Maid Marian (15 page)

The blush this small kiss raised in my cheeks took hours, I think, to subside and clouded my thinking for half the day. In time I wondered why I had done it. Now that I’d seen Robin’s smirk I felt no interest in giving him kisses—I wouldn’t have kissed him for five marks of silver. I decided at last that it must have been merely an expression of thanks, a kindly gesture to my traveling companion. This soothed my pride somewhat, but then I found, to my horror, that my own reaction may have made me seem foolish, for I’d leapt away so fast that the kiss was left with an ominous weight, far more than such a slight peck deserved. I felt a fool, and in my anger at my own conduct, I worked myself into an irritable mood, the cause, in part, of the quarrel we had later that same afternoon.

Robin was speaking of matters of state, of the rule of the land, and its kingship. Prince John, it seemed, had recently established himself in Nottingham Castle and from its walls raised a hoodlum army of mercenaries from across the channel. Robin’s hatred of Prince John I understood, since he lived and reigned frighteningly close to Sherwood’s forest edge. But as Robin spoke I heard him consistently disparage John for attempting a throne of which he was not worthy, implying that Richard was the more kingly of the two.

“King Richard is a lion among men,” he said, swinging his arms to match his stride. “If more men had his courage and heart, England would be the better for it.”

“That may be,” I said, laughing a little, “but you must not wish all your countrymen to copy him in his attitude or our shores would be quite empty of men.”

“What mean you? Richard has every loyalty to England that he ought to have and more, I daresay.”

“Well, I daresay that you are wrong or at least badly mistaken. How long, pray, has Richard been king?” I did not wait for an answer. “A twelvemonth? And how much of that time has he spent on English shores? One month or two?”

“But he is at war, fighting in Palestine. He cannot be expected to waste his time ruling at home when he feels obliged to wage war in the holy land.” Robin kicked at a stone on the road.

“Granted, he is at war. But in his youth, when he made his name as the great Richard Coeur de Lion, did your countrymen see him more often than now? I think not—he lived and breathed for Aquitane!”

“But he was duke of Aquitane. ’Tis no slight to say he spent time in his own land.” A second kick, delivered with force, spun the same stone into a ditch. Our tempers were rising with our voices.

“Richard speaks no Saxon, you know, only French.”

“Nor did you until recently!”

“Know you not that he once said, soon after he had gained his crown, that he would sell off London town itself if he could find a worthy buyer? Believe in this, Robin, King Richard bears no great love for England. His heart, like his body, belong in Normandy and Aquitane, just as his father’s did before him.”

“Nonsense!” he cried. “You know nothing of it. He sold noble titles and gave out lands to raise funds for his holy war, not from a sense of disloyalty. Richard, I say, is my king, and I will fight for him and against John as long as I have breath in my body.”

“Very well, do as you like. But I hope you shan’t be too disappointed when Richard returns from his Palestine, only to dismiss England for France.”

We turned apart and would not speak, each fuming at the other’s pig-headedness. I was certain that I was right, for I had heard whispers about Richard since I was young and knew that his every last nuance of culture belonged not to England but to Aquitane. He was a Norman through and through, not a removed one such as I.

Despite my anger, as time wore on, I did admit that I admired Robin’s headstrong loyalty, though I hated Richard for having caused him to place that loyalty so foolishly. Perhaps it was the result of Saxon breeding, I considered, that caused Robin to stubbornly place such value where none existed. Richard was king and, as such, was worth defending. But beyond that he had no virtues that made him a lesser king than his father or a better one than his younger brother.

B
Y EVENING
we had tacitly agreed to say nothing further on the subject, and by the morning of the following day our quarrel seemed long forgotten. This day we would arrive at Sherwood, and the closer we stepped the more buoyant of spirit Robin became.

“Have I told you, Marian,” he asked, breathing in the scent of swelling apples, “how my cousin has joined our band?”

I happened, at that moment, to glance his way and catch his eyes resting on the base of my jaw, the place where blood and air met to mingle beneath my skin. A curious feeling, like twisting wool, stole up my legs and down my back. I swallowed hard and looked at the road to cool my head.

“Nay, Robin, you’ve never told me. How did it pass?”

“I came across him with Little John and David one day, near the edge of Nottingham town. I didn’t know him by sight, for I’d not seen him in a dozen years. Too, the man we saw looked such a dandy that I could not pass without challenging him to some sort of match.”

I laughed, thinking of how often I had the impression that Robin did nothing more all day than roam the woods in search of sport. Indeed, to hear him tell it, the rich travelers who filled his coffers were mere annoyances, postponing the true purpose of life.

“He was dressed all in scarlet,” Robin went on, “and had a rose in his hand that he sniffed at from time to time like some molly-coddly minstrel. I leapt out and jested with him right off and offered to fight him for the flower. Well, no sooner had we settled on cudgels as our sport of choice than he stepped off the path and for his stick yanked a sapling clean up by the roots! I needn’t tell you how that made me quiver, how I wondered what foolishness I’d made myself part of, and when we started battling I knew for certain I was in trouble. He was the strongest fellow I’d ever fought, for all his feathers and scarlet hose.”

“Did he beat you?” I asked, laughing, for I had long since learned that the merriest tales began with Robin’s being soundly beaten.

“Aye, he did. Knocked me up all black and blue, such that I could scarcely walk the next day. I had to ask Allan to lace up my boots, my ribs ached that badly. Anyhow, when I was drubbed so hard I could do naught but lie moaning on the ground, Little John and David popped out of the thicket, barely able to speak for laughing. When those two rats recovered themselves, they asked the minstrel how he did and where he learned to fight so well. And he said his uncle, Robert of Locksley, had taught it all to him when he was a boy, and it was this uncle he was off to seek.”

“And that was you, Robert of Locksley?”

“Aye, none other,” he said with a grin. “So quick as a wink Little John explained how he’d found his uncle and done one better, for he’d knocked his uncle flat as a puddle. My nephew was flummoxed at first, but then he saw me for who I was and fell into laughing his own self. Then we all sat while I rested myself, and Will explained how it was he sought me.

“Will’s the son of my ma’s brother, Edward Gammet. Edward’s a farmer of Maxfield town with close to a yardland of strips to work in his lord’s fields. One day, Will said, when he and his da were toiling at their week work—” Here I looked puzzled and he paused to explain. “Week work is the work a farmer does as a favor to the lord, the one who rents him his farmland. ’Tisn’t always a week, sometimes just days, that he gives to rake his master’s hay or sow his fields. At any rate, Will and his father were working the lord’s fields with the other men of Maxfield town, when all of a sudden the reeve came up and walloped old Edward on the pate with his rod.

“‘What was that for?’ young Will asked on his father’s behalf. ‘Fer stealin’ out of the lord’s grain, slipped into his own pockets,’ the reeve replied. Well, Will was about to have none of that, for he knew his father never stole a thing. Their words turned to arguing, and Will made a fist and hit the man square in the face, a thing he’d never done before in his life.”

“And had his father been wrongly accused of stealing grain?”

“Aye, he had, but that scarcely mattered for poor ole Will. For the reeve died from that blow on the head, such a thing as Will never expected, and he was forced to turn outlaw or face a hanging for his crime.”

“But he did not mean to kill him!”

“Nay, but how was any there to know what intention lay in his heart? And besides, it matters not, for the law is the law and cares little for circumstances such as Will’s. No, he was outlawed from that very hour and fled Maxfield town to find me, as he quickly did—or I found him, I ought to say.”

“So he has joined you?”

“That he has! I’ve changed his name, for the king’s soldiers would love to find out old Will Gammet if they knew him to be in the midcountry still. Now he goes by Will Scarlet, on account of that scarlet hose, and no stronger man, I say, can be found in all of Nottinghamshire.”

“’Tis a bonny name,” I said. “And was his the worst beating you ever took?”

“It may be,” he said, considering. “The drubbing I got from Friar Tuck when we first met was something fierce, but I believe this to have been worse, for it was more than three days before I could move like myself again.”

We walked in silence for a while, Robin beaming at the thought of his powerful nephew—or cousin, as he liked to call any of his kinsmen. After a time my own thoughts began to stray, and without thinking I spoke aloud.

“I wish I might learn to fight.”

“Do you truly?” he asked, turning, and I blushed, realizing I had expressed an idea that was meant to stay within my mind.

“Well, perhaps . . . I know not, truly. But I wish I might defend myself if I met a thief on the road, say, or found myself alone in the wood.”

“You might, you know, learn enough to defend yourself. I could teach you.”

“You could?”

“Aye, but not the bow and arrow, mind,” he said, laughing loudly, still pleased by his tired joke. “That rule still stands in Sherwood Forest—Maid Marian must not touch a yew bow or, by Saint Withold, we’ll have a mess.”

I let him laugh till he had done, then drew him back to my proposal. “What would you teach me, then?”

“The cudgel, I suppose. You’ve little strength to match the likes of Will or Little John, but you are small and should be quick, and that will often turn the tide of a match, especially against a big man.”

This idea caught my fancy, and I walked the whole of the morning lifted by the thought of taking up sticks against the strongest of men and knocking them easily to the ground.

Chapter Thirteen

T
HAT NIGHT WE ARRIVED
at Sherwood Forest and cut through brambles and forded streams until we strode for the Greenwood tree. All about us, limes and sweet cherries were weighted with flowers, while red berries dangled like grapes from the hawthorns. A few determined, dusty yarrows waved their heads from the byways, coaxing us past fern and bracken toward the outlaw camp. The men were eating when we came, but they all leapt up to hail Robin, as happy to see him as a band of wolves is at the return of its fiercest hunter.

They stood about and greeted him, and he clapped shoulders and called every man in their midst by name. Listening to the murmurs of the crowd, I realized that they had not known where he went when he left for Warwick, and more than a few seemed taken aback at the sight of me. Perhaps ’twas the first time their master had ventured out to fetch a new band member, or perhaps I was the first woman retrieved, I knew not. But they were mostly kind, if silent and awkward, and I gave them space to welcome their Robin.

Soon Ellen came out from her forest bower, drawn by the noise in the clearing, and she at least was glad to see me. Her attitude pleased me, for I knew I must take up my space in her tiny abode once again and hoped I would not intrude too much. But she smiled as she embraced me, and I allowed myself to be led away toward food and drink and a soft seat.

I spoke no more to Robin that night, for he was absorbed by his own men, but at some point I was introduced to the famed Will Scarlet, a handsome youth who shared his uncle’s bright blue eyes and ready smile. Will did not tease as Robin did, so we were able to converse easily without any flashes of my temper. I told him how I had heard his tale from his uncle’s lips, and he laughed at the memory, assuring me that he still carried a rose from time to time to remind good Robin of the beating he took.

Will’s conversation was pleasant enough, but seated there I felt all the delayed exhaustion of my travels and feared I made a dull companion. I was glad enough when nightfall came and yawning became appropriate, for soon after Ellen rose and led me to bed.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I ate my bread in a sea of merry men, watching as Robin selected a handful of his favorite friends to join him on the day’s adventures. Little John was left in command of the camp, and when I had finished eating, I went to him to see how I could make myself useful.

“Pardon, Little John, but is there no task I could do today that would be of use to you and the men?”

Little John looked me up and down, then said with a bit of a sneer, “Aye, we every last one of us could use a lusty maid in our beds. Will you begin with Dan o’ Millpasse or are you set on the captain himself?”

I flushed deeply and felt my nails dig deep in my palms. “Nay, Little John, your lot will take a rutting goat to bed before you’ll bear me away. Or has that been your habit already?”

“You ruddy tart of a—!”

I took a step back, then folded my arms as if waiting for him to reach the meat of his insult. “Pray, Little John, what sort of tart is it you make me out to be? A slattern? A minx? A shrew perhaps? Ah, or what’s more appropriate—a maid who seeks to employ herself to the good of your band? Such cruelty.”

Little John’s dark eyes peered at my face, then swung away. Perhaps he feared what Robin would say if he heard of this squabble, or perhaps he was shamed at having been bested. “What, indeed, can you do, Mistress Marian? Can you cook, or hunt, or fish?”

“Well, no. But I’m happy to learn—”

“They aren’t things that can be taught in a day,” he replied, sniffing a little. “Can you dress a deer, perhaps, or cut steaks from its hide?”

“No, of course I can’t.”

“Then tell me, kit, what can you do?” His hands were now on his hips in something between a fishwife’s stance and a taunt.

“I can fetch and tote, gather things, keep the camp tidy—”

“We haven’t much need for that, as you can see,” he said, gesturing proudly around the camp, which was, in fact, quite neat.

“I’m handy with a needle,” I declared defensively, resorting more quickly than I’d hoped to do to my one true skill.

“How handy?” he challenged, chin raised high.

“Quite,” I replied.

“Well then,” he said, grumbling a little, “Lawrence Ganniel’s in need of a new tunic. You’ll find a bolt of Lincoln green in the storehouse. Ellen can show it.”

As he finished, he turned away on his heel, leaving me to sigh and search for Ellen. His insolent manner perturbed me, but I recalled my decision to embrace this new life and swallowed deep to calm my bruised heart.

I found Ellen sweeping out her bower with a willow-twig broom, singing as she worked the packed-earth floor. At my request she stopped her work and led me to the house of stone in which all the worldly goods of the band were kept safe under lock and key.

The storehouse was made from a Roman relic, a base of ancient pale stones on which the men had framed a small tower. It was sturdily made and dry within, perfect for keeping the flour and wine safe from the damp of the forest. There I found every tool I needed and several bolts of wool and linen, flaxen thread, and steel needles. Thus equipped I made my way, with Ellen’s help, to Lawrence Ganniel and began my role as the outlaws’ seamstress.

’Twas well I did, as it turned out, for the merry men’s garments were in a sad state. From time to time in the years before, Robin had taken his bolts of cloth to village housewives and paid them silver to stitch up dozens of hose and tunics. But as each woman was accustomed to cutting garments to fit her own husband, most of the clothes had been made too small for this crew of yeomanry. Little John, I had already noticed, wore hose made for a man nearly two feet shorter, and small Allan a Dale had to roll his cuffs to free his hands enough to play at his harp. Robin himself had rent a great gash in his tunic front which he’d attempted to mend himself, but the stitches were always popping out and each time I saw him the hole gaped wider, flapping like a wounded truce flag.

I set to my task with a heart not high, not happy, but resigned, for truly I had sagged quite low after my talk with Little John. But now I had a clear task before me, and that provided a pleasant prospect for me to sit and dwell upon. This work, I soon saw, would be never ending, for Robin had promised each of his men two suits of clothing every year, and I’d be kept busy the whole year round with stitching the new and mending the old.

In this way my days began to melt away into a sea of Lincoln green, for that was all that ever passed under my needle or before my eyes. Sometimes for an evening hour I sat with Robin and laughed with him at his day’s events, but just as often he was called to shoot or led away by Little John to hear of some jest that he might like. And when this happened I changed again to that thorny creeper, the anxious vine that worries each dawn over the amount of sunlight to come. I sat at my work or in the bower and felt great chains pulling at my limbs, so distracted was I by the state of my heart.

For what had I to look to now? No chance at Denby, no happy life, only yards and hems of Lincoln green. Despite my resolve, I began to wonder what bargain I had made in coming. For if my complaint of noble life had been its repetitive, solitary nature, the confinement of the needle and wheel, how could I say I had changed my lot? And when I considered my hard-packed bed, the itch of my gown, and my lack of companions, I truly longed for Warwick again.

The outlaw’s life was not the thrilling path I had hoped it would be, and at times I wept on my dense pillow, fearing I should never be loved by any of this motley crew, except perhaps for Ellen. And even Ellen, sweet as she was, would never make a true friend for me, for when we spoke she misunderstood near half my words, and I was too lazy to make the effort to follow her convoluted tales. Nay, it was Annie I missed, sweet, steady Annie with her clear-eyed retorts and laughing manner. I longed for Annie just as I longed to feel the confines of French on my tongue, to relax in the ease of my native language. It seemed I’d become a vine transported, rooted into foreign earth.

At times like these I sat alone, or often as not Will Scarlet would come to take pity on me and seat himself at my side. I found his manners kind and gentle, and as he wished to hear my tales of courtly life, we had much to discuss, for I was in a mood to talk of little else. I told him of the regalia of London and he, who had never left the shire, closed his eyes and tried to imagine the crowds and noise of the royal court.

But then one day as I sat with Robin, a strange thing passed. We had been speaking of Prince John and his castle guard, for by now such a force had been brought to Nottinghamshire that it flowed at times over into Sherwood and threatened the peace of our merry band. Robin longed to cause some mischief that would embarrass Prince John before all his men, the sort of prank he often pulled on the sheriff of Nottingham, but I pleaded with him not to do it. While the sheriff might be easily tricked, I doubted that the prince would be. I remembered John a little from his youth and recalled that he was as crafty a soul as I had yet seen, smarter, perhaps, than any of us and certainly more ruthless.

As we spoke I saw that Little John was calling to Robin, beckoning him to hear some tale from Friar Tuck. Little John and I had not yet made amends, and for this I felt an odd sense of guilt and a ridiculous need to please the man. So with a sigh I said to Robin that perhaps he ought to go, for Little John called him thither.

He looked at me strangely, then turned away, his eyes fixed on the rugged ground. “Perhaps you’d like some time alone with your new friend Will, is that it?”

I was puzzled by his manner. “Nay, Robin, ’tis Little John calling for you.”

“And you wish that I would go?”

“Not at all, nay, indeed, I do not wish it. Only he is your friend and I—I feel that I have angered him somehow and wish to make things well with him.”

“Angered Little John? Nonsense!” His face was averted still, and I knew not what to say next.

“Pray, then, Robin, stay a while longer. I would not trade your company for Will’s or Ellen’s or any. I simply do not understand.”

He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his cropped hair, leaning his elbows on his bent knees. He seemed, I then noticed, as miserable as I had felt since our arrival at the Greenwood tree. I wondered how long he’d been so unhappy.

“Listen, Robin,” I said on impulse. “Can’t you try to return to camp early tomorrow so we might have that cudgel lesson?”

He brightened a little and turned to me. “You still want to learn?”

“Very much. But, I beg of you, let my first go not be in the camp. I would not wish to have the men nearby to jeer at my mistakes.”

“Very well then. I know a clearing where you may practice without anyone near to see you. We’ll go tomorrow.”

We smiled together, and as we did I felt the chains fall away, my mouth bend to a happy shape, my sap surge and course again. That simple plan seemed to make me well, so well that I was not sad to see him move away to Little John, so well that I found patience to sit with Ellen and hear her tell me yet again of her wedding day and dress of blue.