Maid of Sherwood

by Shanti Krishnamurty

  “Never mind,” the sheriff said. “It is just something for you to consider. After all, it would benefit you greatly to take advantage of your heritage.”

  “I never even really knew what my heritage was until coming here.” Marian said. “It simply was not important enough back in town.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay here. There are plenty of people who would be willing to educate you.”

  Marian shook her head. “I already told you I was uncomfortable with this conversation, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff gripped Marian’s arm just below the elbow. “Make no mistake, Lady Marian, you are not in charge here. I am.”

  She yanked her arm away from him. “This conversation is over.” Turning on her heel, she marched away from him on quaking legs. The sheriff, obviously, was no-one to be trifled with. She wondered if Mother could have succeeded where she had failed.

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  “Where is she going?”

  “She does not know.”

  Marian strode past the stairs leading to her suite. The ghosts were right. She had no idea where she was headed.

  “If she does not know, then how is she supposed to get there?”

  “If you are not going to speak to me, then would you kindly not speak at all?!” Marian snapped aloud.

  The ghosts laughed.

  “She is feisty; no wonder the sheriff likes her.”

  “The sheriff is not the only one…”

  “Stop it!” Marian commanded them. They did not listen, just giggled harder.

  “Do you think she needs a hint?”

  “We could give her one,” a single, very young, voice replied.

  “What are you talking about?” Marian gasped when the shadows which had been clinging to the walls she walked past began shifting and sliding toward her.

  “I like her. Let us help.” The young ghost announced.

  The laughter tapered off and the shadows crowded closer around Marian’s skirts.

  “Follow us,” they whispered. “It is not too much further.”

  Marian shook her head. “This is mad.”

  The shadows tugged at her skirts, gathering in close, and then stretching farther down the hall. “You have to hurry,” they demanded. “She needs you.”

  “She? Who is she?” Following shadows was mad, but the idea of not following them was even crazier.

  The ghosts did not answer, just kept undulating back and forth, forcing her further and further down. And the direction she was walking was down. The air around her cooled, and the walls, bare now of the shadows which were clinging to the stone floor and her skirts, grew clammy and damp.

  Guttering torches placed every few feet did little to relieve the dimness of the long corridor, producing a thick smoke that rose into the air and made her cough. She stepped deeper, taking shallow breaths to keep the smoke from filling her lungs. A skittering sound near her feet caught her attention and she glanced down, stifling a scream as a rat scurried into the flickering shadows the torchlight created against the stone walls.

  “Where are you taking me?” She did not really expect an answer.

  “The dungeons,” was the reply she received. “That is where she is. That is where she has been.”

  The dust stirred at her feet as she walked and she sneezed. The dust tickled her nose again. She blinked suddenly in surprise. There were footprints on the floor before her and they continued down the corridor for as far as she could see.

  “Why is she slowing down? She needs to walk faster, not slower.”

  “Leave her alone; she is following us.”

  That was true. She was following them. But where were they leading her? The question so preoccupied her that she barely noticed the wooden doors she walked past until the shadows collected at the last door on the left side of the corridor.

  “There. She is in there.”

  Marian wiped suddenly damp palms against her gown, leaving faint sweaty stains on the light green cotton. She was not sure what was behind the door, but she was equally positive she really did not want to find out.

  “Look at her, she is scared.” The shadows giggled.

  “I am not scared!” Marian said. “I came down here, did not I?”

  “Bet you will not walk through the door,” the voices taunted.

  Marian’s spine stiffened and, without hesitation, she twisted the wrought iron handle on the shadow darkened door and stepped inside.

  At first glance the room was empty. Torches placed every two feet on the far walls met her gaze. Only two of the torches were lit, throwing flickering shadows on the floor and walls. As Marian watched, the shadow ghosts crawled into the dungeon, coating the floor and the walls with their presence.

  “What is this place?” Marian’s voice was hushed.

  “Are you sure she is not dense? Did not we already tell her?”

  “You know, considering I followed you down here, I would think you would be nicer to me,” Marian huffed.

  “Look around,” the shadows directed. “You will see.”

  “I am just a bit tired of being ordered around by shadows,” Marian complained.

  Laughter.

  “H—hello? Is someone there?” The voice was hesitant, and broken, but it was a woman’s voice.

  Marian took a hesitant step forward. Darkness, a real blackness brought on by lack of torchlight, kept her from walking further.

  “P—please, is someone there?”

  “Who are you?” Marian peered into darkness, trying to pierce the faint light from the torches.

  The woman coughed a dry rasping sound. “Do you have water?”

  Marian shook her head before realizing the other woman could not see her. “No, I am sorry.”

  “It—it does not matter.” Marian heard her swallow. “Come closer, so I can see you.”

  “It is dark,” Marian felt stupid as soon as the words left her mouth.

  “She is scared of the dark!” “I thought only babies were scared of the dark!”

  “Hush,” the other woman said softly and the ghosts’ teasing subsided. “Do not be scared, child.” Chains rattled. “I certainly cannot hurt you.”

  “But,” Marian moved closer. “Who are you? Why are you down here?”

  The woman laughed. It was more of a wheezing sound than anything Marian thought of as laughter. “The sheriff brought me here as his ‘guest’ nearly five years ago. He did not want me to leave.”

  Marian was finally close enough to make out the other woman’s features. Greasy brown hair pooled around where she lay, curled into a ball on the cold stone floor. Chains bound both her feet to the closest wall, disappearing under a once fine gown, now stained with water and bits of food.

  “Oh, my…what did he do to you?” Marian hurried over, kneeling down by the other woman.

  The woman squinted at her. “Do I—know you?”

  Marian automatically started shaking her head, then paused. “You almost look like someone I know…”

  “I am sure I do not look like anyone anymore. Not even myself.”

  “Do you have a son?” Marian asked.

  “I had a son once,” the woman answered on a sigh. “I have not seen him in a very long time. He was twelve or thirteen. A tall boy, nearly as tall as his father.”

  Marian narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “What is your name? Do you remember?”

  The woman’s voice when she replied was sharp. “Of course I remember! The sheriff calls me his Scarlett Bird, you see…and that is my name. Dulcina Scarlett.”

  Marian gasped. “You are Will’s mother!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  “You know my Will?” Dulcina’s voice was dreamy once more. “He is such a good boy. Always behaves and brings me tea.”

  “I am Marian, Beatrix du Luc’s daughter.” Marian gazed earnestly into Dulcina’s eyes. “Do you not remember me?”

  Dulcina bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Marian,” she said, her voice l
ucid. “I remember you. You taught Will how to skip stones, much to your mother’s dismay.”

  “She is not right in the head,” a ghost whispered in Marian’s ear. “It is the sheriff’s fault. He made her sick.”

  “I have no idea how to get you free,” Marian admitted. “But we have to get out of here.”

  Dulcina shook her head. “If I leave, he will get mad at me.”

  “If you leave, he will not be able to find you,” Marian stated. “I can make sure you get back home.”

  It was odd. She could almost see Dulcina’s eyes glaze over. “Where is home, the Scarlett Bird sings. She shivers and shakes and spreads her wings.”

  “She is mad,” Marian muttered under her breath. “What in the Lord’s name did he do to her?”

  “Bad things, scary things; all things we will talk about. You need to help her.”

  Marian nodded. “Of course I will. I am just…not sure how.”

  “Better figure it out quick. He is coming.”

  “The sheriff? Here? Now?”

  “Go further in,” the ghosts instructed. “Hide behind the chests.”

  Marian did not hesitate. So far the ghosts had not been wrong about anything; she was not going to take the chance that they might be now. One corner of the room held large chests, stacked deep and high. If she hid behind them and was very still, the sheriff might not notice her. She picked up her skirts and ran, sliding into the miniscule space between the chests and the wall as the bolt on the door began to rise.

  “How is my Scarlett Bird?” The honeyed voice she had done her best to ignore over dinner was followed by the door slamming shut.

  Dulcina giggled. “I know a secret,” she sing-songed. “But I cannot tell you until Will comes back with my tea.”

  “A secret? What kind of a secret?” The sheriff asked.

  Marian risked raising her head a trifle above the chests, barely daring to breathe. Dulcina raised one hand, placing her index finger against her lips. “Shhhh… I cannot tell yet.”

  The sheriff’s shoulders raised and fell as he sighed. “Important things are happening, Scarlett Bird. Very important things.” He leaned down and gently touched her cheek with one gloved hand. “Then we can live as we were meant to.” He straightened up, moving away from her and touching the torch in his hand to ones on the wall she was chained against until the room blazed with light. He placed the last torch in the empty holder. “There, that is better.”

  Marian noticed the shadows crowding the edge of the torchlight. The ghosts were not the only ones; Dulcina shrank back as well, as though light touching her would cause her pain.

  The sheriff’s voice gentled to a near whisper. “I am sorry you have had to stay down here, dearest. It will not be much longer. I promise.”

  Marian clamped a hand across her own mouth to prevent her gasp of surprise from escaping.

  “I need my son,” the woman said. “When is Will getting here? I am thirsty.”

  “He will be here soon,” the sheriff promised. “But I brought you water.” The man knelt next to her and gathered her into his embrace. “Here, drink this.” He held a flask up to her lips. “Tell me something, my love… tell me your secret.”

  Dulcina gulped at the water running down her chin. “The ghosts know,” she said. “They know everything.” She gazed up at him earnestly. “Did you know that? Did you know they know everything?”

  The sheriff shook his head, a look of sheer frustration crossing his features.

  “He broke her. She will never be right again.”

  Marian was mesmerized by the scene playing out in front of her. It was obvious the sheriff loved Dulcina; loved her almost to the point of distraction.

  “They are here,” Dulcina blurted out. “They came by carriage and horse and they are here. Did they bring Will? Is he with them?”

  “Hush, Scarlett Bird,” the sheriff said. “No-one is here, no-one came.”

  “NO!” The other woman screamed. “You are wrong! The ghosts saw them! They told me!”

  “Prince John is here,” he tried to soothe her, but she twisted in his arms before suddenly quieting.

  “It is Beatrix du Luc and Alan a Dale.” Dulcina’s voice went calm. “Have you met their daughter yet? She and Will are friends.”

  “Yes, I have met them. They arrived last week,” the sheriff said. “It is all right. Just rest, Scarlett Bird, nothing will hurt you down here.”

  “Nothing except him. Look at her hand; look at her palm.”

  “Marian is a sweet child,” Dulcina continued. “I think she and Will might marry some day. But that is a long way off. They are children.”

  “Of course they are,” the sheriff agreed. “Is that the secret the ghosts told you?”

  Dulcina smiled. “What else would it be? Did you bring me food?”

  He shook his head. “A guard will bring some down soon. Would you like to change your gown today?”

  “No, why should I?” She smoothed the stained fabric over her breast. “Is it not lovely?”

  “It is, but you wore it for dinner. It is nearly time for supper.”

  “Oh, then I suppose that is fine.” Dulcina said. “But you cannot help me. That would not be proper.”

  The sheriff smiled, a genuine one that lit the part of his face Marian could see. “I will go and send someone down to help you change. Would that be all right?”

  “You are so good to me.” She reached up to touch his face and Marian caught the glimmer of…something…on the palm of her hand.

  He grabbed Dulcina’s hand and pressed a kiss against her palm before double checking the chains that held her to the wall. “I will come back when I can, Scarlett Bird.”

  She giggled. “I will be here.”

  No sooner had the door shut behind the sheriff than Marian rose from her place behind the chests.

  “He is in love with you,” she said needlessly.

  Dulcina nodded. “Yes, he is. He has been for years.” She peered at Marian. “That is why he killed my William, you know. Then I came here, where he keeps me safe.”

  Marian stepped forward. “This is not safe, Dulcina. It is a dungeon.”

  “Who can keep you safer in a dungeon than a sheriff?” The other woman asked. She held out her right hand, palm up. “And see? He made sure everyone knows I belong to him.”

  Marian gasped. On Dulcina’s palm was a brand. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen; a series of circles, overlapping each other again and again until the pattern itself was almost lost.

  “He branded you?” Her voice trembled. She reached out and gently took the woman’s hand in one of hers, tracing the circles with one fingertip. The entire thing was raised, each circle a small line of puckered skin. Marian’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Why are you crying?” Dulcina’s voice was soft and filled with curiosity.

  “You do not understand,” she sniffed. “He branded you.”

  “How else would he keep me safe?” Dulcina looked at Marian with wide brown eyes. “Who did you say you are?”

  Marian shook her head. “I am sorry,” she dropped Dulcina’s hand. “I am afraid I wandered in here by mistake. I should leave.”

  “Come back soon. I love having visitors.”

  Marian fled without a backwards glance.

  Chapter Twenty-Three:

  Marian flew up the stone passageway and back to the light of the used portion of the castle. It was only when she reached the stairs leading back to her suite that she stopped running. A few servants glanced at her curiously and she realized how frightful she must look, with the dust of the dungeons clinging to her gown and hair. The faint sound of music came from the great hall but she ignored it and continued up the steps to her suite. She pulled the door open and slipped inside; praying Mother and Father were not there. She was correct. Not pausing, she continued into her rooms and collapsed on the bed. Before long, she was asleep.

  “Marian,” Mother’s voice preceded the shaking of
her shoulder. “Marian, it is time to get up.”

  Marian tried to open her eyes; they felt glued shut.

  “You have slept through breakfast, and services, too.” The bed creaked as Mother sat down. “I do not know what you did last night, but it is well past noon, and no-one likes a slug-a-bed.”

  Marian stretched and forced her eyes open. “I went down into the dungeons.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “The ghosts led me there.” She sat up. “They wanted me to find someone.”

  “Who did they want you to find?” Mother asked.

  “Dulcina Scarlett,” Marian said. “It was Will’s mother. The sheriff is in love with her, Mother.”

  The other woman stared at her. “That is an interesting development.”

  “There is more,” Marian said. “She is completely mad, Mother. I do not know what he did to her, but she is not right in the head anymore.”

  “The Scarlett women never did handle stress well,” Mother said absentmindedly. “But regardless, she cannot be left down there.”

  “Do you think Prince John knows?”

  Mother shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Dulcina did not do anything wrong. Five years in a dungeon is a stiff price to pay for not loving someone back. Get changed and wash your face. There is someone we need to talk to.”

  Marian pushed back covers she did not remember pulling over herself. The light green gown she still wore was bunched uncomfortably under her and she tugged it down. “Who are we going to see?”

  “The Lady Nyneve,” Mother replied. “Hurry up. I shall wait for you in the sitting room.”

  As soon as Mother closed the door behind her, Marian changed into a clean white gown, laced it up and put on her shoes. “What do you think Nyneve will say?” She asked Mother, following her out of the suite and down the corridor.

  “Lady Nyneve, Marian. She deserves your respect.” Mother admonished her, but Marian could tell her heart was not really in it. “She has lived longer than either of us combined. If anyone will have any ideas on this—situation—it will be her. Our history always said she preferred the outdoors to anywhere else, so we shall try the gardens first.”