Maid Marian (14 page)

I looked at him, watched his eyes close and heard his breathing fall steady and soft. His was the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I pictured my fingers brushing his lips, my mouth feeling the warmth of his skin. Perhaps, I considered, this was why I’d raged so against his former offers of kisses—perhaps I knew I longed for him, and this made me wary to taste the sweetness of the very fruit I so desired. Some strange paradox within my heart warned that if I thought him fine, he would all the sooner be taken from me, for that seemed the spiteful way of the world.

I began to think of my earlier anger with a cringe of remorse. What harm were kisses? I asked myself. Had I no wish to learn more of the world? Did Robin’s sweet smile do nothing to tempt me? Indeed, I was a good deal tempted.

These thoughts left me befuddled. I knew from my studies and from songs of court what relations between men and women were. Despite my tutor’s best attempts, I’d read Apollo’s pursuit of Daphne a dozen times over and had twice acquired poems from the
Ars Amatoria
. But what perplexed me was my own position, for though I’d read of love and conquest, I’d yet to play a part myself. In truth, I’d scarcely known young men enough to discover calf-love and infatuation.

Now I found that parts of my being were growing eager, while others fell reticent, and this made me feel like a handful of chaff, thrown to the mercy of the six directions. My body seemed the furthest advanced, for recently it had formed a will of its own and cared little for my restraints. My mind, so tempered by romance and fantasy, brimmed to spilling with curiosity. But too, it was my mind that resisted, for it did not know how lovers behaved and feared making some grievous mistake. And my heart, I admit, was most puerile of all, half longing for love from any corner, all the while dreading attachment.

So it was no wonder that I lay confused, wishing to know how to weigh my maidenhood against my raging curiosity. But when, in time, my will grew bold, and I thought I might make some daring attempt, I turned to see that Robin had fallen fast asleep. My chance was lost.

I closed my eyes in the dark and sighed with the weariness of the self-confounded. I knew all too well that by dawn I would have lost my nerve and shrunk to a timid maiden once more. So I fell to sleep half dreaming, thinking of a departing kiss, and Robin’s retreating into shadows.

My sleep was disturbed by livid visions of Lady Pernelle and Lord William, one brandishing an old horn spoon while the other sliced all my gowns to shreds. But when I awoke Robin was there, bending over me to shake me awake, for the day was just dawning and we ought to travel.

Chapter Twelve

W
E STEPPED ONTO THE ROAD
just as the sun was rounding over the eastern hills, pale and lonely and far afield. I was grateful, then, for my new cloak, for the air was brisk as it often is after a rainstorm, and I had to bite my teeth together to stop their knocking.

As we walked, the pendular swing of my own boots brought some fresh truths to my mind. I thought on Robin’s tale of the previous night and, my face damp with early dew, perceived more common threads between our two cloths than I had before. We both had left stable lives behind for the great unknown, had cast our lots recklessly into the black of night, trusting that some good might come from it.

It grieved me now to think on Warwick, to realize that I would never again see its familiar gates, never dine at long tables in its great hall. Nay, that life was lost forever. For not only had I fled the protection of my ward, Lord William, and broken a marriage contract decreed by the queen, but I had also lost all semblance of ladylike attitude. Ladies, at that time, were required to hold their chastity sacred above all other things, for that was the virtue that determined their value as marriage prizes. I had just spent a night alone with an unwed man, and in the crisp judgment of the morning air I saw my worth in the eyes of the king fall as quickly as the temperature the night of a snowstorm.

I could picture for myself the gasp and shock of the royal court if I were ever hauled back to London and this crime were made known. The queen would cast me away from my title, seize my lands, throw me out. And so I came to two conclusions. The first was that I must never be caught by the king’s guards, or I would be forced to endure this infamy. The second was that I must embrace this new life fully and not mourn the loss of the noble one. For if I could, I was determined to be happy in it so I might not live to regret my choice.

Denby, I knew, was lost to me. I did not know what would happen to it or who would be deemed its lady now, but I knew I must be counted as good as dead and therefore would lose everything I owned. This made me think again of Annie, and as panic flooded my ears anew I begged Robin to help me find a man who would ride as far as London and bear my message to Clym o’ the Tower.

Robin listened to all my requests with darting eyes, scanning the road and every face so intently that I thought he might miss what I said. But he heard, comprehended, and before I could finish apologizing for slowing our progress with this request, he had crafted a plan. He would be the one to commission the messenger, for it would look strange for a carpenter’s wife to be hiring a page for London town, especially when a young lady was sought by the soldiers of Warwick.

Accordingly, we turned in at a tavern, I feeling much like an ill-shod mule in my new boots. I was thirsty and grateful for the rest, for Robin’s strides were brisk, and I had trouble keeping his pace even without blisters and rubbing toes. While I drank a pint of fresh-brewed ale, Robin inspected the tavern faces, looking for the man he would approach. And while I was flexing my hot toes, he slipped away for a hushed interview. I, mindful of my part, pretended to watch the tavern wife cooking in her vast iron kettle while I gave my throbbing feet a rest.

In another moment Robin returned, saying that we could make our way, and I followed him through the wood and mud of the tavern yard. Once we were returned to the road, he whispered to me that all was well. The man he had chosen owned a horse and had business of his own in London town. But as he was not expected there yet, he was glad to take Robin’s silver in exchange for a quick visit to the royal court.

Robin told me in a whisper how he had explained that Clym might be a hard man to find, but that he would be known by his good head for ale and his Warwick accent. Our message was simple: that Clym should gather his mistress’s servant and travel with her to the wooded place, Sherwood, where she and her lady had met with the outlaws. For as Robin noted, Annie and Clym would never find their way to the Greenwood tree, but if they traveled the roads of Sherwood one of the merry men would spot and retrieve them.

This task done, I returned again to my idle reflections, gazing about me as we walked. My mood was cheerful, reflecting, and wise—or at least I meant to be wise—but over time I began to tire, and as I did what had before been a mere suspicion blossomed to terrible conviction. Robin, I now saw, clearly intended to walk on foot the entire distance to Sherwood Forest. In all honesty the idea of walking any distance of length had never before occurred to me, and it left me aghast. ’Twas not the lowness of it that bothered me, but my own nervous fear that my legs, little used as they were to exercise, might not be sturdy enough for the distance. Even now my feet’s complaints had infected the morale of my shins and knees, and we had walked two hours at most.

I fretted and frowned, and after a time Robin asked me what the matter was, for I suppose my worry had slowed my step and caused him to glance at my face.

“’Tis nothing, Brian,” I said, careful to use our false names, “only a fear that I may need to rest my legs more often than you care to do. I know we make this journey in haste and that every mile gained is a mile to rejoice over, but I am afraid I may not be up to the task of so long a walk.”

Robin said nothing for a moment, then moved close to my elbow so his words could be quiet. “Perhaps when we have gone a little farther we might find a cart that travels our way and pay the driver to take us along.”

The very notion brought me great relief, and I nodded and thanked him for thinking of it. On we strode through the early air, and soon my mind ceased its selfish thoughts and began to take interest in what happened around me.

As the sun grew higher, the road filled more thickly with travelers, some on foot, some on horseback. We stayed far to our side of the path, out of the way of hooves and cart wheels, but even so there were scores of faces to catch my eye. Nobles on horseback held little interest, for I had seen enough of their ilk to last until my dying day, but the Saxon faces were a varied lot, as broad a menagerie as had filled the Arc. In truth, these men and women were better novelties to my eye than the African parrot I’d once seen in a Westminster viewing garden.

Some wore clothes of neatly dyed homespun; some wore tunics patched with rags. Some carried great bundles of tools and goods; others carried nothing more than their purses. From time to time we saw a beggar, walking farther off the side of the road to avoid the kicks that might come his way from the decent people who traveled past, and these piqued my interest also. They were glum and soiled, smelling afoul and often walking with a reluctant stride. Their clothes were tattered, and they wore no shoes. I wondered how they managed to survive, living as they did with no home, no land to farm, no means of earning pennies for supper.

Women also passed our way, either on their way to farm the furlongs in the village fields or carrying baskets of goods for market. Some brought eggs or hens to sell, honey, ale, or vegetables from her cottage garden. Others went forth with an empty basket to purchase things for her family’s larder that she could not supply herself. I entertained myself for hours searching their faces for beauty or plainness, comparing their looks to Annie’s and her sister’s, noting the similar cut of their gowns to my own suit of homespun wool.

In the fields beyond, the bustle of haymaking occupied the hands and feet of each village. Great tracts of hay land were dotted with workers, men and women, some swinging scythes, others coming behind with rakes to sweep up hillocks of mature grass. In other villages we saw wooden carts piled high with cut hay, lumbering behind tired oxen to haylofts and barns in the lord’s manor. One field we passed was alive with shouting, and Robin explained that the hay work was done there, and they played at the custom of pitchfork raising.

He said the last day of haying the lord’s land habitually ended in a competition. Each man who farmed strips in the village fields could thrust a pitchfork into a haystack and carry off any amount of hay he could keep on the tines without dropping off. ’Twas difficult, Robin explained, for a greedy man might try for too much and lose the whole bundle in the bargain or, worse yet, could snap the handle of the fork and then be laughed at by his neighbors.

Their work seemed merry and I wondered at it, wondered if they thought it so or if it only seemed joyous to me because I had never had a share in it. I knew by now that most common people thought the noble life was all ease and beauty—a notion with which I could not agree. I hated to make the same mistake, to think them happy because they laughed or content because they did not complain. Perhaps we all were in this trap, red with envy over what was different, wearied by the drudgery of our own lives.

Around noontime we stopped to buy bread and cheese, and Robin found a cart heading north in which he was able to purchase two places. That afternoon we made good time, riding easily over wooden wheels, and when we stopped at a roadside inn, Robin declared we should be in Sherwood the day after next if all went well.

A
LL WOMEN,
I believe, love to think of themselves as flower blossoms—bright, fragrant, tenderly perfect. I, however, am a strange female, for if I had ever imagined my soul encased in plant flesh and matter, it was as some thorny vining thing, striving and stretching for more fertile ground.

But in the days I spent with Robin Hood, traipsing the stones of Watling Street, I noticed a change in my green leaves, for they seemed to turn independent faces toward some sun they alone could see. My age-old wariness drained from my branches as easily as a summer rain, and I found, amazed, that my old terrors began to subside. Where before I might have whimpered over where the next day’s sun would shine and what leaves ought to angle where, I felt a new calm, an easy sap, and I dropped my troubles to the ground.

Robin and I traveled in the haze of a gentle camaraderie, both friendly and considerate. On the road we laughed and jested together or heard tales from the other’s world, and still we were mindful of each other’s burdens. I felt I owed him a great deal of gratitude for having come so far, alone, to rescue me on my wedding day, and so I took care to help where I could. If I spied a hole in his carpenter’s garb, I borrowed a needle and mended it. When his bundle of cloaks seemed to grow heavy, I offered to carry it for a time.

He, as well, was courteous to me, lifting me on and off the cart backs, checking each inn’s room to ensure our safety, building a great fire if I seemed cold. We each were appreciative of these small gestures, and so it was natural, I suppose, that what passed on the second day might happen between us.

Robin had lifted his parcel of clothing—the cloaks, my wedding dress, and his Lincoln-green suit—over his head to let it hang across his shoulders, and I stepped forth to straighten the straps since some had twisted. Bits of the boldness of the previous night still lingered in my veins, like the memory of heavy perfume. I suppose it was this that compelled me forward, that made me stretch tall when our heads were near, that impelled the impulsive little kiss I dropped upon his cheek. His skin was cool from the air of the day, and I felt a small shiver pass through my bones when I sniffed his scent of woodsmoke and sunlight.

But the moment I’d gifted this little kiss, my mind filled with panic. I leapt away, stepping aside as quick as a jaybird flees a farmer’s stone. I bit my lip and turned quite red, but when I caught a look at Robin, I saw that he did not blush or simper. Nay, he smiled like a satisfied cock, smirking at my inexperience. This smile burned against my pride, adding shame to my embarrassment, and I had to stare at fields and roadways a good while before I’d recovered my face.

We walked on and said nothing of it, talking only in bits and starts of the weather or the state of the road, since we had now turned off Watling Street and made our way on lesser paths. For my part, I said nothing because, in truth, I knew not what to say. I felt I had gambled my last penny, and indignation rose in my throat to cover the ulcers of my distress.