Maid Marian (23 page)

T
HAT DAY
I
SAT
with Meg and Janey while the men trod to the woodpile. We could talk of nothing but Richard’s capture, though dwelling so long on the queen made my skin feel sticky as a weld stalk. I listened while Meg spoke to Janey of Queen Eleanor and how she must worry over her son.

“Poor sweet old gran,” Meg had murmured, shaking her head.

I thought my ears might bolt from my head when I heard her words, for to my mind the queen was neither sweet nor poor, though I could not deny that she was in fact old. But for the briefest of moments I wondered how much of my terror of Eleanor was built upon a solid foundation and how much rested on sand towers of my own creation. And in that moment a fresh notion struck me, cold as a splash of river water. I dropped my work to my lap, so overcome was I by my thinking.

“What if,” I said aloud, my voice unsteady, “’twas not from fear of the queen or her guard or even of the gallows that I ran? What if it were from fear of
him
?”

Meg looked at me strangely and reached a hand over to feel the heat of my cheek. But I had never felt less ill. The germ of a great flower was growing within me, and it would be mine if I could but keep ahold of the thought.

“Perhaps I feared allowing a man to have such power over my heart, I who trust so very few.” Meg cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing, for at that moment John returned, stamping his feet against the cold. Meg knew of Robin—that is to say, she knew I’d had a love once and that it had ended badly some months prior. So I fretted little over what she would think and delved instead into my own awakening.

Strange as it sounded, the words I spoke felt like truth—it was Robin from whom I’d fled, Robin and the wild ways I feared would land me in the Tower, or worse. For what was more troubling to one such as I, one who denied faith in any person, than to entrust my happiness, safety, and future to another—any other?

It was a thick thought to have birthed, and my lungs ached from the trial. Too, it brought shame, for it pained me to see so deep into my psyche and to glimpse the mud and scum that grew there. For the laws I’d laid down in early life seemed no longer to apply and perhaps had cost me my beloved Robin. The fault was my own and it made me cringe to accept my crime and take my penance.

That day I swore to cultivate faith as steadily as I worked at my spindle, practicing the motions each morning and night. If I could have no faith in my love, I felt I must surely be lost from this life, given up to decades of distress and worry. I must learn to trust Robin as I trusted myself. And perhaps, I thought, should we meet again, I would be ready to take him in close and to walk beside him the rest of my days.

N
OT EVEN THOUGHTS
of our king rotting in his prison could dampen the thrill we all felt when the last ice thawed and spring danced before us. Even as the rough work of plowing began, the villagers’ faces filled with eager light, for the winter had ended and we all still lived. On the hills waddled ewes, heavy with lambs, picking their way from snow to green grass, as pleased for the sun as any of us.

Our cow birthed a calf in the midst of February, and soon we had cream and milk once again. The chickens took to laying with a fresh sense of duty, and the oxen went nobly to do their great work, breaking the sod of last year’s fallow land. As the days grew warmer a new whisper spread, for the Shrove Tuesday fair was fast approaching, the greatest of all days in Denby-upon-Trent, and all of Thetbury would be in attendance.

Shrove Tuesday has always been a popular day, for before its moon rises in the night sky every last scrap of eggs, milk, and cheese must be gobbled up in preparation for Lent. In Denby, I found, ’twas a long-held tradition to finish them off in a pancake feast, and we dined that morning as I had never dined before, on sweet fried cakes dripped with butter and mounted with cream. For our noon meal, Meg packed us each a great chunk of cheese to accompany our bread, and our family set off with happy spring hearts to join in the spectacle of a country fair.

I
HAD BEEN TO
D
ENBY BEFORE,
when I’d visited Sir Thomas as a young girl, but if I’d not known it to be the same town, I would not have recognized it in any way. Every space on the road was filled up this day with broad tents and stands of brightly striped canvas, their cloth flags flying. Stalls and tables were crammed so tightly into the square that one had to walk at a near ant’s pace to see it all. Wild sounds and rich colors startled me on every side, grabbing my eyes, ears, and attention.

The air smelled thick with a mélange of scents—roast meat, brewed ale, spices from the East. To my delight I saw cinnamon, ginger, and clove—spices I’d not seen since I left Warwick Castle. On the fields great ribbons marked out sporting zones, and as I gazed on, straining my eyes, Matthew explained that our fair was famed for its football, archery, and wrestling matches. In back alleys were men grouped for cockfights and dice games, a sight that Meg hustled her children past as if the mood to gamble might somehow be catching.

When we arrived, the fair had not yet officially begun, and Janey was glad we had not missed the start. Soon I came to understand why, for when a great crowd had gathered in the square, a herald leapt up on a high wooden table and waved his arms for a moment of silence. Into the quiet he cried, “Hurrah!” and in response the whole crowd cried it back, and then the fair was truthfully started. All around us the trading began, loud at the spice stands, quieter in tone but equally intense at the fabric stalls. Uncle John had brought a pair of shoes for mending and wandered off to haggle a price. Meg and Janey went to see bits of lace from Germany, and Matthew started for the gaming rings.

“Be careful, Mary, or you’ll be lost in this crowd. Why don’t you come with me to the games? There’s plenty to see.”

I was so pleased just to look about that I agreed to go with him, for eyeing one crowd is as good as another, and the crush of the stalls frightened me a bit. As we passed through the throng my eye caught a flash. For an instant I thought I glimpsed Robin’s face, with his beard and cap, but when I turned, ’twas a different man. I shook myself and kept my eye on Matthew, but as we walked it happened again with the same result. This made me sigh and speak quite sternly to myself, for I knew full well that Robin Hood wouldn’t come to Denby, and my eyes were only catching what they wished they could see.

The gaming areas were marked out with pennants and colored streamers, all snapping in the breeze. At each stood a prize on a raised platform, sometimes a barrel of new stout ale, other times an arrow or bugle of gold. Matthew told me that one year the wrestling prize had been a two-year bull, and the way his eyes glowed when he spoke of it made me think he ought to practice his pins so he might claim such a prize one day.

Matthew was keen on the archery match, but as I was far shorter than he, I couldn’t see the field from the position he chose. So I tugged at his sleeve and shouted that I would jump up on a barrel that stood at the back. From there I thought I might see better, though I knew full well that at that distance I shouldn’t make out more than colored shapes and hazes.

My barrel was one in a line of ale kegs that stood against the Denby tavern, and from my perch I had a better view than I’d expected. The field before me was teeming with archers, or so it seemed, for ten groups of men stood at the field’s far end, taking turns firing upon their targets. The targets were so far off indeed that I could scarcely spot them by squinting, but I could tell by the shouts and jeers of the crowd how each archer did, and so made merry by cheering for one man and then another.

“Perhaps this time ’twill be the lad in scarlet,” I murmured to myself, catching the thrill of the competition. Before long the winner of each group had been chosen, and ten single men stood to shoot against one another. Each archer had a moment of rest while he waited his turn to pull and aim for the target, and at times some turned to speak with friends in the crowd or take a swig from a sack of ale. One man dressed in gray with a red felt cap seemed to look my way a time or two, but I told myself he must have some comrade in the crowd before me and turned my eye back to the man who was shooting.

So occupied was I with the match before me that I scarcely noticed anyone join me atop my barrels until it was too late. Then, to my horror, I saw Walter the Miller, more red-faced than ever on account of strong wine, teetering on the keg to my left. I tried to move away to the right, but caught my hair in the tavern’s roof thatch and, while I struggled to free myself, heard these words come streaming from Walter.

“Oh, Mary,” he cried in a blubbering way, “won’t you give your old Walter a kiss, now? Ye know I’ve been eyein’ you these long months, and sure you saw how I added some wheat flour to yer sacks at milling time—’twas out of love, ye must know that. Come on, then, Mary, give us a kiss.”

He reached for me, and, as at that moment I freed my hair, I turned to face him to ward him off. But in the confusion his hand missed its target and fell on my breast, and before I could think of the error he’d made, I screamed, loud enough to silence the crowd and turn the ten archers in our direction.

Walter froze, but in a second I found that it was not from fear or embarrassment—an arrow, fired in the space of a heartbeat, had pinned his tunic to the tavern wall, and he found himself unable to move. I too stood frozen, one hand in the thatch, my heart beating fast like a tiny blackbird pulled in by a cat.

Soon cries arose of “Who shot that arrow?” and I saw the same man in the red felt cap leap over the ribbons and come quickly through the crowd.

“I did,” he said, as he reached my barrel. And then I believe my heart reached a dead stop before it resumed its work at twice speed and filled my cheeks with fresh new blood. For this bold archer was no man other than my Robin Hood.

“Greetings, fair maid,” he said, reaching up to me, his voice trembling slightly. His eyes looked cool as a summer lake, and they clung to me like wheat dust. “I apologize if I have intruded.”

“Not at all, sir,” I gasped, knowing I stammered even more than I stared.

“I am Nicholas Atwood of Lincolnshire, at your service.” He smelled of beeswax and a brisk west wind, and looked as fair as Adonis himself.

“Ah, Nicholas, I thank you.” We grasped hands, and he helped me leap down from my barrel. I looked at his eyes and saw in their depths a thousand words, a million thoughts, and each one I understood. I pressed his hand tightly and smiled, as if to say that all was well, all was mended—in my heart, at least. “I am Mary Cox of Thetbury village. I . . . I thank you again, sir. Best of luck in your tournament today.”

“If I win the prize it shall be yours,” he said with a grin, then allowed his voice to drop to a whisper. “And so shall I, if you will have me.”

Until this moment the noise of the crowd had been no more than rain lapping dust off a dry road, but just then some man in the throng cried out, “Give him the prize! He’s clear the best shot.”

This caused a commotion, for Robin was not the group favorite, since he came in the guise of a Lincolnshire man. He pulled away with strong reluctance.

“I must finish this match, dear Mary,” he said, “but promise that I may find you after? Mary?”

My added name carried such weight that I could not speak to answer him, but merely nodded, blinking off tears. Here was Robin, here before me! I followed behind him as he trailed through the crush and found a new space near the front of the ribbon, for the men parted ways for me nearly as if I were the queen herself.

From my new place I watched him work, and my heart shot over with pleasure and pride. I censured myself for not having known him by the carefree boldness of his archery stroke, but I did not take my own reproof seriously. My Robin stood there, he loved me still, and my blackbird’s heart felt strong again and only waited the moment when it should take flight.

Chapter Twenty

I
STOOD WITH MY FEET
on solid ground and watched as Robin won the prize, but to this day I cannot recall a whit of that tournament after my rescue from atop the barrel. I was present, I know, but my mind was so wrapped in facing Robin that I could see none of what passed before me and, I am sure, might have been robbed had the Denby folk been so dishonest. Robin won, for I saw his prize afterward, but I did not see him shoot the arrow or hear the cheers that followed his victory.

Nay, I was too intent upon drafting and framing what I should say when we met afterward. But when at last the crowd thinned out and he seized my hand to speak with me, all my forethoughts flew into the wind, and I was left to speak from the heart.

“Marian, my love, how can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you? Nay, Robin, ’tis I who should be asking forgiveness. I was a fool to run off as I did—it shames me even now to think on it. I thought you would be captured, but look, here you are safe and unharmed! I clearly misjudged both the queen and you.”

“Ah, but you were right too,” he said, sighing, “for I very nearly lost all my men to the scaffold in the end—and I would have, indeed, had it not been for your warnings. Listen now, Lucy, if we are both disposed to love again, let us do it with glad hearts. Then I will tell you everything that has happened since you left Sherwood and how I nearly died of sorrow to find that you had flown away.”

I looked into his eyes for a long moment and saw there the pain he’d felt for me and the regret he bore for not having heeded my words. And as I looked, I felt what small grains of anger were left in my heart melt away and disappear, and if I had not forgiven him before, I did so completely then. Whether he did me, I cannot say, but the fact that he was come to Denby seemed reason enough for me to hope, and I fell into his arms with a sigh of relief and felt that I’d found my safe harbor at last.

We stood together in the empty field and kissed as though Eros himself stood by to urge us on. I found I could not control my actions, for my body seemed desperate to gain for itself what it had been so long denied. And so I clung to Robin as if he made up my wine and my bread, pressing my lips hard against his to gather what I could of their sweetness. And he, for his part, twined about me like fresh-sprouted ivy, grasping my flesh where it itched me the most.

Even after we’d paused to rest, panting from the labors of love, I could not separate my skin from his. I clasped his face time after time between my hands in wonder at the beauty I saw there—beauty that had grown dim and inaccurate in my memory. His face glowed more than I had remembered, and the cut of his jaw and finely shaped nose were more definite, more clear, than my mind’s eye had drawn. I did not know, in all honesty, how greatly I had missed him until he stood before me. I had to struggle to suppress a year’s worth of unwept sobs, for now that my every anguish was ended, they came upon me in a deluge.

At last we found seats on the grass near a tent wall and resigned ourselves to hear every detail. My hand was wrapped up in Robin’s large one, feeling the calluses of the fingertips that plucked the bowstrings with such surety.

“I ought to have told you where I went before, I truly ought, but I had an odd notion that you’d like a surprise, and I longed to give it to you—as a gift.” He shook his head, and I covered his hand with my other, to give him strength to tell it all. “Well, it was very wrong of me. I’d gone to London to speak with the queen, as you discovered for yourself. But you shouldn’t think I went heedless of all your warnings—I did heed them, truly! But a man can grow arrogant in the wood, and I thought, knowing what I did of the queen, that I could forge a bargain with her without causing myself any harm.”

We exchanged grim looks, and Robin went on, determined to lay it all before me.

“Clym went with me, as you know, and ’tis thanks to him that anything came off at all, for it was he who found an old friar for us who spoke both French and Saxon. The friar had passed many an evening over tankards with Clym, and he agreed right quick to be my translator. We two went, disguised of course, into Westminster Castle to the queen’s own rooms, and there we hid for most of a day, waiting for her to return from court. When she did, we sprang out from our hiding place, my friar declaring that I was Robin Hood, who wished to trade a word with her. She wasn’t near as startled as I’d expected—though perhaps she’s often waylaid by ruffians in her own rooms.”

I sighed at the thought. “More likely she’s grown so hard of heart that nothing startles her. I believe her veins may be filled with lead.”

“You may be right—she’s old enough to have been the very dragon Saint George did battle with. At any rate, this good friar and I stood before her while he told her what I proposed, that my men would take up her challenge to arrest Prince John’s men from Nottingham in trade for some items from her hand.

“She sat herself down and sent her ladies off to her bedding chamber to ready some garments, then gave us seats by her fire. We sat there, pretty as you please, and discussed the terms of her challenge, that a mark of silver was to be paid for each man arrested from John’s stronghold. I told her I wished to alter the terms, for my men and I would take half that amount plus one simple contract, drawn and signed by her royal hand.”

“What contract?” I asked, frowning.

“Hold, love,” Robin laughed. “All will come clear, I swear it. The idea of the contract caught her interest, and she asked me at once what it would contain. I smiled then for that was my moment to snatch it all, and oh, how I wished I could tell her myself instead of using the old cassocked friar as translator! But I had no choice, ’tis my own fault for becoming an outlaw instead of studying the tongues of politics.” He smiled broadly for a moment, and I could just envision his pleasant mouth, twitching with words he could not express. In a moment, though, his smile vanished, and he looked at me with some great concern.

“Here, dear Marian, I’m shamed to say that I took a great liberty with your life, which I now see I’d no right to do. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve wished I could have those few days back! For if I had them to live again, I’d tell you all before going to London, and if you withheld your approval, I’d promise you I would not go. But that’s all dreams, for I did go and acted alone, and if I have injured you I can only promise to spend all my days mending my wrong.”

“Robin, my love, you make me quite nervous with these long speeches. Won’t you just tell it to me and have it done?”

“Aye, ’tis best,” he agreed, though he still hesitated. “You’ve a right to know it, so I will tell you. I asked that the contract would state her leave for Lady Marian Fitzwater to wed one lowly Robert of Locksley and that she and King Richard allow the marriage without expectation of monies to the king or any other payment. For, I said, their gift would be the capture of half of Prince John’s men, and for the other half she would owe me silver marks.

“Oh, if you could have seen her face, Marian! She went all white and purple, speckled like a great dotted bean, and she nearly choked on her own words when she opened her mouth next to speak. ‘Lady Marian is dead,’ she said, and I replied, ‘Do you think I would bargain with you over the hand of a dead woman?’ ”

I snickered at this, pleased by this vision of Robin’s matching wits with the queen of England. But even as I smiled at his tale, I set a hand against my belly, for knots of worry had twisted there.

“That threw her for a great long while,” Robin continued, “and as she coughed and gathered herself, even my friar began to smile, for he hadn’t expected such a thrilling translation as I was giving him that night. At last the queen recovered herself enough to ask my full terms, so I explained that I would have your hand for Robert of Locksley, for you see I acted as though he were a friend for whom I’d come to negotiate, and no relation to Robin Hood. And too I said the contract must state that you take control and ownership of your lands of Denby-upon-Trent.”

“You did?”

“Aye. And to think you thought me bold before!” He winked at me for reassurance, then went on. “We spoke a long while and in that time she made me see that she would sign this paper, for ’twould be far cheaper for her to gain all of John’s men at half the number of silver marks. And as for you and your marriage fees, that was silver she’d reckoned lost, so it cost her nothing to give it up. She was startled, ’tis true, to hear that you lived, and this, I believe, took her longest to grasp. I fancied she had strong memories of you, for she could not speak of you again without shaking her head and saying my friend would have a wily fox upon his hands if he took you to wed.”

We both laughed a great while at this, but as I sobered I began to see parts of this tale that frightened me.

“But Robin,” I said, “does no one know you as Robert of Locksley?”

“None do,” he answered, “for my parents told their steward and bailiff that young Robert ran off to fight for King Henry when he was but a lad and has never yet returned. The king’s foresters, those who took old Wat o’ Locksley so long ago, never saw my face or knew my name. I’ve placed all of my other crimes and deceits on Robin Hood’s name, poor wretched knave.”

“And did you not fear that the queen would send troops to follow you to Sherwood and capture you all?”

“Well that, my love, is where I did heed your warnings, for I made the queen swear that she would not do it, and I arranged that I should take her own captain to hold as our safety. If we were taken, I told her straight, I would kill that man without a pause. So she swore not to make any rash attempts, and she said too that Prince John’s men posed a greater threat to the crown than our band in Sherwood ever might.

“Now,” he said, raising a hand, “I know what you’ll be saying next: that the queen is not to be trusted. And I thought of your words, Marian, and watched my back at every moment. But once I had my contract signed and the silver packed, I went my way back to Sherwood, excited to see your bonny face.”

“Then you have this contract?” I said, astonished, for I never thought the queen would comply.

“Indeed, I have,” he said, reaching under his tunic and belt. “I’ve no safer place to keep it than here, but it seems to have suffered no great harm.”

Then I looked at this miraculous object, a deed well written, signed, and sealed by Queen Eleanor, granting me leave to wed this dear Robert and regain my sweet fields of Denby-upon-Trent. I raised my eyes from it at last and looked from my love to the tall Denby trees. I felt in that instant that I’d raised my two hands and been given to hold in them the sun and the moon, all I most cared for and all I desired.

“There is one small matter about your title to Denby,” he said with a wry peak to his brow. “The queen wrote this out and gave you the land in a legal sense, but she said she would send no troops to help you take it from Sir Thomas. That, she said, we must do ourselves. But if we can manage to oust your regent, she’ll not block our future claims to this land of yours.”

For a moment I scarcely heard what he said, so quick was my mind in spinning a picture of Robin and me, ruling precious Denby, side by side—for precious it had become to me as I worked its meadows and winnowed its grain. With a squeal of delight I threw my two arms about his neck and kissed his cheek, for this was a dream I had never dared consider.

“Oh, Robin, you bold, bold fellow! The things you will try, honestly! But this is wonderful, this contract, this means everything for us. We may marry, may take Denby, and you may leave the outlaw’s life and free yourself from that wretched danger!”

In my glee I was slow to realize that he might not wish to leave the forests of Sherwood, that he might be sorry to leave that free life and the men there who loved him. But when he went on with his tale I learned that his group of brave outlaws was already disbanded and that the life of a forest yeoman had ended for Robin Hood long before this day.

“I’m glad you’re pleased with this bit of work, for I feared you’d be angry with me for telling the queen your little secret. I assured her, though, that she’d never find you if she tried to look, and she seemed weary at the very thought, so I don’t think you stand in danger. And now that we’ve this,” he said, jerking his thumb at the parchment, “’tis no matter. Even if she did bear you ill will, she could not force you to wed Stephen now, for this contract tops any other she’d given before. ’Tis there in the writing, you can see it yourself.” He looked at me with eager eyes, and for a moment I did not understand that he wished me to confirm that what he said was true. I nodded, for I’d seen the words, and when he looked relieved I recalled that he could not read it for himself and had counted perhaps on the friar’s oath that his terms were expressed by the words on the parchment.

“Well, then, once the contract was writ by the queen’s clerk, she made some arrangements for our departure. I told her then, in my own Saxon, that if she tried to trick me, by the bright hair of Saint Aelfrida, I’d make her suffer. She said she understood my words, though the friar had not translated them, and she sent one of her ladies, parchment in hand, to order the page and captain to ride with me. The page carried with him the silver and parchment, and the lady found me a horse to ride and a meal for the friar, who was traveling off to some holy place in the south. Clym had long since returned to you, for the journey took far longer than I had expected—’tis a long road on foot.