The Ghosts of Sherwood

by Carrie Vaughn

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  For Errol and Olivia

  i

  A MESSENGER ARRIVED TO say that the lord and lady of the manor would return that afternoon. Mary had a moment of panic. Her parents had been gone for months, nothing was ready, they would arrive to find the manor in a state of disaster and it would be her fault—But no, everything was fine. She had only to tell the kitchen that there’d be more to feed at supper, with them and all their retinue. Mother and Father had been off in Surrey to see the king—a deeply serious trip wrapped up in politics. Father had joked that he might really lose his head this time, laughing and winking like he always did no matter how serious things got. Mother hadn’t laughed, not that time.

  “Messenger’s arrived,” Mary said to the cook, who looked up from dough she was kneading. “The lord and lady will be home for supper.”

  Joan’s face lit. “Oh, wonderful news!” Then her expression fell. “That’s a dozen more for supper, at least, and anyone who’s come back with them.”

  “We’ve got the extra geese; they’re ready for butchering, I think,” Mary said. “Or would the pig be better? It’s early yet.” They would need the pig smoked and made into sausages for winter, but perhaps it could be spared for this.

  “There’s good reasons for either of them,” Joan said cautiously, which also meant, You are the lady of the manor until your mother returns, it’s your decision.

  Mary winced. She thought she was getting better at this but there was always something new to consider. “Mother would say to butcher the geese, wouldn’t she?”

  Joan smiled. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then we’ll do that.”

  “Very good.”

  Mary went on to the rest of the chores. Chambers needed airing, fresh rushes put down, more wood for the hearth brought in. The hall would be crowded tonight. The news spread fast; the whole place grew lively. Next was to see if her siblings were presentable. She found Eleanor sitting on the low paddock wall outside the main yard. She was looking out at the road, waiting.

  “It’ll be a few hours before they get here,” Mary said. “You don’t have to wait here all that time.” The girl set her jaw, pursed her lips: she would wait. Her back was straight, her hands clasped. The hem of her kirtle was muddy, but that was all right; the rest of her was clean enough. Her light brown hair was a bit of a mess. “Can I braid your hair again?”

  Eleanor hesitated, then nodded. Mary set to work untying her hair, quickly combing it out with her fingers, and braiding it up again, all neat and tidy.

  “How’s that?” Eleanor nodded once and turned her gaze back to the road, which would stay empty for hours yet, but that hardly mattered.

  Mary had no idea where John was and decided he was old enough to take care of himself. And she . . . she suddenly wanted to be somewhere else.

  “If you see John, don’t tell him I’ve gone out,” Mary told her sister, who rolled her eyes and let out an offended sigh. Of course she wouldn’t tell John anything. Mary had only to avoid him.

  Mary raced to the chambers she and Eleanor shared by the back way, where no one was likely to see her, and changed out of her kirtle and veil and into her tunic and leggings and sturdy leather shoes, shoved her hair under her cap and sneaked back out again. Fortunately, everyone was so busy they didn’t notice. At the back of the yard, she took a moment to make sure John wasn’t in sight. Then she ran, across the road and the meadow beyond, and then to the edge of Sherwood Forest.

  When she dressed in a gown and wore her hair braided up and veiled as she ought, she looked like a woman grown. She had already had one offer of marriage, which her parents instantly refused—she was too young, they said, and the offer too grasping. Mary wasn’t supposed to know about it, and she did not know what to think. Flattered or horrified, or both at once. But in her leggings and old tunic and cap, she looked younger than she was, a girl still allowed to run loose in the woods, to avoid thinking of things like whether she ought to be flattered or horrified by sudden marriage offers.

  Soon, every bit of the manor was out of sight, and she was alone. Cool shadows closed in, and her chest filled with the scent of living wood and rotting leaves, the opposite of hearth and stable. The peace of it went to her bones. She walked, putting her hand on trunks, brushing fingertips against rough bark, stepping as lightly as she could on silk-soft, mossy earth.

  She came to the tree she sought, an ancient oak with a bloated trunk and branches that twisted and reached, shading everything around it until nothing else grew. A good oak for climbing. With a jump, she grabbed the lowest branch, swung up, then climbed, shimmying up the trunk to the next branch, lifting herself to the one after, until she came to the well-known lookout. The forest thinned enough here that from this position she could see far down the road that led to the manor. This was one of the trees where outlaws once stood watch and laid ambushes. Once, this forest had been so haunted that even well-armed men would not travel there. That had been a long time ago. No more outlaws haunted Sherwood. So everyone said.

  “What do you see? My eyes aren’t so good these days.”

  Mary flinched but kept her footing on the solid bough and her hold on the branch above her. The question came from a hooded figure standing in the branches of the next tree over. Staff tucked under one arm, he leaned up against the trunk and kept himself hidden in shadow.

  The ghost of the forest had spoken to her before, always like this, creeping out of nowhere as if he’d been spying on her. The first time he’d done so was the first time she’d come to Sherwood by herself when she was ten, sneaking out just to see if she could, terrified she’d lose her way, thrilled to be alone with the quiet and vastness of it all. A voice had come out of the trees just like this, and she’d screamed and run until she realized that all he’d said was “Hello there.” He never got any closer than this. Never let her see him full in the light. He had a beard, she thought. He might have been just a man, lurking deep in the woods for reasons of his own.

  Or he might have been a ghost.

  “Some dust far off but getting closer,” she answered.

  “A large party, then?”

  “The lord and lady never travel with too large a party. Likely they’re traveling fast.” The lord and lady preferred traveling lightly and at speed, from long habit.

  “Returning from meeting the king, yes?”

  She took her eyes away from the road a moment, but no, he was still hidden, the shape of a man with no detail revealed. She wondered how he knew, how the gossip of the manor reached him here. Or if he simply knew. “Yes.”

  The dust grew, resolved itself into riders. No litters and wagons for her parents and their train—the wagon with their tents and supplies would follow more slowly. Their pace was calm. She could make out the rippling, rose-colored fabric of her mother’s skirt, draped along her horse’s flank.

  “Can you tell how the mood is from here? How the journey went?”

  “I won’t know how it went until I see Father’s face,” she said.

  “
And see if he smiles or frowns?”

  “No. And see if his smile is glad or wicked.” Her father would be smiling in any case.

  The ghost laughed. “I know that wicked smile. Good luck, then.”

  He faded back to the oak’s shadows and made not a sound. No leaves rustled. There was no smack on the dirt as he dropped to the ground. He might have melted into bark. Not a man at all, then. Except that this was Sherwood and she knew what was possible.

  She tried for quiet as she climbed out of her own tree, sliding from bough to bough, leaning against the trunk, dropping to soft earth with bent knees. Mostly, she succeeded, but not as well as the ghost.

  Mary of Locksley ran for home to be there when her parents arrived.

  ii

  Some days prior . . .

  ON ONE OF THE best days of Marian’s life, King Richard gave his blessing to her and Robin’s marriage, and brought down his corrupt brother John. On one of the worst, they received news that King Richard had died, that same brother would be crowned as his heir, and Robin decided he had no choice but to swear fealty to a man he hated.

  This day was neither best nor worst. No one was in danger of being hanged, so that was good. Robin’s most recent campaign against the king had been successful; he’d gotten the charter he wanted to protect the rights of landholders in England. But this had all become most uncomfortable, the barons who had rebelled and those who had stayed loyal camped on the same plain, eyeing each other with their packs of retinue and too many weapons at hand.

  Still, Marian would not have missed seeing the look on the king’s face for anything, when her husband said straight out to him, “Sire, when good people become outlaws, perhaps it is time to change the laws. As you well know.” Robin had gotten nearly everything he’d wanted. He would never lose his holding out of royal spite again. He’d been about to demand an apology on top of everything, when Marian gave him a quelling look across the room, and, at last, Robin fell silent.

  Now she only wanted to be home. She had never been away from the children for so long. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined wanting home and quiet, hearth and children. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined growing old at all. And Robin . . . Robin was running out of battles to fight.

  Right at this moment, she and Robin were about to face King John, and while nobody was threatening to hang anybody this time, she wished herself elsewhere.

  The king, haughty and fine as ever, held court in his pavilion, and the barons came to pay their respects, to show that they were all friends now. This must have been very gratifying to him, especially when Marian and Robin came before him, polite as they could manage. A silence fell, everyone turning to watch. They all knew the stories, knew that every meeting between these two had ended with shouting, and sometimes with dead bodies. Marian donned the courtliest smile she had and curtseyed neatly. She squeezed Robin’s fingers, where her hand rested over his, to remind him to bow. He did so, just enough. King John—and after sixteen years, it was still strange thinking that—was close to fifty and obviously tired. The throne he had coveted so much had worn him down. Ruling was more difficult than wanting, especially when your vassals had had enough of you. When Robin appeared before him, the king seemed to sigh, as if this was one chore he would rather do without. So at least they all agreed on that.

  Robin, not so young himself anymore, glared daggers at the man. The Baron of Locksley had a dusting of gray in his light brown hair, but his smile was bright as ever. Bright and cutting like a knife edge. King John’s gaze slipped away from Robin to rest on Marian, and he seemed relieved to let it.

  “How very good to see you, Lady Marian,” the king said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “It has, sire,” she said.

  “You have children, yes?”

  “God has blessed us with three, all strong and healthy.”

  The king flashed a smile that might have been genuine—even he brightened at talk of children. He had five of his own, as well as a typically royal assortment of bastards. But then the smile turned sly.

  “Are they as difficult to manage as your husband?”

  The question stretched the limits of her diplomatic skills. She said, very sweetly, “Happily, they are very much like my husband. No one will ever take advantage of them.”

  In the slight pause that followed, Marian wondered if she had undone all of the advantages Robin and the other barons had won here. But King John laughed.

  “You were wasted on him, my dear.” He looked Robin up and down in that calculating way he had. Marian put pressure on Robin’s hand again. Be quiet, for just another moment.

  “Sire,” she murmured. And then they were dismissed, to let the next baron play out the niceties.

  Out of sight of the royal pavilion, she wrapped her arm around Robin’s and leaned into him, to let herself rest a moment. “You did well,” she said. “I didn’t have to gag you.”

  He laughed, and she was relieved the sound was genuine and not forced. Polite, forced laughter didn’t suit Robin a bit.

  “Just this once, he’s right,” her husband said as they walked on. “About you being wasted on me. You should have married a prince.” His face was still refined despite the wrinkles at his eyes, a touch of gauntness at his cheeks. He’d grown more thoughtful, some of his starry brightness not dimmed, but turned inward.

  “You think I would have been happy, doing this sort of thing every day? I’m much happier with you.” He raised her hand and kissed it.

  She started back for their camp, but Robin turned a different way.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’ve been speaking with Robert de Ros. I thought you should hear what he has to say.”

  Sir Robert de Ros, Baron of Helmsley, one of the rebels from the north, an ally of Robin’s. “I thought the war was done.” What mischief was he planning? Robin will retire from mischief, she vowed.

  “This isn’t about the war.” Robin led her to a small encampment that had a celebratory air, streamers fluttering from tent poles, a musician playing lute. Marian found she wasn’t in the mood for music or merriment.

  “Locksley!” A polished middle-aged man called out and came over from the gathering in the camp. He was accompanied by a much younger man with a thin beard and careful manner. The young one kept glancing at the older, then at Robin and Marian with an astonished look that suggested he might flee at any moment. She’d seen that look before; Robin frequently inspired it. “My lady,” Helmsley said, bowing cautiously, as if gauging an unknown horse’s temperament.

  “Good day, Sir Robert,” she said.

  “You did your duty to the king?” Robert de Ros said to Robin, nodding off to the royal pavilion.

  “I am not ashamed to say I kept my mouth shut and hid behind my wife’s skirts. His Majesty was much more pleased to speak with Lady Marian, anyway.”

  Robert laughed, as he was meant to. “I’m glad you’re here. I would very much like to present to you my eldest son, William. William, this is the Baron of Locksley and his Lady Marian. You might have heard of them.”

  William pulled himself together and managed a bow with some poise to it. “My lord, my lady, it’s an honor, truly.” He didn’t even stammer. Perhaps there was some hope for him.

  “Well met, young William,” Robin said. “Your father let you in for any excitement this past year?”

  “I suppose it depends on what you’d call excitement,” William said, glancing at his father, shrugging as if he was afraid of giving the wrong answer. “Nothing like all the things you’ve done. I helped fortify the manor and held it for him while he went off to the war. Not so exciting, really. But it could have been.”

  “I’m very glad it wasn’t. Good man.”

  The young man grinned happily at the praise and gave another quick bow.

  Sir Robert turned calculating. “He is a good man. I think it would be a good match for both our families.”

  Marian froze, William b
lushed red. Robin had been making deals, it seemed.

  Robin said, “We’d like to keep Mary with us for another year or so. But yes, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

  “Oh, of course, plenty of time to decide such things. But those of us in the north, we need to stick together, don’t we?”

  Would this be a political alliance, or was he looking for money? Or simply the name, to be able to claim family ties to Locksley? Who could say; William de Ros seemed pleasant enough. Marian liked that his manner was earnest and not arrogant. She reassured herself that no one would dare treat Mary poorly, for risk of angering her famous father.

  “We will speak of this further in good time,” Robin said.

  “Indeed, indeed.”

  “Locksley!” another lord called out. “Will you shoot something for us? Show us what you can do!” The man was clearly in his cups, laughing too loudly, too tauntingly.

  Robin stiffened before turning to smile at the man. The sly smile. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t seem to have a bow with me. This being a peaceful gathering.”

  “Use mine!” Helmsley’s camp had all sorts of weapons, including bows. The drunk lord stumbled to grab one from a rack.

  “God save us from idiots,” Robin muttered. “Alas, friend. I must decline. Doesn’t seem quite the time or place for it.”

  Helmsley tried to make an end of it, stepping between them. “Now, there’s plenty of food and drink for all. Let us raise a toast to the peace, shall we?”

  But the taunting lord would not quit. “Perhaps you’re not as great an archer as they say you are.”

  Twenty years earlier, Robin would have taken up the bow and shot the man’s cap off. Marian felt him tense beside her. Gathering up his civility like scattered coins. For a moment, she had no idea what he was going to do.

  He laughed and offered a mocking bow. “Perhaps not. You should ask the bards who sing about me, hm?” He turned to Helmsley and William. “Safe journey home, my friends. We’ll speak again soon.”