How many chase scenes through Sherwood forest can the writers get away with and still keep the episodes fresh? At least one more I suppose, as we begin "Parenthood" out with Roy running for his life away from Gisbourne and his men as they crash through the forest on horseback at his heels. We're moved to wonder what scrape Roy has gotten himself into that Robin will have to get him out of. Then he flashes past Robin, grinning in green, arms folded and boldly blocking the path. Robin winks and we're expecting a good laugh at Gisbourne's expense. The first horseman crosses the trap laid in his way and is sent tumbling off of his horse. Robin and the outlaws attack pulling the others off their mounts and taking their places in time for Gisbourne's arrival.

Robin laughs derisively in Gisbourne's fuming face before wheeling his stolen horse around. The responsible, self-possessed young man we saw in "Sheriff Got Your Tongue?" the one with the courage to give himself up to save his people is gone; replaced by an angry sneering boy who enjoys kicking sand in the face of the school-yard bully because he can. But there's a difference between standing up to a bully and deliberately provoking one. Robin would do well to remember that he who laughs last laughs loudest--or in Gisbourne's case, he who sneers with cruel amusement last sneers the cruelest.

Safely away from further pursuit, Robin and his gang dismount to indulge in an orgy of backslapping and self congratulation. Stealing Gisbourne's horses was Roy's idea and everyone is eager to offer him accolades, except for jealous Much, who doesn't completely trust Roy and is never particularly thrilled about looking for trouble. The orgy is interrupted by an unlikely sound in the wilderness, the sound of an infant's cry. While the others stare at each other blankly Will takes it upon himself to investigate. He digs through the shrubbery and unearths a newborn infant, crying with hunger and cold. From this Will surmises the baby's mother is long gone.

Robin and the rest step up to examine the baby, except for Roy who is worried that the baby's crying will draw unwarranted attention. Surely no more attention than all the shouting and whooping it up they were all just engaged in. Still, they're all concerned about the noise so Alan takes the baby carefully in his arms and then turns it on it's head and gives it a good shaking. He seems to be under the impression that's a normal method for soothing an infant. Now we know what's wrong with Alan, he's been tipped upside down one too many times.

Thankfully the rest have a little more sense. Robin takes the baby and it quiets down. He thinks it's because the baby likes him, but it's more likely that the poor thing is suffering from dehydration and hypothermia and has just about expended it's last in drawing their attention.

Deprived of further opportunity to display his child care skills, Alan's attention is drawn to the ground where he notices that the horses they've stolen have left a very distinctive hoof print in the mud. Gotcha! Gisbourne marked his horses in anticipation of this very event. He might be on his way at any moment. Or he might already be there.

Prepared to fight at Robin's word, the outlaws draw their weapons. Substantially disadvantaged by the infant held in his arm, Robin draws as well, declaring that they've sworn not to harm men but vermin are another matter entirely. In an unlikely bout of sword play Robin and his men best Gisbourne's team (why doesn't Gisbourne ever get off his horse and get into the action? Is his leather clad behind velcroed to that saddle?) but not before they lose Roy, who is knocked senseless by a mace hurled by Gisbourne and meant for Robin's head. Roy pushes Robin to safety but is struck instead. With a fabulous rendition of unconsciousness Roy is carted off to Nottingham. Hampered as he is by the infant Robin can't pursue him. And this round goes to Gisbourne.

Sheriff Fazy is conducting his latest session of the lame duck council of nobles. Watching this gathering of pathetically ineffectual men, unwilling or unable to retake any of the authority the sheriff has usurped from them is increasingly an exercise in frustration for the viewer. It seems the village of Clun has been the unfortunate recipient of a recent bout of pestilence. For the safety of the shire it has been quarantined and heavily guarded. Late intelligence has it, however, that the threat of pestilence has passed. Edward is relieved to observe that the quarantine might now be lifted, but Fazy's in no hurry. Clun is apparently a village of small distinction, it's citizens the poorest and most down trodden of all the poor and down trodden. "Low on taxes, high on moaning," the Sheriff declares. If the quarantine is left in place...

Time for Marion, hovering as usual over her father's shoulder, to speak up and insist the people of Clun must be fed, starving healthy people is barbaric. Of course it's barbaric, otherwise the sheriff would have never thought of it. No other noble appears to care, at least not a single one of them has the courage to refute the sheriff, and I begin to wonder why they bother to put in an appearance at the council at all. What sad day is it when the only person brave enough to speak up on behalf of the shire's citizens is a girl with no money or power of her own to weigh in the balance of her outrage...oh, wait a minute, maybe that's why the rest of the council is so cowardly. Wouldn't want to give up any of our own comforts or position to aid those less fortunate, right gentlemen?

The sheriff interrupts Marion's justice rant with a juicy zinger aimed at her empty womb. All that passion surely stems from the fact that her biological clock is just tick-tick-ticking while she wastes her best years as an old maid. He's touched a raw spot and he looks perfectly prepared to rip it open and claw out her insides, but is interrupted by the appearance of a messenger.

Meanwhile Guy is having a little fun with Roy in the dungeon. I haven't heard him asking any questions, mostly he seems to just be enjoying the physical contact, but all Roy will give is his name, rank and serial number. Or in this case, just his name and the fact that he fights for Robin and King Richard. The sheriff strolls in as Roy imparts this bit of info and puts an end to Guy's playtime. Nobody is more surprised than Roy, and we are left to wonder what insidious plan the sheriff plans to put in motion with no more to work with than that Roy's full name is Royston White and he works for Robin Hood.

A serving girl passes the disappointed Gisbourne on the steps on her way to serve Roy some food and water. (interesting that the sheriff is reluctant to waste food on starving villagers whose only crime is being ill, but he'll pony up for the prisoners in his dungeon). She hesitates to ask him a question, which Gisbourne declines to answer. In fact he pays her almost no attention at all.

Roy wants to know what in the world would inspire a girl like her, Annie, to smile at a dirt bag like Gisbourne. She tells him that Gisbourne has another side. Roy sincerely doubts that and he says so. Annie cautions him to be careful, she could be Gisbourne's wife, she's the mother of his child. The poor delusional thing is in serious need of a wake-up smack upside her head, but there are bars between her Roy. Annie tells Roy that Gisbourne took the baby to an abbey to be cared for at his own expense. Roy has a flashback to the infant in the woods and realizes that Gisbourne left his own child to die alone in the forest.

The outlaws have a conference, trying to figure out the easiest way into the dungeon. The bad news is that the castle is heavily guarded and the dungeon has a new door. The good news is that Will has been keeping up with word of the competition in the field of carpentry. Robert of York built the door out of two-foot timber and Robert of York builds a rotten hinge. Will is fairly confident the hinge side of the door will give out based on the weight of the wood.

The sheriff holds an audience for Roy. He presents Roy with a special dagger and orders him to kill Robin. Roy would rather kill his own mother and the sheriff is overjoyed to hear it. As it so happens he has Roy's mother in custody (lesson: next time you're imprisoned in the Nottingham dungeon, being tortured, give out an alias) and unless Roy cooperates by killing Robin, Roy's mother, Mary, will hang.

The outlaws are prepared to storm the castle in order to save Roy, but before they can make the charge he appears on a horse outside the gate and follows them into the woods. Everyone is glad to see Roy, who is acting suspicious, except for Much, who is far more perceptive than he is ever given credit for being. Much thinks it's a trap, that Roy is going to kill them and has ridden another marked horse into the woods to lead the sheriff and his men directly to them. Silence prevails for a stress filled moment, as even Roy seems to ponder that possibility, but Robin checks the horse's hoof and finds it to be normal. Everyone gives poor Much a dirty look for having the temerity to question Roy's loyalty.

Roy takes Robin aside and tells him that he met the baby's father in the castle dungeon. The child's mother abandoned the baby in the woods because she couldn't face trying to raise the child alone. Robin and Roy head out for Knighton to deliver the child to his mother. Much wants to ride along but Robin tells him no and leaves the camp alone with Roy. Befuddled and disappointed Much plans to attend to things at camp, meal planning and such.

Marion, in one of her least brilliant moments, has driven a cart filled with bread up to the gates of Clun. She's in the process of demanding that the guards let her through despite their orders to the contrary, and she tells them that the pestilence has ended. Things could be getting ugly as one of the more forward thinking guards demands payment of a kiss from Marion. She's surrounded by armed guards, outside the locked gate and all alone. As luck would have it Robin shows up with Roy and intervenes by disarming the soldiers and tying them up. He chides her for her lack of foresight in planning this little expedition, but willingly steps in to help by launching bread filled arrows over the wall. She's irritatingly ungrateful, and thinks Robin is just showing off, which he is, when more soldiers arrive and one of them shoots Robin in the arm with an arrow.

Marion wants to help him, but he tells her it's too dangerous, feeding the poor is foolish, but helping him is a hanging offense. He asks for the baby, saying that this is no business for women. Marion doesn't think it's business for a child, either, and asks Robin if the baby is his...excuse me? She wants to know if the baby is his?

I realize that Robin is reputed to be the best marksman in all of England, but surely she doesn't think he can shoot straight into the womb of an English girl all the way from the Holy Land? If she does believe that than perhaps the sheriff's remarks that she's been unwed and un-bedded for too long have a ring of truth to them. The same sort of thought must be going through Robin's head because he gives her a strange look and declines to reply before he and Roy take off in opposite directions.

Robin ditches the sheriff's men by ducking for cover with the baby in some undergrowth. Roy joins him there, dagger at the ready. Distracted by the baby, Robin doesn't notice that Roy has nefarious plans on his mind. He reproaches Roy for sneaking up on him, claiming that he might have killed him. He takes note of the dagger and questions Roy about where it came from, but doesn't get the answer because Marion shows up to help despite Robin's insistence that she shouldn't get involved.

She leads them to a crofters cottage, where a lone woman recognizes her and promises not to mention she's ever seen her. Inside the cottage Marion threads a needle. She warns Robin that it is thick and blunt, is he prepared? Robin jokes that it's all in the way she says it. Not amused, Marion tells him to take off his shirt where she notices the terrible scar left on his side. Evidence of his earlier claim to her in "Who Shot the Sheriff?" that he has indeed been hurt, and that his air of invulnerability is a well-built facade.

Robin tells her the wound came from an unexpected Saracen attack on the King. He took a fever from the injury and when he woke up the King had gone and left orders for him to go home to England and recover. Marion snarks that he came home and took to the wilderness instead, which Robin takes in stride. She over-zealously cleans his wound and when he complains she claims that he'll take another fever if the wound isn't clean. A wiser man would hold his tongue while an angry woman takes a needle to his arm, but Robin boldly goes forth and surmises that Marion must have had suitors while he was in the Holy Land. (it is curious that an attractive and accomplished girl, sole heir to a landed estate has attracted only the attention of Gisbourne) She agrees that she must have had. Undaunted by her pursed lips, Robin declares, "It is surprising you are unmarried."

With a look that speaks volumes, Marion replies, "Not so surprising when you consider that marriage requires a man." If that isn't a reproach, I haven't heard one, and it is clearly meant for Robin. Could it be they were more than just an item back in the day? If they were more to one another than just a casual romance Robin's response is no indication for he merely laughs at her. Her implication seems to be that she would be married, to him, if he had stuck around, but she's not going to admit that she's been waiting for him.

Marion says that his charms, such as they are, have long since ceased working on her. Robin thinks that's a challenge, but she's in no mood to play games and jerks violently on the thread in his arm. Robin yelps, and Marion makes it clear that she's happy to be the cause of a little suffering on his part. Whatever he did to her back then clearly was very bad. But we're left wondering about the details.

Robin doesn't feel his past actions are irredeemable, however, for when Marion ties off the thread on his wound Robin suggest she kiss it better. She rewards him with another vicious twist on the thread and this time he gets the message. Marion absolutely does not want to play. Robin puts his shirt back on just as the peasant woman returns with milk for the baby and cheese for it's mother. With a grim face Marion denies the child is Robin's and hers.

Horses sound outside the cottage, we hear Much call for Robin and Robin goes out to see to his men, who have tracked him easily. While he's outside Marion bends over the baby's cradle and lifts it up, holding it for a moment. Robin returns to that domestic scene, and while she's not facing him, his face is stripped of it's normal cockiness. He looks at Marion holding the child, in point of fact, with grieved longing. He would seem to be thinking that if he had made different choices with his life that child might very well be his and Marion's and that it wouldn't be any bad thing.

So, then, when she seemingly holds him accountable for the fact that she's not married why does he laugh at her? Has he not noticed how unhappy she is? Has he not noticed how angry she is? I really want to send that boy a copy of "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." It might do him more good in his present predicament than having read the Holy Qua ran.

He asks her if she can take the baby to it's mother at Knighton. Marion wants to know why he can't deliver the child himself. He excuses himself on account of his men. Marion openly derides his, "Call of the wild."

He wants to know why everything she says to him seems to be a criticism. Well, Robin, that would be because everything she says to you is a criticism.

They spar a little more, bickering about life direction, responsibility and lost tongues, before the most telling conversation between Robin and Marion yet ends with her shoving the baby back into his arms and telling him to take his child before she storms out of the cottage.

The peasant woman hears a thunder storm coming on and suggests that Robin and the gang pass the night with the baby in her barn.

Marion returns to Knighton just as the storm breaks and is met outside by the grimly repressive face of her disappointed and terrified father. Over his shoulder she reads the source of his dismay, Gisbourne is lurking on the porch and that can only mean...

The sheriff is eating grapes at their dining table. Also, he's heard word on the street that the pestilence at Clun is over. It is over, but that was supposed to be a secret and Marion is now guilty, due to her ill-advised food run to Clun, of giving out state secrets. For this she must be punished and it will have to hurt. The sheriff skips off, but not before telling Marion that he isn't paying any attention to rumors that she consorts with Robin Hood, that would be unforgivable. Also, she isn't to take her punishment personally, it's just politics. He has to set an example of what happens to people who question his authority.

Gisbourne doesn't hesitate for a second, not even for a quick smirk or an 'I told you so'. He's fast on the sheriff's heels, and I'd take bets that he's desperate to know what Marion's punishment will be. If the sheriff would like he could offer the use of nice thick strap he's been saving for a special occasion, perhaps his wedding night, it causes pain and pretty welts, but no permanent damage.

Really. This is the middle-ages. Certainly Marion should get a good flogging at least, perhaps a hot afternoon spent in the stocks without water as well. This is the sheriff that cuts out people's tongues, hangs people for stealing bread, etc...

We don't have long to wait. Next scene Marion is brought out in virginal white, bound at the wrists and escorted to the gibbet, in view of her pathetically impotent father, and an uncomfortable looking Gisbourne, plus a horde of on-lookers. I imagine this blood-thirsty society is somewhat disappointed when the worst that happens is a guard with shears hacking off Marion's braid. Edward is anguished, Gisbourne silent but unhappy, the sheriff delighted. Apparently they all think a haircut is worse than flogging.

The sheriff even casts a little aside in Gisbourne's direction, "Ahh, wasted beauty." Wasted beauty? A double M branded onto her peach bloom cheek, referencing "Mouthy Marion", would be wasted beauty. All this does is give Marion a sassy looking bob, that might have been done by any salon professional. Perhaps this guard has a future as a hair stylist, when he gets tired of helping the sheriff torture people who oppose him. As for Gisbourne, he looks none too pleased with the sheriff picking on Marion. Could it be that under that all of that leather armor there actually lurks a human heart?

Robin, sleeping in the peasant woman's barn because of an impending thunderstorm, is tormented with dreams of his stint in the Holy Land. He relives the night of the attack on the king and sees a saracen sword coming down at him then wakes to see Roy poised overhead with the dagger at his heart. Hell breaks loose as Robin wrestles with Roy, Much wakes up to find his beloved friend in imminent peril from the very person he was disposed to distrust and begins shouting an alarm. Will and Alan step in to separate Robin and Roy and Little John demands to know what on earth is going on.

A sobbing Roy admits he was trying to kill Robin because the sheriff has his mother and has promised to hang her if he doesn't. He also admits that he found out the baby's mother is a castle kitchen-maid and that Gisbourne is a candidate for the worst father of the year award. Understandably the gang is more appalled by the sheriff's callous tactics and Gisbourne's reptilian nature than they are by Roy, except for Much who isn't about to ever forgive anyone who would hurt Robin.

Robin decides they have to save Roy's mother from the dungeon and restore the baby to it's poor deceived mother. Robin, Much, Will, John and Roy sneak into the castle dungeon rather loudly and obviously searching for Roy's mother by calling out her name. What? They weren't expecting a trap?

Alan finds Annie the kitchen maid and gives her the baby's hat as proof that Gisbourne is a lying, infanticidal scum-bag.

The sheriff, Gisbourne, and his soldiers round up the outlaws to witness the execution of Roy's mother. But the fun is interrupted when Annie, full of lethal maternal outrage, takes a kitchen knife to Gisbourne's throat and accuses him of murder and also bad parenting. Overflowing with guilt, affection for his child's mother, and his usual chivalry, Gisbourne turns on Annie, viciously backhanding her to the ground and then attacking her.

The outlaws use that moment to turn the tide in their favor by over-powering their guards and launching an attack on the sheriff and his men. Alan rushes to Annie's aid, kicks Gisbourne in the face, and escorts her to the gate. Robin and his men are looking in fine fettle, they have Annie and Mary and are almost home free, when the sheriff grabs Roy and holds him hostage.

Robin has to make the difficult choice, escape, or continue to fight until Roy is free. But Roy makes the choice for him. He head-butts the sheriff and draws the guards attention onto himself so that they can all run for safety. Robin decides to live to fight another day, but not before he has to watch Roy being mercilessly slaughtered by a pack of the sheriff's guards.

In the forest, the outlaws hold a memorial bonfire for Roy. They lay to rest his gudgeon, and John laments, "Him, I liked."

Fast forward a day or so, and Marion rides into the forest on the back of her pretty white horse, following a cart and driver. Apparently she has arranged safe transport for Annie and her infant to the house of a friend who will look after them.

Robin is astonished by the loss of her hair, but she waves him off claiming it was simply a nuisance to wash. Well, she wouldn't want to admit to him that she'd made a mistake now would she? That she was caught dangling in the sheriff's web just as easily, or more so, than Robin has been? After all the time she's spent haranguing him about his outlaw stance and it's attendant consequences, how could she acknowledge that her own life, and that of her fathers, had been endangered by her actions at Clun? Lucky Marion, to escape with a good haircut and nothing more.

She has to travel back to Knighton, and Robin is heading in the opposite direction. They both take a moment to consider the fact that they do always seem to be going opposite ways, even if their interests, intentions, and emotions are the same. The distance between them, it seems, is one of ideology, not fate or design. And neither of them seems to care enough about the other to compromise their direction. A sure sign of immaturity, and ill fore-boding, in their relationship. Can these two quit sniping and taunting long enough to ever have a real conversation? I'm beginning to think that Gisbourne's chances with Marion are improving. At least he doesn't seem to have as much difficulty as Robin does in expressing his interest, even if he is a ruthless, cruel, murderous, sychophant with lousy parenting instincts.

This episode shares the title of the Ron Howard's movie, "Parenthood", which examines the roller-coaster ride of child-rearing from varying viewpoints. Robin Hood's version of "Parenthood" is little more than an excuse for a frolic in the wilderness with a doll. However, the contrast between Robin and Gisbourne is made even more plain, for any who doubted who was actually the better man. Robin will go out of his way to defend, protect, and care for, another man's child. Gisbourne would rather just kill his offspring than be bothered in supporting it.

Robin never denies Marion's accusation that the child is his, at least not so we hear it. Is that because the accusation is too absurd to address, which it is, or is it because he refuses to defend himself to her? In the past four episodes she's called him a fool, implied that he's a murderer, and now accused him of fathering a child out of wedlock. I wonder what he's done in the past to make her believe that he is capable of being or doing any one of those things.

Gisbourne, on the other hand, is guilty of all of those things. And I find myself strangely dissastified with not knowing if Marion is aware of the fact that the infant was Gisbourne's and that he had left it to die. At what point do the sheriff's and Gisbourne's actions become so deplorable, so sickening and inhuman, that she can no longer even pretend to be civil to them? At what point does she realize that "working within system" isn't working at all? When do purportedly rational and humane beings finally rally at injustice? How many have to suffer? Die? These questions are as relevant today as they would have been in Robin's time.

Robin Hood -Who Shot the Sheriff?

Episode three, "Who Shot the Sheriff?" begins with the seemingly economically unwise move of the Sheriff ordering a miller and his family out of a grain mill and closing the mill doors. Any government official worth his weight would have opened the mill up in the government's name, overcharged the customers and collected the revenues, or rewarded one of his loyal cronies with the deed to the mill in exchange for a hefty political contribution.

In any case, Robin's sympathies are firmly placed with the ousted miller and his family. He promises them that somehow he will fix things despite the fact that the miller is leery of accepting any help from an outlaw.

In the wake of Robin's promise Much encourages him to leave the scene, making themselves scarce before the sheriff's men arrive. Robin cannot resist lingering long enough to enjoy the expression of relief on the face of the miller's wife as she takes in the news that he's on the case. Much chides Robin for enjoying the gratitude as much as the good deed.

On the village outskirts they meet up with Joderich, the bailiff, on his way to close the mill down. Robin hands him a sack full of coins on the miller's behalf and entreats Joderich, who seems like a decent sort, to take the money and arrange things with the sheriff so that the mill can stay open. Joderich agrees to do so without giving Robin the credit for his actions.

The miller's wife upon seeing the bailiff entering the village is confounded because it seems that Robin didn't keep his promise. In fact, the bailiff offers them a reprieve but refutes the fact that he spoke to Robin. Just as the miller and his wife are trying to make sense of this turn an arrow flies out of the forest and nails Joderich in the back. He drops dead at the miller's feet as Robin and his allies watch astounded from the cover of the forest. Most astounding yet, the miller's wife cries out that Robin killed him.

Confusion abounds, Robin chases down the real shooter but he gets away after a struggle. Leaving Robin perplexed and a little miffed that somebody got the best of him. The rest of the gang speculate that the shooter was the heretofore non-violent "Night Watchman", a creature of myth based on the real actions of a do-gooder who dresses in disguise and leaves food and medicine for people in need.

In Nottingham the Sheriff is having a field day with Joderich's death. He's delighted to have a senseless and cowardly murder on hand to blame Robin with. Gisbourne is raring to go charging into the village to torture a few people on account of this latest act of villainy on Robin's part, but Marion offers the opinion that reprisals against the villagers didn't work out that well the last time, and the Sheriff, possibly considering Robin's last visit to the castle and his sworn oath to kill Fazy if he takes revenge on innocents again, for once agrees with her.

The Sheriff's man-at-arms wants to employ town criers to give Robin some bad press and ruin his credibility with the peasants. Gisbourne wants to take some dogs into the forest and run Robin and his men into the ground. The Sheriff likes both ideas and pits Gisbourne against his man-at-arms, challenging them to both go ahead and see whose idea is more successful.

Joderich's funeral takes place in the castle courtyard with the Sheriff lauding his civil servants service to the crown for a second or two and then segueing immediately into a diatribe against Robin the vile murderer.

Marion, attending the funeral with her father, notices an old friend dressed in uniform and approaches him. She wants to know why he's back to working for the sheriff when he's supposed to be retired. Joe Lacey tells her that he's been recalled to service and Marion tells him she'll talk to the sheriff and get him off his duties.

Robin is attending the funeral too, hanging on the outskirts of the crowd with his gang. Much is offended to realize that the sheriff has the nerve to call Robin the killer and make it sound as though they are all criminals, to which Roy replies, "You know we are criminals?" Well, maybe, but Much and Robin aren't in the habit of thinking of themselves so. Not too long ago they were war heroes returning home with commendations from the highest authority in the country. Apparently noble service to one's country isn't worth what it purports to be.

Robin loads his bow and sends Marion a summons that strikes her sharply in the rump. Disgusted by his temerity she marches over to confront Robin and shoves his arrow back in his face, "You don't ever shoot me!"

He's not feeling guilty though, he's deeply concerned about the fate of his good name. If the villagers believe he's a killer and can't be trusted he won't be able to help them. Marion, who apparently really doesn't think too well of him, insists that this display on the sheriff's part is all his fault. He killed Joderich and gave the sheriff a stick to beat him with. Robin, sounding truly offended, tells her that he didn't kill Joderich the Night Watchman did. Then it's Marion's turn to sound offended as she vehemently denies the involvement of the mysterious Night Watchman. Robin might be suspicious but he's not. He's still too worked up for the fact that he looks bad and he wants Marion to look around the castle for him and try to figure out who the killer might be.

Back in the forest the outlaws try to plan a strategy for catching the Night Watchman when they are interrupted by barking, lots of loud, excited barking. The kind of barking that comes from packs of dogs on the hunt. Gisbourne's in the forest with a pack of hounds and the chase is on. Robin splits up the gang into pairs and they all take off at a run.

Matthew, the miller's boy, is spending his first day on the job and finds out what it's like to work for a pecker head. He sets the sheriff's tray on the left side of the desk only to discover that the sheriff is right-handed and also, a twisted, and evil power hungry megalomaniac. He forces Matthew to stand on his right leg, to help him remember the sheriff's evil-handedness in the future. While poor Matthew balances on one leg trying to pretend that he's not alone in the room with a maniac the sheriff tries to instill in him a sense of gratitude for his lot in life. After all isn't being ruthlessly tormented for no good reason better than being chased to death in the forest by a pack of dogs?

Matthew looks rather uncertain about that as he contemplates the sheriff's goblin-like maw invading his personal space. Then an arrow soars through the open window, striking Matthew between the shoulder blades and killing him instantly. The sheriff, realizing that Joderich's killer has a master plan, panics and flees in a cowardly terror for the dubious cover of his bird cages while calling for the guards. Enter his man-at-arms who tells the sheriff that Gisbourne has taken most of the men with him to the forest. Fazy's first option is to recall his men and cover his butt with them. On second thought though he considers that the death of an innocent and helpless young boy might be twisted to his advantage after all. He wants to attribute Matthew's death to Robin Hood as well, and by-the-by perhaps his sergeant might see fit to add a few more interesting and pretty deaths to that roster while they're at it.

"In your face, Hood," the sheriff seems to say. Robin distinctly warned him against doing this very thing in the last episode. Still the sheriff can't seem to help himself, and at least this time the killings will be anonymous and providentially accidental.

Marion, having sidled up to Guy earlier, (haven't decided if this is actually a hardship for her) has secured a space for herself in the castle because it seems safer for her with a killer on the loose. She strolls by as a servant bites the dust and notices that the sergeant is conveniently close by. Later she pays a visit to her old friend Joe Lacy to discuss bow range and murdering the sheriff in a round about fashion. Joe suspects her of trying to prove Robin's innocence and asks her if she's still in love with him. Marion pretends she doesn't know who he's talking about, but he calls her bluff and tells her to give Robin a message when she sees him, not that she ever does, that there are those who remember him from the old days and still love him.

Interesting, that. Apparently Robin and Marion were an item at one time and if someone like Joe Lacy knows about it probably a pretty public item at that. The fact that she was in love with Robin is no matter of secret privilege and we are inspired to wonder then about her apparent animosity towards him in present days.

Robin and the gang, thirsty, exhausted, and at least in Much's case in want of cheese, make for the nearest village in search of sustenance and are astonished to be greeted with violent disdain. The miller's wife attacks Robin bodily, accusing him of killing her son, Matthew, and no amount of denial on Robin's part will suffice to convince her and the rest of the villagers otherwise. The sheriff's smear campaign is working in spades. Robin and the outlaws run from the villagers back to the baying hound filled wilderness.

Desperate and flat-out of ideas Robin decides he has to make a deal with the sheriff. Leaving Little John in charge he and Alan make for Nottingham castle at night. With surprisingly little effort Robin sneaks into the sheriff's bedchamber and surprises him in submissive sleep pose (both hands extended palms up beside his head, dreaming of Robin, perhaps? One begins to wonder). He places his hand over the sheriff's mouth and his dagger at the sheriff's throat. Fazy wakes up and laments the fact that he hasn't been awakened by a beautiful woman, instead. Robin tells him to call off the dogs and he'll find out who's trying to kill him.

The sheriff is skeptical, he's used to being loathed and is distrustful of Robin's abilities anyway. But Robin points out that he sneaked into the sheriff's chambers undetected and a determined killer could do the same. Fazy is convinced and is willing to give Robin's plan a shot. He'll appear openly in the village, a publicity appearance, and draw out the killer. Robin and his men will be waiting to strike.

On his way out of the castle Robin makes a chased-by-soldiers inspired detour into an unlocked bedchamber. The door is thrown open to reveal lovely Marion in dishabille, (one questions her sense, she's sleeping in the castle with the sheriff and leaves her door unlocked? Not very bright) The guard apologizes for disturbing her and slams the door shut. And who should pop out from under the covers but Robin. He can't get her to kiss him for anything but she'll let him into her bed in a pinch.

She tells him she suspects the sergeant at arms of being the killer by reason of proximity and ambition. It's a fuzzy analysis at best, but her claim is that the sergeant has benefited from the current situation of panic at the castle and Robin says he's going to change the situation.

Marion shares skepticism of Robin's abilities with the sheriff. She doubts that he can change things just because he wants to, and he counters that it's difficult to change things you don't want changed. A subtle jab at Marion there? Is he implying that she's become too complacent in her compliance with the sheriff?

She retaliates that it would be easier for Robin to just leave, but he says he's having too much fun, and we have to believe that he is. Sneaking about the castle at night, threatening the sheriff's life in his own bed chamber, late night visits to his ex-girlfriend with the added edge of being about to get caught at any minute...who wouldn't love that crazy action? Marion doesn't think any of this is fun and games, though. She doesn't tell him to grow-up this time, but it's on the tip of her tongue (as unfortunately for the viewer tired of the trite and overused expression it always is) and instead asks him if anything truly touches him.

Robin doesn't understand the question and she explains that he behaves as if he's invulnerable, everything is a game and none of it truly affects him. In effect, I think she is subtly attacking his feelings and behavior towards her as much as anything else. He pops in and out of her life at his whim, hinting at deeper feelings, dangling his affections in front of her, before whisking away again on his next adventure. He tells her, in his first moment of sincere conversation with her, that he has been hurt, that he does feel pain, and that his feelings are genuine. Marion takes the opportunity to impart the information that she was talking about him earlier that day and that he should know that people do remember him from the old days and still love him. However if she's waiting for an admission on his part that he still loves people he remembers from the old days she waits in vain. He grins and whisks away again on his next adventure. But not before he steals a kiss on her cheek, leaving Marion grinning despite herself.

Robin enlists the outlaws to deliver their last store of food to the starving villagers in an attempt to convince them that he isn't a killer. None of them are enthusiastic about this approach, particularly Much, who is hungry and doesn't understand why Robin wants to feed people who hate him. But the gift works to a degree. Although the miller, Owen, accuses Robin of engaging in games with the sheriff and using the common people as pawns. Twice then Robin has been accused of being less than sincere in his attempts to show affection and loyalty and on both occasions he is wounded by the implication.

The sheriff and Gisbourne show up in the village to engage in a little post-tongue-cutting friendly publicity with the locals. Gisbourne claims to be offering the village the gift of freedom as he and the sheriff strut about sucking up to the peasants and refusing to be cowed by terror and the possibility of assignation.

An arrow flies, striking a guard in the arm. The shooter flees, as does a masked figure hiding in the woods. Robin, as promised, races after the masked culprit and tackles him to the ground, pinning him, and demanding to know what kind of man he is, when he kills innocent people.

Robin's prisoner reaches up to remove his mask and Robin catapults halfway across the clearing as he realizes that he's captured Marion. Much, on Robin's heels, arrives in time for the unmasking and declares, "You're the Night Watchman!"

She is, but she's not the killer. That would be Joe Lacy, who tells Robin and Marion when they catch up to him as he's about to launch an arrow into the sheriff's heart, that he's the only man in Nottingham who is brave enough to do something about the sheriff's tyrannical reign. Robin argues with him, after all he killed Matthew in his quest for vengeance and the others, innocent people working in the castle. But Joe is undeterred, the sheriff deserves to die and he begs Robin to let him do it. Robin says no way. Prince John will only send another sheriff, better the devil you know than the one you don't. He warns Lacy that he will shoot him if he persists in his folly but Lacy is determined. He shoots and his arrow finds his target just as Robin and Marion, armed as the Night Watchman with a bow, shoot him in the arm. He topples down the hill and lands at the bottom crowing, "I did it! I shot the sheriff!"

To which the sheriff replies, "No, you shot the deputy. My look alike." Ugg! What a ghastly notion, the sheriff has a look alike.

Gisbourne strides up like the black death and drives his sword straight into Joe Lacy's murderous unrepentant heart. No trial, no appeal.

Robin and Marion take a small stroll together where she reveals her secret identity. Robin tells her that she doesn't need to dress up and act out anymore now that he's on the scene. She claims that her father had her taught to fight so that she would have choices in the world, she chooses to help the poor and Robin's return isn't about to change that. He wants to know if her father knows how she's putting her skills to use and she admits that he believes she enjoys embroidery. Interesting since we're three episodes into the series and we haven't seen her engaged in a single domestic task yet, much less whiling away her time with a needle and thread.

Robin excuses himself to re-open the mill for the villagers now that the sheriff has gone and Much joins Marion. She observes Robin being hugged and thanked by the now grateful peasants and comments that he enjoys the glory. Much disagrees, he says Robin just wants to be loved. Robin turns to smile at Marion and she can't help but smile back, because clearly she does love him.

And of course they're both right. Robin can't operate inside a vaccum. He needs the accolades. Losing the admiration of the peasants was deeply distressing for him, he is touched by the opinions of others. He is touched by the opinion of Marion as well, although he hasn't admitted as much yet.

Robin Hood - Sheriff Got your Tongue?

Springtime in England, the trees are blooming, the birds are twittering and it's tongue shearing season in Nottingham Shire. The Sheriff has chosen Locksley to host the events, purportedly for the purposes of excising information on Robin's whereabouts from the peasants, but it may well just be an excuse for him to indulge in his favorite pastime of tormenting the subjects under his protection.

Proffering a reward of twenty pounds yields not a word. So the leather clad Black Bombshell, Guy of Gisbourne, cuts to the chase, "Loosen your tongues or lose your tongues." For every hour that passes without a word about Robin's whereabouts someone will lose a tongue. First up: a peasant with a sense of humor and unfortunate timing. The soldiers yank him from the ranks of trembling peasants, the camera zeros on a painful looking pair of large black shears and cue the blood-curdling scream.

Thus the second episode "Sheriff Got Your Tongue?" opens on a grimly frightening note. While Robin's peasants are being horribly tormented by his nemesis Robin finds himself and his less-than-merry men tied to trees while the forest outlaws rummage through their meager possessions. So far they've taken Alan's shirt (nice pecs, Alan), Much's pants and Robin's dignity. Much tries to reason with the outlaws based on the old "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" ploy, but only manages to provoke them into mockery and Alan into annoyance.

Robin bears the incident with noble disdain, refusing to show fear even when a particularly unpleasant looking miscreant sticks a knife under his jaw. He even goes so far as to accuse the outlaws of being purposeless and disorganized. They determine he's a nobleman by his smell, claiming he reeks of the lavender he bathed in at least twenty-four hours previously, but after an afternoon of fighting the Sheriff's men, fleeing on horseback and lying about in the forest I find it hard to believe he smells of anything but sweat and leaf mold. However without the lavender bit Roy, one of the outlaws, would be deprived of his favorite nomenclature for Robin, "lavender boy". Not an undesirable outcome considering the comment is only vaguely amusing the first time and much less so the second and third.

Things are looking pretty dire for Robin and his mates until we recall that young Will Scarlett broke camp in search of kindling before the outlaws arrived. We find that he is hiding in the forest within eye shot of Robin and is perfectly willing to step in at any time and free them with his axe. Robin puts him off however with a barely discernible shake of his head. He has another plan, one that includes letting the outlaws take off with the horses, leaving Alan shirtless and Much in his small clothes.

Once the outlaws have gone Robin easily slips out of his bonds and Will steps up to free Alan and Much. Much can't understand why Robin didn't fight if he could have freed himself at any time, but Robin declares that there's a lesson to be taught here. He digs out his bow and arrow (apparently having the foresight to bury them in a leaf pile before hand), tosses his mates a couple of big sticks and proposes that they seek a little payback.

Before you can say "Much is trouser free" Robin and the gang have the outlaws tied-up and half-dressed while Much and Robin both give them an earful about what it means to be an Englishmen and how scum like them weren't worth dying for in the Holy Land. The outlaws aren't cowed, they have, we must assume, survived worse than a scolding by now. However when Robin orders them to dance while he takes target practice on their moving feet they're suddenly more inclined to see his point of view. Even so it's a bit early for rejoicing, before long more outlaws show up and Robin and his friends are once again in a bit of a pickle. They find themselves outnumbered and on the receiving end of Little John's mercy, which is thin.

Little John, a great bear of a man and the leader of the outlaws, determines that the Robin in his view is the nobleman Robin of Locksley wanted by the Sheriff. Without further ado he knocks Robin unconscious and prepares him for transport to Locksley to collect the reward being offered.

Meanwhile at the tongue severing festival an hour has passed and it's time for another demonstration of the Black Bombshell's ruthlessness. After the peasants refuse to be swayed by his reassurance that he is their master now and they need not worry about reprisals from Robin he demands another tongue be taken.

The sheriff takes advantage of the intermission to induce his captive audience into some cooperation with a little civics lesson. Robin, he claims, has learned to hate England in his long absence. Instead of lauding him for his service to crown and country the sheriff intimates that Robin's role in the military has prejudiced his opinions against the rule of law and rightful order. He isn't a hero, striking a blow for freedom, he's a dissenter, a menace to good English tax-payers everywhere. Sound familiar? Eerily familiar I should say. The sheriff's attempt to classify any dissenter as a traitor is copied today on a daily basis by pro-war politicians and their proponents. Even if it means turning on a war hero.

This time a pretty young woman is yanked from the crowd. Soldiers brutally restrain her, forcing open her jaw, and the shears come up snip, snip, snipping in her direction just as Little John shows up with his prisoner.

Hiding in plain view of the spectacle John finds himself confronting the image of his estranged wife, Alice, about to lose her tongue. Will, who had been living in the village of Locksley along with Alice, knows her as a widow who thinks her husband John is dead. John doesn't know what to do but Robin does. Robin persuades him that he can save Alice if he's released and given his bow. Little John has his doubts, of course, but we do not. True to his word Robin takes his bow and sends an arrow flying in the direction of the soldier holding the shears in his hand. One shot knocks the shears out of his hand and into the air, the next arrow splices them into two useless pieces.

The Sheriff sits up and takes notice. Now things are getting interesting. Robin is there somewhere and he demands his minions to find him. No need, Robin has already decided, in the interest of tongue saving expediency to give himself up, to Much's absolute horror. Much pleads with Robin not to go because the Sheriff will hang him, but with a meaningful look in the outlaws' direction Robin declares he'd rather be hanged than live out his days pretending that he's dead.

Robin strides out into the open, bow slung over his shoulders to openly mock the Sheriff's efforts to track him down. "If I tell you where I am; can I collect the twenty pounds?" The Sheriff is thrilled, Gisbourne smug. Gisbourne tells Robin he is soon to be made Earl of Huntington and lord of the manor and that his services are no longer required. The peasants might argue that point, but they don't. Gisbourne tells Robin to put down his weapon, but before he does Robin can't resist snapping the empty bowstring in the direction of Gisbourne's face causing him to flinch. Then he laughs delightedly at the other man's fear.

In fact, it seems that Robin enjoys being arrested. The entire time he's being chained and dragged off to Nottingham he's wearing a mocking grin, even when he's cuffed sharply by a soldier and brought to his knees behind Gisbourne's horse. Robin fearlessly rebukes the sheriff for playing a cruel game, and the sheriff thinks he's got this lad all sewn up. He's going to die tomorrow and now the peasants have no one to protect them. I'll give that boy points for bravado, Robin's braving it out for all he's worth while poor beleaguered Much is about to keel over from concern.

Back in the forest Much and Will relay the story of Robin's bravery to the rest of the outlaws. Mostly they're interested in the lack of the twenty pound reward. Although the tongue cutting incident inspires some gallows humor. Despite his best intent Much cannot convince the others, not even Alan and Will, that they owe it to Robin to make a rescue attempt. Disgusted with the lot of them and desperately afraid for his beloved friend Much leaves on foot for Nottingham determined to rescue Robin alone.

Little John, meanwhile, is more concerned about his wife Alice and asks Will where he can find her so that she can be brought to live in the forest with him. Puzzled Will replies that Alice can't live in the forest and then a look of understanding dawns on his face as he realizes that there's something about Alice Little John doesn't know.

Robin is brought in chains behind Gisbourne's horse into Nottingham castle courtyard where he sees Marion standing on some stairs. She sees him as well and looks even less thrilled this time than she was the last. She stomps down the stairs in a hurry to rush past him and if he's looking for a kind word he looks in vain. Marion hisses "Fool!" at him as she moves past and Robin is left wondering if she's right.

In the dungeon the jailer takes petty revenge on Robin for the last time he visited and knocks him onto his knees before tossing him, still grinning, into a stark jail cell with iron bars.

After hearing Will out Little John decides to pay a visit to Locksley after dark and hides in some shrubbery until he sees a small boy with a decided limp coming his way. The child asks him who he is and John replies that he's a friend of the child's mother. The child tells John that his name is John Little and that he's named after his father who was a big man and a hero. John's grief and guilt are nearly palpable as he listens to the child's innocent tale of woe, his mother is exhausted, and they've been starving, but things are going to be better now that Robin has returned from the Holy Land. He took part in the feast Robin threw for his peasants and had enough to eat for the first time he can remember. Young John asks his father if he'd like to come in but Little John declines and melts back into the forest as his wife Alice rounds the corner looking for her son.

Much sneaks into Knighton Hall and asks Edward and Marion for their help in freeing Robin. As is becoming usual Edward has nothing in the way of help to offer. He tells Much that Robin didn't heed his warning and has brought this fate down upon himself. As for Marion, she's completely disgusted that Robin has been caught already, and even more appalled than Edward that he didn't take her advice to let his peasants die. (Nice friends you've got there, Robin. Returning to the Holy Land should be looking better and better.) Much defends his friend, telling them that he's a hero who gave himself up to save the tongues of his helpless peasants from the sheriff's wrath. He hates the sheriff and if Marion and Edward aren't Robin's friends anymore he hates them too.

Edward and Marion both suffer a twinge of guilt, but neither one of them are particularly forthcoming about ways to help Much save Robin. Much leaves in a huff but not before he makes sure that Marion knows that Robin dreamt of her in the Holy Land.

The sheriff pays a late night visit to the dungeon because Robin intrigues him. Why is it, he wants to know, that Robin, a renowned marksman, could have easily killed him earlier that day and didn't? Why did he give himself up?

Robin doesn't know how to explain love and sacrifice to a sociopath. He simply shrugs and claims that the sheriff would never understand. But the sheriff does think he understands. He taunts Robin with the knowledge that he knows he is a killer, that he's killed countless men in the Holy Land. He thinks that Robin wants to be a martyr, he's tired of bloodshed and thinks to make himself a hero in the eyes of the peasants. Because Robin is due to hang in the morning he tells the sheriff that he is utterly indifferent to his opinions and that he is free to think what he likes. The sheriff likes to think that he's the devil's advocate, so he offers Robin temptation. He opens the door to his cell and tells him that he is free to go, so long as he understands that his beloved peasants will pay for his escape. Well, there's a no brainer. Robin sits down, utterly unmoved by temptation. He would rather die. Really.

Although Robin does ponder out loud why Englishmen travel two thousand miles to fight evil when the real cancer is at home. It is worth wondering about.

The sheriff doesn't get it, but he likes it because it means he gets to attend a hanging in the morning. The jailer doesn't get it either. Which is entirely Robin's point. Neither one of them is him, he is a better man than they are and he takes out his tempered frustration by doing pull-ups on the grate of his prison cell.

Little John returns to outlaw camp in time to hear Will arguing with the other outlaws about what will happen to the hearts and hopes of the Locksley peasants if Robin dies. None of them are swayed to act by Will's vehement argument but they all stand up and take notice when Little John, who has decided Robin isn't such a bad sort after all, declares "We go to Nottingham!"

The Black Bombshell drops in on Marion to invite her to a play date in his new sandbox at Locksley. She's unsure, but he's so pleased to have seized Robin's estates from beneath his aristocratic eyebrows he rambles on. His father would be proud, Gisbourne thinks, to know that there are lands held once again in the Gisbourne name. Gisbourne knows his landless state has been the butt of jokes by his own men before, but those days are over now. Marion claims to be very glad for him, but she wonders if changing Locksley's name will really make a difference. Gisbourne thinks so. After all, when a woman marries she changes her name and that does make a difference. He sidles up to Marion insinuatingly, a snake in the hen house. Clearly he has ambitions that have moved on from Robin's lands and title to Robin's old girlfriend.

Marion cautions Gisbourne not to get ahead of himself. Robin will have his day in court and of course will contest the acquisition of his lands. Then Gisbourne drops the real bomb, there won't be a trial. Robin swings from the gibbet come dawn. Marion insists there must be a trial, it's the law. But Gisbourne retorts that England is a country at war. Robin, as an outlaw, has automatically been classified as an enemy combatant and is therefore not entitled to a trial. Guilty by reason of dissent. It's a sad day in a free country when a citizen loses his civil liberties over a disagreement with his own government. Aren't we all glad that can't happen nowadays?

Hapless Much has tried to scale the castle walls with a too short ladder and been set upon by a large barking dog. Trapped at the top of the ladder to nowhere he's fallen asleep just as a glimpse of dawn can be seen on the horizon. Alan and Will arrive just in time with the outlaws to aid in Robin's rescue and when the ladder is perched on top of John's shoulders it's just high enough to scale the walls.

Marion, dressed in salvation white, also pays Robin a visit in the dungeon. She implicates the jailer by dangling the potential for some torture in front of him and persuades him to give her an audience with Robin in the chamber of horrors.

Robin is tossed into the chamber and Marion asks, "Where is it?"
Robin, most thoroughly fed up with being manhandled by nitwits and verbally abused by Marion confronts her angrily, "Where is what?"
She wants to know where Robin hid the ring her father gave him before he knew the wickedness in his heart.

Totally befuddled Robin replies "What ring?"

The jailer is only too happy to produce an instrument of torture with which to stir Robin's recollections, but Marion dissuades him. She doesn't want him to hear the location of the ring in case he is tempted himself to steal it. With more flout than authority she convinces the dim-witted jailer to leave her alone with Robin where she wastes no time whatsoever in repeating the fact that he's a fool.

He's tired, irritated, and about to die, but for all that exhibits some patience when he reminds her that she's said that already.

Marion exhibits shock at the fact that he actually listened to her. Too bad he wasn't listening when she told him that confronting the sheriff wouldn't work. Robin explains that he was listening to her he just didn't agree with her. He was trying to do the right thing. Sparing no sarcasm she tells him that sacrifice will make his death romantic. She's thoroughly fed up with men and their quests for glory.

Indignant Robin defends his choices on the basis of principle, which she discounts as empty rhetoric. Principle is about making a difference and dead men can't make a difference. He was so caught up in his notions of principle that he followed his king into battle and look where it's gotten him. Worse yet, look where it's gotten his poor villagers, at the mercy of the sheriff and Gisbourne all this time. If he really cared about people at home as much as he claims he does he would have stayed at home to begin with and not gone traipsing off to war...

In a rare flash of male intuition Robin picks up on the fact that there's a double message in Marion's diatribe. He asks her with a suddenly perceptive gaze, "What is this about?"

Well, you doofus, it's about you leaving her to hunt for glory in the Holy Land. But she wouldn't admit that if you turned the thumb screws on her. Robin reaches up to tenderly touch her cheek and is rewarded with a resounding swat. She will not be placated so easily. However, she is prepared to save his life. She's brought him a weapon, and better yet, has bribed a man at the east gate to let him out without being seen. She'll scream and draw the jailer, Robin can attack him and escape. It sounds like a plan to me, but Robin's not convinced.

If he escapes the sheriff wins and he'll take it out again on Robin's peasants. Somehow he has to turn the tables on this catastrophe so that he comes out on top. He claims to have a plan of his own, but Marion is skeptical. Just then the door bursts open to admit the jailer on the brunt of a stick weilded by Much. The jailer drops to the ground revealing the rest of the gang behind him, brandishing their weapons as Much declares, "This is a rescue!"

Robin thanks the outlaws for their assistance but begs for five minutes of time to take care of some business. The outlaws plainly think he's insane, and Much, having just risked everything to save him is utterly devastated by the idea of losing him again. He begs Robin not to chance it, claiming that Robin's death will be his own, he will die from grief without him. Robin doesn't take Much's loyalty for granted after all, because he replies, "And that's why I love you."

But he won't be dissuaded from his revenge on the sheriff. He sneaks into the castle with Roy, steals a soldiers costume and surprises the sheriff in his pajamas. The sheriff is annoyed, but it must be said, not entirely surprised. He's come to the conclusion that Robin is a foe worthy of his evil machinations. Robin tells him that it's true he's lost his taste for bloodshed but he's still capable of killing and if the sheriff torments the peasants again in an attempt to get to him he will kill him. He backs that claim up with a bevy of arrows that land in the headrest of the sheriff's chair, narrowly missing his head on every angle.

Unlike Gisbourne, who flinches at even the prospect of one of Robin's arrows flying through his head, Sheriff Fazy is unfazed, he claims that Robin's actions belie his words. He behaves as though he actually wants Robin to kill him, or at the very least to hurt him...just a little. There is an unmistakable sexual overtone in the sheriff's taunts. He feeds on the power play between them as they wrestle for control of the situation. One moment he wants to be dominated, he tells Robin he won't play nice, he refuses, so go ahead and punish him. Then he accuses Robin of being fearful of authority and afraid of being controlled by him.

There is a dark element of truth to all of the Sheriff's pointed barbs, but at the end of the play-by-play, he really has missed the point. Robin is a skilled fighter, a soldier who kills on principle, but his lethal edge is tempered by reasonableness, justice and compassion. Things the sheriff understands but is incapable of experiencing. Fazy realizes that Robin is a real challenge, he's gotten so used to doing whatever he likes and successfully opposing every foe that Robin excites him. His nostrils veritably quiver with anticipation at the scent of new prey.

In the background, Roy dressed as a soldier rises from the floor sword in hand, giving the sheriff reason to believe that he's about to be rescued. But in a nano-second Robin turns on Roy and nails him straight in the heart with an arrow. He turns back to the sheriff confident that he's proved his point. He doesn't like to kill, but he will if he has to.

Keeping that threat in mind the sheriff allows himself to be marched at arrow point to the tower window where Robin forces him to apologize for his bad behavior. Robin sneaks away while the sheriff is humbly admitting his mistakes and before the sheriff notices he has gone he's vanished.

Roy who had planned this attack with Robin and prepared for it by padding his chain mail gets up off the floor, a little shaky and with the end of the arrow still protruding from this chest. The guards battle the outlaws in the courtyard and find that they've met their match. Will takes out two for one with nothing more than his axe. Alan demonstrates that he knows how to fight with a sword, even gentle hearted Much demonstrates that his sword and shield aren't just for looks and Little John helps Robin fly down from the tower on a spectacular makeshift pulley made by a length of rope and Robin's unstrung bow.

Just as the portcullis drops and they've made their escape Robin catches Marion observing them admiringly from a battlement and winks at her jauntily. He's the man, and he knows it. Moreover, she can eat her words with a side of crow, because not only did he get the best of the sheriff in this escapade, thus proving himself less foolish than she claims, he did it all without her help. So there.

Later the outlaws turn over a new leaf by surreptitiously visiting the families they've had to leave behind and gifting them with money and food. This episode started out with Robin intending to teach a lesson to those who would undermine him. And what has been learned? The outlaws have learned the pleasures to be had in doing for others, and are recovering their self-respect and worth as human beings. He is well on his way to becoming the prince of thieves.

Moreover, he's taught the sheriff that he's a foe to be reckoned with and not someone who can be easily manipulated. In doing so he's ensured some measure of protection for his peasants because the sheriff is convinced now that Robin is a man of his word and won't hesitate to kill him if he's pushed to do so.

Robin has learned a lesson as well. He's learned the reasoning behind Marion's hedgehog impersonation. She feels that he abandoned her when he claimed to care about her, and that finding glory in the Holy Land was more important to him than fulfilling his responsibilities at home. She has felt deserted by him all these years and resents the fact that he left her and his village unprotected to the extent that they have all fallen completely under the mercy of the mad, unscrupulous sheriff and the mercenary Guy of Gisborne.

She no longer entirely trusts him, and she most certainly has not forgiven him, but what he thought was indifference on her part has turned out to be hurt and anger instead. And despite all that she is still willing to risk everything to save his life.

I've been a fan of Robin Hood since I believed he was a fox, Nottingham's Sheriff was a dull-witted bear and England's Prince John was a thumb-sucking mama's lion. I love Robin so much that I was excited when it was announced that Kevin Costner would take on the role of the British icon...I can't remember now why I thought that would be a good idea. In any case I am intrigued with the new BBC series Robin Hood as envisioned by Tiger Aspect.

Americans instinctively ally themselves with the British rebel in green who stands up for the rights of every citizen, and does so with swash buckling bravado and breathtaking marksmanship. Tiger Aspect doesn't disappoint us with their version of Robin Hood. We're given everything we are meant to expect with a delightful twist, this medieval tale is told with an allegorical edge.

The first episode, "Will You Tolerate This?" sets up the scenario. The intrepid Alan-a-Dale (this time armed not with a lute and a ready ballad but with a proficiency at lying and an earnest demeanor) is about to be separated from one of his digits for the heinous offense of trying to poach one of King Richard's deer. Richard, ostensibly in the Holy Land waging war on the infidel, has little use for the deer personally, but that's irrelevant. In his absence strict laws have been enacted and are enforced with brutal pleasure.

Men from the Sheriff's patrol imprison unlucky Alan by the arms, while another soldier pins his hand to a tree, wielding his axe with a wicked grin. Alan is having second thoughts about sacrificing his finger and the guards are gleefully denying him the right to appeal when their fun is interrupted by a volley of arrows flying out of the forest. Each one landing perfectly and highly improbably within millimeters of every finger of the soldier with the axe.

At this point I can't decide if the soldier is more brave or stupid, because rather than dropping the axe and ducking for cover because there's a sniper in the woods he looks to his commander for instructions. Robin calls out a warning in a light-hearted and easy going manner that belies the menace in his actions. He claims he's missed his target and doesn't want to be forced into taking another shot in case he misses again.

The commander demands that their attacker show himself and we are given our first appearance of young Jonas Armstrong as Robin Hood. Even with his charismatically expressive countenance completely hidden inside an enveloping hood Robin makes an impressive showing. The last time he was in England poaching was punished by a tanning or a spell in the stocks and he calls the soldiers on their barbaric senses of justice. The commander is non-plussed. He doesn't make the rules; he enforces them.

Robin demands that Alan be released, and with a cleverly judicious usage of some shrubbery, a bit of string and his companion, Much, he convinces the soldiers that they are surrounded by his men. The commander is disinclined to be impressed but Robin launches another arrow into the air that ends up piercing the commander's saddle rather than his family jewels and he is compelled to change his mind.

Alan is freed and the soldiers are deprived of their prey, for the moment anyhow. All is well that would end well, insofar as Robin is concerned, until an emboldened Much can't seem to resist popping up out of the bushes to taunt the retreating guards. He refers to him and Robin as "My master and I," leading the commander to understand that "there are only two of them" whereupon he turns his men around to pursue the spoilers of their fun in the forest.

The Sheriff's soldiers are several arrows shy of a full quiver. Only two of them? Were they not paying attention? One of them could have taken out every man as easily as he draws a breath. Luckily for them Robin's not in a killing mood. He and Much break for cover instead.

So, apparently the Sheriff is having some difficulty with the recruitment of quality minions. Have all the good ones gone off to fight in the Holy Land? Perhaps he should change his employment criteria from "dull-witted, but sadistic" to "obtains a shred of common sense."

Robin, on the other hand, is clever, preternaturally gifted with his bow, and a man who is used to getting what he wants but won't hurt anyone unless he has to. And some things haven't changed...he's still a fox. Already we see that the Sheriff will have his work cut out for him now that Robin has returned.

Having escaped their encounter unscathed, well, scathed, very scathed, but mostly hungry, Much and Robin continue traveling the long road home. We discover as they walk that they aren't just two weary and foot-sore travelers, they are soldiers returning home from war. They have been fighting for King Richard and England in the Holy Land. Much cannot wait to get home and eat. Robin cannot wait to get home before Much breaks out into song. They emerge into a clearing with a strange looking structure and Much entreats Robin not to stop, and for pity's sake no more heroics.
However it is Much that decides to stop, the smell of roasting pork has dulled the receptors in his brain and even though Robin points out that they are nearly home he begs to be allowed to stay and assist a cloth merchant with digging a ditch in exchange for a pork dinner. Good natured Robin agrees and Much is prompted to offer a heart-felt, "I love you. Have I ever said that?" Robin takes the accolade as his due. Used to being adored are we, Robin? That's sweet. But I am wondering: Why is a cloth merchant digging a ditch? Why does he have his cloth suspended from the rafters of an open-air structure exposed to the elements? And why is his daughter cooking a pig in the barn?
Never mind. We find that Robin isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. He's the master and Much is the servant but they dig with equal fervor to the tune of, "roasted pork, roasted pork." The cloth merchant isn't much impressed by either of them, first he thinks they're itinerants on the run, then he accuses them of being under worked lackeys. So far England hasn't offered two world-weary soldiers a terribly congenial welcome home.

Robin returns two tankards to the cloth merchant's daughter in the barn and finds that his welcoming committee has arrived in a party of one. The girl is a bosomy, over-sexed wench, painted like a tart, but he likes her in spite of it. Or perhaps he likes her because of it. In either case she makes her move and with very little resistance Robin finds himself engaged in a hearty lip-lock with his host's offspring. To be fair she does inquire if he has anybody at home waiting for him in Locksley, but he doubts it. They're good to go.

Except that Much, engaged in conversation with the cloth merchant about the onerous taxes he's been subjected to and the difficulties he has doing business these days, is distracted by the sight of his master's butt in the grip of a country girl and can't seem to concentrate. Busted.

The merchant, seeing his hospitality so egregiously abused, busts a nut. Robin knew it was coming, it was only a matter of time. He neatly ducks the enraged father's attack, puts the poor guy's boastful claims with the sword to shame, and then adds insult to injury by kissing the girl one last time before catapulting acrobatically off the barn's second story. Robin, can you spell "show off?"

What have we learned? A new Sheriff is in town making things tough on the peasants and merchants alike. Robin could be as lethal with his sword as with his bow and he likes the ladies almost as much as they like him. When Much is hungry he doesn't think clearly. Oh, yeah, and there's a creeping sensation building up here that Much and Robin aren't in Kansas anymore.

That night in the forest Much huddles beneath his cloak, he looks aggrieved. Robin crouches down before the fire, his breath frosts the air. If it weren't for Much's insatiable appetite they'd be sleeping at Locksley. If it weren't for Robin's inability to keep his lips to himself they'd be bedding down in the merchant's barn, filled with pork. They are both culpable in their current predicament and a quarrel could be brewing. A veritable plethora of rebukes are hovering on the edges of Much's tongue. Yet all he can muster is a disgusted, "I'm not saying anything." To which Robin replies by making a face and mimicking him. Ahhh, now I get it. These guys aren't master and servant. They aren't friends. And they definitely aren't a good basis for slash fan-fic. Robin and Much have become family. They are as related by shared experience as any two people ever could be by blood.

Morning finds them at Locksley, a miraculously surreal moment they certainly had believed many times would never happen. Overjoyed to finally be home Robin and Much embrace and head into the village. They are surprised and delighted by the magnitude of their welcome home, the parade, the banners, the fife and drum corp, the...scurrying and ducking peasants who refuse to speak or meet their eyes? Wait a minute. Did they sign up for this?

Robin spies a familiar face. Old Dan Scarlett greets them properly despite the fact that his right hand is conspicuously absent. Robin wants to know what's going on. Dan imparts the info that Guy of Gisbourne has been running Robin's estates in his absence. Dan's sons went to steal some game, Dan tried to stop them but not before Gisbourne caught them. Rather than see one of his young sons maimed for life Dan sacrificed his hand. Robin is horrified. Only a moron/mercenary sadist would maim a skilled carpenter just for stealing food.

Enter the moron/mercenary sadist. Gisbourne swoops down on Locksley while Robin is digesting the fact that Dan's wife starved to death. As per usual, it would seem, the peasants greet Gisbourne with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for the plague. He's in a tizzy over a few missing grain sacks and determined to sort out the culprits. As Robin watches befuddled and dismayed, Gisbourne's men roust the villagers out of their homes and "assemble" them before the Black Bombshell. The grain sacks are found and a teenage boy is dragged before Gisbourne who is confident the lad has accomplices. He offers the possibility of leniency to those who confess. Apparently the peasants have had a belly-full of Gisbourne's leniency because no one steps forward.

Except for Robin. In a moment of majesty Robin addresses Gisbourne by name and is firmly reproached by a guard to bow to and address his lord. Which he does with mocking good grace. Just before issuing this zinger, "I am Robin, Earl of Huntington and lord of this manor. Your services here are no longer required." Much acquires a rabbit skin, drapes it around Robin's shoulders and every peasant bows willingly to the real lord of Locksley. Gisbourne looks (as he often does) as if he's just taken a whiff of raw sewage. Huntington has a lot of nerve returning alive from the crusades, expecting to come back and manage his own affairs. He's all but spoiled Gisbourne's day. In fact, he has spoiled Gisbourne's day.

Now in a bit of a snit, in addition to his tizzy, Gisbourne follows Robin up to the the big house where Robin has just greeted his steward, Thornton, and informed him that Much has been made a free man in return for his service in the Holy Land. Much has gone upstairs to eat, bathe, and start living the life of a lord like he's been promised. Gisbourne whinges that he'd like a little bit more respect in front of the populace. Robin makes it quite clear that he has no use for a man who hasn't earned that respect for himself already. Gisbourne is free to leave at anytime, in fact Robin's servants will help him pack.

Before he leaves, however, Robin and Gisbourne have a portentous exchange about affairs in the Holy Land and the success of King Richard. Robin has learned that little can be achieved by bloodshed, Guy doubts the accuracy of that lesson. In addition, Guy doubts that Robin really believes what he says because he's seen him fight. When Robin asks for specifics Gisbourne pretends he can't recall. Robin warns Guy that he'll expect his peasants waiting in Nottingham's dungeons to be freed and Gisbourne all but laughs and wishes him luck with the new Sheriff.

Meanwhile Much is in the bath, attended by a serving girl who invites him to share the horrors of the war with her. Gentle soul that he is Much replies, "War is for men. You would be upset little one." Then he partakes of a plate of rose petals intended for the bath. The serving girl leaves laughing at his naivete. In his moment of solitude Much clutches the chain around his neck, (It's not just me is it? Those look like dog tags? I thought so.) and reliving the horrors of the war in his mind starts to cry. In a single scene his character becomes three-dimensional. He is more than Robin's faithful friend and comic foil. Much is a man haunted by war, a gentle soul who prefers the comforts of home and hearth but has put on a very brave front for his crusading master.

Who, at that very moment, spoils Much's single moment of privacy by barging in on his bath and demanding that he get dressed and follow him to the old Sheriff's house for a visit. Hold up there, Locksley. Didn't Robin just say that Much isn't his servant anymore? Old habits die hard, huh? Still, it must be said that Robin is nothing if not fair. He made a promise and he'll keep it. Much doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to.

Well, of course he wants to come. Didn't I just tell you that they've become family? He can't leave Robin to go alone. Much abandons his bath and hits the trail with Robin again. This time to Knighton Hall to shake down the old Sheriff and get the skinny on what's happening with the new one. Just as he expected the old Sheriff flings open the door and greets Robin and Much with open arms, in addition to a lot of violent gesticulating and loud insistance that he go away and leave them alone.

Okay, at this point I am a little puzzled. What exactly has Robin done to deserve this sort of treatment? Has word gotten out that he was rude to Gisbourne and tossed him off his lands? How was that, by medieval pony express? And even if that news had come around why would it induce the old Sheriff to react so violently? Robin's not an enemy of the state, yet. He hasn't done anything wrong.

Strange. Not so strange, though, is the spectre of a thin-lipped girl hovering behind her father with a loaded long-bow pointed at Robin's head. It's good-old Marion and Robin is delighted to see her. Is this the girl he doubted was waiting for him in Locksley? I have some news for him, he was wrong. She's been waiting a good long while to tell him to get lost. The door to Knighton Hall is shut on their faces. Much is astounded, Robin speculative. Much claims that the old Sheriff used to treat them like sons, something is terribly wrong. Robin has figured out that Marion is still single, something has finally gone right (if you discount the long-bow pointed at his head that is). Much is annoyed, and quite reasonably so, he abandoned his bath to accompany Robin on a fact-finding mission and instead finds himself checking up on Robin's old girlfriend. Nice one, Hood.

Returning to Locksley finds them greeted by a now well-fed peasantry, thanks to Robin's orders before he left that everyone be brought up to the big house to eat. He's treated fondly by the grateful serfs and experiences a moment of warm fuzziness before being brought up short by the sight of Dan Scarlett crying. His sons have been taken to Nottingham, implicated in the grain theft. Robin promises to help.

Onto Nottingham the next day. Robin and Much travel through the castle gates and are perplexed by the fact that it's market day and there is no bustling market to be had. They travel by the gallows which seems to have taken up a new preeminence in their absence. The scene is filled with foreboding.

Undaunted, or at least utterly unwilling to display any daunt, Robin struts into the council of nobles as if he has a right to be there. Hang on. He does have a right to be there. Of course you wouldn't guess that by the looks on their faces. He throws off his sword and settles down to have a little chat with the Sheriff. When he observes that things don't seem to be changing in England for the better the Sheriff reminds him that they are a country at war. Robin should understand that sacrifices must be made, wars are expensive. "Ahh," Robin replies, "but is it our war? Or George Bush's...er...Pope Gregory's war?" The Sheriff is dismissive. What difference? England stands shoulder to shoulder with the United States...er...Rome.

And falls shoulder to shoulder too, says Robin. Indeed, Robin, indeed. You have seen it with your own two eyes and all of those over-dressed and well-fed men sitting around that table would benefit a lot from your wise council, but they think that you're just a young upstart trying to cause trouble and quite frankly if you were being interviewed by Fox News' Bill O' Reilly he would have questioned your patriotism and cut your mike by now. Just because you were actually in the Holy Land, literally making the sacrifice rather than simply paying lip service to it...well that doesn't give you any special privileges to speak and be heard does it? And why should any of them care anyway. They're all still making money.

Still, Robin comes off looking rather well. He challenges the Sheriff, twists his own words and stuffs them right back into his mouth. Irritates him enough, in fact, that the Sheriff is prompted to flounce off into his study and take revenge on another bird. One that he can wrap his hands around and squeeze the life out of.

Marion takes a moment to waylay Robin and let him know that her father feels the need to speak to him. She cautions him to be careful, come late at night and not be seen. Robin tells her not to worry, he can take care of himself. Guess what? She knows that you num-nut. Haven't you been off in the Holy Land taking care of yourself for the last five years? (read 'not taking care of anybody but yourself', if you will). She's worried about protecting her father. You could be carted off by the whole Saracen army right now and she wouldn't even blink an eyeball. At least you wouldn't catch her blinking an eyeball.

Our Robin, he's plucky though isn't he? Doesn't like to take no for an answer. He lays on the charm and sweetens it up with a few sticky compliments, but Marion isn't falling for it today. Oh, yes, one definitely gets the impression that she's fallen for it before. But now she has his number, and she won't be ringing it. Have to say I love the part when she tells him he's "peddling the same old drivel."

Hey, Robin, have you calculated the cost yet? Going to war: mismanaged estates, and a freed man-servant. Coming home from war: a cheesed off ex-girlfriend. The look on your face when she walks away? Priceless.

Next we are given a grim tour of Nottingham's dungeon. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to be tortured there. Robin interviews his three serfs from Locksley, Will and Luke Scarlett, and Benedict Giddons. Here we learn that Will has some pluck of his own. He's not afraid to tell Robin exactly what he thinks of the Sheriff and his policies. Of course he's going to hang in the morning, so we'd better not get used to liking him.

Just when Robin thinks things can't possibly get any worse the guards drag in a fourth man and surprise, surprise it's the troublesome Alan-a-Dale. He figures Robin saved him once, he'll do it again. Only this time Robin isn't nearly so confident of success, he tells Alan he's probably doomed himself by claiming to be a peasant from Locksley and Alan is only too glad to back-peddle his story to a guard who isn't interested in listening.

Night falls and Robin has the pleasure of attending a feast, or is it a roast? in his honor. The Sheriff, with Gisbourne smirking over his shoulder, tells Robin that he's been voted in abstentia to oversee the hanging of his own peasants. Oh, and by the by, rumor has it that war has weakened him, perhaps he isn't quite strong enough to take over the management of his own estates.

While Much fumes in barely silenced dissension, and Robin looks about ready to skewer the Sheriff on the spot, Marion walks in and is requested by Gisbourne for the "pleasure of her company." Death wish tonight, Gisbourne? He ought to be the one looking over his shoulder as he strolls off down the stairs with Marion on his arm, but it's Marion who looks back and catches sight of Robin's lethal gaze. Guess what, Marion? I think he still likes you.

After midnight Robin raps on the Knighton Hall door and Marion answers it. She bids him to enter before the Sheriff's men come by. Robin, irritated over the impending death of his innocent serfs, his impotency in the eye's of the Sheriff, and anything and everything to do with Guy of Gisborne, lifts an eyebrow and retorts, "And what? You'll give them the pleasure of your company?"

There you are, Marion, you've been waiting five long years to give Robin an earful and here he is standing on your doorstep, just begging for a set down. Go on, whip out that stinging rebuke. Pardon? Did you just tell him to, "Grow up?". Grow up? Speaking of pathetic drivel. Have we just been transported to the Spring Fling at the Nottingham Middle School gym? How old are you? I think what you meant to say was, "Well, Robin, if you cared as much about me as you do the King it might have been you I was pleasuring tonight." Or, "If you were as adept with words as you are with a bow Gisbourne wouldn't stand a chance." Girl, if "grow up" is the best you can come up with I'm not surprised he deserted you for the Holy Land.

Once inside the old Sheriff apologizes for behaving like a ranting looney before. He doesn't offer any excuses for his behavior or give reasons why he has to pretend he hates Robin now, but he does apologize. Clearly, he's not nearly as miffed with Robin as Marion is. The Sheriff tells Robin that Prince John deposes the old and brings in the new in Richard's absence. He is building an alliance of officials who will be loyal to him and are willing to prove it. Robin has to play the game, forget right and wrong, just dive into politics and pretend to be one of the good old boys. In time there will be a chance to take a stand, but not now.

Robin insists he can't wait. Now may not be the perfect time, but after four innocent men are hanged at his word he feels the timing is going to be even worse. Marion insists that Robin must let the men die, he cannot go up against the Sheriff. The old Sheriff silences Marion but tells Robin he agrees with her. If he goes against the Sheriff he's going to lose everything.

What to do, what to do? Robin spends the night alone sitting in front of the fire at Locksley, the very image of a young man wrestling with his conscience. Does he sacrifice everything for four lives, or does he sacrifice four lives for everything? Gee, Robin, aren't you glad you came home?

In the morning Robin stands on the steps beside the Sheriff and Gisbourne looking wretched and out of place. His serfs are marched into place on the gallows, bags over their heads and ropes around their necks. The scene is truly disturbing, Alan is a young man, Will and Benedict little more than boys and Luke a mere child. The Sheriff is erotically charged by the pall he's cast over the town. Having Robin standing next to him, prepared to read out the sentencing on his own men almost has his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure. In addition, he's anticipated trouble on Robin's part, as a precaution he's had Much seized by the castle guard and suspended precariously over the embattlements. If Robin acts up, his friend dies. If we had any doubts that the Sheriff is a seriously disturbed individual they are all gone by now.

Gisbourne is smirking, Marion looks out from a tower window seeming as if she might be ill at any moment. We think all is lost, Robin reads the sentence, but before the men hang there's a last minute delay. One of the Locksley villagers, dressed as a friar, claims that the men are under the protection of the church and cannot be punished by secular law. Nice try, Robin. Not only doesn't the Sheriff buy that, he tells Robin he knows he was behind the scheme and he'll pay for it.

The men fall, and we hear Dan Scarlett screaming and sobbing to his sons that he loves them. Another surreal moment and we see Robin relieved in a glow of saintly white, he has flashbacks, Alan, the villagers, the spring flowers blooming on Locksley's trees...and he makes his decision. With his quick reflexes Robin overcomes the nearest guard and seizes his bow. He compels the citizens of Nottingham to join him in rebellion as one arrow after another launched from his bow severs the ropes around the victims neck and saves their lives.

The citizens spring into action and assist the prisoners in escaping. Robin continues to fight, but is interrupted by Much's cry for help from the embattlement. Robin sacrifices his sword to save his friend and stands alone, and unarmed, in front of a soldier with a loaded bow aimed at his heart. Lucky for Robin, Marion anticipated just this very thing and dressed her hair that morning with exceptionally sharp and heavy hair pins. She surreptitiously pulls one out and launches it at the soldiers arm, dislodging his aim and giving Robin a chance to get away. Surprised at still being alive Robin looks up to see who aided him and finds Marion looking at him with a "I couldn't help myself" expression on her face. Yeah, Robin, it's safe to say that she still likes you. A little.

Robin, Much, Alan and Will escape the castle on horseback and settle down for the night in their new lodge, Sherwood Lodge. It's not Locksley but it beats the Nottingham dungeon all to hell. Things might not be as bad as they seem...until Robin looks up and realizes that they are surrounded by outlaws.