The air was rent by trumpet blasts as the army of the earls approached the gates of Elmstead. Three thousand, nine hundred and some odd men at arms were halted as the gates of the tiny township opened wide before them.

Hae-jin sat on horseback beside Sykes, Joan and his other chiefs, along with a detachment of his best fighting men (and fighting Wogs and Bear), all arrayed in the finest armor and accoutrements they could manage to assemble. Beside him Will Little carried the banner of Robin Goodfellow, while above the gate the glittering Bird was perched in the splendor of the setting sun, doing his best to look impressive as Robin Goodfellow and his captains waited to receive the army of the earls.

Trailing along the road before them was long column of soldiers attended by an even longer baggage train. Archers, halberdiers and armored horse were arrayed in polished plate which glowed like amber beneath the golden light of the sunset as above them a sea of banners and pennants in all manner of colors drifted in the breeze. At the head of this multitude were the nobles themselves; fifty or more men on horseback and their attendants, all lavishly attired in fine silks and brocades. Earls, counts, baronets and knights, all assembled before gates of Elmstead opposite the ragtag band of Robin Goodfellow.

Three men now detached themselves from the head of the column as Hae-jin in turn rode out to them at a walk. Midway between the two sides the three earls at last met with Robin Goodfellow.

The Earl of Wickhowe was a man about Hae-jin’s own age, with streaks of grey intruded upon a neatly groomed beard of otherwise youthful hue. He wore a great cloak over one shoulder, lavishly embroidered and lined with square sections of grey and white squirrel’s fur, beneath which he wore a tunic of brilliant silk which was covered with still more embroidery. A great golden chain set with pearls and dark sapphires crowned his shoulders, and on his head was a round, turban like hat with a long trailing tail which was draped around his shoulders, and on his fingers were many jeweled rings. His features were finely chiseled and craggy, weathered beyond their years by the storms and winds of responsibility and machination. And his eyes were like steel daggers, bright, sharp and lethal within a sheath of civility and decorum.

To either side of Wickhowe were the earls of Swinstoke and Donnock. Swinstoke was a large man who sagged and drooped in every direction, with a great puffy beard which could hardly conceal the wattle of skin which hung beneath his chin like that of an aging cockerel. His clothes were of comparable finery to that of his fellows, but they were slightly over large, as if the man’s girth had shrunk a bit since he had last seen a tailor. He was in every way a picture of wealth and plenty which had been slowly sapped of its bounty and vigor. Yet there was yet a bright gleam in his eyes, like that of an old dog which still had a spark somewhere inside its hide, wanting only the right opportunity to leap to its feet and chase something.

The Earl of Donnock was something of a surprise. He was quite a young man, hardly more than a boy. Sitting on his horse beside his wizened peers and dressed in matching finery he carried himself with an uncertain air of distinction, as one who is only recently accustomed to authority and status, and though his limbs looked strong his frame was spare and seemingly fragile. His features were smooth and set with an aristocratic air of dignity, while his wide eyes betrayed inexperience as they drank in the scene before them.

The Earl of Wickhowe regarded Hae-jin critically for a moment, and then spoke.

“So you are Robin Goodfellow. Some have said you are a foreigner, and that much I see is obvious. But I would hardly call you a demon or a sprite, as the more colorful rumors would have you. Goodfellow the man you are, but Goodfellow the elf I think not. Pray sir, what is the true identity of the man who has named himself after Puck?”

Hae-jin shrugged.

“In an age past I was called Moon Hae-jin, but that name has died along with the life which perished before it. The people call me Robin Goodfellow, but I have now no proper name of my own, unless it is Nemesis.”

An amused smile played across Wickhowe’s lips.

“Boldly spoken, Nemesis. But you contend now with the named, not the nameless. To the peasants you are Robin Goodfellow, but to me you are yet an enigma. I deal with men, not mysteries.”

Hae-jin hesitated a moment.

“Then know me now as Robin Greyflower.”

Wickhowe nodded.

“Very well, Robin Greyflower. We are well met at last.”

It had been agreed that the three earls would represent their fellows in their negotiations with Robin Goodfellow, and as such the earls of Wickhowe, Swinstoke and Donnock entered the town in the company of Robin Greyflower and made their way to the to the town hall. Here they met privately with Hae-jin, and discussed the details of their arrangement in depth. They did not emerge until after the sun had long since set, but their discussion had produced a concordance. And thus it was that Robin Greyflower and the earls pledged their allegiance to one another on the steps of Elmstead hall, and the army of Robin Goodfellow joined forces with that of the nobles to rid the land of Linster from all tyranny.

Of course, there remained much yet to be discussed and determined. Having banded together and unified their forces with the rebels, the nobles now needed to put their grand scheme into motion, while the army of Robin Goodfellow in turn needed to be reorganized and adapt to the profound improvement of their fortunes. The town of Elmstead was far too tiny an affair to accommodate such a host, and the army of the nobles instead remained encamped before the gates of the town. By nightfall Elmstead had virtually tripled in size as a great tent city blossomed beside it, from the brilliant pavilions of the knights and lords with their great pennants curling in the breeze to the scant shelter of an archer’s lean-to, creating virtual streets between them as men bustled to and fro among a forest of canvas dwellings.

As Hae-jin made his way through the camp, its military atmosphere carried with it a unique kind of familiarity to him. The men at arms made way for him as he passed, while the varlets bowed and proffered their service. As Robin Goodfellow Hae-jin may have been a folk hero, but as Robin Greyflower Hae-jin was again a truly captain, with status and authority which were commensurate to his responsibility and rank. Here were all the things which came with a proper military command, and Hae-jin felt almost at home.

Accompanying him was Sykes, who came as his squire. The Earl of Wickhowe had invited Robin Greyflower to dine with the nobles in their camp that evening, and the invitation had been addressed to Hae-jin personally, not his comrades. However, Hae-jin had felt it would reflect poorly on the credibility of Robin Greyflower if he were to appear before the nobles without a personal attendant of his own. More importantly, Hae-jin was anxious to have his chief lieutenant at his side at all times. Sykes was perhaps even more at home in the camp than was Hae-jin, being himself a veteran fighting man of Linster, and there even proved to be more than one person they met along the way whom he recognized from his previous career. Hae-jin knew that Sykes’s insight was invaluable in this regard, and later on he intended to confer with him at length on their mutual experiences that evening among the nobles and their troops.

The nobles had assembled in a great pavilion, hung with their many banners and appointed more finely than anything which could have been found in the town. Two long tables were placed inside with seats for about fifty or so high ranking nobles. Wickhowe himself sat at the head of one of these, with Hae-jin at his right and the earls of Swinstoke and Donnock on his left. Squires waited on their respective masters while Minstrels and a few of the more talented squires entertained the nobles as they dined in the light of many lanterns which filled the space with a warm red-orange glow.

The food was different from the sort of thing Hae-jin had been accustomed to in Zhongyang, and the manners and deportment of the nobles had their own flair of the exotic in Hae-jin’s eyes. Yet, like the camp itself there was an air of familiarity to it all. In Zhongyang, Hae-jin had spent a career in the company of captains and courtiers, and here among the warrior elite of Linster he was perhaps more at home than he would ever had been had he instead lived out the remainder of his days in hiding among Zhongish peasants. Here with the earls and barons Hae-jin was playing a game that he knew well, and he conversed easily with them.

Through the course of various conversations, Hae-jin learned more of the nature of the nobles’ insurrection. Some of it he and his fellows had already guessed at, but hearing the details from the peers themselves was another matter. Each of the nobles it seemed had his own idea of how it all had come together. But it was clear that Wickhowe had been at the center of it all. He was more than simply their chief. It was he who had really begun the whole thing in the first place, seeking out and uniting the nobles in their various grievances and directing their wrath against the king. Second only to Wickhowe were the earls of Swinstoke and Donnock, who had been among the first whom Wickhowe had approached to join his conspiracy. Now Hae-jin sat at the head of the table with Wickhowe himself and the men whom Wickhowe had sought out to be the pillars of his rebellion.

The Earl of Swinstoke proved to be among the more gregarious of Hae-jin’s fellow diners, his earlier appearance of lethargy vanishing before the presentation of rich victuals. The earl spoke in loud and animated tones as he cheerfully aired his grievances while digging into the banquet with relish.

“Damn near impossible to find a good roast these days. The animals are all thin and stringy. Even during the war the beef was better, and the pork...don’t let me start on the pork. Back in those days there was still plenty of wild boar around, and there was fine hunting to be had. Now there’s hardly a sniff of boar, deer, or even rabbits for that matter. Can hardly find a good, plump rabbit these days! Labour isn’t any better. If the peasant’s go and bed with swine then it’s their own fault if they get themselves accursed for it. But now they’ve gone and ruined the whole bloody country in the process! We’re all stuck with their bloody curse. A good worker is as hard to come by as good beef anymore. Those that don’t die off get hauled off to Gurth’s slave pens instead, and I’m nearly made a pauper from having to buy them back from that cursed devil. And the taxes! By my faith, the taxes! They were high enough during the war, but I don’t mind paying for a war, so long as it’s won. But we didn’t win, you know. Once the curse was upon us people lost the will to fight, the Tollards thrashed us thoroughly, and now we pay them tribute. Now the taxes are higher than ever. And the king? Bah! Don’t let me start on the king. He’s half the man his uncle was, and twice as greedy. He won’t oppose the Tollards, and he won’t oppose Gurth. But he’ll oppose us. Oh yes, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Gurth happy and keep his own purse full. Our workers go to Gurth, our treasure goes to the Tollards, and the king keeps whatever is left. If the peasants brought this curse on us, then it’s the king who’s kept us from casting it off. Hoy, Squire! My cup is empty again.”

Hae-jin pursed his lips as he cocked an eyebrow at the earl.

“I wonder who you loathe more, Gurth or the king.”

Swinstoke paused as he raised his newly refilled cup to his lips, and fixed a beady eye on Hae-jin.

“I am against Gurth. If the King is with Gurth, then I am against the both of ‘em! Damn, the wine around here isn’t what it used to be.”

Swinstoke took a deep draft of his beverage nonetheless, and Hae-jin took the fleeting respite from the earl’s loquacity to shift the conversation elsewhere.

The young earl of Donnock had remained silent as Swinstoke dominated the conversation, appearing to listen attentively all while discreetly observing Hae-jin across the table. Hae-jin now looked the young man in the eye and addressed him.

“And what say you, my lord? Is your enmity greater for the king, or for Gurth?”

A flicker of emotion passed over the boy’s face for a moment before it was buried beneath a quickly assumed air of hauteur.

“My father, the previous Earl of Donnock, was taken by sickness just a year ago, brought on by the curse of Gurth. With him was taken also my mother, who succumbed to the same ailment.”

The earl gestured towards a jeweled brooch pinned on his shoulder, a simple gold ring to which a cluster of oak leaves had been affixed.

“I have taken a vow that I shall not rest until Gurth is driven from this land and his pestilence purged from my country and its people. Only then shall I forsake this badge and account my family avenged.”

“A worthy vow indeed, my lord”, replied Hae-jin, “ But what of the king?”

The young earl’s eyes flicked irresolutely for a moment toward the other two other earls before returning his gaze to Hae-jin.

“I have taken a vow to vanquish Gurth at all cost. If my loyalty to the king is the price for fulfilling that vow, then so be it.”

Throughout the conversation, the Earl of Wickhowe had been sitting regally at the head of the table, presiding serenely over his guests like an indulgent monarch in his own right. Now at last he spoke.

“Gurth is, of course, a deplorable individual, whose cancerous influence has caused incalculable misery. But for our enterprise to be successful we cannot content ourselves with merely expunging Gurth and neglecting the greater problem.”

“And what is the greater problem, my lord?”

The earl took a sip of wine from his cup before setting it down again and speaking.

“In the words of St. Etheltrude of Hempt, ‘there is no piety so pure that it does not exalt the poor’. The common folk of Linster have suffered greatly for over a decade, suffering and hardship which has been the result of corruption and greed. Over many long years I have watched as the people in my care have starved and slaved without hope or relief, and I have watched for long enough. I felt that the time had at last come for the peers of Linster to band together for the sake of justice and to rid our kingdom of this pestilence.”

“By that do you mean Gurth?”

“Indeed. But Gurth is merely a symptom of the greater problem. Gurth we could moderate and dispense with as we wished, if it weren’t for those who have given him unfettered license to do entirely as he wills. If we truly wish to free our country we must excise the problem at the root. And unfortunately, the root is presently entwined with the throne. King Simon was a valiant man, but he failed to defeat the Tollards, and in doing so failed our people. His successor is little more than a puppet of our enemies who feeds on their leavings. King William will do anything to please the Tollard louts who fill his coffers, while doing nothing to regulate Gurth and his servants. We need a ruler who will pursue justice with the Tollards and is capable of containing Gurth so that he may be dealt with in due course. If the king will not listen to reason, then he must be made to listen, or else cast aside. Which is why we need men like you, Greyflower. You have captured the hearts of the common folk and set the country ablaze in a way which my brethren and I never could. It was you who lit the spark and gave us an opportunity to take action. With our combined resources we will soon become an irresistible force to at last bring the king to account, for the good of the nation.”

The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly enough, and it was past midnight by the time diners returned to their tents, for there was much do upon the morrow.

Hae-jin and Sykes were making their way through the dark masses of tents back to the town proper. They had not gone far when they were accosted by a squire dressed in blue livery with a white oak leaf embroidered on his left breast.

The squire bowed low and spoke.

“If you please, sire, my lord the Earl of Donnock desires an audience with Robin Greyflower at his pavilion.”

Hae-jin was taken aback by the unexpected invitation. Precisely what the young earl wanted he couldn’t guess, however he saw no reason why he shouldn’t assent.

“Very well. Lead me to his lordship then.”

Donnock’s pavilion was much like those of the other nobles, being very nearly a house made of brightly colored canvas. The young earl welcomed Hae-jin inside, where the finely appointed interior was bathed in the red light of a comfortable fire.

The earl’s squire stepped forward now, carrying a long object wrapped in a velvet cloth, which the earl then took and unfolded to reveal a sword, which he carefully drew from its scabbard and handed to Hae-jin.

“This sword was made for my great uncle, who was renowned for his valor and integrity. It is a weapon befitting a champion of your standing, and I should like you to have it.”

Hae-jin briefly examined the sword in his hands. It was a straight, double edged sword of elegant proportions, with a blade which tapered substantially along its length to terminate in a wicked, awl-like point. Although the leather covered scabbard was richly embossed and fitted with fine metalwork, the sword itself was quite simple, it’s only decoration being an image of an oak tree painted in enamel in a recess of the pommel. Yet the weapon hardly needed adornment to recommend itself. Having handled many swords in his life, both in his homeland and more recently in Linster, Hae-jin could tell that the earl’s gift was a weapon of extraordinary craftsmanship and lethal utility, and was the match any of the finest swords Hae-jin had ever possessed.

Hae-jin looked to the young earl.

“I am truly honored to receive this, my lord.”

“The honor is mine to give. You have distinguished yourself, Robin Greyflower, as a man beyond the ordinary scope of men. Your achievements are extraordinary, and speak of a wisdom which envelops both prudence and compassion in way which is irresistible to the hearts of men. I pray that you shall weather the storm which is before us, and that I may come through it also as your friend.”

Hae-jin then gripped the young earl’s hand.

“Then let it be so, my friend.”

It was some time later that Hae-jin and Sykes were making their way back through the streets of Elmstead. They were walking through a quiet alleyway, and Hae-jin at last had an opportunity to speak privately with his comrade.

“Well, my friend, we’ve had quite an evening. What do you think of our new allies?”

Sykes pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Swinstoke is an old soldier. He was always a bit of a blowhard, but in days gone by he had a reputation for valor and obstinacy in the field which earned him the admiration of many. He’s well respected, but he’s also loud, opinionated, and dauntless. A perfect rabble rouser. No wonder Wickhowe sought him out. Young Donnock, now, that’s that’s another matter. I don’t know much about him personally, but I don’t think he could be more than fifteen, and so far as I know has no particular achievements to boast of. However, the Donnock estate which he has inherited is large and significant, and that in itself ought to make him a very powerful man indeed. As it is, he seems to be impressionable me, a sort that is easily dominated, which Wickhowe seems to have managed to do quite handily up to now.”

“And what of Wickhowe himself?”

Sykes hesitated again for a moment.

“It is inspiring to see a man like the earl use his position to help the common folk. But I suppose I am a cynic. I can’t help feeling that he is in it for himself somehow. Men like Wickhowe don’t do anything unless they think they will profit by it in some way.”

As the pair made their way through the streets, Hae-jin and Sykes continued to talk over the things which had occurred that evening. A stillness hung over the town, broken only by the odd cry of the watch, as the town of two armies slumbered in the night.

Somewhere in the darkened streets, a red headed youth crept furtively through the shadows, headed towards the wall. As he approached the gates he stopped just out of sight around a corner. There for a moment Tom Oates stood, trying to figure out how best to sneak out of the town without being seen by the sentries.

Suddenly, there was a faint cough from behind him.

“Going somewhere, my lad?”

Tom whirled around, a sense of helpless rage welling up inside him, for he was already certain of what he was about to see.

Sure enough, sitting there with his tail swishing idly in the dust and detritus of the street, was the Fox.

The Fox yawned and cocked a wily amber eye at Tom.

“Tut tut, my boy. We’ve been over this before. We can’t possibly have you wandering off to visit your master, not now. Next time, I may just tell Hae-jin all about you. Or better yet, I’ll tell the Bear. I don’t think bears ordinarily eat human whelplings, but then again Ursilda is no ordinary bear, and she might just make an exception in your case. And I would hate to see something like that happen to a useful lad like you. Speaking of which, I have a couple little odd jobs for you. Go to the granary, and wait there for me. And don’t disappoint me again.”

With that, the Fox turned around and vanished, leaving behind only a few stray leaves fluttering on the ground in his wake.

Tom bit his lip with fury, as an intense hatred for the Fox washed over him. Then he sighed and made his way dutifully to the granary. Somehow, he’d figure out a way to outsmart the Fox and reach Gurth. It was only a matter of time.