Maid Marian (5 page)

These reflections brought no soothing relief, but only increased my agitation. Why had Lady Pernelle spoken only of continuance and said nothing of what must materially change? Was she too bereaved to mention the dower payment she now owed me? And what had brought the queen herself to give me the news? What part could she have in this affair, what cause to bother with one such as I? These thoughts brought me long hours of disquiet, hours in which I paced my chamber from casement to door and back again. At last I hit upon a resolve. The following morning I would wait on the queen in her vast hall. I would speak with her in that public place and see that my interests were well in hand.

W
HEN
I
SOUGHT ADMITTANCE
to the queen’s court, the crowd parted before me as a retiring tide makes way for the shore. They filled the hall with whispered murmurs, for though death and mourning were as common a part of life at court as the life of the fields, to see a young woman so recently draped was cause for exclamation. The queen, disturbed by this ruffling of the crowd, called me forward with alacrity.

“Come, my child, come here before me. Lady Marian, why have you sought us here? Ought you not go into seclusion?”

I curtsied so low my hands brushed the rushes that covered the floor. “Yes, my queen, I shall do so presently. But before I do, I wished to ask you what may become of my dower. Am I not owed some portion of the Sencaster lands, as is customary on the death of a husband?”

Another wave of noise came from the crowd, for this was a sharply pointed question for a woman to ask. The queen looked uneasy and frowned at me, making her seem even more than eight-and-sixty years, if that were possible. She cleared her throat once, then again, and looked to my left at some being who stood there. I kept my eyes fixed on her feet, though I was desperate to know whose approval she sought.

“It has been decided by our most holy bishop of Canterbury that your marriage with Hugh of Sencaster was unlawful on grounds on consanguinity. Your marriage is to be annulled.”

“Annulled!” I raised my eyes without thinking, then forced them down again. “Excuse me, my queen, but is it not highly unusual to annul a marriage after one of the parties has perished? And, may I ask, how it has been determined that consanguinity was a factor? For I do not believe Hugh and I were in the least related.”

“What you believe and what I know are two differing things, Lady Marian. You will hear my judgment and obey it without question.”

Oh, how I struggled! I looked down to where my own two fists gripped my blackened skirts and again was able to find my voice.

“My queen, I shall obey your judgment in this as in all things. I understand that this marriage of twelve years is to be annulled, and I will act upon that knowledge. And as this marriage has been annulled, I shall cast off my clothes of mourning and defer seclusion. I thank you, Your Majesty.”

“No!” came a cry from my right-hand side, and I glanced that way at last. It came, as I had suspected, from the gaping mouth of Lady Pernelle. She, I saw in an instant, was the source of this annulment. Who else could have bargained with the queen to keep me from my rightful dower? What she could have given Eleanor in exchange for this favor I could scarcely guess, but the effects of their collusion were apparent.

“Lady Pernelle, do you wish to speak?”

The crowd moved reluctantly and made a space for Lady Pernelle to come forward and curtsy low before Eleanor.

“My queen, Lady Marian must do honor to my dead child, for how else will his soul find its way to Saint Peter and the gates of heaven? She is his widow, she must mourn for him!”

“Your Majesty,” I said, “if the marriage is to be annulled, I must believe, as the bishop declares, that my bond with Hugh has never existed, unholy as it has been proven to be. Surely the crown would not ask me to mourn as a widow for a man to whom I was never truly wed.”

“But she must, my queen! Think of my child!”

Through all this the queen said nothing, and in the silence that followed I determined to make my final attempt. I had only one last straw to grasp at, and so I stretched forth my hand.

“Your Majesty, I trust that my lands of Denby-upon-Trent, those that I brought to the marriage as my dowry, will be returned into my own holding, as is customary upon an annulment? If you agree that it will be the case, I will do such homage to Hugh of Sencaster as would be fitting in his widow.”

The queen was silent for a moment, then she coughed and nodded to the richly clad clerk who sat at her right hand. “It shall be so. Lady Marian of Denby shall upon her annulment of marriage to Hugh of Sencaster be in receipt of her original lands, namely Denby-upon-Trent, Denby Manor, and its surrounds. In return she shall go into a widow’s seclusion until Lady Day of the approaching year.”

These words were final; she was done with me. I curtsied low a second time, ignoring the beating of my heart, and rose to go. The room and faces floated before me in a blur, but I cared not. I had lost, for at the death of Hugh I should have been the gainer of a substantial piece of his property. Hugh’s mother had dealt me a vicious blow. But I was no poorer than I used to be and at least had salvaged my original holdings. And to my mind eight months of seclusion would be no hardship, for I had gained a taste for independence and wished to savor it as long as I could.

And so I found myself, at the age of seventeen, a widow. Everything in my life seemed to have progressed completely counter to what was normal, like a river flowing into high land. I was raised far from my parents, but surrounded by adults of consequence. I was taught nothing of Saxon, the language of the land to which I’d been born, but was thoroughly educated in the tongues of Paris and of Rome. Before puberty I had married, by seventeen I was widowed, and as token to my backward life, I fully expected to die a virgin.

Chapter Five

B
EFORE
I
LEFT
Westminster Castle, a group of newly betrothed ladies, those who had been my maidenly friends, came to visit me in my chamber. They looked sadly at my black skirts and twisted their handkerchiefs in their own bright laps.

“We would have come to you before, Lady Marian,” Lady Clarice began, voicing, as usual, the attitude of the flock, “but we had such fears as to your state. How wretched for you!”

They nodded in unison and gripped their hands, each thinking of her new fiancé and weighing, I supposed, the amount of sorrow she would feel at his death.

“Please, my dear gentle ladies, do not trouble yourselves,” I said with a smile. “As you well know, I had not seen my husband these three years, and though we were good friends as children, we had grown distant in older age. I expect my heart will heal in time.”

This brought a happier murmur to their lips and laid a foundation for easier topics.

“How horrid, Lady Marian, to have to dye your gowns all black!” one of them whispered amid titters of agreement. “I should have been made so ill to do it.”

“As should I,” said another. “Lady Pernelle was not so quick to cast her violet gown into the vat.”

“Nay, she wore it just yesterday, did she not? And, Lady Marian, to think of there being no dower for you!” Five heads nodded in amazement and five pairs of eyes looked at me for my response.

“’Twas a shock, I admit it, but upon reflection I understand better. Since Hugh and I never lived together as husband and wife, an annulment does seem warranted. Although it is strange to annul a marriage so quickly after the husband’s death.” They nodded at this but did not observe, as I thought they would not, that this was not the reason given for the annulment. These were not ladies of great penetration.

“Indeed!” was all they had to add and soon talk turned back to fashions and trifles.

“Shan’t you be very lonesome in your retirement, Lady Marian? I don’t know how I should manage to go four months together without visitors and traveling, and you shall have far longer to manage!”

“Aye,” I agreed. “I expect I shall have to read and study a great deal and content myself with quiet pursuits.”

“Could you fathom a full year spent on stitchery alone?” groaned Lady Clarice. “No, indeed, Marian, you must do something for your own enjoyment. Hire a legend singer, that’s what I say. Lady Claudine had one come to her when Lord Phillipe died, and she said the time fairly flew by. And I too have often lost myself in a troubadour’s song of romance. It shall be a distraction to you at a time when distractions must be welcomed.”

“Oh, a bard, yes, that’s the very thing,” echoed another. “And the moment you are released you must endeavor to get a gown of this Vexin silk. The colors are so splendid, it will be just the item to raise your spirits. I think a ruby shade would suit her best, do not you ladies agree?”

S
O ENDED MY TIME
in the public eye. Our party moved in somber silence on the journey home, and I was allowed many long hours in which to consider what had passed. I had come to town a married woman and now I left a maid again, and yet a maid who had agreed to do a widow’s work in mourning. This was odd, but as I’ve said, I am no stranger to the unusual twists my life seems wont to weave for itself.

Lady Pernelle’s actions at court caused me grief for some long time, for as I reflected upon my own behavior in her presence, I saw that I had failed to grasp the extent of her duplicity. I did not trust her—I, at least, had been true to my own oath in that manner. But I had not seen her true motive, and it had cost me. Had I understood it all, I might have acted, might have given Queen Eleanor some offer of my own in exchange for what was legally mine.

Lady Clarice’s final advice also rang in my head and while thinking back over her words made me smile at my pretty friends, I saw some wisdom in her charge. A bard, perhaps, was not necessary, for Annie had a good ear for tales and retold them with theatrical grace. But a hiring I must make, indeed, if I wished to keep abreast of what passed in the London court. I would be wed again, this was certain, but I would be powerless in the contract if I had no foreknowledge of the event.

Consequently, not long after my return I charged Annie to go forth and seek from her peers an unusual man. The man I sought would be like no other, crafty and independent, clever in the ways of the world but sharp enough to be able to hide away his own comprehension. It took her time and many a bribe of an apple tart laced with barley sugar, but when the west wind blew the scent of October ale, he came at last.

His name was Clym o’ the Tower, in reference, I supposed, to time he had spent imprisoned for crimes against the crown. I questioned him closely in hesitant Saxon and found his misdeeds to have been of the sort that could not hurt me—poaching the king’s deer and a score of fresh trout from out of a Needwood forest glen.

Clym was a dark man of ordinary looks, but some quirks of his manner made me smile. He wore a cap of red felt, and this he twisted in his hands as Aladdin might have rubbed his lamp, wishing for his magic genie. Clym had eyes that danced with light, and he took pains to make Annie laugh with his ribald humor and silly jests. He seemed uncertain what to make of me, a young widow employing him to spy at court, but he understood the value of steady pay and did not question my motives.

“What I want in particular to know, Master Clym,” I said, offering him a place near the fire, “is anything which relates to me, Marian Fitzwater of Denby, or to my lands. In addition, if you hear any mention of Lady Pernelle of Sencaster, Stephen of Sencaster, or Sir Thomas Lanois, please bring it forward.” Now that my suspicions of Lady Pernelle had grown, her close connection to my regent had not been lost upon me. Sir Thomas, I was certain, would do what he could to retain his position as regent of Denby, and he needed watching with a careful eye. I’d not forgotten his boldfaced lies, and while a light falsehood could be forgiven in myself, in my regent it was a damning flaw.

Clym repeated these names back to me as proof of his steady memory; then he spoke. “Ye needn’t worry about me skills in this topic, m’lady. Ole Clym has many a trick in his pocket for just such a case, I assure ye. If I canna find placement in the kitchens or stables, I’ll make friends of the jester or the clerk. There’s many a man in the Westminster court who likes a drink of sack or Malmsey, and ’tis no hardship to find them out. I myself am a decorated prize winner at the holding of me own liquor, so ye needn’t fear lest I’ll forget what I hear. An’ ifn I see that any one of them suspects me, I can change me getup and garb so fast they’ll think ole Clym had died in his sleep and only new George popped up in his place.”

“Are you, then, a master of disguise like the outlaw Robin Hood?”

“Nay, not like him, not even I. Robin Hood’s the greatest of men, and I only one of the least. But I have the knack, as he does too, of makin’ meself appear other than I be. ’Tis not so hard for one such as I, of normal height and average hair, with no distinctive marks about me.”

“That skill must have served you well when you too were outlawed and hunted by the king’s guard.”

“Aye, it served me for a time, it did. But I was turned in by one of me own kind, I was, sad to say. The cruel outlaw of Needwood is no great man like Robin Hood. Guy of Gisborne is a wretched creature who’d slice his own mother for a gold coin. He rules our woods and not much kindly, for ifn he takes a dislike of you, he’ll whisper it loud to the king’s guards and off you go to London Tower.”

“But how may this Guy of Gisborne alert the guards when he himself is an outlaw?”

“Aw, he does ’em favors such as this and they let him be for his service. ’Tis a wretched way for a man to live.” Here Clym shook his head, clutching his red cap to his breast. “But as I say, I’ve been released by Queen Eleanor, and I’ve naught to fear now from the king’s guards.”

“And, Clym, will you promise me that while you’re under my employment you will commit no crimes to reawaken their interest? ’Twould be no favor to me if you were caught up for stealing or poaching or shouting too loud after a round of drinking.”

“Nay, sweet lady, I shan’t shame ye. Ole Clym knows what way his money is comin’ from and he won’t forget it. I’ll stay in the court and listen for ye, and when I hear a word of interest, I’ll fetch a page and send him to ye, so you may know what I know.”

I was pleased with this funny man, and I sent him forth to do his best. I did not know how it might go, for I knew little of the art of spying and less of disguise and life in costume. But I paid him handsomely so that he might not want or let his hand wander and land himself in some great trouble.

W
ITH
C
LYM DISPATCHED,
Annie and I settled ourselves for a long winter of quiet companionship. This year there would be no Christmas court, no minstrel’s music nor ginger candies. During these days more than ever I valued Annie’s affection for me, which proved to be as constant as the seasons. She entertained me with songs of battles, impossible riddles, and tales of Saint Mildred, Saint Aelfgith, and their overwhelming devotion to God. But our favorite were the tales of Robin Hood and his merry men, the outlaws of Sherwood Forest, for these were the most daring men of our time.

Over and over she told me the tale of Robin Hood’s battle with Little John upon a log bridge over a stream, and how they fought with blackthorn cudgels until Little John knocked Robin flat and doused him in the chilly water. Then she told how good-natured Robin praised Little John and brought him for feasting to the outlaws’ camp, where he invited his victor to join the band. From that day forward Little John became his only right-hand man, beloved and honored by Will Stutley, David of Doncaster, Adam Bell, and all the other men of Sherwood.

Robin Hood, the rumors told, earned his coin by seizing gently upon rich friars, bishops, and nobles who passed through the Sherwood roads. If he deemed their purses full beyond what he meted to be right, he forced them to his forest lair to feast with him and his merry band. After the meal, the drink, the talk, the outlaws performed deeds of arms for the entertainment of the guests. And when that finished, Robin came forth to claim the excesses of their purse, leaving a third with his guest, taking a third for his own coffers, and setting one third aside for the poor.

These poor he sprinkled with coins and pennies, relieving their hunger and bringing fuel to their hearths. If the funds came from the bishop of Retford, he spread that money in Retford’s towns, easing the burden of the bishop’s taxation. The folks of the shire worshiped this outlaw as if he were a true Saxon saint, and the village ladies remembered his name in their daily prayers. By the men of the shire he was also remembered, for even if they had no cause to love him for his generosity, they knew him for his feats of arms, for none was more accurate with a yew longbow than Robin Hood.

Annie and I were caught by the romance of these tales, for to those in seclusion with nothing more than embroidery and spinning to employ them, the notion of one who does as he pleases is enchanting. Robin Hood had no master and feared no man. Even the sheriff of Nottingham, whose charge it was to catch this poacher, was impotent against him and had himself been forced into the wood for a night of feasting and purse-lightening.