Serial Sunday: The Return of King Arthur, Act 1

By David Flin.

Author’s Notes

It’s amazing what you find out when you’re doing research. With a little bit of low animal cunning, it’s often possible to turn a few random facts into a viable story.

I’ve always been a sucker for British myths – from Cu-Chulainn of Irish myth to King Arthur via Robin of the Hood. The legends of Sir Gawain, myths about fairy mounds and standing stones, they’re all grist to the mill. One thing I noticed was just how often I came across the phrase: “and it is said that this hero will return from death to Britain (or England, sometimes Ireland or Wales) in the hour of its greatest need.”

“They can’t all return,” I said to myself, and quickly followed that up with: “Why not?”

The Return of King Arthur

Act 1: Opening Knight

Scene 1.

Late 2018. Interior of a modern-day, run-down pub on the outskirts of London. There is a fair amount of indistinct background noise, a slight haze in the air, and people moving around in the background.

Arthur was depressed. He wasn’t sure how he had got here, or where here was, or indeed, pretty much anything. He did know that before he’d got here, he’d had a drink, and then he’d gone to sleep, and he woke up here, talking to this odd fellow, Bill.

“So, you hit the sac, and then you hit the sack? [1] Sorry, force of habit,” Bill said.

“I believe so. What is this place?”

“This? It’s where the weird people gather. Normal people can’t find it.”

“Oh well, I’d best get on with it.”

“Get on with what?” Bill asked.

“My destiny. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Bill scowled. “Look, I’m as good as the next man at coming up with a lot from flimsy material, but you’re going to have to give me a bit more than that to go on with.”

“I am King Arthur Pendragon, King of all Britain. It was foretold that I would return to serve Britain in its hour of greatest need, so here I am. I have read the papers of news, and quite honestly, Destiny should have called on me earlier. I mean, look at the state of the country. What a mess. Still, that means that is all the more glory for clearing it up. Money I can take or leave, but I’m greedy for glory.”

“Right,” said Bill, very carefully, in the tone of voice one uses not to upset a crazy person. “So how exactly do you intend to achieve your goal?”

“The usual way,” Arthur replied. “I challenge the King to single combat, win, and take over the realm. Now that this Brexit thing has happened, we can invade and conquer Europe, and compel their monarchs to swear allegiance to me. Next year, we reclaim Jerusalem and bring peace to the Middle East. After that, we defeat the United States of Canada. It’s quite simple.”

“Right. Um, yes. Look, my last script was bad. Comedy of Terrors. A light-hearted comedy about terrorists. That didn’t do so well. However, I recognise bad ideas when I see them. There are a couple of problems with your plan. There are a few things you need to know about the King. First of all, the King is a woman.”

Arthur snorted in disbelief. “How can a girl lead her forces into battle? Why isn’t she married? A country needs a strong King, one who knows what it is like to be involved in war.”

Bill didn’t really know where to begin. “I don’t think you can call her a girl. She’s over ninety. And she did get involved in a war, servicing trucks.” Bill suspected that Arthur might have misunderstood that last bit, so he moved on hastily. “And she is married. Was married. Widowed.”

Arthur didn’t understand this. “If she was married, then why was her husband not the King? Did he not lead the army into battle?”

Bill shook his head. “Not so much. Let’s just say that this is the way that things are done now.”

“So how are Kings changed in these times?” Arthur seemed altogether too curious about this for Bill’s taste.

“They die.”

Arthur frowned. “Well, of course. In battle, or single combat, or assassination, or a surfeit, or slain by a monster. These are natural deaths. But chivalric law does not let me challenge a 90-year-old woman to single combat. So how else might I become King and lead my country to greatness?”

Bill lied. “If I’m honest,” he started, knowing that he rarely was, “being a King is not all that it’s cracked up to be anymore. Uneasy lies the head, and all that.”

Arthur understood this all too well, and he shook his head sadly. “And the relatives. You wouldn’t believe the troubles I had with my relatives. Nephews, sisters, sons. It was a complete and utter knightmare.”

“Monarchs don’t have power anymore. No, my boy, our first step has to be to get you famous. Or infamous. That works just as well.”

“So, I lead an army in the service of this Queen, conquer all, near and far, and become acclaimed King when she dies?”

“That’s not a bad plot,” Bill mused. “Good military leader, lack of political skills. It could work. But that’s not you. No, my boy. I make films. We’re about to start casting, and I think that you’re a certainty to get the lead.”

King Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what a film was, but he was willing to do anything to fulfil his destiny. “What is this part?”

“I’m filming King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I want you to be King Arthur.”

Scene 2.

Interior of a modern flat, high up, with a large window overlooking London, with the lights of London shining brightly in the night. Sparse but expensive furnishings, and meticulously tidy, except at a desk surrounded by a heap of screwed up paper.

Bill was furious. “What do you mean, you didn’t get the part? You’re King Arthur. How on earth could you not get the part of King Arthur?”

“They said that I wasn’t right for the role. They said that the financing for the film wasn’t there, so they’ve canned it, and that you’ll rewrite it to the new specifications. They asked me to tell you that they wanted the rewrite by Monday morning.” Arthur had wondered why they hadn’t told Bill themselves.

“Backers, sponsors, they’re all the same.” Bill rose to his feet, shouting and spilling coffee. “Bill will rewrite this and come up with yet another masterpiece, they say. It’s only stringing words together. It’s easy, they say. Jimmy was the worst. ‘Has it got any witches?’ I put witches in, completely destroying the theme; I had to change the theme and make it about Destiny, rather than Ambition. Now the experts say the witches are integral to the plot. Idiots. Any fool can see that they were just added on because Jimmy wanted it spooked up. Sorry, I’m criticising the critics, bad habit.” He calmed himself down a bit. “What do they want in the rewrite?”

Arthur closed his eyes as he recalled the words. “They said that they’ve got a, um, kick ass Maid Marion. They didn’t explain why a lady would kick a donkey.”

“Maid Marion? What is Geoff playing at? Amuse yourself for a bit. I’ve got to give him a call.”

Arthur recognised the magic device that Bill was using. Merlin had one just like it, and he used it to communicate with the nether realms. Magic seemed to be a lot more common than it was when he was first alive. He looked out of the window and studied the carriages in the streets below. He wondered about the magic that had shrunk the horses and given them the power to enable them to propel these vehicles at such speeds. They looked like fun, and he wanted one. He particularly liked those that had flashing lights and a banshee wail. He would have to find out how to get one, although he also liked the look of these vehicles that you sat on rather than sat in. He wanted one of these two-wheeled steeds, and he would have to get Bill to get him one. He continued to look out across the city, marvelling at the many gleaming spires. It was a veritable forest of Camelots. In the background, he could hear Bill talking to someone through the magic device. He could only hear what Bill was saying.

“Hi, Geoff. Bill here. Look, what’s this I hear about you wanting a rewrite?”

*

“OK, so you’ve got a great Maid Marion. What about the great King Arthur?”

*

“Yeah, I’m sure Arthur would do a great Robin Hood, but why can’t Arthur do a great King Arthur?”

*

“OK, that’s a good point. If Marion’s like what you say she’s like, she probably wouldn’t be much good as Guinevere.”

*

“So, my Arthur has got the part of Robin Hood? Fine.”

*

“Yeah, I’ll get the rewrite done by Monday morning. Thank God for coffee.”

Bill put the magic device into a pocket, and Arthur asked him to explain the tale of Robin Hood. Bill told the story.

Arthur was shocked. “This Robin Hood steals and they call him a hero? He robs, breaking the law that I am sworn to uphold. He is stealing from the rich, who are sworn to protect the weak, ensuring that the weak and needy have no protection from evil knights and monsters. He gives to the poor, so that the poor learn the lesson that they need not do a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage, but can depend on the charity of crooks, knaves, and villains – who will doubtless expect repayment. Furthermore, this Robin Hood is fighting against the lawfully appointed regent, who is trying to raise money to bring the noble King Richard home and advance his quest to recapture Jerusalem from the paynim. I trust Jerusalem has been freed from the rule of Arabia?”

“Well, sort of,” Bill said. “Jerusalem’s a bit complicated. But it isn’t under the rule of Arabia.” He felt definite about that point. “As for Robin Hood, it’s a story of redemption.” Bill took a deep breath at the lie he was about to tell. Still, he was a writer. He had little need for such things as accuracy and truth. “Robin Hood has to start off evil in order to make his rise all the greater. Henry needs to be Hal at the start, to make Henry seem the greater.”

“Henry? Hal? What are you talking about?”

“Different story, same principle. Just trust me on this. Robin has to start off as a knave. Now, I’ve got to write a complete play over the weekend. You’ll be all right for a couple of days?”

Bill wasn’t worried about Arthur. After all, how much trouble could one person get into over 60 hours?

Scene 3.

Very early on Monday morning. Interior of a police station. Policeman at front desk, looking very weary and exasperated and near the end of his tether.

Bill had a feeling that he was about to find out just how much trouble one person could get into over the course of a weekend. He should have known that he had been tempting fate by his stray thought on Friday. “I’m sorry, Inspector. It was just a bit of publicity for a film. What did he do?”

“Well, sir, it started in a bar.”

“If it was a haunted bar, it would have its own inn spectre.” Sometimes Bill just couldn’t help himself.

“Very droll,” lied the Inspector. “Your friend told a biker gang that their language was unseemly in front of a maiden. Apparently, they were being rude to the barmaid. According to this Arthur King, that is. He challenged one of the gang to single combat, and that was when the fight started, and the police were called.”

“A fight in a pub. It could be worse.” Bill paused as he caught the Inspector’s expression. “It’s worse, isn’t it.”

“That’s not for me to say, sir. A police motor cyclist arrived at the scene, and those members of the gang still conscious left the scene. This Arthur King then gave chase. The gang members got on to their bikes, so Arthur King took a bike without the owner’s consent.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

The Inspector continued. “To be precise, he got on the police bike, and pursued them. He proceeded to break a number of traffic regulations, and there was considerable damage to the street furniture. He caught up with the gang, and by now, they preferred to voluntarily give themselves up to the police, rather than: ‘Face that bloody lunatic.’ Arthur King told the policeman to, and I quote: ‘Give the steed a good brush down, feed and water it, and make sure that the tacking was well oiled.’ Then,”

“There’s more?” Bill asked. He was getting worried at how much worse this could get.

“Indeed there is, sir.” The inspector opened a rather large notebook. “Quite a lot more. Let’s see. He tried to arrest Sir Alex Evans for impersonating a Knight of the Realm, he scared a youth on a moped, and instructed him to treat the foal better, and he tried to insist that London Zoo release the bears so that he could hunt them. A policeman asked him to accompany him to the station, and we’ve kept him here for his own protection.” The Inspector looked frazzled.

The pause told Bill that there was more to come. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He hoped that there wasn’t.

“Yes sir, there is. He’s been asking why there isn’t more respect for the authorities of the law. Some of the men are saying that he has got a point.”

“Are you charging him?”

“Much as I would like to, he technically hasn’t committed any crime that the CPS could bring without being laughed out of court, or simply laughed at. We would be grateful if you could advise us of any publicity stunts that you might be carrying out in the future, sir.”

Bill collected Arthur.

“Bill, I want one of those steeds, those magic bikes.”

“Motorbikes,” said Bill warily.

“Motor, magic. It’s the same thing. I want one.”

“They’re different.”

“How? How exactly is a motor different from magic? Can you explain how this motor works?”

“It’s technology.”

“Technology, magic. It’s all the same. Any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology.” [2] Arthur sounded cheerful and eager.

That phrase sounded very familiar to Bill, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t one of his. It soon will be, though, he thought.

“It doesn’t matter how they work,” said Arthur. “I want a big, two-wheeled steed.”

Scene 4.

Film set in an open field, with a castle nearby, and with many extras moving around in the background. There is a great deal of film paraphernalia scattered around.

It was the first day of filming on the set. Bill was busy with the many changes to the script, along with shouting at the crew for being a set of ham-fisted tishpots. His mood was not improved by the fact that neither of the two leads had yet put in an appearance. If he hadn’t already been bald, he would be tearing his hair out.

There was a roar of an engine at the entrance, and he saw that one of his leads had arrived. Arthur, clad in motorcycle leathers, was getting off a motorbike. Bill was by no means sure that he should have given an advance to allow him to buy the bike, but Arthur seemed to like it. Film stars. Can’t live with them, and it’s against the law to have them flayed within an inch of their life.

Arthur spoke to one of the film crew. “Take care of my steed, ostler. He can be high-spirited. Walk him around the paddock two or three times to allow him to cool down. Then rub him down, feed him, and take care of him in your stables.”

Bill was certain that Arthur was joking and playing the role of the eccentric. He was 99 per cent certain. Maybe 90 per cent. He hoped that was the case, anyway.

“Bill,” Arthur called, taking his helmet off and heading over. Bill saw that Arthur was cheerful, and that made him nervous. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Bill, you know those cameras of speed you told me about? Harley and I found many of them and I made them flash most brightly.”

He’s winding me up, I’m sure of it. “Arthur, that’s not a good thing. How many, and who is Harley?”

“Harley is my steed, from the Son of David. A most biddable and spirited steed. How many cameras of speed did I get to work? Only 9 or 10. I wasn’t sure how fast I needed to get Harley to gallop to make them flash, but we did right well.”

He’s winding me up, Bill kept telling himself. “Arthur, you were going from Battersea to Pinewood. Through central London. During the rush hour. How could you set off speed cameras?”

“I made use of the side roads, where people walk. It was exciting, and the people walking made room for me and shouted in wonder as I passed them. The motorists were amazed and sounded their horns in applause.”

He’s winding me up, Bill muttered to himself. Just be thankful that he’s here. “Arthur, you’ve learned your cues and marks? Good. Go and talk to Maid Marion. I’ll need to square this with Chris.” While Arthur went over to the seats at the edge of the set, Bill called Chris.

“Chris? Bill here. Look, I need to call in a favour.” 

*

“Yes, I am aware that Section S isn’t my private Mr Fix-it, but Arthur’s making waves.”

*

“I don’t know. You’re the one with access to Five’s files.”

*

“Look, I happen to know how you got your hands on the details of Operation Faustus.”

*

“I just want you to kill a few speeding tickets.”

*

“About nine or ten. He picked them up today.”

*

Bill gave a deep sigh. “I know it’s not yet nine o’clock, but at least he won’t pick up any more tickets while he’s on set.”

*

“Yes, nine or ten speeding tickets is a lot before breakfast. I’m very well aware of that.”

*

“I agree, he’s being a complete pain, but we need to get him famous before we can move on to Act 2.”

*

“You can call it Phase 2 if you like. I’m going to call it Act 2.”

*

“Well, at the moment, it feels like a tragic farce, but I’m confident it will settle down.”

*

“Totally. He’ll get into being an actor, and you know how easy actors are to manipulate.”

*

“Yeah, see you at the play tonight. Don’t forget to bring the eggs.”

*

“Because it’s Hamlet. We’ve got to throw eggs. You can’t make a Hamlet without breaking a few eggs.” Bill really couldn’t help himself.

Bill then walked off to get the set ready for filming.

Nearby, a young red-haired woman sat in a chair labelled Maid Marion. She looked a little bored and frowned as Arthur came over.

“I hope you’re not going to go through any of the pseudo-chivalric clap-trap about treating women like fragile dolls, spotless and demure who sit around patiently sewing while brain-dead lugs go out and slay monsters.”

“I assure you, fair maid, my chivalric clap-trap is anything but pseudo.”

The woman looked sharply at Arthur, suspecting that he was winding her up. “Are you Robin Hood?”

“Fair maid, only on set am I Robin Hood.”

“Thank God for that. The script is rubbish. Robin was an idiot, but of course, the script pretends that he was a hero.”

“He does seem to lack a moral basis. I am assured he has to be thus, because otherwise he cannot grow into nobility.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Robin? Grow? Ye gods, he was a brainless clot, so I guess they’ve cast well.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to approach this. “You speak as though you knew this Robin Hood.”

“Are you even more stupid than he was? I know you won’t believe me, and you’ll think I’m mad, but I’ve told you. I’m Maid Marion. The myths said we’ll return in the time of England’s greatest need. Luckily the myths knew which of us did the work. England would be in big trouble if they needed Robin. Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Do you know who ran the outlaws? Me, every time, all the time. Robin would pout and pose, but he really didn’t have a clue. All he wanted to do was carouse with his men. He couldn’t use a bow or a sword. I was the one who won the Black Arrow, but because women weren’t supposed to use bows, I had to do it dressed as a man, so Robin ended up getting all the credit. The stories I could tell. I am sick to death of this “women can’t do this and ladies shouldn’t do that.” I do what the hell I like, and if people get upset by that, then that’s their problem.”

“So, you were verily Robin Hood’s Maid Marion?”

Well, at least he’s not calling me mad, thought Marion. “No, you idiot. I was, and still am, Maid Marion. I’m not defined by my relationship with any man. They’re all useless. And as for being Robin’s, please. That man was gayer than King Richard.”

“I am sure he was a merry and gay man.”

“You’re pulling my leg.” She remembered something she’d forgotten to ask. “What’s your real name?”

“I am Arthur Pendragon, King of All Britain. I have returned to Britain in its hour of greatest need.”

“Britain’s in big trouble. Or it would be if it was up to you. That’s my job.”

Arthur decided that it was wisest to change the subject. “So, tell me, why did you rob from the rich and give to the poor?”

“Are you serious? There’s not a lot of point in stealing from the poor, is there? And giving to the poor, well, when you’re in hiding, you need a base of operations. The poor hid us, fed us, and supplied us. We were the fish, and they were the sea. With Richard away, and John screwing things up, the country was ripe for us to take over. We’d have done it, if that idiot Richard didn’t come back just as we were about to strike.”

“You would have committed treason?” Arthur was astonished.

“No. We’d have won. It’s only treason if you lose. When you win, it’s God’s will. What about you? Are you telling me that none of your knights ever pulled such a stunt?” Marion knew she had hit the mark with this.

Arthur didn’t have to think long about that. “You have a point, fair maid.”

“Can we stop all this fair maid nonsense?”

“But you are fair, and since this Robin was otherwise inclined, I assume you to be a maid. Truth shall I always tell. It is against my nature to tell an untruth.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Scene 5.

Filming on the set.

Bill worried about his two leads. So far, all they had done was bicker and squabble. They were supposed to fall in love, and they weren’t exactly Romeo and Juliet. Even when they were saying their lines, there was a tension between them.

If only she wasn’t so prickly and determined to get equal billing. When all was said and done, she was just Robin’s trophy, a pretty face to be the love interest. She didn’t need to actually do anything.

Bill shivered at the thought of Marion as Lady Macbeth. There would have been no suicide out of remorse. More likely that she would have gutted Macbeth and then ruled Scotland in her own right. Macbeth couldn’t be killed by any man of woman born. Lady Macbeth wasn’t covered by that, so she’d have no problem killing Macbeth and ruling for herself. OK, her rule would have been a bloody tyranny, but it was Scotland. They were used to that sort of thing. Maybe he should do a sequel.

Arthur was no better. He seemed to be determined to rub her up the wrong way. He was unfailingly polite and over-protective, and he was so obviously having great fun with the action scenes.

She bought a motorbike just to prove that she could ride as well as he could. Motorbikes seemed to be the one thing they agreed on, although Arthur had caused some amusement amongst the crew by suggesting that Marion should ride side-saddle. Marion’s response was unprintable, and Bill learned a few new insults he was determined to find a way of using somewhere.

He just had to get this film made. Somehow. If only he could find a way to stop them arguing and get some work done.

“Bill,” Marion said, “the script says I’m to be rescued in this scene by Robin. It’s rubbish. Total rubbish. Why did I let myself get captured in the first place?”

Bill sighed. Always questions. Why can’t these actors just do what he told them to? “Because you thought that Robin was in trouble, and you were caught trying to help him.”

Marion put her hands on her hips and glowered. “So why doesn’t Robin get captured, and I rescue him?”

“Because I wouldn’t be captured by such knaves,” said Arthur. “It is the Chivalric Code for knights to protect maidens. How can knights do that if the maidens do not need rescuing and protection?” Arthur almost sounded as though he believed this.

“Enough,” shouted Bill, starting to lose his temper. “The motivation of Robin and Marion in this scene is if they don’t follow the script exactly as I have written it, then they don’t get paid and their motorcycles will get confiscated. Is that clear? Marion, you’re a beautiful, wilful, spirited lady who just happens to follow the script to the letter. Robin, you’re a noble, handsome, daredevil outlaw who just happens to follow the script to the letter. Have you both got that?”

“It says here that I sweep Marion up onto the horse in front of me, and we ride out through the castle gates.”

“That’s right,” Bill said cautiously.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Bill was even more cautious. He suspected a trap.

“The biggest threat is ahead, not behind. The gate will be guarded, and I’m riding away from those behind, so they are little threat. Those ahead of me are the threat. I’m the one wearing armour, and Marion is wearing naught but this flimsy, so I should be between the threat and her. Also, with her in front of me, neither of us can wield weapons effectively. It would make more sense for her to be behind me, and not in front of me. Not that it would do any good. They’ll have the gate closed and barred before we could get close. Ideally, we’d have two horses, though.”

“The idiot is right,” Marion said. “If I’m in front, then I’m trapped between the lunk and the horse’s head, and I can’t do anything. If I’m behind him, I can discourage pursuit. Of course, it would make more sense for us to take two horses. Not that I’m agreeing with him.”

“If the lady says that we’re not agreeing, then even though we are saying the same thing, we are in dispute.”

“Now you’re just taking the Michael.”

“I agree with you, fair maid.”

Bill shook his head. He thought that he would have to get Geoff to agree to his filming Taming of the Shrew. He had the leads right here. “Fine. We’ll do this shot of the escape scene the way you think it should be done. Then we’ll all see why we should do it my way. This shot, you get to do your thing and get it out of your system.”

Actually, they’re not bad at all, Bill thought as the filming started. It would have been better as a silent movie, so you couldn’t hear their constant bickering, but the action bits flowed much better than Bill had imagined.

“You’re not rescuing me. I’m escaping and you’re getting in the way.”

“As you will, fair lady, but were it not for me, that knave may have harmed thee.”

“I had it under control, and duck,” she said, swinging a sword blow above Arthur to hit an extra behind him. “And why did you only bring one horse?”

Arthur jumped off the horse to deal with an extra. “I was not sure if you could ride.”

Marion leapt forward to deal with an extra who was getting close to the horse. “You mean you just assumed I couldn’t. Just so that you know, I can ride a horse better than you can.”

“I doubt that, fair maid.”

Marion jumped into the saddle and turned the horse round so that Arthur could leap up behind her. “Hold on, clot.” She set the horse towards the closing gate as Arthur pushed an extra aside.

“And cut,” called out Bill. “Oh, for God’s sake, Arthur. Cut means stop. Somebody go and get a bandage for that extra.” He looked at the run through of the take. Damn, it was good. Shame about the squabbling, but a bit of decent background music, sound effects, and extra shouts, and most of it would be covered up, leaving just enough spark so that the audience could guess what was coming. Now he had to break up their current argument.

It was at this point that he realised that he couldn’t hear them arguing. That worried him. This silence was not natural. He turned around, dreading what he might see.

He was surprised. “For God’s sake, Arthur, stop kissing Marion.”

The two stopped. “He wasn’t kissing me,” Marion said, in defiance of all the evidence.

“I rather think I was,” said Arthur.

“No, you weren’t,” said Marion firmly. “I was kissing you. There’s a difference, but you’re too dense to understand that.”

“That would be improper. I must take the blame.”

“Look, it was a choice between you and the horse and, just at the moment, I think I should have chosen the horse.”

“The steed is waiting patiently for you, fair lady.”

“Look, can we get this film finished?” Bill was getting annoyed. He tried not to think how much of a cliché this development was. Even he considered it too obvious, and he was pretty shameless about these things. That reminded him. Talking of shameless. He turned and looked, then sighed. “Marion, stop kissing Arthur. We’ve got a film to finish.”

“I wasn’t. He was kissing me.”

Bill was determined to have the last word. “Honestly, you wait for a buss for ages, and then several come along at once.” [3]

Scene 6.

The sofa of breakfast television, well lit, and with informal studio crew occasionally visible on the fringes of the set. Arthur and Marion, both wearing leather biker jackets, sit on the sofa next to the two presenters.

"This is Breakfast Time on BBC One, with Charlie Stewart and Naga Gupta. Here on the Breakfast Sofa, we have the stars of the new film, Robin Hood and Maid Marion, played by Arthur King and Marion Walters.”

“Well, that’s how it was in the end, Charlie,” said Marion. “As you know, Robyn can also be a girl’s name, and John Wayne’s real name was Marion Morrison, so Bill, the writer, he originally planned for me to play Maid Robyn, and Arthur would play Marion Hood. But we argued about that for a bit and thought it might be a bit confusing. So, we suggested that I play Robin Hood, a woman disguised as a man trying to deal with oppression, while Arthur played Maid Marion, an outlaw trying to escape justice by disguising himself as a woman.”

Arthur joined in. “Bill wasn’t so sure about this idea, so we ended up playing it straight.”

“Well, as straight as it’s possible to play Robin Hood,” Marion added.

“When all is said and done, he was an outlaw, which is not an ideal example to set,” Arthur spoke stiffly.

“When the law is a bad law, sometimes there is no alternative.” Marion turned the talk towards the outlaw aspect.

“When the law is a bad law, the solution is to change the law, not break it.”

“Which is all very well if the people who make the law actually listen.”

“If lawmakers don’t listen, then one must speak louder, not break the law. Breaking a bad law leads people to having less respect for the law, and this leads them to break good laws.” Arthur spoke with quiet determination.

“And what do you do if the people making the laws don’t respect the laws or the people?”

Naga finally managed to get a word in edgeways. “I understand that on set you two became famous for your disagreements.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Arthur.

“I would,” Marion answered instantly. “He’d get an idea into his head, usually about how men should do this, how women shouldn’t do that, and he’d try and get me to pay attention.”

Arthur huffed. “At least I was able to get an idea into my head. That’s because I listen to what people say.”

“Really? So, when I said that it is possible to hit an arrow with an arrow, you listened?”

“I listened. I just didn’t believe you,” said Arthur.

“And what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I was right and you were wrong.”

“But not as wrong as you were when you said that it wasn’t possible to parry a lance with a sword.”

“You did most of your own stunts, I gather,” said Charlie, finding a brief pause.

“That’s correct, Charlie. Marion insisted that she did her own stunts, and I wasn’t going to allow her to be harmed by anyone other than myself.”

“I insisted? You were the one who insisted. And you were the one who tried to tell me that it was too dangerous for a lady.”

“It was,” said Arthur. “That was why I had to protect you.”

“Protect me? I was the one protecting you.”

Naga managed to interrupt. “We gather you got on like a house on fire on the set.”

“That’s not true,” Marion said.

“Yes, it is true. We crackled and sparkled, everyone stayed clear, and it all ended up in disaster.”

Watching on the television, Bill cheered out loud. Arthur had remembered the line.

“We’ve heard that there was some chemistry off the set as well?” Naga asked. “Is it true that the two of you are together?”

“That depends on what you mean by together,” Marion said. “We ride separate bikes. We had our own chairs. But yeah, we’re romantically together.”

“I’m not sure this is a subject that the viewers will be terribly interested in,” Arthur said, a little stiffly.

Marion raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you kidding? This is what the whole interview has been building up to.”

“Then maybe the interview should have been asking different questions.” Arthur was trying to move the subject away from this improper area.

“How can they? You haven’t let them get a word in edgeways,” Marion said.

“I haven’t let them get a word in edgeways? Mine is not the tongue that clacks unceasingly.”

“Really? I’m just struggling to get myself heard above your constant jabber.”

“Then, just for once, listen to me.” Arthur got up off the sofa and went down on one knee in front of Marion. “Marion, will you marry me?”

There was a big chorus of “Aahs” from the studio crew.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marion answered. “Mind you, you can marry me.”

Back in his flat, Bill smiled. That had all gone according to plan. Now all the attention would be on the celebrities, leaving him and his team free to start Act 2 of the plan.

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[1] Sac was an Elizabethan term for wine.

[2] Arthur C Clarke said originally: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

[3] Buss was an Elizabethan term meaning kiss.

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David Flin has written & edited a large number of alternate history books and all-ages novels, and edited Comedy Throughout the (P)Ages and How To Write Alternate History.