Maid Marian (3 page)

This I could answer. “No, he does not.”

“Well, that is something he may learn in time. Come, Lady Marian,” she said, creaking slowly to her feet. “There is an issue that must be rectified this moment. That Saxon nurse of yours is clearly no more than a common cottager. You deserve a companion with greater éclat.”

I rose and followed her, noticing as we went that she had aged greatly since the day I called her mother. I knew her to be more than ten years older than King Henry, and as we walked I deduced that she had lived sixty years and some beyond. I was amazed. She still commanded such power, was so sure of her own mind. I did not like her much, that was true, but I admired her greatly.

She led me to Lady Cicely’s room, she of the flame-colored hair, and we entered without knocking. Nurse was there, as I thought she might be, stitching and chatting with Lady Cicely and her nurse. Nurse’s stitchery fell to the floor as she rose to curtsy, but the other two ladies had the presence of mind to set theirs aside before rising, and I felt the weight of Nurse’s blunders land squarely upon my own shoulders.

“Lady Cicely,” the queen declared, her eyes like blue larkspur, “you shall hereby change nurses with Lady Marian. You”—she nodded to Nurse—“shall attend Lady Cicely from this day forward. And you”—she spoke more softly in the direction of Cicely’s nurse—“shall attend Lady Marian. I trust this arrangement will be suitable to you all.”

As abruptly as she had come, she now turned and left the room, not pausing to close the door behind her. Aghast, I ran after her, for the shock of change had made me bold.

“My queen,” I gasped, “please! What can it matter who is my nurse?”

She spun about with a look of frustration, as she was not accustomed to having her orders questioned. “She is nothing more than a coarse Saxon, Lady Marian. Cicely’s nurse was born in Normandy and has once attended her lady in Paris. She has everything of refinement, breeding, and manners which your common nurse lacks. I have done this on your behalf, Lady Marian, that you might be better bred in these next five years than you have been in the last. I expect your gratitude.”

Without waiting for me to express it, she walked on, her robe billowing out behind her like the sail of a retreating ship, one that bore away all sense of security.

S
TUNNED,
I
WANDERED
to my own room. The loss of the one person who had always loved me was a sorrow I had never considered. The worth of Nurse, which an hour ago had been next to nothing, suddenly pressed upon me so heavily that tears ran from my eyes. I had no mother, I had no father. I had most recently lost Hugh’s friendship and had begun to doubt the other ladies of the court. But Nurse I had never doubted. Nurse, always cheerful, always warm, I never wondered at until this moment.

To hear her called a Saxon meant little to me, for at that time I knew nothing of this distinction which reft England in two. But
common, cottager, lacking in refinement
—these were words I understood. And as they echoed through my mind, I saw Nurse as I had never seen her before. Where in my youth I had never looked behind her care and her warm ways, I now saw the farm girl with her awkward movements, I heard the errors in her poor French, I recalled the inconsistencies in her judgment. Nurse, I saw, was everything the queen described her, and yet I found I loved her still.

All that night and half the next I paced my room, scarcely heedful of Cicely’s nurse who now took residence within my chamber. She was a dark and sallow thing, and I hated her perfect French near as much as I despised her dainty embroidery. I wept alone and longed for the comfort she could not give, the comfort I could only find in my own nurse.

But my nurse was gone, not only in fact but also in memory. Queen Eleanor’s words had done their work; the nurse of my youth—perfect, brave, exquisitely idealized—no longer existed. A dark, lonely curtain of comprehension had lowered before my eyes, one that would never rise again. It was a painful awakening and it left me with an aching heart. I struggled and bore it as I could.

Young as I was, that night I faced a grim reality, but I was determined to learn from my lessons and make myself more powerful from them. And so I declared that I would never again trust another living person beyond myself. For who could I know, truly, but me? Who could I trust not to change, as Nurse seemed to have changed before my very eyes, or to be kind, as Hugh had shown he could not be? How could I trust a queen who did not care whom she injured? Or Apple Man with his pockmarked lies? No, I could rely on no one. And so I took the weight of my future on my own slim shoulders, and I rose in the morning ready to carry it.

M
Y FIRST ACT
was to rouse Lady Cicely’s nurse from her slumber and drive her down the hall before me to Cicely’s tapestry-hung chamber. As we entered, my own nurse cried out and ran to me, folding me in her strong arms as though she might be able to keep me by force. I embraced her, feeling my heart crack open anew, jostled by the comfort of being held like a child. But I stuck firm to my new resolve, for I saw that from this day forward, Nurse and I would change positions, and where I had been the child before, she would now place her trust in me. She might hold and comfort me, but in our future dealings with the world I must be the thoughtful one, the one who speaks, the one who governs.

“Lady Cicely,” I said, breaking free of Nurse at last, “I beg you, do not be nervous but listen to me a moment. You and I, it seems, are in the same bind. Neither of us can like what the queen has done with our serving women.”

“No, indeed,” she agreed, twisting a strand of orange hair about her finger. “My mother went to such great trouble to find Nurse Matilde for me, you’ve no idea! She will be so upset to hear I’ve lost her. And your lands are far to the north, are they not? Surely, we shall never see one another again. Oh, Mama, how you shall scold me!” Here her round face crumpled from the weight of her fear, for she stood in great awe of her noble mother. This, then, would be my angle of approach.

“I propose, Lady Cicely, that we change back.” I paused a breath to let my words dance round her ears and then continued. “My nurse belongs to the land of Denby, to me, and to my regent. She is not the queen’s to do with as she pleases. In the same vein, your nurse was contracted by your mother and so, by rights, must go where your mother has sent her—that is to say, she must go with you. The queen has no province over these women. True, she has authority over you and me, as vassals of the king, but we are not permitted to do what we wish with our servants. We are hardly of an age to question agreements made by our seniors and betters. It is not right that we should even consider the act.”

I began to see that the more I spoke, the more she warmed to my words, for she was terrified to face her mother with a Saxon nurse in place of a French one.

“I’m certain the king would comprehend this if he knew. And the queen need never know if we exchange nurses again. Tomorrow we all leave this place. How could the queen see what attendant we ride away with? Hasn’t she, surely, more important things to attend to? And once this holiday has passed, she will take her place in Salisbury Tower. It is a simple matter to bring a new attendant to the next plenary court, and it could easily be a full year before we are called to court again.”

I glanced at Nurse from the side of my eye and saw her, seated, clasping a hand to her broad bosom. Perhaps she was seeing a new side of me, as I had been awakened to a new side in her.

“Let us do it, Lady Cicely. No, this is better. You do nothing, I shall do all.” I motioned to Nurse to rise and follow me. “We shall retire to my chamber and Nurse Matilde shall remain with you here. Tomorrow, leave together as you always would and say nothing to your mother. We shall all forget this, just as, I’m sure, the queen has already forgotten it.” I nodded slightly to Cicely and she, in her nervousness, bowed to me. Nurse and I hurried away and fairly flew back to our room.

“Oh, m’lady!” she exclaimed the moment the door was closed behind us. “How you have saved us! I couldn’t think what I was to do, me placed over there with that new lady. We should have traveled so far west tomorrow! Oh, dear Lady Marian, how can I ever thank you, ever find words of thanks sufficient?”

It hurt me slightly to hear her express her gratitude thus, as if I were merely her employer—nay, her benefactress. But, in truth, I was, and it was a reality I had to embrace.

“Nurse, you need not thank me, truly. For you know that I have acted as much on my own behalf as on yours. Please, let us speak no more about it.” She nodded her head, and we fell onto stools, shaking more now than we had before.

“Nurse,” I said, when I’d caught my breath, “I have never asked you before . . . but what is your Christian name?”

“’Tis Anne,” she said shyly, “but in my youth I was always called Annie.”

“May I call you Annie then, rather than Nurse?” I believe my voice wavered as I asked, for it seemed a momentous question to me. She, however, answered easily.

“But of course, m’lady, you may call me what you like. It shall be good to hear my own proper name spoken aloud once again.”

And so it was settled. From that day onward every last nuance was changed between us, and, for the most part, it was to the increased pleasure of both. At times I still longed for the earlier days when I blindly trusted my nurse to care for me, to chase away all of my fears and keep me protected and warm. But I also knew that was no longer possible; that time had flown its way forever.

Chapter Three

W
HEN WE RETURNED HOME
I embarked on a new course of thought, of habit, and of vision. I was determined to learn as much as I could of the world, for my encounter with Hugh left me frightened of what might become of me when I was full grown. I knew of no way to prevent the day when I must join him in Sencaster, but I felt certain that a store of knowledge and understanding could only serve me well in the future, whatever might lie along my path.

I began my new course by asking Annie about her youth, for the queen’s words had left me curious about Saxons, of whom I knew next to nothing. She told me proudly that she was Saxon indeed and came from the village Wodesley in north Leicestershire, where she had been born. The village was small and inconsequential, but its inhabitants worked hard for their daily bread and were honest folk, or so she told me. Annie had been the unfortunate second of two daughters, and since the dowry money was slated for the marriage of her elder sister, she was sent forth to work at the manor house for wages. From there she had advanced, inch by inch, to her present position at Warwick. This, she said, she was quite thankful for, for the meals were good and the rooms were warm, and she had only me to tend, who had never caused her any grief.

“And your family, Annie? When did you see them last?”

“Oh, not these many years, I’m afraid,” she replied. “And they’ve fallen to hard times too. My sister Polly’s man, Edgar, was killed in King Henry’s wars, and Polly’s moved home since, together with her four babes.”

“Do you not miss them?”

“Law! Ever so much, Lady Marian, more than I can tell you. But I’ve my duty to do by you, and I won’t be running off to Wodesley when I’ve you to care for. I do what I can and send my wages, but Saint Alfred knows I’d give a month’s silver to see them once more.”

She worked with her spindle as she spoke, and as she pulled at a thick lump of wool, my eye caught the shape and form of her hands. I’d not noticed before the way her blue veins surfaced from the backs, nor the yellow curving of her nails. Annie, I realized then with a start, had aged herself just as I had, growing older each year with the turn of the wheel until she was a maid no longer.

“Annie, you’ve known me all my life. I’m fourteen now, what age does that give you?”

“I’ve lived nine-and-twenty summers, m’lady, many of those here beside you.”

“And have you never longed for a family? To marry and tend to a house of your own?”

She looked at me sharply, but lowered her eyes to her work as she answered. “There’s not a woman alive doesn’t think of love and family matters, to my way of thinking. But a body’s got to go where it’s needed, and as I’ve never struck a man’s fancy, I suppose I’m needed here more than elsewhere. I’ve not your lovely face and manner, Lady Marian. We’d be hard put to keep the lads at bay if it weren’t for your being long since wed.”

This enflamed my mind for some hours, for I was just at an age when I’d started to notice the tallest and comeliest of the stable boys. To think of myself as a beauty was strange enough. But to loosen my mind to thoughts of men who might have stopped to pledge troth to me threw me to such a distracted state that I scarce could concentrate on my stitches.

M
Y INTERROGATION OF
A
NNIE
continued until I knew more of Wodesley village than I did of the castle in which I lived. And not long after, I was startled to learn one thing more, that a complete Saxon language existed—a true surprise, since I had heard only French or Latin spoken about me. I asked her to speak it, and as she chattered I thought its tones did sound familiar, as if I had heard the rhythms before and had discounted them as murmurs or nonsense, mere background sounds that had no meaning.

The more I questioned, the more it seemed that a hidden world lay beneath my own. All of England, I found, was filled with villages of farmers and smiths who spoke nothing but Saxon. They considered themselves almost as a separate race from the French-speaking Normans, though we were most of us born on the same green-treed island.

This piqued my interest, and soon I proposed that Annie teach me some of this mysterious tongue. We got on slowly, for Annie had not a teacher’s acumen, and I found the language to be more complex than I had expected. Indeed, it was as unusual to my mouth and mind as Latin ever had been, and in some ways proved far stranger since it shared so little with the southern tongues. But I struggled forward as Annie giggled at my mistakes, and after a time I began to improve.

During these days I harassed my tutor with constant questions, for I felt a deep desire to understand what teeth and gears caused the world to turn. I knew that I was powerless, as a wife and a woman. But if I could not have independence, at least, I determined, I would have knowledge. My tutor was stubbornly addicted to his poems and philosophical treatises, or so it seemed to me, but at last I gleaned from him this one truth. What I owned of value was my land.

Land brought rents, raised up crops, and maintained workers. Without it one had little power, for one had always rent to pay. But with it, all those rules reversed; the landowner sat on the seesaw’s high end. My lands, it was true, were already joined with Hugh’s, but even so they were my property, and I was determined to hold them tight.

I pressed my tutor on this further, for I was curious to know who governed my patch of dirt and trees, since I had no parents to watch it for me. In answer, I was surprised to learn that Apple Man had sole control of it. He, it seemed, had been appointed regent by Hugh’s mother, Lady Pernelle, and had managed the land since my marriage. I had known that I must have a regent, for every landed child has one to manage her estate until she is full grown, but to hear that it was Apple Man threw me into fits of laughter. I had scarcely thought of him seriously since our meeting so long ago, but now I found that I had to consider him a great deal and more carefully.

Apple Man’s name, it happened, was Sir Thomas Lanois—a rather disappointing name, I thought, for such a comical creature. But each time I laughed I reminded myself that he must be very clever or he would not have gained his position. And so I forced myself to think of him as Sir Thomas and was able to keep my composure better.

I drafted a letter to Sir Thomas, for I had developed such a hunger to see the lands of my birth that I could hardly think of anything else. In my letter I asked that he allow me to come, to tour Denby-upon-Trent and acquaint myself with its hills and valleys. I did not add that I wished to measure what sort of man he was, but that was no small part of my plan.

In due time I received a reply heartily encouraging me to visit at my earliest convenience. This letter I showed to Lord William, head of Warwick, that he might allow me to travel out beyond his walls. He saw no reason for any delay, and within a week Annie and I had packed our things and were traveling to the north and east, loaded with small gifts for my regent.

We rode a full two days and a half before approaching the region that held such interest for me. One of our guards was locally born, and he kindly informed me the day and hour we entered Denby.

“This here’s the River Trent, m’lady,” he called, nudging his horse in my direction. “It marks the border between Denby and Sherwood Forest, where Robin Hood keeps his merry men.”

This was the first I’d heard of Robin Hood, and the name caught my ear as a bird does a worm, making my heart beat doubly fast.

“Who do you say? There, in those woods?” I glanced at the crowns of oak and elm, like unshorn sheep grazing in the distance, and felt an odd thrill pass through my veins.

“Robin Hood, aye, the greatest outlaw of these parts.”

“Outlaw!”

“Indeed, m’lady. He and his fellows live deep in the wood, shooting the king’s deer for their suppers and making some mischief for the poor sheriff. There’s songs by the fork-load sung about him here—should you like to hear a stretch?”

There was little I wished for more. Soon Annie joined us, and we three passed many miles together, listening to the songs of this local bandit who was so beloved by the people of Nottingham. The tale was in Saxon, and our guard’s accent differed somewhat from Annie’s, so I was hard pressed to follow it all and still turn my eye to the beauty around me. But these few verses I heard rightly and kept safe in my memory.

Robin Hood he would and to fair Nottingham,

With the general for to dine;

There was he ware of fifteen forresters,

And a drinking beer, ale, and wine.

“What news? What news?” said bold Robin Hood;

“What news, fain woudest thou know?

Our king hath provided a shooting match,

And I’m ready with my bow.”

The tale wound on in riveting fashion to describe this outlaw, all clad in green, and his uncanny skill with the yew bow. He seemed to relish donning disguise, for it was dressed as a bellows mender that he won this match, taking away a pipe of fine wine as his prize.

I was entranced, for I’d never before heard a bandit hailed as a hero, and the very thought of the outlaw life, of fleeing and hiding and lying concealed, made me long for adventure of my own. Annie asked if Robin Hood were not a very handsome fellow, and our guard replied that he had heard it said. I needed no more to light my fancy, for in those days I relished nothing better than the thought of clandestine romance with any man other than Hugh.

These thoughts were like sweet blackberry wine, thick and intoxicating. But when at last the tale had ended, I forced myself to once more take an interest in what passed to my right and left, for these were the lands I had traveled to see. And I was glad when I looked upon the soft landscape of Denby-upon-Trent. It was a beautiful place, full of clear, fast-running streams and everywhere decked with primrose and snowdrops. I was enchanted.

To my eye its lush fields, winding hedgerows, bold maples and hawthorns were the very idea of rural perfection, and I thrilled to see farmers laboring over the earth that I knew, at root, belonged to me. I did not question the notion that a girl of my age should own the rocks and dirt, for all of my peers owned their own acreage and thought no more of it than one would think of owning a purse or a book of poems.

The River Trent itself was visible from much of the countryside, and as we rode I began to feel akin to it, for I knew its smooth and glassy surface camouflaged a robust current. This was a trick I struggled to learn for myself, to keep my thoughts deep beneath my smile. I watched the river often, hoping to learn what I could of its art.

So occupied was I with this delightful prospect that I scarcely noticed the plow, the oxen, the farmers, and seed bags. It was the space that held my eye, the manor house that stood so tall in every town, the mills and churches that dotted the landscape. And when at last we reached Denby Manor, the great keep of Sir Thomas, I was in raptures over its strength and beauty. Such grandeur I had not expected, and I believe Sir Thomas found me in a more admiring mood than I was generally wont to enjoy.

I was taken to see him in the keep’s great hall, where he sat with his clerks going through accounts. He was positioned at the end in a tall oak chair, spread round with cloaks of velvet and silk. Our first encounter was truly awkward, for although I curtsied and he bowed, neither of us was sure how much reverence was due the other, and neither was willing to give more than the proper share. I was surprised by the elegance of his attire, since, lovely as the area was, it was still a rural zone and far from the fashionable courts. And yet Sir Thomas wore gold and jewels such as I have rarely seen beyond a duke.

His jerkin and hose, disappointingly blue rather than apple red, were woven through with golden threads, and his pointed-toe shoes were also stitched with gold embroidery. Ermine lined his collar and cuffs, rung his velvet cap, and skirted the bottom edge of his tunic. A heavy gold chain hung round his neck and various gems were sprinkled like dewdrops across the cap. I was surprised, as I say, and slightly ashamed to see this, my regent, dressed more richly than I—though I too wore my brightest ornaments. He seemed, therefore, not only more luxurious than he had on our first meeting, but also somehow taller and larger, due, I supposed, to his high seat and the fact that he had grown even more rotund in these past few years.