Maid of Sherwood

by Shanti Krishnamurty

  Robin reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I know it is very different from town,” he started, but Marian interrupted him.

  “It is more than that, Robin. It is this feeling I have that Mother and Father are hiding something important from me. And I saw two ghosts last night on the battlements. They acted as though they needed to tell me something, but I have no idea what.”

  “Complicated, indeed.”

  “Oh, there is something I think you should know,” Marian continued. “Prince John is very interested in the sword of King Arthur.”

  Robin nodded. “Tuck already told me,” he said. “John does not think you have it, does he?”

  Marian tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “He asked me about it, but, quite honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about.”

  “Your mother never told you about Camelot?” Robin asked.

  “Mother and I do not speak much,” Marian said. “She never seemed to find much use for me. I think I act too masculine for her tastes.”

  Robin kissed the top of Marian’s head. “I am sure that is not entirely true.” He pressed her to him once more before stepping away. “Come, we should go. The Lady Nyneve is tolerant of me, but I do not wish to put that tolerance to the test.”

  It was a quiet walk to the chapel. Marian kept pace with Robin, but a few steps behind, so as to not attract unwanted attention. A few of the guards glanced at them as they hurried past, but Robin ensured his cowl was pulled up and they did not say a word.

  Robin pulled the wooden doors open, allowing Marian to enter before him. The chapel itself was cool and dark, its only light filtering through a small stained glass window above the altar. Dust motes spiraled toward the high wooden ceiling.

  “I do not understand why you asked us all here,” Mother was seated in the first row of pews, Father at her side.

  “Marian, do come in and take a seat. You too, Friar. Be sure to lock the door behind you, if you please. We need to have a private conversation.”

  Robin nodded, doing as she bade him.

  “Will you please tell us what this is all about?” Mother sounded impatient, but she patted Marian’s hand reassuringly as Marian sat down beside her.

  “You always were impatient,” Nyneve turned away from the altar and faced the pews.

  “But this is serious business, Beatrix.” She pinned Mother with her glare. “What were you thinking, bringing it here?”

  “I have no idea what you are referring to,” Mother said.

  Nyneve stepped forward until she was face to face with Mother. “Do not pretend with me. I am far more skilled at pretense than you. Now, tell me. Where did you hide Excalibur?”

  Before Marian could react to the old historian’s words, Mother had lunged forward, her hands wrapped around Nyneve’s throat.

  “How could you possibly know about that?” Mother growled; her voice was low and dangerous.

  “Mother! What are you doing?” Marian pulled frantically at Mother’s fingers. “You are going to kill her! Let go.”

  “Beatrix, think about what you are doing,” Father’s rich voice was calm and soothing.

  Mother slowly loosened her hold on the old woman.

  Nyneve coughed. “That is all right,” she rasped. “I should have known better than to provoke her.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marian said.

  “Really, Beatrix? Have you refused to confide in your daughter?” Nyneve rubbed her throat.

  “I keep my daughter informed of anything that pertains to her,” Mother responded, her voice still hard. “That will not change.”

  “Wrong,” Nyneve’s voice mirrored Mother’s in its strength. “It will change. It must, because of your actions.”

  “My actions?” Mother spat out. “I do not know how you gathered the information you apparently have, but what you believe you know is wrong.”

  Nyneve straightened and, it looked to Marian, gained stature as she did so. “My entire life has been about ensuring that blade did not fall into the wrong hands. What were you thinking?”

  “You mean…Excalibur is real?” Marian finally said. She glanced at Robin, who had remained standing by the doors. He shrugged.

  “Of course it is real, you have been training with it for years,” Nyneve said.

  “I—what?” Marian turned to Mother. “Is that true?”

  Mother held up one hand. “Wait, Marian.” She glared at Nyneve. “How do you know about the sword?”

  “I am its original guardian.” The old historian swiftly knotted her long white gold hair into a knot at the base of her neck.

  “You cannot be,” Mother said. “That is—”

  “—ancient history? Yes, I know.” Nyneve said. “Nevertheless, here I am. And, thanks to your ham-handedness, so is the sword.”

  “Listen, if you are The Lady of the Lake, you would understand there is no way I would have left that sword behind. It is too much of a temptation.” Mother growled back. “Now, prove who you are before I kill you with my bare hands.”

  “What proof would you accept?”

  “Tell me something only the du Luc family knows,” Mother demanded.

  “I know,” Nyneve said slowly, “what secrets the lake Llyn Trawsfynydd holds.”

  Mother fell back a step, knees pushed up against the wooden edge of the pew. Her face was white.

  Nyneve nodded. “Interestingly enough, that is also where I was killed.”

  “But,” Mother whispered, staring at the old woman, “that happened centuries ago.”

  “Five centuries, to be somewhat inexact,” Father interjected.

  “Correct, Alan,” Nyneve said. “You know my history well.”

  “What secrets is she talking about?” Marian asked.

  Nyneve glared at Mother again. “Did you teach her nothing?”

  “Lady Nyneve, enough.” Father spoke. “If Marian knows little of our family history, blame me. Beatrix had—other concerns.”

  “Yes, Robin told me of them,” Nyneve said.

  Mother, Father and Marian all looked at Robin, who moved away from the doors, pulling his cowl down as he did so.

  “What is your part in this?” Mother asked.

  “How do you know Mother?” Marian queried at the same time.

  Robin raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Lady Beatrix,” he began, but she cut him off.

  “You involved my daughter in your Merry Men schemes?!”

  Robin’s tone was as unrepentant as his answer. “Well, you were not using her.”

  “It is not a joke, Robin!” Mother snapped. “You had no business doing it. It was not your right!”

  “She could get me information you could not,” Robin said. “You were not willing to use your station to get near the prince, so I found another source.”

  Marian blinked. “You worked for Robin, Mother?”

  “I worked with him, not for him. Now quit interrupting, Marian.”

  “I am not a child. Stop treating me as one.” Marian’s voice was firm. “I think I deserve some answers. From everyone.” Her glare included Robin.

  “Very well,” Father said. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Have you been working with him, too?” Marian asked. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Only indirectly,” Father admitted. “I would hear rumors and pass them to Robin when I could. I understand you are upset at everyone, Mari, but this is truly for the best. What we have been doing has been for the best.”

  “So you are telling me that lying to me my entire life has been for ‘the best’?” Her voice shook.

  “It was not all lies,” Mother began, but Marian interrupted her.

  “It certainly was not the truth, either!”

  “Marian, lower your voice,” Nyneve instructed. “We have a modicum of privacy here, but these walls are not meant for yelling.”

  “Sorry,” Marian murmured.

  “Now, everyo
ne needs to calm down,” Nyneve continued. “I know it is a lot to take in and yes, Marian, I shall answer as many of your questions as I can. First of all, I think proper introductions are in order.” She straightened and the air itself seemed to gather around her in a light haze. “I am known simply as the historian of Nottingham now, but I was once the Lady of the Lake, and before that I was Queen Nyneve, wife of King Ban and mother of Lancelot du Luc.”

  “Lancelot, as in King Arthur’s Lancelot?” Robin said curiously.

  Nyneve cocked one silver eyebrow at him. “As far as I know, there has only been one,” she said.

  “You mentioned secrets about Llyn Trawsfynydd.” Marian said. “What secrets did you mean?”

  The old woman sighed. “You really did not tell her, Beatrix?”

  Mother shook her head. “It did not seem relevant to her life.”

  “Very well, then. Marian, Robin, have a seat. You too, Beatrix, though you already know the story.” The haze at Nyneve’s feet wrapped around her white gown, making it glow with an inner light. “Llyn Trawsfynydd is an ancient place,” she began when everyone seated themselves in the pew, Robin taking a seat next to Marian. “Even in my time, it was a place of great power and gatherings.” She stared at their faces for a moment, then shook herself and continued. “Let me begin again. What does each of you know of Merlin Ambrosis?”

  “Merlin Ambrosis is ancient history, Nyneve.” Mother objected. “Do you mean to drag out the whole story here and now?”

  “Of course not,” Nyneve said. “Very well. Suffice it to say, Merlin was a wizard of King Arthur’s court; some say the greatest wizard, but that is not important. Not really.”

  “I remember hearing stories of him,” Marian said. “Was he killed in a battle at…” her voice trailed off.

  The Lady of the Lake nodded. “Yes, that is correct. The battle took place at Llyn Trawsfynydd. But he did not die, not completely. We managed to kill his body and trap his spirit for all eternity.”

  “We? You mean you were there?” Marian asked again.

  “Yes. My son’s daughter and I captured him and poured his essence into the lake.” She shrugged. “It was a fitting punishment for his crimes.”

  “His crimes?” Robin leaned forward. “But he was the greatest wizard Britian’s ever known.”

  “He was a misguided fool.” Nyneve said bluntly. “But I digress. This is not about Merlin. It is about the secrets of the lake. And I have told you one. The other is not for you to know.”

  Marian opened her mouth to say something, but a pounding at the chapel door interrupted her.

  Chapter Eighteen:

  “Why is this door locked?? Open it at once!” The sheriff’s voice came through the wooden doors clearly.

  Marian looked at Robin, eyes wide. “You cannot be found here!”

  “The passageway,” Nyneve directed. “Now, Robin. Hurry.”

  Robin pressed a quick kiss to one of Marian’s hands before he scrambled out of the pew and ran toward the back of the chapel.

  “But—there’s nothing back there,” she protested.

  Father’s hand on her shoulder prevented her from rising. “He’ll be fine, Mari.”

  A barely seen flick of Robin’s wrist, and Marian watched as a panel of stone slid halfway open. Without a backward glance Robin slipped through it and the panel turned to become a smooth stone wall once more.

  “Break the doors down!” The sheriff ordered.

  “Sheriff,” Nyneve called out, “there’s no need for such theatrics. I am coming.” Her voice suddenly shook and the glow around her dissipated until it vanished entirely. Moving more slowly than before, she walked to the doors and undid the bolt holding them shut. “Come in, sheriff.”

  The sheriff and three guardsmen pushed their way into the chapel.

  “Why were the doors barred, historian?”

  “I am not under your jurisdiction, sheriff,” Nyneve said coldly. “An amount of courtesy is due me.”

  “This is my home,” growled the sheriff. “You are here at Prince John’s suffrage, which means you are here at mine, as well.”

  “You overstep yourself,” the Lady retorted. “And the doors were barred at my insistence. If you have issue with it, take it up with King Richard upon his return. I have violated none of the liberties he conferred upon me.”

  “King Richard is not here,” the sheriff stated. “I am.”

  The Lady glared at him. “Indeed you are. But I have done nothing wrong, sheriff, simply barred a door you did not wish barred.”

  The sheriff stared at her for a moment before turning to where Marian sat. “Lady Marian, Lady Beatrix, are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Marian said.

  “All three of us are fine,” Mother said. “But your concern is unnecessary. Was there something in particular you needed?”

  The man shook his head. “I became concerned when I could not find Lady Marian,” he said. “I very much would like to accompany her to dinner.”

  “Marian will be seated with us.” Father said. “Come, Marian, Beatrix. Lady Nyneve, it was a pleasure to speak with you. I certainly hope we can do it again sometime soon.” He rose to his feet, Mother and Marian followed suit.

  “I am feeling a bit tired, and we need to change before dinner.” Mother said. The woman Marian had seen earlier was gone as though she’d never existed.

  “I will join you as soon as I am able,” Nyneve said calmly. “I look forward to sitting with you tonight.”

  Marian felt the sheriff’s stare boring into her back on the short walk to the chapel doors.

  “He is too arrogant for my comfort,” Mother fumed as they walked across the cobblestones. “He has designs on you, Mari, and I do not like it.”

  “Bea, you need to keep your temper under control,” Father warned. “We’re not safe here.”

  “Do you think I do not know that?” Mother snapped, and then apologized. “I am sorry, Alan. You’re right, of course. Marian, where is Anna? Did not I tell you she needed to be with you at all times?”

  “She refused to set foot in the gardens again, Mother. Not once she saw the maze.” Marian said. “What was I supposed to do? Sit in the kitchens with her?”

  Mother’s voice was cool and refined, a far cry from what Marian had witnessed in the chapel. “What a silly girl. If I’d known she was so flighty, I would never have brought her. There are perfectly beautiful gardens that are not confined by trees and such.” She shrugged. “I cannot blame you for her faults, however. I will have words with her upon her return. It is not fitting that you should do without a ladies’ maid because she is fearful of close spaces.”

  “I was speaking with Friar Tuck in the gardens earlier,” Marian said. “I hardly think I needed a ladies’ maid for that.”

  “You need a ladies’ maid for everything, Mari. I told you that before we came.”

  “I did not think you still meant it, now that,” Marian glanced around her and lowered her voice, “I know the truth.”

  Mother grabbed her arm with enough force that Marian winced. “Not here,” she hissed. “Our rooms will be safer.”

  “But—what about spies?” Marian asked.

  Mother snorted as she stifled a laugh. “Spies are less prevalent than you think,” she said. “The kind you’re thinking of, skulking around halls and such, are few and far between. Most spies are just people in the right place at the right time.”

  “Not quite,” Father muttered under his breath.

  Mother smirked at him as she swept past him and into the hallway leading to their rooms.

  “Am I missing something?” Marian asked, following her parents.

  “A private jest, and not one worth mentioning,” Mother said.

  “Oh, I do not know, Bea,” Father scratched his chin. “I think it is worth telling.”

  Mother sighed, but Marian could tell it was not in true exasperation. “It was not anything serious.” She pulled open the door to their suite.
<
br />   Marian waited until the door shut behind all three of them before saying anything. “But what happened?”

  Father plopped down on the closest couch. “Your mother, whom I love dearly, nearly scared me to death my first night in Nottingham.”

  “What? How?” Marian curled up in the recliner across from him, dragging a soft woolen blanket across her lap.

  “Your father,” Mother said briskly, “exaggerates. He was not frightened, merely startled by my unexpected appearance.”

  “You were soaking wet!” Father said. “Up to your knees, soaked through. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Not that I was there to murder you,” Mother returned, seating herself next to him.

  “Really, Mother? Why were you wet? What were you doing?” Marian looked from one to the other, eyes wide.

  “I had been contracted to spy on someone specific,” Mother said. “It was sheer misfortune that I counted the window panes wrong and wound up in his rooms by mistake.”

  “It was not misfortune,” Father said. “If you had not done that, I would never have had the courage to approach you in open court.”

  Mother smiled at him and it lit her entire face. “I am glad you did.”

  “But how long were you a spy?” Marian interrupted.

  “Since shortly after my arrival at King Henry’s court,” Mother said. “Excalibur made me better with a sword than I would have been under normal circumstances, even with training. Henry valued that, but could not use me as part of his guard, for obvious reasons. So he had me trained as his personal spy instead.”

  “And you continued doing that?” Marian asked. “Even after you met Father?”

  “For a short time,” Mother said. “But I left that life when I knew I was going to be a mother. I did not want to raise you in that lifestyle, but I could not quite bring myself to give it up entirely. Not once Prince John came to power.” She met Marian’s eyes. “I am very, very proud of you for choosing your own path, though my anger at Robin for involving you in his schemes is very real.”

  “It was not Robin’s fault,” Marian protested. “It was entirely my idea.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Mother said. “But it is far too late to argue further about it. Now we all have to live with our choices.”