Maid Marian (7 page)

As near as I could discern in the dim light, the house had one room, heated by a fire on the floor which was overhung by a cauldron, dangling on a metal hook. No chimney carried the smoke away, so what did not find its way out through the door or the one bare window, remained within. The far end of the room held a bed, and it was to this that Annie led me. It was in truth less of a bed than a great straw mattress, molded from use into hills and dales and lumps of straw.

Annie conferred with her mother a moment, and I was shown to a spot on the mattress where the roof above was known to have no leaks, and here I laid myself all alone, wrapped in my gown and cloak, to sleep. Annie lay on the inside, beside me, and young Bess was placed on my other, where she snuggled in close like a puppy. Soon the rest of the family entered and laid themselves along the mattress. Then someone blew out the tallow lamp, and we went to sleep.

In truth, I should say, we were meant to sleep, but I could not relax myself. No sooner had the eight beings around me calmed their breathing and finished their coughs, but a scuttling sound began to emerge, sounding, I was certain, as if it came from directly above my own head. I lay still and listened, reassuring myself that my companions seemed to feel no fear, and yet I could not be composed. The noise continued, then another joined, and soon it sounded as though races were being run by some strange creatures within the thatch.

I lay stiff as a shield, keeping quite still, but in another moment things grew worse. A shrieking sound, as if some animal were attacked or bitten, pealed above me. Another squeal followed, and I let forth an involuntary sound, something like “ah!” Annie rolled her head to face me and whispered softly, “’Tis rats a-fighting in the rooftops, m’lady. Do not fear. They fall through the thatch but rarely, and if one does Da will get him with his boot.”

I exhaled a shaky breath as I thought through her reassurances. Rats in the roof that might fall through—I believed I would not survive this night. Long I waited and listened hard, hearing them run and sometimes squeal, but after an hour or so had passed and none had in fact fallen through, I was determined to go to sleep. ’Twas the only way, I told myself, to make this wretched night go by, and so I rolled onto my side and shut my eyes, praying that when I opened them next it would be morning.

But I was not so very lucky. I awoke in the dark, feeling that need that often comes to me in the night, of relieving myself. But what to do? I could not rise without waking Bess and Annie both, and once I did, where should I go? Again I lay in fitful silence, hoping to fall asleep again, but it would not do, I had to go. With a sigh I rolled to face Annie and grasped her shoulder to shake her awake.

“Hmm . . . ?” she murmured, and I shook again.

“Annie,” I whispered, as soft as I could, “I need to get up. I need to use the closet.” In Warwick Castle one did, in fact, relieve oneself in a closet of sorts that hung out over a vast trench, and this was the word she and I had long used for that particular place of business. Annie was tired and wanted to sleep, but she had been a nurse too long to not respond with automatic speed to a charge who needed a trip to the closet. She slipped from the bed as slow as she could, and I followed. In the dark she searched about, then found a bucket at the foot of the bed that was used by the family as a chamber pot. Pointing it out carefully so I should not kick it, she said, “You may go there, m’lady. ’Tis our form of a closet.”

I was mortified. To relieve myself within the hearing of all these people? I could not. “Nay, Annie, please, they shall hear me! Is there no other way?”

Even in the dark I knew what expression her face was forming, for I’d seen it before. It was a look she had when she felt I was being unreasonable, but I did not care. We went to the door and pushed it open, waking, no doubt, every last sleeping person, and I stepped out into clean, cool air.

The moon was high and for that I was grateful, for it gave me the light to be unafraid and to find a spot near a buckthorn bush that was to my liking. Soon enough I returned to Annie, and we made our way back to the mattress, careful to avoid the bucket as we went.

T
HIS TIME
I
SLEPT
a sleep of relief, deep and dreamless, beside my companions. Far earlier than is reasonable, we were all startled awake by the sound of a horn crying through the village streets, then a brazen cock had the gall to crow just below the open window. No more was needed—we were all awake and climbing from bed. I slipped outside as quickly as I could, desperate enough for open air to leave the smoky warmth of the house. The light was still dim and the morning misty, but even so I could make out a man, hooded and cloaked, blowing his horn up and down the road.

“’Tis the hayward,” said Annie, shivering beside me. “He’s wakin’ the folks to call them to the fields. There’s sure to be more haying today. Da and Riccon will go together and perhaps Polly too today.”

I said nothing, only watched the family disperse to their chores while these three made ready for their day in the fields. It occurred to me then that I had been present for the whole of their time away from their work, from yesterday evening to this early morn. How it must have sped by for them! Today they would pass another full day beneath the hot sun, then another night on the lumpy mattress, and another, and another. Thus stretched the regular order of their futures. ’Twas no wonder Annie preferred our slow life of embroidery and spinning before a great fire, capped by a night of easy slumber. I scratched at my arm without glancing down and heard Annie exclaim, “Law! What a bite you have! Ma, you’ll have to air the straw out soon. It seems to have got some fleas in’t.”

Chapter Seven

A
NNIE AND
I
RODE AWAY
from Wodesley with opposing hearts, for she bid the place good-bye with a tear, while I could not urge my mare to a quick enough step. This very day we hoped to meet with Robin Hood and seek his help. I must admit that I felt a great nervousness at the thought, for if this scheme did not succeed, I didn’t know what I should do. So much seemed to depend upon chance that it made me shake to think of it. But I resolved to push it from my mind and content myself with riding, step by step, closer to Sherwood, where things would surely work themselves out.

As our horses advanced, the day grew soft as a day in June can sometimes be, warm and mellow and laced with birdsong. Fairy bells, daisies, and early roses peeked up from every grassy byland, and green leaves danced for joy at the sunlight. Ash and hawthorn, white birch and elm, lined our way, leading us into clusters of limes, thick with flaxen flower buds. It was a pleasant ride so long as I could keep my mind steady, though as we neared the famous forest I found that task to be increasingly difficult.

We had agreed between ourselves that when we were stopped by the outlaws, as we hoped—nay, required—that we would be, I should be the one to speak. Annie agreed to it even more now, for as we progressed through the silent wood, we both became anxious. What would we do if the outlaws proved to be more vicious than they were in the tales? It was all very well to have crafted this plan from the safety of our fireside, but now that we had come on purpose to be abducted, we both began to feel that we had been foolish.

But now there was little choice left other than to continue forward. Foolish as this scheme might be, ’twould be far more folly to turn back when we were so close. So on we went through the deep canopy, seeing less and less of our beloved sunlight as the forest closed above our heads.

The longer we rode without seeing a soul, the more alert I became for movement. But for all my attention, it was Annie who spied them when at last the men appeared, standing still by the roadside. Four men stood silent, clad in green, one of them the size of a lesser giant, taller by far than any man I had laid eyes on before, and broader too. In spite of her knowledge of who they were and that we rode forth on purpose to seek them, Annie shrieked a little in fright. The giant stepped out before our horses and pulled them easily to a stop, his hands on the leather bridles.

“Heigh-ho, fair ladies!” he said with a grin in smooth Saxon, proving himself to be a cheerful giant. “How comes it that two such beings as fine as ye should ride through our wood alone and unguarded? Know ye not that this wood is alive with thieves and miscreants?”

“Is that what you and your companions are?” I asked, my voice wavering more than I could control.

“Perhaps we may be, perhaps we may not,” he responded. He had a nice smile above a dark beard. “But I may certainly tell you that we fellows are not untouched by the beauty of a maiden face. Give us each a kiss, my lovelies, and we shall give you leave to ride along your road.”

Annie, I saw, began to smile, so I spoke quickly. “Enough of that, you saucy beggar. Do you think we came riding hence to press our kisses on your lousy pate? Unhand the horses and let us pass.”

The giant raised up all the taller at my harsh words and looked offended. My mare stamped lightly on the ground, anxious to be down the trail since she saw no stable near. The giant stood firm.

“Nay, ladies, if you’ll part with no kisses for me and my mates, I’ll have to commend ye to my master.”

This, at last, was what I sought. “Very well,” I said in haste, “take us thither, and we shall see what your master makes of your behavior to ladies in the wood.”

He laughed aloud at this, a bold, round laugh edged with only a hint of malice, and I saw that his fellows had a chuckle also. Perhaps, I thought, we should find Robin Hood to be no less of a brigand than these men of his, but that was a risk I felt forced to accept. Taking our horses by the reins, these green-clad men said nothing more but led us into the ferny bracken to the very heart of Sherwood Forest.

We rode so long that Annie and I became exhausted in our saddles, wearied by the scratches and slaps of twigs that bit our arms as we passed. Somewhere in the deep forest, they led us into a flowing streambed and walked our horses through the water for perhaps half a mile. Ancient oaks were more common here, together with poplars and gleaming holly. At last the darkness cleared before us, the trees thinned, and we arrived at the very place.

A large clearing eased from side to side, flanked by a soft-running stream, and in its midst stood the broadest oak I had ever seen. The oak was aged enough to show a host of roots above the ground, and upon these sat a score or more of men dressed to match our captors. For a second I thought they were fairy folk, twisting cobwebs into dreams, but a further glance showed the mendacity of their work. Scattered across the meadow were more men, some tending fires, some cutting at meat, and I wondered how many more were hidden in the trees and underwood that bordered this field.

As we were led in, our giant gave a lusty cry, and a dozen men came running forth, some on purpose to help us down, others to take our horses off apace where they were turned loose to dine on rye and field grass. I looked at them all, at every face, wondering how I would make out the leader, until one approached with such a countenance that I knew him to be Robin Hood.

His eyes shone blue and bright with knowing, and a ready smile hung upon his lips. He was not tall, though taller than I, and his face was lean and rich with shadows. He stood apart from his comrades by virtue of a curious morphing power of expression that made him seem about to laugh, about to weep, about to reckon very hard at something—all in the space of an instant. This puzzled me, perhaps frightened me, and so I contented myself with noting that he looked far younger at six-and-twenty than I expected and left my observations at that.

“Greetings, fair ladies,” he said as his eyes darted from my face to Annie’s and back. “Who have we the honor of welcoming to our Greenwood tree?”

“I am Lady Marian Fitzwater of Denby-upon-Trent, and this is Anne Bailey of Wodesley village.” My voice quavered like a dying flame.

“Bonny Annie,” he said, kissing her hand with all the gallantry of a landed knight. “And Lady Marian.” He turned his eyes on me, and I felt my heart begin to bolt. “I am Robin Hood, leader of this band of revelers and forest yeomen, at your service.” Annie giggled and received a smile, but I stood frozen. “You need not be so pale, dear lady,” he said, raising my hand softly to his lips. A vicious blush rose in my cheeks. “We all do honor to woman here, as each of these lads has had a mother.”

I blushed again and said nothing, unsure as I was of what to say.

“Come,” he said, taking us each by the hand and leading us to a patch of the field where the grass was short and great squares of wool were laid about. “For though we are but a band of thieves, we will not treat you roughly—unless rough treatment is what you’re after.” He winked, and my throat ran dry, compelling me to a short fit of coughing. “Are you well, Lady Marian? Would you care for some wine? My men and I would invite you to stay with us for our evening meal and enjoy our entertainment as honored guests.”

He placed us each on our own patch of cloth and jogged off, eager to see to some aspect of the feast or to speak with some grouping of his men. My eyes clung to his back as he went. This, then, was the famed Robin Hood. More handsome, more youthful, more quick in his motions than I had expected, but what amazed me most was the ease of his tongue and the honor he did the Saxon language. For from his mouth the words seemed rhythmic, steady, and—even to my ear—as gentle as the smoothest French.

A glance at Annie reassured me that she was no longer afraid for herself but had begun to enjoy these lads and their teasing ways. Indeed, every man who passed us by had a smile for her, for she was just the sort of maid to catch a yeoman’s eye. She smiled back and laughed and giggled and soon had a ring of ready admirers, the likes of which no lady would shun. I, it seemed, was more of a riddle, a cipher that they would not trouble themselves to unravel, and so I sat alone and unpestered.

After a time, Robin Hood, no doubt playing the role of good host, placed himself at my side and bade me enjoy the feats of arms his men performed at the far end of the field. I faintly saw some men with bows and others with cudgels, but all was too distant for me to make out, so I turned instead to my silent companion. This moment I took as my grand opportunity, and I spoke to him in an earnest tone.

“Good Robin Hood, might I speak with you regarding something of a most serious nature?”

“What?” he responded, laughing. “Lady Marian, how can you be serious when such magnificent sport is being played before you?”

“I have never been a great viewer of sport, I must admit.”

“Nay, indeed? If that is so then you ought to watch close, for this is some of the best in England. If you are ever to be made to enjoy feats of arms, I boast it will be here in our green field.”

“I daresay I won’t, not from want of respect for the players or the difficulty of the challenge, for I am sure I could do little with such a branch as they bear there. But my excuse is one of poor eyesight, for I cannot see clearly beyond twenty paces.”

“Indeed?” he said, turning to dart his quick eyes at my face. “Is it the truth that such clear eyes as yours are in fact so cloudy?”

“’Tis the truth,” I said, wondering if it were a compliment to be said to have clear eyes.

“Well, there you have a disadvantage, but I declare, ’tis not your fault. You have been cursed with Norman eyes.”

I stiffened, my chin rose, and in an instant I became angry. “And what makes you state that Norman eyes should fail more often than Saxon ones?”

He shrugged with indifference, but I thought I saw a smile play on his lips, and this made me all the more irate. “’Tis the simple truth. In sharpness of sight, straightness of tooth, and length of limb a Saxon has yet to meet his equal. And, in honesty, the Norman is so far below his equal in these cases, he scarcely enters upon the same field.”

I did not completely comprehend his illusion, being unused to sporting terms, but as to his meaning I could have no doubt. My anger grew, and I spoke without thinking.

“Is that so? Indeed, I had heard it said by cowherds and groomsmen, but I must have forgotten this ‘simple truth’ you speak of. Normans are inferior to Saxons in every way, are they not? ’Tis no simple matter of clarity of eye or the sturdy limb, Normans are also dull in the brain, is that not so? Laggard and slow with weak intellect, poor creatures that we are. That, I suppose, must somehow explain why a handful of Normans rule all of England and the Saxons in it!”

I saw Robin Hood’s jaw stiffen, but I did not care. I had heard enough in my travels of the weaknesses of Norman blood and our malformed faces and twisted bodies. I had not meant to offend this host, this man from whom I had hoped for aid, but I could not let his cutting remarks go without defense. ’Twas the wretched griping of the conquered that he expressed with these words and while there might be truth in his views, I knew there was also strong truth in mine.

In another moment he rose from his seat and strode away without so much as a word or glance in my direction. I sighed and gazed at the forest floor, still angry, still tempered, but now confused by the shame at having given offense. Perhaps I had been wrong to speak so to a host. ’Twas the end of my plan of asking his help, that much I clearly saw.

At the far end of the field the meat was roasting, and as I smelled its charring odor my stomach gave a hopeful jolt. Breakfast this morning had been warmed-over porridge from last night’s supper, and my stomach had not been hardened enough to accept a bowl of it when offered. Our day had been long, and I now felt a hunger as keen as I had ever known. But it came into my head that as punishment for my angry words Robin Hood might see fit to keep supper from me, and this thought brought childish tears to my eyes. This was hard, I ought not to have come. I wished I had never heard of this man and his band of outlaws, dressed in green.