The Carpenter and the Wood (part 4)
Title: The Carpenter and the Wood (part 4)
Author: tania_sings
Rating: R (one semi-explicit sex scene and some violence. Overall, it's pretty tame.)
Pairings: Luke/Kate, Luke/OMC, Luke/canonical male character so obscure he might as well be an OMC, Kate/OMC, Will/Djaq, Much/Eve
Warnings: Slash and het, violence, character death
Word Count: 30457
Summary: The life and loves of Will and Luke Scarlett over the course of one lifetime.
Author's Notes: I've tried to include a bit of history here, but some reality had to be scrapped for the sake of the story. Just remember it takes place in a world where Maid Marian wears sweaters from Topshop and you should be fine! Please don't run away on account of Kate; I've done my best to work with canon while redeeming poor Joanne's hard work. Thanks to the amazing roh_wyn for her sensational and very speedy beta work. And thanks to everyone who offered advice and suggestions on the help threads. And finally, thanks to ladylovelace for taking on the art challenge. I can't wait to see it. Much obliged!
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18039.html
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18278.html
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18470.html
Chapter 21
Why should a man's mind have been thrown into such close, sad, sensational, inexplicable relations with such a precarious object as his body?
~Thomas Hardy
Luke honestly had no idea how he made it back to York that night. Every step he took felt like ten. Carrying the unconscious thief soon became impossible, so he walked backwards while dragging the other man. He was vaguely worried about the amount of blood on the thief's forehead, too disoriented to realise that it was coming from his own chest wound rather than any injury of the thief's.
His dropped torch, which could have easily meant death, turned out to be his salvation. The townspeople had smelled smoke and seen the sickly orange glow coming from the forest. They were already preparing the firebreaks and gathering buckets of water when Luke stumbled into view and collapsed to the ground.
He awoke in his own bed, a pain down the right side of his chest so bad that he screamed. He felt fingers scrabbling right at the center of the pain and realised they were his own, acting without his accord to rip the ache out of his body. Then he was pinned to the mattress, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't seem to get loose.
Something was inserted into his mouth and he bit down wildly, glad to find purchase on anything. He felt a burst of relief as he tasted liquorice bark and the painkillers flooded his body. Like a baby bird, he opened his mouth for more and chewed and sucked calmly.
"Luke, I'm going to let go of you now. If you try to move, I'm going to have to tie you down and neither one of us wants that. So lie still, all right?"
It took an unbelievable effort not to claw at his chest again, but Luke was able to hold himself still. He heard Ralph sigh with relief.
"Good. Don't try to talk yet, but blink twice for yes, okay."
Luke blinked twice.
"You understand me -- good. Do you know who I am?"
Two blinks.
"Thank Christ. Do you feel all right?"
Luke tried to blink out a reassuring lie, but the tear of pain that escaped him probably reduced its effectiveness. Ralph rubbed the tear away with his thumb.
"Do you feel a bit like you got stabbed in the chest and then stupidly dragged a bloke weighing fourteen stone for three miles? Jesus Luke, what were you thinking?"
He couldn't do this with blinks. He tried his throat; it was scratchy, but working.
"Ralph..."
"Shhh ... I'm sorry. Don't talk."
"Ralph ... please."
The bigger man knew what he wanted; he always did. Careful not to touch Luke's chest, he lay down on the bed beside his lover, fitting their bodies together as best as he could around the injuries.
Luke exhaled; the pain seemed to lessen. "Thanks."
"If it starts to get worse-- "
"I'll tell you. Where's Kate?
"In the kitchen. She's been mixing up treatments for you pretty much nonstop. Not bad at it either; this time yesterday, that cut was swollen to twice that size and leaking pus besides."
Luke shuddered. "Glad I wasn't awake for that. You've been here the whole time?"
"Of course."
Luke wanted to thank him, but a sudden cough reignited the agony of his wound like an axe cutting into a tree trunk. He gasped with the pain and Ralph cursed and leapt away from him, grabbing at a vial on the bedstand. Some sort of bitter liquid cascaded down Luke's throat, and then there was merciful nothingness again.
The next time he awoke, the scene was very different. Ralph was leaning against the door, trying to calm Kate as she gesticulated angrily at the armchair near the bed. The armchair where none other the mayor of York was currently seated.
"He's awake." The mayor spoke to the other two, and they approached with more liquorice bark and water. Once it was clear Luke wasn't going to hurt himself, the mayor asked to be left alone with him. Ralph and Kate's answering snorts of laughter were uncannily similar. The mayor addessed Luke. "Master Scarlett, would you kindly ask your wife and your friend to retire?"
Luke shook his head. Whatever was going on, if Ralph and Kate didn't want to leave he certainly wasn't going to make them.
"You might consider coming back when he's had more than a couple of days away from death's door. A man can't be expected to make a proper choice in his state." Ralph's voice was angrier than Luke had heard it in a long time.
"You might consider not coming back at all." Kate sounded more furious still. "It's a ridiculous suggestion, as if Will would want anything to do with it!"
"I fail to see what's so ridiculous." The mayor was obviously trying to maintain a mild tone. "I think it's the perfect solution."
"The perfect solution!" Kate was contemptuous. "The perfect solution would be to hire more guards for the city. The perfect solution would be a night watch system. The perfect solution would be to DO something about crime in this city so that criminals like the one that attacked my husband-- "
"That's what I'm trying to do!" The mayor had lost his internal battle with his temper. "There's no money in the coffers for more guards; there's no money for anything! The men Lackland's given me are worse than useless too; most of the lieutenants were off in bloody Bath for most of the winter. But if Will agrees, then at least we'll have someone who knows a bit about maintaining the peace."
The shouting was making Luke's head throb. He tried to ask what was going on but the words caught in his throat as he coughed again. Ralph held a cup of water to his lips and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"You don't need to give him an answer now. It isn't right, coming to ask you for something like this while you're on your sickbed. You can't be expected to decide now."
"Decide what?" Luke couldn't imagine what all this was about.
Ralph sighed. "Scarlett ... he wants you to be Sheriff."
Chapter 22
It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.
~Earl Warren
It was strange. After close to two decades of masquerading as his own brother, Luke had never felt like more of a fraud than he did on his first day as Sheriff of York.
He couldn't help but remember Vaisey, tricked out in ermine and jewels, as he lorded his authority in front of the peasants of Locksley. There would be no ermine for Luke. King John had apparently laughed hysterically for twenty minutes before approving the unconventional appointment, but he had also imposed clear conditions. Luke would have no change in rank. He was not to reside in the castle or have any title beyond that of Sheriff. The king had, however, sent a fur cloak as a congratulatory gift. As soon as he saw it, Luke was able to identify the material as squirrel pelts.
He left his squirrel cloak at home the day he was sworn in as Will Scarlett, Sheriff of York. Instead, he wore his best linen shirt, which he'd had to patch himself as Kate was completely refusing to have anything to do with her husband's new job.
"I've seen this turn bad before. You'll become Sheriff because you want to be different, because you want to do good, and then someone will do something to offend you and it'll all go wrong. It's a post that ruins people."
Luke knew he should have taken the fact Kate was speaking to him again as a miracle, but during these speeches of hers, he'd have given anything for quiet.
The truth was, he had no idea why he'd accepted the position. He'd opened his mouth to say no, but yes had come out instead and that seemed to be that. And SOMEONE had to do the job; there was no denying the prior Sheriff had been worse than useless. An ineffectual old man who wheezed when he talked, he had spent the majority of the year taking the waters in Bath for his health, and the criminal element in York had thrived in his absence.
Luke honestly didn't think his first week had gone too badly. Saul Cohen had agreed to act as his scribe, and the young man had quickly mastered the art of leaning over Luke's shoulder so, it looked like he was merely advising on a document rather than reading it in a whisper to the illiterate Sheriff. By dipping into the money intended for the previous Sheriff's rest cures, Luke was able to hire more guards to patrol the streets at night, and a tricky case involving a stray pig that had devoured a farmer's turnip crop was satisfactorily settled when Luke awarded the culprit's bacon and joints to the victim.
But his confidence was shattered when Saul read him the docket for his second week.
It hadn't occurred to Luke he would have to try the case of the thief who'd broken into his home and tried to make off with his daughter's dowry. He was going to stand in judgment of the man who'd almost killed him. And just to make things even more complicated, he was the same man who'd sacrificed his opportunity to escape by binding Luke's wounds.
The charges were housebreaking, attempted robbery, and attempted murder. The defendent entered the courtroom, and Luke's heart nearly stopped.
He hadn't been able to get a good look at the man that night in the wood, but in the well-lit courtroom there was something about his face that revived long buried terrors from the past.
He was about fifteen years younger than Luke, with long, dark hair and heavily-lidded blue eyes. He was tall and well built, to the point where Luke was stunned he'd been able to drag him from the forest. He was certain he'd never laid eyes on the thief before that night in the woods, but there was some uncannily familiar quality about him.
"Name?" Luke wished his voice wasn't shaking quite so much.
"Seth." The defendant met Luke's eyes easily and the defiance in his voice as clear.
"Your full name, please." This was going to be even more difficult than he'd feared.
The defendant shrugged. "I use Annison when I need a last name. You can put that."
Saul's quill scratched across the parchment.
"Seth Annison, are you aware of the charges against you?"
"Of course I am."
"And do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Seth laughed. "What's the point? You know what I did."
Luke knew indeed. "This is a chance for you to try and explain your actions or ask the court for mercy."
Seth seemed to find this hilarious. "The court is going to show me mercy? That'll be a first in my lifetime."
His arrogance served to add insult to injury. Luke felt his temper flaring.
"And what a wasted lifetime that's been!" He remembered the dossier on the defendant that Saul had shared with him that morning. "No profession, no address, no family. When I was your age, I was a father already. I'd learned two trades; I had a home of my own. What do you have to show for yourself?"
Seth's eyes blazed blue fire and he sneered at Luke. "Must have been nice having parents to buy you a pair of apprenticeships! Bet it was sweet having a pretty little woman waiting at home to bear your children! I've never even seen my Dad, and my Mum died before I was five. I've been scrounging on the streets ever since, so learning a trade never quite happened. Nothing you need to concern yourself with; let's get on with the mercy, eh?"
Luke found himself on his feet. His knuckles were white on the bench in front of him. "My parents died young as well, I'll have you know. I watched my own father stabbed to death in front of me. I've had to struggle to survive but I always drew the line at stealing from decent, hard-working people. "
Seth was unmoved. "Really? Did you have Lord Glasson sneaking into your bed the night of your mother's funeral? Did you have the steward beat you with a cane for being disobedient just because you wouldn't suck his Lordship's..." The fight seemed to go out of him all at once and he trailed off. "Can we just get on with this?"
Luke realised every eye in the courtroom was on him. He'd acted unprofessionally and let his emotions get the better of him. He could see the noblemen in the front row smirking; the peasant Sheriff was proving to be just as good a joke as they'd anticipated.
Well... fuck them. Fuck all of this.
"So your defense for breaking into the home where my family was sleeping, stealing my daughter's dowry money and nearly killing me was that no one ever gave you a chance to do anything else?"
Seth exhaled hard. "I guess it is."
Luke nodded gravely. "Well then, let's see if we can fix that. As of right now, you're gainfully employed as my deputy. Go see Ralph Brewer at the Red Lion; he'll rent you a room on credit until you receive your first pay. I'll expect you back here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Out of all the stunned faces in the courtroom, Seth looked the most shocked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Luke gestured at Saul to record his decision. He hoped he actually had the authority to do this. "I'm releasing you into my own custody. Here's your chance. You make a mess of this, and I'll have your head on a pike on the city walls if it's the last thing I do. Do you understand?"
All of the cockiness had left Seth's face. He suddenly appeared very young as he bit his lip and nodded his head.
Luke watched as the guard unlocked Seth's manacles and led him out. He leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"Next case, please."
Chapter 23
There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go.
~Author Unknown
Ralph Brewer did not live the sort of life that the bards would immortalise in song. And he didn't die the kind of death that would be recorded in the annals of history.
He died like working men die all the time. Over time, his big, strong body became slower. One night, he went to bed and found himself unable to rise in the morning. A headache that had become more and more of a nuisance over the last month had turned into a blinding, crippling agony. His temperature shot up, leading to shaking and cold sweats. He couldn't bear the light, couldn't stomach food, couldn't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. After a few weeks of this, he closed his eyes and never opened them again.
It was a common scenario, played out in the cities, towns and villages all over England hundreds of times every day. It wasn't even rare enough to rate as a tragedy.
For Luke Scarlett, it was devastating.
He'd shut out the rest of the world to spend Ralph's last days with him. Without explanation, he took a leave of absence from the court, leaving the increasingly capable Seth in charge. He didn't bother to go home, preferring to sleep in a chair beside Ralph's bed, in fear that sharing his lover's pallet would disturb his rest. In truth, he barely slept at all, worried that he'd miss one of Ralph's increasingly few lucid moments. He even cursed the minutes wasted running to the kitchen to slop broth into a bowl or cram a piece of meat between two slices of bread.
He made bargains with God. He'd go back to the Church if Ralph would live. He'd donate every cent he made to the poor box. He'd carve a new altar of such mindboggling beauty, people would never believe it hadn't been crafted by the angels themselves. He'd resign himself to celibacy if that's what God wanted; it would be enough to love Ralph chastely, so long as he was alive. He'd forgive God for all the others -- his mother, his father, even Will -- if Ralph could only just live.
It wasn't enough.
Luke wept openly at the funeral, not caring who might be looking or what they might think. He listened hungrily to the priest's words, trying in vain to catch a snippet of the man that he'd known. But although everything the priest said was true, none of it was close enough to the whole truth.
"Ralph Brewer spent his whole life in York. He was a friend and a brother to all those who are gathered here today."
Ralph was terrified of water until the night Luke lured him out to the pond, stripped naked and dove in. Whereupon Ralph put aside his lifelong fear in order to slip into the pool and slide his arms around his wet, slippery lover.
"He was a gentle soul, who genuinely cared about the people of this city."
He was brilliant at cards. In all these years, Luke had never once beaten him. He'd long ago given up gambling for money with Ralph; for the last ten years they'd only played for kisses.
"We all knew if we had a problem, we could always go to Ralph for his kind counsel."
One would have expected such a big man to have been prone to violence, but Ralph had never once been in a fight. He confessed this to Luke like he was ashamed of it; he was afraid it made him seem weak. Luke had assured him it was just one of the many things about Ralph that made him look strong.
"He was a quiet man, not given to great flights of fancy. But when he spoke, he could be relied upon to speak wisdom."
Ralph didn't scream or groan when he came. Instead, he'd go silent and still, and then clutch Luke against him in a bone-crushing embrace.
"He will be sadly missed by all those gathered here today."
More sadly missed than the priest could ever imagine.
Kate nursed Luke as though he had the plague. She half-carried him home from the graveyard, stripped off his wet mourning clothes, and covered their bed with thick blankets. She folded him up in her arms like an infant and rocked him gently as he sobbed.
"You should leave me." Luke stared into the bowl of soup his wife had brought him. "Go and be with Jacob properly, while you have the chance. Neither one of you will live forever; don't waste time."
Of course, like everyone else in the village, Kate knew Jacob's time was especially limited. His cough, which had steadily turned his voice more and more hoase over the years, had grown constant, and there had been a few days during the last winter when it seemed like his cold might turn into pneumonia. But Kate shook her head.
"I'm not going to leave you."
Luke took her hand. "Really, you should. I wouldn't blame you. I'd fix it so no one would blame you."
Again, Kate refused. "Jacob and I are used to the way things are. To change them now... well... maybe it wouldn't be good. Besides, I can't leave you all alone. I couldn't live with myself if I did that."
Luke laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. "You don't even know me."
Kate shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I was thinking, when I went to see my Mum, most of the things I've done that I'm most proud of, she has no idea about. And, if she knew, I doubt she'd approve of her daughter doing them. And in the old days, when I first left home, she didn't understand at all, and all the smutty jokes about the one girl out in the forest with all the rough and ready blokes must have made her a bit ill. But no matter how disappointed she was, I knew she'd never cut me out of her life. She'd never abandon me, because we're family. You're part of my family and I'm going to take care of you."
Luke felt the familiar sting in his eyes. "I loved him so much."
Kate took the soup away and placed it on the floor. She crawled into bed beside Luke, holding his head against her breast.
"I know. I know. I know. Hush now. I know."
Chapter 24
War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today.
~John F. Kennedy
Luke placed a mug of steaming chicory tea in front of Jack, who wrapped his hands around the cup as though starved for the warmth. Kate draped a blanket around her son's shoulders, and they both marveled at what a change could be wrought in a young man in such a short time.
It hadn't even been a year since Jack had left York to fight with the rebel barons. He'd been exuberant then, thrilled to have a chance to take up arms against the now infamous and nationally acknowledged injustices of King John. Young Prince Louis had seemed like the perfect replacement for Lackland, and everyone remembered how much King Richard, the Coeur de Lion, had loved the French. Jack had polished his sword until it glowed like the sun and marched off into the distance with the rest of the bravest young men of York.
Now he was pale and thin in his ragged clothes. There was a rattle in his chest when he breathed and his eyes were those of a dead man.
"It was wrong. It was all wrong."
It was possibly the ninth or tenth time Jack had said this since he walked through the door a few hours before.
"What did they do to you?" Kate was horrified by the wreckage of her baby.
Jack poured a measure of whisky into his tea before answering. "It was Englishmen fighting Englishmen out there. We hadn't expected that. We thought anyone who would support Lackland would be... I don't know. Different. But they were just other Englishmen."
Luke understood. In the months Jack had been gone, he'd come to realise how many of their neighbours had boys in Fitzwilliam's loyalist army. For some, preserving the English throne for an English king was more important than the tax rate. That was all it took to choose a side. It was such an small thing, just a difference of opinion. It didn't mean Jack shouldn't have played with those boys as a child.
Jack went on. "I couldn't kill them. I just couldn't. I put my hands up over my head like a coward and I let them lock me up. I just couldn't kill other Englishmen."
Kate gasped. "You could have been killed yourself! Just because people are English doesn't mean they won't hurt you! Oh, Jack."
The young man gave a bitter laugh. "I worked that out pretty quickly. You should have seen that cell." He gave up on the tea altogether and took a slug of whisky directly from the bottle. "Killing me would have actually been kinder."
Luke had only ever spent one night in a jail cell, but he fully understood the horrors of such a place. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
Jack disagreed. "No Dad, I do. I promised him."
"Promised who?"
Jack's eyes darkened as he remembered. "The guards were absolutely brutal. They did this thing where they'd make us kneel on jagged little stones. It doesn't sound like much, but after hours of it our knees would just be gushing with blood; all the dirt around us would be red. And if we moved, even a little bit, they'd beat us."
He rolled up the leg of his trousers to show the dozens of deep scars in his knees. Kate covered her mouth and Luke's right hand automatically rubbed his left in sympathy.
Jack steeled himself with more liquor and continued. "It wasn't as though they even wanted anything from us. They'd worked out pretty fast that we were just ordinary soldiers; we didn't know anything. They did it because they liked it."
It was all too believable. Luke had seen all through his childhood what it took to turn a person into a torturer. It was disturbingly little.
"All except for him."
Both Luke and Kate sensed that Jack was getting to the hardest part of his story. Each of them rested a hand on his shoulder for support.
"I was terrified when I saw him. Everyone was. He was huge, like Uncle Ralph. And he walked funny, with a limp, so I thought he'd be looking for a bit of vengeance."
Jack's hands moved to his neck. He fingered a bit of dirty twine that hung there.
"But he wasn't like that. The first time he brought us water, it smelled funny. I thought maybe he'd pissed in it; some of them liked to do that. But that wasn't it. He'd put tisane in it, so we wouldn't get fever."
Jack was crying openly now. "Every time we tasted meat, he was the one who brought it. Same with vegetables. There was never a lot, but even getting that away from Fitzwilliam's men must have been so hard. They'd have called him a traitor if they knew; he'd have been locked up with us for sure."
"He sounds like a great man." Kate was paler than Luke had ever seen her.
"He was."
The past tense told Luke everything he needed to know. "Jack, surely this can wait until you've healed a bit."
Jack's eyes flashed angrily. "Dad, please, let me finish. We were in there for weeks before our own side came to get us. And when they did... I'd thought Fitzwilliam's guys were rough. The bloke, our guard, he fought like three men, but there were dozens of people on him at the end. They'd have never taken him down otherwise."
Jack began to cry openly now. Luke thought how bizarre it was that war, which was supposed to harden men, so often made them little boys again.
"I stayed with him till the end. The others all took off, but I couldn't. I suppose I could have been recaptured, but..."
"There were no survivors." Kate's voice was a horrified whisper.
Jack shook his head. "Mum..."
"Hush, you've said enough." Kate didn't look like she could stand any more of this.
"No, Mum, Dad, listen. He wanted me to give you these."
Jack pulled at the twine around his neck, tugging it free of his tunic. Suspended from the end was a simple wooden tag with a symbol both Luke and Kate knew well.
"We got to talking some of those nights. I told him who I was." Jack fingered the tag, running his fingers along the well-worn "L" and "J" on the back. "He said this was his father's."
Kate stumbled gracelessly away from the table and out the front door. Luke could hear the sounds of her being sick. He took the bottle from Jack and took a long pull of whisky himself.
"You know Dad, they say the king's dead."
Luke hadn't heard that. "Which king?"
Jack laughed like he'd said something funny. "Old Lackland."
Luke remembered the proud man that he'd met in London. King John, properly styled 'By the Grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine and Count of Anjou', might well have minded the old nickname more than actually dying. And was he really dead? Could it be true? Luke supposed kings were as mortal as anyone else. Strange how people seemed to forget that. All this war and suffering over a problem that would only just resolve itself in time.
"So what do you think will happen now?"
Jack shrugged. "Louis, if he can take Dover. Henry, if he can't. One of them thinks I'm
a deserter and the other one thinks I'm the enemy. I've made a Hell of a mess of things, haven't I?"
Luke ached for the younger man. None of this was his fault. "I doubt anyone will be coming for you. They'll have bigger things to worry about."
It was true. Actually, Luke doubted if anyone with any authority on either side even knew Jack's name. He was probably just listed as a foot soldier from York. It was strange to think when the Magna Carta had been signed, people all over the country thought it would redefine the way English people thought of each other, close the gap between monarchs and men. And in the end? Maybe it had made a difference to the Lord of this or the Duke of that, but for ordinary people life went on unchanged.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do now." Jack's childhood dreams of being a soldier were over. He looked utterly lost.
"I own a tavern." It was true. Ralph had no known family and so the Red Lion had been willed to Luke. "At the very least, it's a steady income."
Jack nodded. Unlike John or Louis or Henry who could always impose taxes to raise funds, he knew a steady income was no small thing. "We'll go in the morning."
"In the morning", Luke agreed. He took another swig of whisky before passing the bottle back.
The noblemen of England and France would have the luxury of worrying about the succession,
the throne, the meaning of life. For everyone else, there was, as always, real work to do.
Chapter 25
What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies.
~Rudolph Giuliani
"Nine months to the day! You were really chomping at the bit to get married, eh sis?"
"Jack! Don't be obscene!" Kate cuffed her son on the back of the head as she reached around him to hold her first grandchild.
Luke thought privately, judging from the looks Saul and Wilhelmina had exchanged at the synagogue on their wedding day, it would have come as no surprise to anyone if the baby boy had been conceived in the carriage on their way home. The time it had taken for Wilhelmina to learn what she needed to in order to convert had been rough on the young couple, who had wanted desperately to set up their own home as husband and wife.
"He's remarkable, Wilhelmina. Truly remarkable."
His daughter beamed. 'I know, Dad. Isn't he? I never imagined I could love anyone this much!"
Luke bent to kiss her on the forehead. "I know exactly what you mean."
"Stop it you two! You're going to make me cry and I've only just stopped." Kate had a firm grip on the baby and easily dodged Wilhelmina's outstretched hands. "You just can't stay here. Or rather you can, but he's coming back with us!"
Saul entered with a tray of wine glasses. Hearing his mother-in-law's comments, he laughed heartily. "You know you're most welcome to visit us here any time. This little man is going to need his Saba and Savta Scarlett to spoil him rotten."
The timing of Saul's job offer in the little Nottinghamshire village of Blidworth had been unfortunate; both Luke and Kate would have loved more time to get to know the baby. But the young man had entered the study of law with an eye to practicng in a small town where his clients were also his neighbours and Wilhelmina was eager to live close enough to Locksley to finally spend some time in the village her grandfather had built. And as he looked around their sunny new cottage, Luke could hardly blame them.
The new father had succeeded in reclaiming his son from the boy's grandmother. "Just look at him. He's the spitting image of his mother."
"Poor thing." That earned Jack another smack on the head. Luke knew Kate didn't honestly mind the boy's cheek. For months after his return from the Barons' War, Jack had been unnaturally quiet and prone to strange fits of anger. It had taken time and care, nights of boisterous laughter at the Red Lion, and ultimately, the promise of being an uncle, to bring their noisy, funny boy back to himself. He still had his dark moments; war would always leave scars. But this particular battle had created so many casualties that Luke was overwhelmingly relieved Jack's sense of humour hadn't been among them.
The baby began to fuss, and Saul jostled him up and down, singing to him softly.
"Emek, choresh - sod yilbashu.
Shemesh kvar chovka harim.
Merchavim yachdav yirgashu."
The whole family watched the little one drift off to sleep.
"That's beautiful." Luke remarked. "What does it mean?"
Saul thought for a moment. "The valley, the grove - will wear a secret. The sun already hugs the hills. The countryside is stirred." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "It's sort of an odd lullaby, I suppose, but it's what my mother used to sing to me.
Luke glanced out the window at the gentle hills and blowing trees, a landscape so familiar from his own childhood he knew he'd recognize it anywhere. "Sounds perfect to me."
Jack's voice cut into his thoughts. "So does he have a name yet, or shall we just all start by calling him Jack II?"
Wilhelmina shook her head. "For some reason, I was convinced he'd be a girl. I didn't have anything in mind for a boy. Mum, Dad, have you got any suggestions?"
It was Kate who spoke, staring down at the sleeping bundle with an expression of pure wonder.
"How about Luke?"
Chapter 26
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by
a healthy child, a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed
easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Luke walked along the cobbled streets of York, carrying a box of unapologetic indulgences. There was an earthenware jug of sweet mead, a succulent roast chicken, a sachet of crisp young leaves and a golden brown apple pie with a scent that was driving him mad. In a fit of sheer extravagance, he'd even opted for a little bottle of good cream he knew would taste marvelous with the tart apples and crisp pastry.
It was a perfect afternoon. In the northern part of England, miserable weather was almost the norm, so any respite from relentless grey skies, icy mist, and damp drizzle was cause for excitement. A day like this one, with its milk and water sky, fragrant breezes, and buzzing insects was like a gift from God.
Kate was sitting in the front garden when Luke got home. She'd spread a cloth over the grass and had her face turned up to the sun. On his walk through the city, Luke had seen young women with broad-brimmed hats designed to keep their skin white and unmarked, as was the fashion. He was certain every one of those girls would have secretly envied Kate, who could expose her lined and aged face to the sun with impunity.
Kate chuckled as Luke laid out his moveable feast. She sniffed at the pie appreciatively and reached for the mead.
"Is this horrible? Jacob's been gone for two weeks, and all I want to do is eat."
Luke shrugged. "Well, you NEED to eat. And I think you can grieve just as well with pie and cream as you can with bread and water."
Kate had been oddly peaceful when she'd come home with the news that Jacob had passed away in his sleep. Luke had been prepared to care for her as she'd done for him when Ralph died. But when he'd knelt in front of her, Kate had just smiled brilliantly and whispered, "I'm so happy that he lived." He knew she worried it was an inappropriate way to mourn, even townspeople who didn't suspect about their true relationship had remarked she didn't seem especially grieved for her dear cousin. But Luke honestly thought it was a wonderful way to be remembered.
He handed Kate a wing, which was her favourite part of the chicken, before taking a leg for himself. As they ate, they talked about nothing in particular: the weather, Luke's work, whether or not the newest baby would finally prove to be the little girl Wilhelmina wanted so much, and if the latest in Jack's unending string of girls would turn serious. Luke wondered if Jack was aware of the connection between himself and the late Jacob, but decided not to ask. It was Kate's choice whether to confide in her son or not. Luke wouldn't tell anyone else's secrets.
Kate finished off the pie, running her index finger along the plate to scoop up the last of the apples and cream. "I was so in love with you at the beginning." She said it without any regret; they were both old enough to let go of youthful disappointments. "I was absolutely mad for you. That Christmas, when I took you home, my heart was thudding away so hard I thought you'd hear it." She laughed a bit for the girl she had been. "Tell me the truth. Were you ever in love with me?"
Luke shook his head; he knew better than to lie to Kate now. "Not properly, no. But I really did love you, best I could. Still do, in fact."
"Truly?" Kate looked pleased.
Luke smiled. "Have I ever lied to you about anything that really mattered?"
Kate slowly shook her head; it was as she'd thought it to be. "Well, then. I'm one of the heroes of Sherwood and the mum of two lovely children. I had a lover who adored me until the day he died and I'm married to a good man who really does love me, best he can. Not a bad life tally for a peasant girl from Locksley. It's good enough."
Luke's brow furrowed. "Now that is horrible. You're talking like it's all over."
"Not quite yet." Kate sat up and her tone turned serious. "There's something I want to do first."
Which was how they'd come, two weeks later, to be standing on the eastern edge of Sherwood Forest, watching an abysmally bad dramatisation of the life and times of Robin Hood.
"They didn't even mention me! Or Much! And the idea of Tuck as some old, fat, white friar! Where on Earth did that come from?" Kate was indignant as they entered the forest after the show.
"So you did it for the fame then?" Luke teased her gently.
"No." Kate was serious. "But if you're going to give up your life for a cause, you do want people who are talking about it -- writing PLAYS about it, for Heaven's sake! -- to remember it right. It wasn't all the great, invincible Robin and his lowly followers. People who risked their lives, people who died like poor old Allan, they deserve to be remembered for who they were."
Maybe she was right, but there was no chance of that happening. The players and the audiences were in love with the concept of Robin as an unstoppable hero, so that's what he would become. He would be remembered as having no weakness, no vanity and no fear.
Which, according to Kate, was only slightly less laughable than the idea of Allan-a-Dale strumming a lute and singing about Lancelot and Guinevere.
The interpretation of Will hadn't actually been that bad; maybe the actors had talked to some local people before the show. They'd dressed the boy playing him in a strange crimson cloak though; Luke had no idea what that had been about. And the actor had looked ridiculously young but Luke had realised with a start, that was accurate. It was hard to believe, but they really had been just kids when it all started.
Luke and Kate paused at the Royal Oak, where the current stories told by those who'd never been into the forest were saying the outlaws had lived. Kate smirked as she walked around it.
"Oh yes, brilliant idea." Kate rolled her eyes. "Let's base our secret outlaw camp here, by the most recognisable landmark in the entire forest. Thank Heaven poets weren't actually in charge in those days or we'd all have been hung."
As they made their way through the woods, Luke couldn't help but marvel at how well Sherwood Forest kept its secrets. Who could tell if the faded grooves in a tree trunk had been made by a misaimed arrow, or a slashing sword, or just a bad storm? Despite the grousing of both Will and Kate about Much's cooking, it seemed like the local squirrel population had replenished itself without difficulty; Kate laughed when Luke pointed at a pair of the furry little animals and licked his lips. Little grassy mounds might be hastily dug graves or just small hillocks; there was no way to know. When Luke had considered his own death, he'd always dreaded the idea of being put underground and being eaten by worms. But those fertile little bumps covered in grass and wildflowers made him reconsider. They were so much a part of the forest that perhaps this was the natural order of things.
They turned a corner by a large boulder, and then suddenly they were there.
Here was the home Will had wrought out of the trees and rocks. The forest was taking its own back, slowly but surely. Moss was creeping up along the sides of structures and wood was beginning to rot and splinter, but for the time being it was still here. Luke moved slowly through the outlaws' former camp, as if it was sacred ground. He ran his hand along planks and stroked beams with reverence. Kate headed for different parts of the camp, seeking out her own talismans.
Luke had no idea how long they explored in silence before Kate took her leave. She would visit with her relatives and have dinner with the Earl and Countess of Bonchurch at their estate. She would meet him back at their inn, where they would stay the night before heading for Blidworth in the morning to see Saul, Wilhelmina and the children.
Luke would stay here just a little longer. The time was almost right.
He hadn't been here in decades, but he found Will's little masterpiece with no trouble. He sat patiently, waiting for the sun to hit the exact angle. Then he smiled at his father's face.
He thought of Dan Scarlett, and wondered what he'd make of the paths his sons had chosen. No doubt he'd be baffled, having never ventured outside the little villages of Nottinghamshire. There had been moments in the lives of the Scarlett boys Luke knew would have broken their father's heart. But he chose to think the old carpenter would have ultimately been proud. After all, why not?
He thought about Ralph, and wished he had brought him here while the other man was alive. But there was no point in regret; he had come to think his tears over Ralph's death had been wasted. Kate's celebration of her lover's life had been much more fitting, and now he was able to remember Ralph with joy. He wondered if Ralph would have got along with his brother and his father if they'd ever had the chance to meet, and decided he would have. Again, why not?
Next, he thought about Kate, who'd loved him and hated him and then slowly loved him again when she saw that he was willing to work hard for justice, for their children, and for a better world. Maybe history would forget Kate; more and more of the storytellers were already leaving her out of the legends. Those that weren't tended to portray her as a blushing virgin, or a scolding shrew or, most bizarre of all, a shepherdess-cum-princess named Clorinda -- as if a little peasant girl simply wasn't a romantic enough figure to be associated with Robin Hood. But Luke knew who she really was. More than anything else, she'd been his partner, and he was grateful for that.
There had been so many others to be grateful for. His daughter, who was a happy mother in her own home. Jack, who kept the tradition of the friendly innkeeper of York alive. Even Jacob, who'd made Kate happy and helped to keep the peace in his home. They were all precious.
And then there was Seth, who would be waiting for him when he got back to York. Luke had been reluctant to get involved with Seth, but the younger man had convinced him with his pretty words -- he could be astonishingly eloquent for an orphaned urchin -- and his even prettier blue eyes that it was always better to take a chance. And if he didn't love Seth in the exact same way he'd loved Ralph, he DID love him. And like Kate had said, that was good enough.
Finally, he thought about Will. For a minute, Luke let himself pretend he could feel Will's skinny young shoulders under his hands as he took his first baby steps one more time. He let himself see those blue eyes staring intently into his own again. Luke had never seen the place where his brother was buried; Will's grave lay across the sea in a land that his younger brother would never visit. But that didn't matter. This was Will's final resting place.
The sun was setting and Dan Scarlett's image vanished. Luke stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers. He would go back to the inn at Nottingham and have a quiet dinner while he waited for his wife. And then, he would step back into the life he created for himself and allow it to go on undisturbed. There would be no great revelations coming from him, no eleventh hour confessions. Rather, he would have peace and quiet, good friends and family in his serene English home. And if that wasn't what Will would have chosen to do, that was all right. Will and Luke were two different people.
Epilogue
History is but the record of the public and official acts of human beings. It is our object, therefore, to humanize our history and deal with people past and present; people who ate and possibly drank; people who were born, flourished and died; not grave tragedians, posing perpetually for their photographs.
~Bill Nye
There is a grave by The Church of St. Mary in the village of Blidworth, near Nottingham, in the middle of Sherwood Forest, that is said to be that of Will Scarlett. This is not true.
In fact, most modern historians agree Will Scarlett is not buried there. They think it's more likely that a woodsman who had some run-ins with authority is buried nearby, and that this has just given the grave a connection to the legends of Robin Hood that it shouldn't have. This is also not true.
What is true is, for many centuries, the strangely shaped gravestone has been a point of pilgrimage for ordinary people who have felt helpless in the face of an authority that doesn't seem to care about them. The fact it isn't like the marble and gilt tombs of kings and noblemen is a large part of its appeal. They like the fact that it's ordinary.
In England, the end of the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth saw scores of common people dying to feed the ambition of the wealthy few. Money that was desperately needed elsewhere was channeled into a bloody war that was being fought over a patch of desert sand. The glory of the higher class was funded by the poor, who became disillusioned and angry and took action against the tyranny of their leaders in ways that had never seemed possible before.
This is what has resonated with many of the mothers and fathers who have read their children stories of Robin Hood ever since, not only in England but all over the world. This is why in a world of computers and robotics and space exploration, the legend of a group of men and women who stood up to their oppressors, championed the underdogs, and fought for what they believed to be right is still wildly popular. Though the names of the outlaws might change, and new tales may be added while old ones fall out of fashion, the story of the heroes of Sherwood still gives hope and inspiration to all of the ordinary, everyday people who travel great distances to see the little gravestone.
The name of the man buried there really doesn't matter at all.
Author: tania_sings
Rating: R (one semi-explicit sex scene and some violence. Overall, it's pretty tame.)
Pairings: Luke/Kate, Luke/OMC, Luke/canonical male character so obscure he might as well be an OMC, Kate/OMC, Will/Djaq, Much/Eve
Warnings: Slash and het, violence, character death
Word Count: 30457
Summary: The life and loves of Will and Luke Scarlett over the course of one lifetime.
Author's Notes: I've tried to include a bit of history here, but some reality had to be scrapped for the sake of the story. Just remember it takes place in a world where Maid Marian wears sweaters from Topshop and you should be fine! Please don't run away on account of Kate; I've done my best to work with canon while redeeming poor Joanne's hard work. Thanks to the amazing roh_wyn for her sensational and very speedy beta work. And thanks to everyone who offered advice and suggestions on the help threads. And finally, thanks to ladylovelace for taking on the art challenge. I can't wait to see it. Much obliged!
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18039.html
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18278.html
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18470.html
Chapter 21
Why should a man's mind have been thrown into such close, sad, sensational, inexplicable relations with such a precarious object as his body?
~Thomas Hardy
Luke honestly had no idea how he made it back to York that night. Every step he took felt like ten. Carrying the unconscious thief soon became impossible, so he walked backwards while dragging the other man. He was vaguely worried about the amount of blood on the thief's forehead, too disoriented to realise that it was coming from his own chest wound rather than any injury of the thief's.
His dropped torch, which could have easily meant death, turned out to be his salvation. The townspeople had smelled smoke and seen the sickly orange glow coming from the forest. They were already preparing the firebreaks and gathering buckets of water when Luke stumbled into view and collapsed to the ground.
He awoke in his own bed, a pain down the right side of his chest so bad that he screamed. He felt fingers scrabbling right at the center of the pain and realised they were his own, acting without his accord to rip the ache out of his body. Then he was pinned to the mattress, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't seem to get loose.
Something was inserted into his mouth and he bit down wildly, glad to find purchase on anything. He felt a burst of relief as he tasted liquorice bark and the painkillers flooded his body. Like a baby bird, he opened his mouth for more and chewed and sucked calmly.
"Luke, I'm going to let go of you now. If you try to move, I'm going to have to tie you down and neither one of us wants that. So lie still, all right?"
It took an unbelievable effort not to claw at his chest again, but Luke was able to hold himself still. He heard Ralph sigh with relief.
"Good. Don't try to talk yet, but blink twice for yes, okay."
Luke blinked twice.
"You understand me -- good. Do you know who I am?"
Two blinks.
"Thank Christ. Do you feel all right?"
Luke tried to blink out a reassuring lie, but the tear of pain that escaped him probably reduced its effectiveness. Ralph rubbed the tear away with his thumb.
"Do you feel a bit like you got stabbed in the chest and then stupidly dragged a bloke weighing fourteen stone for three miles? Jesus Luke, what were you thinking?"
He couldn't do this with blinks. He tried his throat; it was scratchy, but working.
"Ralph..."
"Shhh ... I'm sorry. Don't talk."
"Ralph ... please."
The bigger man knew what he wanted; he always did. Careful not to touch Luke's chest, he lay down on the bed beside his lover, fitting their bodies together as best as he could around the injuries.
Luke exhaled; the pain seemed to lessen. "Thanks."
"If it starts to get worse-- "
"I'll tell you. Where's Kate?
"In the kitchen. She's been mixing up treatments for you pretty much nonstop. Not bad at it either; this time yesterday, that cut was swollen to twice that size and leaking pus besides."
Luke shuddered. "Glad I wasn't awake for that. You've been here the whole time?"
"Of course."
Luke wanted to thank him, but a sudden cough reignited the agony of his wound like an axe cutting into a tree trunk. He gasped with the pain and Ralph cursed and leapt away from him, grabbing at a vial on the bedstand. Some sort of bitter liquid cascaded down Luke's throat, and then there was merciful nothingness again.
The next time he awoke, the scene was very different. Ralph was leaning against the door, trying to calm Kate as she gesticulated angrily at the armchair near the bed. The armchair where none other the mayor of York was currently seated.
"He's awake." The mayor spoke to the other two, and they approached with more liquorice bark and water. Once it was clear Luke wasn't going to hurt himself, the mayor asked to be left alone with him. Ralph and Kate's answering snorts of laughter were uncannily similar. The mayor addessed Luke. "Master Scarlett, would you kindly ask your wife and your friend to retire?"
Luke shook his head. Whatever was going on, if Ralph and Kate didn't want to leave he certainly wasn't going to make them.
"You might consider coming back when he's had more than a couple of days away from death's door. A man can't be expected to make a proper choice in his state." Ralph's voice was angrier than Luke had heard it in a long time.
"You might consider not coming back at all." Kate sounded more furious still. "It's a ridiculous suggestion, as if Will would want anything to do with it!"
"I fail to see what's so ridiculous." The mayor was obviously trying to maintain a mild tone. "I think it's the perfect solution."
"The perfect solution!" Kate was contemptuous. "The perfect solution would be to hire more guards for the city. The perfect solution would be a night watch system. The perfect solution would be to DO something about crime in this city so that criminals like the one that attacked my husband-- "
"That's what I'm trying to do!" The mayor had lost his internal battle with his temper. "There's no money in the coffers for more guards; there's no money for anything! The men Lackland's given me are worse than useless too; most of the lieutenants were off in bloody Bath for most of the winter. But if Will agrees, then at least we'll have someone who knows a bit about maintaining the peace."
The shouting was making Luke's head throb. He tried to ask what was going on but the words caught in his throat as he coughed again. Ralph held a cup of water to his lips and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"You don't need to give him an answer now. It isn't right, coming to ask you for something like this while you're on your sickbed. You can't be expected to decide now."
"Decide what?" Luke couldn't imagine what all this was about.
Ralph sighed. "Scarlett ... he wants you to be Sheriff."
Chapter 22
It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.
~Earl Warren
It was strange. After close to two decades of masquerading as his own brother, Luke had never felt like more of a fraud than he did on his first day as Sheriff of York.
He couldn't help but remember Vaisey, tricked out in ermine and jewels, as he lorded his authority in front of the peasants of Locksley. There would be no ermine for Luke. King John had apparently laughed hysterically for twenty minutes before approving the unconventional appointment, but he had also imposed clear conditions. Luke would have no change in rank. He was not to reside in the castle or have any title beyond that of Sheriff. The king had, however, sent a fur cloak as a congratulatory gift. As soon as he saw it, Luke was able to identify the material as squirrel pelts.
He left his squirrel cloak at home the day he was sworn in as Will Scarlett, Sheriff of York. Instead, he wore his best linen shirt, which he'd had to patch himself as Kate was completely refusing to have anything to do with her husband's new job.
"I've seen this turn bad before. You'll become Sheriff because you want to be different, because you want to do good, and then someone will do something to offend you and it'll all go wrong. It's a post that ruins people."
Luke knew he should have taken the fact Kate was speaking to him again as a miracle, but during these speeches of hers, he'd have given anything for quiet.
The truth was, he had no idea why he'd accepted the position. He'd opened his mouth to say no, but yes had come out instead and that seemed to be that. And SOMEONE had to do the job; there was no denying the prior Sheriff had been worse than useless. An ineffectual old man who wheezed when he talked, he had spent the majority of the year taking the waters in Bath for his health, and the criminal element in York had thrived in his absence.
Luke honestly didn't think his first week had gone too badly. Saul Cohen had agreed to act as his scribe, and the young man had quickly mastered the art of leaning over Luke's shoulder so, it looked like he was merely advising on a document rather than reading it in a whisper to the illiterate Sheriff. By dipping into the money intended for the previous Sheriff's rest cures, Luke was able to hire more guards to patrol the streets at night, and a tricky case involving a stray pig that had devoured a farmer's turnip crop was satisfactorily settled when Luke awarded the culprit's bacon and joints to the victim.
But his confidence was shattered when Saul read him the docket for his second week.
It hadn't occurred to Luke he would have to try the case of the thief who'd broken into his home and tried to make off with his daughter's dowry. He was going to stand in judgment of the man who'd almost killed him. And just to make things even more complicated, he was the same man who'd sacrificed his opportunity to escape by binding Luke's wounds.
The charges were housebreaking, attempted robbery, and attempted murder. The defendent entered the courtroom, and Luke's heart nearly stopped.
He hadn't been able to get a good look at the man that night in the wood, but in the well-lit courtroom there was something about his face that revived long buried terrors from the past.
He was about fifteen years younger than Luke, with long, dark hair and heavily-lidded blue eyes. He was tall and well built, to the point where Luke was stunned he'd been able to drag him from the forest. He was certain he'd never laid eyes on the thief before that night in the woods, but there was some uncannily familiar quality about him.
"Name?" Luke wished his voice wasn't shaking quite so much.
"Seth." The defendant met Luke's eyes easily and the defiance in his voice as clear.
"Your full name, please." This was going to be even more difficult than he'd feared.
The defendant shrugged. "I use Annison when I need a last name. You can put that."
Saul's quill scratched across the parchment.
"Seth Annison, are you aware of the charges against you?"
"Of course I am."
"And do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Seth laughed. "What's the point? You know what I did."
Luke knew indeed. "This is a chance for you to try and explain your actions or ask the court for mercy."
Seth seemed to find this hilarious. "The court is going to show me mercy? That'll be a first in my lifetime."
His arrogance served to add insult to injury. Luke felt his temper flaring.
"And what a wasted lifetime that's been!" He remembered the dossier on the defendant that Saul had shared with him that morning. "No profession, no address, no family. When I was your age, I was a father already. I'd learned two trades; I had a home of my own. What do you have to show for yourself?"
Seth's eyes blazed blue fire and he sneered at Luke. "Must have been nice having parents to buy you a pair of apprenticeships! Bet it was sweet having a pretty little woman waiting at home to bear your children! I've never even seen my Dad, and my Mum died before I was five. I've been scrounging on the streets ever since, so learning a trade never quite happened. Nothing you need to concern yourself with; let's get on with the mercy, eh?"
Luke found himself on his feet. His knuckles were white on the bench in front of him. "My parents died young as well, I'll have you know. I watched my own father stabbed to death in front of me. I've had to struggle to survive but I always drew the line at stealing from decent, hard-working people. "
Seth was unmoved. "Really? Did you have Lord Glasson sneaking into your bed the night of your mother's funeral? Did you have the steward beat you with a cane for being disobedient just because you wouldn't suck his Lordship's..." The fight seemed to go out of him all at once and he trailed off. "Can we just get on with this?"
Luke realised every eye in the courtroom was on him. He'd acted unprofessionally and let his emotions get the better of him. He could see the noblemen in the front row smirking; the peasant Sheriff was proving to be just as good a joke as they'd anticipated.
Well... fuck them. Fuck all of this.
"So your defense for breaking into the home where my family was sleeping, stealing my daughter's dowry money and nearly killing me was that no one ever gave you a chance to do anything else?"
Seth exhaled hard. "I guess it is."
Luke nodded gravely. "Well then, let's see if we can fix that. As of right now, you're gainfully employed as my deputy. Go see Ralph Brewer at the Red Lion; he'll rent you a room on credit until you receive your first pay. I'll expect you back here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Out of all the stunned faces in the courtroom, Seth looked the most shocked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Luke gestured at Saul to record his decision. He hoped he actually had the authority to do this. "I'm releasing you into my own custody. Here's your chance. You make a mess of this, and I'll have your head on a pike on the city walls if it's the last thing I do. Do you understand?"
All of the cockiness had left Seth's face. He suddenly appeared very young as he bit his lip and nodded his head.
Luke watched as the guard unlocked Seth's manacles and led him out. He leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"Next case, please."
Chapter 23
There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go.
~Author Unknown
Ralph Brewer did not live the sort of life that the bards would immortalise in song. And he didn't die the kind of death that would be recorded in the annals of history.
He died like working men die all the time. Over time, his big, strong body became slower. One night, he went to bed and found himself unable to rise in the morning. A headache that had become more and more of a nuisance over the last month had turned into a blinding, crippling agony. His temperature shot up, leading to shaking and cold sweats. He couldn't bear the light, couldn't stomach food, couldn't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. After a few weeks of this, he closed his eyes and never opened them again.
It was a common scenario, played out in the cities, towns and villages all over England hundreds of times every day. It wasn't even rare enough to rate as a tragedy.
For Luke Scarlett, it was devastating.
He'd shut out the rest of the world to spend Ralph's last days with him. Without explanation, he took a leave of absence from the court, leaving the increasingly capable Seth in charge. He didn't bother to go home, preferring to sleep in a chair beside Ralph's bed, in fear that sharing his lover's pallet would disturb his rest. In truth, he barely slept at all, worried that he'd miss one of Ralph's increasingly few lucid moments. He even cursed the minutes wasted running to the kitchen to slop broth into a bowl or cram a piece of meat between two slices of bread.
He made bargains with God. He'd go back to the Church if Ralph would live. He'd donate every cent he made to the poor box. He'd carve a new altar of such mindboggling beauty, people would never believe it hadn't been crafted by the angels themselves. He'd resign himself to celibacy if that's what God wanted; it would be enough to love Ralph chastely, so long as he was alive. He'd forgive God for all the others -- his mother, his father, even Will -- if Ralph could only just live.
It wasn't enough.
Luke wept openly at the funeral, not caring who might be looking or what they might think. He listened hungrily to the priest's words, trying in vain to catch a snippet of the man that he'd known. But although everything the priest said was true, none of it was close enough to the whole truth.
"Ralph Brewer spent his whole life in York. He was a friend and a brother to all those who are gathered here today."
Ralph was terrified of water until the night Luke lured him out to the pond, stripped naked and dove in. Whereupon Ralph put aside his lifelong fear in order to slip into the pool and slide his arms around his wet, slippery lover.
"He was a gentle soul, who genuinely cared about the people of this city."
He was brilliant at cards. In all these years, Luke had never once beaten him. He'd long ago given up gambling for money with Ralph; for the last ten years they'd only played for kisses.
"We all knew if we had a problem, we could always go to Ralph for his kind counsel."
One would have expected such a big man to have been prone to violence, but Ralph had never once been in a fight. He confessed this to Luke like he was ashamed of it; he was afraid it made him seem weak. Luke had assured him it was just one of the many things about Ralph that made him look strong.
"He was a quiet man, not given to great flights of fancy. But when he spoke, he could be relied upon to speak wisdom."
Ralph didn't scream or groan when he came. Instead, he'd go silent and still, and then clutch Luke against him in a bone-crushing embrace.
"He will be sadly missed by all those gathered here today."
More sadly missed than the priest could ever imagine.
Kate nursed Luke as though he had the plague. She half-carried him home from the graveyard, stripped off his wet mourning clothes, and covered their bed with thick blankets. She folded him up in her arms like an infant and rocked him gently as he sobbed.
"You should leave me." Luke stared into the bowl of soup his wife had brought him. "Go and be with Jacob properly, while you have the chance. Neither one of you will live forever; don't waste time."
Of course, like everyone else in the village, Kate knew Jacob's time was especially limited. His cough, which had steadily turned his voice more and more hoase over the years, had grown constant, and there had been a few days during the last winter when it seemed like his cold might turn into pneumonia. But Kate shook her head.
"I'm not going to leave you."
Luke took her hand. "Really, you should. I wouldn't blame you. I'd fix it so no one would blame you."
Again, Kate refused. "Jacob and I are used to the way things are. To change them now... well... maybe it wouldn't be good. Besides, I can't leave you all alone. I couldn't live with myself if I did that."
Luke laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. "You don't even know me."
Kate shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I was thinking, when I went to see my Mum, most of the things I've done that I'm most proud of, she has no idea about. And, if she knew, I doubt she'd approve of her daughter doing them. And in the old days, when I first left home, she didn't understand at all, and all the smutty jokes about the one girl out in the forest with all the rough and ready blokes must have made her a bit ill. But no matter how disappointed she was, I knew she'd never cut me out of her life. She'd never abandon me, because we're family. You're part of my family and I'm going to take care of you."
Luke felt the familiar sting in his eyes. "I loved him so much."
Kate took the soup away and placed it on the floor. She crawled into bed beside Luke, holding his head against her breast.
"I know. I know. I know. Hush now. I know."
Chapter 24
War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today.
~John F. Kennedy
Luke placed a mug of steaming chicory tea in front of Jack, who wrapped his hands around the cup as though starved for the warmth. Kate draped a blanket around her son's shoulders, and they both marveled at what a change could be wrought in a young man in such a short time.
It hadn't even been a year since Jack had left York to fight with the rebel barons. He'd been exuberant then, thrilled to have a chance to take up arms against the now infamous and nationally acknowledged injustices of King John. Young Prince Louis had seemed like the perfect replacement for Lackland, and everyone remembered how much King Richard, the Coeur de Lion, had loved the French. Jack had polished his sword until it glowed like the sun and marched off into the distance with the rest of the bravest young men of York.
Now he was pale and thin in his ragged clothes. There was a rattle in his chest when he breathed and his eyes were those of a dead man.
"It was wrong. It was all wrong."
It was possibly the ninth or tenth time Jack had said this since he walked through the door a few hours before.
"What did they do to you?" Kate was horrified by the wreckage of her baby.
Jack poured a measure of whisky into his tea before answering. "It was Englishmen fighting Englishmen out there. We hadn't expected that. We thought anyone who would support Lackland would be... I don't know. Different. But they were just other Englishmen."
Luke understood. In the months Jack had been gone, he'd come to realise how many of their neighbours had boys in Fitzwilliam's loyalist army. For some, preserving the English throne for an English king was more important than the tax rate. That was all it took to choose a side. It was such an small thing, just a difference of opinion. It didn't mean Jack shouldn't have played with those boys as a child.
Jack went on. "I couldn't kill them. I just couldn't. I put my hands up over my head like a coward and I let them lock me up. I just couldn't kill other Englishmen."
Kate gasped. "You could have been killed yourself! Just because people are English doesn't mean they won't hurt you! Oh, Jack."
The young man gave a bitter laugh. "I worked that out pretty quickly. You should have seen that cell." He gave up on the tea altogether and took a slug of whisky directly from the bottle. "Killing me would have actually been kinder."
Luke had only ever spent one night in a jail cell, but he fully understood the horrors of such a place. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
Jack disagreed. "No Dad, I do. I promised him."
"Promised who?"
Jack's eyes darkened as he remembered. "The guards were absolutely brutal. They did this thing where they'd make us kneel on jagged little stones. It doesn't sound like much, but after hours of it our knees would just be gushing with blood; all the dirt around us would be red. And if we moved, even a little bit, they'd beat us."
He rolled up the leg of his trousers to show the dozens of deep scars in his knees. Kate covered her mouth and Luke's right hand automatically rubbed his left in sympathy.
Jack steeled himself with more liquor and continued. "It wasn't as though they even wanted anything from us. They'd worked out pretty fast that we were just ordinary soldiers; we didn't know anything. They did it because they liked it."
It was all too believable. Luke had seen all through his childhood what it took to turn a person into a torturer. It was disturbingly little.
"All except for him."
Both Luke and Kate sensed that Jack was getting to the hardest part of his story. Each of them rested a hand on his shoulder for support.
"I was terrified when I saw him. Everyone was. He was huge, like Uncle Ralph. And he walked funny, with a limp, so I thought he'd be looking for a bit of vengeance."
Jack's hands moved to his neck. He fingered a bit of dirty twine that hung there.
"But he wasn't like that. The first time he brought us water, it smelled funny. I thought maybe he'd pissed in it; some of them liked to do that. But that wasn't it. He'd put tisane in it, so we wouldn't get fever."
Jack was crying openly now. "Every time we tasted meat, he was the one who brought it. Same with vegetables. There was never a lot, but even getting that away from Fitzwilliam's men must have been so hard. They'd have called him a traitor if they knew; he'd have been locked up with us for sure."
"He sounds like a great man." Kate was paler than Luke had ever seen her.
"He was."
The past tense told Luke everything he needed to know. "Jack, surely this can wait until you've healed a bit."
Jack's eyes flashed angrily. "Dad, please, let me finish. We were in there for weeks before our own side came to get us. And when they did... I'd thought Fitzwilliam's guys were rough. The bloke, our guard, he fought like three men, but there were dozens of people on him at the end. They'd have never taken him down otherwise."
Jack began to cry openly now. Luke thought how bizarre it was that war, which was supposed to harden men, so often made them little boys again.
"I stayed with him till the end. The others all took off, but I couldn't. I suppose I could have been recaptured, but..."
"There were no survivors." Kate's voice was a horrified whisper.
Jack shook his head. "Mum..."
"Hush, you've said enough." Kate didn't look like she could stand any more of this.
"No, Mum, Dad, listen. He wanted me to give you these."
Jack pulled at the twine around his neck, tugging it free of his tunic. Suspended from the end was a simple wooden tag with a symbol both Luke and Kate knew well.
"We got to talking some of those nights. I told him who I was." Jack fingered the tag, running his fingers along the well-worn "L" and "J" on the back. "He said this was his father's."
Kate stumbled gracelessly away from the table and out the front door. Luke could hear the sounds of her being sick. He took the bottle from Jack and took a long pull of whisky himself.
"You know Dad, they say the king's dead."
Luke hadn't heard that. "Which king?"
Jack laughed like he'd said something funny. "Old Lackland."
Luke remembered the proud man that he'd met in London. King John, properly styled 'By the Grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine and Count of Anjou', might well have minded the old nickname more than actually dying. And was he really dead? Could it be true? Luke supposed kings were as mortal as anyone else. Strange how people seemed to forget that. All this war and suffering over a problem that would only just resolve itself in time.
"So what do you think will happen now?"
Jack shrugged. "Louis, if he can take Dover. Henry, if he can't. One of them thinks I'm
a deserter and the other one thinks I'm the enemy. I've made a Hell of a mess of things, haven't I?"
Luke ached for the younger man. None of this was his fault. "I doubt anyone will be coming for you. They'll have bigger things to worry about."
It was true. Actually, Luke doubted if anyone with any authority on either side even knew Jack's name. He was probably just listed as a foot soldier from York. It was strange to think when the Magna Carta had been signed, people all over the country thought it would redefine the way English people thought of each other, close the gap between monarchs and men. And in the end? Maybe it had made a difference to the Lord of this or the Duke of that, but for ordinary people life went on unchanged.
"I just don't know what I'm going to do now." Jack's childhood dreams of being a soldier were over. He looked utterly lost.
"I own a tavern." It was true. Ralph had no known family and so the Red Lion had been willed to Luke. "At the very least, it's a steady income."
Jack nodded. Unlike John or Louis or Henry who could always impose taxes to raise funds, he knew a steady income was no small thing. "We'll go in the morning."
"In the morning", Luke agreed. He took another swig of whisky before passing the bottle back.
The noblemen of England and France would have the luxury of worrying about the succession,
the throne, the meaning of life. For everyone else, there was, as always, real work to do.
Chapter 25
What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies.
~Rudolph Giuliani
"Nine months to the day! You were really chomping at the bit to get married, eh sis?"
"Jack! Don't be obscene!" Kate cuffed her son on the back of the head as she reached around him to hold her first grandchild.
Luke thought privately, judging from the looks Saul and Wilhelmina had exchanged at the synagogue on their wedding day, it would have come as no surprise to anyone if the baby boy had been conceived in the carriage on their way home. The time it had taken for Wilhelmina to learn what she needed to in order to convert had been rough on the young couple, who had wanted desperately to set up their own home as husband and wife.
"He's remarkable, Wilhelmina. Truly remarkable."
His daughter beamed. 'I know, Dad. Isn't he? I never imagined I could love anyone this much!"
Luke bent to kiss her on the forehead. "I know exactly what you mean."
"Stop it you two! You're going to make me cry and I've only just stopped." Kate had a firm grip on the baby and easily dodged Wilhelmina's outstretched hands. "You just can't stay here. Or rather you can, but he's coming back with us!"
Saul entered with a tray of wine glasses. Hearing his mother-in-law's comments, he laughed heartily. "You know you're most welcome to visit us here any time. This little man is going to need his Saba and Savta Scarlett to spoil him rotten."
The timing of Saul's job offer in the little Nottinghamshire village of Blidworth had been unfortunate; both Luke and Kate would have loved more time to get to know the baby. But the young man had entered the study of law with an eye to practicng in a small town where his clients were also his neighbours and Wilhelmina was eager to live close enough to Locksley to finally spend some time in the village her grandfather had built. And as he looked around their sunny new cottage, Luke could hardly blame them.
The new father had succeeded in reclaiming his son from the boy's grandmother. "Just look at him. He's the spitting image of his mother."
"Poor thing." That earned Jack another smack on the head. Luke knew Kate didn't honestly mind the boy's cheek. For months after his return from the Barons' War, Jack had been unnaturally quiet and prone to strange fits of anger. It had taken time and care, nights of boisterous laughter at the Red Lion, and ultimately, the promise of being an uncle, to bring their noisy, funny boy back to himself. He still had his dark moments; war would always leave scars. But this particular battle had created so many casualties that Luke was overwhelmingly relieved Jack's sense of humour hadn't been among them.
The baby began to fuss, and Saul jostled him up and down, singing to him softly.
"Emek, choresh - sod yilbashu.
Shemesh kvar chovka harim.
Merchavim yachdav yirgashu."
The whole family watched the little one drift off to sleep.
"That's beautiful." Luke remarked. "What does it mean?"
Saul thought for a moment. "The valley, the grove - will wear a secret. The sun already hugs the hills. The countryside is stirred." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "It's sort of an odd lullaby, I suppose, but it's what my mother used to sing to me.
Luke glanced out the window at the gentle hills and blowing trees, a landscape so familiar from his own childhood he knew he'd recognize it anywhere. "Sounds perfect to me."
Jack's voice cut into his thoughts. "So does he have a name yet, or shall we just all start by calling him Jack II?"
Wilhelmina shook her head. "For some reason, I was convinced he'd be a girl. I didn't have anything in mind for a boy. Mum, Dad, have you got any suggestions?"
It was Kate who spoke, staring down at the sleeping bundle with an expression of pure wonder.
"How about Luke?"
Chapter 26
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by
a healthy child, a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed
easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Luke walked along the cobbled streets of York, carrying a box of unapologetic indulgences. There was an earthenware jug of sweet mead, a succulent roast chicken, a sachet of crisp young leaves and a golden brown apple pie with a scent that was driving him mad. In a fit of sheer extravagance, he'd even opted for a little bottle of good cream he knew would taste marvelous with the tart apples and crisp pastry.
It was a perfect afternoon. In the northern part of England, miserable weather was almost the norm, so any respite from relentless grey skies, icy mist, and damp drizzle was cause for excitement. A day like this one, with its milk and water sky, fragrant breezes, and buzzing insects was like a gift from God.
Kate was sitting in the front garden when Luke got home. She'd spread a cloth over the grass and had her face turned up to the sun. On his walk through the city, Luke had seen young women with broad-brimmed hats designed to keep their skin white and unmarked, as was the fashion. He was certain every one of those girls would have secretly envied Kate, who could expose her lined and aged face to the sun with impunity.
Kate chuckled as Luke laid out his moveable feast. She sniffed at the pie appreciatively and reached for the mead.
"Is this horrible? Jacob's been gone for two weeks, and all I want to do is eat."
Luke shrugged. "Well, you NEED to eat. And I think you can grieve just as well with pie and cream as you can with bread and water."
Kate had been oddly peaceful when she'd come home with the news that Jacob had passed away in his sleep. Luke had been prepared to care for her as she'd done for him when Ralph died. But when he'd knelt in front of her, Kate had just smiled brilliantly and whispered, "I'm so happy that he lived." He knew she worried it was an inappropriate way to mourn, even townspeople who didn't suspect about their true relationship had remarked she didn't seem especially grieved for her dear cousin. But Luke honestly thought it was a wonderful way to be remembered.
He handed Kate a wing, which was her favourite part of the chicken, before taking a leg for himself. As they ate, they talked about nothing in particular: the weather, Luke's work, whether or not the newest baby would finally prove to be the little girl Wilhelmina wanted so much, and if the latest in Jack's unending string of girls would turn serious. Luke wondered if Jack was aware of the connection between himself and the late Jacob, but decided not to ask. It was Kate's choice whether to confide in her son or not. Luke wouldn't tell anyone else's secrets.
Kate finished off the pie, running her index finger along the plate to scoop up the last of the apples and cream. "I was so in love with you at the beginning." She said it without any regret; they were both old enough to let go of youthful disappointments. "I was absolutely mad for you. That Christmas, when I took you home, my heart was thudding away so hard I thought you'd hear it." She laughed a bit for the girl she had been. "Tell me the truth. Were you ever in love with me?"
Luke shook his head; he knew better than to lie to Kate now. "Not properly, no. But I really did love you, best I could. Still do, in fact."
"Truly?" Kate looked pleased.
Luke smiled. "Have I ever lied to you about anything that really mattered?"
Kate slowly shook her head; it was as she'd thought it to be. "Well, then. I'm one of the heroes of Sherwood and the mum of two lovely children. I had a lover who adored me until the day he died and I'm married to a good man who really does love me, best he can. Not a bad life tally for a peasant girl from Locksley. It's good enough."
Luke's brow furrowed. "Now that is horrible. You're talking like it's all over."
"Not quite yet." Kate sat up and her tone turned serious. "There's something I want to do first."
Which was how they'd come, two weeks later, to be standing on the eastern edge of Sherwood Forest, watching an abysmally bad dramatisation of the life and times of Robin Hood.
"They didn't even mention me! Or Much! And the idea of Tuck as some old, fat, white friar! Where on Earth did that come from?" Kate was indignant as they entered the forest after the show.
"So you did it for the fame then?" Luke teased her gently.
"No." Kate was serious. "But if you're going to give up your life for a cause, you do want people who are talking about it -- writing PLAYS about it, for Heaven's sake! -- to remember it right. It wasn't all the great, invincible Robin and his lowly followers. People who risked their lives, people who died like poor old Allan, they deserve to be remembered for who they were."
Maybe she was right, but there was no chance of that happening. The players and the audiences were in love with the concept of Robin as an unstoppable hero, so that's what he would become. He would be remembered as having no weakness, no vanity and no fear.
Which, according to Kate, was only slightly less laughable than the idea of Allan-a-Dale strumming a lute and singing about Lancelot and Guinevere.
The interpretation of Will hadn't actually been that bad; maybe the actors had talked to some local people before the show. They'd dressed the boy playing him in a strange crimson cloak though; Luke had no idea what that had been about. And the actor had looked ridiculously young but Luke had realised with a start, that was accurate. It was hard to believe, but they really had been just kids when it all started.
Luke and Kate paused at the Royal Oak, where the current stories told by those who'd never been into the forest were saying the outlaws had lived. Kate smirked as she walked around it.
"Oh yes, brilliant idea." Kate rolled her eyes. "Let's base our secret outlaw camp here, by the most recognisable landmark in the entire forest. Thank Heaven poets weren't actually in charge in those days or we'd all have been hung."
As they made their way through the woods, Luke couldn't help but marvel at how well Sherwood Forest kept its secrets. Who could tell if the faded grooves in a tree trunk had been made by a misaimed arrow, or a slashing sword, or just a bad storm? Despite the grousing of both Will and Kate about Much's cooking, it seemed like the local squirrel population had replenished itself without difficulty; Kate laughed when Luke pointed at a pair of the furry little animals and licked his lips. Little grassy mounds might be hastily dug graves or just small hillocks; there was no way to know. When Luke had considered his own death, he'd always dreaded the idea of being put underground and being eaten by worms. But those fertile little bumps covered in grass and wildflowers made him reconsider. They were so much a part of the forest that perhaps this was the natural order of things.
They turned a corner by a large boulder, and then suddenly they were there.
Here was the home Will had wrought out of the trees and rocks. The forest was taking its own back, slowly but surely. Moss was creeping up along the sides of structures and wood was beginning to rot and splinter, but for the time being it was still here. Luke moved slowly through the outlaws' former camp, as if it was sacred ground. He ran his hand along planks and stroked beams with reverence. Kate headed for different parts of the camp, seeking out her own talismans.
Luke had no idea how long they explored in silence before Kate took her leave. She would visit with her relatives and have dinner with the Earl and Countess of Bonchurch at their estate. She would meet him back at their inn, where they would stay the night before heading for Blidworth in the morning to see Saul, Wilhelmina and the children.
Luke would stay here just a little longer. The time was almost right.
He hadn't been here in decades, but he found Will's little masterpiece with no trouble. He sat patiently, waiting for the sun to hit the exact angle. Then he smiled at his father's face.
He thought of Dan Scarlett, and wondered what he'd make of the paths his sons had chosen. No doubt he'd be baffled, having never ventured outside the little villages of Nottinghamshire. There had been moments in the lives of the Scarlett boys Luke knew would have broken their father's heart. But he chose to think the old carpenter would have ultimately been proud. After all, why not?
He thought about Ralph, and wished he had brought him here while the other man was alive. But there was no point in regret; he had come to think his tears over Ralph's death had been wasted. Kate's celebration of her lover's life had been much more fitting, and now he was able to remember Ralph with joy. He wondered if Ralph would have got along with his brother and his father if they'd ever had the chance to meet, and decided he would have. Again, why not?
Next, he thought about Kate, who'd loved him and hated him and then slowly loved him again when she saw that he was willing to work hard for justice, for their children, and for a better world. Maybe history would forget Kate; more and more of the storytellers were already leaving her out of the legends. Those that weren't tended to portray her as a blushing virgin, or a scolding shrew or, most bizarre of all, a shepherdess-cum-princess named Clorinda -- as if a little peasant girl simply wasn't a romantic enough figure to be associated with Robin Hood. But Luke knew who she really was. More than anything else, she'd been his partner, and he was grateful for that.
There had been so many others to be grateful for. His daughter, who was a happy mother in her own home. Jack, who kept the tradition of the friendly innkeeper of York alive. Even Jacob, who'd made Kate happy and helped to keep the peace in his home. They were all precious.
And then there was Seth, who would be waiting for him when he got back to York. Luke had been reluctant to get involved with Seth, but the younger man had convinced him with his pretty words -- he could be astonishingly eloquent for an orphaned urchin -- and his even prettier blue eyes that it was always better to take a chance. And if he didn't love Seth in the exact same way he'd loved Ralph, he DID love him. And like Kate had said, that was good enough.
Finally, he thought about Will. For a minute, Luke let himself pretend he could feel Will's skinny young shoulders under his hands as he took his first baby steps one more time. He let himself see those blue eyes staring intently into his own again. Luke had never seen the place where his brother was buried; Will's grave lay across the sea in a land that his younger brother would never visit. But that didn't matter. This was Will's final resting place.
The sun was setting and Dan Scarlett's image vanished. Luke stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers. He would go back to the inn at Nottingham and have a quiet dinner while he waited for his wife. And then, he would step back into the life he created for himself and allow it to go on undisturbed. There would be no great revelations coming from him, no eleventh hour confessions. Rather, he would have peace and quiet, good friends and family in his serene English home. And if that wasn't what Will would have chosen to do, that was all right. Will and Luke were two different people.
Epilogue
History is but the record of the public and official acts of human beings. It is our object, therefore, to humanize our history and deal with people past and present; people who ate and possibly drank; people who were born, flourished and died; not grave tragedians, posing perpetually for their photographs.
~Bill Nye
There is a grave by The Church of St. Mary in the village of Blidworth, near Nottingham, in the middle of Sherwood Forest, that is said to be that of Will Scarlett. This is not true.
In fact, most modern historians agree Will Scarlett is not buried there. They think it's more likely that a woodsman who had some run-ins with authority is buried nearby, and that this has just given the grave a connection to the legends of Robin Hood that it shouldn't have. This is also not true.
What is true is, for many centuries, the strangely shaped gravestone has been a point of pilgrimage for ordinary people who have felt helpless in the face of an authority that doesn't seem to care about them. The fact it isn't like the marble and gilt tombs of kings and noblemen is a large part of its appeal. They like the fact that it's ordinary.
In England, the end of the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth saw scores of common people dying to feed the ambition of the wealthy few. Money that was desperately needed elsewhere was channeled into a bloody war that was being fought over a patch of desert sand. The glory of the higher class was funded by the poor, who became disillusioned and angry and took action against the tyranny of their leaders in ways that had never seemed possible before.
This is what has resonated with many of the mothers and fathers who have read their children stories of Robin Hood ever since, not only in England but all over the world. This is why in a world of computers and robotics and space exploration, the legend of a group of men and women who stood up to their oppressors, championed the underdogs, and fought for what they believed to be right is still wildly popular. Though the names of the outlaws might change, and new tales may be added while old ones fall out of fashion, the story of the heroes of Sherwood still gives hope and inspiration to all of the ordinary, everyday people who travel great distances to see the little gravestone.
The name of the man buried there really doesn't matter at all.