Marian scratched frantically at the grille as Mother Veronica and the nuns came rushing into the glade.
Mother Veronica put her hand on Marian’s shoulder.
‘Marian, stand back,’ she ordered.
Sister Catherine carried her meat cleaver. She gripped it tightly in both hands.
‘My dear Eleanor,’ she shouted, ‘do you wish to be free?’
Then the Seeress’s voice came clearly through the rustling trees.
‘Yes, yes. I beg you, set me free.’
Mother Veronica held tight to Marian, whispering comfort into her ear.
Sister Catherine gave three great chops with her cleaver, and broke a hole through the top of the thatch. It was not difficult, the cell was rickety with age. Then the nuns all set about the hut with a good will. They ripped it apart with their bare hands.
A small, trembling woman stood amongst the rubble, her bed and bucket covered with dust. Marian rushed forward, arms outstretched; she hugged her mother, and rocked her in her arms.
Epilogue
IT WAS MAY day, and Philippa had brought her family to the Forestwife’s clearing to celebrate. They raised a maypole on the grass before the trysting tree. Emma carried flowers to decorate the pole, her fine daughter strapped to her chest.
Philippa’s children ran to Marian, who sat by the cottage door. They presented bunches of flowers to the Forestwife, and to the older woman who sat at her side.
The Seeress smiled, and lifted the flowers to her face. She turned to Marian. ‘I never thought to see a day like this.’
In the distance there came the sound of heavy hooves, and the creak of wagon wheels going at a good pace through the forest tracks. Marian got to her feet, fearing trouble.
At last a great ox-cart rumbled into the clearing. Emma cried out with pleasure, for John held the reins. Robert rode astride the ox, his head wrapped still in the green hood.
Marian stared and went over to them, puzzled.
Robert jumped down, smiling.
‘We’ve brought a real ox for you this time.’
‘What can this be?’ she asked.
He bowed, with a flourish. ‘’Tis peas and barley and cornmeal and grain, all for the Forestwife.’
She shook her head in amazement.
‘’Tis a long story,’ Robert shifted uncomfortably. ‘But I fear I can have no more to do with King Richard.’
Marian stared at him in disbelief. She reached up and took his arm.
They went slowly hand in hand to stand by Agnes’s grave. Robert spoke with quiet despair. Marian found his broken spirit harder to bear than recklessness.
He told her how they’d helped Bishop Hugh to take Tickhill Castle, and how they’d then marched with him to Nottingham to support the King. Nottingham Castle had been taken, but they’d had to fight for it.
‘Then the King called for a great council,’ Robert waved his arms dramatically at the yew trees. ‘I thought ’twould be the longed-for day of justice, the day we’ve waited for. Richard sacked the sheriffs – and how we all cheered. I thought ’twas good King Arthur come back to us.’
‘What then?’ Marian asked.
Robert frowned, and shook his head. ‘Why then . . . he roared and ranted that we’d had it easy. We’d been safe at home while he went fighting wars. We’d been mean and slow to raise his ransom. Now we must find more money, so that he may go to fight for his lands in France.’
‘Nay!’
‘True enough,’ Robert’s face was pale with anger.
‘’Tis just as Agnes said.’
‘Aye.’ He sighed and shook his head again. ‘I rage against myself that I would not listen. Now the King has sold the sheriffs back their jobs.’
‘What?’
Robert laughed with bitterness. ‘Aye, Nottinghamshire has bought his way back into power again, and we may whistle for our pardons.’
‘What will you do?’
Robert took her hand, and suddenly the old fire flashed in his eyes. ‘I cannot serve my King – I shall serve thee instead. I know you cannot wed, but I shall be the Knight of the Forestwife, devoted to the Sisters of the Magdalen.’
Her mouth parted in a wondering smile. His wild zeal had taken a new and hopeful turn. He spoke with excitement of his plans. ‘If I can raise money for a king’s ransom, then I can raise money to buy grain. Fat bishops and rich lords who travel the great road shall all make a contribution. Next winter will be harsh indeed, but those who seek the Forestwife – they shall be fed.’
He knelt down before her, wrapping his arms around her waist, hiding his face against her stomach.
Tears poured from Marian’s eyes as she bent down, over his hooded head. ‘Come, get up, dear Rob,’ she whispered, ‘for I, too, have much to tell, and someone for you to meet.’ She wiped her eyes and smiled at him. ‘Look, they have set the maypole by the trysting tree. And though the Forestwife may not be wed, each May Day she shall dance with the green man.’
Afterword
FROM AN EARLY age I have been fascinated by myths and legends. Stories of King Arthur, Merlin, and Morgan le Fay were full of romance and magic, but Robin Hood – champion of the common folk – was my favourite. I lived close to places associated with him and the image of the ordinary man who fought against injustice, appealed to me enormously. Here was a hero that I could almost identify with.
The only problem was that it was natural as a girl to see myself more as Maid Marian; and I sometimes found that rather irritating. Marian was usually locked up in a castle and needing to be rescued . . . being terribly brave about it, of course. What I really wanted, was to imagine myself running through the forest, along with the men. I wanted to be the one doing the rescuing.
My obsession with the people’s hero was revived when my youngest son became addicted to bows and arrows, and Prince of Thieves brought new enthusiasm for the stories of Robin Hood. I was pleased that the film gave us a tougher version of Marian, and introduced a wonderful new character in Annie; Little John’s wife. I thought that the idea of whole families living in the forest could be taken further. Gradually an idea emerged, for a book that would be much more of a ‘Maid Marian’ story.
My son and I spent many happy days together visiting places linked with Robin Hood: Little John’s grave at Hathersage, the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest, Nottingham Castle, and Robin Hood’s Bay in North Yorkshire; close to where I lived as a child.
The earliest ballads are full of references to Barnsdale, which is thought by some historians to have been a forest which stretched right up to the edges of Sheffield in medieval times. All these local connections fuelled my interest, but my search for information about Marian was more disappointing.
Unfortunately the early ballads dating from 1450 contained no references to Marian at all; she seemed to have joined the merry men, along with Friar Tuck in the sixteenth century. Although I had found a satisfying female character in Robin Hood’s mother, Marian was central to my idea for the story, and at one point I almost gave the whole thing up.
I decided to turn my attention to women’s history in England at the time of Richard 1st. This cheered me no end. I found that while many of the lords were going off to the crusades, and taking their menservants and skilled craftsmen with them, the women were left at home to take charge of castles, manors, crafts, and businesses.
I was also delighted to find records of medieval female outlaws. For example, Agnes, wife of John Sadeler of the village of Ramsley, was outlawed in 1386, for leading a rebellion against the Manor. This gave me the idea for the character of Phillipa, and put my story back on course.
Marian has become so important a part of the legend that I could not leave her out. I decided that her story should represent the real concerns of medieval women. For example: Christina of Markyate (born 1123) refused the marriage that her parents arranged. Despite beatings and imprisonment in her room, Christina dressed herself as a man and escaped. She then spent six years living in hiding i
n a hermit’s cell.
The result of all this reading and research is The Forestwife – a strange mixture of ideas from the very earliest Robin Hood stories, links with my own locality, life at the time of Richard 1st and my interest in women’s history. I thoroughly enjoyed the writing of this story and I admit that I took whatever interested me and used it, and ignored whatever I disliked.
Theresa Tomlinson
About the Author
Theresa Tomlinson was born in Sussex. As a child she had no interest in writing, but she loved reading. Her main interest was drawing and painting. She attended Hull College of Art, and later trained as a teacher at Hull College of Education. She taught as an infant teacher for five years.
Theresa and her husband live in Whitby, North Yorkshire, where Theresa spent her childhood. Over the years she has acquired an outstanding reputation for her historical novels, particularly those, like Wolf Girl, set on the north-east coast of England. Shortlisted twice for the Carnegie Medal and for the Sheffield Children’s Book Award, Theresa takes a keen interest in the area where she lives.
Visits to Turkey have fuelled her enthusiasm for the ancient mythology of that part of the world. Her scrupulous research has resulted in two epic stories, The Moon Riders and Voyage of the Snake Lady.
THE FOREST WIFE
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47973 5
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Penguin Random House Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Theresa Tomlinson, 2011
First Published in Great Britain
Red Fox 9780099264316 2011
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