Will Scarlet rox my sox

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More notices appeared throughout the region. The outlaw, Will Gamwell, called Will Scarlet, a known thief and traitor to the crown, was to hang on the next market day.

Market day dawned clear and hot. Nottingham watched, pleased, as the vendors set up. He would have Robin Hood by noon, he knew it. Maybe he would simply make it a double hanging.

The streets moved with a thick crowd, for many had come to see the famous outlaw hanged. They bought and sold, ate and drank, until noon. Then they retired to the shade of houses or inns. The frugal had brought their own meals. Others ate at taverns. By midafternoon, the city guard had already arrested half a dozen brawlers.

An hour before sunset, a bugle sounded from the castle wall. The people lined the road between Nottingham Castle and Gallows Cross, the execution place set up at the cross-roads outside of town.

The sun hung low and red when a great many men-at-arms trooped out of the gate, raising a great clatter over the stones. The Sheriff, the dying day painting his shining mail with bloody light, rode out on his white mare. Beside him, the Lady Marion, her face pale as the moon and just as stony, sat her dapple palfrey. He gripped the reins of her horse as firmly as that of his own.

The people craned and stretched, for in the middle of the guard was a cart. Tied to the cart, with a noose already around his neck, rode Will Scarlet wearing only a shirt and a crown of oak leaves, the mark of a traitor to the crown

He looked at the crowd, searching each face. Although some pitied him and some looked at him sorrowfully, he didn't see the faces he sought. His heart sank like a plummet of lead, but he refused to show this.

Instead, he sang. If he was to die this day, he would teach all of Nottingham a new song. They would sing it long after they had forgotten him and it would set the Sheriff's teeth on edge each time heard it.