Marian's blood had spilled all over his hands, like the wine from a communion cup, like Christ's blood, oh, God, when he had tried to lift her from where she fell. As soon as he had touched her, his beautiful bride in her shining white dress, the wound in her back moaned like a mouth. All the blood that had pooled inside of her started to tremble out over his hands and he couldn't make it stop.
He screamed, then. It was the only time his friends could recall him ever him ever doing so.
Djaq bent down next to Robin and with skillful hands tried to help, tugging at the long tails of Marian's dress, cutting them with her belt knife and wrapping them around the girl's torso to stop the blood. Much and Will were soon at her side, Will who loved Djaq and Much who knew a thing about battle wounds. The Earl of Huntingdon, meanwhile, sat on his heels and pressed his palms into his eyes, keening softly. Richard stood nearby, awkward and useless, while Allan stalked the courtyard in loud boots. John, who knew the value of silence, listened and watched.
An hour passed and Robin still had not withdrawn from the sinking heat of the sun, preferring instead to let the shadow move towards him. Djaq knew that the body needed to be buried soon, before it started to stink, and so of course Much was the one who had to tell Robin.
Bad news fell upon bad news. As soon as Much finished telling his best friend that he must bury his new wife in a hole in the earth, so that dogs would not find her, Allan returned to the courtyard with further cause for unhappiness.
It was Carter. He was dead, face down in an alleyway. He'd been stabbed.
Robin felt as though someone had taken a rock and ground it against a bruise. His slim form sagged down further between Much's wide arms as he watched Richard and John run after Allan to retrieve Carter. The king's bone colored cape billowed out like the back of a dove's wing as Richard sped. Robin looked up to see Will and Djaq clasping hands and his heart grew tight. Marian at least had her lover with her while she died, a king's honor and a host of friends to say goodbye to her. Carter had choked on his own blood while no one was looking.
They all deserved better than this.
When the king, Allan, and John returned, carrying a dust-covered Carter between them, Robin summoned a silence he did not know he had within him. He stood to bend on one knee, and lifted Marian, just once more, to take her to rest in Christian ground. His friends fell back away from him as they stalked the sand dunes together, chasing a sun that sank all over again with each new hill. With Richard's blessing, Marian would be buried in the cemetery reserved for honored members of the king's guard, along with Carter. Robin's lady was a hero: she had died by the sword protecting her king. She would be buried with a medal and a sword, and with a crown of roses on her brow.
The sense of defeat was so fresh he didn't bother to argue with it. Yes, he had lost. Defeat was all he was. If you could not see her death when you looked at him, you weren't looking at him at all. When he passed travelers on the road, he wondered how they could pass, how they could walk by him without hearing the siren scream that came from her body and drew pain around it like blue to water.
