by Tim Hall
Robin looked at Marian, twisting lazily to get comfortable, catlike. Gold coins of sunlight dripped through the leaves and lay across her neck and her shoulders. She was wearing only a thin shift, which with the water had turned almost transparent.
She caught him staring and he looked away, heat rising to his face. He glanced at her again and now she was watching him, smiling slightly, pillowing her head on her hands.
“What?” Robin said.
“Nothing.”
She rolled over on her back, closed her eyes, still smiling. Robin looked across the lake. Above its surface a layer of gnats shone in the sun’s rays: It looked like a second, enchanted lake, shimmering above its twin. On the far bank, ponies stood in the deep shade, flicking their manes. He lay out flat and watched the light sparkling emerald through the leaves. This was a moment he would remember for the rest of his life: the feeling of warm breeze across wet skin; the sound of crickets in the long grass, and the skylarks high above.
He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes Marian was at his side, on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her face close to his.
“Do you ever wish …,” she said, “you could pick one day to last forever? Did I tell you what my mother used to say about Winter Forest? She said sometimes it spreads overnight and swallows villages whole. The people are all in there somewhere, in the wildwood, still collecting water from the well, digging in their crofts, children playing snitch—they live the exact same day, over and over. Well, I was thinking, does that sound so bad? I might even be glad, if that happened to us. Imagine if it was today we lived, again and again. What would you …? Robin, you’re not even listening! What are you thinking about? What could be more important than listening to me?”
Movement across the lake had caught Robin’s eye. The ponies had raised their heads, all at once, their ears flicking up. One made a sudden movement that startled the others.
“What’s up with them?” Marian said.
Finally they heard what had unnerved the ponies: a creaking, rolling rattle. A wheeled vehicle, moving through Summerswood, passing close to the lake.
Marian sat up straight, mischief already glinting in her eyes.
“Let’s go and see,” she said. “Could be easy pickings.”
They pulled on their clothing and Robin collected his shortbow and hunting pack and Marian hoisted her knapsack and they ran up the bank and crept along a high ridge, scanning the ground below.
There, moving through a tunnel of trees, rocking violently on the woodland road, was a two-wheeled litter. The driver was Hadden Sloop, a stableboy from the manor, and riding in the litter was a plump old man and a skinny youth: Father Titus and Elias Long. Marian took one look at this and she licked her lips. She turned to Robin and they both smiled and nodded.
“Not like those two to venture so far from home,” Robin said.
“And all alone,” Marian said. “Not a single guardsman. How they’ll come to regret that. Stay out of sight. I’ll whistle when I’m in position.”
She pulled from her knapsack two glass phials, each containing a brown powder: a mixture of crushed pepper and rosehip seeds and various other irritants. She scampered away, and a few moments later Robin heard a whistle. He took from his hunting pack the speaking horn they had found years before. He put the horn to his lips and he spoke through it and his voice boomed.
“Hold your horses, if you value your lives.”
Hadden Sloop tugged at the reins in surprise; the litter came to a shuddering halt.
“We have you surrounded,” Robin said. “Lay down your blades … if … if you carry blades.”
“Who’s there?” Father Titus shouted, standing. “Show yourselves!”
“Mercy … Mercy on our souls,” said Elias Long. “I told you, Father, didn’t I say … there are bandits in these woods. The same ones what robbed old man Jones.”
“Bandits, here? How dare they!” Father Titus shouted. “How dare you molest us, here? These are Guido Delbosque’s lands. He’ll have you hanged, drawn and quartered. Where are you going, boy? Get back here!”
At the mention of bandits, Hadden Sloop had sprung down from the driver’s perch and now he was sprinting away into the woods.
“Give up your gold,” Robin said, trying not to laugh, “and we will spare your skins.”
As he spoke, he watched Marian crawling along a branch directly above the litter. She unstoppered her phials and Robin watched the powder filter through a sunbeam before clouding around Father Titus and Elias Long. The priest and his acolyte coughed and sneezed and rubbed at their eyes.
“What’s happening?” wailed Elias Long, gripping the priest’s arm. “I’m blind!”
“Outrage!” bellowed Father Titus. “You will pay for this violation, in this world and the next. Unhand me, Elias, comport yourself!”
While the horses fussed and the two travelers wept and cursed, Robin and Marian crept close to the litter. With his hunting knife Robin sliced the cord of the purse that hung at the priest’s waist. Marian darted in and grabbed a sack that lay at Elias Long’s feet.
“Lord Delbosque will hear of this,” Father Titus continued to splutter. “He will hunt you down like dogs. He will have you torn limb from limb, he will—”
“No more talk of Guido Delbosque,” Robin said, through the speaking horn. “Everyone knows his ship sank, and he was drowned. These woods belong to us now.”
“What … what do they mean?” said Elias Long, weeping. “But … but this whole thing … the reason we’re leaving … only this morning, the message you received—”
Father Titus jabbed his companion with his elbow. “Quiet, Elias, we will not speak with these ruffians. They are lower than beasts. They will be apprehended, and they will be punished.”
Marian was watching Elias Long quizzically now. She came to Robin and whispered in his ear. Robin lifted the speaking horn to his lips.
“Elias … I mean, you, the younger one, what were you going to say? Tell us about the message.”
“Tell them nothing!” Father Titus shouted. “They will writhe in Hell for this sacrilege, this assault on God’s loyal—”
“Tell us!” Marian shouted. “Tell us what you meant this instant, or—” She clapped a hand to her mouth. She looked at Robin.
“Lady Marian?” Father Titus said, squinting, his eyes streaming. “Lady Marian, is that you? What in God’s name—”
Marian picked up a willow switch and used it to whip the rumps of the horses. The animals bucked and pulled and the litter lurched away, the priest and his acolyte bouncing along in their seats, wailing and coughing and cursing.
“Now you’ve done it,” Robin said. “Wait till this gets back to Bawg.”
Marian frowned, staring after the dwindling litter. “I don’t think we need worry about that,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll ever see Father Titus again.”
“What do you mean?”
“You heard what Elias said: ‘The reason we’re leaving.’ And you saw the amount of stuff they were carrying. I think they were going for good. Where would they go? And what did they mean about Father?”
“You don’t think …?” Robin said. “He can’t be …?”
Marian said nothing, only frowned in thought. Robin watched her and got a horrible feeling in his stomach. It couldn’t be true, could it? Marian’s father had been gone almost four years. At one time they had heard many rumors of his imminent return, but they always turned out to be false. And in recent times the rumors had all been of a different kind: Lord Delbosque had drowned at sea, or he had died of plague, or been poisoned by one of his debtors.
“It’s probably nothing,” Marian said, turning to Robin. “If Father was coming back, why would that make Father Titus leave? He’s lived at that house forever, he married Mother and Father, and he baptized me. He’s part of the stonework. No, if he’s leaving that only proves one thing: Father is dead and buried. Forget it. Let’s count our loot.”
>
Robin opened Father Titus’s purse and tipped it toward the ground. Two clipped shillings fell out, together with a glass bead and five acorns.
“Next to worthless,” Marian said. “A dummy purse. He must keep his real one tucked away in his folds. And this lot isn’t much better.” The sack she had stolen contained a priest’s alb and a few other clothes, along with a small Psalter and a liturgical bell. “A few things we can sell, I suppose,” she said. “But at this rate it will take us a hundred years to earn our passage. We’ll have to do better next time.”
As they made their way home, through the lengthening shadows, Marian said: “Even if Father Titus does go back to the house, do you think he would ever tell Bawg and Blunt what really happened? Robbed by the two of us! He’d tell the whole world it was bandits, a giant horde of them, armed and desperate! I almost hope he does return so we can hear him tell the story.”
Robin laughed at this, but it was hollow laughter, because he couldn’t stop thinking now about Marian’s father—what if he was still alive, and planning to return? What would that mean to this life of theirs? Would it spell the end of everything?
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The very next day, at dusk, they were walking home from Titan’s Lake when they again heard rolling, rattling sounds. This time the noise was farther away, yet deeper—this was not a solitary litter.
Their eyes met, briefly, then looked away. Without a word they ran through Summerswood. By the time they reached Chiron’s Rise and gained a clear view up the valley, there was a cloud of dust approaching the Delbosque manor. Emerging out of the dust were horsemen wearing blue tabards, and following them was a covered carriage, painted red and gold. Above it flew a blazon bearing the crest of the double crow.
At first Marian stood motionless, glaring at the carriage. Then she groaned and slumped to the ground and hugged her knees. She looked at Robin, then put her face in her hands.
Robin watched the lord’s retinue snaking into the valley. Following the carriage were packhorses pulling wagons and litters. Servants walked alongside or trailed behind.
After a while, he said: “Maybe it won’t make any difference. Bawg left us alone in the end, didn’t she? Maybe he will too. We’ll stay out of his way and everything will carry on just the same.”
Marian made no reply. He sat next to her and they stayed there, in silence, watching more men-at-arms and carts appear at the head of the valley. They sat there while the sky darkened and the gnats came out in force, bobbing their dance of dusk.
Marian sat up straight, took a long breath. “So then, that’s that,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“You don’t know what he’s like, Robin. He’s cruel and vindictive. He’ll try to keep us apart, at the very least. If he’s staying, we’re leaving.”
“But … to go where?”
She looked at him. “Everywhere. Isn’t that what we’ve always said—how one day we’ll go to all the places in the stories, Troy and Rome and Carthage? How we’ll sail the five seas, and find the World Tree, and all the rest of it. How troubadours will sing tales about us, about our travels and our victories.”
“Yes … ‘one day,’” Robin said. “But … right now … just like that? You said yourself we’ll need money, to pay for passage.”
“We’ll have to manage. You’re skilled, I’m clever, together we’ll get by. He hasn’t left us a choice.”
Robin looked toward Wodenhurst. “I … I can’t just go,” he said. “What about my family? What if they come back?”
Marian snorted. “I’m not even listening to that. They’re not coming back. You’ve known that for a long time, you just don’t want to admit it. There’s only you and me, the way it’s always been, and we will do what needs to be done.” She stood and ran toward the manor.
“Where are you going?” Robin said, running to keep up.
“To the tower, of course. We can’t leave empty-handed. We’ll need cured meat for the road and spare clothing, and we’ll take a few things to trade or sell. We’ll pack light, travel fast, but at the very least we’ll need—”
She stopped and stared. She pointed. Something was happening, down there on Packman’s Furrow. One of the wagons had cracked an axle on the sun-baked road, had toppled into a ditch, sending trunks and chests tumbling, spilling their contents. And it was those contents that made Marian and Robin stare: countless tiny things, glittering in the dusk.
“Are those coins?” Robin said.
“Whole cartloads of them, by the looks of it. And those bigger objects, silver and brass plate, see? Wherever he’s been, he’s brought back a king’s ransom.”
They ran on, darting up the blind side of Lord’s Hill, out of sight of the retinue. They reached their elm tree and climbed up onto the crumbled battlement. The normally hushed manor was busy and loud, wagons and carts being unloaded. The thump of trunks and baskets and the rumble of barrels and people shouting, all of it echoing off the curtain walls. Hanging lamps were being lit as the twilight faded.
Most of the activity clustered around the Great Ward. For now their path to the tower looked clear. Marian moved forward, about to break cover. Robin touched her arm—she froze. A postern gate had slammed open and there was movement in the shadows.
“Believe me, he’s going to do it,” a voice said below. “Tonight, maybe. But soon, for sure. None of them are biting.”
Another man coughed, cleared his throat. “He won’t. He wouldn’t go that far. He’s bluffing.”
“I’m telling you. You weren’t with him. You’ve never seen a man so desperate. Or so frightened.”
Robin peered through the branches. Two men were walking past at the foot of the wall. One had a heavy limp and was built like an aurochs: Gerad Blunt, the Castellan. The second voice belonged to a smaller man, with sandy brown hair, who Robin couldn’t name.
“What, you think he’ll stand up to him on his own?” said the unknown man. “The crow facing down the wolf? Remind me to be far away from here if it comes to that.”
“No argument, he’s in a corner,” said the Castellan. “But even Delbosque wouldn’t … his own daughter …”
“I’m telling you … know what they say … the winter-born …”
“Those damned words, makes no difference …”
“Will be worse … what’s more …”
“Refuse …”
“ ’Course you will …”
The words became harder to hear as the speakers moved away. A door slammed and the two men disappeared into a guard tower.
Robin’s heart sounded loud in his ears. A sickly feeling churning in his stomach. Something he had heard … a phrase one of the men had used … he could barely even hear them and yet … something dark had stirred in his memory …
“Come on,” Marian said. “They’re gone.”
“Wait, Marian, I—”
But she had already slipped over the side of the wall, was scampering to the ground. Robin followed. She drew ahead, moving in a half crouch, running a wide arc around the iron-studded doors of the sacristy. She turned left past the bakehouse. For a moment Robin lost her from view and so he didn’t see it happen.
He only heard a screech and a scream, and then shouting.
“Leggo geddoff lemeego!”
Robin ran. He leaped up onto a hay trough and from there up onto the roof of the bakehouse. He looked down and saw what was happening. It was Mistress Bawg. Over the years she had grown steadily more massive, and now she was a mountain of flesh. In one hand she held a drinking bladder; in the other she gripped Marian, twisting her arm behind her back, hauling her away across the East Ward.
“Now, now, Lady Marian, quiet down,” Mistress Bawg was saying as Marian howled. “You’ve had a good run. You could hardly go on living that wild life forever. You knew this day would come, sooner or later. We each have our path to tread, no good wishing different. Where’s that shadow of yours, then? If he’s got an
y sense, he’s made himself scarce.”
On the roof of the bakehouse, Robin had taken his bow from his back and looped the string into place. He removed an arrow from the quiver at his hip.
Marian was yowling; Mistress Bawg still twisting her arm.
“Come now, Lady Marian, there’s no use kicking. Change is coming for all of us, and we don’t have to like it. My goodness, look at you—I’ve barely seen you to notice—growing up already. I hope for all our sake—”
Mistress Bawg screamed, throwing up both her arms.
Without giving it a second thought, in one fluid motion, Robin had nocked the arrow, drawn, sent the shot flying toward Mistress Bawg. The arrow struck its target dead center—impaling the drinking bladder. A loud pop and liquid bursting out, splashing across Mistress Bawg’s legs. She dropped the bladder and let go of Marian in the same shocked motion.
Marian ran and Robin jumped down and went with her, the sound of Mistress Bawg wailing behind. They fled though the manor, taking less care than usual with their route, passing too near the sacristy—disturbing a bandog, the animal snarling very close, its chain rattling before pulling taut. Running on, escaping into their darkened corner of the grounds and clambering into their tower and pulling up the chain ladder and sprawling breathless on their backs.
Marian was rubbing her arm, where Mistress Bawg had twisted it. She made quivering sounds, and Robin thought she was crying. But then he realized she was laughing. Her laughter grew louder. Robin smiled, and then he was laughing too.
“The look on Bawg’s face!”
“Our best escape ever!”
That was all either of them said, because what little breath they had left they were using to laugh.
Dressed in gray and black, their hoods raised, they crept out of the Lost Lands and into the main manor. They skirted a pool of light cast by a hanging lamp, then dashed across a well-lit courtyard.