‘It’s a small manor, Alan, not much more than a big farmstead, really; only half a knight’s fee. And it’s a bit run down, I’m afraid, but it is good land, I’m told,’ Robin said.

‘But how will I manage the place?’ I asked. ‘I know nothing of making a living from tilling the earth.’

‘I don’t expect you to be a farm worker, Alan,’ said Robin, laughing. ‘You must find a good man, a steward or bailiff, to do that for you. All you do is receive the rents, and make sure that nobody cheats you. I require you to serve me. But you need an income and some standing in society if you are to represent me, deliver my messages and what-have-you.’ He smiled, his strange silver eyes flashing at me: ‘And I am convinced that England has a great and pressing need for more songs about the bold exploits of handsome Robin Hood and his merry men.’

He was teasing me, of course. I had composed a few ditties about our days together beyond the law and they had spread like wildfire across the country, being sung in ale-houses from Cockermouth to Canterbury — growing farther from the truth with each drunken rendition. Robin did not mind that he was being turned into a legend, he said it amused him — in fact, I believe he relished it. And he was not in the slightest worried about his past crimes being brought to light. He was a great magnate now, untouchable by any mere Sheriff and, to boot, he enjoyed the favour and friendship of King Richard. He had won all this in two days of terrible slaughter last year, but there had been a price — above that paid for in the blood of his loyal men. In order to win that battle, Robin had made an unbreakable pact with the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, the famous Templar Knights: in exchange for their support at a crucial moment in the battle, Robin had sworn that he would lead a force of mercenaries, archers and cavalry, to the Holy Land, as part of King Richard’s pilgrim army. As Robin’s trouvere, I would be accompanying the Christian force, and I could not wait to set off on what then seemed to me to be the most noble adventure that it was possible to conceive.