<html><head><meta name="color-scheme" content="light dark"></head><body><pre style="word-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;">ƒ�I hurried eagerly to my camp as night fell.  I had much to tell my men, but in truth, I was most eager of all to rid myself of the beggar's accursed rags and to stand straight again!�Pheuw!  The stench of those burning rags does nothing to improve my digestion!�Perhaps I should have saved the beggar's garb instead of burning it.�Though it was falling apart already--�Nay, I'm glad to see it burn!  I swear, in one day of wearing those tatters, I've gained a thousand flea bites!�Tell us again of this treasure?  It comes down Watling Street?  When?  How will it be guarded?�Lobb must learn all this and pass the information to us when the time is right.�Patience, John.  Our chance to serve the King will come.�Nor will I count only upon this treasure.  I'll gather other ransom by whatever means I can.�You pursue two treasures, eh, Master?  For on the morrow, you may at last exchange more than a fleeting word with this dream maiden of yours.�Aye, and though I love my King, I shall not say which treasure I pursue with more eagerness!�Supper was a ribald affair.  The lads pressed me shamelessly to tell all.�Though speaking with Marian lightened my heart, I heard news around the campfire that drove all joy from me for a time.�Well, treasure-seeker, you've been uncommon quiet upon the lady's virtues now that you've truly met her.�Aye, you've told us of this mission you must undertake and the odd scroll she wants you to find.�But of Marian herself you say nothing.�Perhaps he knows you'd wrap it up into some bit of bawdy nonsense, using song and lute to torment us, as indeed you do each night.�Why, you pizzle-nosed wretch!  I could sing the angels down from the heavens--�And the skirts over a wench's head!�Yet for all my skill I could not charm a maid to glance twice at you.  And you, eaten with envy at my boyish looks and honeyed voice--�Envy!  Of a beardless bardling who crows like a scrawny rooster?�Cease, lads!  If I say naught of Marian, 'tis only because words fail me.�She is beauty beyond poem or song.  Whatever she asks, I will do.�Od's Blood, this sounds serious, lads.  Our Robin is well and truly smitten!�A toast to your mission, then, with all the rewards that success may bring.�You're all quite glum tonight.  Is something amiss?�Robin saw a Sheriff's man who had a peasant under arrest for poaching.�So he rescued him, of course.�I failed to do so, Alan.�Aye, and the man was hung for no more crime than killing a deer to feed his family.�Ah, then you have cause to be glum.�It would sound poor indeed to sing of how Robin stood by and did naught against this evil.�All men are subject to weakness of the spirit.�Pray for strength, Robin, for we all depend greatly upon you.�</pre></body></html>