by Edale Lane
"I believe I can; I will surely do my best. But how will you and I communicate?"
Eleanor smiled at Marian and took both of her hands in a firm, warm grip. "I will send you back with a crate of pigeons that fly only to my loft. When you learn something of import, write a short note and secure it in the little case that ties to its leg. If I need to get word to you, I will send a personal courier." Marian nodded and gave Eleanor's hands a little squeeze. "I am sorry to hear about the Loxleys, and I hope you find your friend safe and well."
"Thank you," the young lady said and bowed her head.
Eleanor moved one hand to stroke Marian's cheek. "Thank you."
Heart of Sherwood - Chapter 3
Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, August 1193
"You'll never guess who I saw strollin' 'round Nottingham Castle this mornin'," Alan A Dale challenged the others as he rejoined the camp with a smile on his youthful face and a spring in his step.
Little John scowled disapprovingly. "I told you to stay out o' town lest you be recognized and caught. We won't be able to save you from a hanging now, lad."
"He can't help it," Will teased with a gleam in his own sparkling blue eyes. "Alan's got hisself a lady friend–that buxom young Liz what works at the tavern, right?"
Allen's cheeks flushed, and he winked a clover green eye at his comrade. "She's an energetic lass, high-spirited, and she calls me her Honey Sop," he said beaming and took a seat on the log beside Will and Robyn near the campfire under the protective branches of the ancient tree. "But I saw someone else in town today." All eyes turned to him. "Ah, come on now, somebody has to guess!"
"King Richard!" exclaimed Much as he joined the youngsters and Little John. "Oh, please let it be King Richard!" He folded his hands as in prayer as he fell to his knees.
"Sorry, Much, but not today," Alan said. Not waiting for guesses, he continued, "I saw that beauteous Maid Marian back home from court. She was just strollin' about shoppin' at the market and keepin' company with Sir Guy of Gisborne."
Robyn perked up at the news, raising her head to look Alan in the face.
She had been with the outlaw gang for a fortnight and had constructed her own dwelling of sticks and canvas. She knew they laid wagers about why she always kept her hood raised. Some bet it was to hide a scar or disfigurement while others said it was to conceal her true age. Long odds were on her being someone famous. Fortunately, no one had entered the possibility she was female. She was pulling her weight with chores and had proven to them all to be a good hunter and a sure-shot with her bow. Robyn enjoyed the company and engaged in more conversation, but was ever cautious about revealing any personal information. Sometimes she overheard the lads whisper and stare in her direction, wondering why she visited the latrine at odd times and never removed her cloak despite the midday heat.
Robyn had concluded that it was becoming too difficult to keep hiding her identity, and thought the time might be close to leave, but now that Marian was back… well, that changed everything!
"Mmmmm," Will vocalized brightly. "That is one luscious woman! I'd love to sop her honey!"
"Bugger that, Will!" Robyn snapped, tensing with bridled anger. "You shouldn't talk that way about Maid Marian."
Will's mouth fell agape in shock, his blue eyes widening beneath his length of black hair while Alan rubbed a hand over his sandy facial fuzz and shook his head.
"I think Robyn is sweet on Maid Marian, boys," Alan declared.
Arthur Bland ambled up with two rabbits for the pot. "Then he's out o' luck," he said joining in. "People in town are saying she's courtin' Sir Guy, not that any o' us could even lace her shoes."
"What!" Robyn cried incensed. "That is a vicious rumor and I demand you take it back! Marian would never court that fat, old, pompous arse!" Will and Alan exchanged glances and snickered. Robyn's mouth pursed in irritation. "She is far too good for the likes of him."
"Aye, that she is," Little John agreed. "I for one am happy to see a kind, noble lady like herself back in these parts. Mayhap she will provide a civilizing effect on Sir Guy and the Sheriff."
Robyn squeezed her hands together and bounced her knee nervously, but nodded at Little John's words. "But she is NOT courting him," she added in a low, determined tone.
"Whatever you say, Robyn," Will allowed. "Alan, did you think to bring your mates any hum back from the tavern?"
Alan reached into the bag that hung from a strap over his shoulder, withdrew a dark tinted bottle, and grinned with pride.
Robyn sat oblivious to the strong spirits, brooding over the rumor of her dearest friend and a man she loathed. She tried to imagine them kissing, but the idea disgusted her too much and she closed her eyes.
I need to go see her, talk to her, find out for myself what's going on, she determined. With Marian frequenting the Queen's court and Robyn occupied managing her manor lands, they had not actually seen each other in… Has it truly been years? Robyn realized as she counted up the months and seasons. And while they had not been in each other's physical presence, not a day had passed that Robyn did not regard Maid Marian tenderly, remembering their childhood escapades, their vows of undying friendship, the laughter and the light Marian had brought into her life following the death of her mother and younger siblings. She doubted she would be the person she had grown into had it not been for Marian.
As through a fog, Robyn perceived voices approaching.
"And here we are," Friar Tuck announced. "The Heart of Sherwood Forest and Grandma Oak." Robyn turned curious brown eyes toward Tuck's voice to behold a group of about a dozen peasants and serfs, judging from their rags and frailty.
"What have we here?" Little John demanded as he marched over to meet the newcomers.
"I'm sorry, Little John," the Friar apologized as he leaned on his walking stick. "They were wandering in the woods, lost and starving. I couldn't just leave them there."
"Who are they and why are they wandering around in our forest?" the outlaw leader asked in a private aside to Tuck.
But the Friar spoke loudly in reply for all hear. "These good Christians come from Loxley and Nottingham. Those from Nottingham were sacked and blackballed by the Sheriff and, unable to find work, had begun a journey to the next shire in search of employment when they ran into these folks from Loxley. There, they banded together." Holding a hand to his mouth, he spoke to Little John in a hushed tone. "Remember the law of hospitality, Little John. We may be thieves, miscreants, and tax evaders, but we are also Christians; we cannot turn away people in need."
Despite the dissatisfied twist of his features, the outlaw leader nodded in reluctant agreement.
Robyn had risen, aroused from her personal musing when she caught the name 'Loxley'. She stood beside Little John, hood hiding her face, and looked out at the dozen refugees. She recognized some faces.
"Why leave Loxley estate?" she asked.
An emaciated man with short mud brown hair who appeared older than his thirty-five years replied. "After word of the good Earl's death, the Sheriff came and seized the manor. He brought harsh taskmasters and armed men. They increased our workload and rummaged through our homes to collect Prince John's new taxes. We couldn't even keep enough food to live on."
Robyn felt a jolt of remorse like an arrow to the heart as he spoke. She knew this man. His name was Isaac. She knew him to be a hard worker and a cheerful family man.
He continued. "Roger, here," he motioned to a somber looking fellow in his twenties with straw-colored hair and beard and a ruddy complexion. "The Sheriff overheard him saying that things were better while Maid Robyn was running the manor and the Sheriff…" Isaac stopped, sparing a sympathetic glance at Roger while he swallowed. "Sheriff Godfrey Giffard of Nottingham, soon to be named Earl of Loxley, cut out his tongue."
A shocked silence fell over the outlaw band for a moment before murmurings and the shaking of heads began. The knot grew tighter in Robyn's stomach and she feared she would be sick.
Then Is
aac led a young girl recently passed puberty to the front of the desperate group of sunken-eyed souls. She stood to his shoulders with a scarf over strawberry-blonde hair and small, tender breasts just budding. "My daughter, Christina, is a sweet, pretty girl. Unfortunately, the Sheriff thought so as well. A few nights ago soldiers came to our cruck and took her. They said she had found favor with the Sheriff and would be well treated. At first Beatrice, my wife, and I thought mayhap he had chosen her to be a household servant, but when they returned her the next morning…" This time he was unable to stop the tears. The gaunt Isaac hugged his little girl.
Beatrice stepped forward. She was a slight woman in a patched dress with searching gray eyes and two small boys clinging to her. "I don't understand," she stated, looking from one of Little John's men to the next. "Why would Lady Loxley abandon us? Why would she leave us to that monster?"
Robyn closed her eyes, pressure bearing down on her chest like an iron anvil. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think beyond, What have I done?
"Now Beatrice, we can't blame Maid Robyn," another woman in the party said patting the grieving mother's shoulder. "I was there; the Sheriff evicted her. He even declared her a traitor for opposing his takeover of Loxley. What could she have done?"
Beatrice sighed and shook her head, her shoulders slumping like those of one carrying a heavy burden. Isaac regained his composure and wrapped his other arm around his wife in comfort. "So Friar Tuck tells us you are the leader here," he said looking up at Little John's grizzly visage. He nodded. "Since we abandoned our duties to our manor and fled our obligations as serfs, we are now outlaws, too, and wish to join your gang."
John looked them over then turned to Robyn, but she was no longer standing beside him. "I am saddened to hear of your trials, and the Friar was right to bring you here. Alan, please see to our guests; I'll return anon," he said and strode across the camp.
Robyn was in the privacy of a thicket she frequented when she wanted to be alone; there John stopped, stood, and waited. He heard a sniff before she gazed up at him through guilt-ridden eyes.
"I know these people," she began as streaks of tears ran down her cheeks. "Roger worked in our stables. He would sing to the horses to calm them. He possessed a lovely voice and mayhap have been a minstrel, had he not been born tied to the land." She paused a moment, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. "And Christina, Isaac's daughter… I remember attending her christening. I remember Mother explaining to me what the priest was doing and what it meant. These are my people, Little John, and Beatrice was right; I abandoned them. I was so busy thinking of my own situation that I didn't even spare one thought for them!" Robyn's chest heaved and more tears poured down her cheeks.
"How were you to know? What could you have done?" Little John wrapped an arm around her shoulders in comfort.
"Marry the Sheriff," she said and sniffed again. "Then at least I might still hold some sway, still watch out for them. He wouldn't have raped Christina."
"Child, if the Sheriff's tastes run to young girls, marrying you would have only postponed his actions."
She wiped her face with both hands and steeled her voice. "Then I should have killed him. I had an opportunity; I should have jabbed a dagger into his excuse for a heart."
Little John sighed and enfolded her in his arms. "Robyn, you are no murderer. You could no more have done that than given yourself to him in bed."
"But now he is extending his cruelty to my people. I was responsible for them and I just ran away and left them to him! What's happened is my fault," she said immersed in guilt and buried her face into his shoulder.
"Is everything that happens in the world your fault?" he asked. "Is it your fault King Richard was captured? Is it your fault your father and brother were killed? Is it your fault that evil men carry out their intentions? I'm sorry, Robyn, but in truth you just aren't that important," he added with a laugh.
Robyn, catching the joke, tried to release some of the burden she had heaped on herself. A slight chuckle found its way out. By then her sobbing had ceased. It was time to take action. "Gramercy," she replied and looked up into his fatherly face. "But what shall I do now? I have to take care of them, John. They are my responsibility. There is only one person I can turn to for help, one person whom I fully trust."
"Maid Marian?"
Robyn nodded. "I need to visit her straight away, but shall return tomorrow. I will not abandon them again, nor you and the boys. Marian is very clever and I'm sure she will offer to lend her aid. I know you didn't count on having women and children in your camp, but if you can suffer them for one night–" Her glistening eyes pleaded with him. She knew that he'd likely be hesitant to do so. How would they take care of so many people, especially the women and children? But, if Marian could help out, maybe that would change things. Would Little John feel better about inviting them to stay in the camp in that instance?
"What choice do I have? Turn them out to starve? I trust you to return with a plan." He loosened his embrace and Robyn took a step back with a deep breath.
"Thank you; you are a good leader and an honorable man, John Naylor. Once I collect my bow and quiver I'll be off. Can you make an excuse to the others for me?"
He nodded, and she was away.
Robyn arrived at the FitzWalter manor in the cool, quiet of the predawn morning. A lark had just begun its song and the air was damp with fog as she moved with precision to a particular niche in the rough stone wall. Pushing a white rock aside, as she had done innumerable times before, she dropped to her knees and squeezed through the hole. After looking left and right, Robyn began her sprint across the yard toward a familiar tree adjacent to the house. A dog barked in the distance, but rather than the sound of alarm, it was like a greeting from an old friend; no one stirred. She passed a chicken coop with hens nestled wing to wing on their roost. They, too, sounded their greeting with subdued clucks coming from deep in their chests. Grabbing hold of the lower branches, Robyn climbed the Rowan ash like she did as a child. Then holding on for balance, she traversed onto the branch that led to Marian's window.
She was suddenly struck with a disconcerting prospect; Is this still Marian's bedchamber? Has she changed quarters? But why would she? While possible, it is too late to think about that now, she told herself and stepped over onto the windowsill. The shutters had been left open to invite in the summer air.
Robyn recalled the last time she had snuck through Marian's window. It had been their last escapade before heading off to be introduced at court. How long ago was it? she wondered. With a balance of stealth and caution, Robyn now placed a silent booted foot inside the window on the laths of the bedroom floor. After taking another step into the dark room, she was startled by the sharp edge of a thin steel blade pressed to her throat. Her first thought was, Oh, no! She's changed rooms. But then a familiar melodious tone touched her ears, even though it emanated from a seriously chilled voice.
"Do not move, thief. I will not hesitate to spill your blood."
Robyn relaxed at Marian's voice and the tension evaporated out into the night. "Glad to see you're still keeping that dagger under your pillow," sounded her amiable reply.
"Robyn!" Marian exclaimed in a hushed tone and hastily tossed the knife onto the bed. She stepped out from the shadow at the edge of the window and embraced her friend with unveiled enthusiasm. Robyn wrapped her arms around Marian, laying her cheek to rest against hers. "I was so worried!" Marian gushed. "No one knew what happened to you. They said you had gone to a nunnery, or some nonsense."
Robyn lingered a moment in silence, enjoying the warmth of their touch. It had been far too long! She breathed in the scent of Marian's hair and was keenly aware that only a thin linen nightshift swathed the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the smoothness of her skin. "And I heard you were courting Sir Guy," she replied in a whisper, her mouth to Marian's ear.
"Rubbish!" Marian loosened her hold on Robyn and stepped back to look up into her face.
Reluctantly, Robyn allowed her to pull to arm's length, but kept one hand on her shoulder and another at her waist. "Why are you in these rogue's clothing?"
Robyn sighed, trailing her fingers away from the warmth emanating beneath that linen gown. She lowered her hood, unfastened the cape, and placed bow, quiver, and all on the floor. "There is so much to tell," she began, "and I fear I have two favors to ask of you."
Marian led her farther into the room, the pale light of dawn catching her golden strands and dancing over them like sunlight on a lake at midday. Robyn drank in her honest beauty, her soul filled with contentment; but she also felt a stirring, deep within her core, recalling vivid dreams involving herself and Marian in this same bedchamber. She tried to push the images to a distance and focus on the matter at hand.
"I was so sorry to hear about Thomas and your father," Marian empathized. Her eyes relayed the depth of her feeling. "You must be devastated."
"Your father is well, I trust?"
"Yes, for now," Marian said. "We receive letters from his camp in Germany where he awaits the King's release."
Robyn nodded and smiled. "I am glad to hear it."
Marian continued to give Robyn puzzled looks and finally blurted out, "What have you done with your breasts?"
Robyn bubbled over with subdued laughter. She was pleased that Marian had noticed. "My favorite bed sheet," she explained. "I tore it into a long strip which I then bound snugly around them under my clothing. At first I found it tight and uncomfortable, but it allows me to run and fight much more effectively. That combined with this doublet is sufficient for hiding my more feminine assets."
"I don't understand," Marian said. "Why are you pretending to be a boy?"
A somberness replaced her light visage. "Then you haven't heard the whole story. You are fortunate, Marian; your father lives and you've younger brothers who can inherit for you. I had no one, and when the Sheriff showed up with his proclamations of how I had no rights to Loxley and I could marry him or be thrown out; well the reply I gave is not suitable for polite company. He took such great offense as to declare me a traitor and an outlaw. I suppose I could have gone to a nunnery," she mused. "But the possibility never crossed my mind."
