A Hoboken Hipster in Sherwood Forest

by Mari Mancusi

  One of the ladies in waiting rings a bell, and a few moments later a scrawny, red-headed servant boy appears in the doorway.

  "Fetch the bath," the woman instructs him. "This girl stinks like a pig who has spent its day rolling in mud."

  "Actually I heard pigs are pretty clean—just FYI," I tell her, unable to resist.

  She shoots me a scornful look. Hm. I'm not doing so well on the winning-friends-and-influencing people thing. I wish Kat would call. She'd totally know how to handle these wenches. After all, these fashion-obsessed types are totally her peeps.

  A few moments later two other servants appear, between them carrying a large wooden tub. They set it down in the center of the room. Other servants follow, each with a bucket of steaming hot water, which they pour into the tub. I watch, actually kind of psyched. After all, I haven't had a bath the entire time I've been here. Sure, I've dunked in the lake, but there wasn't any soap and the freezing cold water forced me to limit my soak time.

  The brunette hands me a bar of sweet-smelling soap. Another adds a pinch of crushed flower dust to the water and soon the sweet scent of roses rises with the steam. How lovely.

  The servants bow and exit the room. I look at the tub, then back at the girls. They stand, waiting, expectant. Um...

  "Can I have some privacy?" I ask, trying not to sound as impatient and annoyed as I feel But, come on! I'm so not stripping in front of these girls. You know the first thing they're going to do is start making evil comments about my small chest. Or my not exactly "abs of steel" stomach. And trust me, I'm not ready to relive the locker room days of high school, thank you very much.

  They grumble a bit, but they do retreat to various rooms in the suite. Alone, I strip off my dress and dip a foot into the steaming bath. It's a tad too hot, but at the same time it feels awesome against my skin. I force myself to endure the heat and sink into the water, my insides warming and a sense of contentment washing over me.

  This is more like it! I may miss forest life, but I've also missed a nice hot bath like this. Especially since there's only a shower stall in my tiny apartment back home. I can't even remember the last time I soaked in a real tub. I almost forgot how wonderful it feels.

  I wash all my parts and then just sit for a while, until the water starts cooling and my fingertips get all pruney. Then I rise and gingerly step out of the tub, my head a bit foggy from the heat. As if on cue, a servant steps out from one of the rooms— was she watching the whole time?—and wraps a towel around me. Another appears with a new dress, a bright green gown with embroidered bell sleeves. Very nice. And here I thought I'd have to get back in my filthy one.

  Once I've dressed, the three ladies spill out from their various rooms and gather around me with eager expressions.

  "You have had your bath," the blonde says. "And something suitable to wear. Now deliver us the magic you promised."

  I swallow hard. Showtime. I hope this works.

  I walk over to my bag and pull out my camera. I flip the on switch, and to my relief the device comes to life. I wasn't sure how much battery power I had left.

  "Behold, the magic mirror!" I say, waving it around with as much showmanship as possible. The three women stare at the device, evidently not sure what to make of it. I chuckle. Wait 'til these vain vamps see what it does.

  "Magic mirror?" asks the brunette, cocking her head.

  "Ask no questions now. I will demonstrate its power," I say grandly, channeling David Copperfield. "Who would like to go first?"

  The three girls look at one another with uneasy expressions. Ha! They're scared. My act is working. Finally the redhead timidly steps up.

  "I will," she says, her voice a bit quavery.

  "Very well," I say, giving her a once-over. She's actually very pretty, though a bit pale. I wish I had the La Style makeup artist on call. Or some lights for that matter. But hey, I remind myself, these girls have never seen a digital camera before. I don't need to deliver magazine-quality shots. Still, I do have some professional pride.

  "Now," I instruct, getting into photog mode. "Look at me. Yes, right. Now turn your left hip outward. Good. Hands on your hips. Dip your head a little lower. That's right."

  My subject frowns and glances over at her friends. I realize they're giggling at her expense. She turns back to me, glaring. "What does all of this have to do with a magic mirror?" she demands. "God save you if this is some kind of trick."

  I shake my head. "No, no—no trick. I just want you to look your best. Just stay with me here. Back in position." I adjust a few settings on the camera and hold it up to my eye.

  Click!

  The shutter noise and the bright flash causes the three girls to jump back in shock.

  "What was that light?"

  "Did it come from the mirror?"

  "I think I may be blind!"

  I smile. Wait 'til they see what I've done.

  "Okay, the magic mirror has captured your image in its aura. Now you shall see yourself, caught in its mystical eye." I motion for my model to come over to me. She hesitantly steps forward, her eyes wide and looking more than a bit scared.

  "I see green spots," she says, "dancing in front of my eyes. Did you blind me, witch?"

  "Nah, that goes away in a minute. Don't worry," I assure her. "Do you want to see your picture—er, reflection—or not?"

  I hold out the digital camera, turning it so she can see the LCD screen on the back. She takes it in her hands and stares down at her image. Her eyes widen and suddenly she's squealing in a mix of delight and horror. She throws the camera back at me, as if it were a hot potato, and runs to the other side of the room.

  The other two girls crowd in behind me to see what has frightened their friend so much.

  " ‘Tis her!"

  "Captured in the mirror!"

  "How is it possible?"

  "She looks beautiful!"

  "I want a turn!"

  "No, I am first."

  "No, me!"

  I grin. Mission accomplished. I'm in with the in crowd. Accepted, safe. Bed, bath and beyond.

  Chrissie, one. Medieval fashionistas, zero. If only Kat could see me now!

  Chapter Seventeen

  That night there's to be a banquet in the main hall, celebrating some random saint or another, and I'm to attend as a guest of honor. Which is pretty cool, actually. I mean, obviously I've never been invited to a fancy party held in a medieval castle before. (No, Jen's second grade birthday party at Medieval Times does not count.) If I'm going to experience 12th-century life, I might as well experience it to the fullest. And since I've already done the sleeping on the stone-cold ground as an outlaw in the forest thing, I think it's about time to see how the other half lives.

  At least, this is what my Pollyanna inner voice tries to convince me. The devil on my shoulder is a lot less interested in the whole deal. Truth be told, I miss Sherwood Forest. I miss the Merry Men....

  Ah, who am I trying to fool here? I miss Robin. Plain and simple. And I can't help obsessing over what's going on with him and Marion. Are they tucked away in his tent this very moment, making up for lost time with some wild and crazy sex? Or are they cuddling in one another's arms, vowing eternal devotion? Does Robin think of me at all as he traces her soft, white cheek with his callused finger? Does he wonder where I went? Does he even notice I'm gone?

  Did I do the right thing? Should I have stayed, fought for Robin? No. If you love someone, you have to let them go. Everyone who's seen Indecent Proposal knows that.

  If Robin comes back to me, he'll be mine forever.

  Yeah, right. I'm so not holding my breath for that one.

  "Princess Christine," Susan, the blonde, says, coming into the sitting room. "We must get you dressed."

  Heh. Princess Christine. I kind of like the sound of that.

  I push all outlaw thoughts from my brain and follow Susan into one of the bedrooms. She presents me with a gorgeous gown and explains it's mine to wear to the feast. It's made of th
e palest blue silk and has tiny crystals seeded into the embroidered sleeves. It's so delicate—ladylike—that I just know I'll end up spilling mead all down the front of it before the night is over. And sadly, stain-removing Clorox Bleach Pens have yet to be invented.

  I don the dress and Elaine, the brunette, combs and braids my unruly hair. Then Avelyn, the redhead, drapes a silver necklace around my neck. Susan grabs my hand to slip a few chunky bejeweled rings on my fingers.

  "So, where is this kingdom of Hoboken that you come from?" Avelyn asks as she combs.

  "Yes, you speak with such a strange tongue. It must be very far," says Elaine. "I have never heard anyone talk as you do."

  "Oh, yeah. It's far. Really far. Across a huge sea." And oceans of time, too, but we don't need to go into all of that.

  "How did you get here?" Avelyn queries, draping a matching cloak over my shoulders and attaching it under my neck with an intricate silver dragon pin. "Was it by magic?"

  I think for a moment before answering, then nod my head. What the heck, right? Might as well keep up the mystique I've built up. "Yes. The matchmaker in my... kingdom... cast a spell and sent me here to find my true love."

  The girls' eyes all light at the mention of true love. So predictable. Who cares about magic when you've got potential hooking up to talk about?

  "I daresay you'll have trouble finding it in this castle," Elaine says with an exaggerated sigh. "Your matchmaker should have sent you to France."

  "Oh? I figured there'd be tons of guys around. I mean, even that knight earlier. The one who brought me up here. He was pretty good-looking."

  "Aye. There are many handsome knights residing in the castle, but most are disinterested in courting a lady." Avelyn shrugs. "They'd rather rut with village whores on flea-infested bales of hay than chastely pursue royal ladies worthy of their love."

  " ‘Tis not the knights' fault," argues Susan. "Prince John has ruled that they must not approach us. He enjoys the idea of having a castle filled with virgin brides, should he ever decide to take a wife."

  "That seems kind of unfair to you guys," I say. Wow. None of these women have ever hooked up with a guy? No wonder they're so bitchy. "Wait 'til King Richard comes back," I comfort. "I'm sure he'll sort everything out."

  "It seems King Richard will never return." Elaine sighs. "He rots in that Austrian prison, for no one is interested in paying his ransom. They'd rather throw banquets and stuff themselves like pigs."

  "We are ladies in waiting. And so we wait," says Susan in a long-suffering voice. “We will likely die virgins, never knowing a man’s love.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s dumb. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your happiness just on the prince’s whim.”

  I realize all three of them are staring at me.

  “Well, it’s true!” I protested. “You choose to be here. To live like this. No one’s holding a, uh, sword to your head.”

  Susan stares at me. “Choose?” she repeats. ‘What choice do we have? To leave the castle and live in the village like commoners? Brown our skin and sleep in thatched-roof huts?”

  “Hey, all choices have consequences,” I tell her. “You have to decide what you want in life. And what you’re willing to sacrifice to get it.”

  The chimes of a faraway bell effectively end the discussion, and the girls squeal and scamper off to their respective chambers. Evidently that’s the call to dinner and none of them are ready. They chatter excitedly as they don dresses and add accessories at a frantic pace. I feel like I’m in some kind of medieval sorority or something. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone back home in the 21st century, but the whole thing is kind of cool. After all, I’ve never been the giggling, girly girl type before. I always insisted they were too mainstream. Still, after a month of eunuch-dom in a filthy forest, hanging with the girls is kind of fun.

  I look around the room. No mirrors. But I do still have my camera. I set the timer and hold my hand out. World’s first ever selfie!

  Click! The flash blinds me for a moment, then I turn the camera around to check out the finished product. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Wow! I look so different. So... ladylike! These girls are good!

  If only Robin could see me now. I wonder what he'd think. Not that I care. Really. I'm so through with that scene. In fact, maybe I'll go down to dinner tonight and meet a really sexy knight in shining armor. One of those chivalrous ones who will recite poetry to me as he feeds me peeled grapes. One who can stay friends with his exes, but who has no desire to hook back up with any of them.

  Oh wait, these knights aren't allowed to have girlfriends. Just my luck.

  I feel eyes on me and look up from my camera's viewscreen. Susan stands in the doorway, looking bashful.

  "What's up?" I ask.

  She closes the door behind her and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. "Can I speak freely?" she asks.

  "Of course," I say, wondering what's up.

  "What you said before, about choices. Do you truly believe it?"

  "Yes. Definitely. Why?"

  She blushes and stares down at her hands. "There is this boy," she says, and suddenly I realize how young she probably is. Couldn't be more than eighteen. "His name is Paul. He works at the stable, making horseshoes. He's an apprentice to a great sword smith." She smiles as she speaks, and I can practically feel her intense crush radiating from her.

  "And you like him," I conclude unnecessarily.

  "Aye," she says, her face's pink glow deepening. "And he has given me reason to think he likes me as well."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "He is poor. Life with him would be hard. I would be banned from court and forced to live as a peasant woman."

  "But you'd be with him," I rationalize.

  "Aye." Tears slip from her blue eyes as she looks up at me in utter honesty for what I imagine to be the first time. "Princess Christine, forsooth, I know not what to do."

  "I think you do." I place a hand on her shoulder and give her a squeeze. "I think you want to follow your heart."

  "But the other ladies will not understand," she protests, glancing at the closed door. "They will think I've gone mad. To give up a life of leisure to live as a peasant..."

  "One, who cares what they think?" I ask. "And two, I think they might surprise you if you're honest with them."

  Susan smiles through her tears and reaches over to give me a huge hug. "Oh, Princess Christine," she says, burying her head in my shoulder. "You are so wise and good. I am very glad you came here."

  I stroke her head, feeling wise beyond my years. "I'm glad as well."

  ###

  Fashionably late, we head down to dinner. The great hall has been transformed (and cleaned up, thank God!) for the feast. Torches and candles cast a fiery glow on long, row tables covered with plates and bowls overflowing with meats and fruits and cheese. On one side of the room sits a trio of musicians gently strumming their harps. Servants in grey linen tunics rush to and fro, delivering more and more food. Colorful, richly dressed courtiers lounge at each table, picking at their dinners. Judging from their waistlines, these guys aren't exactly downtrodden.

  It's kind of sick, actually, to see so much food in one place. I mean, there's no way it's all going to be eaten by the small number of guests present, not unless they stuff themselves to the point of illness, which I guess is possible. But still! All this food, all this excess, and the common people are sitting in their villages starving. Babies are dying of malnutrition.

  How can I be here? How can I enjoy this? It goes against everything I stand for, everything I've worked to eliminate since I've been here. If the Merry Men could see me now, I'd be so ashamed.

  "Princess Christine," a voice calls out. I look over to the head table and see Prince John himself is beckoning me. Oh great, just what I need to make my night complete. But hey, this is my job now. I'm an official lady-in-waiting and I'd better get used to the waiting part. I drop a curtsey and approach the table. The prince pats the em
pty seat next to him.

  "Lady Marion is away this evening," he informs me. "So I humbly ask you do me the honor of taking her place by my side."

  "Thank you, milord," I say, curtseying once again, trying to keep a poker face at the name of Marion. I can't believe she's not back yet. Did she decide to shack up with Robin for good? What do the men think of that? I mean, here I thought the "no women in camp" rule was pretty set in stone. After all, Robin made me hang out dressed as a boy for weeks. Does Marion get some special dispensation? God, I'd like to wring that stupid outlaw's neck.

  "Princess Christine?" queries the prince.

  I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. "Sorry, Your Majesty," I apologize. "You honor me. I'd love to sit next to you."

  Okay, fine, "love" may be a tad too strong a word for my real feelings on the matter, especially as I see spittle on his mouth as he grins at my acceptance. Bleh! But really, what other option do I have? He's the prince. I came to his court willingly. I have to follow protocol.

  Besides, maybe I can do some recon while I'm here. Find out the 411 on King Richard and his expected return date, for one. I've been playing around in the forest way too long. I can now focus on the real reason I'm back in time.

  A servant beckons me into my seat, holding my chair for me as I sit down. Another dumps a plate of some kind of bony roasted bird in front of me. I wave it away. He bows, then returns a few moments later with a haunch of some other sickly sweet-smelling meat. I can't help but hold my nose, bad manners be damned. After all, getting sick all over the head table would be much worse.

  "No, no. I don't eat meat," I try to explain. He looks at me like I just said monkeys fly out of my butt, but shrugs and retreats, leaving me foodless.

  "You do not eat meat?" Prince John questions, he himself viciously gnawing on some kind of dead animal or another. I swallow hard, forcing my stomach to behave, "Why ever not?"