In the year of our Lord 1215, in the shire of Nottingham, in the forest of Sherwood, in the Castle Cerridwyn, within the rafters of its southwest tower resigned a bat known as Edmund Fayremounte. He had lived happily for some years with his family near Wales, but Edmund was above all things a dreamer and his dreams craved action and adventure. So he had left them and come to this castle, seeking the things that his little heart so wanted to find.
       Edmund was gentle in his ways, but like all bats of the realm ready to defend home and hearth when necessary. His dreaming made him curious, particularly when it came to the actions of his fellow-lodger, a human. Terwin Ermighty was a scholar and teacher, assigned by the Saxon lord of the castle, Sir Wexton, to teach his boys Sir Corrin and his younger brother Vincent. The boys jokingly nicknamed him “Terwin the Mighty”, to mock his slight build and gangly appearance. Edmund would keep a discreet distance during Terwin’s lessons, but reveled in the classes that dealt with training to be a knight. It was just the thing for him, but the best times were when Terwin would pull out an ancient book and read of the exploits of the Knights of the Round Table.
       It was from these wondrous stories that Edmund decided to change his name, and thus he took the title of Sagramore. Knights were a needful thing at the moment. Prince John was making life as unpleasant as a bad ruler can. The country folk were oppressed, and the Saxons were already talking of revolt if Richard the Lion-Hearted did not return home soon from the Crusades.
       Possibly the only person unconcerned about the rumblings of war around him was Terwin. The boys had already had their morning lessons, and Terwin was now free to spend his afternoon in his favorite way—going into the forest to perform his scientific experiments. The lively fellow carried a box full of supplies and hopes, Sagramore on his tail. When Terwin chanced to look up he saw the little bat-flying overhead and instantly greeted him, for he'd noticed the bat tended to stay near him for some reason.
       “Hail, my little friend!” Terwin said, his voice a little deeper than his frame might indicate. “I see you have an interest in science this day. Well, perhaps you will have something to see worth your while!”

       Terwin was a bundle of energy, and began assembling a very strange-looking collection of wood, iron and cloth. Sagramore found a nearby tree limb and sat down to watch. He could understand his friend perfectly well, but Terwin could not understand him. That frustrated Sagramore no end, even though he knew the reason for it. His thoughts were broken by Terwin shouting in delighted triumph.
       “Hah! Now that's what I call a weapon!”
       Sagramore watched with interest as Terwin with some effort hefted the contraption on his back. It was a small catapult, the wooden arm extending from the back of the armless armored top that Terwin wore, giving him the look of wearing a large metal vest. A large iron spring did the work, while a small rope in Terwin's hand was meant to release the latch that held the catapult in place. He was all smiles until he realized he'd forgotten to load his weapon, so he bent over to grab a particularly large rock he'd selected. The poor fellow didn't mean to keep hold of the rope, but his mind was elsewhere and the catapult arm came up from behind and delivered a solid blow to the back of his head
       “Terwin!” Sagramore shouted. “Oh bodkins, he's knocked himself out again.”
       Sagramore flew down to check on his friend, who, thanks to his resilient nature, recovered pretty soon. He was in as good a humor as ever, determined to let nothing stop him. He addressed himself to Sagramore, who had alighted in the grass next to him.
       “I'm quite all right, quite all right! Don't worry my little friend, this time I'll get it right!” Terwin said with resolve. Sagramore shook his head. “If only you could.” Sagramore flew back to his observation branch as Terwin managed—in what surely had to be a painful backwards stretch—to get the head-sized rock into his catapult and again set the spring. At that moment, Maid Mary Anne rode into view of the hidden glen. The ward of good King Richard was a kind and intuitive girl, and tended to be liked by everyone. She had come upon Terwin once by accident in this very meadow and that one meeting was amusing enough to keep her coming back for more. Terwin waved enthusiastically to her.
       “You're just in time! Watch, as I advance the science of weaponry a hundred years!”
       Maid Mary Anne knew what that meant, and she rode up quickly, hoping to stop him. Terwin would not be daunted and he knelt down, ducked his head and pulled the rope. Neither Sagramore nor the young maid could either be blamed for laughing at what followed. The powerful force of the weapon threw Terwin into a roll, and off he went like a runaway barrel! The arm mercifully broke on the first roll, but that allowed him to roll all the way into Sherwood Pond. The young lady left her horse at the water's edge and honestly tried to stifle her laughter. Honestly!
       “Terwin, are you okay?” the young maid asked, giggling. “Forsooth, you must be more careful!” Terwin stood up, soaked through and through. His mind really wasn't on what his friend had said, even if she was beautiful and a member of the royal house.
       “Something about the design is flawed, but I'm not sure just what it is. I was so certain the portable catapult would work! Maybe if I used a smaller spring...” Terwin mused, taking the remains of the catapult off his back. Maid Mary Anne helped him, shaking her head. “Well, do we need more destructive weapons, Terwin?”
       Terwin sat down on the grass, dripping. “According to Sir Wexton we do. He says that we Saxons need every advantage we can get, what with Prince John on the throne. I was hoping to provide a weapon that would make the fighting a little safer. Arrows are such nasty things.”
       Sagramore instantly recognized Maid Mary Anne, and flew down near her. She was a progressive woman for her day, or so Sagramore thought, since she actually seemed to like bats. She pointed up at him as he flittered overhead. “Ah, I see your little friend has come to greet me. Hello, little bat, have you joined Terwin today to try to keep him out of trouble?”
       “You know the odds of that happening, m'lady,” Sagramore replied.

       Terwin gathered his broken weapon and his box, following Maid Mary Anne to Nottingham Castle—the home of the odious Prince John and the similarly-endowed Sheriff of Nottingham. Terwin stopped at the edge of the woods, for the penalty for a lowly Saxon like himself to be seen in the company of the fair maid would be imprisonment at least.
       “Here I fear we must part company, Maid Mary Anne,” Terwin said, bowing. “I was fain to come this close, seeing as my bright clothes are a clear indicator of my presence.”
       “I pray for the day when King Richard will return and then you may grant us a visit at the castle, Terwin. Your little friend is even welcome,” the maid said, waving to Sagramore. “Farewell, Terwin. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon and good bye, little winged friend.”
       The two friends bid her farewell, and began the trek back to the Cerridwyn Castle. After a hearty supper, Terwin read to Sir Wexton’s sons of the exploits of Sir Lancelot of the Lake while Sagramore listened and sighed wistfully. When the teacher retired to his turret, he took up a small candleholder that held the only light he had to see by, save the moonlight. He looked to the rafters, and saw his friend hanging there.
       “Well, if not today perhaps tomorrow, eh my friend?”

       Terwin blew out the candle and once Sagramore knew he was asleep, he flew out into the night. This was his time to pursue his own wishes, and the first one was to fly across to the northwest turret. There resided his friend Iris, a female bat he'd befriended on coming to the castle. She was always glad to see him come, and Sagramore was grateful to have someone to speak with. She flew out to meet him, and they hovered there in the night air.
       “Iris, you really should try flying during the daytime!” Sagramore said, his natural enthusiasm taking over. “Terwin's latest effort was one of his most unique. I just know he'll succeed soon!” Iris’ eyes flashed a look of disbelief. “You are certainly a strange sort, Sagramore, keeping company with a human and flying during the day.”
       “Oh, but it's so exciting, Iris! One day, I'll get to be a knight as well, and defeat ogres and dragons and save fair maidens from danger!” Sagramore swiped his wings through the air as if he was holding a sword. “Think of it, Iris! Sir Sagramore Fayremounte. Not bad, what?”
       “Silly bat,” Iris chided, though with a tone of caring. “There are no such things as dragons and ogres! Humans are bad enough as it is. We certainly don't need anything else to bother us.”
       “Well, maybe there aren't any anymore, but there's still enemies to fight!” Sagramore countered. “Someday Iris, I'm going to get my chance to prove myself. Until then, would milady accompany me on a quest for some food?” Iris giggled. “I would be honored to join such a distinguished knight on his quest...for food.”

       So the night passed, with the two bats in each other's company. Sagramore slept from dawn to afternoon, when he knew yet another experiment would be underway. However, when he flew down to find his friend he didn't see Terwin at the outer gate as usual. Sagramore flew to the sundial, and checked the time. He wasn't late, but the sun's shadow moved on a half hour longer without any sign of his friend.
       Sagramore flew into the main castle, a place he usually tried to avoid. Bats were seen by many as unclean creatures at the time, and such was the case for the Saxon knight Sir Wexton and his sons. He was careful to keep to the shadows, and used his echolocation to hunt for trouble. When he heard voices in one particular room, Sagramore flew in. Terwin was here, along with the regular residents of the castle, and also several strangers who appeared to be in a meeting of some sort.
       “And I tell you, we must attack Prince John!” one man shouted, dressed in knightly armor. Sir Wexton, a rather husky fellow, stood up. “Attack Nottingham Castle? Gadzooks, Sir Bevill, you'd need an army!”
       “Or a miracle,” Vincent, Sir Wexton’s younger son, added.
       Terwin cleared his throat and spoke up. “Pardon the intrusion, but perhaps science could aid us in finding a way. Now, if we could just…”
       “Oh, balderdash!” Sir Wexton said, a rebuke he usually reserved for Terwin. “Keep your ideas to yourself, Terwin. This is a job for warriors, not teachers!”
       “But sir, if I might...” Terwin began.
       Corrin, Sir Wexton’s other son, elbowed his younger brother. “Terwin, the only men you could lead are merry ones! Haw, haw, haw!” Terwin rose and bowed to Sir Wexton and the others, then left. Sagramore listened for a while more, but knew his friend was depressed and frustrated, so he left in time to meet Terwin.

       Terwin returned to his tower, where he pulled out a piece of parchment. He was glad to see his winged friend was there for him when he looked. “At least you don't laugh at me. I know they mean no harm by it, of course. They just don't understand that there are things science can do that a man cannot by brute force. If only I had a way of showing them!”
       The learned scholar began writing some notes, but soon the heat of the day made him drowsy and he nodded off. Sagramore realized he had an opportunity. Terwin usually never left his quill pens out, and through diligent following of his reading, the intrepid bat had learned to read. Now, he crept up and took the pen. Once he'd stowed it away safely, he acquired a piece of parchment for himself and dipped the pen in the small inkwell Terwin used.
       It was slow going at first, for quill pens aren't made for bats to use. Still, he worked the writing utensil in his wings until he found a way to control it. Then it was simply a matter of forming the letters he remembered. The scrawl was terrible at first, but after an afternoon's practice he began to improve. That night, he was all excitement when he flew to meet Iris.
       “Guess what? I can write now!” Sagramore said, flying fast circles around his confused friend. “I've got my own pen and everything! Now, I'll be able to write messages to my friend Terwin and he can understand me. Isn't that marvelous?”
       Iris was not a trusting soul. “Do you not think it might be dangerous to reveal that to him? Humans would surely react strangely if they knew we could communicate with them.”
       “Well, Terwin's not an ordinary human,” Sagramore said. “He's quite clever, and I think he could handle that. Still, I don't think I'd reveal it to him right away. I could write him a message or two and see how he reacts. I just wish I had something worth telling him about.” Sagramore flew down to a nearby oak, and lay on the branch, putting his wings under his chin in frustration.
       Iris flew down and alighted in front of him. “I found some old human rubbish in a cave a few miles from here last year. Maybe he would be interested in that, if he is so interested in strange things.”
       Sagramore instantly perked up. “Take me there! It sounds like the chance for a quest!” Iris rolled her eyes. She was used to Sagramore’s bursts of idealism, but they weighed on her at times. “I'll show you, but it's just some old moldering parchments.”

       Together, they flew through the moonlight. The cave was well-hidden, just the kind a bat would choose. The inside was dry and well-kept, as if the last person to be there had taken great care with it. The parchments turned out to be old scrolls made of vellum. Gingerly, Sagramore opened one of them. It cracked some on the sides, but the writing on the skin remained.
       “It's hard to read. I'd better take it outside and use the moonlight.” Sagramore did so, and read:

Sagramore Fayremounte and Iris are original creations of Indy. Terwin Ermighty, Sir Wexton, Sir Corrin, and Vincent are original creations of Chris Silva and Indy. Maid Mary Anne is of course an offshoot of Maid Marian, and Robin Hood's one cool dude, along with his merry men.

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