A dull sun shone over Nottingham on the First Day of Christmas. Marian and her father had worshipped early Christ Masse in church, and were now feasting upon swan, goose, and venison in the castle, enjoying the warmth of the Yule Log as it burned brightly, casting its cheery warmth throughout the room.
A servant approached Marian and offered her a mince pie. She really did not care for mince pies, but it was considered "bad luck" during Christmas to refuse one. The pies were baked in oblong casings, to represent the Christ crib, and contained the three spices, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg, to represent the three gifts of the Magi. Making a wish with the first bite was supposed to guarantee the wish would come true within the year.
Taking a small bite, Marian secretly made her wish...that Robin would lose his manhood to some Saracen blade. Of course she didn't mean it, but it made her feel better. Smiling to herself, she looked up to find Martin of Aylesbury hovering over her.
"Happy Christmas, Marian...Sir Edward." He wore a magnificent crimson and gold doublet, which he hoped might prove irresistible to Marian. "I took the liberty of having that mince pie sent to your table. I ate one myself, and I hope your wish is the same as mine." He gazed at her with sheep's eyes, and Marian shuddered inside when she correctly suspected his wish concerned wedding bells.
"Sir Edward," he continued, "I wonder whether we might have a word in private."
"Of course, young man," Edward agreed.
Marian hadn't heard, for she had stopped listening. She had seen the Earl of Spencer speaking to Sir Guy of Gisbourne across the room, which reminded her that she had something important to speak to Gisbourne about. Excusing herself, she approached Gisbourne.
She didn't hear the words between the two knights, for they spoke in hushed tones.
"You'd think my wife could handle something in my absence...at least hire someone competent to oversee matters! But no! If she had any brains, she'd take them out and play with them." Spencer was angry about the status of his rents, for he felt his wife had been lax collecting money.
"Excuse me," Marian began.
Spencer bowed, then leered at her, undressing her with his eyes. She did not notice, for her attention was focused on Gisbourne.
In honor of the day, he had changed the scarf around his throat from his customary yellow to a burgundy colored one. Other than that, his clothing was the same black leather he always wore.
"Happy Christmas," she greeted formally, receiving a suspicious nod in return. "Sir Guy, I need to ask you a question."
"Yes?" he asked, noticing for the first time how thick her eyelashes were.
"Are you ready for St. Stephen's Day tomorrow in Locksley?"
He paused, confused by her question. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes. The villagers will expect to receive their 'boxes.' "
"Boxes?" he repeated.
Marian wanted to sigh. Was he so ignorant of custom that he didn't know what transpired on Boxing Day?
"You know, surely, about the 'boxes' you are to distribute. Thornton knows where the clay pots are stored. You must fill them with money, and give them to the people of Locksley tomorrow. It is tradition, and Rob...Lord Locksley was always most generous. His coffers will provide more than enough money to fill them."
"I thought it was the peasants' duty to pay their rents to the Lord of the Manor...not for the Lord to pay them."
"Well, yes, it's true that rents are due today, which brings me to another point. Robin always cancelled payments today. He felt it wrong to take money on such a Holy Day, and so, you need not bother collecting them."
"What? When did he collect their winter rents, then?"
"He didn't. He only collected rents on the other three Quarter Days of the year."
"Do you mean to tell me, his peasants only paid him three times a year?"
Marian nodded her head.
"The Sheriff will find that most interesting."
Sheriff Vaisey, hearing Gisbourne mention him, strutted over. "Find WHAT most interesting, Gisbourne, hmm?"
"This lady informs me that Locksley didn't collect his winter quarter rents."
"What?" Vaisey looked intrigued. "What is this about Locksley's rents, Missy? He didn't collect them? For how many years?"
Marian hoped she had not made a dreadful mistake in speaking to Gisbourne. "He came into his titles when he was ten, but stopped collecting winter rents when he was twelve, I believe."
"And...how old is he now?"
"He is twenty-one."
The Sheriff smiled demonically. "Well! Gisbourne! It would appear the unwashed of Locksley owe us ten years of quarter rents! See to it, Gisbourne!"
"Yes, My Lord."
Marian looked dismayed. "But, Sheriff! You cannot take their money today! Robin won't allow it!"
"In case you haven't noticed, Missy, 'Robin' isn't here. He's in the Holy Land."
"I know where he is!" she cried. "But even if he wanted rents collected, it would be his money...not yours!"
"Oh, Missy," the Sheriff said craftily, "you have a great deal to learn." He brightened. "Now, Gisbourne, as I said...see to it!" He turned and strode, whistling, from the room.
When Gisbourne had gone as well, Marian gripped Spencer's arm. He had been standing close by, listening to the entire exchange. He raised his eyesbrows in a satisfied leer at her unexpected touch.
"We must stop them!" she cried. "The people of Locksley cannot afford to pay so much rent at once! And Robin will not sanction it!"
"Of course we must stop them." He had no intention of even trying to do so.
"Can you get word to Robin?" she asked. "He will never allow this."
"It will be difficult, but leave it to me, milady." He pressed her hand to his lips, swirling his tongue over its top. She was so distraught, she did not even feel it.
Her father, accompanied by Martin, approached her, both wreathed in happy smiles.
"Marian, child," Edward said, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, "I have good news for you." He could barely wait to inform her of the betrothal he had just arranged. He felt sure it would be the best Christmas gift he could ever give her.
...
Thousands of miles distant, just outside Latrun in the Holy Land, Much was unsuccessfully trying to remove every last grain of sand from his boots. He needed to stay busy, to keep his mind off the terrible things which accosted it, if he let his thoughts run rampant. Robin lay awake in his bunk, staring into the ceiling of their tent, speechless, immovable, and unapproachable. A steady winter rain was falling, dripping through the silks of their tent, making everything damp and dreary.
"Well," began Much, "this is certainly not my favorite Christmas ever! In fact, it ranks right up there as being the very worst Christmas of all time! Last year wasn't so bad...remember? We were feasting in Sicily, on our way here, and King Richard was generous with gifts."
Still, Robin did not speak. Much continued. "At least the King is safe, thanks to you! Those Saracen raiders nearly had him at Tel es-Safi the other day!" He laughed. "They ran like rabbits when you started shooting."
Robin remained still. Much kept talking. "Hmm...I could use some rabbit right now. Or chicken... Pork or beef would be nice. Or lamb. Hmm, I'd like that, very much. Remember the Christmas feasts we used to enjoy at Locksley, Master? Remember the puddings? Oh, no Humble Pie for Locksley! You always made certain everyone had plenty to eat!"
Much uttered a cry, throwing his boot at an approaching tarantula. His aim was good, but the spider didn't die...it merely crawled inside the boot. "Oh, no!" Much moaned. "Spiders! You know I hate spiders! Especially massive, hairy ones! Look at the bites on me, Robin! Look at them! They hurt!"
When Robin didn't respond, being covered in painful bites himself, Much addressed the creature hiding in his boot. "If you think you're going to take up residence inside my boot, you are sadly mistaken, you poxy hairy eight legged beast! Still," he continued, trying to look on the bright side, "you're better than a snake. When I get to Heaven, and I hope it won't be any time soon, though I highly doubt it, judging from all the dangers I face on a daily basis, do you know the first thing I'm going ask God? Do you, Master?"
Robin sighed, drawn from his distant gloomy musings at last. "No, Much. What will you ask God?"
Much smiled proudly. "I'll march straight up to Him, and I'll say, 'Lord, why did You create snakes? From where I stand, they're nothing but trouble! Look at the Garden of Eden, for instance! If it wasn't for the Serpent, we'd all still be living there, having a wonderful time!' "
Robin finally cracked a smile. "We'd be naked, you know, Much."
"WHAT?" Much was outraged. "We'd be...wha-wha-wha-WHAT?"
"Naked. Naked as the day we were born."
"Oh, no...not me! You might be naked, Robin, but I'd have more sense!"
"They didn't wear clothes in Eden, Much," Robin grinned, amused by his friend's chagrin. "You'd have to go around naked."
"I wouldn't!"
"Why not? Might be interesting. The women would have to be naked, too, you know. Why else do you think they call it 'Paradise?' "
Much shook his head in embarrassment. He had seen more than his fill of naked women recently, when he'd accompanied Robin to those revolting brothels, sent by the King to fetch out that revolting Spencer. Thank God the man had been sent home in disgrace and they didn't have to set foot in those stink holes anymore!
"Don't let them bother you, Master," he comforted, changing the subject.
"Who, Much?"
"The others. I heard them mocking you. Just because you don't...don't...doesn't make you any less of a man, Robin. In fact, it makes you more of one! Well, I don't know about that, but it's nothing for you to hang your head about."
"It's nobody's business what I choose to do or not do," Robin said.
"I know! And I thought this was supposed to be a Holy War! Please! You'd never know it, from the way most of these Crusaders act!"
Robin retreated into silence again. He agreed with Much. War was not what he had expected. He had to save more innocent Saracen women from his own men than he cared to count. He'd even had to order some of his men to visit the brothels, since it was the only way he knew to stop them from raping innocents. It sickened him.
He told himself he couldn't care less if they mocked him behind his back for his celibacy, other than the fact that it undermined his authority with them. In the heat of battle, they listened to him. They recognized his singular abilities, and respected him, knowing he was responsible for saving their lives. Still, his pride was stung. He was used to being admired by men. Much, who had spent his entire life being mocked, knew better how to dismiss their jeers.
He forced his mind to dwell on more pleasant thoughts. The Garden of Eden...naked women...Marian. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine how she must look naked. He hoped his thoughts didn't dishonor her. He pushed them aside, knowing they did nothing but enflame him, and chose to remember instead some of their happy times, such as a picnic they had once enjoyed at Hathersage Heath.
Why hadn't she married him before he left? She'd be his wife now, and if he died...they'd be united for eternity. She hadn't understood when he'd begged her to marry him. She thought he'd only wanted to know her carnally. That was part of it, of course, but mostly, he'd longed to make his vows to her!
He wondered what she was doing right now. Was she having a happy Christmas? He pictured her face, smiling at him in the firelight, as she opened the present he had given her two years before. He couldn't recall what he had given. Oh, that was right! She'd asked for silver clasps in the shape of horseshoes, and he'd had them made for her. He hoped by now she'd had them sewn onto something pretty, and that she thought of him whenever she wore it.
He wondered if she ever did think of him. He thought of her constantly. She was his first thought when he opened his eyes in the morning, and his last prayer as he drifted off to sleep at night. She was his hope, his dream, his love.
Robin could hear Much rambling on about a new subject now, complaining about the rain dripping onto his head.
"Goodnight, Much," he said. "Be sure to remain alert. I don't think the Saracens will honor our Holy Day. Expect another raid tonight."
"Oh, Master, surely not!" Much whined. "Not again! It's Christmas!"
"Goodnight, Much."
"Goodnight, Robin."
...
(Note: Peasants paid rents on "Quarter Days"-4 times a year, and the winter day fell on December 25. The things Marian said about Dec 26, St. Stephen's Day, or Boxing Day, were also factual. The Christmas foods were also accurate. Tarantulas and snakes were menaces to the Crusaders...Acre was known for its brothels, and Richard had trouble with his soldiers visiting them. Richard barely escaped capture by a Saracen raiding party Dec 20 the year of the story in the location I mentioned. Also, he spent Christmas in the places mentioned that year and the previous year. I enjoy sneaking in facts wherever I can. Thanks for reading! Please review!)