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.