Title: "Dear Carter" – Part 9
Author: dcwash
Characters: Robin, Marian, Carter. Others referred to.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to BBC/Tiger Aspect
Rating: Everybody
Spoilers: None, really.
Length: 5352
Summary: So what happened to Djaq? This'll tell you, after some introductory business.
Note: I learned, finally, that the circle this show did with history cannot be squared. In other words, if you start trying to line up Richard's activities in the real world with the dates given on the show, it just doesn't work. So I've pretty much thrown all that stuff about "it's 1195, my friend" out the window and created my own timeline that owes more to the theory of relativity than to any earthly calendar, though I did try to ground it in something. Mostly, that means Wikipedia.
Dear Carter,
I believe the tide may have turned in our favor in the battle with the forces of evil in our land. A number of Vasey's vassals have publicly broken with him and allied themselves with new masters, most notably a nearby abbey. The abbess, one Mother Edith, is well known in these parts for the help she gives to the poor and for her resistance to royal power when she believes it goes against the teachings of the Church. She suggests that we have Marian's skills of persuasion to thank for this turn of events. At one time I would have scoffed at the suggestion, but I have since learned not to underestimate my Marian. Of course, it is too much to ask that these men join us in what I like to think of as our more military endeavors—after all, they were the subject of those endeavors until recently, and those tied to the Church are also newly-avowed peace makers, not breakers—but now we can take the fight more directly to Vasey, in the knowledge that he has fewer supplies, and many fewer men, than he would wish. Rumor has it that even Guy of Gisbourne is operating as a freebooter now, nominally under the sheriff's influence but more active in promoting his own interests when they do not directly coincide with Vasey's. He is apparently laying the groundwork to replace Vasey as sheriff when the time is ripe. I remember telling you previously about the collapse of Vasey's scheme with the Black Knights. Marian believes Gisbourne played an active role in that collapse, and it is interesting to note how many of Vasey's more powerful friends have died in suspicious circumstances of late, around the times Gisbourne was sent to them as Vasey's representative. But Vasey is no fool. I am sure his is acutely aware of the adder in his midst, and is planning accordingly. I only hope I can wreak my own vengeance on that "black adder" before Vasey wreaks his.
I am unsure if my immediate gang has unwittingly involved itself in another of the contrivances and conspiracies that are afoot all around us now, but now that I know that Mother Edith is not just kind and wise but also wily, I think that may be the case. She has taken on a new postulant, the bastard daughter of an English crusader and his Egyptian mistress. We, in turn, have taken on the task of keeping her safe in the final stage of her journey, between Scarborough and St. Martha's convent. Normally, I would think of this as a bit of light work and nothing more—we seldom go into Nottingham any more, and I felt sure the men would welcome the diversion of a port town, especially as some have family ties in Scarborough. But I learned from the girl that her father is a faithful and trusted vassal of the King, and now I wonder if Mother Edith has some other plan besides simply providing the girl with a safe home—Catherine has shown an acute judgment and generous spirit on our journey, and I wonder if Mother Edith hopes there would be a strategic value in exposing her, first hand, to the troubles this region faces…for surely there are easier ways for a young woman to get to St. Martha's than cross-country?
(As an aside, writing knight-to-knight, I believe it would be a great loss to "man"kind for such a lady to take the veil, even to serve Mother Edith. Besides her other virtues, she is quite comely, with an exotic, dark beauty, and has an easy temperament. She speaks little English and our countryside must be strange and foreign to one used to desert, yet she tackles the hardships and rough living of the forest gamely and even with humour. It is a good thing, in truth, that Marian joins us as her chaperone. Otherwise I am afraid there would be some conflict amongst the men for her favour, much as there was the last time we were joined by a girl.)
Which reminds me—our old mate Djaq has rejoined our band! She brings with her a useful new weapon, called a crossbow. Will understands the engineering better than myself, but it is easiest described as a bow, laid on its side and operated by a machine so that it shoots its bolt with much more force than a regular long bow. Will saw the device in action while in the Holy Land, but was unable to examine it well enough to replicate it once he returned to England. Now, however, with a working model at hand, he promises to provide us with a firepower Vasey's men will not be able to match.
In haste, I must sign myself,
Your friend,
Robin
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Dear Carter,
We are all very happy that our friend Jac has returned to our group. It was a surprise to everyone, I think most of all to Will. As quiet as he is, he has not spoken of their parting, and it is none of my business, so I have not asked about it. But they were very POLITE to each other when she appeared in camp, if you know what I mean, so I think they may have had a falling out because men and women are only that nice to each other when they are angry. Or it could have something to do with our guest. We are escorting a girl to St. Martha's convent. She is a silly, giggling little thing, and is always fluttering her eyes and asking the men for help, the opposite of Our Jak. But Will seems quite taken with her. So does Much. At least Allan is keeping himself out of it. So there wont be a repeat of the time we were hiding out near Thoresbury and that girl with all the brothers helped us out. There was no way that could end in aught but tears, even if everybody involved acted perfect. And I know these lads well enough by now to know that would not happen. I am only glad I have lived long enough master of my passions and they no longer master me.
Any road, you have joined the fighting brothers and care naught for women any more so I shall change the subject.
There are now many men turned into outlaws by the Sheriff and living in the forest. Most are farm folk who don't know their arses from their arrows when it comes to fighting. But still they wish to take up arms against the Sheriff and Gisbourne, and wish for Robin to lead them. It will be intresting to see what comes from it all. Allan thinks that each of the five of us should get our own gang with Robin as captain over all. Sometimes I miss being boss of my own gang as in the old days, but still, our team works so well together now, I wonder if it would be best for us to break up. What do you think? How do the fighting brothers do these things? I ask in earnest since I know so little of real armies and that seems to be what we are becoming.
Please right soon,
John Little
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P.S. I gave my letter to Marian for checking as per usual and she gave it back with nary a change! She gives me words to practise spelling with and it must have worked! I did see her make a face, though. It must be that bit about arses and arrows. She is with us so much I forget sometimes that she is a fine lady and not used to such rude words. I must be more careful.
Dear Carter,
I read John's letter to you to check for correction, as per usual, and was made so indignant over his commentary on Catherine that I was blind to everything else. I feel I must protest his description of her as "silly" and "giggling"! She is a perfectly sensible girl, only one raised by foreign women, secluded from the presence of men, and now in a strange land and barely speaking a word of English. Of course she needs help on occasion! And of of course she is startled by the rough ways of the forest! i(And, I am sorry to say, of English men!)But facing these challenges with good humour is NOT the same as being "giggly"! On the whole, I think she is delighted with her journey, seeing it as a grand adventure, and with her company. Half the men are charmed by her (including, no doubt, Robin!). Obviously, others are not, but it is their loss. Even they can appreciate how lovely her appearance, though.
Will has struck me as the most enraptured, though I cannot say she returns his ardour nearly as warmly. (As I say, she is a sensible girl.) But whatever her true feelings, they matter not now that Djaq has returned. I must admit, I was surprised at her sudden appearance, but not shocked. As I told you in my last missive, our correspondence had resumed of late, and through it I was able to ascertain that she wished to rejoin her friends in England. I think it best for her to divulge whatever details about the circumstances she is comfortable with herself—so many of our letters were full of feminine confidences that I would prefer to take safety in silence regarding their contents. I am not sure if her arrival in England at the same time as Catherine was complete coincidence or not, but her arrival in camp some days later caused such joy that poor Catherine was sorely neglected for a while. I say "such joy," but Djaq's immediate appearance was also the cause of some consternation, coming as it did just as Will was lifting Catherine over a brook and receiving a warm smile in gratitude. He was so startled he dropped the poor girl in the water. He has been—miserably—on the receiving end of glares from both women ever since. Allan finds it hilarious; I must admit I even see some amusement in it, especially since Will seems to have completely befuddled as to why Djaq, at least, is put out. Ah, he is such a boy sometimes!
But now Catherine and I—and, to my surprise, Djaq—are back at St. Martha's. I find them good company, and I think they feel the same towards me, but I do not know how long our situation will continue. If I, a Christian and an Englishwoman, find the convent confining, I wonder that Djaq can bear it. I expect that she will soon join her fellows in Sherwood. Meanwhile, Catherine is inclined to take the veil. As yet it is only an inclination, and she is still a postulant who has not even taken the vows of the novitiate, so it would be very easy for her to change course and marry. In truth, I believe that is her preference, to have children with a good man and to manage the domestic duties of an estate. But where to find a suitable husband, one who calls England home but speaks French as it is spoken in the Holy Land, understands the culture she comes from and the fighting she has borne witness to, and who has enough wealth to warrant the hand of the daughter of an English nobleman, but not so much that he is put off by the circumstances of her birth? I believe that only such a man could be a true husband to her, and that she is wise enough to prefer a life in service at St. Martha's to a marriage without mutual understanding and companionship.
Yours truly,
Marian
P.S. Catherine appears to be an able cook, but is rather lost without her spices. I told her that any order for such supplies would be more quickly fulfilled if she wrote to you instead of to her relations, because the Church messaging network is so dependable and because there is less distance to cover between Nottingham and where you are. So you can expect a letter soon.
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In the name of Allah the most Gracious the most Merciful
I send greetings to my good friend Carter.
First, a warning: Marian has acted as a spy and a diplomat for so long and to such good effect that I think she finds it impossible to stop scheming. Now that she has completed her work on Vasey's vassals, she is at loose ends and has turned to matchmaking as a way to keep her skills sharp. I am afraid she has been able to recruit Robin to her side in this, with you as her prime target. Beware!
Second, she suggested I be the one to explain why I am here. I am so exhausted in so many ways that I at first preferred not to, trusting her discretion about what you deserved to know and what was too personal, but then changed my mind. I can tell the men with me bits and pieces as is timely; that does not work so well when one is dependent on the written word. So, I begin:
I went with Robin to Acre in hopes of helping to bring peace about, believing that Richard was our best hope. And the treaty he negotiated with Saladin did hold. Jerusalem was opened to all, but the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem was much reduced and, to the satisfaction of the kings and emirs. Acre was made its capital, to the satisfaction of the local beys and merchants. Despite the grave injuries you and Marian suffered, I was happy: I was with my friends from Sherwood at the same time I was finally home, and took great joy in seeing my skills help heal such good people as Marian and yourself.
But my happiness was soon tempered. After Richard's departure, the Franks began to treat the remaining Semites with contempt, knowing his restraining hand was gone. I am sure you remember the most public and galling incidents, but as an Englishman, I expect you were never aware of the smaller but constant slights we all, especially the women, had to endure. No good could come from telling Robin and the others; they held no sway over the Europeans in Acre, and, personally, I was too proud to appear to them as a weak woman—if I could take care of myself as a slave and then in a land like England, I should be able to take care of myself in Acre. They could, and generally did, set a good example, and I could ask for no more.
Which is not to say they behaved perfectly, but I knew the problems that arose came from ignorance and misunderstanding and not malice or arrogance. Because I knew their hearts, I found their blunders almost amusing at first. However, others did not know their hearts, and I found myself defending them to my people almost as much as I found myself defending my people from the Franks. I think that is why I spent so much time nursing you and Marian when a maidservant could perform the duties just as well—time spent with the two of you was time I did not have to negotiate between such conflicting forces. I had hoped I would be able to breathe freely once I was back in Acre. Instead, I found the only time I could do that was actually in the sickroom.
The pressure only rose after the death of Saladin. As I remember, that occurred shortly before you left to rejoin Richard, so you may have been too busy to notice an increased severity of attitude amongst the Muslims of Acre. That was partly because of growing resentment of the Franks, but also because distress over so many losses in recent years turned many people to a more stern form of religion, one that I do not remember even existing before Acre fell to Richard. We were lucky in that the Al-Hashshashin did not gain a foothold in Acre, but some of their attitudes came to be accepted by the people here. They seemed to believe that Allah had abandoned us to the Franks because we had abandoned Allah, and the only way to correct this was to embrace His rules more fully. What had once been frowned upon now became forbidden; what were once barely treated as suggestions now became laws. Relations between Muslims and Christians, even the most mundane kind, were discouraged, and men and women were segregated into more strictly-defined spheres, with chastity as an excuse. (I am sure the continued insults to Muslim women's chastity by the Franks was the main rationale behind this.) Bassam, of course, would have none of it, and his house became a refuge not only for Robin and Will but for all those who loved reason and learning and tolerance. I certainly treated it such, and found myself venturing out into the streets less often because of the disparaging, repressive tone I constantly encountered for being my old self.
Still, the strain of it all was intense, and I found myself taking it out on poor Will. I tried to remember that he was a stranger in a strange land, especially after Robin, Marian, and the rest of the gang left. I believe he was dreadfully homesick and lonely and quite possibly bored, but would not speak of it to me, much as I would not speak of my own problems—I think that, for both of us, pride may be our greatest flaw, and when two people of equal pride are together, the result can be like flint on steel. Now that time has passed—"the water is under the bridge," I think you say—I can see that he honestly tried his best to make a life for himself in Acre. He struggled to learn Arabic, and approached the task with his usual discipline and determination, but it seems a facility for languages may be the one talent Will Scarlet does not possess. Of course that kept him from forming new acquaintances, though in his quiet way, he did make the effort. I know he did not like to think so, but he became heavily dependent on me for every kind of support. I had to constantly translate and interpret for him, and not just the words of the people who surrounded him but their culture as well, even as that culture was shifting like sand under my feet. Luckily, he started working with a good-hearted carpenter in the neighborhood, which seemed to lift his spirits somewhat, though how they communicated I may never know. He increasingly retreated to his wood even as I retreated to my books, and, without either of us realizing it, what had briefly flamed as a passion burned down to a much cooler ember.
Though we had wished for no such cooling, it was just as well that it occurred, because stronger feeling would have made our situation even more untenable. As I said, even mundane relations between Muslims and Christians were discouraged. Eventually, local demagogues and their followers began to speak as anything more intimate than simple business transactions as a suspected betrayal of "one's own." Of course, the Franks had always ruled that marriage between a Christian and a Muslim could only take place if the Muslim converted. But now the common people of Acre themselves began to view mixed marriages with such aversion that it was nearly impossible to find an imam who would bless such a union, even though even I can cite the verse in the Qur'an that allows it. We could not live as husband and wife, yet were shunned as disgraceful lovers; the irony was that, by then, we were neither.
When I say "by then," I mean by the time the plague came to Acre, about a year ago. Acre has survived worse outbreaks, and indeed the number of deaths was relatively low, but I found it devastating nonetheless—it took Bassam, my stalwart rock and comfort through this all. (Insha'Allah, that good man will rise to Jannah on the Day of Resurrection.) Of course I grieved for him personally, but his death also caused more material worries: without him, Will and I were homeless. After all, Bassam was not really one of my relations, but only a friend of my beloved late uncle's. The ties of friendship are stronger and longer in my land than in yours, I believe, but even in Acre they do not stretch so far that I had any expectation of hospitality or protection from Bassam's son and heir; Will, of course, had even less claim. There was a time when it was acceptable for an unmarried woman of the upper classes to maintain her own household, with maids and guards, but I fear that time has passed and besides, my finances would not permit it. Will was making enough money with his carpentry to afford a room near his workplace, and suggested yet again that we try to marry, or at least set up together as a married couple, but I knew that would never work—even if the law and the populace allowed it, living in such a confined space, under such social pressure, with bonds of affection still viable but with all passion spent, we would both be miserable. I had relatives in a village near Safad, though I scarcely remembered them. I did not tell Will that I thought my only option was to go to them. I could not imagine how he could live in such a backwater, though, if cosmopolitan (or at least, formerly cosmopolitan) Acre had proven so overwhelmingly challenging. I thought it best if he decided on his own that he should return to England. By now he had lost some of the puppy-dog devotion that marked our relations in earlier years—in short, he was more of a man and less of a boy, and viewed the world with his head as well as his heart—but he was nonetheless reluctant to leave my side. I determined to break his final thread of affection, and made it my mission to act as fractious as I could. It distressed me to see him hurt, but, Allah forgive me, it was such a release! And oh, so easy to give way to the temper I had restrained for his sake for so long! He soon began making plans to return to England. The day after he sailed, paying for his passage by working as a crewman, I left for my cousins'.
Village life proved even worse than I had anticipated. Until I was sent to England, I had always lived in cities. I saw first hand the squalor and hardship the villagers endured in Nottingham, but I naively dismissed it as unique to Europe, or perhaps, given the outrage of our gang members, unique to life under the yoke of the Sheriff. Of course, the life of a peasant is much the same the world over, with poor food, too much work, mean shelter, and much ignorance, but I had to live in my cousin's overcrowded hut for that point to be driven home. To make matters worse, they looked with disdain on my education and the freedoms my father had raised me to demand. I was forced to spend almost all of my time in the women's quarters and took any opportunity to tend to the goats or perform similar activity that would allow me at least the scent of freedom. Even then, I had to go about not just with my hair covered but in full niqab, stiflingly hot and cumbersome, with only my eyes visible. I know you will say I got too accustomed to the unrestrained life of the forest, that every society has its rules and customs, especially for women, and it would be anarchy if we all disobeyed them, and you may be right. What I found so galling, though, was that I had no choice. Even at the worst times in Acre, the women's quarters of the better houses, like Bassam's, were places to retreat to, not places of confinement you had to receive permission to leave; headscarves were treated as decoration as much as gestures to modesty. (I came to see the practicality of them as well, so much so that, now that my hair is longer, I have continued to wear a version even here in England.) In my time at my cousins' village, though, I began to see my hillside where the goats grazed as my "retreat," where I could think…and weep at my dilemma. When I was in England, not a day went by when I didn't long for my native land. Now that I was in Palestine, I longed for England. Or, rather, for my friends, most especially for Will.
It did not take long for me start looking for an escape. As I saw it, I had two paths: I could stay where I was with a certain future of misery, or I could, somehow, rejoin Robin's gang and live a while in freedom and danger and comradeship before who knows what happened. My hand was forced when my family decided I should marry a neighboring farmer. I was not even consulted in this, and had only had the briefest of conversations with the man. But the villagers apparently were beginning to see me as a source of dishonour for my cousins, and honour is taken with the utmost seriousness in these villages. If I married, I would become my husband's problem, not my cousins'—besides, I think they were heartily sick of me and my willfulness by this time. I managed to slip out one night when the house was asleep, and, ironically, it was my skills as an English outlaw that saved me. The distance from Safad to Acre is not great, but the way is rugged, and I knew my cousins would be searching for me. But I had learned from Robin and from Little John how to pick a hiding place, and how to find water, and how to travel under cover of darkness.
I was soon back in my home town, but with no money or belongings besides a few of my father's precious books, which my uncle left me in his will and which Bassam had saved for me for so long. It grieved me to do so, but there was nothing for it but to sell the books to pay for my passage. Bassam's son seemed like a logical purchaser, so I went to him with my offer, and was purposely vague about my ultimate goal with the money. He owed me nothing, but he was so moved by my story—or, rather, it was his wife who was most especially moved--that he insisted I keep the books and accept a generous loan to be paid back "some day." Acre is still a busy port, and, praise Allah, I found a ship heading in my general direction. When we landed in Sicily, I took lodging in a pilgrim's hostel and wrote to Marian and to the Mother Edith she had praised so heartily. I did not know if Robin's fight continued, if the gang was still together, or anything of the situation in England, and thought it best to discover these things before I blindly took across Europe. Mother Edith offered me the same hospitality the convent offers all travelers but made sure I understood that I could only stay for a longer duration if I was willing to join the sisterhood, and I would have to convert to do that. Almost as importantly, though, she offered to house my books, with the understanding that they were a loan, not a gift, to her library. Meanwhile, Marian told me of life in Sherwood, that it continued on much as before, with the only real changes being for the better. I joined a group of travelers gathering in the hostel to go to England. By the purest of coincidence, one of them turned out to be Catherine, a young girl destined to be a postulant at St. Martha's. At that point all she knew was that the nunnery she was headed to was in England, the land of her father. By the time I disembarked in Scarborough, she had already left, escorted by mysterious characters the other travelers described as "shady." It was easy to trace her movements—young Levantine women are scarce enough in Scarborough to draw attention to themselves—and I followed her at a distance for several days out of concern for her safety. The concern left me when I realized her "shady" escort was none other than Robin's gang, and that her mere presence was turning the men into ridiculous simpletons. I confess, I timed my appearance for the greatest affect, and found the results highly amusing, all the more because it left my Will highly embarrassed. I am, as Allan says, "milking it."
Or I was. I write this from St. Martha's, where I am resting and enjoying myself with cultured company once again. The sister in charge of physic here is most enthused about what my books have to offer, and Mother Edith has extended my stay so we may work together to translate them from Arabic to Latin. Nonetheless, I see what Marian meant when she wrote of growing restless in this world. These are intelligent, thoughtful, educated women, and yet I find myself longing for at least the occasional company of men almost as much as I did while in my cousins' purdah. I have come to the conclusion, much as Marian has, that both sexes need each other to be fully human. Still, I can't help but remember how harsh the forest life was, and how much comfort there was to be had at Bassam's house. Perhaps I will be able to divide my time between the two worlds, the one of freedom and wild action, the other of learning and grace, much as Marian does. Or, perhaps, I can go back to the forest but reserve this convent as a retreat, much as the women's quarter in Bassam's house was a retreat from the bustle and intrigue of the streets of Acre, but one to be entered and left at will, not out of fear.
Oh, but this has been a long letter! Oh, but there was much to tell!
Djaq
P.S. As I looked over my letter for errors, I found that the humour I intended in my first paragraph did not convey. I am afraid it is dependent on gestures and looks and vocal expression. So when I saw words like "warning" and "scheming" and "beware," I became uneasy that you would take them too seriously. Let me say, explicitly, that while, yes, I believe you to be the subject of a matchmaking conspiracy, I have met the young woman in question and have a favorable impression of her. There is a lightness to her, but she still has a brain in her head and exercises it with regularity, though I don't know that I would say she is a true intellectual. It is more that she exhibits good judgment and thinks before she speaks or acts. But she is also kind-hearted, and the combination of traits is most agreeable. She is quite the flirt, though, and I find her a bit too much of a "girly-girl" to my tastes, but, as Will says, I am most possibly the least "girly" woman on earth, so I may not be the best one to judge these things.
