"I'm not saying anything!"
Robin, feeling ill and disgusted with himself, had no desire to hear Much upbraid him when he was already silently upbraiding himself for last night's drunkenness. This morning's hangover had cost him victory in the sword fight display against Roger of Stoke. Worse yet, he'd shot poorly with his bow, something unforgivable in his eyes. He only hoped he hadn't lost the King's respect.
"See what happens, when you drink too much?" Much began his litany of accusations at last. "Not only were you late for His Majesty's demonstration, despite my efforts to drag you out of bed and make you somewhat presentable, but you LOST, dishonorably, I might add, to Roger of Stoke, a knight you've always been able to beat! And not only that, you made a-"
"How was my loss dishonorable, Much?" Robin asked, fighting through the heavy feeling of lethargy he couldn't shake. "Agreed, I lost when I should have won, but there was nothing dishonorable about it."
"I'm not saying anything!" Much paused briefly, then exploded with, "You refused to yield, when Roger had...had...what do you call it when he unsworded you? Never mind! When he had you at swordpoint, crying out, 'Yield!' what did you do? I'll tell you what you did! You stubbornly refused to give in, until the King was forced to make you surrender and declare Roger victor! You just can't stand losing, can you? Admit it! I knew it! I knew you can't stand to lose!"
"I don't have much practice at it, Much. I've never lost before."
"You've never had a hangover before! That's your problem! Why did you do it, Robin? Why did you think you could out drink those two enormous men, especially with that poison that hell hole served you?"
"I just wanted to forget."
Much's mouth dropped open in surprise. He'd hadn't really expected an answer.
It wasn't like Robin to open up and confess his feelings. He must really be feeling weak from imbibing too much, if imbibing was the word Much wanted.
Robin's face looked so sad, tender-hearted Much instantly forgot to be angry. "Forget?" he asked, completely befuddled. "Master! Wha-wha-what is it you want to forget?"
A heavy sigh escaped Robin's lips. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss her," he admitted, sadly.
A moment's stunned silence gave Much the time he needed to comprehend his master's meaning. "Marian," he realized. "Well! We both miss home, I suppose. But chin up, Master! It's not like you to mope! Besides, we'll be home soon enough. Won't we?"
"What do you suppose she's doing?"
"Doing? What do you mean, doing?"
"What's she doing, right now?" Robin sighed again. "Every new sight I see, I want to share with her! I want to tell her things, and listen to her voice! I want to hold her, and smell her hair, and..." He sighed again. "I miss her, Much."
"Well, that still doesn't give you an excuse to drink yourself sick! Besides, you'll see Marian soon enough, when we go home."
"We have to reach Jerusalem first, Much."
"Well! There is that! We can't change the winds for sailing, you know! Only..." Much pointed Heavenward. "Only He can do that!"
As if on cue, a loud chorus af shouts and cheers met their ears. "The winds have changed!" a page cried out, at the King's command. "Hurry, knights and squires! Pack your things! The King commands we sail tonight!"
...
Princess Johanna tried her best to hide her misery from her soon-to-be sister-in-law as they made themselves comfortable onboard ship.
The two young princesses, so unalike in personality, felt an instant, mutual regard for one another that promised to bloom into a true, lasting friendship.
"I have a confession to make," Johanna told the calmer, peaceful Berengaria, "if you promise not to tell my brother. I hate sailing. It's the only thing in the world, I'm afraid of."
"If it's the only thing, you are very brave indeed," Berengaria responded, wearing her calm, beautiful smile. "I fear many things, but I trust in God for strength and courage."
Johanna could never forget the dangers she had suffered on her sea voyage to Sicily. Nervously, she wrung her hands, confessing, "Childbirth was nothing to me, compared to sailing."
Surprised by the passion in her new friend's voice, Berengaria offered, "Would you like me to pray?" Astute, she felt certain there was more to Johanna's anxiety than simply setting sail.
When the prayer was finished, Johanna appeared calmer, though eager to talk. "I miss Maman already!" she nearly cried. "Two years without her, and only a quick visit! Who knows when we'll meet again!"
"She is a wonderful woman, your mother," Berengaria said soothingly. "A legend, and yet so human!"
"Too human, some would say," Johanna admitted, smiling now. "Your soon-to-be family is very passionate, you know!"
With that, Johanna seemed to melt into a deeply yearning, unhappy sigh.
Although she did not speak, Berengaria could guess the cause of Johanna's misery. That slender young lord with the beautiful blue eyes who had been late for the demonstration, was surely not worth the princess' distress! A clear favorite of the royal family, and yet, a drunkard, who refused to yield when beaten! A young man who was almost too good looking, and clearly knew it! No, Berengaria was not impressed by Sir Robin of Locksley, even if he could shoot remarkably with a bow.
"You have children?" she asked, changing the subject. "You said you did not fear childbirth."
Pacing on deck, Johanna paused to sadly utter, "My one and only child was stillborn. A daughter. I didn't even get to hold her. And then my husband King William fell ill, and I never had the chance the have another."
"I am sorry."
"It's in the past. I'm looking forward to becoming an aunt, however! Richard always was my favorite sibling!"
Berengaria blushed violently, but looked pleased. Johanna liked her, in spite of her obviously sheltered upbringing.
"There!" Johanna cried, indicating the king's huge vessel sailing at their ship's port side. "There's my brother's ship! Isn't it splendid?"
Not nearly as splendid as your brother, Berengaria was thinking, barely quieting a romantic sigh.
Scanning the deck of the king's ship, Johanna flushed beet red, all the way to the roots of her hair. Berengaria guessed she must have spied the young lord she so obviously fancied.
You won't even kiss me, Johanna was silently scolding Lord Locksley, across the waves, yet you let Lord Sheridan lead you to a brothel! That's it, Robin of Locksley! I refuse to lower my dignity before you ever again!
But Princess Johanna was wrong, on two counts. Robin had not been to a brothel, nor would Sicily be the last place she would throw herself at him.