"Thursday 14 August 1197 Anno Domini
My Lord Sheriff;
Your men are now divided in two groups. Richard created maps and we follow separate paths in pursuit. The result of that proved invaluable to our mission. Alas, enclosed you will find here two drawings which were penned by your talented officer, Master Richard. I believe you shall find them useful…" Duke Farnsworth penned on one of the last bits of parchment left, for his master, the Sheriff of Nottingham.
It was daybreak in the north of England. The day was fair which lent itself well to the task Richard was occupying his time with. Richard sat against a large rock. His knees were raised supporting his easel – a flat rock used as a surface for the parchment. He used coal as the medium to draw the face of the person the Duke described. Alas, it proved a difficult task. With nothing to go by but another man's memory, and not actually seeing what he was commissioned to draw, a great wad of crumpled up parchment grew in a pile near to the fire in the clearing where the three men used to complete this part of the mission.
Nigel pushed his long unruly blond hair from his face and strode over to the pile of rejected drawings, curious. He bent down and picked one of the crumpled pieces up and unfolded it staring at the drawing.
"Aye, mate! You can draw. I'm impressed." Nigel said.
"Well I thank you, but I shall be more impressed when I get this right." Richard said. He put the charcoal down and used his fingertips to blend it on the parchment over the outlines and curves of the face. Satisfied, he picked it up and held it out in front of him to show to Duke Farnsworth.
"Okay, how about now? Is this better?" He called.
"The eyes are too far apart." The Duke remarked as he studied it by squinting his eyes. He had put his letter to the Sheriff down. He would complete it when he was satisfied with Richard's drawings.
"I only altered them slightly." Richard lamented. "The last time you said they were too close together!"
The Duke rubbed his chin and narrowed his blue eyes. His red hair shone in the light as the tangerine glow of dawn changed to a lemony hue in the horizon behind him.
"Well, now they are too far apart." The Duke said. "Yes, much too far apart. Oh and the forehead is too broad as well."
"Then I shall have to start again." Richard sighed as he took the drawing, crumpled it and cast it to the increasing heap ahead and to the right of him.
"Is there anything else I should change?" Richard asked the Duke. "I fear we will run out of paper soon."
"No." Duke Farnsworth said. "You're nearly there. Everything else you captured is perfect."
Richard sighed as he picked up another piece of blank parchment. Usually it was one of his most favourite things to hold in his hands. It was his license. Upon it he could create anything of his own free will, call it his own, and enjoy every moment of the coal in his fingers and the feel of the paper beneath his hand. But now, he was growing tired and frustrated with himself. For as an artist he was eager to get it right. But as one of Nottingham's Black Knights, he knew this would earn him accolades from his master, the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Nigel was restless, for he was not occupied with a task at the moment.
"How much longer will this take? We are wasting time." Nigel pointed out to Richard.
"If all goes well, this will take me one more hour." Richard said as he looked down upon the parchment as he began to create.
"Good." Nigel said.
"Yes." The Duke called to them from where he sat on the other side of the fire pit. "And then we just have one more person of interest for Richard to capture." He smiled.
Nigel sighed. "This could take all day!" He exclaimed.
"Indeed." Richard huffed.
"I have a task for you, Nigel." The Duke said. "Go into the village. Get us some more parchment paper and coal for Richard. And find me a messenger. These documents will be sent to his lordship as soon as they are completed." He instructed Nigel.
"Very well." Nigel said.
"Curses!" Richard muttered as he threw the coal to the ground and crumpled the parchment, angrily tossing it to the pile of rejects.
The Duke shook his head and grinned, amused by the outburst.
"Well, at least we have kindling." Nigel chortled. As he walked by Richard on his way over to his horse he leaned down and winked at him. "I'll, err… take my time." He joked. And then he was on his way.
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In Nottingham, the weather was unlike the north. Here the day was grey and unseasonably cool. A heaviness was settling in the air. It foretold of impending rain, and death.
Rhiannon and Meridwyn strolled together through the village of Nottingham. Rhiannon had a pounding headache, her entire body ached in places that she never imagined could possibly hurt. She wanted to drink incessantly, she cursed that she never thought to bring with her a flask of water. She felt worse than she did while she recovered from both of her fevers! She remembered what the Sheriff said, about the morning after overindulgence of spirits and… what was it he said? Oh yes. Unpleasant. Is this what he would call unpleasant? That's funny. She was thinking it was more along the lines of agonizing. It made it difficult for her to bask in the afterglow of her night with her lover. Because if she didn't feel such agony, she'd be over the moon. Maybe it was a good thing she overindulged. Right now her malaise matched the weight of the day that lie ahead.
Scores of people were already out in the village and there was much talk going on in the streets as they made their way to Madam Oberon's home, which was located just outside of the village. Rhiannon heard many exclamations from people around her.
"The Sheriff has gone back to his old ways." She heard a woman remark.
"They say the sentence is unjust!" A man cried.
"Ha! You should have seen what happened here in ninety four!" Another man said as she passed by the two men.
Later, as they neared the home they were searching for she heard a brief conversation between two old women as she and Meridwyn passed by them.
"And they say he had changed." The first woman said. "Mark my words, Ophelia – the evil Sheriff has returned."
"Indeed. Did you know in ninety four, he threatened to cut Robin of Locksley's heart out?" Another woman exclaimed.
"No!" the first one said.
"Indeed! With a spoon!" The second lady cried.
"Sweet Jesus."
Rhiannon shuddered. Perhaps venturing out into the village this day was a terrible idea. Within minutes during a chance meeting with another maiden in the village, she truly regretted she chose this day to meet the woman who would measure her for her wedding gown. Because soon a sour taste of the bitterest gall tainted her spirits. She would be changed within hours, yet she did not know.
Madam Oberon had a modest manor which she occupied with her daughter outside of the village of Nottingham. It was a manor created of stone and wood. Lady Meridwyn banged on the heavy oak door using the iron ring that hung upon it. Within moments a slender middle aged woman with nary a wrinkle, sparkling pale blue eyes, and silvery hair opened the door. Despite her age she was a very attractive lady with fine boned features, kind eyes, and a welcoming smile. Her hair was fashioned in an elegant neat chignon. It glowed like a celestial orb upon her head. The fragrant smell of lemon assailed their noses as it clung easily to the heaviness of the air.
"Bonjour." Madam Oberon spoke in a soothing voice. She smiled. "Mademoiselle Meridwyn, what brings you here this day?"
"I'd like you to meet my friend, Lady Rhiannon, Madame. She is interested in a gown fashioned by you." Lady Meridwyn replied.
"Indeed." Madam Oberon smiled as she clapped her hands together. "Come in sil vous plait. You are just in time. My daughter has just taken a fresh lemon pie from the oven." She said. The two women followed her inside.
She directed them to a large room near the sitting room. There were bolts of various fabrics and textiles neatly arranged on tables and shelves as well as various sewing supplies, and some of her completed work. Beautiful gowns hung on hangers on hooks on the walls. Among them, a curious creation. Rhiannon spotted it straightway. A long black satin gown with delicate beading on the bodice. The sleeves fitted to the elbows then flared out into a trumpet sleeve at the wrist. Beside it hung a sheer lace veil. Oddly, the veil was black as well. Rhiannon slowly walked toward it. It chilled her to look upon it yet she was oddly drawn to it.
"Isn't this indeed interesting, Meridwyn?" She called to her friend and pointed to the gown when Meridwyn looked up. "Why…it appears almost to be a wedding gown?"
"Interesting colour for it." Meridwyn remarked. "She must be one brave lady. For surely that couldn't bring any luck to the marriage. Never mind the marriage bed." Meridwyn chuckled.
"Indeed." Madam Oberon commented. "Not all wedding gowns are created alike." She said as she picked up several yards of heavy cotton and took it to the wall where the gown hung and draped the fabric over it, covering the gown from their view.
"That is not a wedding gown – is it Madame?" Lady Meridwyn asked, incredulous.
"Mes Amis." Madam Oberon smiled at them. "You must not concern yourselves with that gown." She looked to Lady Rhiannon.
"What kind of gown are you interested in, Mademoiselle Rhiannon? A gown for day? For a special celebration or feast perhaps? Yes. Michaelmas is fast approaching. Or perhaps, something for evening?" She said as she drew closer to Rhiannon. She rested her right hand upon her chin, her left hand supported her elbow as she studied Rhiannon.
"I am in need of a wedding gown." Rhiannon said. "Can you create one for me?"
"A wedding gown, Mademoiselle!" Madam Oberon smiled. "C'est magnifique!"
"Yes." Rhiannon smiled. "Are you skilled in the art of creating wedding gowns? For I know that is a great undertaking."
"Mademoiselle Rhiannon." Madam Oberon began. "I am Arianna Oberon of Paris." She pronounced Paris as Paree Rhiannon noted. "I come from a long line of tailors and dressmakers. I made my first gown at seven. Indeed, I shall create for you the most beautiful gown in all of Nottingham. C'est bon!" she said.
"Splendid!" Lady Rhiannon said, smiling.
"Now, my dear, what is my time frame? For the fabric weight is dictated by the season. If your wedding will be in the winter I need heavier weaves you see." Madam Oberon said in her soothing sing song voice.
"I'm not certain." Rhiannon said. "Before winter definitely. Late summer or autumn, but before Michaelmas." She guessed.
"Good." Madam Oberon said. "Your fabric choice? Will it be satin? Silk? Brocade? Chiffon?"
"I can't begin to decide. Perhaps you can guide me?" Rhiannon asked.
"Oui." Madam Oberon nodded. Just then there was a knock on the door.
"Excuse moi." Madame Oberon said as she took her leave to answer the door.
"These gowns are exquisite." Meridwyn exclaimed as she touched one that was hanging before her.
"Indeed. The Sheriff was right, Meridwyn. My gown shall be perfect! I'm sure of it." Rhiannon smiled.
"I'd still like to know the mystery behind the black one." Meridwyn said.
Rhiannon shuddered. "I'm not sure I want to know. I got chills down my spine looking at it." Rhiannon said.
Footsteps approached and the voices of Madam Oberon and another young woman drew nearer. Ladies Rhiannon and Meridwyn kept quiet as they came to the threshold. Madam Oberon was with a young lady. She was of medium height, slender, with long flowing golden wavy hair and misty blue eyes. Her eyes were rimmed red. Her skin ghostly white. She looked to be trembling.
"Excuse us un moment." Madam Oberon said to Rhiannon and Meridwyn. "I shall be with you shortly."
The ladies nodded and stepped aside. They couldn't help overhearing the conversation however.
"My gown, Madame. Is it ready?" the young woman asked.
"Oui, Mademoiselle Brigid. It is exactly to your specifications."
"Thank you, Madame." The woman said. "And just in time. For I only have a few hours to spare before I must wear it."
Madame Oberon walked toward the wall where a vast array of gowns hung. She pulled the drape off of the black gown then pulled it down along with the black veil and was offering it to the woman. Meridwyn caught site of the transaction and poked Rhiannon. Rhiannon was startled and looked up from the white silk she caressed in her fingers. Meridwyn nodded toward Madam Oberon and the young woman. Rhiannon turned her head following the path of Lady Meridwyn's vision. The young woman was taking the black gown! That was her gown? She asked for it to be so?
"If you would like to try it on?" Madam Oberon suggested.
"There is probably no need." The young woman said, her eyes downcast.
"It was very large on you the last time." Madam Oberon soothed. It was poor advice but her intention was pure.
"Alright then…quickly." The woman said. She took the gown and veil and slipped away into another room.
"Now." Madam Oberon said as she turned towards Rhiannon and Meridwyn. "What kind of wedding will this be? Morning? Midday? Evening?" She asked as she walked toward Rhiannon.
"Stately." Lady Meridwyn interrupted.
"Pardon, Mademoiselle?" Madam Oberon asked.
Rhiannon noticed the young woman, Brigid, had come back and was standing in the doorway. The black gown and veil were draped over her arms. She looked close to…tears?
"Oui, Madame." Meridwyn said. "It shall be a stately wedding indeed. My friend, Lady Rhiannon is engaged to marry the Sheriff of Nottingham." She smiled knowingly and nodded.
The young golden haired woman, Brigid flew into the room suddenly. She charged toward Rhiannon pushing Meridwyn aside and spat in Rhiannon's face.
"Murderer!" She cried. "You're marrying a murderer!"
"Mon dieu." Madam Oberon muttered under her breath.
Rhiannon angrily wiped the spittle from her cheek with a handkerchief she found in her skirt pocket.
"Why, you wretched little toad!" Meridwyn hissed at the woman as she bolted toward her.
Madam Oberon reached out and grabbed Meridwyn's arm gently and shook her head giving a warning to silence her. Meridwyn eyed Madam Oberon curiously.
"Come, Mademoiselle." Madam Oberon said to Brigid as she guided her away from the two women.
"I was supposed to be getting married too!" Brigid shouted to Rhiannon from across the room. "Why don't you ask your lover why I'm not? Alas! The Sheriff has made me a widow, before I can even grant my lover one night in the marriage bed. May you both rot in hell!" Brigid wailed.
"Your payment." Brigid said as she handed Madam Oberon gold coins in payment for the gown. The gown which was supposed to be her wedding gown.
Rhiannon was clearly shaken. After Brigid had left, Meridwyn turned to Madam Oberon.
"Who on earth was that wretched woman?" She asked.
"That was Mademoiselle Brigid. She is engaged to Hector." Madam Oberon said.
"Who on earth is Hector?" Meridwyn cried. "What's he famous for?"
"The man who is scheduled to hang this day in the village square." Madam Oberon said.
Rhiannon's eyes widened, her head shot up at once. "She was to be married to the man the Sheriff has sentenced to die?" Rhiannon asked in awe.
"Oui, Mademoiselle." Madam Oberon said solemnly. "Two days ago she asked me to dye her wedding gown and headpiece black." It thought it strange until she told me why."
"Indeed." Lady Meridwyn sighed.
Rhiannon looked away. She felt hot tears brimming in her eyes. They were dangerously close to spilling onto her cheeks. She had to control it. She bit her lip and took deep breaths.
"Rhiannon, come. Let Madam Oberon measure you for your gown." Lady Meridwyn offered. For she sensed Rhiannon's anxiety.
Rhiannon shook her head. Her eyes closed shut to prevent the tears from issuing forth. This was a mistake to choose this day of all days to meet the seamstress. She could not endure. She needed to get back to the castle. She looked up at the two women.
"Thank you Madam Oberon, I will be in touch." A beat. "I'm sorry."
Then she flew out of the room and out of the door. She ran out onto the street. Voices assaulted her as she made her way through the village.
"Are you going to the hanging?" A woman said.
"I heard he refused the Bishop!" A man remarked.
"The sentence is unjust. Alas, there was no trial!" Another man declared.
She wanted to scream. How dare they? How dare they question the actions of her betrothed, the Sheriff of Nottingham!
She wandered aimlessly. She knew not where she was going at first for she was lost in thought. Time did not move for her. Her mind was racing so much she didn't realize how much time she had wasted. Until it was too late.
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"Where is she? I am due to be on the balcony soon greeting the villagers!" the Sheriff huffed. He was in the Council Quarters addressing his sentry.
"I do not know." The guard said to him. "I saw her take leave this morning."
"And you did not ask where she was going?"
"No, sir. I assumed she told you."
"Well she didn't!" The Sheriff barked. Oh this was loathsome. He knew Lady Rhiannon had no wish to witness the execution, but still it would be one less thing to worry about if he knew where she was!
"What's going on?" Guy asked as he strode into the chamber.
"The execution is scheduled fifteen minutes from hence. Alas, my lady has disappeared from the grounds." The Sheriff huffed.
"Interesting. My Meridwyn is gone as well." Guy remarked.
"Oh, splendid." The Sheriff said sarcastically as he clapped his hands together once and rolled his eyes. "Remember what happened the last time they took off together?"
"How could I forget?" Guy said.
"For as much as I am pleased they are friends, Guy, you know that your lady plus mine can only spell one thing: t_r_o_u_b_l_e."
"Indeed." Guy chuckled.
"Well I cannot worry about it any longer. We have a duty to perform." The Sheriff said resignedly. He sighed. "Ready?"
"Let's go." Guy said. They walked together to the balcony.
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"It is time, Hector." Joseph said, as he unchained his old friend. Two guards were there to escort him into the village square.
"Do something for me?" Hector implored him.
Joseph nodded.
"Tell my lady Brigid that I am sorry." Hector said.
"Indeed my friend. Godspeed." Joseph said solemnly as his eyes looked their last upon Hector.
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The trumpet sounded. The Sheriff of Nottingham and Sir Guy of Gisborne stepped onto the balcony to greet the villagers. It was a dark gloomy day. A grey sky with heavy clouds was the backdrop. Ravens circled above the scaffold, as if they knew they would feast here today. A great tumult arose from the crowd. The Sheriff raised his hand and they quieted. He called down to the guard.
"Bring him out!"
A band of drummers beat upon their drums to announce the prisoner's arrival. The portcullis raised. Hector stood waiting with a guard flanked on either side of him. He looked out into the crowd – men and women dressed in black. Torches blazed all over the courtyard. The drums mixed in with murmurs from the crowd. He walked the walk, but he never felt his feet touch the ground.
Curses! The crowd had grown so much in density in the village, and then closer to the castle in the village square that Rhiannon was unable to make any headway. She was flanked by scores of people all around her. Every time she thought she had a chance of making it back to the castle in plenty of time, her attempts were thwarted. There was no where to go, no escape. The crowd was massive. She was forced to follow in their footsteps, there was no way she could break free. And now, she was standing among the crowd of villagers. The drums were sounding. She looked up. Her lover was atop the balcony with Guy of Gisborne. Both men dressed all in black leather studded in silver. Their hair waving in the breeze. They looked regal and dangerous, and it was like seeing them through the eyes of another, instead of her own. For now, she was caught up in the villager's world. And some did not take too kindly to the Sheriff.
She looked ahead. The noose swung in the breeze on the gallows. The executioner was a menacing looking man. He was tall, dressed in black leather with large garish silver studs all over the tunic that came to mid thigh and cinched with a wide belt. He wore a fitted black mask over his head. Rhiannon shuddered.
Then she saw him. A young, handsome man with blond hair. He did not look like a criminal. But alas, the Sheriff had said he was one of his former guards. The man looked noble enough to her. He was dressed in black breeches, shiny black boots, and a snow white tunic. He indeed looked rather dignified and handsome.
Hector was helped upon wooden steps that led up to the scaffold. He noticed a coffin lying there waiting at the right of the scaffold. He looked up. He saw the rope hanging there above him from the dark wooden frame that lay against the gunmetal sky. He looked upon the crowd. A sea of black. The drums stopped.
"Hector of Nettlestone." The crier announced. "Have you anything to say?"
The voices of the crowd began to erupt.
"Yes." Hector said. He addressed the crowd. He raised his hands to silence them, even though they were bound in front of him.
"I shall be brief." Hector announced to the crowd.
"Here it comes." The Sheriff said to Guy. "The golden boy's last words." The Sheriff rolled his eyes.
"I leave you with a quote from the Roman poet Ovid: Leniter ex merito quicquid patiare, ferendum est: Quae venit indigne poena dolenda venit." Hector shouted audibly, yet calmly.
"Whatever that was he said." Guy commented. "My latin is poor."
The Sheriff sighed. "I'll tell you what he said: Whatever you endure deservedly, you must bear resignedly; the punishment that comes undeservedly, comes as a cause for grief."
"You know latin?" Guy asked, incredulous.
"I taught him some." Bishop of Hereford spoke. He stood on the other side of the Sheriff. A short, balding, white haired man. He wore an emerald green damask chasuble over his alb. It was trimmed in gold silk ribbon and ermine. A narrow taupe coloured stole hung around his neck and down to his knees. He was short with a round face, deep set blue eyes, and a face resembling an owl. For his nose looked like a beak, and his mouth was the tiniest that Guy had ever seen on a man. Every time he saw the Bishop he wanted to say "woo" just to see how the Bishop would react. One of these days he would, he smiled to himself.
"Ha!" The Sheriff snorted. "He is attempting to die a martyr!" He spat. The drums sounded again.
Hector was helped upon a wooden stool to stand upon. He looked once more upon the crowd. Torches burned against the backdrop of the dark grey sky. The crowd was a sea of black. His eyes found his lady standing there. She wore a black wedding gown, a black lace veil upon her head. She was in mourning. So was he. They would have to wait for an interval before they would meet again. He found her eyes within the sea of black and orange fire. His eyes looked his last upon this world and the hood was placed over his head. Then he felt the noose slide over his head and under his chin.
Rhiannon gasped as she saw the executioner place the hood over the man's head. She remembered the woman Brigid's stinging words in the home of Madam Oberon: "I was supposed to be getting married too! Why don't you ask your lover why I'm not?"Rhiannon closed her eyes trying to shut out the memory.
"To Christ I commend my soul." Hector whispered.
The Sheriff nodded to the executioner. The band of drummers stopped playing.
The executioner swiftly kicked the wooden stool from under Hector's feet. His body swung lifelessly from the gallows.
The canon thundered once, upon the battlements. Then an unearthly scream. She wondered if that was Brigid?
Rhiannon could hear the accusations again in her mind. "The Sheriff has made me a widow, before I can even grant my lover one night in the marriage bed." She didn't know this man, Hector, yet she felt a tear forming. Even though she wished she didn't, she understood why Brigid dyed her wedding gown black. She even understood her words, even though she insulted Rhiannon's lover. For Rhiannon was engaged to be married as well. What if that were her man upon that scaffold condemned to die, with no recourse? No one to save him? What if that were her whose dreams had all just been shattered? In the blink of an eye the executioner altered Brigid's life forever. Even though Rhiannon did not know her, she couldn't drive that thought from her mind. But she knew she must try.
The crowd was dispersing. She finally found a break in it. She could finally get free. She ran towards the castle, but she would stay out on the grounds for awhile. She couldn't go inside. Not yet.
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Hours later, the Sheriff was concerned. He still hadn't found Lady Rhiannon. The last he'd seen her was before they fell asleep. After she had given herself to him. He fell asleep content, but when he awoke she was already gone. Now it was nearing dusk. He had just returned to his den after searching for her throughout the castle. On the table was his decanter that was topped up by the servant. A new bottle of the special issue brandy had been brought from the cellar. He reached for it when the knock sounded on the door. Muttering curses under his breath, he strode toward it.
Guy and Lady Meridwyn were there. He looked upon them curiously.
"Where is my lady?" The Sheriff asked Lady Meridwyn. "I thought she was with you?"
"She was." Lady Meridwyn said.
The Sheriff gestured for them to enter. They followed him into the den and he closed the door.
"We were together this morning." Lady Meridwyn said. "But we accidentally became separated."
"When was the last time you saw her?" The Sheriff asked.
"About two hours before the execution. She was upset. I ran after her but lost her in the crowd."
"And why was my lady upset?" The Sheriff asked pointedly.
"I don't know if I should tell you." Meridwyn said quietly.
His left eyebrow shot north as he looked at her curiously. "Tell me." He said.
"It was supposed to be a surprise, but then again it would serve you to know what transpired." Meridwyn debated aloud.
"Tell me!" The Sheriff repeated with more urgency.
"Go on, my lady." Guy encouraged. "Tell him."
"She asked me to take her to Madam Oberon." Meridwyn blurted.
"The seamstress?" The Sheriff asked, astonished.
"Yes."
"Why?" he asked.
"To commission the lady to create for her a wedding gown." Meridwyn said.
The Sheriff's eyes widened. A wedding gown? If he wasn't so worried about her, he would laugh. He was suddenly relieved.
"I'm afraid your lady was the victim of cruel insults while we were inside Madam Oberon's home." Meridwyn began.
"Who insulted her?" The Sheriff demanded.
"Not her, my Lord. It was you she insulted."
"You confuse me, Lady Meridwyn." The Sheriff said. "You said – she. Who is 'she'? Did Madam Oberon upset my betrothed?" He demanded.
"No. It was Hector's betrothed, a young woman by the name of Brigid who caused your lady grief." Meridwyn stated. "For she was there to pick up her wedding gown and headdress." A beat. "It was dyed in black."
The Sheriff sighed. He walked over to the table in front of the fireplace. He needed a drink. He quickly poured himself a goblet of his favourite brandy, expertly without looking.
"Magnificent!" The Sheriff cursed as he took a long draught from the silver goblet. "She didn't want to witness the execution. Why do I have a very bad feeling that she got a perfect bird's eye view of that too?"
"She was shaken." Lady Meridwyn said.
"I must find her." The Sheriff declared as he set the goblet back down on the table.
"She can't be far, cousin." Guy said. "She will return."
"I must find her, cousin. I need to find her now! I must explain. Before she…never forgives me." He said as he grabbed his coat off the chair and flew through the door.