Maid of Sherwood

by Shanti Krishnamurty

  Mother glared at Father, but Marian was positive she could see a glimmer of laughter in her eyes.

  “Watch the scenery, Mari,” Father said. “The forest can be very enlightening if you know exactly what to watch for.”

  Marian sighed. As far as she could see, it was endless oaks in an endless sea of green and watching it roll by was not preferable to strolling the leaf strewn paths and smelling the almost damp scent of moldering undergrowth.

  “Stop the carriage at once!” A strange voice cried out.

  Anna screamed. “It is outlaws, ma’am! We will all be killed!”

  “Hush,” Father’s normally gentle voice was threaded through with a core of steel Marian had never heard before. “Screaming will not help.”

  Mother hushed them with one upraised hand. Outside, Marian could hear voices raised in anger.

  Chapter Nine:

  A man’s deep voice rang out clearly. “I do not recognize your authority. If you are the Sheriff of Nottingham's men, you must show me proof before you can pass.”

  “You must be new to your post,” a deeper, more dangerous, voice growled back. “Stand down. We are on Prince John's business.”

  “You first,” the first voice said flatly.

  The unmistakable sound of hoof beats rang out, and then a familiar voice spoke. “What is going on here? Why are my men being detained?”

  Marian heard a sword rasp as it was withdrawn.

  “We have strict orders to let no one pass without proper authority,” the first voice declared. “Prince John is sure there is a spy within the castle grounds. No-one is allowed to go further without permission.”

  “I am Prince John’s oldest friend, and his sheriff, you dolt! I personally guarantee no-one here harbors any ill intent towards the prince or his rule!” The sheriff was nearly incoherent in his rage.

  “And who are you carrying toward the castle?” The first man asked.

  Mother stood up. “This is ridiculous,” she stated. “Alan, let me by.”

  “Bea, this really is not—” Father started, but Mother pushed past him and opened the carriage door.

  “Why is this carriage stopped?” An imperious voice Marian remembered hearing before, with Robin, demanded.

  “Prince John’s orders, milady,” the first voice said.

  “The prince is an idiot. I know who rides in that carriage. I will take full responsibility for anything she or her party may do.”

  Mother stepped backward, feeling with one hand before she sank back down to her seat. “It cannot be,” she murmured. “I thought she died…”

  “Beatrix, what is it?” Father asked worriedly. “You look pale.”

  A frown crossed Mother’s face. “It is Lady Nyneve,” she said. “Nottingham’s historian. But she cannot still be alive…she would be over one hundred by now!”

  Marian frowned. “And how does she know Ro…” she cut herself off at Mother’s curious glance.

  “Know who, Marian?” Mother asked.

  Before Marian could think up a lie, the sheriff poked his head inside the still open door. “Is everything all right?”

  Father nodded tersely. “My wife and daughter are tired,” he said. “When can we continue on?”

  Marian noticed the naked blade in the sheriff’s hand at the same time Mother did.

  “Sheriff, is a sword really necessary to get us past this patrol?” Mother said.

  The sheriff slid the sword home. “It is my sworn duty to see you safely to the castle,” he smiled. “If that means baring my blade, so be it.”

  “You are an idiot, too,” Nyneve stuck her head in the window next to Marian. “Hello, child. Curious we should meet again in this fashion. Stop gaping, Beatrix. Yes, it is me. Yes, I am alive.” She smiled at Alan, a hint of rose creeping up into her withered cheeks. “And the famous Alan a Dale. I have heard many a tale about your ballads. I hope you shall grace us with one at the castle. Provided, of course, you can actually get there.” Nyneve glared at the sheriff until he eased the door closed. “I will see you upon your arrival.”

  “She scares me,” Anna whispered as the carriage began to lurch forward once more. “And she says you know her?”

  Marian squirmed under Father’s glare and Mother’s questioning look. “I do not exactly know her,” she said. “I met her in the forest. Briefly.”

  “How interesting that you met her, yet never said a word,” Mother mused. “I find that terribly enlightening.”

  “It did not mean anything,” Marian mumbled.

  “Obviously it did, or she would not recall it.”

  “When did you meet her?” Father asked. “Was it recently?”

  Marian smiled gratefully. Finally, there was an answer she could give without directly lying. “I met her two days ago, but we barely spoke.”

  “She always did prefer the forest to the castle,” Mother said, almost under her breath. “What were you doing that caught her attention?”

  Marian bit her lip. “I was – practicing my fencing.”

  “Ah, yes, that would bring you to her notice,” Father said.

  “But why?” Marian asked.

  “The sword you carry is ancient,” he said. “It stands to reason that a historian of all things English would be curious about it.”

  “I shall have to speak with her upon our arrival,” Mother decided. “I have many questions I wish to ask her.”

  “She appears nice enough,” Father said. “I would love to speak with her myself. I am sure she can tell me things about Nottingham even I do not know.”

  “Did you bring my sword?” Marian asked suddenly.

  Mother laughed. “Of course not! It is one thing to wear it about town, but never at court. No decent woman would ever be seen carrying a blade!”

  Marian opened her mouth to respond, but just then Anna gasped.

  “Look, ma’am! Outside! It is the castle!”

  Marian looked and saw Nottingham Castle before them, sprawled out across the landscape like a patchwork quilt she had once seen in a shop’s window; beautifully constructed, but made of the dullest cloth imaginable.

  “It is—ugly,” Marian blurted, drawing her head back inside the carriage.

  “It is a fortress, Marian,” Mother said. “It was not built to be attractive.”

  Marian was disappointed. The castle looked lifeless despite the guards patrolling the tall gray stone wall that extended from either side of the portcullis and vanished past where her eyes could easily see. As their carriage pulled through the gate, Marian craned her head out the window once more, only she was pulled backward by Mother’s firm grip.

  “What do you think you are doing? You look like a country bumpkin who’s never seen a castle before! Sit back before someone sees you.”

  Marian bounced once on the seat, earning a glare from Mother. “But it is what I am,” she protested. “What is wrong with that?”

  “You cannot stick your head out the window like a goose. Keep your head inside, and look as we pass by, like this.”

  Marian watched as Mother leaned slightly forward, and turned her head toward her window. “Remember, Marian, ladies do not gawk.”

  Marian rested her chin on her hand and stared moodily out at the passing wall. The most interesting thing she saw was twelve guards, standing stiffly at attention, their gaze never wavering from the opposite wall.

  As they reached the doors to the inner courtyard, the carriage halted, the horses snorting and stamping their feet.

  “Anna, go assist the footmen with Marian’s things.” Mother commanded.

  The maid agreed, her naturally wide brown eyes even wider.

  “I will go find the sheriff,” Father said. “Presumably, he will know which rooms are ours and can direct the footmen.”

  “Thank you, Alan. You are correct,” Mother said. “Marian, follow me.”

  Marian obeyed instantly. However ugly the castle was on the outside, she was eager to see what waited within its walls.
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  “Lady Marian, Lady Beatrix, I am so pleased you arrived so swiftly.” The sheriff appeared at Marian’s elbow as soon as she stepped down from the carriage. “What do you think of the castle so far?”

  She lowered her eyes but answered his question honestly. “It does not look like I expected it to.”

  The sheriff laughed; a bellowing sound. Nearby guards glanced at them before continuing their duties. “The inside is vastly different. Prince John has ensured none of his guests will suffer any discomfort in his care. Let me show you.” He tightened his grip on her elbow.

  “Sheriff, we would prefer to be shown our quarters,” Mother said, “though your attentiveness to our comfort has not gone unnoticed.” She glanced down at the sheriff’s grip on Marian. “Marian, dear, your hand is rather dirty. I think a washing is in order before you soil the good sheriff’s shirt, do not you?”

  The sheriff grimaced and released Marian. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you both indoors?” He offered his arm to Mother instead, who took it immediately.

  “Of course. Come along, Marian.”

  “As I was saying,” the sheriff motioned and two guards pulled the enormous wooden doors leading to the main hall open, “Prince John has spared no expense in his treatment of his loyal subjects.”

  There was comfort. Across from Marian, a huge fire blazed in a fireplace that would have easily accommodated four men standing side by side and three deep. Tapestries hung on every wall, clashing in swirls of color that made her head ache. Everywhere she looked there were men and women, each more elaborately gowned, bedecked and jeweled than herself. Marian’s hand inadvertently rose to the back of her neck and the hasty knot she had tied her hair into.

  “Do not fret, Marian,” even Mother’s voice was welcome amid all the chatter. “It is not seemly. Sheriff, would you see what has become of my husband? He left us outside saying he would search for you. I presume you did not see him?”

  The man shook his head. “No, but I can send someone to search.” He snapped his fingers and a small page came running. “Find Alan a Dale. He just arrived and will be carrying a lute. He will also be inquiring about me.”

  The little boy nodded, looking solemn and far older than his years, which Marian guessed was about seven. “Alan a Dale, who carries a lute.” He scampered off.

  “A trainee,” the sheriff said. “I am sorry you had to see such manners.” He smiled at Marian. “Do not let his lack of discipline form your opinions of how the castle runs. Prince John is very strict, but fair.”

  “Training has to start somewhere,” Marian said. “I saw nothing wrong with his manners.”

  “We are grateful for your insights,” Mother interrupted. “It has been a long time since I have visited court, and I can see how things have changed with King Richard’s departure.”

  “Yes, the king was a good man,” the sheriff looked almost sick at mention of him. “But he is fighting a Holy Crusade, and left his kingdom in very capable hands.”

  Mother arched one eyebrow as she took in the hordes of people, the raucous laughter and the dancing that even now was taking place. “Yes, I can see that. Prince John has done an admirable job of following in his brother’s footsteps and taking care of his kingdom.”

  Chapter Ten:

  The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Are you by chance a sympathizer of Hood, Lady Beatrix?”

  Mother stiffened. “How dare you question my loyalty to the crown! The du Luc family has always been above reproach.” She removed her hand from the sheriff’s arm. “Marian, I think we would be best served to search for your father ourselves. Please excuse us, Sheriff. It is a bit close in here. I need some fresh air.”

  The sheriff’s mouth opened, and then closed. He bowed jerkily. “Please accept my apologies. I did not mean to insult you or your family name.”

  “Ah, there you are, Sheriff.” Father strolled up. “Your page found me.” He put an arm around Mother. “Is everything all right, Beatrix?”

  Mother nodded. “What kept you?”

  “One of the horses turned up lame. But it has been taken care of.”

  Marian paled. “It—it was not killed, was it?”

  “Of course not,” Father reassured her. “I doubt even Prince John could afford to waste such a valuable commodity.”

  “The prince does not believe in wasting anything valuable,” the sheriff agreed. “And neither do I,” he continued with a sideways glance at Marian.

  She hid a shudder at the look in his eyes. His gaze held all the warmth of a cold, foggy day.

  “Sheriff,” Mother cut into the conversation. “Do get someone to show us to our rooms. I am tired and want to rest before supper.”

  “I can do that,” the sheriff protested. “There's no need to bother the servants.”

  “They are servants,” Mother said with a sniff. “I do not see how it would be a bother for them to do their job.”

  The sheriff bowed. “But you are Prince John’s special guests. He would be most displeased if I did not make sure the accommodations were to your satisfaction.” He led the way through the Great Hall, dodging servants with ease.

  Marian followed dutifully after them, grateful the sheriff was not insisting she walk at his side. Her skin crawled whenever he looked at her; as though she were nothing more than a prettily packaged life sized doll.

  The comparatively silent stone hallway bustled with household servants, each quietly going about their respective business. At one point, Marian was forced back against the stone wall as servants clad in matching tunics and leggings of purple and silver marched past her, steam rising from the platters they held high above their heads.

  “It smells delicious.” Marian’s mouth began to water. She raised herself onto her toes, peeking at the platters as they went by. Peacocks in wine, tail feathers fanned out across the wooden platter in resplendent glory; a whole roasted boar, apple tucked neatly into its mouth; platters upon platters of cheese, eggs, and more pastries than Marian had ever seen.

  “I do not see any larks’ tongues,” the sheriff said, his voice thick with disapproval. “They should always be served when the prince is in attendance.”

  “Does Prince John like them?” Marian asked.

  “Of course,” the sheriff said, “or they would not be placed at his table. I do hope you will do me the courtesy of trying one over supper. They truly are a rare delicacy, and melt in the mouth.”

  Marian could not imagine anything more foul. “I am sure the larks see things rather differently,” she said.

  “Marian du Luc, apologize at once!” Mother scolded.

  Father attempted to look stern, but it was ruined by the tears of laughter which welled up in his eyes.

  Marian glanced at the ground. “I do apologize,” she murmured. “I should not have said it.”

  “You might wish to guard that tongue closer,” the sheriff returned. “The prince does not see the humor in a sharp witted woman.”

  “Sheriff, I think it wise if you guard your own tongue around my daughter,” Father bit out. “Your veiled threats are insulting and will not be tolerated.”

  The other man bowed immediately, but not before Marian saw the anger in his eyes. “I did not mean any offense. Please accept my humble apologies.”

  Mother nodded once. “Will we have time to make ourselves respectable before supper? I would hate to see the prince while still dressed in the filth from the road.”

  “The prince would never wish you to look anything but your best.” The sheriff’s smile was oily and reminded Marian strongly of a charlatan who had once travelled through their town.

  “Come, the hallway is clear enough for us to continue.”

  They wound their way through the castle halls and a staircase, stopping only when the sheriff paused before a set of double doors.

  “These suites have been set aside for your personal use,” he said. “Your chests have already been delivered.” He turned to Marian. “I do hope you will se
e fit to join me at supper. I cannot imagine a greater pleasure than sharing a plate with you.”

  Mother immediately shook her head. “I am sorry to deny you, Sheriff, but I fear Marian’s palate varies greatly from yours and I would not dream of denying you the comforts of your belly.”

  “Very well. The servants have already begun serving the lower tables. Our tables will not be served until Prince John arrives, so you have time to rest yourselves and change.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Father pulled open the doors and stood aside for Mother and Marian. “We shall see you downstairs, then.”

  “Yes, thank you for all your kindness,” Mother said dismissively. Only once the doors were shut behind them did she sigh deeply. “What an odious man.”

  The sitting room was a riot of gold and green. Thick green velvet hangings trimmed in gold covered what Marian took at first glance to be stone walls. Upon closer inspection she realized they covered large, diamond shaped windows. She stared through the bubbled surface down at the distorted images of soldiers standing in the courtyard.

  “Is the castle always so heavily fortified?” Marian asked curiously.

  “It never was under King Richard’s rule,” Mother said.

  “Prince John probably has extra guards because of what the sheriff told us about possible spies,” Father said. “Marian, why not go and look at your rooms? They are very likely through that doorway.” He pointed across the room.

  “I—have my own rooms here?” Marian practically danced across the room, past two chairs and a low reclining couch also covered in thick green velvet. “Were your rooms like these, when you lived here?”

  “I never lived here,” Mother said. “I stayed in London.”

  “Then how do you know court has changed so much?” Marian paused at the doorway.

  Mother shrugged delicately. “One court is very much like another,” she said. “And Prince John always enjoyed his—baser—comforts more than Richard did.”

  “So you knew him, then?”

  “I knew of him. I was raised at court, Marian. I was not a confidant of either Richard or John. Now stop pestering me and go look at your rooms.”