Hey here comes chapter 11. :)
Dina C: Don't worry it won't take years. Much like other birds she will fly home in spring. ;)
DeanParker: When I get bored with tormenting the characters. ;) No seriously, I have some stuff in the pipeline for them while still apart, but she will come back home to Sherwood in time.
GateWatcher: yeah I feel a bit bad for Marian too... but they will be reunited eventually so at least there is an end to her suffering. And she will be wiser and less guarded towards Robs when she returns.
LoonyLover: Oh don't worry, Robin WILL NOT have a new love interest, he will be all angst until his love returns. As for the count, I think you can count (sorry bad pun, lol) on him appearing later on ;)
Comments are, as always, love.
Enjoy,
Trix
Chapter 11: Superbia
-In which there is an unholy alliance waiting to snap around the Lion's neck
It was nearly another month; a month that passed in silent contemplation as Marian moved north with the German crusaders. Winter's first snow fell upon them in a naked, sparse forest, but the big, wet flakes faded as they hit the ground. Still the air was chillier, and so was the mood in their little retinue. It had occurred to Marian a week ago that these men didn't know where they were going. Ritter Johann was grumpier, more silent and bit by bit he turned to Bruder Lukas for directions. As for the brother he remained the same, only even more frantic in his prayers. Always a small eater, he started to starve himself until he restricted his meals to breakfast, and never anything heavier than fish and bread. He looked unwell, and his deteriorating condition scared Marian. She may not like him but she needed the safety net he provided for her. The houses were far apart here and their path was surrounded by ragged mountains. Thus this place was a prison because there was too much space around them, and Marian wouldn't have anywhere to run.
Now that Lukas' skin was unaffected by the blistering sun of the Holy Land it had started to swiftly loose its tanned colour, and his features appeared sickly pallid and bony. They had stopped in a glade for the night and Marian lay awake watching her guardian angel pray yet again. The cheekbones looked sharper as the light from fire made dark shadows appear in the hollows of his face. His eyes stared into the flames until they were red and tears trailed down his cheeks; his body rocking back and forth; his voice hoarse from inhaling the smoke. For every new prayer he moved his attention to the next stone in the rosary, rolled it between his thumb and index finger while the rest of the beads lay twisted around the bony hands, and the stones were worn shiny by his touch. He was a strange character, asocial and seemingly detached from the world, but powerful when he was present and focused. His features were grim and unmoved and his lips pressed so tightly together that he must constantly tense his jaws. He would be tall if he stood up straight, but instead he always walked slightly hunched so that his posture reminded of a street dog. He seemed obsessed with the holy words that escaped his thin lips, and it was not the first time that Marian wondered what he was praying for. Why did a man like that follow an ungodly figure Vaysey? One of the things that scared Marian the most about him was the fact that she couldn't figure him out. Was he insane or clever?
The mumbling was hypnotic and Marian felt her eyelids get heavier as if there were little weights attached to her lashes. She pulled the blanket tighter around her and was nearly asleep when the prayers suddenly stopped. It was so immediate and unexpected that it startled her and within a second she was wide awake, standing up with her bare feet sinking into the cold forest soil. She let out a gasp at the sight that met her, pushing her hand to her mouth in order not to give out a whimper.
Bruder Lukas had fallen down and lay with his back against the ground. His body was unnaturally stiff and twitching, the limbs jerked and he tossed his body from side to side like a fish on land. The throat was tense and arched with the Adams apple bulging like an abscess; his fingers looked like crooked claws. There was blood and saliva dribbling from his mouth where the teeth were clenched tightly into a distorted smile, and his eyes had rolled out of sight so that all she could see was two white, almond-shaped gashes. The fire had stared to lick his wildly waving arm when Marian's mind finally caught up with her. She ran up to the Brother and grabbed his jerking body, dragging him away from the fire while she scanned her mind for similar experiences. There had been a kid in Locksley that suffered from seizures; an odd, sickly child that eventually lost his sense in one of the attacks and lived the last months of his life as a half-wit. They had said to put something in his mouth if he started to shake, and Marian pushed in a piece of wood between Lukas' teeth. They were so tightly clenched she had to force them open, and there was already blood trailing down his chin since he had bitten down on his tongue.
After a while the twitching ceased and the rigid limbs relaxed. Marian realised that she was shaking and her heart throbbed wildly in her chest. Ritter Johann had slept through it all. She bent down to wipe away the blood from Lukas' mouth and put a blanket over the slim body, tucking it in beneath him. His breathing was ragged but the eyes remained open, and his mouth was pulled into a fanatic smile that seemed alien in the normally so severe face.
"Danke, Fräuline. Or should I say—thank you?" Lukas finally panted and Marian could feel her eyes widen. He spoke in English to her! Her confusion must have been obvious because the monk turned to her. His features were more tranquil than she had ever seen them, although it was a fanatic serenity. He had never looked sicker, the eyes red and puffy and his lips and teeth bloodstained as if he'd eaten raw meet. "I am no fool and neither are you, I think," he continued in a strained voice. "You are English, ja?"
Marian hesitated a while before she gave him a reluctant half-nod. What difference did it make now? She frowned and put a piece of rolled up cloth as a pillow under the monk's head, trying to conceal the tremble in her hands.
"Ja, I could see—also you are not so—what do you say? Behind? No, you are—you have good wits I think. You wonder now what you saw. Is that correct?"
Another nod. This was a rare opportunity, and Marian knew it instinctively. In this moment Ritter Johann slept and Bruder Lukas was confused and exhausted. His shrewdness was raw and in this vulnerable state he lacked his usual caution.
"God speaks to me," he mumbled and grinned at her. "He borrows mein—my earth shell, to channel His divine will. See my body—it is still shining with Him," he put up his hand in front of the fire and twisted the bony fingers with an expression of awe. Marian wondered what it was he saw, and in that moment the full extent of his insanity started to reveal itself to her. God's light in those sick fingers? She only saw the light of a lunatic, someone who was so deep into his own twisted world that he thought it to be the only Truth. Then he cleared his throat and spat out some blood. "God says—'Be not afraid'—the time of the Lion must end. You know the Lion, ja? The English Lion. Superbia, pride, is the worst of the capital sins. He is superbia."
Lukas' eyes were aimed at the sky rather than Marian when he spoke, his voice slurred and jerky. He spoke English well, but the accent and the way he spat out the words made them seem hard and sharpened. Bit by bit she put the pieces together and the sentiment filled her with fear. The Lion must be the King Richard, a king that God had told this fanatically pious man, must die. This was not merely a monk or a crusader; he was a sick man, an assassin who thought himself in direct contact with God. She had seen him handle his crossbow and the sword early in the morning and he was a skilled fighter as well. He may be her temporary guardian angel, but this was a dangerous man. Perhaps even the most dangerous man she had ever met, because he had no contact with reality. Then he started to speak of the vulture and it occurred to Marian that the bird he referred to must be Vaysey.
"The Vulture is Evil, ja? But he feeds of the Lion's death, like us. He will eat of the dead," he grinned and spat out some more blood before he continued "When I saw the ring I knew, God wills it. In death he will face his—his crimes but on earth there will be an—a strange friendship. God's children are Sheep, they must be safe. You will understand this?"
Marian nodded again and forced the frown from her face. He expected awe and admiration from her, and she had to play her part. Fold you hands, widen you eyes. Make him think you see God in him, and he will consider you harmless.
The conversation seemed to tire the monk and he ran out of air after the last rant, his words hardly more than hoarse whispers.
"I am tired," he murmured. "For sleep finally. Tonight—God told me there must be patience. Soon there will be word from the Vulture, and time to strike." He spat out some more blood and his breathing became deeper as he relaxed in the Spartan bed Marian had made for him. She rolled him over on the side so that he wouldn't drown in the blood from his tongue when he fell asleep, and made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around him. After a while the camp was overtaken by the sound of the two men snoring, Lukas with gurgling and wheezing sounds and Ritter Johann with his usual, loud grunting. He hadn't stirred during the commotion, but she had a feeling he had seen this before. The frantic prayers, the starving and lack of sleep, Lukas' strange power over the other man; it was all because of this. The brother called forth this seizure, waited for it. Marian put some more twigs on the fire and started to pace around, rearranging the items in the camp. She was too upset to sleep.
What did this all mean? It must mean that both Vaysey and King Richard still lived, so the assassination attempt in the Holy Land must have fallen flat. Consequentially, that might also mean that Robin still lived and had managed to stop it. Of course, they could also simply be misinformed. Information didn't travel well in this disorganized part of the world, where much depended on gossip. Yet they had seemed so certain! Was it only God's word they had been waiting for? Marian felt uneasy as she thought about the two men's strange behaviour lately. God told Lukas to be patient, so there was something else they were expecting; a word from Vaysey. No matter how she twisted and turned this new information it didn't seem to make matters much lighter. Robin may be alive but she still didn't know and the king had more enemies that they had even dared to imagine.
Marian's choices suddenly appeared even more limited before her. She had to continue to follow these men, simply because she might be the only one who knew about them. She had been fighting for England for years, and she couldn't just ignore this new threat. Until she met someone to send word to the king this was where she had to be. Once again it was England first and Marian second, she thought with a bitter smile. How big were the chances that King Richard crossed their path? If he had survived Vaysey's assassination-attempt he would surely travel through France, not the dangerous countries in central Europe. Still these men must be in this part of the world for a reason. Marian rubbed her brow wearily as she slumped down by a tree. She was so sick of feeling like the world depended on her alone. All she wanted was to fall asleep cradled by Robin's strong arms, feel his breath warm against her jaw as he whispered that all would be well. All had to be well! If there was any kind of balance in this world God couldn't choose to support a crazy monk, no matter how much he prayed. She had to believe that since there was no way to keep fighting like this if everything was futile. She had to trust a happy ending, even if it wasn't her happy ending. In the end righteousness must prevail or humanity would be lost forever. With that thought Marian fell into a shallow slumber and didn't stir until the morning.
---
The ship was bobbing up and down on the waves, as if it was merely a fickle raft in this storm, and foaming saltwater surged in over the deck. The ropes creaked as the wind tore the sails. Carter made sure he held on tightly to the rail as he made his way to the stern but the wood was damp and slippery. Why did King Richard insist of being at the very centre of events all the time instead of simply enjoying the relative comfort of the captain's quarters!?
"Your Majesty," Carter shouted when he came up to the king, but his words got lost in the whining wind that whipped his skin with showers of pricking raindrops.
"Ah, Carter," King Richard exclaimed. "A bit of bad luck with the weather on this trip I dare say."
Carter tried not to moan. That was the king, literally, the king of understatements. First they had been forced to land in Corfu, a place unfortunately belonging to the Byzantine Emperor. King Richard wasn't the kind of man who made friends amongst his peers, and it had soon become clear that they weren't wanted there. Thus they had sailed off, no rather sneaked away, from those hostile territories disguised as Knight Templars. It was only the king and four attendants now, and Carter was one of them. He sighed and clung to a thick hemp rope; this was not the journey home he had expected at all. Instead of triumph there was only trouble, this king seemed to attract dangers like moths to a lantern.
"How do we fare?" Carter asked the captain, who gave him a look filled with open contempt. "We do have the king of England on this ship, extra caution is required."
"Aye, we might have to take to land," the captain grunted. He was the only one of the crew that fully knew the king's identity, and Carter nodded in relief.
"Where will that be?" he asked.
"Land," the captain snapped.
"Yes," Carter continued patiently. "But where exactly are we?"
"Aquileia."
"What?!" Carter exclaimed. "But that is in Northern Italy! How can we be that far north?! Your Majesty!"
"Calm down, Carter," the king answered with regal composure. "The captain knows what he is doing. Adam of Kent negotiated the route, you do trust in him do you not?"
"But we are off our route!" Cater exclaimed and refused to answer the question about trusting Sir Adam. King Richard knew full well that Carter had opposed his choice of bringing Adam as one of his attendants to the trip. "How shall we—how do we get home from here?!"
"Well, we will have to travel the land route through Central Europe," King Richard answered calmly. "If we are wrecked here we have little choice."
Carter pushed back the panic and nodded. Perhaps they wouldn't have to take to land, perhaps—he had scarcely finished the thought when one of Adam of Kent came rushing up from the hold. Carter felt the old familiar pang of worry when he saw the dark-haired nobleman. Adam wasn't a man that Carter would have guarding his back, but the king appreciated his straightforward attitude towards battles. He had no moralistic scruples and he didn't get worn out and moody by warfare, but rather stayed jolly and content with life. He was enthusiastic and vivid; an eager but greedy young man who cared little for politics as far as Carter knew. Now he was moving towards them with big, unsteady leaps, nearly slipping on the rocking deck. His lips moved in a shout that was drowned by the wind.
"—ip is taking in water," the ragged words finally reached Carter's ears. "Your Majesty, abandon the ship! She is taking in water!"
King Rickard nodded gravely and gave Carter a thud on his shoulder. "Very well. Looks like we take the land route through Austria and Germany after all," he said. "To the rowing boat, Carter. The rats are abandoning the ship, and I fear so must we."
NEXT: Robin makes a mistake.
