
She shook her head vaguely and couldn’t help shivering slightly as a
breeze riffled the edges of the hidden village. ‘Doctor?’ she called, and all at
once a horrible feeling of foreboding settled on Sarah Jane.
 Chapter Five

‘Mother Maudlin?’ The voice echoed through the darkest corner of the
forest. It was the voice of a man who liked to believe he feared nothing and
no one. A man who trod firmly, and with great swagger, wherever he went –
even here, in the deepest, sepulchral bowels of Sherwood, in this neglected
corner known as Paplewick. ‘Mother dearest, are you there?’
Guy of Gisborne hated Mother Maudlin. She was, though, a necessary
evil. Every week he had to make this journey to visit the crone in her
horrible hovel, paying tribute in the form of a sacrifice. How he hated the
stench of her and her wheedling, conniving ways. But he knew she was
deadly. The magic was potent and real …
‘There you are!’ he cried with fake pleasure as she came skulking out of
her front door. She was wiping her hands on the hem of her filthy garments.
They were coated in some kind of nasty ichor that made Guy’s insides
convulse. ‘Mother Maudlin, I have brought you another willing victim. One
of the sheriff’s strapping young knights.’
The strapping young knight in question, who had previously been
walking timidly in Sir Guy’s footsteps, suddenly jerked in alarm. ‘Willing
victim?’ he said in a strangulated voice.
Mother Maudlin looked the young man up and down. ‘And not before
time! My last one managed to get himself free and escape. Not that he got
very far, of course.’
‘L-look here,’ began the sacrificial victim. ‘I was only supposed to be
escorting Sir Guy back to Locksley Hall this evening. I –’
‘Oh, you were, were you?’ sneered Mother Maudlin.
‘Yes, indeed, and I don’t really understand what’s going on.’
‘Silence!’ shrieked the old hag, and she waggled her bony, bloody fingers
in his face. Instantly the young soldier froze and fell asleep on his feet. ‘I
won’t have my prey answering me back!’
 Sir Guy couldn’t help himself from feeling the tiniest stab of remorse at
handing the poor boy over to the ravenous creature – he knew what fate had
in store for him. But Gisborne quashed that human instinct in a flash. There
was no room in his heart for guilt or sympathy. He had a job to do and a
plan to carry out. He couldn’t start getting soft now.
‘Mother Maudlin, there is news tonight from Nottingham Castle and that
idiot sheriff …’
Her keen eyes glittered with malice. ‘Oh yes? Well, it’s all happening
today, isn’t it?’
‘I think that we must step up our plans, Mother,’ Gisborne said. ‘I learnt
tonight that the king himself is coming here. Within a fortnight he will
grace Nottingham Castle with his presence.’
‘That’s good news for you, Gisborne,’ she snarled sarcastically. ‘You’ll
have plenty of opportunity to grovel and prostrate yourself in front of that
treacherous cur.’
‘I will indeed,’ Sir Guy said stiffly. ‘And, as you well know, it is to all of
our advantage that this treacherous cur, as you call him, remains in power
over these lands. And I hope you’ll keep on using your necromantic powers
to help me see that this is so.’
She sniffed and shrugged. ‘Yes, of course I will. You know I will.’ Her
expression grew even more savage and hateful. ‘Anything to keep the
rightful king from returning to rule over all of us. Richard’s return would
mean an end to so many of the things we hold dear.’
Gisborne permitted himself a sour chuckle. ‘Yes, there’d be no more
necromancy and dark arts and magical goings-on down in the woods if
Good King Richard came back from the Holy Land to rule over us all. Your
days would be at an end, old woman. It’s good to see that you understand
that. But this way, with King John doing just as he likes, we get to play as
we please, don’t we?’
Mother Maudlin had little interest in political talk. Grumbling, she turned
away from Sir Guy, and dragged her fresh sacrificial victim into her
tumbledown shack. Gisborne had no choice but to follow them both
indoors. His throat constricted at the powerful incense she was burning, and
his stomach churned at the reek of the filthy broth in her cauldron.
‘What a very charming home you have,’ he told her.
The old witch looked at him. ‘Sometimes I regret the fact that we ever
became allies, Gisborne.’
 His eyes widened at this uncharacteristic moment of reflection. Instantly
his mind flashed back to their first, terrifying encounter.
He had been no more than a child, lost in the winter woods, panicked and
frozen to the bone, the icy branches reaching out to ensnare him. And then
she had been there. Covered in furs, her talons outstretched to take his hand.
She had been beautiful then, and somehow timeless. ‘You will be a great
and wicked man, one day,’ she had told him. ‘I can see it in your eyes. We
will be allies in the battle for the soul of this land.’
Gisborne blinked and dragged himself back to the present. Yes, they had
been allies for many years. And he had benefitted from it, there was no
doubt about it.
She was laughing at him now, just as she always did. She knew that when
he was with her he was, at heart, still the same frightened boy he had been
on that wintry day.
‘Will you stay for a bite to eat?’ She cackled and stirred the oily mess in
the bubbling pot.
‘N-no, Mother,’ he said, recoiling. Now he knew how dangerous it was to
eat or drink anything offered by a witch – as a boy he hadn’t been so well
informed. He backed away. ‘I shall leave you. I’ve a long ride back to
Locksley Hall.’
‘We must make plans,’ she told him. ‘With your news that the Pretender
King is coming here, I feel the stars are moving towards their point of
collision. Things are starting to happen. There was another arrival here
today in the Greenwood …’
Sir Guy was mystified. ‘Another arrival – who?’
She laughed. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. And you will be amazed, Sir
Guy.’
Then she dismissed him with a flick of her dripping wooden spoon.
Gisborne knew better than to quiz her further. He hurried out of the shack
without another word and untethered his horse, then rode off into the inky
dark night.
Once alone, Mother Maudlin secured her new victim with leather bonds
and made sure he was pacified. Then she stared into the greenish flames of
her hearth, turning her inward eye to concentrate on the traces left by the
day’s strange new arrivals … Yes, among the endless noise and the busy
profusion of life in the forest, she could catch the tail ends of their foreign
words. She could sniff out their alien scent. There was something peculiar
about these new arrivals. She sensed great power and intelligence, and
something told her they were from somewhere impossibly distant.
Mother Maudlin wanted to know more. And she was used to getting
exactly what she wanted.
She transformed herself into a rook once more and darted into the
fireplace and up the chimney. A nimbus of flame clung to her as she soared
through the night. Nothing touched her, nothing gave her pain. She knew
she was the most powerful being in this primitive land. She flew through
the forest, under the dense, dark canopy of leaves, as far as the perimeter of
the outlaw encampment. She paused on a branch, taking her bearings,
sending her thoughts spiralling down into the noisy smoke and light of the
celebrations below.
Yes, here was one of the strangers. One who didn’t belong. She was a
traveller from far, far away. Her garments, her hair, even her very flesh
smelt wrong. This girl had stardust clinging to her.
She was at Mother Maudlin’s mercy.
‘Doctor?’ the girl down below was calling. ‘Where have you got to?’
And, in that instant, the rook leapt up from the branch and stretched out
her midnight wings. She dived at the girl who, looking up, gave a stifled
scream. ‘No! Get away from me!’ Sarah yelled.
But it was too late.
 Chapter Six

Wen was a kitchen lad below stairs at Nottingham Castle. The lowest of the
low, he was given all the dirtiest and most demeaning of tasks – usually the
plucking of dozens of chickens or the peeling of hundreds of potatoes. He
was treated roughly by the head cook, Grizelda, a gargantuan woman with
arms like ham hocks. And on Wednesday morning, when the boy reported
for work in the smoky, dirty kitchen, she had a surprise job for him.
‘The sheriff has special guests and you’re to take them a fancy breakfast.’
So Wen found himself climbing up the spiral staircase of the northern
tower to the cell at the very top. He was carrying a tray of delicate pastries
and a flagon of French wine.
Wen was very interested to find out just who these special guests of the
sheriff were. Special guests was a misnomer, of course – anyone kept in the
north tower was placed there under lock and key. They weren’t really
special guests at all.
‘The lady Marian!’ gasped the boy once the guard had let him into the
lofty cell. Wen was quite familiar with the lady Marian and with her
protector, the friar Tuck. The monk was advancing on him greedily, eyeing
the breakfast tray he had brought them.
‘It’s Wen, isn’t it?’ Marian smiled warmly. She walked over, and, once
Tuck had relieved him of his burden, she hugged the boy. Wen beamed at
her. To him she was a remote and romantic figure, glimpsed at feasts in the
Greenwood now and then, and sung about in ballads. Wen worshipped her
and Robin and all the other Merrie Men. He dreamt of one day joining their
number himself and abandoning his kitchen-lad life.
‘Wen, would you be able to go on a little mission for me, do you think? It
might be rather dangerous …’
Wen looked delighted. ‘Of course!’
 She went on, ‘Could you please carry a special message back to Robin
and the others?’
He nodded solemnly. ‘Of course. I can slip away as easy as anything.’ He
was boasting, he knew, and was pleased when Marian gave him an
encouraging smile.
‘The thing is, Robin thinks that Tuck and myself are away at the priory,
but we were intercepted and taken prisoner. And this time I think it’s rather
more serious.’ Her eyes flickered for a moment, betraying her fear. ‘The
sheriff intends to take me for his bride in a public ceremony and execute
Robin and his closest followers. This is all planned for a royal visit next
week. Robin must be on his guard. I fear this sheriff is more determined
than any of his predecessors. The time has come for us all to fight back.’
Friar Tuck added, through a mouthful of honeyed pastry, ‘Robin’s not
prepared for the kind of attack that the sheriff and Sir Guy of Gisborne are
preparing to unleash. You must warn him to prepare for war, Wen.’
The kitchen lad drew himself up to his full height, struck by the
importance of the task they were entrusting him with. ‘I will do my very
best, Friar Tuck and Lady Marian,’ he promised. He gave a stiff little bow,
and his last glimpse of Marian was of auburn hair shining in the sunlight
from the narrow window.
As Wen hurried back down the stone stairs, he realised that he was
prepared to do absolutely anything for the lady. This was his chance to
prove himself and perhaps take a step forward in his dream of one day
joining Robin’s band.

By late morning Grizelda the cook was dozing, half drunk on mead. It was
an easy matter for Wen to nip out of the kitchens and up into the busy
courtyard, where he managed to steal a ride on the back of an old cart that
had been bringing supplies of firewood into the castle. Hiding under a
rough old blanket, he marvelled at the ease with which he moved around,
unseen, in this world of grown-ups.
If only his mother could see him now!
The rickety cart left the castle, rumbling over the drawbridge and the
stinking moat far below. The cart’s owner was quite unaware of his extra
passenger, even when, as they passed along the perimeter of the woodlands,
the boy tumbled out from under the dirty blankets and jumped into the
undergrowth.
 He had made it. He was back in Sherwood Forest again.
It didn’t take him long to get his bearings and hurry off into the trees.
He knew the way, and within little more than an hour was standing in the
secluded glade at the heart of Robin’s encampment. Last night’s fire was
still smouldering and there was a lazy, thick-headed kind of look to
everyone he saw. Clearly there had been a night of great revelry and
feasting and song, and most of the Merrie Men looked like they were
feeling the effects of their late night.
Friar Tuck is quite right, Wen thought. The Merrie Men are enjoying
themselves far too much. They aren’t ready for the trials and the
tribulations to come.
There was a hearty shout then, welcoming him back to Sherwood, and he
looked up to see Robin Hood himself striding towards him. ‘It’s Wen, isn’t
it?’ The outlaw smiled at him.
Wen couldn’t believe that Robin would remember his name. He struggled
to hide his pleasure before regaining his composure. Finally (and clumsily)
he announced, ‘My lord, I bring very important news from Nottingham
Castle – and Lady Marian!’
 Chapter Seven

That morning Harry Sullivan was feeling just as weary as everyone else
who had been up late carousing round the campfire. By the time Wen
arrived with his urgent news, Harry was feeling better rested and had caught
up with Sarah, who didn’t quite seem herself.
‘You’ve been strangely distracted, old girl,’ he told her. ‘Ever since I
found you wandering about in the woods by yourself in the middle of the
night. You could have got terribly lost!’
‘Oh.’ She waved away his concern. ‘I just needed some quiet time. This
lot here were so rowdy last night.’
Harry smiled. ‘Can you believe that I had them all singing the Robin
Hood theme tune from the telly?’ He had found this hilarious last night and
continued to find it hilarious today. ‘They loved it! I bet they’ll sing it all
the time now when they go riding through the glen.’
Sarah was appalled. ‘The Doctor won’t be very happy about that! It’s a –
what’s-it-called – an anachronism.’
‘Oh, tush,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It’s only a theme tune. I knew they’d
all get a kick out of it.’
Sarah decided to let the matter drop. ‘We’d best find out where the
Doctor’s got to,’ she said. ‘I hope he hasn’t gone wandering into some
terrible danger.’ Then she laughed at herself. ‘What am I saying? Of course
he has!’ Sarah went stomping off through the trees in the direction of the
camp, leaving Harry watching after her. She was in quite an unfriendly
mood this morning for some reason. As he looked, he noticed a sleek black
rook sitting on a branch, quite close to where Sarah had been standing. It
gave a raucous cry that seemed to be directed at him, then took straight off
through the canopy of leaves.
‘Horrible thing,’ Harry muttered, then he went after his friend. ‘Hold on,
Sarah!’
They found the Doctor by the smouldering embers of the fire. He was
coaxing the flames back into life and, by the looks of it, had nipped back to
the TARDIS for a packet of tea, a teapot and various other breakfast
supplies.
Harry nudged Sarah with his elbow. ‘Now who’s introducing
anachronisms, hey?’
‘Shush,’ she snapped. ‘Are you complaining?’
He certainly wasn’t, as the Doctor turned with a brilliant grin and handed
him a huge mug of strong, sugary tea. Sarah took hers and they watched the
Doctor shovelling eight spoonfuls of sugar into his own mug. ‘Now,’ he
said, ‘we’ll feel better prepared to face the day.’
‘Are we staying here, then?’ asked Harry. ‘It’s not just a flying visit?’
‘Oh no, I hardly think so,’ the Doctor said musingly. ‘You see, I think
there’s something going on here that might need our attention. There’s
nothing tangible I can put my finger on yet, but I feel like there’s something
very wrong, here.’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah, with sudden conviction. ‘There’s something quite evil
here in these woods.’
Harry felt alarmed. ‘Now, hang on a bit. Where are you getting that
from? Everyone we’ve met so far has been very kind and welcoming to us.’
‘There’s something in the background, though,’ said the Doctor, in his
deepest, darkest, most doom-laden voice. ‘When you’ve travelled to as
many places as Sarah and I have, Harry, you come to recognise the signs.
No, Sarah’s quite right. There is a wicked presence here, biding its time and
waiting to emerge.’
‘So what are we going to do? Throw in our lot with Robin and his Merrie
Men?’ Harry grinned, suddenly delighted by the idea.
The Doctor glared at him. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you teaching them
all that song last night. Of all the imbecilic things to do!’
Harry looked shame-faced for a second, before they were interrupted by
the shaggy man-mountain that was Little John lumbering over to them.
‘Robin is calling a meeting,’ he thundered. ‘There’s to be an emergency
gathering. You’re very welcome to join us.’
Sarah beamed at Little John. There was something about this plain,
honest man that she liked a lot. ‘Come on, then!’ she told her friends, taking
a huge swig of her tea. ‘Let’s not keep Robin waiting!’
‘This is Wen,’ said Robin, without preamble. He was standing on top of the
huge bowed trunk at the heart of his camp, his trusty bow in his hand. It
was where he always stood to make announcements, only now there was
also a skinny twelve-year-old boy by his side, looking abashed and
embarrassed. ‘Wen will be known to some of you. He works in the kitchens
beneath Nottingham Castle and he has visited us once or twice, bringing
gifts of food that are testament to his friendship and his bravery.’
‘Damn foolish if you ask me,’ Little John muttered under his breath. ‘The
sheriff’s men could be following him. He could lead them straight to us.
Robin’s too soft.’
Only Sarah could hear the big man’s sceptical words. Everyone else was
cheering the skinny lad as Robin ruffled his fair hair. ‘Now, today I have to
report that Wen has done us an even greater service. One for which we’ll be
forever in his debt.’ As Robin’s voice turned serious, there was a new
feeling in the air – he himself even looked a bit shaken by the information
he had received. ‘Wen has brought dreadful tidings for all who love Lady
Marian.’
There was a flurry of concerned cries and questions, and Robin had to
wave his arms to quieten them.
‘She has been taken by the sheriff and placed in the north tower of
Nottingham Castle under lock and key.’
‘What of that fool Tuck?’ Little John called out. ‘Didn’t he protect her?’
‘Friar Tuck is an amazing swordsman.’ Robin frowned at Little John,
surprised by the question. ‘But not even he could withstand a whole platoon
of the sheriff’s men. No, they have taken her and placed her in their tallest,
most impregnable tower. But thanks to the courageous Wen here, we know
that she is being looked after reasonably well and that no harm has come to
her.’
Everyone started muttering at once. ‘How do we get her back?’ called out
Will Scarlet. ‘Do we have a plan yet?’
Robin smiled at the half a dozen eager suggestions for storming a castle
with hundreds of well-trained guards without further delay.
‘It’s all a bit more complicated,’ he said, and suddenly there were lines of
fretfulness etched upon his face. Evidently this news had shocked him. He
was only pretending to be as bright and optimistic as ever. ‘The sheriff is
planning a festival to celebrate the arrival of so-called King John next
week.’
 Allan-a-Dale stepped forward eagerly. ‘Prince John is coming here?’
Little John looked delighted. ‘At last! At last we can get to him! We can
get that wicked, devious creature and chop his head off! Do us all a favour.’
The crowd became excited, and all the Merrie Men began chanting,
‘Chop his head off!’ Some of them even started to sing the song that Harry
had taught them last night. The Doctor frowned.
Robin silenced them all with a swish of his longbow. ‘To kick off the
wedding, the sheriff has a plan to execute me and my closest followers. Guy
of Gisborne has been charged with taking us captive – at all costs.’ A ripple
of fear and uncertainty went through the crowd at the mention of the
knight’s name. ‘I think, my friends, that we have never been so terribly
threatened, facing such an obvious trap and with so much for us at stake.
We are staring horrible defeat directly in the face and having to consider an
end to our glorious way of life.’ Suddenly he grinned. ‘My loyal followers –
and our visiting friends – desperate as the hour is, I think this might well be
our greatest adventure yet!’
 Chapter Eight

‘The thing is,’ Robin told the Doctor, ‘you’re such a lot like him, I’m
tempted to believe you when you tell me that you are indeed the same
Doctor who stayed among us here twenty years ago.’
The Doctor managed to look gratified and miffed at the same time. ‘This
is one of the hazards of time travel. It’s even worse when you accidentally
run into yourself, believe me!’
Robin shook his head. ‘But this talk of changing faces – it sounds too
much like dark magic to me. People around here have a very healthy fear of
such strange talk. They are terrified by the thought of necromancers and
enchanters. No, I think it’s for the best if we just tell everyone that you are
the old Doctor’s son.’
The Time Lord frowned. ‘Son …?!’ For a second, he looked almost
offended. ‘Oh, well, I suppose so.’ Then he was off in a reverie for a
moment, wondering about this future incarnation of his and what he might
be like. He snapped back into the present with a sudden grin. ‘You believe
in who I am though, don’t you, Robin? I can see it in your eyes.’
Robin shifted under the Doctor’s steely blue stare. They were standing in
a sunny glade on a warm afternoon, but when the Doctor looked at him like
that Robin felt peculiarly chilled, as though he could feel the winds of time
itself whispering through the forest.
‘Your friend back then, Clara Oswald – she told me more about you than
you ever wanted her to. She did it to convince me to save you from danger.
So, yes indeed, Doctor. I know a little about your past. About how once you
were a lord who left his lofty home to go and help the poor and the needy
and those in danger.’
The Doctor whistled. ‘This Clara told you all that, did she? I’ll have to
have a word with her – when I eventually meet her.’
 ‘The conclusion we both came to, Doctor, was that our lives are not so
very different, mine and yours.’
The Doctor grinned at him. ‘I don’t suppose they are!’
‘And so you’ll help us, then? As you did once before?’
The Doctor looked deeply perplexed. ‘As I helped you in your past and
in my future … But don’t you see how complicated that is for me? I’ve
crossed my own timeline …’
Suddenly the Doctor saw just how worn out and hopeless Robin looked.
He thought for a moment, and then patted him firmly on the back. ‘Never
mind the timelines, Robin. I’ll help you if I can! Now, about this rescue …’

The encampment was busy with a hundred different-but-equally-vital tasks.

It was as if they had perfected these jobs over many years in preparation for
the travails ahead. Even the oldest and the youngest were roped in to take
part, as arrows were made and bows were strung, daggers were sharpened,
and the perimeter of the camp was barricaded and camouflaged.
Harry found himself gravitating to where the bowmen were practising
with rough straw targets. He’d always fancied himself something of a crack
shot, and when they let him have a go he did well with the tall, powerful
weapons. He was surprised by the power contained in those simple pieces
of wood and string. His arrows sizzled through the air, and the Merrie Men
clapped him heartily on the back and invited him to join their number.
‘Did you hear that, Sarah?’ He grinned, bounding over when he saw her
later that afternoon. ‘They’ve given me my own bow! Isn’t that a wonderful
mark of respect?’
She eyed him dubiously. At some point during the day Harry had ditched
his customary blazer and cravat for a suit of Lincoln-green leather, the same
as all the others. ‘What on earth do you look like, Harry Sullivan?’
He stood up proudly. ‘I thought it rather suited me, actually!’
Sarah wasn’t quite being her usual self. Yes, she would always set out to
deflate his ego a little, but not crush it completely. Harry knew that she was
fond of him, really. But right now the expression on her face was almost a
scowl.
‘Is there anything the matter?’ he asked gently.
She flapped the reporter’s notebook she was carrying. It was bursting
with her usual notes and observations and maps of the local area. ‘It’s just
this place. I think the Doctor’s getting us too involved in all of this. We’re
getting in too deep. And, really, it’s all just a story that was settled a long
time ago. He shouldn’t be interfering at all, you know.’
Harry chuckled ruefully. ‘From what I’ve seen in the past few months the
Doctor does very little but interfere in the affairs of others.’
Sarah’s face suddenly looked curiously blank and hard. ‘There can be
terrible consequences to tampering with the stuff of legend.’
Harry wanted to joke her out of her glum mood. ‘Stuff of legend, eh?
Yes, you’re right. That’s what we are! I definitely feel like that!’ He posed
like a superhero in his Merrie Men outfit.
Then Sarah surprised him by bursting out laughing. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,
Harry. It’s just that ever since we got here, it’s like I’ve had this awful dark
cloud following me about. I can’t help thinking the worst.’ She shivered.
‘Do you forgive me?’
‘Of course I do, old thing!’ He punched her lightly on the shoulder.
‘Oww!’ Sarah gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t call me that, ever again.’
‘I think you should get a medieval costume, too,’ he said.
‘I’m in a two-piece trouser suit.’ She laughed. ‘There’s nothing more
practical than that, is there? Not here in the woods.’
‘But you could have a floaty princess dress with a pointy hat, or
something wispy like Lady Marian probably wears …’
Now it was Sarah’s turn to punch Harry in the arm. ‘You’re just a sexist
oaf.’
‘No, I’m not – I’m gallant!’ he protested. ‘I’m old-fashioned.’
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘You really do belong in the Dark Ages, Harry
Sullivan.’
Then all of a sudden the Doctor was with them. ‘Hullo, you two. Harry!
What on earth do you look like?’
‘I thought I was rather blending in.’
‘Ha!’ The Doctor tossed his headful of curls and jammed his hat down
firmly. ‘Now, I’ve been talking with Robin and sorting out plans. We’re
making a move tonight. We’ve both decided that there’s no time to waste.’
‘Right,’ said Sarah. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Well …’ said the Doctor. ‘The first thing we need to do is get inside
Nottingham Castle and free Marian and Friar Tuck. The sheriff is expecting
Robin to go himself, of course, and he’s ready to catch him when he does.
However, if someone else goes – if it’s strangers riding to the rescue …’
‘Us, you mean,’ said Harry.
 ‘Exactly!’ The Doctor grinned. ‘That means we go in, cause a lovely
kerfuffle, free the prisoners and distract the sheriff and his men. First,
however, Robin and his friends have to draw Guy of Gisborne out into the
open, engaging him in battle and keeping him and his followers away from
the castle.’ The Doctor made it all seem relatively straightforward.
‘That sounds like an awful lot of battles and fighting,’ Harry said.
‘Oh yes.’ The Doctor nodded. ‘They tend to do a lot of that round here.’
‘So, Robin and chums make a fuss somewhere away from the castle and
draw out Sir Guy,’ said Harry, thinking aloud.
‘Yes, we thought they should go out to Allan-a-Dale’s farmhouse, which
is somewhat close to the edge of the woods. It’s a good place to draw them
out to. Then we are to slip away to get on with our part of the plan. The boy
Wen is to show us how to smuggle ourselves into the castle. You can’t go in
through the front gates apparently, because they pour boiling oil on
unwanted visitors.’
‘Oh, lovely,’ muttered Sarah.
‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘you’ve really made sure that we’ve got the most vital
job, haven’t you?’
The Doctor solemnly passed round a bag of jelly babies. ‘Yes, you see, I
think it’s rather necessary. I believe that Robin has lost his spark. Some of
the fight has gone out of him. He has to be ready to face this – his greatest
challenge – for the sake of the whole of England. He has to defeat King
John and take his place in history – that’s very important, you see. He has a
destiny to fulfil, but I’m not all that sure he’s ready to.’
‘And so we’ve got to help him along?’ Sarah said brightly.
‘Exactly, Sarah!’ The Doctor grinned again. ‘Of course, Harry, if you
don’t really want to storm Nottingham Castle and rescue Lady Marian, I
can’t exactly force you to …’
Harry was flabbergasted. This was precisely the kind of thing he had
spent his whole boyhood dreaming about. (He hid his very slight
nervousness about the whole thing.) ‘Of course I want to, Doctor! When do
we start out?’
 Chapter Nine

The sheriff found the stairs up to the north tower quite arduous, and halfway
up he was wishing he’d installed Marian somewhere easier to get to. Well,
no matter. The steep climb only made his appetite for her keener.
‘Throw open the door on my command,’ he instructed the guard once
he’d reached the top and got his breath back.
‘Marian, Marian, my darling,’ he cried, sweeping into the room, furred
cloak billowing out around him. He knew he was looking his most
handsome today. He had taken particular care with his toilette, just for her.
She was sitting framed in the window, the late-afternoon sun lighting up
her perfect profile and making her dress look like it had been woven out of
fine silver strands. She was everything the sheriff had hoped for, and more.
Then that barrel-shaped fool Tuck came flying out of nowhere to wreck
the moment. ‘What do you call this, then?’ he thundered. ‘We were on a
religious pilgrimage! Your men kidnapped us and treated us with
disgraceful roughness. How dare you!’
The friar could actually be quite impressive when he really tried.
‘Don’t you dare yell at me,’ the sheriff snarled. ‘I’ll do what I want. This
part of the world is mine to rule as I see fit.’
‘Rule?!’ gasped the monk, clutching his heavy crucifix. ‘Do you realise
what you sound like, man? You’re just another tyrant! We’ve had a whole
parade of awful sheriffs around here, going back to that one who got blown
to smithereens. You’re nothing new. Just another petty official.’
The sheriff began to get very angry very quickly, but soon realised
exactly what the friar was doing – trying to rile him up, get him cross. ‘I
have got nearly everything I want and need,’ he carried on calmly. ‘I have
my bride and soon I will have my outlaws. And then I will have the King of
England honouring my home with his presence. Everything, I’d say, is on
the up.’
 Tuck gave him a hard look. ‘Robin Hood will put a stop to your ludicrous
plans.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the sheriff, and he drew closer to the lady Marian,
still perched by the window, looking as if she’d not even been listening to
their shouting match. ‘You see, your Robin Hood and all his men … they’re
getting rather old and tired, don’t you think? You yourself, Tuck – in the old
days you’d have led us a merrier dance. But capturing you was a doddle.
You’re all past your peak. I think perhaps the days of Robin and his friends
doing just what they will are coming to an end …’
Friar Tuck roared at this and plucked up the nearest weapon he could find
to hand – an old broom.
‘Guard!’ shrieked the sheriff in alarm. With one swift lunge the guard
seized the broom and flung it aside.
Then, in the charged pause of quiet that followed, Marian spoke up. Her
voice was firm. ‘The sheriff isn’t saying anything that we haven’t thought
and said ourselves, Tuck.’ She sighed.
The friar was scandalised – how dare she speak so candidly before their
worst enemy. ‘Marian!’
Marian turned to look at them both, and the sheriff gave a small gasp at
the directness of her green-eyed gaze. ‘I think perhaps the time truly has
come to give up,’ said Marian. ‘Let’s face it, Tuck. Things were changing in
the Greenwood. Things are harder. If I simply gave myself up to the sheriff
here as a kind of reward for his persistence and cunning …’
‘Yes!’ cried the sheriff.
‘No, Marian! You can’t!’ shouted Friar Tuck.
Suddenly she looked as if she had reached a grave decision. ‘Sheriff, I
believe we can make a bargain. I will give myself to you willingly and take
your hand in marriage without demur if – and only if – you spare the lives
of all the men of Sherwood.’
The sheriff raised his eyebrows at her bravery and willingness to sacrifice
her own happiness for her friends. He agreed readily to her plan. ‘My dear,
how clever and wonderful of you.’
She smiled at him determinedly, trying not to let her composure crack.
Behind her, Friar Tuck let out a little squeak of alarm.
Of course, the sheriff thought happily, I have absolutely no intention of
honouring our bargain. I’ll have her and slaughter the lot of them anyway.
And just see how she likes that! He turned to leave their cell, chuckling in
delightful anticipation.
‘Oh, Marian,’ said the Friar dolefully.
‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said grimly.

Sir Guy found himself back at Mother Maudlin’s dark door in Paplewick
rather sooner than he’d have liked.
She peered at him with pinkish, rheumy eyes. ‘Yes? Have you brought
anything for me?’
He shook his head and ducked indoors, unloading his sack and spreading
his bounty upon her rough kitchen table. It was covered in the ends and
fragments of meals she’d clearly been gnawing at recently, which the knight
studiously avoided looking at. ‘I bring something even more precious to
you than your sacrificial victims, Mother. I bring you … books!’
And it was true. The one thing that got the old harridan actually gleeful
with excitement was the sight of precious leatherbound volumes. Such a
rarity! Such treasure! These ones – she pored over them with great
concentration – were hand-lettered and illuminated. The work, clearly, of
dozens of years by committed scribes.
‘The written word!’ Mother Maudlin said in an awestruck tone. ‘How did
you come by these? Such treasure is almost impossible to acquire in this
benighted age.’
He shrugged casually. ‘I had my men ransack a little abbey somewhere in
South Yorkshire. Sweet little place I’d never noticed before. We took
everything they had and cleared them out. They’d been living such a lovely,
peaceful, secluded life – until then.’ He grinned.
Mother Maudlin nodded philosophically, and with just a hint of relish.
‘This is a very hectic, violent time.’ She turned the huge pages carefully,
lost in their elaborate letters and panels of shining gold and crimson and
blue. ‘Just what I need.’ She sighed ecstatically and, with a swiftness that
shocked even Sir Guy, tore a single page out of the priceless book in front
of her.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.
Her filthy taloned fingers worked nimbly, shredding the bright page into
strips and, when they were a manageable size, cramming them greedily into
her almost toothless mouth. She swallowed and grimaced as they went
dryly down her throat. She couldn’t help laughing at her lackey’s horrified
expression. ‘Words are power! Especially to a witch like me. These painted
words and the distilled essence of your latest offering –’ at this she nodded
at the recumbent, half-dead figure of the soldier in the corner of the room –
‘these things conspire to bring me my insights. You see, Sir Guy? I trust
you, and I am letting you see me go about my work.’
He thought briefly about running her through with his sword – quickly
and cleanly. Let that be an end to the noxious hold she seemed to have over
him. But he could never have done that. He was in her thrall, he knew. And,
besides, it was true that she did have insights.
‘What do you see, Mother Maudlin?’ he asked.
‘They are making plans, your enemies,’ she said. ‘Your pathetic sheriff
thinks he has the upper hand. Well, he has might and force, and Marian in
his palm. But he mustn’t underestimate Robin and his men, who are, even
now, riding out to the estate of Allan-a-Dale to set their plan in motion.’
He looked impatient for a second, before checking himself. ‘And what is
their plan?’
Her milky eyes widened as she chewed the tough paper and swigged the
strange wine from her flagon. Colourful drool started to overflow her
puckered lips. ‘Robin has help. I’ve sensed this already, this past day or
two. A strange presence in the Greenwood. We must look to ourselves. We
must beware. This stranger could ruin everything for us.’
Gisborne shrugged. So what? Robin had brought in a friend from another
county. Some muscle, perhaps, or a turncoat knight who’d shifted sides.
Surely one extra man on the enemy side couldn’t make all that much
difference?
Mother Maudlin hissed like she had scalded herself. ‘The name to
beware is Doctor Who …’
 Chapter Ten

Allan-a-Dale and his wife, Dora, felt that they owed everything to Robin
Hood. Without him, they would have been turfed out of their stone-walled
cottage and small farmstead years ago. Dora would have been forced to
marry a hideous old bishop, and Allan would have been put to the sword.
Robin had rescued them both and, as a result, Allan spent his days trying his
best as a Merrie Man, while composing ballads that extolled the outlaws’
many virtues. Very few days went by without Robin hearing the familiar
twanging of Allan’s lute.
Still, Dora kept a good table and, on the night they rode out to stay there,
Robin found himself looking forward to an evening spent at Allan’s hearth,
talking and plotting and anticipating their coming triumph.
‘He’s cheered up a lot,’ Harry said to Sarah, as they tramped through the
forest path in the lowering gloom of twilight.
Sarah had been rather distant during their journey through the forest. That
strange mood had come upon her once more. Now, though, she shook her
head and smiled at Harry. ‘Yes, I think the Doctor’s having a good effect on
him. Making him feel more optimistic.’
‘Must be worrying, though,’ Harry said with a wince. ‘What with Marian
in that tower, at the mercy of the bally sheriff and all. If I was him, I
wouldn’t be able to resist dashing straight over to that castle and kicking up
a ruckus!’
Sarah smiled fondly at Harry. ‘I think this is the right way to do it,
though. Robin and his men lead the fiercest knights into battle away from
the castle, while we sneak in to do the rescue bit.’
Harry was clearly trying to disguise his excitement and was about to
speak when the call came from Will Scarlet, who was just ahead of them on
the rough track. ‘Get down! Be still and quiet!’
 Immediately their party of a dozen woodlanders, plus the TARDIS team,
crouched in the thick ferns and tried to blend in with their surroundings.
The soft leaves masked them and they perched there as still as they could.
The kitchen lad Wen was near by and Sarah whispered to him, ‘What have
they seen?’ The boy didn’t know, but he looked as thrilled as Harry was by
all this adventure.
They listened hard. Was that horses? Yes – a whole load of men on
horseback, their armour jingling. It was receding, though, as the small army
– or whatever it was – moved away past them.
Then, all of a sudden, there came a shout from ahead in the gloaming.
‘It’s all right! We can move on.’ It was Robin, instructing his troops, and
then they were back on their feet and surging through the trees. They veered
sharply to the right, into a trackless region of forest, and their pace became
more urgent. The Doctor dropped back to tell his friends, ‘It was Sir Guy
and his men, on horseback. Or so Robin thought.’
‘They’re here already?’ hissed Harry.
‘So it seems. They’re on the lookout for outlaws,’ said the Doctor. He
seemed very thoughtful for a moment, his silhouette limned against the
darkness of the trees. ‘Harry, I feel like I have to remind you that these are
very real weapons everyone’s carrying. These people we’re up against –
their bows and arrows aren’t just toys.’
‘I understand that, Doctor,’ said Harry, feeling somewhat patronised. ‘I
do know how to look after myself. Look at all we’ve been through on Nerva
Beacon and Voga, and Skaro, for goodness’ sake!’
‘But you believed in the dangers there because they were alien worlds
and everything was hostile and terrifying. Here, it’s all as familiar as a game
you played in childhood.’ The Doctor’s concern was very clear in his tone
and Harry was touched. ‘Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re invulnerable.
These are deadly times.’
Sarah piped up crossly, ‘Hey! Why aren’t you giving me a warning, too?’
The Doctor patted her on the top of the head. ‘Because you’re Sarah Jane
Smith, that’s why.’ He laughed. ‘And you’ve already faced more danger
than any normal human being could withstand.’
She beamed.
There was a distant rumble of thunder. The wind had changed, and rain
started plopping through the leafy canopy. It was dismal, cold rain. Robin
called back to his men: ‘It isn’t far. And, if you can stand all the lute-
playing, it ought to be an evening of pleasant rest and respite.’
‘Come on.’ The Doctor grinned at his friends. ‘Almost there.’

They received a warm welcome from Allan and Dora. There were broiled
meats and gallons of rough red wine. By the time everyone was seated
inside a single room downstairs, the rain was falling thick and fast on the
pitch-black forest outside. Candles were lit, smoky and dim, making it cosy
as they ate and drank and shared stories.
They didn’t speak about the coming struggles and battles. All that had
been planned out – as much as it could be. Robin brooded a little, staring
into the flames of the great hearth. He noticed the Doctor standing nearby
and said, ‘Locksley Hall is a little like this house of Allan’s. Being here
makes me realise how I miss it. And how I miss the easy, normal domestic
life that Allan and Dora share.’
‘You’ll have it one day, I’m sure,’ the Doctor said, nibbling on a chicken
leg. ‘It must rankle that Gisborne’s stolen your home. But you must bide
your time. The days of peace will come eventually.’
‘We’ve hoped for so long that King Richard would return. We’ve raised
money for his ransom.’
The Doctor frowned. ‘I thought you gave all the money you stole to the
poor?’
Robin looked rueful. ‘Well, we used to. We still give them as much as we
can, but now that we know about the ransom that our king’s wicked captors
have asked for, we’ve been raising money for that, too.’
‘I see,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘I’m not sure I approve of handing over
ransom money. I imagine the poor are probably rather miffed about it, too.’
‘Not everyone’s happy about it,’ Robin said, lowering his voice. ‘Some of
my people think we should concentrate our efforts on routing these
blackguards and thieves by ourselves and not worrying about Good King
Richard. But we’ve been trying to do that for years! Some of us have
wasted half our lives on trying to get rid of King John.’
‘Wasted?’ queried the Doctor gently. ‘I don’t think it’s a waste of time,
trying to get rid of John. I think it’s exactly what you ought to be doing.’
‘Not wasted. But you know what I mean – we’ve put everything into it,
and nothing has changed. No, we need our rightful king back here in
England, where he belongs.’
 ‘Hmm.’ The Doctor frowned, privately wondering where this ransom
money was really ending up, and whose pockets were being filled. Robin
seemed remarkably trusting at times.
Across the room, Allan had started up with his lute-playing and the
Doctor couldn’t help but notice a flash of irritation shoot across Robin’s
face. They returned to sit with the others, and soon there was a genuine
carefree feeling to the company, as if they had all decided to let their
worries drop for the night. Wen fretted slightly about his absence being
noticed at the castle. The very thought of Grizelda the cook kicking off and
raising the alarm seemed to worry him greatly.
‘Never mind, lad,’ Little John cried out. ‘When we raid the castle and
turn the place upside down, we’ll liberate Grizelda, and take her home to
the Greenwood with us! We could do with a skilled cook about the place.’
Wen laughed at the idea of the cook being hauled through the woods,
protesting furiously every step of the way.
Just as the laughter was subsiding there came the loudest crack of
thunder yet, and a flash of lightning flared in the window panes. It felt like
the storm was directly above them, rebuking them for their enjoyment of
the night and each other’s company. Dora – who at that moment stood
closest to the front of the cottage – gave a sharp, horrified scream.
‘What is it?’ Allan shouted, and he was with Dora like a shot.
‘A f-face! There was a horrible face at that window!’ she gasped. ‘He had
a helmet on!’
Instantly everyone was on the alert, leaping from their places and finding
their weapons. Robin came over to stand at the front door. ‘There’s no one
at the window now, is there? Can you see?’
‘It’s too dark, Master Robin,’ said Dora. ‘When the lightning flashed, he
was revealed there, looking back at me! It was so horrible!’
There came a loud, steady banging at the front door.
Everyone froze and gripped their daggers and bows that little bit harder.
The Doctor took his yo-yo out and practised a few moves. Some of the
Merries gave him strange looks.
Allan went closer to the door. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Just a weary, lone traveller,’ answered a harsh voice through the noise of
the lashing rain. ‘Footsore and tired and in need of Christian compassion.
Open up, would you?’
 No one replied. They just paused and listened intently. Then they heard
fervid whispers on the other side of the door. Two, three, four voices. ‘What
now?’ one of them could be plainly heard saying.
‘Lone traveller my foot!’ Little John growled.
‘They’re here early.’ Robin frowned. ‘Sorry, Doctor. I thought you’d be
able to slip away before they found us.’
‘Never mind.’ The Doctor grinned reassuringly.
‘Get ready,’ Robin warned everyone inside that dimly lit cottage room.
‘Everyone get ready to fight for your lives. I believe they’re about to give
up their pretence.’
Everyone braced themselves as if against a tidal wave.
Robin whispered: ‘Ready yourselves, friends. They’re going to break
down the door!’
 Chapter Eleven

Robin, Will, Little John and the other Merries stood very calmly against the
far wall and unsheathed their swords. The blades shone keenly in the
firelight. The others slid partly cocked arrows ready in their longbows.
Either side of the main door, Allan-a-Dale and Dora took up positions with
spears, ready to defend their home.
‘Come back here,’ Harry said, urging Wen into the scullery. He looked
more than a little panicked. ‘You make sure you keep yourself out of the
fighting.’ But Wen had a dagger in his hand and was ready to prove his
mettle.
‘Oh dear.’ The Doctor sighed. ‘How dreary violence is.’ Then, from
somewhere – perhaps the lining of his coat or his deepest pocket – Sarah
was shocked to see him blithely produce a sword of his own, which he held
almost carelessly before him.
There came more banging and heaving against the thick wooden door as
a great weight was rammed against it.
‘Here they come,’ said Robin, as everyone tensed in readiness.
At that moment the heavy wooden door crashed open under the impact of
half a dozen men in armour. With blank, soulless eyes the soldiers came
lumbering into the room, and instantly Robin’s bowmen let fly their arrows,
which sang loudly in the enclosed space. They found their targets, bringing
down two, three, four of the invaders before they were more than two steps
into the room.
All at once the noise was horrendous. The room seemed to fill, in a
second, with a platoon of armoured soldiers. Swords flashed out, but the
men were equipped with deadly, clunky maces, too, which could crush
skulls with a single blow. Robin cried out as he saw one of his fellows fall,
and leapt into the fray only to have his sword shattered into fragments by a
well-swung mace.
 The Doctor lunged forward with his own sword, protecting Robin and
drawing the attention of the soldiers as they stumbled and staggered over
the bodies of their already-fallen comrades. The Doctor seemed to dance
and pirouette across the room with his coat-tails and scarf flaring out. He
lashed and battered his assailants with the flat of his sword, whirling it
about his head as if he was doing it for fun, careful all the while not to draw
any actual blood. ‘Watch out!’ Harry yelled as he saw someone sneaking up
behind him, and the Doctor knocked the soldier senseless with a jab of bony
elbow.
Suddenly a blizzard of household items went flying through the air. Wen,
Sarah and Robin were emptying the shelves and the dresser of everything
they could lay their hands on – all the pottery and china, everything that
Dora’s kitchen was equipped with – sending it clattering down on to the
combatants. The air rang with smashing crockery and confused cries of
protest.
‘We’re winning!’ Little John shouted jubilantly.
Then Guy of Gisborne stepped into the room. He saw immediately that
his fully armoured and equipped men were losing out to this rabble of
peasants. All at once, fury curdled in his stomach. He took up his own
precious blade and roared furiously at his men, ‘Just kill them, you fools!’
Robin was over like a shot, a spit from the fire in his hand as a makeshift
weapon, engaging the knight in hand-to-hand combat. Gisborne whipped
off his helmet, the better to banter with his sworn enemy.
The two enemies clashed at once, their weapons grinding together.
Sparks flew as they spat combative words at one another. ‘We know your
plan, Locksley,’ Gisborne sneered. ‘Your ludicrous idea to draw away my
attention and keep me busy in battle has failed!’
Robin shrugged, battering away at Sir Guy’s elegant sword with his
charred and sticky spit. ‘You know you can’t win against me, Guy.’
In the midst of battle Gisborne could hear a ghostly female voice inside
his head, saying, ‘You can’t fail, Guy! I’ll take your soul if you do.’
Gisborne blocked her words out and fought hard against Robin. He
parried his blows and lashed out ferociously. ‘Question is,’ Gisborne went
on breathlessly, thrusting once more, ‘what were you distracting me from?
What else are you up to? And could it have anything to do with the fair
Lady Marian?’
 Robin had little time for Guy’s taunts. He was relieved when Little John
joined the fray with a heavy tea kettle and slammed it hard against the
knight’s head. Gisborne went down like a sack of flour and the fight raged
on over him, with none of his men realising that their leader was down.
Sarah seized her opportunity. She jerked into action, almost against her
own will, and Wen was most alarmed to watch her dodge and weave
through the seething mass of bodies to get to the unconscious Gisborne. No
one else seemed to notice as she knelt down over his body and tried to
shake him awake.
‘Would you like a jelly baby?’ the Doctor was asking an armoured knight
as he fenced with him, right in the middle of the fracas. He jumped at the
very last minute to avoid the weighty impact of a mace.
‘Keep going, men!’ Robin grinned, his face wet with sweat. The room
was filling up with injured bodies, and few of them were wearing Lincoln
green. He snatched up the sword of a fallen soldier and felt the cold mass of
it in his grasp with great joy. Then he launched himself back into the fray.
Sarah, meanwhile, was on her hands and knees, dragging the
incapacitated Gisborne under the rough table in the corner of the room. She
smacked him hard in the face with her open palm to wake him.
‘W-what?’ he exclaimed, hardly knowing where he was.
‘You fool, Gisborne,’ she said in a harsh voice. ‘You arrogant idiot.’
The knight stared into her face in its frame of silken dark hair. It was
unfamiliar, yet there was something he recognised around her eyes. They
had a strange brassy gleam to them, and all at once he knew who he was
truly talking to.
‘I th-thought we could take them; we had them a-at our mercy.’
Sarah drew closer, her voice lower, croaking, filling up the inside of his
head. ‘You will never match him, you dolt. You must be cunning and brutal.
That’s the only way.’
‘W-what do I do now?’ he asked.
Sarah snarled at him. ‘For now, you are a prisoner. You are at the mercy
of Robin Hood and his friends.’
And it was true, he realised, as the horrendous noise of the battle
suddenly subsided. All of his knights were either dead or fleeing, injured,
into the stormy night. The clashing of steel had ceased and dreadful moans
and cries were all that could be heard.
 ‘Sarah!’ came a desperate cry. Harry Sullivan was on his knees, checking
that his friend was all right. He scrambled under the table and was amazed
to find her there, apparently holding the injured Sir Guy hostage. ‘Oh, well
done, old girl!’
Instantly Sarah snapped back into her usual self. ‘I told you about calling
me that, Harry.’
But Harry was on his feet, shouting with triumph, ‘Look at the prisoner
Sarah’s nabbed for us, the clever old thing!’
Gisborne’s breath was coming in short, agonised bursts as he waited for
them to drag him out from under the table. He didn’t know whether he was
more scared of his coming fate at the hands of the Merries, or the golden
glint in Sarah’s eyes when she flashed him one last look of warning. ‘You
and the sheriff must triumph over this band of pathetic knaves.’ Her voice
echoed inside his pounding head. ‘Or I will do terrible things to your
immortal soul.’
Robin took hold of Guy’s legs and dragged him smartly out into the
open. ‘Ah, there you are, you coward! Fancy hiding under the kitchen
table!’ Robin threw back his head and laughed heartily. ‘Now, everyone.
What do you say? Shall we kill this monster here and now and have done
with him forever?’
Little John roared his approval. ‘Think of the evil things he’s done!’
‘String him up!’ Will Scarlet cried. ‘Relieve him of the burden of his
heart and gizzards!’
All the Merrie Men cheered at that, and Harry felt himself discomfited by
their bloodthirstiness. ‘Look here, hasn’t there already been enough
bloodshed tonight?’ he called up at them from the flagstoned floor, where
he was already at work with the wounded – those who still had a fighting
chance. His surgeon’s instincts had taken over. ‘Wouldn’t he be more use to
you as a prisoner? Don’t you agree, Doctor?’
Robin seemed to be frozen in a tableau, with his blood-smirched men
around him.
‘Well said, Harry,’ the Doctor murmured, patting him on the back. ‘You
see what you can do for the survivors. And I think I’ll have a little word
with our friend Guy of Gisborne here myself – if you don’t mind, Robin? I
might learn a little more by delving into his mind than you might by pulling
out all of his nasty vital organs, hmm?’
 Guy of Gisborne looked grim. So this was the Doctor. The mysterious
person he’d been warned about. Gisborne felt a thrill of terror. Mother
Maudlin would be very displeased.
 Chapter Twelve

‘What did you learn from Guy of Gisborne then, Doctor?’ asked Harry the
next day, as they sat in a mound of earthy vegetables on a cart heading to
Nottingham.
‘Well, he’s a wily one,’ the Doctor said. ‘Somehow he’s learnt a few
methods for shielding his primitive thoughts.’
The wooden cart was lurching and bouncing on the rough tracks, and the
somewhat aromatic swedes and beets were rolling around all over the place.
Sarah was feeling rather bruised and seasick already.
‘But you got into his mind, didn’t you?’ Harry asked with a frown. Talk
of the Doctor’s strange powers always unsettled him.
‘Oh yes,’ said the Time Lord, with a faraway look in his eye. Unlike his
friends he seemed quite comfortable in the vegetable cart. He had the knack
of looking relaxed wherever he was, and Harry rather envied that. ‘Guy of
Gisborne’s mind is a very murky and treacherous place. It’s seething like a
snake pit. He wants everything that Robin has. He already owns Robin’s
home and farm, and he’s set his sights on Lady Marian. And he wants to be
made Sheriff of Nottingham, too. But it’s more than that – he wants the
loyalty of his fellow man, like Robin has. The poor fool simply wants to be
liked.’
Sarah tutted. ‘Well, that’s never going to happen, is it? Gisborne’s an
awful person.’
‘Exactly,’ said the Doctor, nodding. ‘You know, it’s a little study of mine.
All these people we meet who want all these terribly complicated-seeming
things, like world domination and the subservience of all mankind –’
‘We seem to meet quite a few of that sort,’ Sarah said grimly.
‘Yes,’ murmured the Doctor. ‘It’s my theory that they’re all really after
something much simpler. Look at that withered-up old Davros. All he
wanted was for his own creations to love and respect him. And the
Cybermen? Stomping about, shooting at things. They just want to be
reassured that the universe still remembers them. Then there’s the robot K1.
All he truly wanted was your devoted friendship, Sarah. Remember?’
Sarah jolted suddenly, as if startled by his question. ‘Of course I
remember,’ she snapped. ‘Are you saying Guy of Gisborne just wants to be
loved?’
The Doctor grinned at her. ‘Why not? I think the simplest answers are
often the most likely ones. What do you think, Wen?’
The kitchen boy had been listening to the three travellers, completely in
awe of their strange words. Yet he was the real leader of their expedition, he
reminded himself. Without him, these three strangers would never be able
to get themselves inside Nottingham Castle.
‘I think Gisborne – and the sheriff – are wicked through and through,’
Wen said, with feeling. ‘You forget, I’ve seen what they can do. I see the
things they do just for fun. They aren’t people – they’re devils!’ All three
grown-ups were staring at the boy now. ‘I hid myself away when they
torched my village. We had a lovely village. Only about forty of us. It
wasn’t much to look at; we didn’t own much. But still they came. They took
everything we had, and I saw what they did to everyone. There was nothing
left. Just flames. That’s what Guy of Gisborne does. That’s what the sheriff
finds funny. Killing people. Killing people like us.’
Wen hid his face in his hands and tried his hardest not to cry. Sarah
scooted over and put her arm round him. The consoling hug came as a
shock to Wen. He resisted for a moment or two, but then relaxed. ‘I’m
sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But you mustn’t blame yourself for hiding. You were
just a kid.’
Wen gritted his teeth. ‘We have to get them out of there. We have to get
them out of that castle and bring justice back to England.’
The Doctor smiled at him reassuringly. ‘We’re working on it, Wen!’
As the cart ambled on up the track to Nottingham, Harry asked the
Doctor softly, ‘So, you didn’t exactly find out anything new when you
mesmerised Gisborne, then?’
The Doctor was watching Sarah, as she sat there with her arm still round
the boy. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly, Harry. I wouldn’t say that at all.’

As they came within sight of the grand, glowering castle, Wen instructed
them in the art of hunkering down and covering themselves in hessian sacks
to escape the notice of the guards. It all seemed like too childishly simple a
plan to Harry, who expected to be noticed at any moment as they rolled
over the noisy drawbridge, under the portcullis and then into the courtyard
beyond. Incredibly, no one seemed to notice anything untoward about this
delivery of humble root vegetables at all.
All around them the courtyard sounded like a busy town square, with
chickens clucking, dogs barking and peasants gabbling about their wares
and going about their various bits of business. The cart was backed into a
far corner, right above a cellar door at the entrance to the kitchens. At a
barked command from the driver the trapdoor was opened, and the whole
load was sent tumbling down into the dark cellar, interlopers included.
As they sat in the dark nursing their bruises, Wen shrugged happily. ‘It’s
the safest way back into the castle.’
‘I wish you’d warned us.’ Sarah scowled. She’d banged her elbow on the
way down, possibly on Harry’s head.
‘I wouldn’t mind doing that again!’ The Doctor grinned. Then a match
flared and his toothy smile was hovering in the dark. ‘Now, where do we go
next?’
With the air of an expert, Wen said, ‘The door’s never locked, so we can
let ourselves out into the kitchen. We just have to be careful not to be seen
by Grizelda, but she’s often dozing at this time of day …’
On this occasion, however, they weren’t so lucky. The huge cook was
stooped over the scullery sink scrubbing the guts out of a dozen pheasants
as the Doctor’s party came creeping through her domain.
Wen was quite right to be wary of her, Harry thought. The woman was
bigger and more formidable than many of the old sailors Harry had met
during his time at sea. Her giant hands were gory and stuck with feathers
and she was wearing a furious expression. Wen’s absence had left her with
all the lowliest kitchen tasks.
As the Doctor led them tiptoeing by, she wasn’t fooled for a second.
Grizelda’s senses were razor-sharp. She whirled round, brandishing her
gutting knife, and when she saw the strangers her eyes almost popped out of
her head. ‘Who the devil are you lot?’ Then she noticed Wen with them, and
her blood started boiling. ‘And where have you been, whelp?’
Wen stepped forward bravely. His recent adventures had given him a
measure of confidence. He had been in a battle, after all! He had been there
when Robin Hood took Guy of Gisborne captive! ‘These people are here to
help us, Grizelda,’ he urged. ‘They’re going to usurp the sheriff and put
everything to rights!’ He grinned eagerly at his companions. ‘Isn’t that
right? We’re going to cause a revolution in England, aren’t we?’
‘Er, well,’ said Harry modestly, ‘obviously, we’re going to do everything
we can to help out.’
The Doctor beamed happily. ‘Yes! Of course! That’s right. We’re here for
the revolution.’
Grizelda snarled, ‘These people are doolally. I’m going to call the guards
to take them away and then thrash you, boy, to within an inch of your
worthless life.’
Sarah stepped forward. ‘No, it’s all true. We’re really here to help. To
make things better. To free you all from slavery.’
The cook sneered at her. ‘Slavery, eh? Is that what I am then, a slave?’
Wen nodded sadly. ‘We’re all slaves under the sheriff and the phoney
King John, Grizelda.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want anything to change. I love it
here! Guards! Guards!’ Her voice suddenly became thunderous. ‘We’ve got
intruders here! Guards! Come at once! Take them away!’
 Chapter Thirteen

Unfortunately for Grizelda, the kitchens were too remote and deep for the
guards to hear her cries. There was nobody coming, and she was helpless as
her assailants scoured the kitchen for weapons. She aimed a few clouts at
Harry as he went by, but he evaded her.
‘I say, Doctor,’ Harry fretted. ‘Are you sure about all this business with
knives and swords …?’
‘You might be glad of decent weapons,’ Sarah warned, weighing a large
kitchen knife in both hands.
‘As a rule, I’d rather talk my way out of danger than engage in hand-to-
hand combat,’ the Doctor said, ‘but these are violent times. Though I’d
always try my best not to hurt anyone and certainly not set out to kill them,
you still have to be ready to defend yourself, and to look as if you might go
on the offensive, if pushed.’
‘That was some nifty swordplay from you at Allan-a-Dale’s place,
Doctor,’ Harry said.
‘I was actually taught a few moves by Errol Flynn several lifetimes ago.’
The Doctor frowned, peering at the butchered remains of pheasants on the
block. ‘Which is ironic, given where and when we are right now.’
‘Oh, that film!’ Harry smiled. ‘I went back three times to see Errol Flynn
in Robin Hood when I was a boy.’
Sarah pulled a face. ‘I think Harry believes he’s in that film right now.’
‘I’m hardly Errol Flynn,’ he said defensively, stroking his sideburns. Was
it his imagination, or was Sarah being rather more pointed in her remarks
than usual?
Now the Doctor was attempting to mollify the petulant Grizelda by
showing her something different to do with the pheasants. ‘It’s a kind of
coq-au-vin,’ he said, tossing all the sticky bits into an earthenware pot.
‘Much nicer than simply roasting them on a spit.’ He grinned into the
cook’s furiously twisted face. ‘Now listen, cooky. I learnt this from Fanny
Cradock, and you’re almost as fierce as she was …’
‘Doctor,’ Wen said warningly. ‘I think she’s about to explode.’
‘Herbs, herbs – what herbs have you got?’ the Doctor asked her, glancing
round to see what was hanging up. ‘This is a kind of French recipe, so
maybe a bouquet garni, if you have one to hand …’
‘French?’ snapped the cook, and her anger seemed to dissipate like
steam. ‘Did you say “French”?’
‘Oh yes, indeed. Why?’
Suddenly Grizelda seemed very keen on picking up cookery tips from the
Doctor. ‘The king is coming here next week, and I was worried – so very
worried – about the food, and what to feed such a grand person. Thinking
he’d find my usual fayre deficient …’
Harry, Sarah and Wen watched in astonishment as the cook seemed to
shrink to half her size and began to speak to the Doctor humbly and
politely. All at once she was airing her worries out loud and the Doctor was
nodding knowingly. ‘Ah, yes, well you can’t go wrong with this recipe,’ he
said in his most reassuring tone. ‘You have to braise everything in bacon
fat, then toss in lots of leeks and carrots and garlic, and then just pour in
gallons of rough red wine.’
‘The king’s mother is French, you see,’ said the cook. ‘And anything a bit
Frenchified is all the rage at court, I hear.’ Now Grizelda was looking
excited. ‘If I could impress King John with a really smashing banquet, then
who knows? He might even invite me to London to cook for him there!’
The Doctor produced a scrap of parchment and a feathered pen and
started scratching out the list of ingredients for her in gold and silver inks.
‘Do we have time for all this?’ Sarah complained.
The Doctor smiled up at her. ‘There’s always time to make new friends,
Sarah Jane. I thought you understood that.’
‘Well, yes, but haven’t we got rather a lot to do?’ she asked. ‘Rescuing
Marian and so on – remember?’
The Doctor simply beamed at her. ‘I thought what we’d do is split up.’
Sarah groaned. ‘When does that ever go right?’
The Doctor looked hurt. ‘Almost never, but that’s no reason to give up
trying.’ As he spoke, he was demonstrating how to braise the pheasant in a
hot, spitting pan. ‘Wen, you know the way up to the north tower, don’t
you?’
 The boy stepped forward, eager to help. ‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘Then I suggest you and Harry get on with rescuing our Lady Marian.’
Harry looked delighted by this. ‘Are you sure? What will you be doing?’
‘Ahhh,’ said the Doctor. ‘Sarah and I will be confronting the old Sheriff
of Nottingham in his throne room.’
‘What?’ Sarah gasped. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting in and out of here as fast
as we possibly can without him even knowing?’
This made the Doctor laugh. ‘Sarah, when have I ever done that? If I’m
paying a visit, I like everyone to know! It’s rude not to stick your head
round the door and say, “Hullo!”’ He turned to Grizelda. ‘Now, what about
wine? Have you got red wine and stock?’
She nodded and dashed away to fetch all the ingredients.
‘You are ridiculous,’ Sarah told him flatly.
‘Now, the important thing is to keep it in a really hot oven for simply
ages,’ the Doctor told Grizelda. ‘Four hours, if you can. So it takes a little
planning ahead.’ Then, all at once, he was dashing for the door. ‘Come
along, everyone. We’ve all got our tasks!’
Grizelda, clutching a huge flagon of wine, called after him, ‘I can’t thank
you enough!’
‘Make sure you save us some of the feast!’ The Doctor’s voice wafted
back to her, as he disappeared up the staircase that led to the main castle.

The Doctor shook Harry’s hand briefly and tousled Wen’s hair before
sending them off on their rescue mission. ‘I have every faith in you two!’ he
told them, before dashing off in the opposite direction. Sarah gave a mute
shrug of despair and hurried after him. They were used to the Doctor doing
everything at breakneck speed without pausing to explain, but lately he was
excelling himself.
Harry was left alone with the kitchen boy, scaling the lofty heights of the
gloomy north tower. It was eerily silent, with only the shushing of a breeze
caught inside the spiral of stone walls and the distant cawing of a rook.
‘The Doctor is like a wizard!’ Wen was saying excitedly. ‘He reminds me
of the old stories my grandma used to tell me when I was tiny. Stories of old
King Arthur and his wonderful wizard, Merlin.’
Harry laughed at that, trying to keep up with the boy’s effortless pace,
bounding up the steps. ‘I’m sure he’d be flattered by that!’ As they climbed
ever higher, Harry asked his guide, ‘Look here, will there be guards on her
room at the top?’
‘When I take food up, there’s usually only one,’ Wen said. ‘Will you
jump out and kill him before he knows what’s going on?’
Harry was horrified. ‘Certainly not! I’ll, erm, remonstrate with him.
Explain our mission. Suggest that he allows Marian to go free.’
Wen stopped climbing the stairs. ‘That’s never going to work.’
‘Well, we can’t just kill him out of hand!’ Harry said in protest.
‘What else can we do?’ the boy asked. ‘You heard the Doctor. These are
primitive, violent times I live in.’
‘Oh, crumbs,’ said Harry.

Meanwhile the Doctor’s almost unerring sense of direction was guiding him
deep into the heart of the castle. ‘What a lot of beeswax candles they’ve got
burning in all these passageways!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s a shocking waste
of resources! I imagine all the bees are up in arms about it. Is “arms” right, I
wonder? Tiny legs, perhaps. No, that sounds wrong.’
Sarah frantically dashed along after him, trying to make sure that their
presence was going unnoticed. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she told him.
‘They’ll hear us!’
‘So what?’ he boomed, sending his voice up into the stone rafters of the
ceiling overhead. ‘I want them to know I’m here! I’m a terribly important
visitor, you know. And so are you, Sarah.’
With that, he took two loping steps across an antechamber to a set of
impressively tall wooden doors. ‘The arrogance of the man.’ The Doctor
tut-tutted. ‘He’s got hardly any guards around him at all. As if he’s sure that
no one would dare to come and pay a visit on him at home.’ The Doctor
threw open the doors, revealing the grand throne room beyond. ‘Why, it’s
like a palace!’ the Time Lord cried. ‘And who’s that sitting on the throne by
the fire? Why, I imagine it’s the Sheriff of Nottingham, isn’t it? Counting
out his golden coins and looking very pleased with himself indeed!’
The sheriff looked up from his chest of gleaming coins. ‘Who on earth
are you?’ he asked, staggering to his feet. ‘Also, it isn’t a throne. It’s a
chair. It’s the very latest thing – from France. Look, it’s got arms. And a
back. How incredible is that?’
The Doctor was across the room in three strides. ‘A chair! A chair from
France! How wonderful. Now, if it was a chaise longue, I’d be really
impressed, but they aren’t due until the sixteenth century at least.’
The sheriff looked incredulous. ‘Erm … how did you get in here,
exactly?’
Then he noticed that the Doctor was standing very close indeed and, what
was more, he had a sword dangling loosely in his hand.
‘Ah, we just sort of wandered in.’ The Doctor grinned at him. ‘We heard
you had a very welcoming, open house?’
The sheriff’s face was turning purple with fury. ‘Guards! Get in here!’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Why does everyone shout for guards? I’ve always
found them rather dreary people, myself. No conversation.’
The sheriff looked at him. ‘What the devil do you want, anyway?’
‘Ahh. I’m Doctor Who,’ said the visitor, lowering his sword and sitting
down heavily on the sheriff’s treasured chair. ‘And I’ve come to have a
little chat with you. About the future of all of England.’
 Chapter Fourteen

Harry had misgivings about what they did to the guard.

‘I’m just not sure we should have knocked him backwards down those
stairs,’ he grumbled. He was loosening the man’s helmet and checking his
breathing as he lay slumped unconscious.
‘We had to do something,’ Wen said. Actually, he was pleased with the
way it had gone. It was the classic crouching-down-behind-the-enemy-and-
then-knocking-him-over-down-the-stairs. Harry had done the crouching,
Wen had done the pushing, and now the unwary soldier lay spreadeagled on
the stairs.
‘He might have broken his neck,’ said Harry, and was relieved to see it
wasn’t so.
‘Come on,’ Wen told him, jangling the purloined keys in the lock of the
door.
When they went racing into the cell, they found that Friar Tuck was
furious. ‘Where’s our food? You’ve brought us none today! Marian here has
wasted away to practically nothing!’
‘Shush,’ Marian admonished the friar. She could see how agitated Wen
was and strode forward to see what was bothering him. ‘Oh!’ she gasped at
the unexpected advent of Harry Sullivan, striding into the room in Lincoln
green. ‘You aren’t one of the Merrie Men.’
‘Err, no, not usually,’ said Harry, blushing. ‘They’ve had a kind of
recruitment drive and I’ve only just joined up.’
‘Oh … how nice!’ Marian said, somehow feeling suddenly flustered.
Harry was a rather handsome new recruit.
‘Oh heavens.’ Tuck sighed. ‘That’s all we need. More amateurs running
about.’ He barked at the two newcomers. ‘Well, what are you here for, then?
Have you really got no food with you? None of those lovely honey cakes?’
 Harry smiled at Marian, somewhat flustered himself. ‘We’re here to
rescue you!’
‘Oh, really?’ she said, looking pleased.
‘Robin sent us. You’ve got to get out of here before the sheriff starts
trying to marry you, and some other stuff.’
Friar Tuck looked annoyed. ‘Well, where is Robin? Why isn’t he rescuing
us himself? Honestly, this is quite shabby, as rescues go.’
‘Ah,’ said Harry. ‘Robin’s got his hands full with Guy of Gisborne. He’s
taken the knight prisoner, you see!’
The monk laughed. ‘That’ll put a spoke in the sheriff’s cartwheel!’
Marian was gathering up her few belongings in a capacious velvet bag.
‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here!’

Sarah drew silently, warily closer to the Doctor as he spoke to the Sheriff of
Nottingham. The room was very peaceful and still, but that calm
atmosphere belied the tension that flickered between the two men. She
knew that when the Doctor’s voice went low and quiet like this, he was at
his most dangerous.
The sheriff’s tone curdled with contempt. ‘What are you talking about?
The future of all England? What would a vagabond like you know about
anything?’
‘“A vagabond”?’ The Doctor’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s
what I am. But the distances I roam and the things I see there – you really
have no idea.’
The sheriff snarled, ‘What I have no idea about is why, exactly, I am
listening to these ravings. Who are you people? How dare you threaten me
in my own castle?’
Sarah couldn’t help herself. ‘But it isn’t your castle!’ she blurted out.
‘That’s the whole problem with you. You’ve become a tinpot dictator to the
people here. You carry on like you’re the king, with your raids and your
tithes and your executions.’
The sheriff tossed his head. ‘Who is this girl?’
‘Oh, nobody,’ the Doctor said, weighing his sword casually in his hand.
‘We’re both nobodies, really. We don’t really belong in this place. But, still,
neither of us are very impressed with the way you run things around here
…’
 ‘That’s a fact, is it?’ As the sheriff spoke, his mind was ticking over his
quandary. Did this stranger really intend to kill him? And where were his
men? Were they really so drunken and useless that they had failed to notice
intruders in the castle?
The Doctor told him, ‘You’re much too trusting of Gisborne.’
The sheriff looked incredulous. ‘What’s Gisborne got to do with
anything?’
‘Quite a lot,’ said the Doctor. ‘You see, I think you’re a petty, oafish,
opportunist criminal. You’re just a servant, really, put here by a weak and
foolish pretender king. You’re greedy and indolent and self-indulgent and
you’ve done wicked things, just like your dreadful predecessors did in the
same role.’
The sheriff could barely contain his fury at the Doctor’s insolence. ‘So?’
he snapped.
‘Well, Guy of Gisborne, he’s quite a different proposition. His is quite a
different story. He’s in touch with something very evil.’
‘What?’ The sheriff looked confused. ‘What are you talking about? He’s
just a knight. He does my dirty work for me.’
‘Yes, and he enjoys it rather too much,’ said the Doctor. ‘You see, I’ve
met your trusted Sir Guy. I’ve had the dubious pleasure of hypnotising him
and looking into his mind.’
The sheriff had grown quiet and still, as if the Doctor’s sonorous voice in
that stone-walled room was having a mesmerising effect on him. ‘His m-
mind?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘And your precious Guy is rather more than he
seems to be. He isn’t quite alone, inside his mind. There’s another presence
there. A malign and ancient one. A being not quite of this Earth.’
‘What?’ said the sheriff, in a voice that was hardly audible. ‘A demon?’
The Doctor grinned delightedly. ‘A witch!’ he said, with great relish.
‘That’s who Sir Guy of Gisborne is in thrall to. A terribly wicked and
powerful witch!’
There was a drop of poisoned silence in the room just then, and all that
could be heard was the crackling of the fire in the huge grate.
Then all at once there was a hullabaloo in the passageway outside.
Armoured guards appeared in the doorway, all of a-clatter in their chain
mail. They looked terrified as they realised they had left their master
unattended and at the mercy of strangers. In they came, woozy and drunken,
wary at the sight of the Doctor’s drawn sword.
‘Oh, you fools.’ The sheriff sighed. ‘He could have slain me a dozen
times over by the time you roused yourselves.’
‘Ha!’ laughed the Doctor and waved his sword around carelessly. ‘Keep
back! Or your sheriff gets it!’
‘Doctor,’ said Sarah, in a strangely calm voice. She rose from the floor
where she’d been crouching and stepped closer to the Time Lord.
His brilliant blue eyes stared straight into her. ‘Yes, Sarah Jane?’ And his
voice was filled with sadness.
‘You say that Gisborne is in thrall to this … to this witch.’
‘Yes, Sarah. I’d say she was in possession of him, heart and soul.’
‘Rubbish,’ the sheriff scoffed. ‘I’ve known Guy for years. He’s a brutal
sot and a savage, twisted soul. But there’s nothing witchlike about him.
There’s nothing eldritch in his soul.’
‘Ahh, isn’t there?’ The Doctor frowned darkly. ‘I looked into his heart
last night when Robin Hood took him captive and he was at my mercy. I
saw right into the heart of your trusted servant, and I know what I saw
there.’
The sheriff gave away a flash of worry. ‘He’s Hood’s prisoner, is he?’
The man’s mind was racing. His plans seemed to be falling apart at the
seams, every single one of them. He was more dependent on his wicked
knight than he had realised. ‘And will Robin Hood kill him?’
‘Robin isn’t a savage,’ said the Doctor. ‘And I told him. We need to know
more about this succubus inside of Sir Guy.’
‘Succubus?’ asked Sarah, in a frightened voice. ‘Would he know, do you
think, Doctor? Does Sir Guy even know that he has this thing – this witch –
inside of him?’
The Doctor glanced at her. ‘I’m not sure, Sarah. I really can’t tell. She
might have hidden herself away from him, in the darkest recesses of his
mind. Or he might be a willing accomplice in her games.’
‘I s-see,’ said Sarah.
The sheriff interrupted. ‘You said this had to do with the future of all of
England. How is that so?’ He looked very worried all of a sudden.
The Doctor said, ‘I believe this creature inside Sir Guy is interfering in
history. She shouldn’t be here, and she is altering things so that time itself
goes awry.’
 ‘What nonsense!’ The sheriff laughed, glad to notice that his guards were
stealing closer. Inch by inch, they were creeping up on the Doctor …
‘Oh yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘And, you see, history is my business.’
Sarah called out, ‘Doctor! Watch out!’
But it was too late. The guard closest to him lashed out with the pommel
of his sword and struck a heavy blow on the crown of the Doctor’s head.
The Time Lord crumpled and fell in a messy heap at the sheriff’s feet.
‘Thank you for that!’ cried the sheriff, seizing the Doctor’s sword. ‘Better
late than never! Now, seize the girl. Dump them both in the deepest
dungeon.’
‘No!’ Sarah resisted as they took hold of her and lifted the lifeless Doctor.
‘We’ll delay their executions till the king gets here,’ said the sheriff
imperiously, wafting aside all the nonsense the Doctor had been telling him.
‘What do you think, hmm? The more the merrier, I’d say!’
 Chapter Fifteen

Mother Maudlin made herself a little spell. She tore long strips out of her
precious manuscript, savouring the individual letters as she put them on her
tongue. She sipped the ichor that had dripped from the dying soul of her
latest captive. Her eyes flicked back into her head and every nerve came
alive. She flickered as she grew wings and feathers and took flight once
more from her home in the furthest reaches of Sherwood Forest.
Then the bronze-eyed rook was back, flitting like a shadow under the
copper canopy of leaves.
‘Gisborne … Guy of Gisborne, where are you?’
She knew he was captured by the despised Hood and his men. An air of
jubilation rang out over that unruly encampment. They thought they had
already won. They thought that with the brutal Sir Guy in their power, their
struggle was over. But they were wrong, Mother Maudlin knew. Things
were going to get a lot worse for the men of Sherwood.
‘Gisborne?’ she croaked, and soon found him bound and gagged in a
cave in the very heart of their camp. These were the original caves where
the outlaws had once slept and eked out a tenuous existence, at the
beginning of their careers. Before they had built themselves grand
treehouses and wooden palaces. Now these humble caves were used for the
storage of foodstuffs and miserable prisoners.
‘Mother Maudlin?’ came the knight’s plaintive whisper. His throat was
sore and his skull had been battered. But they hadn’t broken anything, or
killed or tortured him. He ought to count himself lucky they hadn’t split his
head and dashed his brains for the atrocities he had brought about. But
Robin and his men were sickeningly fair. Their sense of justice made
Mother Maudlin want to spit.
She transformed herself from her sleek blue-black feathered form, back
into a crone. She looked the bowed and bruised Sir Guy up and down,
sneering. ‘So! I have flown all the way from Paplewick to see you like this.
My best ally. My protégé! Brought so low by a bunch of lawless brigands.’
Sir Guy looked completely miserable. ‘I thought we had them, my men
and I. But they had help. They had the strangers with them.’
‘The strangers, yes,’ the witch said with a groan, before spitting again.
Where the spittle landed on Guy’s bonds, the rope started to hiss and burn.
He watched in amazement as the bindings frazzled away.
‘Y-you were there, weren’t you?’ he asked. ‘At the minstrel’s house,
when we were fighting. You saw it all.’
‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘The Witch of Paplewick does see all. But, this time,
there is an obstruction. There is someone standing in my way. One of the
strangers, and I do not know what he will do.’
All at once the image of the Doctor filled Gisborne’s addled mind. He
could see the lanky form in silhouette as he lurched around the place,
waving his sword with a certain careless expertise. The loops and tangles of
his ludicrous scarf flared out around him as he parried and danced.
‘That man was in my mind,’ Sir Guy said, his face darkening with horror.
‘After they bound me, he came to talk. His eyes loomed ever larger and
they seemed to peer straight into my very soul.’
‘He’s a brave man.’ The witch cackled. ‘Peering into that filthy cesspit.’
Sir Guy couldn’t help remembering, reliving the moment the Doctor had
stepped into his head.
‘Hello!’ the Time Lord had called out. ‘You’re not alone in here, are you?
There’s someone else, doing their dirty work and using you – poor deluded
fool!’
Mother Maudlin giggled at this, as she drew the horrible memory out of
Guy’s mind. ‘You are a poor deluded puppet – that’s very true, Guy.’
‘H-he reached back into my memories. He saw that first day, that snowy
day in the depths of Sherwood Forest when I was nothing but a whelp and
you took hold of my hand, Mother Maudlin, and led me on to the wrong
path.’
‘Oh, the wrong path, is it?’ she sneered.
Fiercely, he shook his head. ‘No! I know we are doing right. The wrong
path – that’s how the Doctor sees it. He is a very dangerous man.’
‘I know,’ snapped the witch. ‘And it is to him that I fly next. He is a
prisoner now, taken at Nottingham Castle. It seems that today is my day for
paying calls on abject fools in gaol. Now, here you are, Guy of Gisborne. I
bring you a gift.’
He took the small box and the jar that she drew from under her
voluminous cloak. ‘What is this?’
‘The jar contains an oil. Just a small amount of very flammable oil – but
enough. The box contains a flint stone. Do you know what you must do?’
Gisborne’s eyes lit up with the same metallic yellow as his witchy
companion’s. ‘I must torch this encampment. I must smoke the outlaws out
of their homes!’
‘Quite,’ she said with her hoarse voice. ‘Try to burn as much as you can
before they recapture you. Do try to get away – I may have need of you
again. But burn them down, Gisborne. Strike in the heart of the Wolfshead’s
sanctuary! Show these mongrels that their final end is coming.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Gisborne, feeling the heavy oil slosh about in the bottle.
‘I shall burn them!’ Then he was starting to laugh, feeling delirious with
excitement and relief.
The witch’s form shimmered briefly as she transformed herself back into
a rook, and then she was off, winging her way out of the cave and into the
peaceful air of the forest.
On she flew, towards the distant, hulking mass of Nottingham Castle,
which lay on the horizon. Vulgar, newly built and impregnable. Somewhere
inside, the sheriff was ranting and raving, and Harry, Wen, Tuck and Marian
were fleeing for their lives down endless stone corridors, frantic to find a
way out. And deep, deep down, below the level of the glaucous moat, the
Doctor and Sarah were sitting together in a cell, waiting to learn of their
fate.
 Chapter Sixteen

‘I should have gone to rescue her myself, Little John,’ worried Robin. The
two old friends were concealed by the trees at the very edge of the forest,
peering at the massive, forbidding shape of the castle. ‘What will Marian
think about the fact that I’ve sent a stranger to get her out of there! What’s
the matter with me? Do you think I’m losing my nerve?’
Little John didn’t really understand Robin and Marian’s long and
complicated romance. ‘It will all be fine’ was all he said.
‘You always see things so simply, old chum,’ Robin replied. ‘That
simplicity suited us fine in the olden days when everything was so much
more straightforward. But, these days, life is complicated. It’s difficult.’
Little John shrugged. ‘There are still knights to be fought, and rights to
be wronged and skulls to be cracked.’ He looked at Robin with great
compassion. ‘I think you overcomplicate things for yourself.’
Robin laughed. ‘You might be right.’ He paused, thoughtful. ‘But don’t
you feel it? There are changes afoot. There is a darkness, an evil in the air.’
‘The king’s visit, you mean?’ Little John said. ‘Surely that’s good news.
We shall have our chance at last. What if we were to kidnap him, too? And
put him in our collection with brave Sir Guy?’
Robin laughed at this, staring all the while towards the high window of
the north tower. ‘I’d feel much better if I knew that Marian was free …’
‘Let’s get closer to the castle,’ Little John suggested. ‘Perhaps we can
lend a hand with this escape …’

After what felt like hours of dashing through damp-infested passageways,

Harry stopped and had to admit that they were lost.
‘What?’ said Tuck, who was furiously out of breath. ‘You mean to say
you’ve had us running all over the place to no end?’
Harry gave the friar short shrift. ‘I was trying to avoid the guards coming
after us. We didn’t get recaptured, did we?’
 Marian tried to mollify her bodyguard. ‘Harry’s only trying to keep us
safe, Tuck. I think he’s doing a marvellous job.’
The monk scowled, his hands on his knees as he tried to get his wind
back. Harry found himself blushing once more as Marian praised him.
Wen was trying to figure out exactly where they were. ‘I think we’re
back near the kitchens, you know.’ He put his nose in the air. ‘Can you
smell that?’
It was true. Above the dank reek of the stone walls there was a delicious
drifting scent of garlic and roasting fowl.
Harry’s eyes went wide. ‘Coq au vin!’
‘What?’ Friar Tuck gasped. ‘He’s talking French!’
Wen and Harry paid no heed, turning down an obscure hallway and
following the increasingly strong aroma of cooking. ‘Grizelda really did
take the Doctor’s culinary advice!’ Harry said with a grin and, after one
more corner, they were back in the scullery.
The gargantuan cook was horrified to see them. ‘What are you doing
back here? You’ll get me into hot water!’
‘It’s all right, old thing – we’re not staying,’ said Harry. ‘We’re just
looking for the quickest way out.’
The cook was staring in awe at the freed prisoners. ‘You’re Lady
Marian!’ she gasped, as if she was encountering someone out of a legend.
She just about curtsied to the smiling woman. ‘Did you enjoy my honey
cakes, ma’am?’
Marian beamed and stepped towards the cook, taking her hands in hers.
‘Of course! So it’s you who’s been feeding us while we’ve been languishing
here at the sheriff’s pleasure. Your food has been the only thing keeping us
alive and giving us hope.’
Grizelda’s haggard face lit up with glee at these words. Then she spied
Friar Tuck. ‘Ooh, the handsome friar, too …! How honoured I am.’
Tuck was astonished to hear himself called handsome. He straightened
his cowl and crucifix and smarmed down his wayward tonsure. ‘A pleasure,
madam,’ he said, and kissed her proffered hand.
‘Look, we’ve managed to give the guards the slip,’ said Harry urgently.
‘But we can’t run around forever. You must know a way out of the castle.’
‘A secret way!’ Wen burst out.
The cook stared at them both, going slightly red. ‘There is a secret way,
yes,’ she said, looking abashed.
 ‘It’s how she sneaks her gentlemen callers into the castle,’ said Wen,
earning himself a furious look from Grizelda. ‘What? I’m not supposed to
have noticed?’
The cook seized a wooden spoon and looked set to box the boy’s ears.
Then, after a moment’s pause, she relented. ‘All right. I’m still not sure
who’s got the right idea in all of this nonsense, but I’d do anything to help
Lady Marian.’
Marian smiled and Harry prompted, ‘The passageway?’
Grizelda told them: ‘It’s very narrow and unpleasant. It’s all wormy and
dark, and it goes right under the moat. But it’ll get you to safety, beyond the
castle walls.’ She eyed Tuck up and down. ‘It might be a bit snug for you,
Friar.’
He looked stung. ‘I’ll manage, I’m sure! I’m quite honed and shapely
under this rather unflattering garment, I’ll have you know.’
The cook gave a rather absurd laugh. ‘I’ll bet you are!’
Then, without further ado, she urged them over to her cold store. It was a
tiny cupboard in the darkest corner of the kitchens, and inside great wheels
of cheese and slabs of venison were lying on chilly shelves. Sure enough,
behind a stack of crates, there was a dark and mildewy hole.
‘Under the moat, eh?’ Harry said, wincing. ‘Well, here we go – I’ll lead!’
As he crouched and squirmed into the tunnel mouth, he heard Grizelda
murmuring to Friar Tuck again. Something about meeting up, just the two
of them, when ‘all this is over’.
‘Madam,’ said the monk stiffly. ‘You must remember that I am a man of
the cloth …’
Harry could have sworn he heard Marian chuckling quietly as she crept
into the tunnel behind him.

Elsewhere, in the murkiest recesses of the castle, the Doctor and Sarah
found themselves manacled and chained to the slime-coated wall.
‘Can you believe there is absolutely nothing in my voluminous pockets
that can help us?’ the Doctor said, his voice thunderous. ‘Have you a hatpin
or something like that, Sarah?’
She frowned and shook her head. ‘Since when did I wear hatpins?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, we’re out of luck. This is hopeless! We’ll just have
to stay here until we waste away and everyone simply forgets about us.’
 His companion couldn’t believe what he was saying. ‘What? This isn’t
like you! Buck your ideas up, Doctor! You’ve got to think of something and
get us free. You always do, don’t you?’
He stared at her, his huge eyes almost luminous in the dingy light. They
seemed to be filled with a dreadful sadness. ‘I do, do I?’
‘Of course you do! You’re the Doctor! You always come up with some
way to save the day.’
‘Well.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘Perhaps not today, eh? Perhaps this is the
end of the road at last.’
Sarah tugged on the clinking chains, growing angrier with his doleful
tone. ‘I don’t believe it. You can’t just be giving up like this! Look at the
desperate things we’ve faced together. Think of the dangers we’ve been in!’
He perked up a little. ‘I suppose we have, haven’t we?’
‘Remember the evil living city of the Exxilons?’ she said. ‘We got away
from that, didn’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And when there were dinosaurs roaming over London, eating people up
– did we give up then?’
‘No, we didn’t,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You’re right. We’ve faced up to
some real horrors, Sarah Jane. And we have come through them all.’
‘Well, there you are then!’ She smiled. ‘So, how can you be so cast down
now, when all that’s happened is that we’re stuck in some filthy dungeon, at
the mercy of that arrogant clown upstairs?’
‘Ahhh,’ said the Doctor, looking terribly gloomy all over again. ‘What’s
different about this situation, eh? When all I usually need to make me feel
optimistic is my best friend, Sarah Jane Smith, by my side?’
‘Exactly!’ She grinned.
‘Why should I feel so downcast now, eh?’ All at once his face seemed to
grow darker, his stare more intense, his expression more haggard. ‘But
that’s the problem, don’t you see? That’s the very worst thing about our
current predicament. In my opinion, anyway.’
‘What are you going on about?’
‘Well,’ said the Doctor. ‘You aren’t actually Sarah Jane, are you?’
 Chapter Seventeen

As she stared at him, her eyes took on that golden lustre.

‘The pretence is up, whoever you are,’ said the Doctor, with a hard edge
to his voice.
‘Oh, Sarah is still here,’ she said, her voice becoming harsher with every
word. ‘I’m just looking out from behind her eyes. I haven’t sent her
anywhere else. I’m quite a benevolent witch, though none would believe
that.’
‘A witch,’ said the Doctor, his voice filled with contempt. ‘I knew it after
I’d hypnotised Gisborne. A witch is just the locals’ name for you, but I
knew I could sense a more ancient evil. That’s what you are, aren’t you?
You’re a type of Carrionite – or at least related to them in some way. A
parasite who’s a long way from their own universe.’
She laughed and gave a strange shrug of her shoulders. In that instant her
rusted metal shackles fell away, as if they were nothing more than the paper
chains with which Sarah and the Doctor had decorated the TARDIS control
room last Christmas. The Doctor gasped as his own chains dropped away
and the manacles melted from his bruised wrists.
‘You could have set us free at any time,’ he said.
‘Perhaps I enjoyed our having some time together? You’re a very
intriguing man, Doctor.’
He peered closer at that oh-so-familiar – yet subtly transformed – face.
‘Just why are you here?’ he asked.
‘They call me Mother Maudlin, here in this time and place – the
infamous Witch of Paplewick. I am here to please myself and no other. I am
answerable to no man.’
Then, with another shiver, she began to transform herself. Sarah’s
beloved face was obscured by a flurry of midnight-black feathers. She stood
up and her wings fledged out. Her whole body changed utterly in just a
second or two. Soon there was a rook staring back at the Doctor, and it
seemed to him the most evil-looking creature he had ever seen.
‘Oh, magic tricks. Well done, you,’ he brayed sarcastically. ‘What’s next?
A rabbit out of my hat?’
But instead of responding to his jeers, the savage bird merely darted
forward. Its sharp golden beak jabbed at him and the Doctor threw up his
hands to defend himself. The rook dived at his scarf, plucking one frayed
strand of wool up in its beak. Then it turned away and leapt into the air.
‘What on earth?!’ cried the Doctor.
He had never been very happy around magic and necromancy. Not that
he truly believed that such things existed, but he knew – as did any
seasoned traveller in time – that creatures and intelligences existed in the
darkest corners of the universe, before recorded time, and they had once
used technology that was so strange and unfamiliar that it might as well be
called magical. In those few seconds, when the rook-witch took flight with
the end of his scarf in her beak, tugging the Time Lord helplessly after her,
the Doctor knew for certain that here was one of those ancient creatures. A
witch from before the beginning of time. A Carrionite. He had guessed
correctly.
He was never quite sure afterwards how it had happened, but Mother
Maudlin wrenched them both free of that dungeon far underground. It was
as if the thick stone walls of the castle were immaterial to her. She cackled
and cawed, raucous with triumph, her wings beating powerfully, taking
them up, up, up into the darkening skies.
‘Set me down at once!’ the Doctor shouted. The wool of his endless scarf
began to come apart as it was hoisted up into the sky. He clung on to it, and
was dragged along in Mother Maudlin’s satanic slipstream.
The witch merely laughed, delighting in her powers.
The Doctor felt that his whole self was unravelling as they soared
through the night. His scarf was coming apart in multicoloured ribbons and
he clawed at them to keep it all together, as if the loops of his favourite
accessory were the threads of his own sanity, fraying apart in his hands.
What would Madame Nostradamus say, if she could peer into the future and
see what the witch was doing to her precious knitting?
The rook beat on into the skies over Sherwood. Below them the woods
were endless and dark as ink, though they still stirred with life and intrigue.
 I’m going to lose Sarah forever, the Doctor thought wildly. After
everything we’ve been through together, her soul is going to be blotted out
by this malevolent being. But how had she done it? How powerful must this
succubus be, to simply slip into Sarah’s thoughts and stay there behind her
eyes? Watching them all, listening to every word, flitting about through the
shadows of Sherwood and eavesdropping while no one suspected? Only the
Doctor had known that there was something strange about Sarah Jane. He
had watched her very carefully, worrying and waiting for their timeless
enemy to declare herself.
Below them it was as if the whole world was unravelling, just like his
scarf. They flew over all the British Isles, and then they were above the
spuming, frozen seas. Ice floes and glaciers, tundra and snowfields, darker
forests than even those in England were filling the infinite vistas below
them.
The witch was spreading her midnight wings and flying the pair of them
all around the world in one single night. The Doctor felt the time winds
batter him and the solar winds burning his face. He saw the gemlike colours
of desert plains below them, and he thought about the Crusades going on
down there in the Holy Land and all the bloody, brutal struggles happening
in these remote parts.
And somewhere deep in his mind – despite the danger and the terror of
the moment – an idea was beginning to form in his dauntless imagination.
Over jungles and mountains, more deserts and plains and uncharted seas,
the enchanted raven flew them both; that single strand of wool still in her
beak, she dragged the Doctor along in her wake, bumping through the
frosty clouds. At any moment she could snap that tiny thread and drop him
anywhere in the world, anywhere in the Dark Ages, and he would never be
seen or heard from again.
‘Sarah! Sarah, listen to me!’ he roared against the darkening tempest.
The rook chose the stormiest clouds and flew right through them. The rain
and lightning thrilled the witch after so long living in that poky, stinking
shack in the woods.
‘I know you’re still inside there, Sarah,’ the Doctor bellowed against the
elements. ‘You must tell that witch to set us down again. She will kill both
of us if she keeps on flying into the night like this. Tell her, Sarah! Make her
turn again and carry us back to Sherwood Forest!’
 Had he got through to her? He couldn’t be sure. Somewhere deep inside
that wicked avian brain, could Sarah really be listening? Could she be
telling Mother Maudlin to have mercy on them? To set them down safely
again?
Sarah had a forceful personality, as the Doctor knew only too well.
Surely if anyone could get through to the malign Mother Maudlin, Sarah
could.
The wool continued to unravel, and the Doctor’s scarf was in danger of
frittering away entirely. When it did, he knew he would fall; he knew that
would be the moment she let him plummet and he’d be smashed to pieces
against the world below.
He imagined falling, falling from an impossible height. He thought it
must be a terrible way to go: his body shattered by the impact and lying
broken, forgotten, lost and alone somewhere on Planet Earth …
‘Sarah, fight her!’ the Doctor shouted. ‘Remember, my dear! You’re my
best friend! I know how strong you are! You can fight some old Carrionite!
I know you can! You can force her to take us back to Sherwood Forest!’
The storm raged and the dark clouds massed around them, obscuring the
world below. The rook cried out, squawking in mingled protest and fury,
and then she was turning and diving and soaring downwards in wild spirals
…
 Chapter Eighteen

‘Well, it was no picnic, let me put it that way’ was all Harry would say later
about escaping from the castle.

‘Are we sure this tunnel won’t collapse?’ Tuck kept asking as they felt their
way through the dark, confined space. The walls were running with moat
water, which smelt brackish and horrible. The escapees had to slosh their
way along the narrow passage, with the filthy water halfway up to their
knees. ‘It’s getting deeper and deeper!’ cried the friar. ‘I just know it is!
We’re going to drown down here!’
‘No, we’re not, Tuck,’ said Marian, in as reassuring a voice as she could
muster. Harry was glad of her calming, determined presence. She seemed to
have the knack of saying just the right thing and proving herself to be
unflappable at every turn.
‘It can’t be much further,’ Harry said. ‘The moat’s not as broad as all that,
is it?’
Friar Tuck couldn’t help himself doom-mongering. ‘Aye, but who’s to
say this tunnel doesn’t wind about for miles, and then we’ll be lost forever
in this terrible midden?’
Now it was Wen’s turn to speak sense to the panicking monk. The boy
was leading the way and the burning brand the cook had given him was
providing their only illumination. ‘Remember how often Grizelda uses this
tunnel,’ he said. ‘Her gentlemen friends travel between the castle and the
forest, coming along here all the time. Not to mention the smugglers who
take her stolen goods back to Sherwood!’
‘She steals from the sheriff?’ Marian asked.
‘Oh yes.’ Wen laughed. ‘She’s been nicking all sorts from the castle since
at least the time of the last sheriff-but-one. You know, Robin Hood isn’t the
only one giving stuff to the poor.’
‘Good old Grizelda.’ Harry grinned.
 ‘There’s light ahead,’ Wen called out. ‘I think we’re coming to the end!’
Harry peered ahead, and there was indeed a smudge of brightness in the
gloom.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ sobbed Tuck, surging forward and pushing Harry
aside. ‘I feel like I’m choking down here! What a terrible rescue this has
proved to be. Just wait till I tell Robin.’
‘Charming,’ Harry muttered, as Marian tried to grab the friar’s arm.
‘Don’t go bursting out of here,’ she warned him. ‘What if they’re waiting
for us at the end? The sheriff’s men?’
‘Oh, heavens, don’t say that, Marian,’ said the monk with a gasp. ‘I can’t
stand it. This is just one thing after another …!’
‘Let’s just take it easy and make sure there are no nasty surprises,’ said
Harry calmly, but Friar Tuck was on the verge of panic. He squeezed past
Marian and then shoved Wen roughly out of the way.
‘Let me past, boy! Let me out of here!’ The friar was staggering out of
the tunnel and into the open air. ‘Yes! I’m free!’ he bellowed.
‘Tuck!’ Marian shouted after him. ‘How far are we from the castle? Are
we beyond their range?’
‘I don’t know! I don’t care!’ he cried, falling on to his knees with
gratitude.
In that instant he was set upon by two muscular figures who dropped
almost soundlessly from the branches above. One was much taller and
burlier than the other, and together they pinned the monk to the ground. He
wailed and thrashed about in the carpet of leaves. ‘Let me go! Murderers!
Thieves!’
Harry was rather surprised by what happened next. It was hard to
imagine someone of Tuck’s size and shape leaping up like that and
shrugging off both his attackers, but all at once the friar was on his feet,
bounding around the forest glade. He snatched up a length of fallen branch
and whirled it dangerously around his head. ‘Get away from me!’ he
screamed, and his assailants backed off. ‘I’ll knock both your blocks off!’
Then, to his amazement, Harry realised that the two men who had leapt
from the trees were both convulsing with laughter. Rather than being scared
of the suddenly violent friar, they were doubled up in mirth.
‘What do you lot look like?’ laughed one of the men, in a rather familiar
voice. ‘You’re covered in mud!’
 Both Wen and Marian gasped as their eyes adjusted at last to the twilight
of the woods, and they realised who had jumped on Tuck – and who Tuck
was about to behead with his makeshift staff!
‘It’s Robin, you fool!’ Marian cried out. ‘And Little John!’
‘Marian!’ Robin shouted out in joy and flew to her. He bundled her up in
his arms, regardless of the thick coating of black mud and slime that she,
like her companions, had accrued in the process of escaping. ‘You made it.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m not surprised you didn’t recognise us, though.’
‘Ha!’ chuckled Little John. ‘We could hear all your voices echoing out of
that tunnel for the past ten minutes. Did no one tell you it’s best to keep
your mouths shut when you’re trying to run away from your enemy?’
Robin turned to Harry and hugged him with gratitude. ‘My dear Harry.’
He grinned. ‘You have done us all a great service today. You have done
something that I myself would be proud to achieve.’
Harry beamed at this. ‘I say! Well, it was nothing really, to be honest. It
was young Wen here. It’s thanks to him that we found the secret escape
route.’
Wen looked delighted as Robin solemnly shook his hand. ‘Then I think
we ought to invite this clever young lad to join our band of outlaws on a
full-time basis, don’t you, Little John?’
But there was no more time for speeches and happy reunions. They were
interrupted by a violent noise erupting from the hulking edifice of
Nottingham Castle. The portcullis was up and men-at-arms were thundering
over the drawbridge. Shouts of angry alarm were going up into the evening
air.
‘Ah, they’ve realised that you’ve given them the slip.’ Robin smiled. ‘I
suggest we postpone our chatter for now and make our way home, with all
due haste.’
Without another word, the small gang of filthy fugitives turned into the
darkening woods and seemed to vanish without a trace.

The sheriff jumped up from his prized French chair with a cry of utter
despair.
The captain of his guard looked very abashed as he stood there, imparting
the bad news. ‘I’m afraid it’s true. Lady Marian and the friar were taken off
by intruders, making their escape through a secret passage that begins in the
kitchens.’
 ‘The kitchens?’ snarled the sheriff.
‘Naturally, I will have the cook flogged and brought to you,’ said the
captain, hoping to mollify his master.
‘Even my own cook dances rings round me!’ the sheriff said with a wail.
‘Everyone treats me like a fool! I tighten my iron grip, and they laugh at
me! They create anarchy all around. But no more! No more!’
The sheriff’s wild mood made the captain feel very uncomfortable. There
was no telling what spiteful, vicious act he might suddenly decree – just to
make himself feel more in control.
‘Yes! Flog the cook! We’ll execute her for the king’s entertainment – as
well as the Doctor and his lady friend,’ the sheriff snarled nastily.
‘Ah, so that’s another thing,’ said the captain nervously. ‘You see, the
dungeon where we put the Doctor and his lady friend, Sarah …’
‘What about it?’ The sheriff narrowed his eyes and his hand crept
unconsciously to the hilt of his dagger. ‘Tell me!’
‘Well, it’s empty,’ said the captain. ‘And they seem to have escaped from
the castle as well.’
Hearing this, the sheriff gave what could only be described as a scream of
utter hatred and dismay. ‘Why me?!’ he gibbered, wrenching his dagger out
of his belt and flashing it about dangerously. The captain and his guards
took several steps backwards. ‘Why is it always me?!’ the sheriff screeched.
‘Nothing ever goes right for me!’
He turned to his precious French chair and kicked it over. It crunched
satisfyingly as he jumped on it, until there was nothing left but gilded
smithereens.
‘Oh, sir, your chair!’ said the captain, who knew how much he’d loved it.
But the sheriff was inconsolable. ‘Find them!’ He spat with rage.
‘Capture them all again. Bring them back here so we can kill them for His
Majesty’s pleasure when he arrives here next Tuesday.’
‘Ah,’ said the captain. He was relieved that this was the last piece of bad
news he had to impart. Surely the sheriff’s nerves couldn’t cope with any
more. ‘We’ve had news about the king’s visit, sir.’
The sheriff looked as if he was on the point of collapse. ‘Oh, what now?’
‘We’ve had official word from his people. He’s arriving somewhat earlier
than expected. His Majesty King John and his retinue will be here
tomorrow.’
 Chapter Nineteen

Even after the thunderstorm of the previous night, Sherwood Forest was a
tinderbox. The tangled boughs of the trees were parched, divesting
themselves of their gorgeously colourful leaves. The bracken and ferns
below were dry as paper to the touch.
So, when Guy of Gisborne poured the strange-smelling oil around the
caves and the wooden dwellings of the outlaws, he knew full well that he
was about to create deadly mayhem. His heart leapt with joy as he crept
undetected around their shambolic encampment.
With the last of the oil gone, he took out the flint Mother Maudlin had
given him. Gisborne laughed under his breath.
Sparks flew. A flicker of flame took hold of a pile of straw he had made.
The flames flared up and, when they touched the oil, they turned a strange
shade of purple.
Magical flames! Some kind of witch fire! he thought as he backed away
quickly. The noise was already fierce and, even if he had wanted to, he
couldn’t have stopped it now.
Heavy purple smoke was rolling into the sky in great dark flurries. Cries
went up as people first saw them and the outlaws began to realise they had
fire raging in their camp. Shrieks of panic and dismay rang through the
trees. Gisborne grinned, but his heart was thumping hard in his chest. He
knew that it was time for him to beat a hasty retreat – he didn’t want to be
caught up in this.
The flames were growing tall and bold now. They ate up the walls and
twiggy roofs of the buildings quite indiscriminately. They were dark purple
and deepest mauve. They looked like no fire that Sir Guy had ever seen
before. They were a wicked, unfamiliar species of flame.
Now there were screams of horror as more of Robin’s folk realised what
they were facing. They came running with pathetic pails of water, flinging
them at the all-engulfing flames. The air was thick and hot with smoke. It
wavered before their streaming eyes.
No one even noticed Gisborne slipping away into the woods.
Men, women, children – all ages and all types of people would face
disaster and ruin. But they were all on the wrong side of the law, he
reasoned. As he hurried away into the dimness of the forest, he contented
himself with the belief that they all deserved this fiery end.
Sherwood Forest would be cleansed of its parasites.
But where were Robin and his fellow ringleaders? Gisborne knew they
were out scouting somewhere in the woods. Surely, though, they would see
the fire from afar, and come running to help? Surely they were just as
doomed as the rest?
Gisborne laughed hysterically and hurried on his way, one step ahead of
the noxious smoke, intent on spreading news of his triumph to the sheriff.

Robin and his friends hadn’t travelled very far from the secret tunnel before
they realised that something was amiss.
‘That smell,’ said Marian with a gasp, stopping in her tracks.
Robin was as alert as a woodland creature, his keen nose in the air, his
eyes widening. ‘Fire,’ he said.
Wen knew just as well as any of the adults present what uncontrollable
flames would mean for autumn woods such as these. He tried to make out
which way the wind was blowing, but it was hard to tell under the forest
canopy.
‘There’s smoke,’ Friar Tuck said, beginning to cough. ‘The most foul
smoke I’ve ever smelt. It’s like death itself.’
Harry frowned. ‘I can’t see or hear anything.’ Yet he could smell that
acrid tang of smoke in the dark air. He knew that his new friends’ senses
must be more heightened than his, trained from years of living in the open
air.
Robin’s face was twisted in anguish. ‘I think our enemies have done
something truly terrible.’
Marian gripped his arm. ‘No,’ she murmured.
‘Tuck is right,’ Robin said grimly. ‘That’s the reek of death itself.’
Then he set off again, in the direction of their home at the heart of the
Greenwood, his heart full of dread at the thought of what they might find
there.
The outlaws realised very quickly that there was nothing they could do.
Rapidly the trees were engulfed. The vines and ladders were gobbled in a
fiery flash. Up in the branches of the tallest oaks the remaining leaves
sparked and flared, and fire twisted through the ancient branches. The
treehouses where the Merrie Men and their extended families slept and
lived and hoped themselves safe were catching light, one after the next.
Flames were leaping gleefully from tree to tree.
The outlaws fled. At first they emptied their stores of water over the
encroaching flames, but after a sputter and hiss it was all gone. They knew
there was nothing they could do. They simply left everything they owned,
everything they had built here in the forest. They took their loved ones by
the hand and fled into the wilderness.
It was growing darker than dark as smoke chased them through the dense
woodlands. They hobbled blindly, praying that they’d get away in time. The
flames were at their heels, it seemed, chasing them, roaring with hellish
laughter as they made their escape.
And somewhere not too far from the blazing remains of Robin’s
sanctuary, a rook sat on the lowest branch of a tree that hadn’t yet caught
fire. Unflustered, appraising the flames.

On the ground in front of the ebony bird, the exhausted Doctor lay
collapsed, face down in the crispy leaves. His coat was in tatters, as was his
scarf. He regathered his wits slowly, realising that he wasn’t sure how much
of his flight through the night had been real, and how much had been an
enchantment.
But now there was another danger.
He sat up abruptly and blinked. His eyes were already streaming from the
smoke. He took up handfuls of tattered wool and pressed it to his mouth and
nose.
‘Where’s Sarah?’ he shouted, staggering to his feet. His voice was
muffled by the multicoloured strands and the roar of the flames as they
approached. He knew that the rook understood him, though. It fixed him
with that queer golden glint in its eye and cocked its head. ‘Where is she?’
the Doctor yelled. ‘You did this!’ He gasped at the realisation. ‘You’ve set
the woods ablaze! What have you done?’
The rook merely let out a long, raucous caw of triumph.
 Then the Doctor’s best friend stepped out from between the trees. It was
as if she had manifested instantly out of the darkness, looking so very cool
and collected. The hellish fires didn’t worry her one little bit.
‘Sarah?’ The Doctor ran to her. ‘Are you still in there?’ He peered
desperately into her eyes.
She still spoke with Sarah’s voice. At least that much was true. He knew
that Mother Maudlin had planned all of this, from start to finish.
‘You’re changing history,’ the Doctor told her. ‘You’re causing death and
disaster! You’re taking everything from these people.’
‘Who cares, Doctor?’ She laughed. ‘You know we can get away. You
know you have the means and the power to get us away from here, quite
safely.’
‘Do I?’ he asked hoarsely, in a toneless voice. This new, enchanted Sarah
Jane filled him with horror. She was so strong and powerful in his arms,
radiating such hatred.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘The TARDIS. It’s time for us to vanish inside your
magic box.’
‘But where is it?’
‘I set us down right beside it.’ She smiled. ‘Sarah remembered where it
was. Can you imagine how excited the infamous Mother Maudlin will be to
see inside your marvellous TARDIS?’
Oh yes, the Doctor thought grimly. I could imagine very well indeed how
keen the witch would be. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was
give her access to his ship.
And yet he knew, as the fires raged ever closer, that he had no choice.
 Chapter Twenty

It felt like there was a hole opening up in Robin’s chest. His breath became
shallow, and it wasn’t just because of the smoke that was thickening in the
air. He led his ragged troop through the woods, the air around them
swirling. The heat was rising, too, and by now the roar of the flames was
filling their ears.
There was a wall of bright flame ahead of them. Impossibly colourful.
Terrible to see. And they were fighting to draw closer and closer to its
horrible intensity.
Robin wouldn’t listen to reason.
‘It’s too late, man,’ Friar Tuck yelled at him. ‘The whole lot’s going up!
The camp is gone! We have to get out of here!’
‘No! NO!’ Robin was manic, driving towards the flames. ‘My people!
They came to me for help and succour, and I have let them down!’
Little John tried to remonstrate, to hold him still. ‘Robin – it’s too late.
We can’t keep running into the fire. We’ll be killed ourselves.’
‘He’s right,’ Marian said, drawing near and using her most forceful tone
with him. ‘Perhaps our friends have managed to get away in time. Perhaps
all is not lost!’
They stared at each other and saw that all their faces were wet with black,
streaky tears. These few were Robin’s closest friends in the world, and it
was only from them that he would listen to sense and reason.
‘Y-you’re right, I know,’ he said hopelessly, and with that he hung his
head, as if issuing a mute prayer for the souls of the Merrie Men in the
Greenwood. What if they were all lost? What if they had all died tonight,
while he was away from home? Robin could hardly bear the thought of it.
Harry Sullivan watched all of this from a slight distance, alarmed by the
steady approach of the forest fires. While his heart went out to his new
friends, his mind was racing with worries about his old ones, too. Had the
Doctor and Sarah managed to escape from the sheriff’s castle? What if they
were wandering around in the forest and had found themselves caught up in
these mysterious flames?
But there was no use fretting over things he couldn’t know yet. The
Doctor and Sarah had faced all kinds of terrors together and come through
with barely a scratch. Harry just had to believe in their fortitude and bravery
and assume that he would see his friends when circumstances brought them
together again. In the meantime he had to ensure that he and his new
companions managed to come through this alive.
I do believe I’m getting the hang of these adventures! he thought to
himself cheerfully before he suddenly felt Wen grip his arm.
‘Harry, we have to get away from here,’ the boy said. While the others
had been talking about the fate of their friends, the fires had fanned out and
appeared to be surrounding them. Their options for escape were fast
disappearing.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Harry, and raised his voice like the commanding naval
officer he had once been. ‘Now look, everyone. I hate to be dashed rude,
but is there some high ground we could all get to? Something a bit less
leafy and woody, perhaps? Somewhere that the flames won’t be able to
reach?’
They all turned to look at him and, when his words sank in, Robin
nodded quickly. ‘There’s McGuckian Hill. It’s rocky and barren and stands
high above the forest canopy.’
‘Then that’s our safest bet for sitting out the danger,’ said Harry. ‘Can we
get there?’
‘I believe so,’ said Robin. He had transformed from helpless wretch to
assured leader. Harry’s matter-of-fact approach had called him back to look
after his friends. ‘This way,’ he urged them, and they turned back into the
swarming dimness of the forest, following the only route through the
wicked, lilac witch fire consuming the woods. ‘Come along!’ Robin called
to them all and, gladly, they filed after him in the direction of McGuckian
Hill and, they hoped, towards sanctuary.
Marian paused to gaze intently into Harry’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she told
him.

Sarah had stepped into the TARDIS many, many times before, but this time
was different. This evening, as she followed the Doctor through the wooden
police box doors, she was not alone in her mind.
The Doctor breezed into the control room, relieved at once to be back in
its familiar brightness. The six-sided console seemed to give an electronic
burble of pleased recognition as he entered. He was a soot-smeared, tattered
figure, and, though his face was haggard with worry and fatigue, he felt his
strength returning.
Sarah came in and her face was bright with wonder. ‘Out of the fiery hell
of the Dark Ages into the bright, bright future!’ she said with a gasp.
The Doctor pressed a control and the heavy doors slid shut, leaving just a
wisp of purple smoke hanging in the air. He switched on the scanner screen,
which showed the scenes of terrible devastation surrounding the TARDIS.
He flinched.
‘Look at what you’ve caused,’ he said to Sarah. ‘Think of all the life that
has perished in that conflagration. Think not just of the human cost –
though that is great enough. Think of the wildlife, the birds, the plants.
What did they ever do to you, eh? Nothing. They didn’t deserve this.’
Sarah laughed at him. ‘You sentimental idiot. What are those things to
me? Animals and people? Plants and birds? They’re just objects. They’re
just things to help me along in my plans. They’re grist to my mill. And,
besides, it was that fool Gisborne who caused this inferno. I just placed the
means in his hands. These humans must learn to bear the consequences of
their actions.’
The TARDIS interior was calm and still after the chaos of the burning
woods. The Doctor was having to calm down the panic in both his hearts.
He couldn’t bear to think what might be happening to all the people he had
met here in Sherwood. ‘And Harry!’ he gasped. ‘Don’t you care? Harry is
out there somewhere, too.’
The girl he knew as Sarah tilted her head. ‘The part of me that is still
your friend is expressing concern. But you must take some solace from the
fact that I, Mother Maudlin, know that your friends are still alive. I can still
feel their presence as they make their escape tonight to higher ground. Yes,
my mind can encompass their tiny, still-living intelligences.’ She smiled,
and even though she meant to seem reassuring the effect was chilling.
‘Well, that’s something,’ the Doctor said. ‘Harry, Robin – who else?’
‘I’m not going to go listing all the names of these insignificant people for
your benefit.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve done enough.’ Suddenly that golden glow
was back in her eyes and she took a hungry step towards the blinking,
flashing lights of the control console. ‘Now you must take us away from
here. Away from danger. Take flight! Show me how your miraculous time
ship works!’
 Chapter Twenty-one

The view from McGuckian Hill was extraordinary, even in the middle of
the night. Huge areas of the endless woodlands were illuminated by eldritch
fires. Their unnatural hues flickered and leapt nimbly across the horizon,
sending flaming sparks up into the skies, the noxious smoke blotting out the
stars.
From this lofty vantage point, however, it could be observed that perhaps
the damage wasn’t as apocalyptic as it had first seemed. The raging inferno
was bad enough, but it wasn’t the whole of Sherwood going up in flames.
There were still vast dark stretches untouched by fire.
‘Is it my imagination,’ Little John said, as they paused breathlessly on the
steep rocky slopes of the hill, ‘or are they petering out now – the flames?’
‘I think you’re right,’ Friar Tuck agreed. ‘The fire isn’t spreading so
quickly.’
‘It’s a queer kind of flame.’ Marian shivered. ‘The wrong colour.
Everything about it is unnatural.’
‘It’s witchcraft,’ said Robin, looking stony-faced and grim.
As a rationalist and a medic, Harry didn’t like all this Dark Ages talk of
magic and enchantment. He preferred to focus on the matter in hand. ‘We’re
almost at the top,’ he said, to cheer them up. ‘Look, I’m sure those are lights
at the summit. Can you see them, Wen? Are there people up there?’
The boy leapt into action. He seemed to have boundless reserves of
energy. ‘I’ll go and look!’ And off he went, scrambling up the pitted
rockface of the hillside, nimble as a mountain goat.
‘I think he’s right, Robin,’ Little John said, craning his neck to see the top
of the peak. ‘There are people up there. I think – I think they might be
ours!’
Robin came surging forward, filled with renewed purpose. ‘Oh, please!
Please say it’s so!’
 Harry couldn’t help but be infected by the excitement as their small party
began clambering once more up the steepest face of the hill. The last stretch
was the hardest-going, and they had the added burden of the truculent Friar
Tuck to contend with. ‘I can manage!’ he bellowed at them as they tried to
give him a leg-up. ‘I’m not as helpless as I look!’
‘Robin! Harry!’ they could hear from above. It was Wen’s excited voice,
going shrill in his eagerness. ‘Lady Marian!’
‘What is it?’ Robin shouted. ‘What have you found, Wen?’
The boy’s news warmed all their hearts instantly. ‘Survivors!’ he cried
into the churning dark of the night. ‘Your people, Robin! They managed to
flee in time!’
The last few hundred yards were covered very quickly, and soon all the
Merries were caught up in a joyous reunion at the top of McGuckian Hill.
Harry found himself being embraced and kissed and clapped on the back by
a bewildering array of filthy, soot-encrusted folk of all ages. There was
shouting and hallooing and spontaneous outbreaks of song. To his mingled
shame and delight, Harry recognised the Robin Hood theme song from the
1950s television show that he had taught the men only a few days ago.
Robin’s face was shining with triumph and relief and tears that he
couldn’t hold back. ‘They’re all here!’ he gasped, unable to believe their
good fortune. ‘Can you believe it, Harry? Not a single soul was lost in that
demonic fire!’
‘Aye, but the whole encampment is gone forever,’ Tuck complained. ‘All
our supplies and stores and weapons. All that loot we’d been collecting up
for King Richard’s ransom! All of it gone.’
Robin wouldn’t be brought down by his gloom. ‘So, we begin anew!
We’re still alive. We’re still here in Sherwood. We can start again from
scratch!’ And then he was caught up in congratulating Will Scarlet, who
was bloody and injured, but grinning with triumph.
‘It was my idea to bring them up here, Robin,’ Will admitted. ‘I knew
you’d make for the hill, too. I knew you’d be here.’
‘We’re safe now,’ said Robin. ‘We’re all right.’
There was a moment or two of silence then, as the reunited tribe of
outlaws gazed in awe at the forest. It was plain to see now that the fires
were indeed dampening down and turning into sinister smoulders. It was as
if it was a living intelligence, gradually realising that its human victims had
outwitted it by removing themselves to safety.
 The Merries watched the inferno dwindle and waited for Robin to
regather his wits and start to make fresh plans. There would be much to do,
and they would all have to be ready to pitch in to rebuild their lives.
Harry Sullivan’s thoughts were elsewhere as he stared at the dark
woodlands. He was thinking about Sarah and the Doctor and the TARDIS.
If they were gone, then he would have to think about what it would mean to
never see them or his own home again. It hardly seemed possible. Sarah and
the Doctor might be safe in Nottingham Castle, but the TARDIS was still
down there, wasn’t it? Surely an old battered wooden box would have gone
up in a flash?
But with the TARDIS, Harry tried to console himself, you never knew.
You just never knew.

The Doctor had a plan.

This wasn’t unusual. If you asked him, right in the middle of any
predicament, whether he had a plan or not, he would always claim to have
at least an inkling of one. Or he would look at you as if he had no idea what
you were talking about: ‘A plan?!’ As if the whole idea was an impossibly
novel one.
Usually he would improvise. He’d see what jumble of stuff he had in his
capacious pockets and make something up. Or he would talk his way out of
the situation, bamboozling whoever held his fate in their hands.
Today, however, he actually had a genuine plan and, as he turned to work
at the sloping panels of the TARDIS console – flicking and fiddling with
switches and dials with great, solemn composure – he was congratulating
himself in advance. Because the plan was brilliant.
‘Wait,’ said Sarah, watching his every perplexing move. ‘What are you
doing?’
All at once the control console lit up like a Christmas tree. The
cylindrical column at its heart started to rise up and down. A noise like a
celestial trumpeting of praise to the Time Lords of old filled the brilliant
chamber.
‘We are in flight.’ The Doctor looked up and grinned toothily at his
friend. ‘Can’t you sense it? You, with your witchy powers and your
elemental shenanigans? Can’t you feel your soul leaving Planet Earth
behind? Can’t you feel that link being severed, hmm? That psychic link
between the part of you that has stolen my best friend’s wits and your
everyday form back in Sherwood Forest? Can’t you feel my friend inside of
you, wrestling to free herself from your wretched grasp?’
‘I-I –’ said the girl who wasn’t just Sarah Jane Smith.
‘We’re in the vortex,’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘That mysterious region
where space and time are one. We’re tumbling and twirling in a maelstrom
quite separate to all known reality! Can you keep your grip, Mother
Maudlin? Isn’t it rather difficult to maintain your foothold in my
companion’s mind? She’s going to evict you, I think!’
Suddenly there was terrible pain, and light flooded into the darker
regions of the witch’s consciousness. The Doctor was quite correct. She
couldn’t maintain her hold on the girl. Sarah was reasserting her control,
and the Carrionite was being cast out.
‘Off you pop!’ The Doctor cackled as he saw the distress in Sarah’s face.
‘And you leave my poor dear friend alone! You know, I can’t stand bullies
like you. I simply can’t abide succubi and incubi.’ He laughed as he thought
of a silly pun. ‘So … bye-bye! Goodbye to you, Madame Succubus!’
And he watched as the golden light went out in Sarah’s eyes. She gave a
cry of dismay and crumpled to the ground, and the TARDIS lurched its way
through the vortex.
The Doctor raced over to where Sarah had fallen and checked to see if
she had any physical injuries. ‘Sarah?’ He tried to revive her using a packet
of jelly babies in the same way a Victorian gentleman might have used
smelling salts, waving the bag under her nose. ‘Are you all right?’
She revived and blearily raised herself up on one elbow. ‘What is it?
What’s going on?’ She looked thoroughly disoriented. ‘What are we doing
back in the TARDIS? Are we moving again?’
He stared at her. ‘Don’t you remember? You were taken over by the
Witch of Paplewick.’
She looked amazed. ‘An actual witch?’
The Doctor gave a facial shrug. ‘Something of that kind. Something alien
and nasty from the ancient days – a species called the Carrionites.’ He
jumped up to his feet. ‘And this particular one is interfering with the natural
flow of history. She took you over for a little bit, but your subconscious
managed to chuck her out while she was weakened and distracted.’
Sarah got to her feet and rubbed her head. ‘That’s why I’ve got a
shocking headache. Did I do anything bad while I was taken over?’
 He returned to monitoring the control console. ‘Pretty bad, yes. Now, do
be quiet while I attend to these coordinates.’
Sarah wasn’t prepared to hush up yet. ‘But how did you get rid of her?
How did you expel this … witch from my mind?’ Her ears were ringing,
like she’d been at a very loud concert. There was a curious sense of
emptiness: an absence in the darkest corner of her psyche.
‘I threw the TARDIS into space and time,’ said the Doctor. ‘I knew that
would break her link. Old Mother Maudlin overestimated herself. Like I
say, she was distracted and then you were able to evict her yourself. You’re
quite strong-minded, you know!’
‘Mother Maudlin,’ Sarah whispered under her breath, and the name was
chillingly familiar. She shook her head. ‘Well, where are we going now?
Back to Sherwood Forest? Did we leave Harry there?’
The Doctor’s hands flickered over the controls, and he shook his head as
the time rotor started to slow down, indicating that the TARDIS was just
about ready to land. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘We’re going back a few months in
time. And we’re going to Vienna.’
Sarah stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Vienna? Why Vienna?’
He smiled. ‘Because I’ve decided that it’s high time that I looked up a
certain old friend of mine.’
 Chapter Twenty-two

She came plummeting out of the stormy clouds like an angel being cast out
of heaven. Mother Maudlin screamed with every fibre of her being as the
TARDIS rejected her and flung her out somewhere over England. At first,
she tumbled and twirled – a ragged, feathery bundle of hate – with no idea
of where she was. But then she regained her senses, shook herself to
composure and soared above the countryside on rook’s wings.
She cursed and shrieked with fury. To be so close! To be in the belly of
the time machine itself! And now to be cast out and exiled back into this
primitive age of savages.
Just before being wrenched from the mind of Sarah Jane Smith, Mother
Maudlin had peered into the Doctor’s own mind and plans. She had balked
at the extraordinary depths of his soul, but still she had managed to
eavesdrop on a few ideas he had bubbling up. Oh yes – now I know where
he is intending to go. And that knowledge is going to be very valuable to
me, she decided.
She might be thrust out, embittered, humiliated, but Mother Maudlin was
brewing up a back-up plan, and the witch knew that she wasn’t beaten yet.
She careened over the smouldering forest. Part of her had to admire the
devastation that Gisborne had wrought. Far more of the outlaws’ world had
been reduced to cinders than she expected. Gisborne had done very well, in
fact.
But then she returned to the region of the forested lands known as
Paplewick and was horrified to find that the eldritch fires had spread this
far. Now the purple flames were gone, leaving charred wasteland in their
wake, along with the smouldering wreck of the humble house where she
had lived for all these years.
The rook alighted on an ash tree that had been turned to charcoal and
stared with unblinking yellow eyes at the ruins. All her spells, her jars, her
powders, unguents and vapours. All the work of decades; her gathering and
distilling; her malign labour. All of it gone, along with the precious books
that Gisborne himself had filched from monasteries.
The rook actually shed tears of anguish and fury. Impossible! The witch
knew no remorse, no feelings. Yet, that morning, she shed tears for herself.
Now she had nothing of her own on this world that was her prison.
So she decided that it was time that she put her next plan into action
without further delay. Her setbacks only ever made her more ambitious.
She turned her back on the smoky relics of her life and flew off towards
Nottingham Castle.

The outlaws woke up in a huddle on McGuckian Hill, filthy and sore. Their
lungs were still full of smoky fumes and their thoughts were going round
and round. Where do we live now? How are we going to start again?
They all looked at Robin, who stood brooding at the very top of the rocky
hill, leaning upon his slender longbow. His mind was teeming with dark
thoughts of revenge. But revenge against who? Who was to blame for this
atrocity?
There was a cry from Will Scarlet and mocking laughter from Little John,
further down the hill. They had been going about a patrol, checking
numbers and supplies, but rather than salvaged water flagons or loaves, they
had discovered in their midst a filthy and desperate-looking enemy, wild-
eyed and seemingly terrified at being caught.
Will and John dragged him before Robin.
‘Look what we found!’ Will laughed bitterly.
Guy of Gisborne was held firmly between them, a defenceless,
weaponless, defeated man. He lifted his head and stared into Robin’s face.
‘I know who caused all this destruction. I can tell you who did it.’
Robin could hardly believe the man’s gall. He was brave, Robin had to
admit that much. Robin was toying with the idea of simply chopping off the
knight’s head and letting that be an end to him. But Sir Guy stared back at
him unflinchingly. He had nothing to lose. He kept his steely blue eyes on
Robin’s, and offered up this titbit of knowledge.
‘You know who burned our woods?’ Robin asked him.
‘I know her secrets. I know how to get to her. I know what she intends to
do next,’ Gisborne gabbled, seizing the advantage now he had his foe’s
attention.
 ‘Who’s he talking about?’ Little John yawned, bored with all this talk.
‘Can’t we just put him out of his misery, Robin? I hate the whiny sound of
his voice.’
They had been joined at the summit of the hill by Lady Marian, Friar
Tuck and Harry Sullivan. ‘What will you do with him?’ Marian asked
worriedly. She didn’t like the murderous look in Robin’s eye. She knew he
was intent on revenge.
‘I want to know who he’s talking about,’ said Robin.
Gisborne was delighted to have them all listening to him. ‘I speak of
Mother Maudlin, the infamous Witch of Paplewick. She is your greatest
enemy, Robin. You might believe it’s me, or the current sheriff, who poses
you the deadliest threat, but let me tell you that the witch has been
interfering in your life for a long time now. She’s been watching you from
afar and casting hexes upon your outlaw band.’
‘What? But why?’ Robin asked, astonished. ‘What does an old crone like
the Witch of Paplewick know of our lives?’
Gisborne looked solemn. ‘She knows you intend to depose the phoney
king and all his rabble of tinpot tyrants. You want to bring back Good King
Richard. She wishes to stop you and keep Prince John in power. I know all
of this well because, for many years, I have pretended to be her helper. Her
mindless servant, in thrall to her. I charmed my way into her trust, and now
only I know how to destroy her.’
Little John was shaking his shaggy head. ‘I can’t be doing with no
witches. I grew up with stories of that witch and her kind. Tales that were
told to me by all the old folk of our village. We shouldn’t go messing with
Old Dame Paplewick …’
‘We may not have any choice,’ said Harry ruefully. ‘And, as it happens, I
don’t actually believe in witches and magic and all that tommyrot, either.’
‘But we do believe in it,’ Marian told him firmly. ‘Everyone here does.
Trust me, Harry, these woods are filled with folk who still believe in the
old, magical ways.’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Dark Ages, of course. I see. Well, Sir Guy – how
is it we can defeat this old witch, eh? What’s this secret you’re
withholding?’
Robin glanced briefly at Harry, as if he resented the young stranger
jumping into his interrogation. Robin produced his sword and held it up to
the knight’s arrogantly jutting jaw. ‘Tell us what we must do,’ he said.
 Sir Guy took a deep breath. ‘First, you must let me join your band. I am
an outlaw, too, now, and I wish to be one of your number.’
The Merries couldn’t help laughing at this. All over the barren hill the
news spread from mouth to mouth: Sir Guy of Gisborne wants to join us!
He’s just saying it so Robin will spare his crummy life! He’s a slippery one,
old Sir Guy.
Robin laughed at him. ‘Why should we let you join us? Why should we
trust you?’
Gisborne looked crafty. He knew he was holding a valuable card in this
game. ‘Because I own something that you want returned to you, Robin
Hood.’
Robin narrowed his eyes. He felt Marian clutch his arm as she realised
what Sir Guy was alluding to. ‘What?’ Robin asked.
‘I am the master of Locksley Hall,’ said Sir Guy. ‘I may have stolen it
and installed myself in your absence, but that home and those lands have
been mine for several years. I know how much you want them back, Robin.
If you let me join your number, you can have back your birthright. You will
be Lord of Locksley once again.’
 Chapter Twenty-three

After her various ordeals, all Sarah wanted was a proper cup of tea. One
made with tea leaves, and ‘not that awful stuff out of the food machine’.
‘We don’t have time!’ the Doctor shouted, working at the console while
flicking through several leathery tomes from the TARDIS library.
Sarah huffed and sipped her tasteless tea, peering over his shoulder as he
consulted his books. ‘What are you looking up?’
‘Dates and places,’ he said gruffly, as the time rotor rose and fell
smoothly. He turned to fix her with his baleful eyes. ‘Now, are you sure
you’re all right? I don’t want you following me about if you’re still being
all witchy-woo.’
‘I’m absolutely fine.’ She smiled uncertainly. ‘My memories of the past
few days are a bit hazy, mind.’
‘We’re about to land,’ he said, beginning to leap round the control panels
excitedly, adjusting this and that.
Sarah was surprised that he expected any success at all in piloting the
ship. She was used to the idea that their travels in the TARDIS were, more
or less, random. Of course, the old Doctor – the Doctor she had first known,
with the frilly shirts and the white bouffant hair – had been rather better at
steering his TARDIS around the universe because, on the whole, he was
rather more careful at the controls. These days the Doctor just seemed to
flick all the switches in sight and gleefully hope for the best.
But today he seemed to have a plan.
‘You see, it’s all to do with Richard the Lionheart,’ he told her.
‘It is?’
‘Yes, how’s your history?’
‘About as good as your tea.’ She grimaced. ‘But I do remember enough
to know that Richard the Lionheart went off to fight in the Crusades in
Palestine in the late twelfth century, leaving his awful brother to look after
the country in his stead.’
The Doctor nodded approvingly. ‘And that’s the country we’ve just left
behind. Citizens struggling under the yoke of a weak, vain, silly false king
who is crippling them with taxes and taking everything he wants and
generally making everyone suffer.’
Sarah remembered something the Doctor had said earlier. ‘You
mentioned the real king was an old friend of yours.’
‘Richard the Lionheart? Well –’ here the Doctor drew in a sharp breath –
‘not friend, exactly. An acquaintance. We had a run-in many, many years
ago. It was so long ago it gives me a bit of a headache to try to remember
too much, but I recall meeting him during the time of the Third Crusade,
and all that business with Saladin.’ The Doctor’s expression grew dark and
thoughtful. Sarah was used to letting him brood and stew over things when
he wore an expression like that.
Soon enough the TARDIS landed, with its customary wheezing, groaning
noise. ‘So you think Richard will come and help out back in England?’ she
asked brightly, following the Doctor out of the double doors.
The Doctor was standing on a bleak, ravaged moorland. ‘This isn’t
Vienna,’ he said.
It was a planet with three very obvious moons and strange-looking cows
that formed a gracefully floating herd on the horizon.
Sarah bit her lip. She knew he didn’t find it that easy to pilot his
temperamental ship, however careful he was.
‘Let’s try again,’ he said, and after that they embarked on a series of
frustrating mini-hops that saw them pop their heads out of the TARDIS
doors to peer disappointedly at jungle worlds, space ports, frozen wastes
and busy alien cities. ‘It’s torture for me, not exploring each of these
places,’ said the Doctor with a sigh. ‘But I suppose we’re on an urgent sort
of mission, aren’t we? And we can’t be deterred.’
Eventually, due to either random chance or the Doctor’s brilliance –
depending on whose version of the story you heard – they arrived in
Vienna.
‘We’re in exactly the right place and more or less the right time, before
Richard moves on again!’ The Time Lord beamed, immensely pleased with
himself. He peered at the scanner, and the closely packed, low-roofed
dwellings of a rather insalubrious part of town. Then, pulling on his
miraculously repaired multicoloured scarf, he treated Sarah to a history
lesson. ‘You see, after Richard the Lionheart failed in his mission to liberate
Jerusalem, he slunk off and decided to return home to England. He went the
long way round, by ship, all the way to Venice.’
‘Oh, I’d love to go to Venice,’ Sarah said. ‘Can’t we go there?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ve already missed him. It’s currently late spring,
1192-ish. Richard has been dressed as a vagabond, all incognito, travelling
by foot across Europe.’
‘What’s he doing that for? When he knows his own country is in trouble
under his awful brother?’ said Sarah, aghast.
They stepped out of the TARDIS, into a cobbled alleyway that zigzagged
through timbered dwellings with upper storeys that seemed to press
together, blocking out the sky. The Doctor and Sarah had to squeeze
through a crowd of busy Austrians thronging the city streets on a Friday
night. There was a lot of noise and jollity and before they knew it the two of
them were being pulled along by the crowd, away from the TARDIS.
‘Ah, but I don’t think Richard ever really understood how bad his brother
was being, back at home,’ the Doctor told her. ‘He thought he’d left the
place in safe hands. And anyway, old Richard had problems of his own. You
see, he’d managed to annoy every single king and prince and duke of
Europe in recent years – what with all his showing off and flag-waving in
the Holy Land. He’d snubbed his nose at everyone, from the Holy Roman
Emperor to the Archduke of Austria, and they were all calling for his arrest
and capture.’
‘He sounds like a charmer,’ Sarah said, squirming through the melee to
keep up with the Doctor, who was breezing along quite happily as if he
knew exactly where he was going.
‘Well, he was a bit arrogant and boisterous, truth be told,’ said the Doctor.
‘The two of us butted heads quite a lot and I think we may have parted on
rather bad terms, if I remember right. Something to do with selling his sister
to the enemy. Ah, here we are.’
They had arrived at a rather noisy and convivial tavern that was packed
to the rafters with early-evening drinkers. Only a couple of harried-looking
barmaids were left to cope with a demanding clientele, and in the far corner
there was a lone figure happily sipping a large stein of foaming beer. He
looked up suspiciously from under his hood as the Doctor and Sarah
stepped up to his table.
 The Doctor grinned at the man. ‘Hello! Excuse me, but are you the King
of England, by any chance?’
The man’s eyes widened in horror. His hand reached automatically for
his sword and he was out of his seat in a flash. Chairs fell over and tankards
were spilt.
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Perhaps I should have tried a more oblique
approach.’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Now what? Are you supposed to fight him?’
The Doctor patted his coat pockets. ‘And I’ve forgotten my sword! I
don’t even have as much as a spoon to defend myself with.’
The King of England snarled at the Doctor. ‘Who are you, sir?’
The Doctor peered intently at the curling auburn locks and the overgrown
beard of the aggressive man in the shabby travelling cloak. He may have
looked tatty and somewhat unkempt, but this was undeniably the man the
Doctor had met all those years ago in Jaffa.
‘Hello!’ the Doctor said confidently, ignoring the sword being waved in
his face. ‘Don’t you remember me? I’m the Doctor! We met such a long
time ago, but I’m sure you won’t have forgotten it.’
Richard stared at the Doctor through narrowed eyes. ‘But that was an old
man. He looked very different from you.’
The Doctor tapped his nose. ‘I’m in a wonderful disguise.’ He flapped his
arms about. ‘Just look!’ And with a sudden shout he attempted to disarm
Richard by looping his scarf round his sword arm and giving it a swift yank.
Cries of alarm went up from the rest of the teatime drinkers and Sarah
ducked to avoid a slicing blow from the king’s deadly sword. The Doctor
had fumbled his sly attack and watched in dismay as Richard cut through
his scarf. ‘I’ve just had that repaired!’ he shouted.
The noise of their kerfuffle soon attracted attention.
The crowd opened up and abruptly there were men in studded leather
uniforms storming into the place. A barmaid was shouting and the whole
tavern was abuzz with alarm.
‘It looks like the police are here,’ Sarah said with a sigh, as the Doctor
slipped away into the crowd with her. ‘Why do we always end up in the
middle of bother?’
‘It’s a talent we have,’ said the Doctor, and then he watched in dismay as
the Archduke Leopold’s private guard arrested Richard there and then. They
disarmed him and clapped him in irons.
 ‘On what charge?’ Richard demanded arrogantly, jutting out his chin at
the captain.
‘You are the King of England in disguise,’ the guard intoned
dispassionately, drawing cries and gasps from the crowd of drinkers. ‘And
there is a warrant for your arrest.’
Richard looked furious. ‘Take me to the archduke’s castle then,’ he
growled menacingly. ‘If you dare. There’s not a castle in all of Europe that
can hold the Coeur de Lion.’
With all the tavern watching, and then the denizens of all the other
taverns in this part of town coming out to see what the fuss was about,
Richard was dragged away in chains.
Sarah groaned. ‘Well, that’s just great! We came here to fetch him and
we’ve ended up being the very reason he’s been found and arrested! Typical
us!’
‘What was that?’ asked the Doctor vaguely, a million miles away.
‘I said,’ Sarah went on. ‘We’ve missed our chance, haven’t we? What
shall we do now, Doctor?’
‘Hmm?’ he said, lost in his thoughts by the roaring fire, playing with his
yo-yo as the tavern went back to its rowdy business. ‘I suppose we’ll have
to break him out of gaol somehow. It’s very important that we do, though.
Very important indeed. You see, I believe all of future history hangs in the
balance.’
 Chapter Twenty-four

The whole of Nottingham Castle was in uproar. Usually it was quite a

grubby, lackadaisical place – the current sheriff didn’t run a very tight ship
– but it was funny what a touch of fear could do.
Right now, the place was immaculate, with all the men-at-arms in their
shiniest armour, the courtyard swept, and a strange little wooden stage set
up like they were about to put on a play. New straw had been laid down
upon the dirty old stuff on the dining hall floor, and the best crockery had
been given a special wipe.
All of this activity was a welcome distraction from that terrible fire in the
night. Grizelda had stood with all the other dwellers in the castle, staring
out from the battlements and hoping that the wind wouldn’t change
direction. Those flames had been weird, enchanted things, gobbling up the
woodland at a rate of knots. If they burned their way to the castle, would its
thick stone walls be able to withstand their terrible force? There was
nowhere to run. The woods seemed to be on fire in every direction.
Grizelda was toughened by years of service, but she was not without
feeling. She had done what she could over the years to smuggle food out to
the poor people who lived in the forest. Now, to be a witness to their
perishing like this – in an inferno – broke her heart. She had wept and
prayed for all their souls.
Abruptly, just before dawn, the fire had died down, well before reaching
the castle. It was a huge relief, and she saw the sheriff crying with gratitude
as he stood up on the ramparts. This hint of his own mortality had hit him
quite hard. When she had tried to talk to him about the menu for the king’s
welcome banquet, he had snapped at her with more than his usual rudeness.
‘Just do the usual filthy mess!’ he shouted at her. ‘Roast venison and game
birds. Big haunches and hunks of roasted meat. That’s all you ever do, isn’t
it?’
 The sheriff was far too stressed following the fire and fretting about the
king’s imminent arrival to spare a thought for Grizelda.
Down in her kitchens she made huge vats of coq au vin, just as the
Doctor had taught her. She used flagons of Flemish wine to flavour the
sauce. She swooned at the taste of it and thought worriedly of those curious
folk who had come through her kitchens in recent days. Had they all been
caught in the fires? The strangers and Wen, her kitchen boy. Could they all
have perished? And what of the lady Marian and the fabulous friar? Were
they all really gone forever?
Grizelda had to concentrate on her preparations. After the sheriff’s
outburst, it was very likely that only her skills in the kitchen were keeping
her alive. He had been so livid about the escape of his prisoners that he had
threatened to behead her on the spot, before remembering that he had a
banquet to provide for the king and his huge retinue. While there was food
to put on the vast tables upstairs, Grizelda was still valuable.
She stirred the pots and braised more meat and turned the spits and
chopped endless vegetables. She prepared to send up massive golden
platters and heavy tureens, each of them to be carried by three serving boys.
She eagerly anticipated the roars of approval from the dining hall upstairs.
It was indeed a very noisy welcome that the king received. All pomp and
ceremony, with fluttering pennants and gleaming horses as his army of
lackeys carried him up the hill and into the castle. No one caught a glimpse
of him until he stepped out into the courtyard from behind the velvet swags
that curtained his travelling litter. Grizelda was peering from the slit of a
window that let a trickle of light into her kitchens and she gasped when she
saw the face of the king himself. What a spindly, weakling, pasty-faced
poltroon he was! He could barely stand without the help of the two
strapping knights he had on either side of him. His beard and hair had been
curled rather foppishly and he was dressed in the most sumptuous robe that
Grizelda had ever clapped eyes on. Probably French, she thought. He was
even wearing the crown of the King of England, rather jauntily awry, as if it
was the height of fashion.
The sheriff prostrated himself pathetically before his master on the swept
courtyard floor and the king merely grunted at the sight of him. He said a
few words about the forest fires and told the sheriff that he held him
personally responsible for all the damage and the inevitable loss of revenue.
‘Oh!’ said the sheriff, feeling more wretched than he ever had in his life.
 Then the king and his army of immaculate servants swept into the castle
as if they owned the place, settling themselves in the dining room and
demanding to be fed.
And Grizelda gave them her coq au vin.
She knew it was going to be a massive hit. She knew that the king was
going to adore it. He might pardon her! He might even suggest to the sheriff
that her pathetic life was worth preserving!
Grizelda sat waiting nervously in her kitchen, twiddling her scarred
thumbs, waiting to hear the news from upstairs. Yea or nay?
That was when she noticed the bird sitting on the stone ledge of the
single window her kitchen boasted. A fat black bird, which was staring at
her with bronze-coloured eyes.
It cawed at her very loudly. She could have sworn that it was trying to
tell her something.
Grizelda forgot about the banquet upstairs; the terrifying, foppish king;
and even her own hopes for survival during this royal visit. Instead she
stood up and drew closer to that bird.
It croaked again, and this time she could have sworn that it was saying
actual words.
‘W-what is it?’ asked the cook. She was just as superstitious as anyone
else who lived during this time. An omen like this – a rook at your window,
staring at you – why, it could be good or bad. Which was it?
The rook spoke directly into her mind.
‘Hello, Grizelda,’ it said, and flapped its ebony wings.
‘What?’ said the flummoxed cook, and then she felt the weight of
something dark and feathery settle inside her simple soul. ‘Wait! What are
you?’
‘You’ve heard of me,’ Mother Maudlin told her. ‘I’m the Witch of
Paplewick. You’ve heard all the tales of my wicked doings over the years. I
don’t care about robbing the rich and feeding the poor. I don’t care about
great men in castles or outlawed men in the woods. They’re all as nothing
to me. I’ve got my eye on bigger prizes. And you, my dear Grizelda, are
going to help me to seize them.’
‘I am?’ The cook staggered about in the kitchen like she was drunk. She
could feel those dark wings brushing about inside her mind, the claws of the
rook scratching her to bits. When the trio of serving boys came dashing
down into the kitchen to tell her the news, they thought she was out of her
mind from drinking the Flemish wine. They tried to calm her and tell her
what they had been instructed to do.
‘Grizelda! The king! The king is shouting for you! He is demanding your
presence in the dining room at once, on pain of death!’
Grizelda composed herself. She turned to stare at the serving boys with a
strange look on her face, at odds with her frantic struggles of just moments
before. Now her whole demeanour was serene, and there was a queer
yellowish light in her eyes that disturbed the serving lads.
‘The king would see me, would he?’
Then, with greater confidence than the true Grizelda had ever known, she
mounted the stone staircase that led from the basement kitchens up into the
main castle. Grizelda seemed to glide in triumph all the way to the dining
room, where she found the courtiers and the king’s inner retinue finishing
off the last of the meal she had so carefully prepared for them.
At the head of the long table, at the end of the room, sat the king himself,
still in his rakish crown and his extravagant furs and silks. He greeted
Grizelda with a cry of delight and a belch. Next to him the sheriff was
looking supremely nervous.
‘Are you the wonderful woman who concocted this divine repast for us?’
asked the king. His voice was mellifluous and sickly sweet, Grizelda
thought.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ She smiled stiffly. Deep inside she wished she could
be standing here accepting his praise alone and glorying in the moment. But
she knew that the witch – the infamous Mother Maudlin – had seized her
very soul.
‘Well, my dear,’ said the king in a simpering tone. ‘I simply must
congratulate you on quite a splendid –’
But then Grizelda did the absolutely unthinkable. She interrupted the
King of England. She raised her voice and stared him straight in the eye and
said, ‘Beware, so-called King John! Your brother is coming back! I have it
on excellent authority that the Lionheart is returning to claim what is his!’
Then she watched with delight as the phoney king turned even paler with
fear and sat down heavily in his throne. Grizelda laughed in his face as
dread gripped every single one of the traitors in that hall.
‘He’s coming to give you all your just deserts!’ She laughed. ‘Only I can
help you. Only I – Mother Maudlin – can defeat the famous Lionheart.’
 The sheriff was on his feet, calling for his knights. ‘This woman’s mad!
Seize her, guards! I think she’s drunk, Your Majesty. We’ll have her
executed immediately.’
The guards came dashing, but Grizelda shrugged them off easily. Smiling
to herself in surprise at her sudden extra strength, she turned to the king.
‘Wait, Nottingham,’ King John said in a weakened voice. ‘Let us listen to
what she has to say.’
Grizelda could barely contain her glee. ‘You must beware, Your Majesty.
You must accept my help. For you see – the devil is about to be unchained!’
 Chapter Twenty-five

‘It’s like this, you see, Sarah,’ he said, and he put the needle on to the vinyl
record, so that the hissing silence between tracks burst out of the speakers.
They were back aboard the TARDIS and Sarah was perplexed. One
moment they were in the middle of medieval Europe, wandering through a
teeming city and wondering how to rescue King Richard, and then the next
they were back here. The Doctor had opened a door to a room that Sarah
had never seen before – one that actually had comfortable chairs and mood
lighting – and started fiddling with this record player.
Some kind of scratchy old operatic aria began booming through the air
and the Doctor had to raise his voice. ‘Perhaps I’ve used this analogy
before? But time, you see, can sometimes be like the grooves in one of
these marvellous old vinyl records. See how sensitive the arm with the
needle is?’
Sarah sighed impatiently. ‘I know how a record player works, Doctor.’
He grinned at her. ‘Well, you know not to nudge the arm of the needle or
jump up and down too close to the player. But it turns out that some people
delight in doing just that, thereby causing the record to jump or making the
needle scratch dangerously across the surface of the grooves. They don’t
care whether the record is spoilt or not as a result, and it always is.’ With
that, he gave the arm a sudden shove and there was a hideous screech
before the music started again, a different part this time. ‘That’s what
creatures like Mother Maudlin delight in doing to time itself,’ he said
solemnly. ‘Do you see? They make history skip across a groove or two.
They scratch the surface of the universe, spoil the music and everything
goes out of tune. And there can be catastrophic results from that. Untold
death and destruction. Terrible things that should never have happened.’
‘I see,’ Sarah said, realising once again that, far from spouting apparent
nonsense, the Doctor knew exactly what he was talking about. She flicked
through his albums, wondering whether they belonged to him or some
previous travelling companion of his.
‘What we must do is have the willingness and the boldness to knock time
back on to its proper track,’ he said. ‘And that’s why we’re here in Austria,
trying to get Richard the Lionheart back to England.’ He deliberately, and
with great delicacy, nudged the needle again so that it returned smoothly –
the grooves hissing like satin – to the beginning of the aria. Then he swept
round and led the way back to the control room. The door to the hitherto
unknown music room sealed up smoothly behind Sarah as she hastened
after him.
‘And so that kind of interfering in human history is OK, then?’ she asked
him.
He pivoted on one heel and stared into her face. ‘What?’
‘You don’t mind interfering like that … in order to put history back on
track?’
‘Oh, it wouldn’t be my first choice,’ came the Doctor’s reply. ‘I’m
actually rather reluctant to meddle, but Richard is taking too long, Robin is
being less effective than I would like, and Mother Maudlin is stepping up
her ambitious plans. So, in short, I’d say that our interference has become
rather vital, wouldn’t you?’ He seemed to be staring wide-eyed over Sarah’s
shoulder into the gleaming corridor behind her. ‘Mother Maudlin is as much
an alien visitor there as we are. She’s mucked things around quite enough. I
imagine her plan is to keep John on the throne. She’ll be offering him riches
beyond the dreams of avarice, probably. She’ll be dangling the whole world
before his beaky nose. But all she’ll really need to do to change the world
irrevocably is something relatively small. She merely needs to disrupt the
order of succession. Remember all the dates you learnt at school, for the
kings and queens of England, Sarah?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Less than half of them.’
‘They’re still vital, even if you’ve forgotten them,’ the Doctor said. ‘King
John stands in for his brother, reigns badly, then gets chucked out by King
Richard when he, the rightful king, returns. King Richard also reigns pretty
badly and then gets himself killed in yet another war. Then King John
returns as king in his own right and turns out to be just as awful as ever.
But, the difference is, he gets his arm twisted into signing the Magna Carta,
which is a very important legal document that has huge ramifications for
Britain and the whole world. It’s about granting equal legal rights to every
individual who lives in the land. It’s about ending the Dark Ages and
starting the age of modern times and freedom. Add to that the fact that it has
to happen at the correct moment – Runnymede in 1215, as it happens – and
get signed by the right person, and I suspect that Mother Maudlin wants to
muck things up in order to spoil the Magna Carta. In short, because of her,
human history will never be the same again. Not unless we give it a little
deliberate, determined nudge back on to the right track.’
Sarah smiled at him. ‘And here we are, ready to give it that little nudge
by physically transporting King Richard back to England.’
‘Exactly,’ said the Doctor, and then he was off again to study the
flickering lights of the console. ‘Now, following that little history lesson,
we need to get inside the castle where they’ll be holding him … a little later
on in time … perhaps before he gets passed to King Henry of Germany,
who will later become the Holy Roman Emperor. You see, all the leaders of
these European countries – Austria, Germany, France – hate Richard
because he is a troublemaker and a noisy, aggressive, violent man. He
offended them all through the years of the Third Crusade. They all want to
lock him up, yet they are all terrified of him escaping and coming after
them to lop their heads off with his great two-handed sword.’
Sarah leant against the console. ‘You sound as if you almost admire him.’
‘Oh, he is a dreadful man, really. Pushy, cross all the time, arrogant,
always looking for a fight. He was a rotten king, too. He just took money
from the people to go and fight his wars abroad. But he is still better than
King John and people like Robin Hood and his friends all believe in
Richard’s being absolutely marvellous. That’s the way that legends are, you
see. Sometimes they’re just a lot of comforting nonsense, but they are
powerful nonsense. And if you can harness the power of belief that people
have in wonderful stories, then you can do anything. Even help a lost and
hopeless king to return as a conquering hero.’ The Doctor shrugged with a
bittersweet smile and deftly manipulated the controls. ‘So, Sarah, get ready
to spend a little time with the most argumentative and arrogant man you’ve
ever met,’ he muttered, stabbing expertly at the controls.
Sarah raised an ironic eyebrow, but the Doctor was lost in calculations.
He was mumbling something about castles. ‘Dürnstein or Worms? Hmm,
let me see.’
Just then, there was something else to distract Sarah. A miasma of purple
mist had manifested itself in the wall where the scanner screen usually was.
Within that gaseous cloud there hung a horrid, twisted face, and Sarah
gasped in recognition. Mother Maudlin was staring at them across the gulf
of space and time – and she was laughing.
The TARDIS lurched then, and the time rotor seemed to stutter in its
smooth movement. The Doctor looked up in horror to see the ghastly visage
of the witch peeking into his ship.
Her voice filled the room. ‘There’s nothing you can do now, you fools! I
have King John under my thumb! He’s a foolish and vain man, and he’s all
too easy for me to control. You might as well forget whatever it is you’re
trying to do, Doctor Who …!’ She shrieked with foul laughter. ‘England is
mine!’
 Chapter Twenty-six

To Robin’s great surprise, Guy of Gisborne had maintained the homestead

and the surrounding farmland rather well. He had taken pride in the place,
cultivating the crops and keeping the house in good repair. However savage
and destructive he was in his daily professional life as the sheriff’s right-
hand man, it seemed that here at least he was peaceful and calm. Robin was
pleasantly amazed as he led his band of Merrie Men into the secluded
grounds of Locksley Hall.
‘Everything is just as I left it, before I sought refuge in the Greenwood,’
Robin said in disbelief, and he raced off at once to explore his once-beloved
family home. Gisborne was still in chains, looking grateful to be alive and
trying not to sneer too obviously as he watched Robin’s many friends dash
off to make themselves at home.
‘Bring him into the hall,’ Robin commanded his men upon his return. ‘Sir
Guy is yet to tell us how we can defeat this evil creature who has cast such
a baleful influence upon our lives.’
As they dragged him into the hall, Gisborne was thinking frantically.
Now he would have to come up with something tangible. His rash promise
of divulging the Witch of Paplewick’s weakness had merely been a ruse, of
course. If Sir Guy had really known how to break the spell she had cast
over him, he’d have done it years ago. All he had done was buy himself
more time, and soon Robin would discover his lie.
For the first time in his life Gisborne was starting to feel fearful that he
might not survive his current circumstances. He couldn’t rely on anyone to
help him. When Mother Maudlin learnt he’d joined forces with Robin, she
would have his guts for garters. There was no chance now that she’d rescue
him. Now he was reliant on the outlaws alone.
But these people were soft-hearted, weren’t they? That was their greatest
weakness. Surely he could manipulate them for long enough to make his
escape?
Robin seemed relieved to be back in the heart of his modest ancestral
home. He was almost cheery as Sir Guy was hauled before him. ‘Now, my
friend. You’re going to prove your fidelity to us. You’re going to help us
destroy our enemies, once and for all.’
‘Destroy?’ Gisborne asked mockingly. ‘That sounds rather bloodthirsty
for you, Robin of Locksley. You, who are known for your just and tender
mercy.’ Sir Guy said these words like he found them obscene.
Robin’s grimy face looked almost twisted in the late-afternoon sunlight.
‘Over the years I have been altogether too just and tender and merciful.
Where did those qualities ever get me?’ His eyes burned into the knight’s
and Gisborne shifted warily inside his heavy chain mail. ‘The time for
being merry and polite is over. We must take back our land and cast out
these pretenders and witches who plague us. Do you not think so, Sir Guy?’

Elsewhere on the Locksley Estate, Marian was taking a walk. The terrible
flames of the night before hadn’t reached this far, and the woods were
blazing only with natural autumnal hues. Strolling under the golden trees,
with all the smoke and ash washed out of her auburn hair, Marian could
almost forget about the dreadful upheavals of recent days.
She wandered through the knotted, ancient trees, considering the changes
that had come into their lives of late. The loss of their camp, and the newly
revealed presence of the wicked Mother Maudlin.
But mostly she thought about the changes that had come over Robin. His
sweet soul had soured, she thought. Something had happened to him.
In earlier years, if she had been kidnapped and held in the north tower of
Nottingham Castle, there would have been no two ways about it: Robin
would have raced straight over there to set her free himself, and nothing
would have stood in his way. But, this time, he had run off to play at
fighting, and sent one of the strangers in his stead.
One of the strangers. Harry.
Marian marvelled at how quickly Harry had become a familiar face to
her. His square-jawed, slightly shy-looking face.
It was almost as if she had conjured him out of the air.
Suddenly, Harry was before her, crunching through the leaf mulch and
smiling. Marian came out of her reverie with a jolt.
 ‘Hullo, there!’ Harry said. ‘Stretching the old legs too, eh? I must say,
this is quite a lavish pile Robin’s got here.’
She barely understood his foreign-sounding words. But wasn’t that part
of the man’s charm? The way he spoke was so unusual, and yet he always
burbled along, assuming that she was following every nonsensical word he
said. ‘Oh, you mean Locksley Hall?’ she realised. ‘It was Robin’s father’s
home. And his father before him.’ Her voice shook slightly as she added, ‘It
was where we were to live, following our marriage. We were to have quiet
lives – as landowners, farmers, parents. But it never quite worked out.’
Harry smiled. ‘It’s often the way, isn’t it? My life’s been pretty bally
different to how I anticipated, too.’
‘We were supposed to be married over twenty years ago.’ Marian sighed,
turning away and enjoying the feel of the sunlight on her face. ‘But Robin
told me – he swore to everyone in the Greenwood – that he would not take
my hand until King Richard himself had returned to England. There could
be no wedding without the blessing of the Lionheart. We must wait for the
Coeur de Lion to attend our nuptials himself.’
‘Oh, I say.’ Harry frowned. ‘That must have been a frustratingly long
wait for you, Lady Marian.’
Next thing he knew, she was in his arms. Instinctively he clasped her
protectively, thinking she was about to fall on to the leafy ground.
‘It’s not something I have been able to tell anyone about, but things have
changed. I do not feel the same way about Robin as I once did.’
Oh, help, Harry thought to himself. This was worse than any amount of
fighting or running from danger. This was just the kind of business he
feared the most. ‘Well, err, chin up, eh?’ he said hopelessly. He could
imagine Sarah Jane rolling her eyes at that.
It was getting even worse. Now Marian was staring straight up into his
eyes. ‘I-I believe that I have recently fallen in love with … another,’ she
said.
Harry licked his lips. Was she about to kiss him? What was he going to
do if she tried? It would be horribly insulting to spurn her, and yet returning
her kiss could lead to all sorts of horrid complications. He decided that the
best thing all round would be a firm but gentle let-down. ‘Now look here,
old girl –’
They were interrupted. Little John came crashing into the leafy glen. His
stout staff was raised aloft and he was breathless with excitement as he
emerged from the trees. Will Scarlet followed, no less animated, but with a
suspicious look in his eye. He had noticed what Little John had not: as they
burst into the glade, Marian and Harry had seemed to pull away from an
embrace.
A flustered Marian gathered her wits together. ‘John! Will! What’s the
matter? You look as if you’ve seen something untoward!’
Little John was grinning. ‘Robin must know at once. There’s great news.’
‘What is it?’ Harry said, hoping that neither of the two newcomers had
glimpsed Marian in his arms.
‘We went as far as Nottingham Castle on our rounds this morning,’ Little
John said, ‘and guess what? There is a flag flying proud from the highest
pole! Pride of place!’
Marian didn’t understand at first. ‘Whose flag?’
Will Scarlet explained. ‘It’s the so-called king’s. He’s in residence there.
King John has arrived at Nottingham Castle.’
Little John threw back his head and laughed. ‘Don’t you see? This is it!
This is our chance! We can butcher this treacherous devil at last!’
 Chapter Twenty-seven

After the apparition of Mother Maudlin had faded from the TARDIS, the
Doctor brought the ship to land relatively smoothly, deep in the bowels of a
castle somewhere in the forests of Austria. As they stepped out into the
shadows, he carried an air of gloomy determination with him.
‘We simply can’t allow her to win,’ he told Sarah, leading the way down
the rock-walled corridor.
Sarah was glancing around at their new surroundings, wondering aloud
why medieval castles had to be such inhospitable places. ‘This one’s even
worse than the Sheriff of Nottingham’s,’ she said. ‘Why are they always so
grimy and dark?’
The opportunity to show off his knowledge cheered the Doctor up
slightly. ‘Well, luxury is a concept that gradually made its way from Asia,
you see. A couple of hundred years from now, there’ll be merchants coming
back from their journeys abroad, bringing impossible things such as soft
furnishings, cushions and curtains and comfortable chairs.’
Sarah laughed. ‘And everyone has to sit in discomfort till then?’
‘That’s right. Until the likes of Marco Polo journey back to the West from
the court of Kublai Khan in China.’
‘And I suppose you know both Marco Polo and Kublai Khan personally,
too, do you?’ she asked.
He turned to her in the fitful light and pulled a funny face. At least he had
the good grace to look abashed when he said, ‘Of course I do. Though that
was years and years ago in the future.’
They were interrupted then by an armoured guard, who was just as
startled by their presence as they were by his. Sarah gave a cry of alarm as
he regained his composure and thundered down the corridor with his pike
staff raised above his head. No questions or small talk – apparently he was
going to chop off their heads, quick as a flash.
 The Doctor leapt into action, somehow slipping past this bulky, armoured
figure and reappearing, as if by magic, behind him. He slipped a loop of
scarf round his neck, tugged him off balance, and the guard fell with a great
clatter on to the ground. Then the Doctor threw the deadly weapon down
the corridor and spoke into the man’s face: ‘Where is King Richard?’
The guard stubbornly refused to answer, until Sarah piped up. ‘We are
desperate criminals from the British Isles and we’ll chop your head off if
you don’t help us out.’
‘Sarah!’ the Doctor said reproachfully.
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Aren’t we desperate?’
‘I suppose so,’ said the Doctor with a sigh.
‘So tell us.’ Sarah glared down at the guard. ‘Where is the King of
England being held?’
The guard looked somehow frightened and scornful as he said, ‘That
devil! He has a spoilt life here at Castle Dürnstein. It used to be a friendly
place. But now Archduke Leopold lives in abject fear, quaking in his
calfskin boots in case his valuable prisoner escapes and starts to wreak
revenge. It is like living under a curse, keeping that warmonger in captivity
…!’
Sarah listened in astonishment. ‘Well, why don’t you just let him go
free?’
The man gaped at her. ‘Women understand nothing of politics!’
Sarah suddenly went very still. The Doctor thought he’d better intervene
before she retrieved the pike staff. ‘I think you’d best tell us where he is.
We’re here to take him off your hands.’
‘You are? You’ll get him out of here and away from us?’ The guard
looked relieved as he clambered back to his feet. ‘I will show you.’ He
seemed to reach a decision. ‘In fact, I will give you the keys. I will blame
everything on you two and tell the duke that armed despots from England
broke in and freed the Coeur de Lion. It will be such a huge relief not to
have him here. You will be doing us such a great favour.’

Their nervous new friend led them deeper into the castle’s labyrinth of
passages, and Sarah kept a careful count of the twists and turns. The Doctor
breezed along with his hands in his pockets, quite carefree and chatting with
the guard. ‘So old Richard has given you a lot of bother, has he?’
 ‘He is a nightmare. He gives the impression that no walls or bonds can
hold him. He has escaped five times, slain guards and almost succeeded in
assassinating the duke himself. The Archduke Leopold is busily negotiating
with King Henry of Germany and trying to palm Richard off on him
instead. But King Henry is just as wary.’
‘I bet they wish that someone would hurry up and pay the ransom.’ The
Doctor chuckled.
‘I hear that there’s fat chance of that,’ said the guard. ‘England is on its
knees with poverty, isn’t it? All the talk is that Richard spent lavishly on his
Crusades and endless wars. And his brother wastes money like water –
apparently, he has to steal from peasants. Isn’t that how things are in
England?’
‘That’s about right.’ The Doctor grinned. ‘They never learn, the English.
Awful, insular peasants that they are. And yet, I’m still rather fond of them.’
Now they had arrived at a heavy wooden door, covered in an array of
iron bolts and padlocks, as if the devil himself was trapped inside. The
guard set to work on the locks, and soon enough he was urging Sarah and
the Doctor inside. ‘I think he’s asleep,’ he whispered, sounding terrified.
‘Err, he’s not going to hurt us, is he?’ Sarah said.
The Doctor laughed. ‘I should think he’d be delighted to see us again!’

The Lionheart sat up on his bunk and groaned at them. ‘You two again! You
were there in the tavern when they arrested me, all those months ago.’
‘It was a little while ago, yes,’ the Doctor said. ‘But we’ve caught up
with you now.’
‘How did you get in here?’ the King of England asked gruffly, sitting up
and focusing on them in the gloom. He’s certainly an impressive figure,
Sarah thought – even more so than he had been before when they had seen
him in the tavern. Back then he had been disguised as a humble wayfarer,
and now he was wearing more kingly garments, albeit rather stained and
crumpled ones. His chemise bore the three red lions familiar from his
standard, and it struck Sarah properly, for the first time, that they were in
the presence of actual royalty. Of course, the Doctor spoke to him as he
would speak to just anyone – the Time Lord wasn’t one for standing on
ceremony.
‘How we got in here hardly matters,’ the Doctor told him. ‘The important
thing is that we have the means to get you out and back to England.’
 Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You have a ship? You can get me to
the coast?’ He started to gather his belongings, instantly looking more alert.
‘I’ve mounted a few escape efforts over the months – more to keep myself
entertained than actual real attempts to get free. I didn’t have a ship or any
other transport, so I was rather stuck, even when I could get out of my cell
and the castle. I did it to keep them all scared of me. Bashed a few tin heads
together and caused a ruckus. I was more interested in this business of the
ransom. Have you heard how much they’ve asked for me?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘I’m never very interested in money. Is it a lot?’
The King of England looked proud. ‘One hundred thousand pounds,
apparently. Or the equivalent in their debased foreign coinage. But it’s quite
impressive, isn’t it? Not bad at all!’
This attitude of his annoyed the Doctor somewhat. ‘But don’t you see?
All of that is coming from the pockets of your own people – peasants who
can ill afford it,’ he said, his tone harsh. ‘There are outlaws stealing from
the rich and, rather than using it wisely, they’re handing it over to appease
your captors. And I doubt your brother will hand it over anyway. He’s
collecting exorbitant taxes and living like Emperor Nero in your stead …’
Sarah wondered about asking the Doctor whether he had known Emperor
Nero personally too but decided not to. There was a streak of anger in the
Doctor’s voice that she was familiar with.
‘My brother?’ asked Richard darkly. ‘He is supposed to be looking after
my country.’
The Doctor tossed his head. ‘He’s a weak and foolish man. He’s abusing
your people and running your country into the ground. There’s only one or
two who stand up against him. Men like Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.’
Richard’s eyes gleamed. ‘Yes, I have heard of him. He fights in my name
and feeds the poor and raises money by stealing from the wealthy to pay
this ransom of mine?’
Sarah put in, ‘He wants to see you returned to your rightful throne.’
Richard was looking even more pleased with himself. ‘It’s all quite
flattering, really, isn’t it? Everyone fighting over me like this.’
Sarah and the Doctor exchanged a quick glance. Richard was turning out
to be less of the legendary hero than they were hoping for and even more
awful than they’d imagined.
‘So, are you ready?’ the Doctor asked impatiently. ‘We’re just parked
down the corridor. Not far. We can have you back in a jiffy.’
 All at once the king looked sulky. ‘I must say, uncomfortable as this
place looks, I’ve grown used to it in some ways. Do I really want to return
to the fray and get involved in fighting and power struggles all over again?
I’ve rather enjoyed sitting here and writing long, furious letters about my
incarceration to all the crowned heads of Europe. I’m right in the middle of
a rather stiff, sarcastic missive to the Pope, as it happens.’ He motioned
towards a desk that was covered with scrolls of scribbled-on paper and inky,
broken quills.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the Doctor, in a voice that would brook no argument.
‘It’s time that you returned to England. You see, there aren’t just silly,
selfish, greedy men to be fought. There’s something much worse. That’s
why I’m stepping in to offer my help to get you home.’
Now Richard looked intrigued. ‘Something worse?’
‘There is an enchantress,’ said the Doctor. ‘She’s using wicked magic to
rule your lands and take over your people.’
‘A wicked enchantress!’ King Richard looked almost pleased by the
thought. He reached for a huge double-handed sword that was lying under
his bunk. ‘She sounds like she needs to be slain!’
Sarah stared at his sword. ‘Why did they let you keep that with you?’
‘I can’t be parted from my sword,’ he said solemnly. ‘Now, what are we
waiting for? It’s a long journey back to England.’
The Doctor laughed out loud. ‘Oh, not so long as you might think.’
As they swept out of the dingy cell where the Lionheart had been living,
their helpful guard shrank into the shadows, out of harm’s way.
‘This way, Your Majesty,’ cried the Doctor, striding purposefully in the
direction of the TARDIS.
 Chapter Twenty-eight

At first light Grizelda woke up in her usual poky cell of a room, wondering
why she hadn’t been flogged and executed yet.
I’ve been spared! She sat up.
Was it really because of the exotic and delicious banquet she had
provided last night?
No, not just that. Something else had gone on yesterday. Something
important.
Her queasy mind rebelled at the thought of roving back over the day’s
events. She stood up unsteadily, performed rudimentary ablutions and
staggered into the kitchen to start work on breakfast. There was gruel to get
bubbling on the hob! There were cockroaches to stomp on and bread to
bake.
But, still, thoughts of yesterday returned to plague her. She could
remember being brought before the king, half fearful and half bursting with
pride because her food was being praised.
There was more, though, wasn’t there? She could picture the face of King
John of England and all his craven courtiers. They were looking at her,
astonished and appalled. What had she said to make them look like that?
What strange words had poured out of her mouth?
The kitchen boys kept a wary distance from her this morning, going
about their habitual tasks without speaking or meeting her eye. They looked
even more terrified of her than usual and eventually her patience snapped.
‘What is wrong with you whelps?’ she bellowed. ‘Why are you so scared of
me?’
The bravest of the kitchen servants took a step closer to her, his voice
quavering. ‘You don’t remember the things you said to His Majesty and all
the grand fellas upstairs? What you said when you were possessed last
night?’
 Grizelda’s eyes widened and she froze on the spot. Spirals of darkness
filled her sight and she swayed on her gigantic feet. ‘Possessed?’ she
repeated. ‘I was … possessed?’
‘I think you still are!’ cried the kitchen lad and they all beat a hasty
retreat.
Grizelda was left alone, feeling very sickly and confused. Then a
soothing voice came to her. ‘Never fret, my dear. All your worries and fears
are over now. You are the most powerful woman in the world! You have the
ear of the King of England, and I have ambitious plans for him. And they
are becoming grander by the hour!’
‘W-what?’ Grizelda cried aloud. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t
want power. I don’t want influence. I just want to be the ordinary woman I
was born to be.’ And then, very oddly, a vision of that handsome Friar Tuck
rose unbidden in her mind’s eye. At this, Mother Maudlin cackled madly.
‘You can have all the monks you desire, if you follow my lead,’ the witch
said to the head cook. ‘I will give you monasteries full of them to
command! You can have them dancing attendance and hymning you with
praise!’
Grizelda only wanted Friar Tuck. But now her will was bending to the
witch’s control. That elemental hag had taken up residence inside her head,
and Grizelda was helpless to do anything but follow her commands.
So she found herself floating after the boys, carrying the cauldron of
breakfast gruel up to the throne room. Grizelda’s footsteps were sure and
her movements were graceful. Possessed, she was quite unlike her usual
work-sore self.
When she was standing before the foppish King John and all his
astonished men once more, she announced her presence quite grandly.
‘Your Majesty, I am about to do magic for you!’
The courtiers looked alarmed, but the king was intrigued and impatient.
He stroked his beard and urged her, ‘Do go on.’
Grizelda made quite a meal of it, weaving magic out of the dust for them.
Using the golden motes that were dancing on the air, she conjured a
spinning globe that rotated directly before the monarch’s nose.
‘This is your Planet Earth.’ She laughed.
‘What?’ King John snapped blearily.
‘Let me explain,’ Grizelda said, pointing to a tiny, seemingly
insignificant speck somewhere on the top half of the sphere. As they
watched, it shimmered and changed from gold into blue-and-greenish hues.
‘This bit here is the bit that belongs to you, Your Majesty. Not much, is it?
Not all that impressive, eh?’
The King was mesmerised by the slowly spinning globe. ‘What kind of
devilment is this?’
Grizelda laughed Mother Maudlin’s wicked laugh. ‘How would you like
to rule over all the waves, hmm?’

At that very moment the Doctor and Sarah were also looking at an image of
the swirling azure globe of Planet Earth. Between them, King Richard was
staring at the scanner screen, too, though he was struggling to grasp what he
was actually seeing.
‘Well, Your Majesty.’ The Doctor sighed. ‘We’re currently in orbit round
your world. Just parked for a while, as I need to sort out timings and
suchlike. We don’t want to arrive too late, or too early.’
‘A king bides his own time,’ the Lionheart said gruffly. ‘Whether I’m
early or late is of no matter. I make my own time, and all men will attend
me.’ He was putting on an act of seeming regal and in control of things, but,
really, his pulse was racing. What in creation was this place? How was this
gleaming chamber housed inside the Doctor’s shabby wooden box? The
king had decided not to remark upon the oddity and the impossibility of it
all. In a very royal fashion, he acted as if nothing at all could surprise him.
The Doctor drifted over to the flickering lights of the console, pulling a
face. ‘The TARDIS has a pretty wide margin for error, you see. If I don’t
get my sums right, we could end up thousands of years after your time, or
millions of years before. Ahh, yes.’
The king simply boggled at the Doctor. ‘I don’t understand any of your
words.’
Sarah patted his shoulder in consolation, and then stopped when the
monarch looked horrified at the unwanted touch of a commoner. ‘What the
Doctor says often has that effect on people.’ She smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry.
The important thing is that he’s going to get you back home.’
‘Home,’ said Richard, staring at the blue-and-green sphere on the screen.
‘I’m not sure how this image relates to the place I think of as home.’ He
turned away and marched across the gleaming floor of the TARDIS. ‘I don’t
even know where I’d feel at home these days. I’ve spent the past few years
in the Holy Land, in the heat and the sand, and then that terrible mud of the
wintertime. And then all summer sleeping rough as I trekked through Italy
and Austria, before months dwelling like a captured beast in dark castle
dungeons. Would I feel more at home in England? I’ve only ever lived a
few months there.’
‘But I thought you were the rightful King of England?’ Sarah frowned.
‘He’s French,’ muttered the Doctor, still working at the console.
‘My real home is in France,’ Richard agreed. ‘Though I have enemies
there who would be happy to see me never return, and who have taken my
lands from me. What I would love to do is raise another army and return to
the land of my birth to slay all those who stand in my way!’ His hand went
instinctively to the pommel of his mighty sword.
The Doctor groaned with impatience. ‘Honestly, just give it a rest, will
you? All this warmongering can’t be any good for you. Why can’t you just
calm down and have a nice cup of tea? Sarah, can you make him a nice cup
of tea?’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Make it yourself.’
‘I think I left my good teapot in the middle of Sherwood Forest,’ the
Doctor said, just as he flicked the final dematerialisation switch. At once the
time rotor started its smooth rise and fall, and a certain wheezing, groaning
noise filled the room. ‘I suggest you put aside thoughts of conquering all of
France for now,’ the Doctor advised the king. ‘And look to your throne in
England.’
Richard glared at him mutinously. ‘I really hate being told what to do,
Doctor. Even by wizards like you, who live in strange, impossible, glowing
castles in the air.’
The Doctor grinned. ‘Sometimes even kings have to listen to wizards,
you know. Now, here we go …’

At first light Robin and his Merrie Men left Locksley Hall suited in their
finest Lincoln green and equipped with as many bows, arrows and bolts for
their crossbows as they could carry. All forty-seven of his able-bodied
companions were ready and waiting to march through the early-morning
forest in the direction of Nottingham Castle.
With the men went new recruit Harry Sullivan, the kitchen boy Wen, the
captured miscreant Guy of Gisborne and Lady Marian, who would not be
told by anyone to stay safely at Locksley Hall with the children and the
aged. She had flashed her eyes furiously at Robin when he suggested that
she stay at home.
‘You said it yourself, Robin,’ she told him grimly. ‘This is a crucial day.
It’s everything we have been waiting for. The phoney king is installed in the
castle. It is time we fought back and showed him what we are made of.’
Robin smiled at her. ‘You’re right. Just as you always are, Marian.’ He
touched her hair gently. ‘I’m sorry. You were quite right when you said I
had lost my spirit of late. I had become jaded and had lost all hope. When
you went off to Kirklees Priory, I thought I had lost you forever.’
Marian smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ll never lose me, Robin of Locksley.
Whatever temptations and adventures befall us, we are bonded for as long
as our lives on this Earth will last. And we are bonded in stories and songs
until the end of time. We have lived as legends in this time, and people will
talk about the folks who lived in the Greenwood forever more. I just know
this to be true.’
He didn’t know what to say to that. ‘I’ll be happy if we can just beat up a
few nobles, chop the king’s head off, steal some food for our hungry people
and be home in time for supper. I think my ambitions are less lofty than
yours, my lady Marian.’
They hugged then, and Friar Tuck broke them up with an impatient
cough. ‘Come on, you two! Have you forgotten? We’re on a life-or-death
mission here! We don’t have time for all this kissing and cuddling!’
Harry Sullivan laughed at this, unaware that he was being watched
keenly by both Will Scarlet and Little John. ‘Keep a close eye on the new
man,’ Will told Little John. ‘I’m not sure I trust him.’
Watching them all with a keener eye still was Guy of Gisborne. He was
suited out in fresh new armour and supplied with every kind of weapon he
could carry. They had unchained him and treated him as just one more
valued member of their Merrie Band. The trusting fools, he sneered to
himself, as they resumed their journey through the autumnal forest. How
stupid they must be! To forget that they had Sir Guy in their midst; to lose
sight of the fact that their most powerful and wicked enemy was already
here in the heart of their foolish gang, ready to seize the moment for his
own advantage.
 Chapter Twenty-nine

Harry didn’t think it was a foolproof plan, exactly. In fact, as they

approached Nottingham Castle he decided that there was a fair likelihood of
the whole dashed thing going dreadfully wrong. However, neither he nor
anyone else in Robin’s band of outlaws had come up with anything better
this morning, and so they were just going to have to go along with their
leader’s less-than-thought-through idea.
The worst thing about it was that they had to trust Sir Guy of Gisborne.
‘Are you jesting us, Robin?’ Little John was appalled when their leader
had told them earlier that day. ‘How can we trust a creature like that?’
Sir Guy scowled at the tall man and Little John pulled a ferocious face
back at him.
‘Sir Guy?’ Robin turned to the man who had been one of their worst
enemies.
Gisborne said, very smoothly, ‘There comes a time when a man must
decide which side he is on. I have thrown in my lot with the men of the
Greenwood. You can trust me, Robin. I want to see an end to the evil that
lurks in that castle as much as you do.’
Which was all very well, and Sir Guy was very polished and convincing
in his delivery. Yet they all knew what a slippery, duplicitous creature he
was.
‘What choice do we have?’ Robin said to his closest men, later.
‘We could simply storm the main doors of the castle en masse and take
them by surprise,’ said Will Scarlet rashly. ‘They won’t be expecting that.’
Robin sighed. ‘And how many of us will be killed in the first ten minutes
of that foolish assault, Will? They’ll have longbows and crossbows up in
the ramparts. Boiling oil, too, I shouldn’t wonder. Have you ever seen what
happens to people who go storming up to the front of the castle? Do you
really feel like throwing your life away today?’
 It was Lady Marian who seemed to pacify them all, casting her deciding
vote. ‘Though we have no reason to place our faith in Gisborne, I think his
plan is actually rather sound.’
‘Really?’ Will Scarlet frowned.
The idea was that Gisborne would take a smaller group of the Merries to
the front of the castle, under the pretence of triumphantly bringing them
back as his prisoners. The rest of the gang – the bulk of them – would
meanwhile sneak themselves inside the castle undetected, via the slippery,
muddy tunnel underneath the moat. Once inside, Gisborne would release
his prisoners, and the outlaws could then mount a two-pronged attack from
within the castle.
Wen thought it sounded like a fantastic idea.
‘Everyone who agrees, say “Aye”,’ asked Robin.
They assented, and then the next job was to split into two groups. One
would brave the filthy secret passageway that wended under the moat and
finished up deep inside the castle kitchens. It was decided that Wen would
be entrusted with getting half of the Merries inside the stronghold using this
approach. The boy seemed about to burst with pride as Robin conferred this
vital mission upon him. ‘I won’t let you down, Robin.’
Friar Tuck was less than thrilled by the thought of squeezing himself
through those hellish tunnels once more. ‘I’d rather die than go through all
that muck again.’
Robin chuckled at his foolish and grumpy friar. ‘No, Tuck. You will
come with me and Little John, Marian and Allan-a-Dale. We will be
marching straight up to the main gates.’
‘Just as I said we should do!’ Will Scarlet cried.
Robin shook his head. ‘No, we will be giving ourselves up to the enemy.
We will be Sir Guy’s prisoners.’
Everyone stared at Robin as he talked them through the plan, and Harry
was alarmed to see a flicker of a smile on Sir Guy of Gisborne’s face.
‘And how delighted they will be!’ said Robin, trying to convince
everyone. ‘We’ll be just in time for the execution they’ve planned to
entertain the phoney King of England.’
Harry stepped forward. ‘I’m coming with you. I’ve been through those
tunnels once and this time I want to go in through the front door.’
Robin shrugged. ‘If you please, Harry.’
Marian gave them both a strange look.
 Now all Harry could think about was getting inside that castle. Who
knew what kind of violence and confusion the coming hours would bring?
All he knew was that the castle was the last known whereabouts of Sarah
and the Doctor. He simply had to find out what had become of them.

‘Are you ready?’ Robin asked Wen and the others gently.
They were standing in the forest glade that concealed the entrance to the
secret passageway. ‘We are,’ Wen said bravely. He was almost overcome
with awe at the thought of his part in the unfolding adventure.
‘Then it’s time you were on your way,’ Robin told him. ‘Good luck, my
friends. And may we all be reunited soon – when England is free from the
tyranny of monstrous kings and witchcraft.’
They watched the bulk of the Merrie Men follow Wen and his burning
brand into the sepulchral gloom of the tunnel. When they were well
underway, all eyes were on Gisborne.
‘Now you must play your part, Sir Guy,’ Marian told him.
‘Oh, I will,’ he said, with just a ghost of his usual smirk.

The route back into the castle seemed to take longer, and proved to be more
arduous, than their recent escape. Wen kept his worries to himself, though,
leading the way with his burning torch held before him, his eyes streaming
from the smoky fumes. At his back he could hear the Merrie Men
grumbling and exclaiming at the narrowness and dampness of the tunnels.
‘It feels like the whole thing could collapse upon us at any moment,’ Will
Scarlet said.
‘These passageways have been here for many years,’ Wen replied. ‘If
they fell down now, it would be very bad timing indeed.’
Will muttered his misgivings as they inched along. ‘This is the worst plan
Robin has ever made. He is far too trusting – not only of that dog Gisborne,
but also the newcomers. That Harry of Sullivan, or whatever he’s called.’
Wen couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Harry has proved to be a steadfast and
brave new friend.’
Will Scarlet scowled. ‘Think about it, boy. Ever since Harry and those
funny friends of his – what’s her name? Sarah? And that strange one, the
Doctor – turned up in the Greenwood, it feels like everything has started to
go horribly wrong for us.’
 The Merries behind Will – crouched inside the tunnel and glistening with
black mud – were listening keenly. ‘It’s true! Everything’s gone to pot! It’s
that Harry and his friends!’ they chorused.
‘That’s not true,’ Wen said, unable to hide his defensiveness. ‘They’ve
been in just as much danger as we have. They haven’t caused any trouble –
they’ve helped us!’ Wen was thinking that, without the help of the Doctor
and his friends, he himself would be in quite a different position. They
made him brave. He had felt like a truly worthy member of Robin’s band
because of the presence of the strangers. And he didn’t like to hear Will
Scarlet bad-mouthing them.
‘They are our friends,’ Wen said grimly, still pushing along through the
gloomy tunnel, training his smarting eyes on the gloom ahead.
‘Perhaps.’ Will Scarlet sighed. ‘But these are days when we seem to have
the most peculiar friends. Strangers and kitchen lads. And we are forced to
place our trust in that evil hound, Gisborne.’

Grizelda was sitting at the king’s right hand in the castle’s throne room. She
simpered and preened, swaddled in furs and gazing down at the men before
her.
The sheriff looked on in disbelief at this turnabout in fortunes. His
rational mind kept drawing attention to the absurdity of it all. That is your
cook up there, sitting beside the king, acting like his queen! Until lately she
was your servant. You were about to have her flogged, just for a bit of
amusement. And now …!
Now she had the ear of the King of England. She had influence over the
wonky crown of King John, just as the sheriff had dreamt of having. This
was an appalling state of affairs. To be usurped inside his own castle!
Could I have her surreptitiously killed? the sheriff wondered frantically.
And, yet, she was a witch, wasn’t she? Already there had been ample
proof of her strange and arcane powers. It was best not to get in the way of
anyone who possessed gifts like that. Even in his impregnable castle, the
sheriff had heard stories of the terrible Mother Maudlin. And now here she
was, enthroned in queenly regalia beside the awe-struck king.
When the guard came running up with even more news that morning, the
sheriff cried out in anguish. ‘If this is bad news, I’ll have you beheaded.’
The guard trembled and couldn’t get his words out fast enough. ‘You’ll
never believe it, Your Excellency!’
 The sheriff narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘It is the return of Sir Guy of Gisborne! He has arrived on foot at the
castle and –’ here the man-at-arms looked positively thrilled – ‘he has
brought Robin Hood as a prisoner! And Little John! And the lady Marian,
and that fat fool, Friar Tuck. He has brought them all here as his prisoners
and is gladly handing them over to you, his master.’
The sheriff’s whole face lit up with delight. He whooped with joy and
started capering about on the rush-strewn floor. ‘I win! I win! The king shall
have his executions after all! And I shall take Lady Marian as my bride, just
as I planned it all in the first place.’ He grabbed hold of the guard and shook
him impatiently. ‘Where exactly are Gisborne and his prisoners? Tell me,
you fool!’
 Chapter Thirty

Many times over the years, Robin and various members of his band had
managed to sneak themselves inside Nottingham Castle. Well before the
advent of this particularly bumptious and villainous sheriff, they had
enjoyed adventures and daring escapades that had seen them dashing about
inside the place: on top of the ramparts, down in the cellars, and once
escaping with a shower of singing arrows at their backs, but always living
to fight another day.
Somehow, this particular escapade was starting to feel quite unlike those
earlier, carefree days.
The courtyard was swamped with serving folk and peasants loyal to the
sheriff. They were a baying mob, joined by the more finely dressed crowd
brought by King John from London. All were unanimous in their jeers and
catcalls as the prisoners were led into the castle grounds. They threw rotting
vegetables (and worse) at them, and all that Robin and his friends could do
was play along with the ruse that they had been captured and were being
brought to justice.
‘Because it is still a ruse, is it not, Robin?’ asked Friar Tuck, rather
caustically, as he surveyed the noisy mob that surrounded them.
‘Assuredly so, good sir Tuck.’ Robin smiled, and his rather pompous tone
worried Marian, because she knew he only talked like that when he was
starting to get really nervous.
The small band – consisting of Robin, Little John, Allan-a-Dale, Friar
Tuck, Marian and Harry – were led by their gloating captor, Sir Guy of
Gisborne, into the very heart of their enemies’ stronghold. Gisborne was
lapping up every bit of adulation from the raucous crowd, waving his sword
and pointing ostentatiously to the famous faces he was delivering to his
master.
 ‘Erm, Robin,’ said Little John. ‘What’s that little stage thing they’ve built
across the courtyard from the king’s throne?’
Robin peered over the mass of bodies, trying to see what Little John’s
immense height had let him spy first. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘I do believe it’s a
scaffold, Little John. The kind that’s used for hanging people, five at a
time.’
‘I see.’ Little John shrugged. The giant outlaw felt horribly naked without
his longbow or staff. It was dawning on him that the six of them were
walking into enemy territory with only the word of their erstwhile sworn
enemy to protect them.
Marian reached out to grasp Robin’s hand as, together, they followed Sir
Guy. They were stopped when they reached the edge of a wooden dais that
had been built for the king to sit in comfort under the cloudy Nottingham
skies.
‘I say,’ Harry said, ‘I wonder if we shouldn’t have given a bit more
thought to this plan, hmm?’
Robin turned to him irritably. ‘Did you have a better one?’
‘No,’ Harry admitted. ‘But how does this ruse differ from us actually
being captured by Gisborne and delivered to the sheriff as prisoners? Is
there really any material difference?’
Robin’s expression was growing darker. ‘Except that Gisborne has
pledged his allegiance to us, hasn’t he? And at any moment he’s about to
surprise everyone, and dramatically turn things round, isn’t he?’
Harry glanced at the rather smug-looking Gisborne with great scepticism.
‘Sure about that, are you, Robin? Because he looks as if he’s having a
whale of a time. And we’ve come wandering into this place quite willingly,
completely unarmed.’
Robin shrugged. ‘I’ve been in worse situations, believe me.’
His careless tone worried Harry awfully. He seemed reckless and ready to
throw everything away, all of a sudden. ‘When you described this as a last-
ditch gambit, you really meant it, didn’t you?’
‘This is how we live, Harry,’ Robin said, almost angrily. ‘All of our
adventures have been as desperately dangerous as this. Just ask Marian.’
She nodded and sighed. ‘It’s true. But I do think we’re getting too old for
this kind of thing.’
Suddenly there was a stirring in the crowd and a burst of excited cheering
as Guy of Gisborne raised his sword into the air and shouted, ‘I call upon
our courageous and noble sheriff to grace us with his presence! And I dare
to call upon His Majesty himself, too! For I have brought a great boon for
his royal celebrations!’
More cheers went up from the crowd of courtiers and lackeys.
‘When’s the tide going to turn in our favour, then?’ Friar Tuck said to
Robin. ‘And where are that lot from the tunnel? Shouldn’t they be riding to
the rescue about now?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Robin said quietly, and he wondered, for the first time,
whether he might have actually miscalculated.
‘Shall I sing a composition of my own, perhaps, to pacify the mob?’
Allan-a-Dale asked, but there was no time to reply, because suddenly the
sheriff and his royal guest had emerged from the castle and on to the silk-
draped dais. They and all the courtiers were swathed in sumptuous furs and
jewels, and all the gathered peasants gasped to see such grand people in
their midst. Everyone was particularly struck by the regal visage of King
John, with his pasty skin, his hawklike profile and his vicious, beady eyes.
The cheers were so loud, ringing out within the castle walls, that they
rattled eardrums.
Once the king and his special favourites were seated comfortably, the
sheriff called for quiet. ‘You’re too kind,’ he said to the crowd, and then his
eyes lit upon Gisborne. ‘Ah, noble Sir Guy! What have you brought us
today? Is it true – have you delivered up my enemies? And just in time to
meet His Majesty.’
‘I have, Your Excellency.’ Sir Guy grinned, and lapped up the further
applause.
Robin and his men were staring at him. If he was looking for the
opportunity to turn the tables and surprise their foes, then this would be as
good a moment as any. But Sir Guy’s attention was fixed on the sheriff and,
up on the dais, the languid, elegant figure of the king.
‘Are these the famed outlaws?’ King John perked up, sitting forward. ‘Is
this little man really the famed and fearsome Robin of the Hood? And is
this truly his band of seasoned cut-throat warriors? The ones who have led
us all such a merry dance through the years?’
‘They are, Your Majesty,’ confirmed Sir Guy grandly.
‘Well, how wonderful!’ the king said with a purr, staring at his prize.
‘What a really lovely surprise this is, Nottingham. Really quite impressive.
When I went to York, all they gave me was some cheese and a few hens.
When I visited Durham, I got a bullock. But this! This is quite the tribute.
Are we going to see them all hanged now?’ His eyes were gleaming with
sadistic glee.
‘And drawn and quartered!’ said the sheriff, crowing in triumph.
‘Absolutely no expense or effort spared.’
‘Wonderful!’ said the king with a gasp. ‘Well, get on with it, then.’
For the first time the captured Merries had noticed that, on the throne
beside the king, sat the vast form of the castle cook. Friar Tuck seemed
most perplexed by this. ‘Grizelda?’ he shouted. ‘What are you doing up
there?’
But Grizelda merely spared him the scantiest of queenly glances. She
seemed much more interested in the prospect of the coming executions.
‘He’s taken over her mind!’ Tuck gasped.
‘There, there, old chap.’ Harry patted his arm. ‘All our troubles are about
to be well and truly over.’ He winced. ‘Unless we’re very lucky.’
‘Where are the others?’ Robin hissed under his breath. ‘Has Wen got
them all lost inside those tunnels?’
Almost forty heavily armed Merrie Men were due to come bursting from
the bowels of the castle at any moment. It was supposed to be Robin and his
friends’ salvation, but it was showing absolutely no sign of arriving in the
nick of time.
‘We might have made a dreadful mistake,’ said Marian.
Her voice reminded Sir Guy to make his own conditions plain. ‘I have
brought you these men – these roughnecks from the Greenwood – and you
can slice them and dice them just how you will. But the woman – the lady
Marian – she must be mine! You must allow me to take Maid Marian for
my own wife!’
The crowd cheered at the knight’s reasonable-sounding demand. Robin
was furious, and so was the sheriff, who had been about to ask for the very
same thing. ‘But I’m the one who’s going to marry her!’ he burst out, before
he could stop himself.
Sir Guy simply laughed. ‘Give me Marian, or I shall set these dangerous
outlaws free!’
A ripple of fear went through the courtyard.
‘What is this?’ cried the king. ‘Are you fighting over a woman? How
undignified. How awful!’ He swigged a mouthful of wine from his jewelled
goblet. ‘Get on with it, Nottingham! She will hang along with the rest of
them. I demand the pleasure of seeing them all executed. Every single one
of their seditious number – immediately!’
 Chapter Thirty-one

It was very strange for Wen to return to the castle kitchens – his old place of
work – at the head of a small army of very dirty Merrie Men.
The last few hundred yards of the journey through the underground
passage had been rather frightening. The tunnel walls were making sounds
like groaning cries of protest, as if they were going to collapse at any
moment.
‘The moat is going to come rushing in to drown us all!’ Will Scarlet
cried, sending shockwaves of fear through his followers. They could picture
only too well drowning in this dank passage, and fear hastened them.
Though he tried to tell them that the tunnel was quite safe, Wen secretly
worried that the presence of almost forty burly men was too much for the
soft walls and they were indeed nearing the point of collapse.
The kitchen boy fought down his own panic and kept plodding on
through the mire, his flaming torch held aloft. ‘We have to get through! We
have to be there in the castle to help Robin and Marian and the others!’
He heard some sarcastic muttering from behind him – something about
the folly of relying on a daft kid. This only made him redouble his efforts,
determined to prove them all wrong.
At last there was a golden glow of firelight ahead, and Wen recognised
the tantalising aromas of the kitchen. Roasting fowl! Baking bread! He
yelped in triumph. ‘We’ve made it!’
The Merrie Men staggered out into the relative brightness of the
basement kitchen. At the sight of them the servants turned tail and fled,
convinced that myrmidons and trolls from the very bowels of the earth had
emerged to fettle them. Wen almost laughed to see the fear in their faces.
(None of them had been very kind to him in the past, and he enjoyed seeing
them scatter.)
 But the Merries really did look quite frightening, as did he. They were all
basted in thick black muck, and reeked of the stagnant waters of the moat.
Each of them had slimy tendrils of rotting roots and weed stuck to them.
‘That was a horrible plan,’ Will Scarlet said, his voice like thunder. ‘We’d
have been better off storming the front gates en masse. At least that would
have been an honest, courageous approach. Better than crawling through a
quagmire.’
Several of his fellows were agreeing, but Wen ignored them. He jumped
nimbly up to the high window that was the sole source of daylight in the
room, peering out at the courtyard beyond.
What he saw there made him gasp.
‘What is it?’ asked Will, leaping up to see.
From their vantage point they could observe the crowd of finely dressed
courtiers and the gathered peasants in thrall to the sheriff. From here they
could glimpse the newly built dais on which the king’s throne had been
placed, with his courtiers seated in splendour around him. Wen could hardly
believe his eyes. ‘That’s the king! The king is really there, look.’ He blinked
thick mud out of his eyes. Surely he was seeing things, because who was
that enthroned in gorgeous robes in pride of place beside King John? None
other than the castle cook, Grizelda!
‘The world has gone mad,’ grunted Will, just as a gap opened up in the
crowd and he could suddenly see the small gaggle of prisoners that had
been marched up to the dais for the monarch to inspect. ‘There’s Robin and
the others! Gisborne is with them. Looking very pleased with himself.’
Suddenly Will Scarlet was tense with fury. ‘He has betrayed us all!
Gisborne is simply handing them over!’
Wen had noticed the scaffold in the far corner of the courtyard. A
dreadful feeling stole over him, and he knew exactly what was to come.
‘We have to get out there,’ he said, turning to Will. ‘This is our part of the
plan, isn’t it? We’re the ones who are supposed to come dashing to the
rescue!’
Will nodded and looked down at his army of muddy men. Some of them
were devouring whatever food they could lay their filthy hands on, tearing
it apart and cramming their mouths full as they waited to face their fates.
They made a pretty rum bunch, this small army of cut-throat forest trolls.
‘It’s time to rescue Robin!’ Will told them all, and drew his spotless
sword from its scabbard. Then, with a blood-curdling war cry, he led them
all at a run up the stairs and into the castle.

Robin was resisting with every fibre of his being. As guards stepped
forward to manhandle him, he twisted and threw them off. Men twice his
weight in their suits of armour were no match for him as he fought
desperately for his life. Beside him Little John battered them all with his
fists and, even though they were unarmed, it seemed for a moment as if the
friends could fight off the entire army, one at a time.
King John chortled with glee as he watched this fracas. ‘Oh, the brave
Robin Hood,’ he said, his voice thick with triumph. ‘To watch him fight for
his life at such close quarters. How lucky we are!’
He looked less pleased as the fighting men lurched a little closer to his
throne. He clutched his furs, preparing to retreat, and was glad when his
men-at-arms took control of the situation. ‘You fools! They’re no match for
you! You’re in armour and you’re armed! What have they got? Nothing!’
Pinioned in the strong arms of his enemies, the battered and bleeding
Robin rallied at the king’s words. ‘That’s quite true!’ he said. ‘We’ve
always had nothing! Nothing at all, compared with a rich and corrupt ruler
like you. But we still fought on and we lived for years, doing what we felt
was right. And neither you nor your parade of dreadful sheriffs could touch
us.’
As he raised his voice defiantly, the crowd was listening, and there were
even a few bold cheers here and there as his words rang out.
‘Oh, do be quiet,’ said the King of England with petulance. ‘We don’t
want any final speeches today, thank you. Nottingham, can we get on with
despatching them, please?’
But Robin wasn’t going to be shut up that easily. ‘We may be going to
our deaths today, Your so-called Majesty. You may think you have seen us
off at last. But we are the true victors. Because we knew what was right and
we defied you – with all our might – for as long as we could!’
There was a pause at the end of his words. Robin had the whole
courtyard listening to his every word. Marian and the others were staring at
him, bright-eyed and tearfully proud.
Then the king sighed. ‘Yes, yes, very pretty speechifying, brave Sir
Robin,’ he snarled. ‘Now, hang them all! And hang everyone else who
would stand in my way!’
 The guards jostled and corralled them. A gap opened in the suddenly
noisy, baying crowd. Moments ago, they had all been agog at the noble
words of the Prince of Thieves, but now things had changed. There was a
mass execution in the offing and the peasants and the courtiers could hardly
wait.
Harry Sullivan was being pushed along with his new friends towards the
wooden scaffolding. He realised he would have to face the fact that this
time there really was going to be no escape.
Sir Guy was pushing through the crowd, bashing heads and breaking
limbs in his haste to lead his enemies to their fate.
‘You flaming traitor, Gisborne,’ Little John growled.
‘Ha! What did you expect?’ Sir Guy sneered. ‘They promised me I can
push away the stools and set you swinging myself. How could I resist?’
Then he looked almost tenderly at Marian. ‘Though I will find it rather
hard, executing you, my lady. I’ve grown ever so fond of you over the
years. I rather fancied one day you might become mine. But needs must and
never mind.’
He flinched then as Marian lunged forward, trying to get to him with
both fists. She was soon restrained however, and Gisborne laughed uneasily.
‘So I’ll settle for being the new Sheriff of Nottingham instead. The King
has decreed a mass slaughter of his enemies. You must all die!’
By now they had reached the scaffold. It really felt like time had run out
at last. The upturned faces of the crowd were cheering delightedly, hungrily.
Robin and his men and Marian faced each other one last time as they were
tethered with thickly tarred ropes.
‘I’m afraid this is it,’ Robin told them. ‘I have led you into danger for the
final time.’
His friends tried their best to smile bravely at him.
‘It was fun while it lasted,’ said Friar Tuck.
Then everything started happening at once. There were cries of alarm
from the far end of the courtyard. There were screams of panic, and war
cries that sounded oddly familiar.
Hope flared in Robin’s chest. Could it be?
‘They’re here!’ Little John suddenly burst out laughing. ‘At last!’
‘What?’ said Tuck.
‘They’ve made it!’ Marian gasped. ‘The Merrie Men are here!’
 Harry could hardly believe his eyes. It looked like an army of golems
dashing into the crowd with their swords and crossbows. Everyone was
screaming as arrows sizzled through the air. Axes were swinging and
swords flashed.
‘I do believe it’s the cavalry!’ Harry grinned.
 Chapter Thirty-two

All of a sudden there was carnage in the courtyard.

It was all a bit too close-up for King John’s liking. He loved to get
reports fresh from the battlefield – details of all the violence and horror
unleashed in his name – but it was quite another matter standing this close
to all the parrying and thrusting and slashing and stabbing. Also, he was in
his finest robes.
‘Make them stop!’ he howled. ‘Make them behave themselves!’
What had begun as a pleasant round of tributes and executions had
rapidly become a ghastly scene of mob violence.
It confirmed everything King John had ever suspected about travelling
this far north of his home in London.
Beside him Grizelda the cook was on her feet, screeching with joy at the
sight of the king’s men engaging in combat with the outlaws.
‘Kill them! Destroy them! They all must die!’ she was screaming at the
top of her voice. ‘You fools – you have the advantage! They’re only
peasants! They’re only thieves! Now is your chance to rid the land of all
your enemies!’
It was at this moment that the filthy outlaws who had come surging up
from the castle basement managed to reach the scaffold where Robin was
being held. Gisborne had tried to hastily arrange nooses round the doomed
men’s necks, but he was out of time. He knew it as soon as he saw a flash of
bright silver in the air. Above the heads of the crowd a sword was soaring in
an elegant arc. Will Scarlet had taken perfect aim and flung the weapon so
that Robin could catch it.
Veteran of so many battles, with the skill of a fighter, Robin freed himself
from his bonds, and snatched the heavy weapon from the air with perfect
timing.
He was armed!
 Beside him he sensed rather than saw Little John take heart and burst out
of the ropes that were binding him. He reached out with two massive hands,
lunging at Sir Guy, intent on breaking his skull against the castle wall. Wily
Gisborne leapt back with a fearful cry, just as a shower of arrows came
streaking through the air from their Merrie rescuers. Gisborne took one in
his shoulder and another in his thigh, but didn’t stop for a moment in his
headlong flight away from the people he’d betrayed.
Up on the royal dais King John was starting to worry. ‘It’s all going
wrong! It’s chaos!’ He swung round and snarled at the cowering, helpless
figure of the sheriff. ‘What are you going to do about it, Nottingham, you
craven dolt? This is your party! Whatever’s gone wrong is all because of
you!’
Grizelda threw back her head and laughed raucously at the panic all
around her. ‘No, this is exactly as it should be! This is wonderful. All of this
fear and rage and pain – this is exactly what I’m here for! This is what I
feed off!’
King John stared at her in utter despair. ‘I’m in a madhouse!’ he said with
a gasp.
Then things took an even worse turn for the phoney king.
Across the courtyard, Robin, Marian, Harry and the others were jumping
down from the scaffold and turning to face their foes. The courtiers and
peasants were surging out of the way, bolting for the exits.
Gisborne was limping back towards the royal platform, where he hoped
to find protection beside the king.
Harry Sullivan recognised the filth-covered form of the diminutive Wen,
diving and ducking through the crowd. ‘Wen!’ he cried.
Just as the boy grinned back at him, there came a very loud and familiar
noise, rising above the battle cries and the clashing of steel blades.
Harry could hardly believe his ears. ‘It’s the TARDIS!’
Right in the centre of the courtyard of Nottingham Castle there
materialised a rather battered blue police box. It took a few moments to
solidify and, by the time the bright lamp on its roof had faded, all the
fighting around it had completely stopped. Defenders and invaders, soldiers
and outlaws alike ground to a halt. They were all astonished by this sudden
manifestation in their midst.
‘W-what is it?’ said the king with a gasp.
 Grizelda – or Mother Maudlin as she should be more properly named –
shook with fury. ‘Noooo! He’s going to ruin it all!’
Everyone’s attention was trained on the blue box as the wooden door
flew open suddenly and out stepped the Doctor. He was swathed in yards of
his incredibly long scarf, and he grinned and doffed his hat at the astonished
horde that surrounded him. ‘Well, what a turnout!’ he cried loftily. Then he
spied King John and flapped his fedora at him. ‘Hello, there!’
Sarah Jane Smith followed him out of the ship, glaring defiantly at the
bloodstained warriors staring back at her.
The Doctor addressed everyone present in his booming voice: ‘We’ve
brought a very special guest to join the party. I trust we’re not too late?’
Robin and the others were delighted to see the Doctor and Sarah. Harry
made to hurry forward to welcome them, but Little John held him back.
‘Wait,’ he said warningly. ‘For I believe your friend has a trick up his
sleeve.’
‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised.’ Harry smiled.
King John shouted back at the Doctor from his throne. ‘What kind of
knavery is this? Who are you, and what are you playing at?’
The Doctor fixed him with a piercing stare. ‘I’m not playing, sir. I’m
deadly serious.’ And with that he beckoned a third figure out of the police
box.
Blinking in the sunlight, looking bewildered but resplendent in his
Crusader’s armour, Richard the Lionheart stepped out before his astonished
public. His surcoat was a blinding white, emblazoned with the red cross.
The crowd gasped and fell to their knees.
The Doctor said, ‘May I introduce you? This is the rightful King of
England.’ He beamed delightedly as King John fell to his knees in fright.
‘That,’ said the Doctor, ‘is checkmate, I believe.’
There was a pause before the whole place erupted into cheers and cries of
triumph. Harry came dashing forward to hug Sarah, who fell into his arms
with a surprised cry. ‘You’re alive!’ they both yelled at each other, laughing
happily.
Richard the Lionheart raised his huge, double-handed sword into the air
and cried, ‘And now I take back the throne and the crown!’
On the royal dais King John was moaning. He knew his fate was sealed.
But, before the royal brothers could confront one another, Mother
Maudlin decided that the moment had come for her to seize control of the
situation.
She lumbered heavily to the edge of the platform and screamed at the top
of her voice: ‘I am Mother Maudlin, and it is I who will rule this land from
now on. Not you pitiable and violent men. This country and this whole
world will belong to me.’
The Doctor stepped forward. ‘I see you’ve taken over the poor old cook.
Poor cooky! She was rather looking forward to putting on a lovely banquet.
And I gather you’ve let your ambitions grow somewhat? At first you were
happy to rule over Sherwood with fear, then it was England … and now you
want the whole planet, eh? You Carrionites are always insatiable, aren’t
you?’
Mother Maudlin’s eyes blazed as the Doctor confronted her. ‘You have
tried your utmost to get in my way, Time Lord.’
‘And I’ve succeeded,’ the Doctor said flippantly. ‘You’ve backed the
wrong horse. Your pretender king up there is a spent force. King Richard is
back now; he’ll put right everything that’s gone wrong. Time will be back
on its right track, too. So why don’t you do us all a favour and tootle back
off to whichever witchy dimension you crawled out of, hmm?’
The face that had been Grizelda’s twisted with hatred. ‘You can’t get rid
of me that easily,’ she said with a snarl, and at once her whole body was
engulfed in purple flames.
‘She’s powering up.’ The Doctor nudged King Richard. ‘That’s her magic
she’s calling on. Now would be a good time to put a stop to her, I’d say.’
Sarah looked perplexed. ‘But how, Doctor? How can we defeat a creature
like her?’ She remembered all too well how weird and powerful the witch
had felt when she was resident inside Sarah’s mind.
Mother Maudlin screeched with laughter. ‘There’s nothing you can do to
stop this! None of you are any match for me!’
 Chapter Thirty-three

Richard the Lionheart didn’t look perturbed. He stepped forward, and up on

to the dais, confident as he faced Mother Maudlin.
‘You forget,’ he said. ‘I have travelled all over this world and
encountered many beliefs and legends and superstitions.’
There was a hint of panic in Mother Maudlin’s golden eyes. ‘So?’
The king hefted his heavy sword and started to raise it. ‘So, I happen to
know that iron – even iron tempered by fire – is fatal to hell creatures such
as you.’
There was a split second before the crowd and the witch herself took in
what the Lionheart meant. His sword was iron! The only substance on Earth
that could harm the witch. In her folly she had allowed him to step within
range of Grizelda. With a gasp she realised she was at his mercy.
‘Prepare to die, enchantress!’ the king said.
Help came in a sudden rush, and from quite an unexpected source.
‘W-what?’ gasped Richard, as a large barrel-shaped man crashed out of
nowhere, knocking him off his balance. The crowd were outraged at the
sight of their king being pushed aside by the ungallant form of …
‘Tuck!’ Robin cried. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing …?’
The friar seemed to have lost his wits. ‘I won’t let him kill her! He might
be the rightful king, but I won’t let him kill Grizelda. I –’ all at once the
friar looked ashamed – ‘I love her!’
Unharmed and still suffused in that magenta flamelike glow, Grizelda
cackled loudly. Then she slumped like a broken puppet to the wooden floor
as the spirit of the evil witch suddenly left her.
Now King John stood up in one smooth movement, his eyes alive with
golden malice.
Marian was the first to understand what was going on. She surged
forward through the crowd and shouted at the rightful king, ‘Mother
Maudlin has possessed your brother, sire! There – look!’
King John was cackling, just like the kitchen hag had done before him, as
he stepped over her unconscious form. He addressed the shocked Richard:
‘And will you kill me with your sword of iron, dear brother?’
The Doctor was racking his brains. What could they do? The witch was
too slippery. She could keep this up all day, slithering from mind to mind,
eluding capture.
The Lionheart wavered and his raised sword fell. ‘I-I cannot murder my
own brother. Take him away, guards. Lock him – and whatever has seized
his mind – down in the dungeons.’
‘That’s no good!’ the Doctor protested, remembering how Mother
Maudlin had made the cell walls simply melt away.
They watched the golden gleam in King John’s eyes flare and die. Then
all at once the fugitive light was in the sheriff’s eyes, and he was laughing
at them all. ‘Oh, what a malicious soul this one is!’ He cackled. ‘I’d have
taken him earlier if I’d known what a delicious monster he truly is!’
Robin and the others burst forth to seize the sheriff, but it was too late.
The will-o’-the-wisp that was the witch’s soul had slithered away.
Now Sarah was standing proudly in their midst, sneering at them all. ‘Ah,
but how I enjoyed possessing this one! This woman has hidden depths and
powers. She made a wonderful vehicle for my spirit. Perhaps I will stay
here, for a while.’
The Lionheart roared like his namesake. He had no particular reason to
protect Sarah’s life. Harry saw in a flash that Mother Maudlin had
miscalculated, and right now she was in just as much danger as ever. The
Doctor saw, too, and realised that Harry was standing closer than he was.
‘Harry, save her!’
The king was almost demented with fury, jumping down from the dais
and lunging with his great sword in Sarah’s direction. But Harry was
fearless. He hurtled forward like the rugby player he once was and
interposed himself between the girl and the legendary Crusader. ‘I-I can’t
let you kill her, Your Majesty.’
King Richard paused and drew himself up, raising his sword before him.
‘I must put out that light in her eyes!’
Before anyone could say anything further, Sir Guy of Gisborne surprised
them all. He hobbled forward, bleeding from the arrow wounds in his thigh
and shoulder. He staggered on to the cobbles and knelt before the impassive
Sarah Jane.
‘Come into my soul, won’t you? I have loved you for so many years,
Mother Maudlin. Won’t you come into my heart at last?’
Every pair of eyes in the courtyard was trained upon the treacherous
knight as he beseeched the witch.
Everyone saw Sarah waver and consider his words as she stared at the
bloody, cowering knight.
Then the purple flames flickered and a stream of amber light flowed from
her eyes into his.
Sir Guy of Gisborne laughed as the sorceress flooded darkly into his
mind. ‘Now I have you! I have you at last!’
Harry darted forward to catch Sarah before she crumpled on to the
ground. The Doctor saw that she was safe and took a step closer to Sir Guy.
Now the wicked knight was convulsing as if fighting a whole legion of
demons battling inside his broken body. But still he was laughing
maniacally. ‘Oh, Mother Maudlin. Now I’ll never let you go!’

Afterwards, when they discussed it all, no one could quite decide if Sir Guy
had actually turned to the side of good, right at the very end. It certainly
seemed that way. But with the wily, faithless Gisborne it was always hard to
tell.
In that final instant his golden eyes flashed at King Richard. ‘Slay me,
Your Majesty. Slay me now while the witch is trapped within me …!’
King Richard understood. He raised his huge sword.
At that last second Harry looked away. There was a sizzle of iron through
the purple haze and a single shriek … and Gisborne was no more.
A long moment of silence welled up in the stone courtyard before it then
erupted into joyous cries of triumph. The witch was dead.
The false king was dragged away by the guards he had once trusted, and
Robin, Marian and the Merrie Men and friends and companions stood and
stared at each other in amazement. Despite all the odds, they had survived.
‘We owe you so much, Doctor,’ Robin said, turning to the Time Lord.
But the Doctor was craning his neck, staring over the ramparts of the
castle. He was shielding his eyes against the sun, staring at a single bird as
it flapped its huge wings and made its escape into the skies.
‘Was that a rook, do you suppose?’ he asked Robin.
 Chapter Thirty-four

The celebrations at Locksley Hall went on for several days, but not quite as
long as the raucous party that had erupted at Nottingham Castle. There, the
deposed King John, the erstwhile sheriff and the sheriff’s followers were
paraded around in chains and pelted with rotten food.
The celebrations at Locksley Hall were altogether more civilised. And
Robin and Marian were married at last.
‘After so many years of waiting.’ She smiled at him as they stood before
the king.
Robin smiled. ‘So many years of living in sin in the Greenwood!’
‘Shush!’ She laughed as the ceremony began and the rightful king
declared his ward and his greatest champion wedded at last.
The party went on into the night, with a splendid banquet created by
Grizelda, who had quite recovered her wits and was keen to try out the
Doctor’s recipes. King Richard was delighted by her French cuisine. ‘Will
you come to London and cook for me every day?’ he asked her. She stared
at him, astonished.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said, gazing into his eyes. ‘I-I think I might have to
stay here at Locksley. I have lately had a most unexpected proposal.’
‘Friar Tuck!’ said the Lionheart with a gasp. ‘What are you doing,
seducing my favourite cook?’
Tuck was too busy eating to come up with a suitable reply. He bowed and
looked embarrassed, but he secretly loved the attention and basked in the
adoring glances Grizelda was sending his way.
Allan-a-Dale interrupted them all then. ‘I have a song! A new one
extolling the heroic virtues of all our friends in this, our latest – and greatest
– adventure!’
‘Go on, then!’ Robin shrugged and encouraged him, his smile only
dimming as Allan reached the thirty-fourth verse.
 Marian slipped away and went over to Harry, who was lost in thought in
the far corner of the warm and noisy hall. ‘Congratulations, my dear.’ He
smiled.
‘Harry Sullivan,’ Marian told him. ‘You are without doubt the most
gallant man I have ever met. And, for a moment a few days ago, I do
believe I imagined I was falling in love with you. Fancy that!’
Harry blushed immediately. ‘Oh, well, now …’ He shrugged
uncomfortably. He was back in his tidy blazer and cravat, looking quite out
of place in the company. ‘I think we’ve all said and done some rather rash
things in recent days. It’s been a hectic old time.’
She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘I saw your face when you rushed
forward and defied the King of England. And I saw your face when you
thought Sarah was about to die. You love her, do you not? It is Sarah Jane
Smith who truly has your heart.’
Harry looked stricken. ‘I say! I, err, you won’t go telling her, will you?’
Marian smiled. ‘I will let you bumble along in your own sweet time,
Harry Sullivan. But don’t leave it too late. You won’t want to lose her.’
Then, as the lute-playing finished and a more rowdy tune began, Marian
was gone, swept up into the dance by her beloved Robin Hood.
Harry was left with his bittersweet thoughts. He watched as a kind of
medieval conga line began, with the Doctor and Sarah joining in as it wove
through the rooms of Locksley Hall.
‘Harry?’
He blinked away his confusing thoughts and realised that Wen the
kitchen lad had joined him.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course! Are you? You’ve been through quite a lot these past few
days.’
Wen looked happier than Harry had ever seen him in their short
acquaintance. ‘They’ve asked me to stay here at Locksley Hall.’ The boy
was bursting with his news. ‘Robin and Marian. They say they are too old
now to have children of their own, and that I must be their son.’
Harry shook hands with him. ‘That’s brilliant news. I just know that
you’re all going to be very happy here.’
Somehow he really did. Harry had a great feeling about what was yet to
come for Robin and Marian and Wen, and Will Scarlet, Little John, Friar
Tuck and all the rest of them.
 It was as if all their adventures had come to an end at last and it was time
for them to enjoy the peace. As he and Wen returned to the boisterous
singing and dancing, Harry thought vaguely that he’d have to ask the
Doctor, with all his knowledge of future time and history: were their friends
really going to be happy after all of this?
 Chapter Thirty-five

It was the next day, when the household had risen early with thick heads to
wave King Richard off on his travels back to London, that Harry’s question
came back to him.
He and the Doctor and Sarah were walking through the autumnal woods
back towards the TARDIS, where it was parked in another leafy glade, a
mile or two away from Locksley Hall. It had been the Doctor’s suggestion
that the three of them slip away quite swiftly, avoiding all the palaver of
protracted goodbyes. Sarah was an old hand at these leave-takings and
understood just what he meant. It was easier this way, quietly nipping off
and leaving fond memories with their fellow adventurers.
The three of them marched happily through the crunchy leaves and the
fragrant, sunny forest, chattering about their recent escapades. Harry was
brought up to date with his friends’ gallivanting in Austria as they tried to
find King Richard, and Harry in turn described just how well he felt he
fitted in as one of the Merrie Men. Then he asked the Doctor the question
that had been niggling at him all morning.
‘They’ll all be happy now, won’t they, Doctor? All our friends will be
safe and well for the rest of their lives?’
The Doctor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pausing to wind his
scarf round his neck and stare up into the glimmering sunlight through the
trees. ‘Well, it’s rather hard to say, Harry. You see, the stories go on. They
go on and on. Robin and his friends all keep on having adventures. There’s
really no such thing as a peaceful, happy ending. Not for some of us! Not
for legends!’ He laughed delightedly at his own nonsense.
Harry was thinking aloud. ‘But the good king is on the throne now, so
things get better for everyone, don’t they?’
The Doctor smiled wistfully. ‘It’s never as easy as that, Harry. King
Richard turns out to be rather foolish, actually. He bleeds the populace of
money even more than his silly brother did, so intent is he on going to war
in France and winning back the lands he believes are his. He comes to a
rather sticky end. But that’s an adventure for another day, I feel.’
They tramped on through the multicoloured leaves. ‘The adventures and
the stories really are endless, aren’t they?’ Sarah said.
‘Oh yes,’ the Doctor assured her. ‘Luckily, they go on forever.’
‘I can’t believe King Richard lets his people down,’ Harry said.
‘Well, would you believe King John comes back? And though he’s
generally hopeless as a monarch, he does end up signing the Magna Carta.
That’s the document that protects the legal rights of every citizen in this
country. It gives everyone the right to a fair trial when they’re accused of a
crime. No more being shot at or hanged for anything the local sheriff
decides you’re guilty of! So, you see, some good even comes out of bad
King John. And history as we know it is back on track.’
Harry was still thinking about Robin – and especially Marian – as the
blue shape of the TARDIS came into view between the trees. ‘And how
does their story finish, Doctor? Do Robin and Marian stay happy to the
end?’
‘Ah.’ The Doctor sighed. ‘Parts of that tale are very tragic indeed. Parts
of it are quite exciting. But mostly it’s a very sad story.’ Then he brightened
up. ‘Though it does involve deadly pirates and killer nuns, as I recall!’
Sarah stared at him levelly. ‘Don’t tell me that you’ve been there? That
you’ve already been a part of their future story?’
He laughed at her vexed expression. ‘No, I haven’t! Not yet! Unless I’ve
forgotten about it!’
Then, as he turned to urge them towards the TARDIS, the air was filled
with noisy birdsong.
‘Doctor!’ Sarah gasped.
On a branch directly before them – staring with bronze-coloured eyes –
there was a rook.
‘You survived,’ said the Doctor simply.
‘Of course,’ said Mother Maudlin. ‘I’ll be here for all time, along with
the rest of us from the Dark Dimension. We’re here on Earth, each of us
hidden away throughout history, doing our best to drag these people with us
into hell. You’ll never get rid of us that easily.’
Sarah shrank away from that voice, hating the sound of it.
 ‘I heard you discussing the future,’ the witch cawed mockingly. ‘The
future history of the monarchy and the future legends of your heroic friends.
Yes, it’s all very interesting, knowing the stories of what’s to come, isn’t it?’
The Doctor said, in a wintry tone of voice, ‘I find it so, yes.’
‘But nothing is set in stone, of course,’ said the rook, cocking her head on
one side. ‘The world can be rewritten by one who sets her mind to it.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor.
‘And what of your futures?’ The witch snickered. ‘What if I set my mind
to uncovering what awaits you …?’
All at once that weird purple glow seemed to ripple through the air
around her.
‘I shouldn’t bother if I were you,’ the Doctor said. ‘When it comes to
myself, I prefer surprises, on the whole.’
The rook croaked with laughter as she stared with golden eyes into the
future. And then her laughter stopped abruptly. ‘Oh! It’s horrible! The
things – the awful things – you will see! The horrors that you will have to
face!’
Sarah and Harry drew closer to the Doctor as Maudlin’s hideous words
came to them.
‘Oh!’ She sounded strangely sympathetic. ‘Oh, you poor things.’
The Doctor was glaring at her very calmly. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself
by feeling pity for us. We don’t want to know what the future will bring.
Look at the dangers we have already faced in our lives! Look at the
wonderful adventures we’ve had. The future really doesn’t scare us, you
know. We’ll face it quite happily on our own terms, thank you. We don’t
need your magic today, or any other day. Now begone, Mother Maudlin.’ A
much darker note crept into the Doctor’s tone. ‘Unless you really want to
see what I can do.’
Mother Maudlin flapped her ebony wings and prepared to take flight.
‘One part of my magic you must feel,’ she said in an oily tone. ‘With
your meddling you have stolen vital sustenance from me, and I must
nourish myself still. To that end, I will steal from you your memories of me,
and of Sherwood Forest, and of Robin Hood and his Merrie Men.’
‘What?’ gasped the Doctor.
‘I say!’ said Harry, staggering slightly as the witch’s influence reached
out to them.
 ‘No!’ Sarah cried, feeling that eldritch power in her head once more
gently starting to erase her memories of recent days. ‘Doctor! Stop her!’
But the power emanating from the witch was too great. She was laughing
now and beating her wings. The leafy ground seemed to be spinning around
and the light dappling down through the branches above flashed and burst
inside their minds.
‘You can’t steal from us,’ said the Doctor with a gasp.
‘Oh, but I can,’ said Mother Maudlin, ‘and I have.’ And with that, she
darted off into the sky and was gone.
Birdsong filtered back through the woodland glade. A fresh breeze
fluttered at the fallen leaves.
Harry found himself sitting on the ground, just a few yards away from
Sarah, who was lying down as if she had fainted. He rushed to her side and
helped her up.
‘I’m a-all right,’ she assured him, but the pair of them felt rather dizzy
and peculiar. They looked across at the Doctor, who was standing staring
into the sky through the trees. ‘Doctor? Are you all right?’ Sarah called to
him.
‘What happened?’ Harry gasped, sure as ever that the Doctor would have
all the answers.
The Doctor turned to them and grinned. ‘I’m not at all sure! I feel like we
missed something. I feel rather like we’ve turned over far too many pages at
once. Or that I’ve forgotten something rather important.’
‘Yes!’ Sarah said. ‘That’s just how I feel, too.’
Harry didn’t like the sound of this at all. ‘So, what do we do?
Investigate? Find out what’s going on in this place – wherever we are?’
The Doctor looked thoughtful. His bright blue eyes seemed for a second
rather haunted. ‘Hmm,’ he mused. ‘I rather think it’s time we moved on
from here. Isn’t the Brigadier waiting for us to turn up and rescue him?’
They all laughed at this and turned back to the TARDIS. Neither Harry
nor Sarah was that fussed about abandoning these eerie autumnal woods.
They didn’t mind leaving this place unexplored.
It was time to climb back inside that old police box and go spinning off
into further, wonderful new adventures.

THE END
 Acknowledgements

With thanks to: Jeremy, Steve, Jac, Jamie, Stephen, Antoni, Katy, Stuart,
Rylan, Johnny, David, Mark, Jo, Johnstone and Tom Baker.
And thanks also to my agent, Piers, my editors, Tom and Pippa, and all at
Puffin, and Gabby De Matteis, Chris Chibnall and everyone at BBC
Studios.
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First published 2022

Written by Paul Magrs
Copyright © BBC, 2022
BBC, DOCTOR WHO and TARDIS (word marks and logos) are trade marks of the British
Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence. BBC logo © BBC 1996.
DOCTOR WHO logo and WHO insignia © BBC 2018.
The moral right of the author, illustrator and copyright holders has been asserted
Cover illustration by Angelo Rinaldi
ISBN: 978-1-405-95231-6
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