Heart of Sherwood

by Edale Lane

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nottingham Castle, Michaelmas, September 29

  A line of fancily clad noble men and ladies filed out of Nottingham castle's chapel following the morning's Mass of St. Michael, which kicked off the day's festivities. Landlords looked forward to it as rent paying day. For farmers, it signaled the end of the harvest. For the faithful it honored all the angels, but especially the arch-angel who had cast Lucifer out of Heaven and down into the pit. Occurring just after the astral equinox, it was a day that marked the beginning of autumn. The wool garments and fur mantles worn by the nobility were indications of the cooler weather.

  Marian walked beside Maid Fay de Gisborne and a few other young women as they made their way from the chapel to the great hall. "Mmmm, I can smell the goose roasting from here!" the excited, youthful Fay exclaimed.

  Marian smiled. The girl deserved better than Sir Guy as a father, and she hoped she would end up with a worthier husband. Marian thought she looked quite fetching that day, in a pine green silk gown and ribbon woven through her auburn tresses.

  "It will have stuffing, and a big, hot Michaelmas pie, just filled with blackberries. You can't pick blackberries after today, you know," she sagely instructed Marian. "So, they stuff them all into the pies!"

  Sir Guy will be happy, Marian thought as they walked. He is quite fond of pie as I recall. "I am certain the cooks will spread us a marvelous feast," she said instead. Marian caught their reflections in a polished shield hanging between two tapestries on the stone wall of the hall. She was pleased with the plum bliaut with bell sleeves lined in white made from the fabric Amee de Neville had provided.

  "Are you going to come out in the courtyard for the games?" Fay asked with exuberance.

  Marian wanted to snoop around and try to listen in on conversations. She had spotted several newcomers at mass and Prince John was rumored to be in the castle. "Mayhap," she answered distractedly as she peered around the bend into the foyer outside the hall. Ah, there is the Prince, she noted, having not seen him in the chapel. He wore a small princely crown fitted into his feathery, ginger locks, along with numerous rings. His clothing was distinctive as well, being the only man with a white, furry mantle of arctic fox draped about an embroidered royal blue tunic. He was accompanied by the Sheriff, Sir Guy, that awful Archbishop of York, and three distinguished nobles and a bishop with whom she was not acquainted. Barons, most likely, she thought. Marian was struck with John's short stature as the sinewy Giffard towered over him.

  Fay followed Marian's gaze. "Oh, Papa won't be joining us for the games," she said with a girlish giggle. "He has to meet with Prince John and the other lords."

  "I see," Marian answered, trying to muster a smile for Fay.

  "Papa says he looks very much forward to your upcoming marriage, and that I should not feel awkward having you as a step mother even though we are about the same age."

  Masked fury erupted through Marian's veins at those words, but in an act of extreme self-control to refrain from any unbecoming response, she reined it in and took a moment to breathe. Older, she thought. You are older than I, you twit, and yet one would think you had not completed your tutorage!

  But she calmly replied, "Fay, dear, we have not spoken of setting a marriage date. Truly, there is none to arrange such a contract until my father returns from Germany. Now, let us enjoy the festival and simply behave as friends." Her eyes left Fay to watch the nobles file into a room and close the door, leaving Deputy Blanchard standing guard. Bloody hell! I'll not discover what they are about now. Mayhap later.

  *~*~*

  Nottingham Castle had no throne room as no king held court there; however, the Sheriff's office served somewhat the same purpose. This was where he would hear petitions, accusations and defenses, and mete out justice as he saw fit. It was also the chamber in which he held private meetings. Within, the stone walls were softened by armchair height wainscoting and scenic tapestries. The morning light streamed in through a glass pane window behind the Sheriff's desk while a few lanthorns (called such because the panes were designed of thin, transparent horn) illuminated the corners. Giffard ushered in his guests across a wool carpet of red and white, bearing the helm and passant lion of his family crest, to a table made of elm with decorative etchings around its edge.

  After exchanging greetings, Godfrey announced, "And now my lords, I yield to Prince John who has important news for us all." Turning his attention to the youngest man at the table, the Sheriff and other nobles bowed their heads in deference to their Prince.

  After taking a sip of mead from his goblet, Prince John raised his chin in the practiced air of royalty and summoned his most authoritative tone. "Thank you Godfrey, for the use of your castle and your loyal service. You all know our host, the Honorable Sheriff of Nottingham, Sir Guy of Gisborne, and my half-brother, Geoffrey, the Archbishop of York." They inclined their heads as each was introduced. John motioned to the corpulent man to his left. "His Grace, Bishop Albrec of Kirkstall has newly joined our association, as he was divinely inspired while in prayer one evening."

  The Bishop raised his double chins, a look of self-importance consuming his countenance. "It is a pleasure to serve one as politically wise and foreseeing as His Highness, soon to be King John," he waxed eloquently.

  The Prince motioned to his right. "My loyal barons, Sir Hugh Diggory of Derbyshire, Sir Raoul de Clarc of Cornwall, and Sir Lambelin Bondeville of Somerset."

  "I hear your mother is lacking the full ransom for the Lionheart," said Sir Hugh with obvious glee. His wiry brown beard looked as though it had not been groomed in a decade, but his ample musculature was apparent through a fitted red tunic. "Years ago, when he was but an upstart and I but a squire, he dared to rebel against King Henry. I stood with my father for the King, and in course of the battle Richard dealt a blow to my leg that failed to heal properly. I must say, I never cared for him as a man or king."

  "Indeed, he is but a reckless warmonger," Sir Lambelin, the fair-haired youngest of the barons agreed with a gruff frown and took a vicious bite out of an apple. Continuing as he chewed, "If he hadn't thrust us into that damnable crusade, my father would still be alive running our estate and I would be winning at tournaments."

  "Undoubtedly we all have reasons to dislike the King," observed Sir Raoul, the distinguished and elegant elder of the cadre, his neat gray moustache and goatee trimmed around thin lips. "Personally, I find Prince John to be far more generous with his barons than his brother ever thought to be. He understands that Normans are the rightful noble class and has taken every opportunity to reward vassals loyal to him with Saxon land. His Highness," he said with a delicate motion of his hand toward John, "is also a man of shrewdness and cunning."

  Prince John was plainly pleased by this merry praise. "So gentlemen, since we have a festival to attend, let me be brief. I collected over twenty thousand German marks worth of tax money here in the north which the people believe is going for my brother's ransom. However, the chests of silver will go to pay for a large army to supplement our ranks and allow us to take the throne before my mother can secure Richard's release. Even if he does return to these shores by Christmas, it will be too late. We shall be entrenched, commanding every major city, port, and castle. What, with most able-bodied fighting men still in route from the Holy Land, or camped outside Trifels Castle, there are few but old men and boys to oppose us. King Phillip remains our ally and has pledged financial and political support. He is standing ready to formally recognize me as the legitimate King of England."

  "Twenty thousand?" Geoffrey raised his brows in surprise. "Impressive."

  Sir Guy laughed. "Closer to thirty, I'd wager! You should know that if every shire worked over its citizens with tax collectors the way Godfrey and I have done in Nottinghamshire, the amount would be twice that!"

  "Your contribution is significant," John noted before continuing. "While the Martinmas Fair is taking place six weeks hence, I'll be bringing the lot of the cache t
hrough Nottingham on its way to Dunwich, where we will meet the mercenary captain to pay for our army. I need you and your retainers to help guard the silver hoard and to lead the hired soldiers against whoever dare not pledge his allegiance to me."

  Sir Hugh frowned, scratching his unmanageable beard. "Word has traveled to Derbyshire of a wily outlaw roaming these parts. Is there any truth to it?"

  Prince John looked questioningly at the Sheriff. "I thought you assured me Hood would be taken care of?"

  "Yes, My Liege, and he shall be," Godfrey answered with an air of confidence. "The trap I have set for him is foolproof. First, there is a secret vault below the pulpit in the chapel where we will secure your fortune. No one else knows of it, nor is it known great sums of money are arriving. Then there is the archery contest."

  "Archery contest?" inquired Bishop Albrec.

  "Aye." The Sheriff's dark eyes danced at his own cleverness. "Hood fancies himself to be the finest shot with a bow in all of England. He will not be able to resist coming to compete and prove it so, but we'll be ready for him. Even if he employs a guise, I'll have him."

  "How is that?" Sir Lambelin asked.

  Godfrey's smile gleamed at them. "My soldiers have orders to surround and arrest whoever wins. He'll be locked in irons and off to the gallows at last, and the Prince's money shall remain safe. In addition, there won't just be me and my soldiers–there will be all of you and yours."

  Sir Raoul looked thoughtful as he munched on a pastry. "It could work. However, you must realize that we retain very few fighting men to contribute. I fear that is why our lord, Prince John, is in need of mercenaries. I can bring my two sons who have been in training along with one old knight and a handful of foot soldiers."

  "Well, clearly I possess no soldiers to offer," Bishop Albrec said innocently, raising his pudgy palms. "But I can help in other ways."

  "What say you, brother?" John asked, turning his gaze to Geoffrey. "Will the Archbishop of York finally replace Canterbury as head of the Church in England? You know I will do that for you the moment you place the crown on my head."

  Geoffrey tilted his head in contemplation. "I do like the sound of that. But I also do not relish the wrath of the Lionheart if you were to fail. Allow me time to think on things, and I will give you my answer at the fair. Be assured I will not discuss the matter with a living soul and, if I do commit, you shall have the full backing of York and the resources I withheld from Hubert Walter."

  John nodded to him. "Very well; I shall grant you the time you require. My lords, are the rest of you in agreement?"

  They all replied with an enthusiastic "Aye!"

  Sheriff Godfrey Giffard raised his goblet. "To our lord, Prince John: long live King John!"

  The others moved in kind, saying, "Here, here!" and "To our next king!" Then they all drank in unison, pledging their fortunes and their futures to John Plantagenet.

  *~*~*

  At midday, a bell rang announcing the beginning of the feast which would continue all afternoon and into the evening. It was not uncommon for the nobles to gorge themselves beyond comfort, be excused to the privy to retch it all up, and then return to repeat the process. Marian found the practice wasteful and revolting despite its social acceptance. There would be music and entertainment brought by jugglers, tumblers and fools, and later that night when all were drunk on wine, some young bucks would seek the chance to get lucky with an inebriated maiden. Marian's hope was that spirit loosened lips would spill some bit of information.

  She and Fay sat at the Prince's long table with the barons and bishops. Sir Guy invariably wanted to be seen with the most beautiful and elegant unmarried female in Nottingham, therefore Marian was placed on his left side across from the Sheriff and in proximity to the others from the morning's meeting. Noticing the conspicuous absence of the young princess whom she met in Windsor, Marian asked, "Your Highness, may I inquire after the Lady Isabella? I note she is not with us this afternoon."

  Prince John raised his chin and smiled pleasantly. "Her ladyship was unable to accompany me this time. I do so much traveling of late that it would be quite impossible for her to keep up. But I will tell Isabella you asked about her."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Marian replied with a slight bow of her head. "She is a charming princess and an asset to any occasion. Please let her know she was missed."

  Gisborne was well mannered enough to provide introductions to the newcomers and Marian made careful note of their names, though she was certain his motivation was to show off the beauty he had acquired in an attempt to elevate his standing with the barons. She continued to act her part as his polite, enchanting, and witless companion until a question arose about their betrothal; there she drew the line. "No, Sir Raoul, we have certainly not spoken of marriage at this early juncture. However, I expect my father, Sir Robert who serves at His Highness King Richard's right hand, to return home by the New Year. Then Sir Guy may wish to approach my father on the matter, but until then I am, shall we say, fair game?" She giggled girlishly batting her eyes at Gisborne and biting back the stream of insults she wished to hurl at him.

  His hazel eyes smiled at her as he patted her hand. "You see why I must court this lady? As I have always maintained, a doting daughter becomes a doting wife. I will be so pleased with that measure of devotion!" The others laughed and congratulated him as though Marian were nothing more than a faithful mongrel hound whose purpose was to reply, yes, master, and obediently do whatever she was told.

  She forced a smile. "Indeed, I am devoted to my father, and resolve to be just as faithful to whomever I am wed."

  "Sir Guy," Raoul advised pointing a bony finger at him, "you had better treat that lady like a queen–she is an undeniably rare find!"

  "Treat her like a queen I shall!" he declared. "And that gives me an idea." An uncharacteristic spark of inspiration over more than food, drink, or fashion lit on his face. "Sheriff, I have a capital suggestion!"

  With a leg of mutton in his hand, Giffard raised his eyes to his friend across the table. "Do tell." He continued chewing while Sir Guy expounded on his notion.

  "At the archery contest to be held at the close of the annual Martinmas Fair in November, Maid Marian should award the grand prize, don't you think? It could be something memorable, such as a golden arrow laid upon a satin pillow, and she should sit with us at the judges' stand to present the winner's prize. Is it not a splendid idea?"

  Giffard huffed. "Splendid for you; it creates an excuse for thousands of people to see you seated beside her ladyship. We won't even need a pri-" he started to say, but then stopped himself. Marian watched the change in Prince John's expression and felt the abrupt tension among the men.

  "I think it is a marvelous idea, Sir Guy," John declared in approval. "My dear brother's goddaughter is truly the only person present worthy to award such a prize."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Gisborne answered smiling with a bow of his head. "It is fitting that she be there for the big event, especially given the way she herself was treated by the villain."

  "Why, Sir Guy, whatever do you mean?" Prince John asked with strained civility. His green eyes hardened on the baron who suddenly choked and turned pale. "You know with all the security present at the fair, there is no way any thieves or outlaws will be making an appearance to threaten anyone's purse."

  "Why yes, Your Highness is quite right," Sir Guy amended and raised a cloth to pat sweat from his brow.

  John turned a charismatic grin toward Marian. "It would indeed be the cherry on top to have Maid Marian award a golden arrow to the winner of the tournament. You will do us the honor, will you not?"

  Feigning that she had no idea that anything awkward had just transpired, Marian smiled and nodded. "Verily, Your Highness, it would be my honor!" Her face lit with radiance. While they all settled back into their relaxed poses secure in the knowledge their plot had not been compromised, they were oblivious to the fact that her gleam was not for being chosen to present
some ridiculous prize, but rather because her keen mind had put all the pieces of their scheme together.

  *~*~*

  Later that evening, Marian made a point of dancing with each of the barons in an attempt to glean more information from them. She learned that Sir Raoul was a widower, Sir Hugh could not dance without stepping on her feet and Sir Lambelin had wandering hands which she was obliged to discretely dissuade. She feared, if Sir Guy knew what he was about, he may throw down a gauntlet. But to her dismay, and despite a large quantity of drink, none of them said anymore about the archery contest.

  As evening closed in, Marian bade her farewells. "My lords, you have all been so kind and Lord Sheriff, your festival has been a great success. Why, when I finish writing my letters, all of London will be envious."

  "Must you depart so soon?" Sir Guy asked, disappointment sagging on his middle-aged face.

  "Milord, it is well after dark and my mother expects me home. Asides, my carriage driver is awaiting."

  Sir Lambelin jeered. "Who cares about the fleak?" His words slurred, and he swayed a bit as his uninhibited eyes raked over her lustily.

  Gisborne flashed in fury at the younger baron when he saw how he looked at Marian. "She said her mother needs her at home, you lout!" He clenched his teeth and at once took on the posture of the knight he once had been.

  Sir Lambelin backed down, tottering off to find a more willing female.

  "Thank you, Sir Guy," she offered allowing him to kiss her hand and escort her to her carriage. But while he rattled on with some mindless chatter, she was straining to hear what the guards in the courtyard were saying to each other. She only could catch bits and pieces.

  "Twenty thousand? I heard it was thirty," one said as they passed by.

  "That's a soddin' lot of blunt!" another exclaimed.