A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest

by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi

  Luckily, I've fielded this question before. Many tines, in fact. "I don't like the idea of animals being killed for our own frivolous indulgences. After all, there are plenty of other things to eat in this world."

  Back in the 21st century I usually follow up my argument with a heated discussion on hormones and unfair farm practices, but in this case that's all moot.

  "How truly odd," the Prince remarks. "You are a fascinating woman, Princess Christine."

  "You're not so uninteresting yourself, milord," I say, trying to compliment him back. It's hard when the guy in question has a string of meat hanging from the corner of his mouth. Um, ew. Gross.

  "And you're very beautiful," he adds, in case I didn't realize that the first thing he said was a total come-on. He fancies me. Oh golly gee, great. Damn the ladies in waiting for making me look too nice. So now I've not only lost the hero, but I'm going to have to fend off the advances of the villain as well.

  "Thank you, milord," I acknowledge, then quickly change the subject. "So, how goes the whole ruling the kingdom thing these days? Any word from your brother on his return?" I bat my eyes and smile sweetly.

  John's face darkens and his eyes narrow. "My dear brother Richard is being held prisoner in Austria," he says at last. "We are attempting to raise the money to free him as we speak."

  Mm-hm. Sure you are. That's why you're wearing piles of gold jewelry and hosting crazy feasts like this. Penny-pinching to raise the ransom money; real charitable of you.

  "That's great!" I say, forcing my voice to sound completely naive: "So, when do you think you'll have enough to bail the guy out? I mean, it must be soon, right? Poor Richard. All alone in that dark, dank prison cell."

  At least the guy has the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm... not sure," he says at last. "My advisors..."

  "Your Majesty, we do not talk of state affairs to strangers at the dinner table," interrupts the Sheriff of Nottingham, picking that moment to take the seat to the prince's left.

  Prince John blushes furiously. "Right, right," he says. "I apologize, Sheriff. My tongue got away from me, I fear."

  The sheriff nods stiffly and goes at his dinner. Guess now I know for sure who's ruling this roost. It ain't the guy with a crown on his head.

  Prince John turns back to me and lowers his voice. "As you can see, 'tis not a subject I can speak freely on," he whispers. "But forsooth, I will do everything in my power to free my brother. I miss him dreadfully."

  I cock my head in surprise. What? Now this part wasn't in the storybooks. (Though I guess I should be used to that by now.) Prince John's supposed to be the baddie, the one who wants to take over King Richard's kingdom forever.

  "You... miss him?" I ask.

  Prince John nods enthusiastically. "Aye, of course. He's my brother, and I love him dearly. He's a fine ruler as well. I never had the taste for power he has. If I had my way, I'd sit and embroider all day."

  Uh, what? Did I hear him right? "Embroider?" I repeat, pretty sure I must have misunderstood.

  His face reddens and he grins sheepishly. "The ale has loosened my tongue," he mutters. "But yes. ‘Tis a... hobby—something I fair enjoy. However, I do not want to be teased for it." He glances furtively up at me.

  "No-no," I assure him, trying to smother a giggle. “I think it's admirable that you don't let your sex or position keep you from doing something you love."

  "Truly?" he asks with puppy-dog eagerness. His IQ can not be higher than his shoe size.

  "Truly," I say. "In fact, I think it's very cool. I'd love to see your work sometime."

  "Oh, thank you, Princess Christine," Prince John says, grinning from ear to ear like a little kid who just got praise for the A on his report card. Never mind that it was for attendance. "Not everyone in the court shares your mind in this matter, and it delights me to no end that you approve. If you'd like, after dinner I can show you some of my work."

  "I'd love that," I say, smiling back. I'm warming to the prince. He doesn't seem that bad of a guy. He's not the super-villain the stories make him out to be.

  I hear a commotion at the far end of the hall and squint my eyes to see. The guards are opening the far doors with great ceremony, and a lone figure steps through. A curvy, voluptuous, annoying figure that I'd recognize any day of the week.

  " ‘Tis nice of you to join us, Lady Marion," Prince John says, jumping from his seat and clapping his hands in glee. "You have been sorely missed. I trust your father is well?"

  Marion approaches the head table. She's dressed in a pristine white, impossibly delicate gown with silver trim. I bet she never drops food down herself, either. Bitch.

  "He is, milord," she says, curtseying low. "I thank you for allowing me leave to visit him."

  Ah, so that's the excuse she used in order to fly the coop and go hook up with my boyfriend. I should denounce her as a liar right here, right now. But that could endanger Robin and his men and I'd never do that, no matter how much I want to strangle the guy. There's too much at stake. The entire kingdom's welfare depends on him.

  Besides, you still love him, something inside me jeers.

  Marion turns and notices me, and her eyes narrow suspiciously Does she recognize me from Robin's camp? It seems impossible, but still... That's the last thing I need. To be denounced as one of Robin's merry men right before dessert? I'd probably be hanged before breakfast.

  "I'd hoped for a bit of supper," she says coolly, masking her face again. "But I see my place at the table has already been filled."

  Oh! She's just annoyed that I'm sitting in her seat. Phew. That kind of annoyance I can handle.

  I jump up and gesture to the seat in question. "All yours, Marion," I say. "I'm stuffed, anyway." I'm not really, obviously, since I didn't eat anything, but I'm more than happy to be excused from the banquet.

  Marion bows coolly to me and walks around the table to take my seat. The whole court has their eyes on her. And why not? She's gorgeous and poised and elegant—everything I could never be. Suddenly my once gorgeous dress feels unbearably frumpy.

  But I have to wonder, why is she back? Did they have a fight? Did Robin tell her that he's in love with me? Or is she only back temporarily? Maybe to grab her stuff before moving out to the Forest Sherwood on a more permanent basis.

  "Come over here and sit with us," call the other ladies in waiting to me from the left side of the room. They have their own long table piled with food, but none of them seem to be eating. Sure they all have full plates, but they push the food around with their spoons, never bringing a single bite to their mouths. Medieval anorexics, most like. I've photographed enough models at La Style to know the signs.

  I take a seat at their table and grab a hunk of bread, gnawing on it, carbs be damned, as I watch the head table. The Sheriff of Nottingham leaves his seat and walks over to Marion, whispers something in her ear. She nods solemnly and he retreats back to his side of the table. Prince John looks at her in question, probably wondering what it was the sheriff said. She only giggles and shakes her head and doesn't answer. I wonder what that's all about.

  After dinner, music and court jester types entertain as overflowing pitchers of mead are passed around. It's rowdy, loud, and everyone's getting pretty sloshed. When a servant offers to fill my glass I decline, remembering what happened the last time I drank, back at the tournament. I'm so not interested in a repeat of that little adventure.

  I watch as Marion slips out of her seat, unnoticed by anyone but me, and heads toward an unguarded side door. Where is she going? I try to tell myself that she's probably just tired—though hopefully not from all that shagging with Robin—and is heading to bed early, but a nagging Spidey-sense tells me there's something more to her disappearance. The fact that she did not say good night—not even to the prince— is suspicious.

  She's just probably going to the bathroom, Chrissie!

  Maybe. But it wouldn't hurt to check out that theory, would it? So against my rational brain's better judgment I give
her a little head start and then make for the same door she exited.

  The door opens into a long stone corridor flanked by lit torches. I tiptoe down, not wanting to be seen. A door at the far end creaks open... and then slams shut again. I reach it a moment later and open it cautiously. I see it leads out to a small garden. I slip outside, careful to close the door softly behind me.

  The garden is beautiful, bursting with flowers—on the ground, climbing up pillars and trellises—and I bet the place is gorgeous by day. The sweet fragrances alone would make a blind man enjoy spending time here.

  I see Marion on the far side of the garden, still an angel in white. She sits down on a stone bench and places her head in her hands. What is she doing? Is she praying? Geez. Here I'm thinking she's some horrible girl up to no good and I've interrupted her time with God.

  I'm almost ready to go back to the feast, when a tall, broad-shouldered figure makes me stop in my tracks. I duck behind a nearby shrub, and watch as the dark figure makes his way over to Marion. She looks up and then rises to her feet.

  A shiver creeps through me as I realize the figure is none other than the Sheriff of Nottingham.

  I watch in shock as the two embrace. Are they just friends? Or... I remember Robin talking about catching Marion kissing someone in the garden when he first returned to England. Her uncle? Ha! Could the sheriff have been her lover? And if so, then...

  I strain to listen to the quiet conversation.

  "So?" the sheriff asks, pulling away from the hug.

  Marion laughs, but the pleasant tinkling of Christmas bells has long disappeared. This laugh is guttural. Almost evil-sounding.

  "So I did it, of course," she says, sitting back down on the bench. "Such fools. They'd not let a strange man into their den for a thousand pieces of silver—"

  "Yet a beautiful woman they allow in with open arms."

  "Aye. I had no problem at all convincing the guard that I needed to see Robin. The arrow worked perfectly as bait. You should have seen his round, greedy eyes. They forgot even to blindfold me as they led me straight to Robin's lair."

  My heart pounds in my chest as I take in the words. Oh my god. It was a trap. Marion didn't want to see Robin because she missed him or wanted to rekindle their relationship. She's been in cahoots with the sheriff all along.

  "And what about your former intended, the traitorous Robin of Locksley?" the sheriff asks.

  Marion laughs. "Are you jealous, my love?" she asks. "For he has no claim on my affections."

  "As it should be," the sheriff replies, leaning down to plant a kiss on Marion's cheek. "But how did he receive you? With any suspicion?"

  "Nay," she says, shaking her head. "Though, oddly enough, he seems to have finally gotten over his silly crush on me."

  "Oh?"

  "Aye. He tells me he's in love with another. Some girl from a foreign land. It was quite disgusting how he babbled on about her."

  Warmth floods my heart at her words. Robin told her about me? He told her that he loves me! I've been such a fool. Oh, why didn't I trust him?

  "Jealous, my dear?" the sheriff returns with a snarky grin.

  "Nay. He can rut his foreign whore until the day he dies," Marion declares. Wow, I can't believe I once thought she was some delicate lady. "Which, now that we have the location of his hideout, shouldn't be more than a moon."

  "A moon? I shall not wait that long. Not when we are so close to victory."

  "And what is your plan?"

  The sheriff smirks. "First we shall go to the villages of Donham and Trent, punish those vile peasants who accepted stolen silver from the outlaws."

  "But if you kill the peasants, who will be left to bring in the harvest?"

  "No, Marion," the sheriff replies. " ‘Twould be foolish to harm able-bodied men. We will take away their children, instead. Round them up and bring them back to Nottingham. We'll tell them if they keep aiding outlaws, they will never see their young ones again."

  Marion smiles. "And then?"

  "Then we shall launch our attack on Robin Hood's camp, kill each and every one of those traitorous outlaws that have wreaked such havoc on our land. And if we have any trouble, we can always use the children to bait another trap."

  "An excellent plan," Marion says. "You are truly brilliant, milord." She rises from her seat and throws herself into the sheriff’s arms. They start making out, big time, but I'm no longer watching. I'm running back, my mind racing.

  I have to warn Robin and his men!

  Chapter Eighteen

  I rush down the hallway, desperately trying to remember my way out of the castle. The place twists and turns into dead ends and alleys to nowhere. It's kind of like the hedge maze in The Shining.

  Voices around the bend force me to slow my pace. I must act natural, must not appear like I've been running for my life. Maybe whoever it is can help me find my way out.

  I turn the corner and find Elaine and Avelyn hanging out in the hall, talking in low whispers. They turn to acknowledge my presence and wave a friendly hello. Thank goodness I managed to win them over earlier with the camera trick. The last thing I need is for those two gossips to inform Prince John and his sheriff that I'd pulled an Elvis and was exiting the building.

  "Could you please tell me the way outside?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager.

  "Outside? Are you mad?" asks Elaine as she squints at me with worried eyes. "The sun has already set. Surely you do not want to leave the safety of our castle walls."

  "Who knows the barbarian filth you may encounter outside of Prince John's protection," adds Avelyn solemnly. "Scoundrels who would rejoice in the opportunity to soil a lady's honor."

  "Ooh, yes—like Robin of the Hood," Elaine suggests with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  "Aye!" Avelyn's face lights up. "Though for him, I would gladly sacrifice my honor."

  "You would sacrifice it for far less, Avey," Elaine counters.

  The two ladies giggle hysterically, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. So silly. Still, I'm secretly pleased. My boyfriend is a total rock star, and now I know he only has eyes for me. How lucky am I?

  Robin. My heart flutters as I imagine him sitting in the forest, waiting, hoping for me to return. Is he worried? Does he think I've been captured? Killed? Has he been searching for me?

  I have to get back ASAP.

  I force myself to laugh carelessly. "Nah, I'm not going outside for long," I inform them. "Just wanted to get a little fresh air."

  "But we have walled gardens within where you can do that in complete safety," protests Elaine, who thinks she's being helpful. "D'you want me to show them to you?"

  "Been there, done that. I think I was interrupting a romantic moment, though."

  "A romantic moment?" Now I've got both girls' attention. The fashions may be different, but I can tell women haven't changed much in eight hundred years. "Between who?"

  "Yes, Princess Christine!" Avelyn says, eyes shining. "You simply must tell us."

  I grin. "Tell me the way out of the castle and I will tell you all I know."

  The girls look at each other, then nod and turn back to me. "Very well. But we still do not advise you to leave the castle gates 'til sunup. ‘Tis dangerous for a princess."

  "Sure. No prob. I'll wait 'til morning. I promise." I cross two fingers behind my back as I say this, hoping that this gesture still counts, even though it's likely not yet been invented. "Now where?"

  Elaine points her small, white hand down the hall. "Go down yonder, then take a left and then your next right. You'll see a wooden door adorned by a dragon crest. It leads outside."

  "Thanks," I say, relieved.

  "Now, do tell us! Do not hold anything back!" The two girls crowd me, faces alight with their eagerness for the big scoop.

  I laugh, holding up my hands to playfully ward them off. "Okay, okay!" I cry. "Lady Marion and the Sheriff of Nottingham!"

  Their squeals are so loud I'm afraid they'll alert the entire kingdom. />
  "That naughty girl," Elaine says. "She kept it from us this entire time."

  "How dare she not share her secret romance with her sisters?" Avelyn says, looking both pleased at learning the secret and offended that Marion had kept it from her.

  I shrug. "Well, she's in the garden still, if you want to go ask her,"

  "Ooh, shall we?" asks Elaine.

  Avelyn nods in delighted agreement "Thank you, Princess Christine," she gushes. "For such a delicious tale."

  "Yeah, sure. No prob. Anytime." I wave them off. They scamper down the hallway to go catch their friend. If Marion wasn't a traitorous bitch, I'd almost feel bad for her. She's about to get outed.

  They turn the corner and I pick up my pace, heading in the direction they told me, praying for no more interruptions. If the sheriff’s truly attacking soon, I don't have much time to waste.

  ###

  I arrive near the hideaway about an hour later. I've worked my stolen horse too hard, and he's foaming at the mouth and soaked with sweat. I slide off of him and give him a thankful pat.

  "Sorry about that," I whisper. "We'll make sure you get some yummy carrots or something when this is all said and done "

  “Who goes there?" A man's voice cuts through the night

  "It’s me…” I cry, ready to say Christian. Then I remember I’m still dressed as a medieval lady. Maybe I should have changed back into my tunic and tights before coming here. No one's going to recognize .me in my current ensemble. Except Robin, of course.

  Little John and Much the Miller jump from the bushes, bows drawn and aimed straight at my heart. They circle around, suspicious.

  "Another one! It's like bleeding ladies' night around here these days," Much exclaims.

  "Who are you, and what pray is your business here, milady?" Little John demands.

  I look from one outlaw to the other, wondering how I'm going to get out of this. I guess I've got no choice but to tell the truth. Hopefully they'll be understanding. Who knows, maybe they'll find it all a big laugh. Maybe.

  "It's me!" I cry. "Christian! Don't you guys recognize me?"