Author’s Note: I always wondered why Sir Guy went from apparently in love with Maid Marion to happily supporting her being put to death. The 1938 film did not have time to delve fully into Sir Guy’s character, so I decided to explore his character (and the question above) in my story. This is merely my interpretation and I do not claim to be correct.

~

His gauntlets made a satisfying clank as he threw them at the wall. Pacing up and down the hall, Sir Guy tried to control his temper, his fury coursing through him like a raging river.

“The insolent pup!” he snarled as he paced, long legs eating the length of the hall in quick strides before he turned and repeated the length. How dare Robin of Locksley interfere with the King’s justice!

He recalled that smug countenance, the sure arrogant way the green-clad man had drawn his bow to threaten him – Sir Guy of Gisbourne – when he attempted to deal justice!

Sir Guy paused under a hanging picture depicting the Blessed Virgin – a gift from some Eastern noble whose name Sir Guy could not recall. Her serenity gazed down at him, yet Sir Guy could not absorb her gentle humour.

“Did I do wrong?” he asked instead, voice harsh. “It is the King’s law I was enforcing. Do not the priests constantly utter the words, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar – and to God what belongs to God?’ The deer is Caesar’s – the King’s rightful property and Much’s life is God’s. I would have given both back to their rightful owners.”

There was no response, which did not surprise Sir Guy. The Blessed Virgin most probably would have chided him and been on the side of the starving Saxon serf. Sir Guy sniffed at the thought and the passing knowledge that Jesus would have aided the poor.

Surely even with those scriptures he was not entirely in the wrong? He was the representative of Prince John who, as a Prince of the Royal Household and brother to King Richard, was keeper of the Laws of the Land. One of those laws was the penalty of death for hunting the King’s deer. He, as the arm of Prince John, was therefore in the right legally.

Morally…well. Sir Guy averted his eyes from Mary as a flash of guilt went through him. Espying his gauntlets, Sir Guy retrieved them. Rage cooled, he glanced briefly at the hanging icon and inhaled sharply. Morally, perhaps he was not wholly in the right, but for now he would withhold that judgement. He had a Baron’s meeting to prepare for and little time to do so.

* * *

Sir Guy of Gisbourne carefully observed his appearance in the mirror. He had to look the perfect blend of powerful (but not as powerful as Prince John), wealthy (again not as wealthy as the Prince), and of course handsome (there, alas, he couldn’t help outstripping the Prince, surely).

His earlier anger had dissipated and he was now concerned with the coming Baron’s meeting. His manservant was fetching his cloak and would check it to ensure it was unspoiled by wear and tear, let alone opportunistic moths.

Grooming a stray strand of hair back in place, Sir Guy smiled. He was as ready as he could be for this feast. With good fortune the Lady Marion would be impressed by his appearance, adding to the hopefully favourable image conjured by their previous two meetings. They had only exchanged a few words, yet Sir Guy was intrigued by Maid Marion’s beauty and her sweet and wise words. Her innocence of the world truly was the only mar, but it matched any sheltered maiden’s upbringing.

Such innocence, admittedly, grated slightly on his nerves, for after witnessing so much barbarity on the field of battle, among thieves, and when criminals attacked innocents, and ah! How many times had he had to bring swift justice where there was no other recourse? When the nearest Sheriff was miles away?

He, as a Norman Baron was responsible for maintaining order no matter what the Saxon peasants thought. He would implement the law on his land, or deep in the forests, or far away in fields or rivers where, absent of assistance his sword or knife or word must be sufficient to prevent more death and disorder.

Thus, his view of the world could never be so sweet or glorious as Maid Marion’s, not since he had been seven and seen a thief hanged for stealing food from a poor labourer’s family. Nor since he had been in his first skirmish at fourteen, fighting off rebellious serfs who had in their ardour destroyed the homesteads of those too afraid to rebel against Sir Guy’s father.

War, thought Sir Guy as he stretched to help settle his robes, was not glorious as the minstrels insisted. War was a necessity. You fought to spread God’s word and mercy, though Sir Guy wondered about God’s mercy sometimes. It seemed rather absent in the world, and the priests who preached mercy did not always practice such mercy. Did mercy even have a place in a world where disease and common thieves were so prolific that you could die from a cold or be ambushed by just riding down the lane?

You thought to defend the empire and, Sir Guy laughed, to seize wealth and power for your King, your Prince, your Lord so that you may have a portion of the wealth to shield you from the harsh reality of the world.

His internal considerations were interrupted at this juncture, before he could re-judge Lady Marion in the light of his knowledge and her irritating yet compelling innocence.

“My Lord,” said his manservant, Thomas, a good fellow even though he was Saxon.

“Yes, Thomas?”

Thomas kept his mismatched eyes fixed on Sir Guy’s left shoulder as he spoke.  One eye was a startling green, the shade of Sherwood Forest when in the bloom of spring, and the other a deep brown, the colour of rich soil in which to sow your crop.

His village had deemed him cursed and he had suffered in his short life before Sir Guy found him. Thomas had been tending the field when Sir Guy rode up demanding information on a group of bandits. Due to being ignored, Thomas was used to wandering alone and knew many of the more ‘secret’ – or to be precise – untrodden paths through the forest.

Enthused to be addressed directly, Thomas had willingly aided Sir Guy and had displayed intelligence, fortitude, and an understanding of his place that had impressed Sir Guy. Afterwards, seeing how his own family treated Thomas, Sir Guy had simply taken the lad with him to his castle.

He deplored wasted talent. Henceforth, the young man had become a devoted servant, tending to the needs of his master – the one man who had given him a chance.

“The blessed Mother Mary heard my cries,” Thomas had said. “I will serve you loyally as long as I am able.”

Sir Guy held respect and fear for the Blessed Virgin, but he doubted she would send a sinner like him to aid another, unless she sought to save his soul.

Thomas spoke again, ushering them into the present. “I have your cloak, gloves, and sword on your bed, my Lord. Will you be requiring them?”

“My cloak, but not my gloves. Keep my sword close, Thomas, for while I doubt there shall be trouble, one cannot be too careful.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Thomas bowed and after helping Sir Guy with his red cloak, put away his gloves, at which point he followed his master to the Great Hall of Nottingham.

* * *

Sir Guy listened quietly to Prince John’s conversation with Maid Marion. He nearly snorted when he heard the Prince declare he loved Maid Marion, but fortunately he was experienced enough to restrain himself and continue eating his meat.

In love with the Lady?

Perhaps a little, yet it was more a love based on her beauty and her potential use to him than a love for the minstrels to sing about. That, of course, was sufficient for Sir Guy. It seemed, however, as he listened to the none-too-private conversation, that the young lady was of a different opinion.

Sir Guy swallowed the roasted mutton with relish. He was confident that he could prevail on Maid Marion. He had the right manners, was a Norman Baron, and was wealthy and powerful as Prince John had noted. She would not make such a good match otherwise, surely?

And love…well, love would not clothe or feed her or her children. Love would not protect her from bandits or the mob. It would not grant her a home with all the comforts Maid Marion was used to, so yes, he would prevail.

Sir Guy reached for his cup.

Then of course, that insolent green-clad man, Sir Robin of Locksley, appeared with the King’s deer and the audacity to accuse Prince John of not loving his brother enough.

This led to a proclamation that would change the mark-up of the land:

“Now I am regent.”

Sir Guy stayed still, eyes watchful as the Sheriff, the Bishop, and the rest of the nobles sat stunned. Sir Robin was eating, but his eyes were burning in shock.

That was hardly surprising, and neither were the reactions of their fellow Norman nobles. Under his silent demeanour, Sir Guy was aware of how his pulse was quick and his belly twitching in readiness to leap and fight.

He kept his hands on the table, for Sir Guy knew Prince John had to carry the argument. He did naturally, for the nobles were cowards. Sir Guy wanted to speak, to shout at their shock, their craven obedience.

Yet it was Sir Robin who broke the spell with his promise to raise the people against Prince John, and chaos followed.

The man had the luck of the devil and escaped before Sir Guy and his men could seize him.

+ + +

In the days and weeks that followed, Robin Hood wreaked havoc, causing the rest of the knights and barons to complain bitterly to the Sheriff and Sir Guy. After one such meeting, just before their sojourn through Sherwood Forest with the money they had collected, they were particularly irritable.

As the Sheriff walked with Sir Guy, the cool night air caressed their faces, working to drain the red flush from the Sheriff’s cheeks.

Sir Guy waited for whatever the man had to say, sensing the troubled thoughts the other possessed by the fidgeting hands and the way his eyes flicked about. It wasn’t until they were alone, with the nearest guards a few yards away that he spoke. His voice was a quiet whisper which Sir Guy had to strain to hear.

“You don’t think that the Prince claiming the regency has cursed us, do you?”

Little stunned Sir Guy these days, but such a question managed where others had failed. “Curses? What are you talking about, man?”

The Sherriff swallowed and leant closer, so Sir Guy bent his head, mindful of the return of the patrolling guard. “Well, Robin Hood only began in earnest when Prince John forcibly took the regency from Longshanks, and King Richard is the –”

“Ah, I see where you are coming from,” interrupted Sir Guy. He sighed at the naivety from a fellow man. “Calm yourself, Sheriff. There is no such thing as the Divine Right of Kings. Do you truly believe that the first King of these lands gained the privilege through a message from Heaven? No, he was simply the toughest warrior, the cleverest or surrounded by clever men, and the most intimidating. He grabbed the power, the wealth, and those close to him realised they would gain from supporting him. And thus, this man became King.”

Sir Guy straightened and held the nervous eyes of Prince John. “King Richard has abandoned his people to fight a crusade in a land many leagues away. We have barely seen him, and if he cared for his people he would have come sooner and sent representatives to the Holy Land. Divine Right? Pah. Under the circumstances, why shouldn’t Prince John seize power? Whether he is good or evil is another affair, but he is here and King Richard has succeeded in getting his person captured. What a King!”

Placing a hand on his sword, Sir Guy said sweetly, “His ransom is a drain on our land, even if we were willing. How could a trustworthy King who loved his people permit such a dreadful event to happen? In contrast, how does that paint Prince John’s actions in a worse light? The lust for power is all-consuming, but I do not blame the Prince. Instead, I shall benefit from them as you are.”

The Sheriff, mesmerised by his speech, nodded in acquiesce. Sir Guy swivelled on his feet and led the once more compliant man to the interior of Sir Guy’s castle.

Save him from idiots.

+ + +

A week later

Thomas carefully laid out his Lord’s clothing, smoothing the silk and cotton so that the new dark green and gold overgarment stood vibrantly against the coverlet. His hose was perfect; the deep green became his Master. It was a shame that he was under so much inconvenience due to this Robin Hood. While Thomas appreciated what the outlaw was doing for his fellow Saxons, his loyalty to Sir Guy came first.

It had not been the Saxons who had treated him kindly, but a Norman Baron usually given to little mercy for Saxons. So Thomas remained faithful and simply prayed every night that Mary, Blessed Mother, would intervene and help save his Master’s soul – either in this life or the next. If nothing else, Thomas would ensure Sir Guy ended in Purgatory and not…

Sir Guy entered, muscles flexing from his bath. A towel was wrapped around his waist as he moved to his bed to dress in his new clothes. Thomas stopped worrying and stood to attention.

“Thomas,” he said.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I am meeting the Prince tonight. You may take the evening off, but do not leave the castle.”

He pulled on his hose and lifted his tunic over his head. Thomas stepped forward to do the fastening. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sir Guy rolled his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. His eyes were intense. “Do not leave the castle; I do not trust the lands outside.”

Thomas bowed and felt a surge of hope. Sir Guy was concerned for his safety. True evil could not feel compassion, even if it was only the concern of losing a good servant.

“I will stay inside, my Lord.”

Sir Guy looked pleased and said nothing more.

* * *

Maid Marion was becoming a liability.

The thought occurred to Sir Guy as he strolled to meet the Prince. Jealousy tugged at him when he dwelled on how she gazed upon the treacherous Robin Hood.

Sir Guy paused as he passed the little chapel he maintained in his castle for his people and on the off chance he ever felt compelled to seek spiritual guidance. The candles burned in their brackets and the Father was checking the pews for prayer books that had been left behind.

The serenity was soothing and allowed Sir Guy to calm his mind with a moment of contemplation. Eyes gazing beyond the burning candles, Sir Guy could confess to himself and to God that his jealousy was a small beast, easily banished. He was more irritated by the obstacle created by Maid Marion falling in love with Robin Hood. Why she would fall in love with the outlaw was obvious. Woman seemed to have a love for dangerous men and the idea they could alter their characters.

Apparently, Maid Marion was one of these women. He was nearly certain it had been she who had arranged Robin Hood’s escape, but he had no proof. So, he watched.

As of yet, Sir Guy was confident he could lure her back, because her love for Robin Hood was impossible. How would Robin provide for her? She wouldn’t last a week in the conditions Robin Hood and his men survived in. Oh, the lady probably felt she could, but once it was properly pointed out to her, she would change her mind.

Of course, if he couldn’t persuade Maid Marion to suppress her feelings and see the truth, Sir Guy would have to act.

To what extent, he had yet to decide.

* * *

The audacity of the woman!

Sir Guy wasn’t even angry, merely disappointed. Oh, and shocked. Both Maid Marion and the Sheriff had the distinction of having surprised him in the last fortnight.

Now, because he had been foolishly confident, they were overseeing her trial. The Lady did not seem to realise her danger, her erect countenance displaying her beauty and ill-advised stubbornness to her advantage. Neither attribute would avail her now. Her indignation was amusing and Sir Guy was astounded at the woman’s treachery against her own people.

Prince John promising to condemn her to death brought no guilt to Sir Guy. In fact, as he listened and observed, he was able to appreciate her bravery. Otherwise, Sir Guy was annoyed, for now he must begin again.

His main object in marrying Maid Marion had been to secure more wealth for himself, but also male heirs to succeed him and continue his lineage. Male heirs – and even daughters – would establish his own position among the nobles and the new King as an even more powerful family. Daughters could be married off to form new alliances. Maybe one daughter could even remain and provide company if required – the sickliest one in this case, that is, if such a child survived to adulthood.

Children would also ensure accommodation and protection for when he was too old to bear a sword any longer or to spar with a witty tongue and outmanoeuvre his enemies and allies with carefully executed stratagems.

Maid Marion had offered these in one convenient package, so her loss was rather an inconvenience. Never mind, he had a fortunate escape from a clearly delusional woman.

He would seek another Lady – one preferably not given to flights of fancy, but to the realisation that having a secure home provided for her with plenty of wealth, medical attention, food, and the allegiance of the new king, were values worth pursuing.

Satisfied, Sir Guy was able to say goodbye silently to Maid Marion as she walked away, and thank whoever was watching out for him.

He just prayed –  and hoped – that his previous lack of action did not penalise him.

* * *

The birds sang in the trees, the stream was bubbling away merrily, and the sun shone so brightly it appeared the world was celebrating the return of King Richard.

Amid this revelry of nature, Thomas wept over the body of his master as he was transferred to the cemetery. A distant cousin had been granted Nottingham Castle, and the King had been generous enough to allow Sir Guy a Christian burial.

The Lionheart had said he did not wish to recommence his reign by evidencing the same small-mindness of the nobles who had ruled in his absence, and when declaring this had actually spoken to Thomas.

This kindness allowed Thomas to accept the death of his Master more easily. He did not fear for his future – Sir Guy had apparently provided for him in his will, stating Thomas should work for his cousin in the same situation or, due to his loyalty, be granted money to set up a tavern.

Thomas had elected for the latter, knowing the ghosts of Nottingham Castle would be too much for him. No, he would build a tavern and live a good life.

Thomas raised tear-streaked eyes to the Heavens. He would pray and beg the Blessed Mother Mary to intercede on his Master’s behalf, requesting that his soul have time in Purgatory so that he may have the opportunity to repent his deeds. She had been good to Thomas, so he would be good back. His Master hadn’t always been bad and Thomas could not believe that he had been truly evil.

Thus, as Sir Guy of Gisbourne was laid to rest, he had one mourner, Thomas, to pray for his beleaguered soul.