Maid Marian (12 page)

“Dear Lady Marian, do not cry. You need not think your life as black as that.”

Suddenly my eyes grew sharp, my ears more focused, and I could feel my heart shudder in its fragile cage. I looked up with a gasp and saw his face, those jesting blue eyes and smiling mouth, and had to clap a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing clear out loud. Robin Hood, the very man, sat in the place of our holy rector, one finger lain against his lips.

“How,” I whispered, soft as I could, “how are you come here? Surely, you will be caught at this game?”

“’Tis no game, I assure you. I am here as your final hope.”

I nearly laughed again at his arrogance, so well placed as I thought it was. My final hope he was indeed, my golden cord from this maze of terror, and at last I felt prepared to grasp it.

“Very well,” I said, half choking, “what do you propose, o dove of hope?”

He grinned at me and in that instant I breathed again, full and easy.

“That you flee with me back to Sherwood Forest. I swear you will find safety there.”

This, at last, was what I required. A guide, a sanctuary, an escape route had been placed before me, and I clutched at them with desperate hands. Yes, I would go. The frozen mind that before had failed me melted in the light of his smile and sent cold water to fill my eyes. “I will go with you, Robin Hood, if you think we can escape this place cleanly.”

He merely nodded. “This booth has a passage to the rector’s chamber, just beyond this curtain. Stand back a moment, and I’ll pass you through.”

So quickly did we spring to action! My decision was made, and I scarcely had time to draw a fresh breath through my new attitude before it was time to move my feet, use my hands to make the thought material. I stood back as best I could while Robin Hood seized the partition that had divided us as confessor and holy man. With a huff and a grunt he spun the wall so that a narrow space swung open, and I squeezed through like a rabbit from the warren. He pointed my way through the curtain and, as I passed, replaced the partition as it had been.

In another moment he joined me in the empty rector’s cell, he still laughing and I half speechless. Two habits of the famed black friars lay on the bed, and these were pulled quickly over our clothes. I took care to hike up my skirts underneath, lest they trail behind and give me away, and to pull the hood down low on my brow. Then I turned and followed the outlaw from the chamber to the empty passageway.

As we walked, my mind began to move again, to swing its arms and legs about, and by the time we descended the circling stairs I had passed ahead of Robin Hood. I knew this castle with a child’s knowledge, complete and indiscriminate. Down these stairs, up this corridor, a few quick turns to the right and left, and I brought us to the servants’ hall where no one would question a pair of friars.

As luck would have it, my wedding feast had caused a great bustle in the kitchen and yard, making it simple for us to ease into the throng of workers and make our way through the great gatehouse. Once through we were safe in our ignominy, for no soldier of Warwick Castle was brave enough to question a holy man on the road and risk hearing his sermon as an answer.

The rain fell heavy on my woolen habit, but I scarcely noticed. Here I was, who not a hundred heartbeats before had wept in sorrow at my marriage confession, now walking the roads in a monk’s habit, free to go wherever I pleased. A bubble raised within my throat, and I began to laugh, to giggle, giddy with joy over my own luck. What last night had seemed impossible had just been accomplished in no more space than the blink of an eye—I had to laugh at it.

Robin Hood attempted to silence me, reminding me that we were in disguise and that female laughter from a monk’s hood would draw attention. But the roads were vacant on account of the rain, and I watched for strangers even as I laughed. And what joy I felt! What relief, what delight! The narrowness of my escape was not wasted on me. I felt all the shock that I should feel and a great deal more of the happiness.

When I had given the bubble release, I calmed myself, eager as I was to keep my disguise, and Robin Hood and I walked in the silence befitting a pair of holy brothers. But before we had gone a full furlong beyond the gatehouse, my bubble of joy escaped and flew on, high into the towering sky, and the mundane worries of earthly life crept unbidden into my mind. I began to recall the difficulties that had kept me before from planning escape.

I had fled the castle, sure, that was true, but I had no money, no change of clothes, no cloak, no horse, no silver. And worst of all I had not warned Annie, and my heart grieved to think how she would feel when the others found that I had gone. Lady Pernelle did not frighten me now, for I was sure I could evade her guards with Robin Hood’s help, but the thought of Annie’s fright over me made me grow sober at last.

“How much time do you think we have until they notice you gone?” Robin Hood asked in an empty stretch of road.

“I was to have an hour in the confessional, so they should notice nothing for three more quarters at the least. And the rain may slow them.”

“Aye, a bit. But I fear your costume will slow us more. We shall have to find you a change, Lady Marian, and that quite soon.”

I looked down at my own garb and saw that he was right. ’Twas not just that I made a fairly short friar, but my soft cloth shoes looked fully feminine, and my voice, if I should ever be questioned, would give me away in a wink and a blink. So, setting my steps to a firmer pace, I resolved to be like the ship at sea, which wastes no time in fretting the waves or the damp of its keel in the blue ocean, but rather trims its sails to catch the wind.

Chapter Eleven

W
E WALKED ON
in silence, I pushing hard to keep pace with his longer strides, for I felt, as he did, that every step made away from Warwick was one more step toward my own safety. After perhaps a half mile, Robin Hood turned abruptly to the right, following a footpath over the fields. I followed without questioning, hiking my skirts high to keep from tripping on the clod-laced earth.

Ten full minutes we walked this way until we reached the end of the path at which stood a small cluster of buildings, cottages, and a two-story inn. He set his steps toward the inn’s stable and led me directly to the door. There he pressed his finger against his lips and heaved the door open, just enough to allow us both to slip inside.

After the rain and mud of the fallow field, this stable seemed quiet as an empty chapel. But even as I began to breathe easier, glad to be out of the cold rainfall, a stable boy popped up beside us, causing my heart to leap and start, since I now saw danger in every corner. The boy asked us whence we came.

“From Nottinghamshire, my jolly lad,” Robin Hood answered in a steady voice. “My brother and I come in seek of a meal and a dry place to rest. Perhaps your master can accommodate?”

The boy nodded yes and jogged off, heaving for himself the heavy door and splashing away toward the great house. In a flash Robin Hood turned to me, lowering his cowl to make his words clear.

“Now, Lady Marian, this is your chance. In the kitchen will be plain working women. If you can get one of their sets of clothing, we might be able to travel the roads in greater safety.”

“But how shall I . . . ?”

“Take yourself hence and the idea will come to you,” he said, pulling me to the stable door. “I’ll stay here to be led off when the boy returns. You must meet me in the inn—just find me out there, wherever I’m seated.”

I stammered, stunned at the very idea, but in the next second a plan cracked its seed in my frightened mind and sent down a frail root. I seized on it, certain that my very life was now in question. Wasting no time on modesty, I cast off the habit and my wedding gown so that I stood bare in my linen shift, mindless somehow of the cold. I left my shoes with Robin Hood but took in my hand my wedding veil. He held the stable door ajar and watched as I ran, leaping the puddles, through the pouring rain for the side of the inn.

I chose a spot from which smoke was wafting, thinking that most likely the kitchen, and burst rudely through the only door. As I went, the thought lit through my mind that I was now as much outside the law as Robin Hood, and the lies I was about to tell would surely lock my fate forever.

’Twas the kitchen, right enough, for this room was warm with fires and cooking. When I burst in, a host of ladies turned to gape at me, some in the midst of plucking chickens, others rolling out grain for pasties, white to their elbows with fine wheat flour.

“Forgive me, aunties,” I said, gasping, in what I hoped was my most natural Saxon. “But I’m in need of a moment to breathe, safe from the rain and cold outside.”

“What is it, child?” asked the largest one, dropping her spoon to come toward me. “What brings ye so in yer simple shift, through a rainstorm such as this is?”

“Oh, auntie, if you only knew!” And here I threw my face in my hands and shuddered as if to hide my sobbing.

“Now, there now, little chick, ye needn’t carry on so. None can chase you here, ’tis certain.”

The other women had now gathered close, and I slowly lowered my hands from my face, grateful that the rain had left my cheeks wet and shining. “’Tis my sister, that wretched Alice!” I cried, muffling my own words with sniffs and sobs. “She’s stolen from me my very best gown and uses it—oh!”

I made as if to cry again, and they nudged me onto a low stool near the fire. The warm sounds of female sympathy filled my ears and made me brave enough to go on again.

“That Alice! She wants to get my beau, my Ralph, over for herself, and so she stole off my best gown and left me with nothing more to wear!”

Shocked inhalations followed these words, and I felt myself turning the tide of their kindness, until the one who plucked the chickens spoke up.

“But what brings ye here, to this village, child? Ye do not sound as if you were raised in these parts?”

A jab of panic shot through my heart, but in another moment my mouth was open and more tales of fancy shot out, unplanned. “Nay, auntie, ’tis true. I was raised in Dover, far to the south, in that town which meets ships from across the channel.” I prayed that would explain the wisps of French that slithered into my every word. “My sister and I had gone forth into service of noble ladies and both came here, to Warwick Castle. Our lady, Lady Margery, had ridden out on a voyage of pleasure with both of us as her attendants. But when I awoke at the campsite this morning, Alice and my lady had gone and with Alice went my gown! And she had the meanness to take her own gown with her also, so I was left alone in my shift! Oh, aunties, I do not know what I should have done had I not spied the smoke from your fires.”

Here I fell into sobs again, and this time their sympathy seemed complete. Feeling ever braver, I lifted before them my pearl-studded veil.

“This veil was given me as a gift from my lady. Thanks be to Saint Dunstan, I had hidden it away, or Alice would have had it too! And now ’tis all I’m left in the world with, for I cannot return to my lady at the castle dressed in naught but a shift, now can I?”

“Nay, nay” was spoken all around, and in another moment I heard them whispering among themselves. My veil of pearls would make a fair trade, this I knew, for a full suit of homespun, and as my women were no fools, I trusted them to see that clearly. Sure enough, in another moment the pasty roller laid a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Now dry your eyes, child, for here’s a solution. My daughter Emma is about your size, and she’s a spare suit of clothes and shoes. If you will but trade her for your veil, you’ll have a warm woolen gown to wear back to the castle.”

I hesitated—or, I should say, pretended to hesitate—thinking of the value of the veil. But at last I relented and with happiness, for truly I was growing cold in my shift and longed for some covering for my feet. The women were such as wasted no time, and before long Emma’s gown was fetched, and I dressed myself in a good suit of homespun and clean white kerchief, full of relief.

I embraced them all before slipping out, charmed to hear them wishing me well. Into the rain I fled once more, but this time I simply circled the building and stepped in the door on the entry side, changing my role in a single breath from downtrodden servant to inn clientele.

T
HE INN WAS A WARM AND MERRY PLACE
, filled with the scent of damp wool-clad travelers seeking a rest from the rain. By the light of the fire I scanned the room, searching in vain for Robin Hood, for I did not see his form anywhere. At last I heard his voice calling, “Here, Lucy,” from a table near the wall, and I walked straight to him, feeling more than buoyant over my success.

He too had taken a moment to change, for now he was dressed not as a friar, rector, or Lincoln-green forester, but as a simple tradesman, complete with a sack of carpenter’s tools. He smiled when he saw me coming, relieved, no doubt, that I hadn’t been caught, for if I were, he would be too. As I sat down on a stool beside him, he motioned to a bundle in his sack, and I saw that my wedding dress was there, wrapped up tight in the friar’s wool cloak.

I longed now to speak with him, to tell every detail of my adventures in the kitchen, for I wanted him to be proud of my lies and to think that I had managed well. And more than that, I wished to thank him for helping me escape from Warwick, but there was no time. Before I was able to open my mouth, the innkeeper shuffled to our table to see what we wanted and to check the value of our money.

“Who might ye be and what can I get ye?” he asked, spitting as he spoke, the result, perhaps, of having no front teeth.

“Brian of Staffordshire, come forth to work at the great castle, and this here’s my wife, Dame Lucy,” said Robin Hood. “Have ye no more of the pullets I saw roasting on your fire?” He placed a few pennies on our table. “We’ll take some meat and two tankards of ale, that’ll do that trick.”

The innkeeper eyed the pennies close and then thanked Robin Hood, spitting even farther and striking the outlaw nearly dead in the eye. I checked my laughter and reached out instead to play my wifely part, wiping his forehead clean with my apron.

“Brian,” I said, determined to play my new role well, “I have wanted to thank you for bringing me with you on this journey. ’Twas not necessary, but you know how I have longed to see more of the world, and I do wish to thank you. I would have said as much before, but I could not find the words for it.”

He gave me then his Robin Hood smile, full of jests he did not give words to.

“Ah, ’tis nothing, Lucy, ’tis nothing. I’d long had a sense that you wished to come, though you would not say so.”

“Aye, that is true, I would not. Do you—” I hesitated, wishing to frame my words with care. “Do you think the roads will be crowded tonight with the traffic from the wedding at the castle?”

“I expect they will be too crowded for us. What say you to passing the night in this inn and venturing farther on our way tomorrow?”

“’Tis a smooth plan, Brian, and a good one.” I sat for a moment, feeling easier than I had all day. But as I sat my mind returned to the morning’s events the way a child recalls a forbidden toy, and I couldn’t resist questioning my friend a little more. “So tell me, Brian, know you what became of that holy rector who was to have given me my confession earlier, much earlier in the day?”

He laughed and said nothing as our ale was brought, then took a long drink before speaking again. “Ah, that rector was a right holy man, but he had a slight weakness for a night of long drinking. I know not precisely what became of him, but I did hear tell that he encountered a certain knave at a drinking hole. The rumors say the knave bought up a round of stiff Flemish waters and perhaps a second round felled the rector, but I couldn’t say for certain. I cannot blame him for missing confession, for I have heard those waters pack an especial kick for the holy man. I suspect he was asleep in the alehouse when you came to give your confession this morning.”

“Indeed,” I said, laughing, realizing for the first time what forethought had gone into our quick escape. I said nothing while our pullet came but set to happily, more pleased to be eating this simple meal than all the cakes of a wedding feast. I thought for a moment on young Stephen and what wrath he would take from his mother, and breathed a sigh of such relief that I thought I might never have air again.

When our meal was finished, Robin Hood ordered a room, and I leaned forward to question him again.

“Dear Brian, have you no idea when I might again see my sister, Annie? I was quite pained to depart from her and thought you might have a notion of how I could send her word of our safe arrival.”

Here he made a bit of a face, then took a long drink from his tankard. “’Twill not be simple, I am afraid. For your sister Annie lives in the castle, and I know of no messenger we may send who will not be questioned closely—too closely. Have you no kindred who could pass her word from the kitchen or stables?”

I thought a moment and for a time I feared no one would ever come to mind, for we’d formed few alliances with the staff of Warwick Castle. But at last a face bobbed into my thoughts, that of Clym o’ the Tower, and I saw my own answer. A message to Clym could be carried to Annie, provided I could find a page with the wits to root out Clym in London town.

“Aye, I do know of one who can do it. Perhaps in the morning we could find a page, one willing to ride as far as London town?”

“If that is what you think necessary, that is what we shall do. Now look you, love,” he said with a wink, “the innkeeper’s wife is beckoning us. I suspect she means to lead us to our room.”

I rose and followed him, still feeling giddy—or perhaps it was nervous—from the fun of playing such a strange part. But when we reached her, I pushed my role as housewife further, asking to borrow a needle for the day, saying I had some mending to do on a garment that was torn during our journey. I realized then my narrow luck that I’d not met this dame in the kitchens, for then I would have been lost for certain. But all was well. She brought my needle and took us ignorantly to our room, bidding us a good night and closing the heavy oaken door.