Date: Tue, 1 Nov 1994 03:44:15 EST Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Jacquie Groom <100045.3717@COMPUSERVE.COM> Subject: Name of the Sword pt 1 of 5 I'm submitting this story with some trepidation ... I realise it breaks quite a few of the rules. Still - I hope you enjoy it. Let me know ! Elenore appears courtesy of Elaine Nicol. Jacquie Groom; 100045.3717@compuserve.com A Highlander / Robin of Sherwood story The name of the Sword Jacquie Groom Duncan MacLeod sat down at the breakfast table with a groan. Tessa, hair and clothes immaculate, tapped him on the shoulder. "Late night ?" she asked, picking up her briefcase. MacLeod grunted. At the moment, he felt every one of his four-hundred years. Richie, sitting across the table, dug into his bowl of cereals, peering at a brochure propped up in front of the sugar bowl. "It was a good bar, wasn't it?" he said, his mouth full. "Great," MacLeod said, unenthusiastically. "I don't know why I let you drag me around to these places." "Because you like them," Tessa said, ruffling his hair. "I'd better get to work. See you later." Managing a smile, Duncan looked up and kissed her. "Later," he agreed, pouring himself a coffee. He took a sip, then peered at the brochure Richie was reading. "What is that ?" he asked eventually. Richie shrugged. "Came in the post. Details of some sale of antique weapons in London. I didn't know you'd had all the mail redirected." "I didn't," MacLeod said. "Let me see it !" Richie passed over the booklet. "Someone's marked one item," he said, spooning up more of his breakfast. "About half way through. Must be some antique friend of yours." "Very antique," Duncan retorted, flicking through the sale details. Then he stopped, his face suddenly turning serious. "Albion !" he muttered. "What ?" Richie asked. "The envelope !" Duncan asked, searching through the papers on the table. "Where's the envelope it came in ?" Richie pulled a face, but eventually fished a plain, brown envelope out from among the clutter on the table. "Here !" Grabbing it, MacLeod glanced at the writing. "Connor !" he exclaimed, getting up from the table, and heading for the bedroom. "Mac ? What is it ? What's wrong ?" Richie said, following him. But he could already hear the shower pounding down and, puzzled, he sat down to wait.. "I've got to go to England," Duncan said, coming out fully dressed, with a small bag. "You stay and look after Tessa." "Why ? Is it an immortal ? Someone out to get you ?" But Duncan shook his head. "Nothing like that. A friend. He must be in trouble. Or - or dead. That was his sword up for sale. I've got to go and find out what's happened to him." Richie sat down, the sale brochure in his hand. "Albion," he read. "Looks old." "It is," MacLeod agreed, picking up the phone. "Can't I come too ?" Richie continued. "I've never been to England." But MacLeod just gestured for him to be quiet. Some minutes later, putting down the phone, MacLeod smiled at his young friend. "Looks like you're in luck," he said. "Tess has to go down to Marseille, to sort out some items for their next exhibition. So you can come with me, if you really want to." "If I want to ? You bet I do," Richie said, rushing off to pack some things. "Just you try and stop me !" "So who is this friend of yours ?" Richie said, leaning across MacLeod to peer out of the small window. "An immortal ?" MacLeod nodded. "Robert of Huntingdon. Also known as Robin Hood." Richie leant back, a huge grin on his face. "Robin Hood ? You must be kidding !" But the Immortal shook his head. "Robin Hood," he repeated. "You mean - Maid Marion, the Merry Men, the Sheriff of Nottingham - all that - it really happened ? I thought it was just legends." "Not the way Robert tells it," Duncan said. "You should ask Elenore about it. She was around when it all happened." "I will," Richie said. "If I see her again." "Oh, you'll see her alright. She'll most probably be waiting for us at the airport. Not much can happen to Robert without Elenore knowing about it. She was the one who helped him, when he found out he was immortal. I suppose you could say she was his mentor." Richie was silent for a moment or two, digesting the startling information. "But how could Elenore teach him how to fight ?" he asked, his face clearly puzzled, "If she didn't know how to fight herself ? I mean, - didn't Connor teach her ? That must have been centuries later." Duncan just shook his head. "No-one needed to teach Robert of Huntingdon how to fight," he said with a faint smile. "That, he could always do." Then his face turned solemn once more. "She just had to teach him to want to live." As Duncan had said, Elenore was waiting at the airport. Smiling, she kissed both Duncan and Richie before dragging them off to the cafeteria. Over weak coffee and chocolate biscuits, she told them what she knew. "I take it Connor contacted you ?" Duncan asked, taking a mouthful of coffee and wincing. "Ellie, this is awful !" "But the biscuits are good," she said, opening another packet and taking a bite. "Yes, he sent me the sale brochure and a note. Here !" she said, passing him a scrap of paper. "You've got to sort out Robert," Duncan read. "I've tried, and failed. He's your responsibility. Connor" "Charming," Richie said. "Does he often send love notes like that ?" Elenore shrugged. "We understand each other. Look, the sale's this afternoon. We've got to get Albion back. Agreed ?" "Definitely. No matter what's happened to Robert, I don't want that sword falling into the wrong hands. It's too powerful." Richie looked puzzled. "It's just a sword," he said. MacLeod looked at him. The sort of look which implied that Richie knew nothing. "Is it ?" he said. "Richie, that sort is unique. Ancient. The one remaining sword made by Wayland the Smith. It has powers you can only imagine." Richie glanced once more at the brochure. "Here it only says that it's most probably medieval. Provenance unknown." "Well, we know it," Elenore said, as they prepared to leave. "Albion belongs with Robert. That's all there is to it." "He could be dead," Duncan warned, as she strode towards the taxi-ranks. But Elenore shook her head. "He's alive," she said. "And miserable again." Richie ran his finger down the polished blade and peered at the markings. "They look like the those things Darius sent you," he commented. "Runes," Duncan agreed. "What do they say ?" Elenore sighed. "Herne's son is my master. I cannot slay him," she intoned. "Herne's son ? Who's he ?" Richie glanced at the two immortals, who sat with blank, immobile faces. "Hey , look ! Just tell me if I'm asking too many questions." "You're asking too many questions, Richie," Duncan said, taking the sword back from the young man. The auction had been popular; it had cost him quite a bit to buy the sword. "But you're being so mysterious. Where are we going, anyway." "Nottingham," Elenore replied. "To find Robin." "Robin ? I thought his name was Robert." "Robin, Robert. What difference does a name make ?" And with that, Richie had to be content. It was a small, scruffy two-up two-down terraced house. Richie peered out of the car window as Duncan knocked on the door. It didn't look at all like he'd imagined England would. "Where are all the castles, and royalty, and the beefeaters and all ?" he asked Elenore. She laughed. "Welcome to the real world," she said, as Duncan turned back down the path. "Sold," he said, getting back in the car. "The new owner has no idea where Robert lives now." Richie blinked. "Robert of Huntingdon lived here ? But the place is a dump !" Duncan gave a short, dry laugh. "For Robert, it's a palace. He's always given away every penny he had. No-one could persuade him to spend any on himself." The young lad sat back, clearly shaken. "You mean that 'Take from the rich and give to the poor' stuff was for real ?" "Every word of it," Elenore said quietly. "He means every single word." "So ? Where do we go now ?" Richie asked as Duncan drove the hired car out of Nottingham. "I mean, he could be anywhere in the world, couldn't he ?" Elenore shook her head solemnly. "Not Robin. He never strays far from Sherwood." She touched Duncan's arm. "No - take the second road on the right. They've built the new visitors' centre in the old place. He won't be there." Richie leant back. "I really don't get this, guys. D'you mean he's spent - what, 5, 600 years, in the same place !" "It's longer than that," Elenore replied. "I met him in 1206." She was silent for a moment; Richie was surprised to see tears shining in her eyes. "I think he was the saddest person I've ever seen." "Why ? He was immortal, wasn't he ? It must have been great -" "It's not always like that, Richie," Duncan said. It was getting dark outside; the streetlamps were coming on. As the rush-hour traffic built up, and their pace began to slow, the dark-haired man tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. "Ellie ? Do you think we should stop somewhere for the night ? I don't really fancy searching Sherwood in the middle of the night." "Afraid of ghosts ?" Elenore said with a gleam in her eye. "No," Duncan said after a moment. "Outlaws." He hadn't been thinking straight. Hurrying southwards, fleeing the disarray. It was over. The Jacobite rebellion, Bonnie Prince Charlie - all over. England - and Scotland - were firmly under the Protestant rule of house of Hanover, and would remain so. But no matter who had won or lost, he felt the same as he did after any battle. Sickened by the loss of life, deafened by the noise, blinded by the sights. Close to tears, he rode through the night, paying little attention to where he was. His companions thought him dead. But he was not dead. He could not die. He was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Then suddenly, he had felt it. The buzz. An immortal, somewhere, among the trees. And before he had time to focus, his horse was rearing, and he was staring down the double barrels of a shining flintlock. He reached for his own weapon. The moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds, and for a second he could clearly see the man who was threatening him. The highwayman. He sat on a handsome grey. A tall figure, slim of build, with straight, fair hair tied back. A dark mask covered his face, but blue-grey eyes shone through. And, meeting those eyes with his own, MacLeod instantly felt he had nothing to fear. "You are in Sherwood, stranger," the Highwayman said quietly. "There is a toll to be paid for safe passage through these woods." "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said. "I have little gold or other riches, but you are welcome to what I have. And," he added, catching the glint of moon on the other immortal's sword, "You'll not be needing the sword. I've not come for your head. " "Robert of Huntingdon," the fair-haired stranger, lowering his gun and putting it back in the bucket holster. "Also known at Robin i' the Hood. Welcome to my Kingdom, Duncan MacLeod." Richie was full of questions. As they sat round a ridiculously small table in the pub, bar-meals balanced precariously on their knees, he tried to get more information out of Elenore. "But what's he like ?" he asked again. "Errol Flynn ? Kevin Costner, Patrick Bergin, Sean Connery ? Which ?" Elenore shook her head, her mouth full of pie. "You'll meet him tomorrow," she said. "If we're lucky," Duncan said quietly. "Stop worrying," Elenore said, tapping her friend on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. "You worry too much. In spite of everything, Robin's a survivor. He'll be somewhere in the forest. Most probably in Herne's cave." "Can you find it ?" She nodded. "It's not difficult, if you know what to look for. Many's the night I've spent there, over the years." She gave a shiver. "I wish you'd known him, Duncan, before..." "Before what ?" Richie insisted. "It's something we don't like to talk about," Duncan said, giving Richie a stern look. "You mean someone was killed ?" "Herne," Elenore said quietly. "Lord of the Trees. The Forest God." "A God," the young lad said, aghast. "He was one of you lot ?" "He was an immortal," Elenore confirmed. "And when the spirit was in him, he was Herne the Hunter. Robert was his chosen son. Herne's Son, balancing the powers of good and evil. And one day, an evil immortal, fired up with ideals of witchfinding, came to the Forest..." "Taran," Duncan said. "Taran. And he sought out Herne, and murdered him in his own grove. On Holy Ground, Richie. Holy to Herne, holy to Robin, and, at that time, holy to most of the common people round here. Christianity was something for Sundays, for the lords and ladies. The old religion was for life, and death, and every day." "What did Robin do ?" Richie asked, his face pale. She shrugged. "What could he do ? He knew what was happening, but got there too late. But there was no quickening. All that Herne was, all that he had been - it was lost forever. And Robin has never forgotten. Never forgiven." "And ?" "And what ?" "What about Taran ?" "He's not been seen since. Something - something happened, when he killed Herne. But he vowed to kill Robin, too." "So Robin's stayed there, all these years ? Just in case he comes back ? Seems crazy to me." "It's not just that," Duncan said, staring out of the window into the dark night sky. "He feels such a responsibility towards the people of this area. He really cares about them. He couldn't leave. There aren't many immortals with such a -" He paused for a moment. "Conscience." Richie said nothing, but glanced at Elenore. She smiled slightly wistfully, then put a firm hand on Duncan's shoulder. "There are some," she said quietly. "Believe it." =========================================================================