Previously...
"Where's Rowena?" I ask.
"She said she had something to do and went off," Allan says. "Look, not being funny, but Prince John is hardly going to leave it at that, is he?"
"No," I say. "He sent those men to fetch Rowena yesterday; I'm certain of that. But it won't be long before he learns we're back, and when he does, he'll send more men than he did yesterday. Vaisey always wanted to make a showpiece of our deaths, but I doubt John wants anything more than to get us out of the way and quickly. We need to make a plan."
John, Much and Allan nod their heads and wait for me to speak further.
"We need to find out what's going on in Nottingham, but we need to do it from a safe distance. Definitely not here."
"The camp," John says.
I nod. Slipping my hand inside my shirt, I clutch Marian's ring. I will bury it in Sherwood Forest, beneath the Kissing Tree.
Chapter 23
Rowena is loosing arrows at the sapling we embedded our arrows in yesterday morning. She is lost in the discipline and doesn't see me watching her. My God, I think, was it really only yesterday? It feels like a lifetime ago.
As I watch her, my thoughts turn to Sherwood and my decision to move back to the camp. Even though the camp is weatherproof, it is hard living in a forest in cold weather. Although the days are still mild, the leaves are starting to brown and fall. Winter is on its way. However, I see no other option. Prince John will not delay in sending men to hunt us down. We will be safe in the camp and can make plans. Of course, that also means leaving my people and I have no doubt they will be made to suffer because of what we did yesterday. Prince John is unlikely to take the death of his knights as lightly as Vaisey used to take the death of his inept guards.
Yesterday. A day of anger and bloodshed. A day of agonised longing and clouded reason. In the world playing out in front of me now — women hanging washing, men working the earth, children playing — I can hardly believe yesterday happened.
Much had told it true. John and Allan have cleared away all traces of the dead knights, including their dropped weapons. Even the dead horses are gone now. I wonder about the knight who drowned and suspect he remains at the bottom of the pond. I think of my swimming race long ago with Guy and hope to God today's children of Locksley stay out of the pond, at least until the body has rotted away.
The only signs of the fight are the numerous hoof and boot prints on the ground and traces of blood. The autumn rains will soon wash those away. And, like the rains, I will wash away all thoughts of the men I killed, let them pool in the farthest reaches of my mind, just as I did the atrocities I saw and did in Acre. What will be harder to ignore is what occurred in my bedchamber, especially with Rowena close at hand.
"Grief can do terrible things to a person," my father once told me. It was not long after my mother's untimely death. At the time, I thought he meant that that was why he was so often angry with me, why he lashed out. However, since learning about my father's illicit romance with Guy's mother, Ghislaine, I think perhaps I misunderstood.
Terrible things, I think. But not this, surely not this.
I flick my eyes back to Rowena, still happily loosing arrows. I was not her first, I am sure of it, but she still trembled beneath me like a maiden. And I do not think it was out of desire.
Rowena said she wanted me, but I believe it was the idea of bedding Nottingham's hero rather than my flesh that she craved. She is a young girl, without a home, her only living relative having deserted her. What better way of securing her future than to win the heart, and therefore the hearth, of the Lord of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon. If she had known my true purpose, my sinful thoughts as I slid into her, I'm sure she would have run back to the castle and Prince John as though fleeing the very devil himself. No wonder Marian has forsaken me. If, from her place on high, she can read my mind, she must surely know how far from grace I have fallen.
We had coupled only a handful of times, Marian and I. Despite her bold and spirited nature, when it came to lovemaking, she was reserved and shy, not the fervent creature I thought I would find. But given time...
As Rowena walks to retrieve her spent arrows, I dodge into a nearby barn so she will not see me. I have no desire to talk to her or anyone else right now.
The barn is deep and dark, enough to hide a multitude of sins, even the one I'd been contemplating before my thoughts of Marian had rendered it impossible.
~
"Robin? Are you there?"
I might have known Much would seek me out. He hates not knowing where I am.
"Yes, I'm here." I step into the middle of the barn where he can better see me.
He gives a nervous cough, something he often does when he's anxious or when he thinks he is about to say the wrong thing. "Why are you hiding in here?"
"I wasn't hiding. I just came in here to think for a bit."
"Oh...right...fine. Only, I thought we were going...you know...to Sherwood."
"We are. We will. Soon. I just need to speak to my peasants first and then we will go."
"Well, you won't find them in here," Much says.
"No, I know."
Much bends down and picks up a piece of straw, rolls it between his hands. "Er...I just wanted to say..."
"To say what?" I ask.
Much drops the straw, looks me in the eye. "This."
I wait. Much drops his gaze.
"Tell me," I say. "I won't get angry with you, I promise."
Much squares his shoulders, straightens his already straight skullcap. "I know her death is eating away at you and I know there's nothing I can do to change that and I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I just want you to know that I'm here, that I'll always be here, if you ever want to...you know...talk."
"Thank you, my friend. I'll try to remember that."
"Right...well, I'll go pack then, shall I?"
"Yes," I say. "You go pack. I'll be along shortly."
Poor Much. After yesterday's fight, I can just imagine how anxious he must be to leave Locksley.
He turns and strides out the barn. I am alone again with nothing but my wretched thoughts to keep me company. I have to end this. Someone will have information on Guy's whereabouts. He, almost as much as the late sheriff, is too notorious to escape recognition, especially if he insists on wearing his black leathers. With no home or family, other than a sister I am sure he would prefer never to see again such did she tease and torment him as a child, I feel certain he will try to seek out Prince John in order to secure his future. And Prince John is here, in Nottingham. I will find Guy. And when I do, I will either kiss him or kill him. Either way, I have to put an end to this shameful longing.
Feeling better for having made a decision, I step outside, into the bright sunlight. If only all of life were as easy as that.
~
Rowena doesn't need to practise. She's a fine archer. Nearly as good as me.
Come on, Robin, I tell myself, just look at her. How can you possibly contemplate lying with a man and Gisborne at that when you have this gift staring you in the face?
Despite my misnaming her in my sleep and her saying that we cannot walk out with each other, I'm certain that with enough cajoling I can win her. With her as my wife, in my bed, bearing my children, I'm confident that, in time, I will forget Guy. He will become nothing more than an abhorrent desire borne out of grief, soon overcome by the love of a good woman.
Forget finding him, I think. Pray instead that he never crosses my path again.
"Rowena?"
Startled, she whirls around, arrow nocked and aimed at my chest. "Robin. Don't creep up on me when I have a bow in my hand. I could have killed you."
"Sorry. Are you well enough to ride?"
"Of course. Your arrow no more than scratched my arm and the cut to my side was similarly nothing more than a scratch. I'm fine. But why should I be riding?"
"Because we, and you, have to leave Locksley. As soon as John finds out we're here, he will be back, and with more men than he sent yesterday."
"But this is my home," she says.
"I think you'll find it's mine," I say, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Oh, yes, of course."
"And we will come back here. I promise. But, for now, we have to stay out of sight until we can work out a way of fixing things in Nottingham. The forest is no place for a woman, but it is better than ending up in the castle dungeons, or worse."
"Do I have time to collect some things?" she asks.
"Bring only what you need," I tell her.
Rowena nods, shoulders her bow and heads towards the manor house.
~
While the gang are busy collecting provisions, I decide to make good on my earlier promise and visit my peasants. I need to let them know that although we are leaving we are not abandoning them and that if John should threaten or harm them in any way we will come running.
I had expected smiles and whoops of joy at my return. Instead, the villagers greet me with lowered eyes or hard stares. My people have had it tough for a long time — first with Vaisey and now Prince John — and their loyalty to me will only stretch so far. They have families to feed and houses and livestock to protect and already, in the space of one day, I have brought trouble to Locksley.
I notice Rowena, a pack slung over her shoulder, making her long-legged way over to Thomas Cartwright, a simpleton who has lived in Locksley for as long as I can remember, relying on the kindness of others for his daily bread. She says something to him and he gives her a toothless grin. Whatever Rowena was to these people, it was good, and I am about to take her away because she is one of us now and in more danger than she was before.
I make my way over to them. Thomas transfers his grin to me and waggles a finger at my bow.
"All right, Thomas," I say, giving him a broad smile. Nocking an arrow, I wait for him to point. "The bucket," I ask, "standing on the side of the well?"
Thomas nods.
"How many shall I use, Thomas?"
Thomas puts up three fingers. I nock a further two arrows, aim and loose. The arrows thud into the bucket; one, two, three in a row. Thomas claps and does a little jig.
"It'll leak now," Rowena says.
I shrug. "It could be worse. Last time, Thomas pointed at Much."
Rowena laughs and Thomas laughs too, though I'm sure he doesn't know what he's laughing at.
"I will miss being here," Rowena says as we head back to the house.
"And they will miss you being here," I say. "But it has to be this way, surely you can see that."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"What you did here was wonderful," I tell her. "You gave them hope when they needed it."
"I didn't do much," she says. "Not really. The thing with the bow was mostly showing off, although I guess it kept the flame of Robin Hood alive and that is what they needed. More than anything, they wanted to believe you would return to them."
"And now I am leaving them."
"It's not your fault," she says, taking hold of my hand.
"Aww, now that's whats I like to see."
"Nessa." I tug my hand from Rowena's considerable grip. "I didn't see you there."
"I don't see how not. I'm as big as a house." She runs her hands over the swell of her belly. "Now don't you be looking at me like that, Master Robin. And before you go saying anything, just you remember: my dear husband never could count."
"How soon?" I ask.
"A few weeks yet, thank the Lord."
"And how many will that make?"
"Seven." She turns to Rowena. "Want one do you, dearie? I've more than I can handle."
Rowena shakes her head. "Not right now, thank you, no."
"Eh, you're young," Nessa says. "There's time enough."
"I should go do things," Rowena says, striding away.
Nessa regards her for a moment, then looks at me. "Reminds me of the Lady Marian that lass does. I always thought you and she might marry, but folks say she went off with that Gisborne fellow. Can hardly believe it myself, but then again she'd not be the first to have her head turned by a good-looking man who insists on giving pretty gifts."
They have to know eventually. It might as well be now.
"Marian didn't go with Gisborne. Sheriff Vaisey imprisoned her and then took her with him to the Holy Land. He was going to kill the king."
"All the saints preserve us!" Nessa places her reddened, fat-fingered hands protectively over her unborn child.
"My gang and I followed them out there. Marian died defending King Richard. Vaisey drowned in a shipwreck on the way back to England."
"Oh, lad, I'm so sorry. Not about the sheriff. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. But that lovely lady. That fair breaks my heart. Yours too by the looks of it. Come on." She grabs my arm. "Come to me house and I'll get you some of me fruit bread. You always used to love it and you look as if you could do with a bit of eating."
The gang are waiting for me to join them so we can go to the forest. Even so, I let Nessa lead me to her cramped cottage.
"Here, Master Robin. Sit you down. I'll be but a moment."
I look around the main room, where most everything goes on apart from sleeping, and probably even that. It hasn't changed. There are clothes everywhere; clothes that Nessa washes and clothes that she sews for her family and for others. And little bunches of dried lavender in pots scattered about the room. She used to buy it from a pedlar that visited Locksley every so often and I guess still does. Whenever I come across the aromatic plant, I always think of Nessa and this house, where I escaped to in my darker moments: after my mother died and after my father chastised me for some wrongdoing. And later, when I was grown up, after Marian cursed my stupidity at choosing to go to fight in a war thousands of miles away, instead of staying here, instead of marrying her.
"Here, love."
Nessa hands me the thickly buttered fruit bread. Before I can take a bite, however, there are children jumping all over me. Children of all ages and states of dress.
"Now, now. Leave Master Robin be. Can't you see he's eating."
As quickly as they had descended, so they scrabble away.
"You can have one or two if you like, Master Robin. I'm fair running out of space here."
One of the younger children, a girl with scruffy blond plaits, is peeking round the doorway, sticking her tongue out at me, while an older sister is pulling her dress to come away. I smile.
Nessa presses a cup of ale into my hand. "That's more like it, lad. Right handsome you are when you smile, even with that scruffy beard covering half your face." She shoos the peeking girls away. "And now I remembers that's why I have 'em." She gives her swollen abdomen a loving caress.
I drink the ale and eat the bread, content to let Nessa chatter on. Gradually, the knot inside my stomach starts to unravel.
"Thank you, Nessa." I hand her the empty cup and plate.
Shouldering my bow, I am about to take my leave when I notice the dress. It's a green dress, hanging on a hook on the wall, doubtless awaiting Nessa's sewing skills. It's hanging alongside several other dresses with fancy brocades and frills, dresses that don't belong to the womenfolk of Locksley.
"Them's for the folks up at the castle," Nessa explains. "For all their fine ways, they don't know one end of a needle from the other 'cepting for their embroidery. And Prince John—" She pauses to give a robust spit. "Prince John he pays good money to keep the ladies looking fine. Not that there's anything wrong with the dresses. It's their waistbands what's need the altering. All the food they eat. Tis scandalous."
A green dress, lacing at the front. Surely it can't be. I go to take a closer look and my breath catches in my throat.
Marian kept many dresses in the castle, maybe more than she kept at Knighton; she would not have known she would never return to reclaim them. Some noble woman had obviously found and taken a fancy to this particular dress and had charged Nessa to alter it in some way.
I press my face into the silky fabric, but all I can smell is lavender. Marian's perfume, just like her whispered words, is gone.
Nessa lightly touches my arm. "Do you want to talk, lad?"
I shake my head, manage to say, "No, I should be going." I stride out of the house without looking back.
Nessa, Rowena, Much — they are all there for me. And I do want to talk. Except of the people I want to talk to most, one no longer lives and the other I had sent away.