Maid Marian (18 page)

When we neared the fire I saw that Robin’s face was dark, his eyes fixed as the wolf’s eyes are when he is backed off by men with clubs. I sat near him by the fire, my heart still shaking with the truths of the morning. Neither of us had the strength to speak, but for one instant he extended a hand to touch my hair, and the world seemed to stop in its place. A moment later he was master again of his band of men, calling them out of their sleeping places to tend to Little John in his distress.

Soon the camp was alive with noise, every man crying out with joy and triumph at seeing his friends safely returned. Broth was heated for Little John and hunks of bread passed all around. Then, at last, the men were seated and quiet enough to hear the tale of what had kept their master from them all the day and through the night.

Robin began, speaking slowly and with calm tones, almost as if he hoped to keep from frightening us by holding his voice firm as a bowstring.

“The tale begins yesterday morning, when we all stepped out for the day’s work. Little John and I went west as we often do of a Tuesday. We hadn’t been gone two hours when we spied a fellow by Rudd’s creek—the spot with all the blackberry brambles. Neither of us knew his face, and he was dressed like a mad fool, in a horsehide—”

Here Little John interrupted. “He looked a fright, I tell you plainly. The hide of a horse upon his back, a horse’s head-skin on his own pate, and even the tale stitched on his arse!”

“Aye, he was, dressed all up in horse hide, and I agree ’twas a hideous costume. Any road, Little John was game to meet with him, but I thought I’d better do it, and so I sent him on toward Mansfield while I went up to the stranger.”

“’Twould have been better had I gone, Robin, I’ll say it again.”

“Aye, perhaps, Little John,” Robin agreed, looking toward his friend with such a gaze that I knew he felt pain for what Little John suffered. “But we went our ways, whatever the merits, and I made for the man in horsehide. ‘Good morrow, fellow,’ I said to him, and he replied the same to me. But then he went on, as if he’d a yen for conversation. ‘You seem a good archer, judging by the bow you bear on your shoulder,’ he said. ‘Tell me, if you know these woods, can you point me in my way? For I must be lost and I’ve a need to make good haste this morning.’ So right quick I offered to be his guide, for if he wished to leave the forest, I was ready to help him do it.

“‘But no,’ he said, ‘I seek an outlaw named Robin Hood, and I’d rather meet with him than with forty pounds of gold, I would.’ That gave me a cold feeling, I can tell you. But I kept a calm front and replied that I thought ’twould be best for him to avoid the fellow, for a fight with Robin Hood might mean his end, so I said. So after a bit more chat we agreed to have a quick shooting match to enjoy the day, and we broke off to set up the targets.”

Here the men interrupted his tale with their knowing laughter, for they were aware how this match would end. Robin smiled faintly at their confidence and continued.

“We shot a bit, and he proved good, but not as good a shot as I. He struck right into the garland ring more than once, but when we gathered up the marks, he saw that I’d hit the pole, and then he felt ashamed enough to sneer and spit in my direction. ‘Tell me thy name, good fellow,’ said he. But I replied that I should not until I’d the pleasure of hearing his. ‘I’m Guy of Gisborne,’ he said, ‘outlaw of the Needwood Forest.’ ”

“Guy of Gisborne!” cried Clym at this, leaping to his feet in fear and looking, despite himself, around the dark edge of the clearing.

“Indeed, ’twas he, and I’ve time now to thank you, Clym, for telling me of him, for once I heard his name spoken I knew this man was not to be trusted. So then I told him who I was, and we drew swords, for he told me right off that Prince John had offered him a knight’s fiefdom for my head.

“We went to it with the swords and were pretty well matched. Once I nearly lost it all from tripping over a root in the path, and I thought I was worm meal as sure as Saint Dunstan. But as Guy came to strike me down, I caught him with a backhanded stroke and sliced his head clean from his neck, like taking the cap off an egg. And ’twas the end of Guy of Gisborne.”

At this the men let out a cheer, but I saw that Robin was far from rejoicing. This, then, made the second man he’d had the misfortune to kill in his day, and this second death seemed no easier for him to bear than the first had been.

“Now, I think, we ought to turn to Little John, to hear his tale, for I followed after him toward Mansfield to see how he made out with things.”

“Sure now, Robin, and don’t forget to tell them how you put on Guy of Gisborne’s horse suit and wore it into town yourself!”

“Ah, aye, I did do that.” Here Robin turned a bit to me, as if embarrassed by the deed. “I meant to act the part of Guy, to make Prince John believe me—Robin Hood—dead. Otherwise I feared he’d fill the forest with his soldiers, all in search of Guy.”

The men nodded at his quick thinking and turned their faces to Little John, eager to hear what became of him.

“So,” Little John began, propping his hurt leg upon a wood round, “I went to Mansfield to see what passed there, and no sooner had I entered the village than a host of the prince’s mercenaries surrounded me. One struck me hard in the leg with his cudgel, and I went down fast like a hamstringed horse, straight into the mud. They took me off to an open field and tied me soundly to a post, and I tell you now, I thought that would be the last of my days, I thought so truly. For the prince’s men were fierce indeed, not soft and foolish like the sheriff’s clods, and I thought I might die in that spot and never see this clearing again.

“But I stood and stood on my hurt leg, and soon the sky began to spin before me, for I was injured enough for it to affect my brain, I think. At any rate, for a time it all went black, but when I woke I felt more whole than I had all that day. The shadows were long by that time and looking out I saw that horsehided man approach, blowing his bugle for all he was worth, and then the tears streamed from my eyes, for I thought that stranger had killed our Robin.

“I saw him talk with the sheriff a while, for the prince himself was nowhere near, and at last the horsehided man approached me, his knife drawn, as if he wished to slit my throat. I cried out, I’m sure I did, but as he came he spoke to me and—what surprise!—I heard dear Robin’s own voice come from beneath that wretched horse-hair pate. Robin drew near and cut my bonds, then put the stranger’s bow in my hands and bid me shoot if I found a mark, and off we ran for the forest edge.

“We lit off fast, but the sheriff’s men were right behind, for they’d never been far off, and once they saw me light away they notched their arrows and went to work. I stumbled as I made my way, my leg not up to the weight of running, and as I fell I saw the sheriff, the man himself, leading the charge with swords a-flashing, for he was truly angered at me.

“I set my arrow against the string and let it fly, and as I watched it struck the sheriff straight in the neck and felled him, clean as a tree falls in the wood.” Here Little John laughed nervously and looked quite green about the face. “Then Robin came back and helped me up, and we made off to the woods together.”

A silence followed their frightening story, as each of us thought over what had passed. Robin, our leader, had nearly been slain by a hired assassin, the worst in the land, and Little John, the right-hand man, had killed the sheriff, the appointed ruler of Nottinghamshire. My hands, I fear, began to shake at the mere remembrance of the tale, and I looked at their faces for reassurance but found nothing there but sorrow and fright.

“And the night,” Clym asked quietly, seeking a full report of their time. “Where did you pass the night?”

“High in a broad oak,” Little John chortled. “We slept on a branch nearly ten feet up, with me tied on so I wouldn’t fall off in my sleep, for you know how I like to toss and turn.”

Again the crowd tittered nervously.

“I think,” said Robin, standing stiffly, “we ought to move about our work and think no more on yesterday. Guy of Gisborne can harm none now, so we’ve nothing more to fear of him. And as for the sheriff, well, he is no more and too should frighten us no longer. Once Little John’s leg has mended, he will be off for Barnesdale Forest in the north to hide away till the sheriff’s men cease searching for him. The rest of us will keep a quiet life here for a month or two and venture into no towns or villages.”

The men nodded at his suggestions, but still they sat for several moments before any rose to start his work, for this was a blow to their security. Each was reminded in the fear of the moment of his first flight to the forest and all the worries that accompanied it—’twas a sobering atmosphere that hung beneath the Greenwood tree.

When they at last began to disperse, I rose with shaking limbs and scurried off to the edge of camp, too unnerved to tend to my work. My nightmare visions of Robin’s fate had been horrific, but somehow I was more badly frightened by the truth than I had been by my dreams. They both lived, I told myself, speaking sternly; Robin lives and is well, so do not fret. But I did fret, and in my distress of heart I ran for the clearing to be alone.

No sooner had I reached the grove and taken my cudgel up in my hands than my fear dissolved away into anger. Fury roared like wind in my heart, enflamed by awareness that while I loved, I too might lose; while I remained warm and safe, I still might fall to grave peril. For had Robin died in the northern wood, what would have become of me? I’d have lost my heart, cracked my soul until it bled. And worse perhaps, I also would have lost my home, my comfort, and security. Without Robin there was no life at the Greenwood tree, and had I lost him I would surely have lost that as well.

These thoughts worked me into a frenzied rage, so incensed was I at having allowed my heart to be caught and stolen away. I bashed my staff against the practice pole until it made my palms sting and shudder; then on I went, cursing the weakness of my heart and the imperfection of my memory. I thought I worked quite alone, but as I paused to dash away tears of self-reproach and disgust, I saw with a start that Robin approached and came to sit on the sward beside me.

“Marian,” he said, his voice ragged, “what troubles you?”

“I am in no state for talking, Robin,” I cried, ignoring a fresh pain in my shoulder.

He sat in silence for a moment, then raised his face to me again.

“Come, Marian. Speak with me.”

“Nay, Robin, I beg you, nay. Unless you wish to hear words of spite, do not stay here. Make your way back to camp.”

I saw him frown, for I’m certain my actions held no logic for him. But he could not see the regret in my heart, the way my desires split in two, each as powerful as the other. I had neglected the one, my own safekeeping, in favor of the other, and none should pay the penalty but me.

But as he stood and strode away, a new panic rose on par with my anger. For what if I lost my chance at love through being overzealous for preservation? Confused as I was, both heart and mind, I could not bear to see Robin go, to see his eyes leave my face, to watch his shoulders vanish in the wood. Despite my mind’s most ardent warnings, my body formed its own design. I ran after him, fast as a hare, until I stood panting in his way, my cudgel still heavy in my hands.

“Wait, Robin, wait,” I gasped. “I’m in a sour temper, but you’re not to blame. I’m only cross with myself, for I’d not seen till now what a snare I’d worked my way into.”

“What snare is that?” he asked, his eyes strong upon me.

“Of caring more than I’d intended,” I blurted. “I cannot stop myself from thinking what danger you were in just now and how very close you came to . . . dying. What would I have done without you, Robin? How should I ever have mended my heart?”

He took the cudgel from me and tossed it away, light as a twig, then pulled me close until our bodies met, one warm against the other.

“Shouldn’t you rather have a heart besmudged by tears and scratches than a perfect one ignorant of life? Come, Marian, lose your fear for a moment. Embrace this hour and none other, and grant yourself a touch of happiness.”

His words rushed like water between my ears, bathing my overheated soul. I longed for nothing but Robin then, and I raised my face to greet his, as trusting as a summer’s rose. We kissed a time, as the sounds in my head changed to ocean tides, to trickling currents, and rabid streams. This was the life I’d so longed for—this was my place of true serenity.

I cannot say how much time passed, there on the green sward of our grove. It might have been hours or half a year. But when I noticed the sun again, and the bluebells thick on the woodland floor, I also knew that Robin was entwined in my fate as surely as Orpheus to Eurydice. My internal fury had not yet subsided—my fear was still quaking, raw in the light—but too I had Robin to charm and delight me, and this rose like cream to the frothy top.

I was steeping these thoughts as I traced Robin’s face with my two fingers, smoothing the worry away from his temples and brushing back danger with his ruddy locks. He too had expressions to make with his hands, but after a time he lay back with a sigh and caught my fingers tightly in his.

“It was, I admit, a close escape. First Guy of Gisborne, then Little John.” He shook his head. “I fear our time here is fading away. Dangers grow strong on every side—our Greenwood tree is not what it once was. But I promise you, Marian, it will not always be thus with me.” He rolled onto his side so I might see the solemnity in his eyes. “Somehow, in some way, I swear I will make my life legitimate. This is no way for us to be, always fearful of the law.” His eyes matched hue with the sky above us, cloudless and pure. “Marian, you are more dear to me than . . . than perhaps the sun in the sky. And if you will be my own true love, I swear I will stay clear from danger until I leave this outlaw’s life for one that we both can bear to live.”

“Oh, Robin!” I cried, wrapping my arms about his neck. “Aye, please, let’s do! Live with me always, will you, Robin? I will do whatever I can, only promise to always be my friend.”