Maid of Sherwood

by Shanti Krishnamurty

  Marian hurried to keep up with Mother’s pace. “Why did not you tell me about her?”

  Mother laughed. “When, exactly, Marian, would you have listened to me about anything? While I was busily acting like a featherbrained idiot, or when you where spending all your free time in the forest?”

  “Father could have told me.”

  “He did,” Mother’s voice was mild. “He gave you the ballads. Did not you read them?”

  Marian flushed. “I read some of them, but did not have time to finish them before we left,” she said.

  Mother nodded. “I understand, but you really should read them. Soon.”

  “I will.” Marian promised.

  They walked in silence until they reached the gardens.

  “Why does she prefer the outdoors?” Marian asked.

  “She is…who she is. Her power has always been in growth and greenery.” Mother said. “I just hope she can help us.”

  “Help you with what, Lady Beatrix?” Nyneve startled them, stepping out of the brush as they walked by.

  “We find ourselves with a very unique problem,” Mother said, continuing to walk. Nyneve fell in beside Marian.

  “If I remember correctly, you are more than capable of solving unique problems. I am not sure why you are coming to me.”

  Mother stopped in her tracks and turned to face the old woman. “Because you are The Lady of the Lake,” she said bluntly.

  “I have not been called that in hundreds of years,” Nyneve returned. “But what is this problem of yours? Maybe I can offer some advice, if nothing else.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Mother said. “But it is not my story to tell. It is Marian’s.”

  “Let us have a seat, shall we?” Nyneve turned off the path and seated herself on a marble bench. “Now what did you have to tell me, children?”

  Marian smothered a laugh at the idea of both her and Mother being called ‘children’, but she obeyed Nyneve’s direction and took a seat next to the other woman. Mother sat down on the other side.

  “I found someone in the dungeons who I want to get out,” Marian said.

  “You mean Dulcina Scarlett?” Nyeneve asked calmly.

  “You—you know about her?” Marian gasped. “Why have you not done something?”

  “And what would you have me do? Tell Prince John? Are you so sure he does not already know?”

  “What game are you playing at?” Mother demanded. “Why would you leave her down there to be tortured by the sheriff? What kind of a monster are you?”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Marian glanced up at the sky; it was clear and blue.

  “What history knows of me,” Nyneve said, “is a drop compared to everything I am. Never make the mistake of believing differently, Beatrix.”

  Mother glared back at her. “That woman in the dungeons is my friend, Nyneve. Do you even remember what friendship is?”

  Nyneve sighed. “I cannot release her. The sheriff’s feelings for her are…complex... and he would never stop searching for her if she escaped him.” She shook her head. “There are certain factors in play that will help facilitate her release. In time.”

  “So what am I supposed to do now? Just forget I saw her?” Marian questioned, one hand curling a lock of her hair over and over.

  “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do. I know it will not be easy, Marian, but it is the way it has to be. The ghosts will keep her company, and she them.” She held up one hand to forestall Mother’s statement. “Yes, Beatrix, I know what I am doing.”

  The Lady’s voice was calm but Marian glanced skyward again and watched a lightning bolt arc out of the clear blue sky, sizzling down past the castle battlements.

  Marian’s jaw clenched. “She was branded, Lady Nyneve.”

  “She will heal.” Nyneve said. She dusted off her impeccable white gown and rose to her feet. “This conversation is over.”

  “That…was not very helpful,” Marian said, watching her walk away.

  “On the contrary,” Mother replied. “It was quite the opposite.”

  Marian narrowed her eyes. “How do you mean? She will not help us.”

  “We have someone else we need to contact.” Mother rose. “Have you learned of the secret passageways yet?”

  “Which passageways do you mean? The one at the back of the chapel or the one in the maze garden?”

  “The garden would be easier,” Mother said. “Come on, it is time to see Robin.”

  “What does he have to do with any of this?”

  “We need him to kill the sheriff.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four:

  “Kill the sheriff? What are you talking about?” Marian scurried after Mother.

  “It is the only way to free Dulcina and keep the throne free for Richard’s return.” Mother explained.

  “But—King Richard is in the Holy Land.” She glanced at Mother’s stern face as she hurried alongside her.

  “I have heard rumors that tell me differently,” she said. “I have no way of finding out how true they are, but even the possibility of their accuracy frightens me.”

  “What rumors? What are you talking about?”

  “Austria,” Mother said. “The last rumor I heard was that Richard had left the Holy Land and was taken prisoner while crossing Austria. If that is true, then I fear for his safety. Duke Leopold is not easily forgiving of insults, and I am afraid Richard has a volatile temper.”

  “I am not sure what that has to do with Robin,” Marian said.

  “Were you not listening? Pay closer attention. This is important, probably the most important thing which will happen in your entire life. We need to ensure the safety of the throne.”

  “Will the prince not notice when we kill his closest friend?”

  “Of course he shall notice,” Mother walked into the maze garden, the yew trees cool and inviting. “But the thing you do not understand about Prince John is this: he is ineffective at best. The sheriff is the true power behind the throne, Marian. Their relationship is like that of a chicken with its head. It functions well enough with it; eats, breeds, etc. But once the head is gone, all it does is run around the barnyard, waiting to fall.”

  It did not take long to reach the honeysuckle curtain guarding the entrance to the passageway.

  “Watch your footing.” Marian stepped down into the passageway. Mother dropped it behind her, enclosing them both in a blackness so complete Marian was sure she could see shapes where none existed.

  “Did you ever use this in your days as a spy?” Marian’s question was hushed.

  “On occasion it was necessary.” Mother replied.

  Then came the unmistakable sound of flint striking stone. Mother suddenly appeared in front of her, holding a wildly sputtering torch in one hand.

  “Where did you get that?” Marian asked.

  “You would be surprised,” Mother said, “at the number of items that can be hidden in a gown. I do not know how long the torchlight will last, so we had better hurry.” She hastened up the passageway, the torch held in front of her like a beacon of hope.

  Marian rushed after Mother. The hard packed dirt below her feet seemed to go on forever.

  “How much further until we reach the end?” In the bobbing light, Marian could see nothing but Mother’s dimly lit figure ahead of her.

  “It is a long passage,” Mother said.

  “Surely it must end sometime!” Marian protested, the stitch in her side growing worse.

  “It will when we reach Sherwood Forest,” Mother answered.

  Marian turned her head to look back down the hall. “Do you think—oof!”

  “If you had not turned your head, you would have seen the door,” Mother’s voice was mild.

  Marian rubbed her left cheekbone. “Ouch.”

  “Indeed,” Mother said. She gently moved Marian out of the way. “Let me open the door first.”

  She placed her shoulder against the dirt encrusted door and pushed hard. It creak
ed open, the cobwebs in the corners tearing free and hanging to brush against her face as she stepped outside the narrow corridor.

  Marian followed, breathing in the scent of damp leaves and letting it out slowly. She was home. “I missed this.”

  Mother nodded knowingly. “I understand. I always loved the way the forest smelled. I hated having to play the role I did for a lot of reasons, the least of which meant having to stay away from Sherwood.” She smiled at Marian’s astonishment.

  “You both should visit the heart of the forest,” Nyneve said. She floated over the grass to where Marian and Mother stood, her feet barely touching the ground.

  “How—how did you get here so quickly?” Marian asked.

  Nyneve winked. “This is my domain. Besides, it would take me a hundred years plus a hundred more to tell you all my secrets, and we do not have that kind of time. Beatrix, I am glad you understood my message.”

  “The implications were rather clear,” Mother said sharply. “I am not a complete idiot.”

  Nyneve barked out a laugh. “I know exactly who the du Luc women are, and ‘idiot’ is not the word I would use for any of them. I do hope Robin is listening.” Raising her head, she pursed her lips and whistled; three long notes and two short ones. “It should not take long, now.”

  It did not.

  Robin was the first to arrive. He bowed elaborately to Nyneve. “You summoned me?”

  The Lady’s voice was solemn. “I did, Robin of Locksley. I have a task for you, and only you can accomplish it.”

  “Anything for you, Lady.” Robin’s tone was equally solemn. For an instant. He grinned. “But I claim a kiss as forfeit.”

  “You are cheeky, and some day that shall get you into trouble,” Nyneve scolded, but her granite colored eyes twinkled.

  “Well, luckily for me, you need my help,” Robin teased the old woman.

  “Are you going to say hello to your betrothed?” She laughed when Marian flushed red.

  “I have not—” Robin started, but she shook her head.

  “Do not bother denying it, Lord Locksley. You have had your heart set on her since she nearly bested you with Excalibur.”

  It was Mother’s turn to gasp. “You dueled Robin with Excalibur?”

  “You never told me what the blade was!” Marian snapped. “How was I supposed to know?”

  “She has a point,” Nyneve said. “You can hardly blame her for using the blade you gave her.”

  “I am not blaming her,” Mother defended.

  “Hmph.” Nyneve replied. “Regardless, now is neither the time nor the place for such discussions. Robin, we need you to kill the sheriff.”

  Robin’s eyebrows crawled into his hairline. “You mean The Sheriff of Nottingham?”

  “No, The Sheriff of London,” the Lady replied. “Of course we mean the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  “But…why now?” Robin glanced at Marian, his jaw clenching at the sight of the bruise on her cheek. “Did he do that to you?”

  Marian flushed red again. “No,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I did it to myself.”

  A smile began to quirk the edges of Robin’s mouth. “I assume that is a story you will share with me later?”

  “I highly doubt it,” Marian returned.

  “While all this is utterly fascinating,” Nyneve said, “it does not solve our problem. Now, will you do it?”

  “I did not realize it was a request, but since you asked so kindly…” He winked.

  “Damnit, Robin, this is serious!” Mother ground out.

  “I am fully aware how serious this is. After all, it is not your head with a price on it.” Robin said calmly. “If I choose to have a bit of fun while contemplating my next course of action, that has nothing to do with you.”

  “Children, arguing will gain us nothing. Beatrix, I need you to give me Excalibur.” Nyneve said.

  “It is Marian’s sword now,” Mother said.

  “And yet it is still hidden in a chest in your rooms. I will expect you, and it, in my rooms no later than this evening.” The old woman turned to Robin. “You and I need to speak privately.”

  Robin bowed his head. “Can I have a word with Marian first?”

  “You can have two.” Nyneve said. She turned to Mother. “Come, Beatrix, let us allow them their privacy.” Mother refused to move and Nyneve continued. “Either you trust them or you do not.”

  Mother sighed, but followed the Lady.

  Marian stared at Robin through the dappled sunlight, the open door of the Sherwood passageway at her back. “Are you really going to murder the sheriff?” Her voice was low.

  “It was not my first choice, but I trust Nyneve’s judgment. If she thinks it is necessary, then yes. I will.”

  Marian swallowed hard. “He is an evil man,” she whispered. “But…murder?”

  “Tuck tells me the ghosts like you. Did they tell you it was the sheriff who actually placed the nooses around their necks and pulled them tight?”

  She shook her head.

  “He has a great deal to answer for, Marian.” Robin smiled somewhat grimly. “But I do not want to talk to you about that now. I have missed you. Have you been well?”

  “Considering where I am, yes. But I miss the forest,” she sighed. “The gardens are lovely, but walking in them is not the same. It is an artificial loveliness.”

  “You will be home soon enough,” Robin promised, touching her bruised cheek gently. “We will be together sooner than you think.”

  “Marian, it is time for you to return with your mother.” Nyneve interrupted them. “I am sorry I cannot give you longer together, but we have much to accomplish and not a lot of time.”

  Marian smiled at Robin. “I trust you,” she said.

  He pressed a kiss against her palm and folded her hand over it. “Be safe.”

  “Good grief,” Nyneve grabbed Robin’s hand and hauled him through the trees, leaving Marian and Mother alone in the small clearing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five:

  “What now?” Marian turned to Mother.

  “Now we go back to the castle before we are missed,” Mother said.

  “And do what? Pretend we have not been planning anything? I do not think I can do that.”

  Mother placed one hand on each of Marian’s cheeks, cradling her head. “Listen to me carefully, Marian. You have no other choice. If you do not play your part, and play it well, we will all be hanged as traitors.” She softened her voice. “I have lived this for years, Mari. You will be fine as long as you remember to breathe. Now, are you ready?”

  Marian took a deep breath and released it before nodding. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good girl.” Mother walked toward the passageway back to the castle. “I am proud of you, Mari.”

  “I—you are?”

  “Yes, of course.” She bent down, picked up the torch and cradled it under her arm as she struck flint to stone. Once the torch was lit, she continued. “My greatest fear has been of you turning out like one of those ladies you have met at court. And yes, I see the irony, considering you thought me one of them for years. But I could not tell you about working with Robin. I needed you to find out for yourself.”

  Marian nodded, following the bobbing light in front of her. “I wish you could have told me, but I understand why you did not.”

  Mother stopped suddenly. “Wait here, Mari. And be very quiet. Someone is outside.”

  The curtain parted unexpectedly.

  “Lady Beatrix, thank God I found you!” Friar Tuck said. “The prince has guards combing the grounds, searching for you. You are to meet him in the throne room at once. You, and Lady Marian, of course.”

  “He wants us? But why?” Marian followed Mother into the maze.

  “The prince would not lower himself to tell me,” Tuck said, “even if I had an audience with him, which I did not. One of the guards thought I may know where Marian went, since she is known to spend quite a bit of time in the chapel.”

  “I
f Prince John wishes to see us, then we must go immediately,” Mother stated calmly. “Whatever he has to say, he is our prince and we owe him our allegiance.”

  The woman who had spoken so frankly to Marian in the passageway and the forest was gone under a layer of court veneer.

  “Will—will the sheriff be there?” Marian asked.

  “Naturally, he is the prince’s right hand man.” Tuck escorted them through the maze and into the gardens, where they were met by three of the prince’s personal guards.

  “Lady Beatrix, Lady Marian, Prince John awaits your presence in the throne room. He sent us to ensure you arrive there in a timely manner.”

  Mother straightened her shoulders, and Marian followed suit. “We are honored to have you escort us.”

  The guards bowed their heads briefly. “If you are quite ready…”

  “Yes, of course.”

  A light drizzle began to fall as they crossed the cobblestones to the castle. Marian could not help it; she glanced upward at the sky. Gray clouds stared back at her and she smiled. Unlike the thunder and lightning of earlier, this rain was natural.

  The throne room was the biggest room Marian had ever seen. Tapestries of every hue hung on three of the four walls. The wall behind the throne itself was festooned with weapons; ancient swords, battleaxes and shields of every size. Prince John leaned back on the massive throne, looking like nothing more than a boy playing with his father’s toys.

  Father sat on multi-colored velvet cushions at the prince’s feet, strumming idly on his lute.

  “We are glad you could join us,” Prince John said, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Lady Marian, I fear we shall have to postpone our duel. We have other concerns we must occupy ourselves with.”

  Mother and Marian sank into deep curtsies. “Your Highness,” Mother murmured.

  “We have been considering ways in which the du Luc House can best serve the throne,” the prince said. “And we have come up with a solution we are well pleased with.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness?” Mother prompted.