Hoodwinked

A prisoner doomed to execution with only his thoughts for company. His captor and enemy gives him 1 final chance for life. But at what cost?

Hoodwinked

 

He lay in his damp dingy cell.

Nothing at all for company except thoughts and memories.

He thought about his life up to this point, all the good he had done, the sacrifices he had made. The risks he had taken to protect his people.

He had power, titles and land before giving it up.

And now look at him.

Hungry, cold and dishevelled, awaiting execution.

He suspected it had been delayed in order to add to his suffering.

 

The keys rattled in the lock of his cell.

He had just about enough strength to turn to face the door.

He recognised the face that was entering his cell.

His chief tormentor. Beaming smile. Proud as proud could be that his plan had led to him being captured at last.”

He stopped a few feet away from where he lay.

               “Dear oh dear, would you look at the state of yourself. You are a husk of a man, a mere fraction of the legend that once was”.

The prisoner had barely enough strength to even sit up, far less respond to his captor.

               “I almost miss the old bravado, the air of invincibility you once had”.

               “I doubt that is true”. The prisoner coughed and spluttered upon speaking.

The captor sat on the rickety old chair in the cell, positioning it so it was facing his prisoner.

               “I have come with a final proposition for you, before I have you hung for your crimes, you just need to sit and listen. You are no ordinary criminal, otherwise we would have hung you already. You are a friend to the people, yet what do they do for you? What can they offer you, what thanks do you get for risking capture and death?”.

               “I don’t do it for thanks or rewards, I do it because it is right, nobody else will stand for your tyranny”. Speaking was a struggle.

The captor laughed, a deep guttural laugh straight from the belly. He had no time for his people, just their money.

               “Oh, come now, you care about them even les than I. I am honest about it, you make a show about caring, you just want to be the hero, you crave adulation”. He leaned in closer. “No doubt as a result of your time at war. You could have come home a hero, lived a life of luxury. Power. Money. Land. Titles”.

               “Whilst having to work with you and be complicit in your machinations. I’d rather die”.

               “Would you really though? When you die what happens to your precious people? Who protects them? How long would your memory last?”

The prisoner thought about it. In truth even thinking was an effort.

Had his time helping others been worth it? Could he die happy, or even contented?

The captor sensed a potential way into the mind of the prisoner.

               “If you agree to work with me, I can give you back everything you lost. Everything that is yours. You will be powerful and wealthy. We could run this city together. Make it better. You need to become more selfish. You have fought for this country. The people expect you to fight their battles, take risks, and for what? An occasional ‘thank you’. Face it, their hatred of me is far greater than their love for you. Work with me and this ends. You will be free. Your lands and titles restored. You can live free and in luxury”.

For the first time ever he actually let his enemy into his head. What he was saying was not wrong.

               “I will of course give you time to think it over. Life or death. Your choice. I will return in the morning”.

With that he strode out of the room.

 

How many times had he risked his life for his people.

Capture, torture and death were always a possibility, he knew that. But why did he do it all? What was his motivation?

He was hours from death, starved and broken. Where were his people now when he needed them?

Who would rescue him, where were his friends come to think of it. He had saved them countless times.

He was alone. Would anybody even come to his execution.

Life or death.

Seems like an easy decision.

However, it wasn’t simple.

He could die for his people, his principles.

Or live in the luxury he was born into. Working with his enemy.

Why was he even considering that option.

Was it because that was now a possibility. He had surely done his bit for his country and his city. Didn’t he deserve to relax.

 

He dozed through the night. Knowing it may be his last sleep.

 

Before the sun rose, he felt a loathing, almost a resentment. It was aimed not at his enemy, but at his people. He thought about them. The ungrateful swines.

How many lives saved, how many families fed due to him.

Had he been on the wrong side all along?

He had It all by birthright but gave it up to protect people that quite frankly should have been beneath him. He was living with servants and criminals.

These feelings were giving him energy.

The feelings were now bordering on hatred.

 

He awaited his enemies arrival.

Although was he now his friend, or ally rather than enemy? He wasn’t sure.

His arrival came not long after sunrise.

He strode into the cell with an undeniable air of authority.

               “Well the day of reckoning for you. Your last day on earth, or your first day of the rest of your life, what’s it to be?”.

The captor, in spite of his demeanour was not certain how this would play out. This prisoner was smart and cunning, his guards were blocking the cell door.

The prisoner was already on his feet. He walked gingerly towards his enemy.

He stared into his eyes. There was nothing there. No remorse, sympathy or compassion.

The prisoner put his hand out, a crooked smile on his face.

His enemy was shocked and a bit wary.

He observed the outstretched hand. He had not really believed he would atake him up on his offer.

He too smiled, shaking his hand.

Two enemies, now allies.

Nobody would believe this.

He hadnt just captured him, he had converted him.

               “This is a great day indeed for the city of Nottingham, Hood”.

               “My name is no longer Robin Hood remember, it is Sir Robin Of Locksley”.

               “Ah. Of course”. He gave a mock bow. “Rest assured you will be back at Locksley manor today. Where you belong”.

 

And so it was that Robin Hood, the legend and myth died.

Born again as Sir Robin Of Locksley. A harsh master, unsympathetic when it came to collecting taxes.

The people who loved him and relied on him now feared him.

Robin and the Sheriff turned Nottingham into one of the best run cities in the country.

Their schemes however cruel and unfair they often appeared had a habit of making them, and the city money.

 

As for Robins former friends. Allan-A-Dale, Will Scarlett and Little John, they were given a pardon. Only if they swore allegiance to their master.

However, they never returned to their homes. They remained at large.

Deemed criminals. They were not heard from again.

Robin had led A squad of guards to each of their hiding places, cleaning out all the loot, food and weapons, returning them to the sheriff, before torching each location.

 

Robin lived his life in luxury. Whatever he wanted he got.

 

His life ended in mystery though.

He had went to the castle to meet with the sheriff.

He never made it though.

There was never a trace of him found.

Guards searched for weeks, Sherwood forest was searched thoroughly. This was Robins home for so long.

Nothing.

The search was widened to neighbouring towns and villages.

He had seemingly disappeared without trace.

 

The myth of both Robin Hood and Robin of Locksley remained for decades.