It was getting late in the afternoon by the time Joan arrived at the gates city of Larchester. Just as the village of Tresham was dwarfed by the town of Elmstead, so too did the great city of Larchester vastly eclipse the township. A fortified stone wall surrounded the city, which was densely packed with many houses, shops and avenues among which several thousand Linstermen made their homes and lived their lives. Joan’s arrival had been expected, and her party was met at the gates by the Bishop’s own heralds, who then escorted them to the Bishop’s residence.

The whole skyline of the city was dominated by just two structures. One was the castle, a square block of towers and battlements sitting on a natural rise and surrounded by fortified walls which enveloped the keep and grounds. The other and greater of the two was the cathedral, which was situated nearby and was itself easily twice as large as the castle keep, its size further magnified by its close proximity to the castle. Everything else in the city was dwarfed in the shadow of these architectural titans, and indeed among the winding streets of shops and houses there was hardly a place to be found where the castle’s stoic battlements or the cathedral’s glimmering spires were not visible.

Joan’s party made their way through rambling streets lined with shambling half timbered buildings which closed around her like a wild forest, each successive story piled on top of another and spilling over the heads the heads of passersby like a tunnel of boughs. At length they reached a broad avenue created by the curtain wall of the castle on one side and the cathedral grounds on the other.

The Bishop’s palace was a well built stone edifice located midway between the cathedral and Larchester Castle, though perhaps slightly more near the castle. It was by far the grandest house Joan had ever seen, and as she was led through its halls she found herself marveling at all the beauty which now surrounded her. Everywhere there were doors, lintels and trusses carved with elaborate relief and painted in bright colors while brilliant tapestries covered many of the walls, and even some of the windows were filled with glittering glass. Here was a place where artistry thrived and flourished beneath the serene and immutable majesty of the pulpit, a garden of craftsmanship carefully tended and watered by indulgent patrons.

Joan had been met at the door by a canon dressed in black priestly robes, who bade the heralds remain and that Joan follow him to the Bishop’s chambers. The priest escorted her through the many elegant passages of the palace to a lavishly appointed room which seemed to be some sort of antechamber for persons awaiting their turn for an audience. Joan was given a seat on a finely carved bench, and then the canon departed to inform the Bishop of her arrival.

For a while Joan had naught to do but wait tensely where she sat. All around the room there was much of beauty and interest to look at, but Joan’s attention remained fixed on the fortified wooden door on the opposite side of the room, beyond which she could only assume the Bishop would be awaiting her. Her anticipation was at last broken when with a great clack and creak the heavy wooden door opened, and another canon emerged.

“Joan Greyflower. His Lordship the Bishop of Larchester will see you now.”

Joan arose, trying hard not to tremble as she did so. Steeling herself, she followed the canon through the door.

Before her now was a room which appeared to be the Bishop’s principal place of business. By the look of things, the Bishop was a busy man. Everywhere were various articles of administration, most prominent of all being a great table piled high with parchments and managerial bricabrac, with a few neglected looking plates containing portions of a half eaten meal sitting to one side of it. Directly behind this table was a high backed chair with a vaulted canopy draped with costly silks and affixed with a colorful badge bearing the motto Pax et Ordo. And beneath this sat the Bishop himself.

Robert Graves, the fifty-third Bishop of Larchester, was a stouish sort of man of medium height dressed in a dark purple gown with a mantle and high collar trimmed with white ermine. A large golden cross rested on his breast, and on his head was a squarish cap of black velvet which sat low around his head almost like a helmet. His features were rounded and placid, and there was an inquisitive, almost contemplative sort of look in eyes as he regarded Joan. The Bishop dismissed the canon with a gesture, who departed and closed the door behind him.

The Bishop leaned back in his chair, cradling his fingers together thoughtfully.

“So you are the one Wickhowe sent as his representative.”

“I come in the name of Robin Goodfellow.”

“Who comes in the name of the Earl of Wickhowe, it would seem. Joan Greyflower, is that not your name?”

“It is, my lord.”

“And I am given to understand that you belong to my estate.”

“I am midwife to the village of Tresham, and I was educated at the Abbey of St. Etheltrude in accordance with the law regarding persons of cunning.”

At this the Bishop’s expression appeared to brighten a bit.

“St. Etheltrude’s you say? A fine place. The late abbott was a good friend of mine. You ought to have received excellent instruction there.”

“Thank you my lord. I’m sure the monks did their very best.”

The Bishop remained silent for another moment before speaking again.

“Tell me then, Joan Greyflower. What do you want from me? I have received and read all of Wickhowe’s many missives. What then do you have to say to me that has not already been said?”

Joan hesitated. She had been thoroughly coached by Wickhowe on precisely what to say, and had been rehearsing it in her mind ever since. But the Bishop’s wording had caught her off-guard, and for a moment she felt at a loss to respond. She thought fast. The Bishop would likely have no interest in hearing words which were the invention of Wickhowe. She could only speak for herself now.

“If you please, my lord, you can’t know how desperately we need you on our side. This land will swiftly fall and remain forever enslaved to Gurth if we do not fight now, and without your aid all will surely be lost! You must help us if we are to have any hope of resisting both Gurth and the king!”

“And pray, on what justification should I so repudiate the king’s lawful and God-given authority?”

Joan suddenly had a sense that she was back in her days at the abbey, being quizzed on some obscure mechanic of philosophy. This was a different kind of diplomacy to that which she had been engaged when dealing with the peasants, and her mind raced as she sought to adapt her strategy accordingly, attempting to cast her mind back to a past version of herself which she had long since forgotten.

“I justify my plea on the higher authority which is incumbent upon all who strive to embrace justice.”

“Authority comes from the practical necessities of human existence, which is why God has gifted it to us. It is subordination to lawful authority which brings order out of chaos, and distinguishes men from simple beasts.”

“But when that lawful authority becomes itself unlawful, it must be repudiated.”

“Then you define for yourself what is good and what is evil, what is lawful and what is unlawful? If such were the way of the world, there would be naught but anarchy. By submitting to the legitimate institutions established by God, we gain the blessings of law so that there may be both order and justice. The path which you are presently following may come veiled with the laurels of virtue, but it shall bear only the fruits of evil.”

“But is not Gurth the very fruit of evil? How can you say that those who now oppose him are the ones which have begotten evil?”

“And what makes you believe that Wickhowe is at all preoccupied with opposing Gurth, or cares at all about his excesses? You do not know the kind of men you are dealing with, and you do not know the Earl of Wickhowe. I do. Now this man Goodfellow, I know nothing of him. I am told he is an alien, but I know nothing else of him, save that he has caused all manner of disruption and discord, provoking the people to lawlessness and undermining the King’s authority during this time of crisis. You may say that the deeds of this adventurer are good, but I for one have not seen this.”

“But his deeds are good, my lord! He has driven Gurth from his strongholds and fed the people and freed them from slavery!”

“So it is said. Yet elsewhere there are those who have robbed and murdered in the name of Robin Goodfellow, and all the while Gurth has been driven to ever greater extremes. Previously the king had a chance to assuage Gurth and bring some relief to the people, but under Goodfellow’s provocation Gurth has been emboldened, and the king cannot at present resist his demands.”

“Gurth would have made those demands nonetheless. Eventually the king would have succumbed, whether Robin Goodfellow had come or not.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But it is not your station to make that determination.”

“It must be my station. We, the common folk, are Gurth’s prey. While the king sees to his own security, it is we who starve and we who are enslaved! Have you no pity in your heart for our state?”

“You misjudge me, woman. I pray daily for the deliverance of my people, and it is my most fervent wish that their penance shall soon come to an end.”

“That end comes now, my lord, if only you would do something to bring it about.”

“I assure you, I do what I can. I am aware that the people of my own estates are suffering. But there is much which I must attend to, and there are many duties which are incumbent upon me which go beyond the situation of any one man or one village. The people brought this curse on themselves, and there is only so much I can do to help them at any one time.”

“But this is one time where you can do a single deed which will help them more than any other.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. You assume that by my acceding to your wishes you shall be assured the outcome you desire. That may not be the case, and it would be a grave sin for me to embark on so lawless and cancerous a venture with so little assurance of success.”

“But my lord! The risks may be great, but we cannot forsake this chance for freedom!”

“What is chance but the idolatry of the reckless?”

“What is order, my lord, if not the idolatry of the complacent?”

“What is action, if not the idolatry of the covetous?”

“I do believe you are enjoying this, my lord.”

The bishop chuckled.

“I see you have caught me out then. I am a very simple man really. My sole pleasure is argument. As a young student debate was the only hobby I could afford, and today it is the only luxury I have left, one even for which I can rarely spare the time. I indulge my fancy when I can while reaping the wisdom which it bequeaths. I have truly enjoyed our conversation, I found it most enlightening. However, I do regret that the matter has already been decided. I must now do what is commanded of me.”

The Bishop leaned forward, and picked up a small bell out from under a haphazard pile of papers, which tinkled almost absurdly as he gave it a brisk ring.

Behind her, Joan heard the door open again, accompanied by a particular sort of clicking and clattering noise which had become very familiar to Joan in recent days. She whirled around to see four armored men at arms file into the room, dressed in the livery of William of Bradlaw, the King.

The Bishop now addressed the soldiers.

“In obedience to the King’s command, I am placing Joan Greyflower under arrest. Escort this woman to the keep.”

There were not of course any dungeons beneath Larchester Castle. Cellars yes, but dungeons there were not. The city had its own gaols for confining common criminals. But within the upper stories of the keep there were a few secure apartments with which to house political prisoners, who in turbulent times might indeed be hostages of exalted position. Thus it was that upon being taken from the Bishop’s palace Joan was marched only a short distance to the castle, where she was imprisoned in the keep in relative luxury. The fact that her surroundings were not particularly unpleasant were of small comfort to her though, for in the moment of her arrest Joan’s spirits had sunk into an abyss of dismay and hopelessness.

Joan was hardly alone in her chagrin, though. The heralds which had accompanied her were sent away, and news of her arrest had reached Elmstead by evening. Shock and consternation then swept through the army of Robin Goodfellow. By morning, the great hall of Elmstead was surrounded by an angry mob, as the soldier-peasants shouted and wailed their demands for revenge. Their lethargy of previous days had evaporated in their fury at Joan’s capture, and they were now possessed of a wild recklessness. Calls were made to storm the city immediately, curses were hurled against the king and the Bishop, and some even cursed the name of Robin Goodfellow himself.

But Hae-jin was not present at the hall. Instead, he was in the camp of the nobles, where Robin Greyflower was embroiled in a stew of only a slightly different flavor. Word had arrived that the King’s army had now entered the city of Larchester and joined with the forces of the Bishop, and the nobles were hardly in any less of an uproar than were the peasants. There was even whispered speculation among some as to whether it was yet too late to change sides and perhaps secure the King’s pardon.

A general conference of the nobles and captains of Robin Goodfellow’s army had been called in the largest tent of the nobles’ camp. Virtually everyone of importance was there; the earls, the Wogs, Rob Sykes, Ursilda. Only one individual was missing, for yet again at a critical moment the Bird was absent. No one had seen the avian all day, and in the grip of their present desperation Hae-jin felt a forlorn sense of hopelessness welling up in him as he reflected bitterly on the faithlessness of the Bird.

“Bloody disgraceful, I call it!”, Swinstoke complained, “Damned shifty of the Bishop to have strung us along this far. I say it’s time we got in there and thrashed the lot of ‘em!”

“For once I agree with His Nibs here,” chimed in Alwog, “We’ve danced around with these blighters for long enough. It’s time we stomped on their toes!”

“We’re outnumbered two to one, Wog,” Ursilda growled, “not even I can sway those odds for you.”

Suddenly there was a disturbance from the entrance of the tent, and in a moment the crowd gave way as Will Little pushed his way through them towards where Hae-jin stood.

“Master Goodfellow! The King’s heralds arrived from Larchester a few moments ago. Mortimer met them at the gate, and he sent me to bring you this.”

Here Little produced a scroll, which he handed to Hae-jin. Hae-jin read its contents gravely, and then handed it to Wickhowe, and a shadow fell upon the earl’s countenance as he likewise read it.

“Well?” Swinstoke exploded, “what in blazes does it say!”

“The King has received the Bishop of Larchester’s pledge of loyalty and has joined forces with him.”

“Damn it, Wickhowe, we already knew that!”

“Furthermore, the King commands that those who have allied themselves with Robin Goodfellow shall renounce their past treason and disperse immediately.”

“That’s nothing new either.”

Here another voice called out from somewhere towards the rear of the assembly. “Does the king say anything about a pardon?”

Wickhowe hesitated for a moment before replying.

“Yes. The King’s letter does state that anyone who joins forces with him and renews their oaths of loyalty shall receive a pardon. However, I would like to point out that the details are rather vague on any further specifics.”

Swinstoke snorted.

“I’ll bet they’re vague! Bradlaw is as slippery as the Bishop. As damnable a pair of eels as ever wriggled. I shouldn’t wonder that they’d string us up moment we set foot in the city, just like they did with the woman.”

“Indeed”, Wickhowe concurred, “I have grave misgivings about the veracity of the King’s offer. We cannot rely on him to deal fairly with any of us. We all know him, we have all known his duplicity. This is what has forged us together in the first place. Shall we abandon everything merely for the sake of another of Bradlaw’s lies?”

An aggrieved murmur of accord swept through the crowd. Suddenly, from about the level of everyone’s hips the sonorous voice of Ursilda again barked through the voices.

“And what about the woman? Does the letter say anything about her?”

Hae-jin exchanged a look with Wickhowe, and then took back the scroll and read from it aloud.

“His Majesty further commands that the outlaw and renegade called Robin Goodfellow shall immediately be handed over for judgement. Otherwise, the woman Joan Greyflower shall be punished for her treason in his stead.”

“You musn’t accept”, Wikchowe insisted, “Without Robin Goodfellow, everything will fall apart in an instant. The peasants will surely mutiny, and they may even turn on us.”

“But what about Joan!” blurted one of the Wogs.

“I doubt the King will be quick to act on his threats. The woman is far too valuable a hostage…”

“How can you be sure about that?”

“...besides, if he harms the woman then he risks inflaming the peasants even further. Perhaps even the citizens of Larchester could revolt.”

Swinstoke scoffed. “Wishful thinking, Wickhowe. The woman’s as good as hung. If we catch these eels off-guard we may yet have a chance. We should attack now while the King still thinks he has a chance at dividing us. Otherwise we might as well all go home and wait for the King to come and behead us.”

Wickhowe turned to Hae-jin.

“I implore you, Greyflower. The situation is not yet lost. We may have to forsake the maid Joan for now, but there are still yet other paths to victory for us. We could withdraw from Elmstead for the present and fall back to our own respective fortresses. From there we can marshall again and prepare for an extended war against the King and his allies, harrying his minions elsewhere in the country and laying siege to their strongholds.”

Hae-jin felt a sense of numbness. Outnumbered as they were and with their adversaries fortified behind the walls of Larchester, the outlook of a direct confrontation looked grim indeed. Yet, to fall back now was little better. Wickhowe’s optimism notwithstanding, to flee Elmstead and take shelter among the castles of the nobles was to forsake everything which Robin Goodfellow had already achieved. The common folk would surely disperse once it appeared that Robin Goodfellow had given up, and it would then be only a matter of time before the King had besieged and subdued each earl in turn. And then there was Joan. Hae-jin felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and loss, as if everything he had suffered before he had brought again upon himself and those he had grown to love.

Hae-jin pulled himself together. Before all else, he was still a soldier. He turned to the faces looking expectantly at him, and addressed the assembly.

“I must take time to consider the matter. We shall reconvene in the evening, at which time we shall revise our strategy and formulate our response to the King.”

It was a short while later that Hae-jin, Ursilda, the Wogs and Sykes were trudging their way through the streets of Elmstead, headed by circuitous routes towards Hae-jin’s residence so as to avoid the crowds. It had already been announced that Robin Goodfellow would address the army in the evening (at which time Hae-jin hoped he would already have some kind of a plan in hand), but nonetheless it was better that they didn’t attract much attention. The lot of them were in a sorry mood. None spoke and few dared even look at Hae-jin. At length they came to their destination.

And there, hopping about agitatedly on the threshold, was the Bird.

“Hae-jin! Thank goodness you’re here!”

Hae-jin felt a wave of wrath sweep over him.

“Of course I’m here, I haven’t left the town all day. Where in blazes have you been?”

“Here and there. Hae-jin, I must speak to you in private, it is of the utmost importance!”

“Then speak. You can start by explaining yourself and accounting for your absence again.”

“No, I must speak to you in private!”

“Fine! Have it your way, then.”

The others remained outside as Hae-jin and the Bird stepped inside the house and closed the door behind them. From within, they could hear what sounded like a heated argument in progress. Bit by bit they began drifting about and settling as comfortably as possible here and there as Hae-jin remained closeted with the Bird. On and on the argument between man and Bird raged as their fellows waited under the baleful rays of the afternoon sun.

Finally, after well over an hour the door of the house opened and Hae-jin emerged.

“Well?”, demanded the Bear, “Now that we’ve all spent half the day loafing out here, can you kindly tell us what all that was about?”

There was a peculiar sort of look on Hae-jin’s face as he spoke.

“The Bird and I have had a long talk. I have come to a decision.”

“A decision?”

“Yes. I have looked at our options and assessed our situation, and I have concluded that there is no other viable course of action available to me that would not inevitably bring ruin to our mission and needlessly endanger my friends.”

“And?”

Hae-jin took a deep breath, and look outwards into the streets of Elmstead. The sunlight was glinting off the tiled roofs of the houses and bathing the otherwise dingy alleys with a soft golden glow. The air seemed to be filled with a kind of tranquility now, rather like the sense of peace that one gets when coming to the end of a long and arduous journey. Soon, very soon, it would all be over, one way or another. Whatever the outcome, Hae-jin could only hope that he will have somehow managed to do something good along the way.

“Hae-jin?”

Hae-jin recollected himself, and returned his attention to his comrades. It was time they were told.

“I am going to surrender to the King.”