Robin Talks and Listens
“Sorry.” I wiped my tear-stained face on my sleeve. “Grown men aren’t supposed to cry.”
“I have seen lots of men crying, including my father,” Jasmina said, in that matter-of-fact, uninhibited way that children have of speaking. “Or did you forget that I was in Acre, too? I don’t see why men shouldn’t cry if they are hurt or upset about something. Much is always crying.”
“That’s true,” I said, summoning up a small smile. “And when he’s not crying, he’s hungry or complaining; sometimes all three at once.”
Jasmina grinned, little dimples blooming on her dusky cheeks.
“He is truly a funny fellow, but I like him. Nearly as much as I like you, Robin.”
I got to my feet, my legs aching after kneeling on the hard floor of the grain store.
“I know that man.”
“What man?” Jasmina asked.
“Marian’s husband. His name is Guy. I knew him as a boy. We both lived in Locksley for a while.”
“Is that why you were crying? Because your lady love married your best friend?”
I snorted, unable to contain my scorn. “Guy was never my best friend. We played together because our families encouraged us to spend time with each other. In truth, we mostly argued; sometimes we even came to blows. Guy was ill-natured and had a violent temper, cruel, too. He used to pull the wings off flies and the legs off spiders so he could watch the poor things suffer.”
Jasmina pushed out her lower lip and then said, “That is a horrible thing to do.”
A ripple of guilt ran through me as I recalled some of the less than kind things I said and did to Guy.
“It was,” I agreed. “But he was a child and I don’t think we should judge him on such childish misdeeds. The truth is—” I shook my head as if to shake away my thoughts. I didn’t want to dwell on my boyhood in Locksley.
“What is the truth?” Jasmina asked, staring up at me with those inquisitive brown eyes of hers.
I thought of Much, voicing his woes, both large and small. Although he never said so, I gained the impression that he always felt better for having disclosed what was on his mind or in his heart; not that I paid him much attention, I guiltily realised.
Patting a large sack of grain, I bade Jasmina to sit next to me; I thought it would be easier to confide in her if she were not looking directly at me.
“I’m going to tell you a few things about me. And about Guy.” I took a deep breath and then exhaled, slowly, uncertain where to start.
Jasmina fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy sack of grain. Her legs dangled. I noticed a dusting of spilled flour on her worn leather shoes. It reminded me of a patch of powdery earth by my mother’s grave, the grass worn away by my constant visits.
“I know what it’s like to lose your mother at a young age,” I began, “because I lost my mother when I was only ten summers old.”
Jasmina went very still, doubtless recalling the loss of her parents. I was sorry I had mentioned my mother’s passing, but I had said it now, so I carried on.
“After she died, I wasn’t very nice to Guy. I wasn’t very nice to anyone. I guess I just wanted to take out my anger on someone. With no brothers or sisters to torment, I took it out on Guy. I was always teasing him and I used to blame him for mistakes that I made.”
I recalled the Catherine wheel in Locksley and the arrow I shot, the one I grabbed from Guy’s hand, which was instrumental in bringing the huge wooden structure down, nearly killing Swain. Guy got the blame because it was his black-fletched arrow that hit the wheel. He protested his innocence and I mine. My lie shames me to this day.
Jasmina laid her child’s hand over my adult one in a gesture of understanding.
“I think,” she said, “you were most unhappy after your mother died; that is why you were mean to this Guy. Maybe he, too, was unhappy. Perhaps that is why he was ill-natured and hurt those poor flies and spiders. Were his parents cruel to him?”
“No. His mother was a lovely lady. And his father was away from home, fighting in the Holy Land.”
“Perhaps then he missed his father the way you missed your mother? Perhaps that is why he was so disagreeable.”
I turned to Jasmina. “You know, you have an old head on young shoulders.”
She frowned in puzzlement.
“It means you think and talk like an older person who has had more experience of life,” I explained.
“So,” Jasmina said, crinkling her nose the way she did when she was thinking hard about something. “You were both mean to each other as children. But you are not mean now you are a grown up. So maybe Guy is also not mean any more. Surely your lady love would not have married him if he were a monster.”
“I guess not. Unless she had no choice in the matter.”
I wondered again about Edward. He’d always struck me as a kindly, fair-minded man, yet he had turned us away from Knighton as though we were about to bring the plague into his home. Might he also then have agreed to a marriage for his daughter that was not of Marian’s choosing? What had he said?
“I will have nothing to do with anyone who might oppose the new sheriff’s authority.”
Had Marian opposed the new sheriff? She had always been an outspoken girl, full of opinions and not afraid to express them to anyone who would listen, even those of high rank. Perhaps she had become too much for Edward to handle and he had off-loaded her on someone he felt might keep her in check. Then I recalled Marian’s smile and her kissing Guy on the cheek and wondered if I was making something out of nothing.
“You are right,” I said, acknowledging Jasmina’s words. “I cannot imagine Marian willingly marrying anyone she disliked. I think she would sooner don men’s clothing and run away to sea.”
Jasmina turned away from me, looking towards the open doorway.
“The market is closing. Should we not go look for Much now?”
I nodded and, holding hands, we left the grain store and headed back to the marketplace.
~
We couldn’t find Much anywhere.
“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” Jasmina said brightly. “He is a grown up, after all, and can look after himself. You don’t need to follow him everywhere he goes.”
She glanced around the market. Most of the stalls had been cleared of their remaining goods and packed away.
“What shall we do now?”
“I want to go to Locksley,” I replied.
“But we already went there. And you have seen your lady, which is why you came back here in the first place, is it not?”
“I came here to find out what had become of Marian; that is true. But I still do not know whether she is happy or not.”
Jasmina frowned. “You are being silly. If she is happy then I think you will still be sad because she will be happy with a boy you used to fight with and did not like. And if she is unhappy, then you will be even sadder, and I think it will be too much for me to have both you and Much crying all the time.”
I poked her in the arm. “If Saladin is half as smart as you then King Richard might as well surrender now.”
She was right, of course. If Marian was not happy in her marriage, then what? I could hardly unmarry her from Guy.
“I’m still going to Locksley,” I said.
Jasmina rolled her eyes the way she’d seen Much do.
“But first,” I told her, “I want to find out about this new sheriff. There was a sense of fear in that marketplace; I felt it.”
“We are not in Acre now,” Jasmina pointed out.
“Also,” I continued, ignoring her remark, “did you see the way everyone cowered when Guy got near to them, as though they expected him to lash out at them?”
“Well, you did say he had a temper.”
“He also works for this new sheriff,” I reminded her.
“So, what will you do? Go to the castle, yes?”
I shook my head. “No. If you want to find out what’s going on in Nottingham then the Trip Inn is the place to go.”
~
I told Jasmina that the inn was no place for a young girl and she was to wait outside. She pushed out her lip in annoyance as I handed her my bow and quiver. I went to unsheathe my scimitar and then remembered that I no longer wore it, that I had left it behind, in Acre.
“I will not be long,” I promised.
The Trip was packed, but I managed to find some standing room in a shadowy alcove near to the bar. From there I could observe the whole room. I recognised a few of the drinkers and serving girls, but most were strangers to me, a reminder of how long I had been away from home.
I did not have to wait long before I learned about Edward’s replacement – Sheriff Vaisey.
As I listened to tales of woe from butcher to baker to ploughman, it quickly became obvious that Vaisey cared nothing for the populace and everything about getting his hands on their money in the form of taxes. Those taxes, I learned from the loudmouthed tavern keeper, most probably made their way into the sheriff’s own pocket or the coffers of Prince John, who seemed intent on stealing the throne while his brother King Richard fought to reclaim Jerusalem for Christendom.
I heard talk of tongues being cut out, of threat and intimidation, of children being used as bargaining tools to ensure the compliance of their parents. Worse, I heard that Marian’s husband, Guy, carried out much of this at the behest of the sheriff. I wondered if Marian knew and, if she did, why she would choose to ignore it. Then I wondered if his threats also extended to her and I could barely breathe for the thought.
Glancing towards the unshuttered window at the front of the inn, I saw Jasmina duck down. She had been spying on me.
Moments later, she darted into the tavern, weaving between the laughing, arguing, dice-playing, beer-swilling men and women.
“Father,” she said, pulling on my arm. “It’s time to leave.”
She was right. I had heard enough and far more than I wanted to.
I came to my feet and followed her as she wove her way back through drinkers and tables and chairs. Though I was tempted to try to steal a goblet of ale on my way out, I resisted. I had enough worries without adding thief to the list.
“Jasmina,” I chided as we hurried away. “You should not have said that. I am not your father.”
“It was, how you say, a joke. That is the right word, joke, yes? Sometimes you act as if you are my father – Jasmina don’t do this, Jasmina don’t do that. Besides,” she added, “no one heard me.”
“I did,” I said.
“You always hear me because you listen,” she said. “It’s just other grown-ups who do not.”
Will you hear me, Marian, I wondered. Will you listen to what I have to say when I tell you about your husband’s cruel practices, or will you block your ears, push me away?
There was only one way to find out.