By the next morning snow had
begun to fall, thick heavy flakes drifting down from the iron grey sky and, by
late afternoon, the world was muffled in a deep, white fleece. The forest was
quiet: birds silent and reproachful, small mammals curled tight and still in
winter burrows. The road through Sherwood that led to Halstead Priory was
pristine and untrodden, save for the occasional delicate imprint of a deer's
crossing. Robin's step was sure even through the deep snow. He moved briskly,
anticipation of the meeting to come carrying him easily over ditches, drifts
and fallen trees. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say to Marion. He
only knew that whatever happened he was incomplete without her, his life in
Sherwood cold and lacking without the warm smile of her love.
He knew she had suffered a
terrible shock when she had seen the body of his evil double, the man of clay
created in his image by the wicked Gulnar. She had thought him dead, that the
past was repeating itself, that she could never safely give her heart. And he
couldn't promise her that it would never happen again...He could only tell her
how hollow his life was without her.
He had almost reached the open weald that stretched up to Halstead when he heard the horses behind him. Slipping effortlessly into the trees, he blended motionlessly with the shadowy trunks. There were four riders, their horses weary and spent, stumbling through the heavy snow. Two were rough-looking soldiers dressed in well-worn leather gambesons and steel helmets. They were armed with swords and crossbows, mounted on rough ponies, and had the hard-eyed look of mercenaries. The third man was middle-aged, of stocky build, with white hair wisping from beneath his helmet. He was better dressed, with a plain dark tabard and thick cloak covering his suit of chain mail. His face was dark and weather-beaten, his eyes keen and watchful.
It was the fourth rider that drew
Robin's attention, however. Obviously a woman, she was swathed in a heavy fur
cloak. Expensively gloved hands lightly controlled a fine mount, whose rich
harness glinted in the fading light. Her head and face were muffled against the
cold by a soft hood of silver fox. As they reached the edge of the forest, the
middle- aged man turned to the others.
"There it is: Halstead
Priory. We'll rest there tonight and carry on in the morning. God willing we
can reach Newark tomorrow." The others did not answer but merely pushed
their horses on up the hill towards the grey walls of the Priory. Robin looked
thoughtfully after them from his hiding place, waiting until the travellers had
entered the Priory gate before hurrying on himself.
The Abbess wasn't particularly
pleased to see Robin. Although Marion was only a novice and, thus, technically
allowed visitors, the Abbess was of the opinion that the outside world was best
left there, especially when it took the form of a handsome young man. In
addition, the presence of the four travellers made her more conscious of
Robin's outlawry. She frowned as she showed him into a small, cold room.
"You can wait here. I'll
have Marion sent for." She paused, as though to add something else but,
obviously thinking better of it, went out, closing the door. Robin looked
around the spartan room, a narrow cot and a wooden stool were the only
furnishings, the window was shuttered against the falling night, the sole
illumination from a guttering rushlight. Softly, he walked to the heavy oak
door and eased it open a crack, listening.
In the main guest refectory where
ordinary travellers were housed, the man in the blue tabard was growling at the
nuns.
"Come on, hurry up and get a
room ready! Can't you see my lady is exhausted? Make sure it's warm and the bed
isn't damp! Where's that wine? Quickly now!"
The lady in question was
reclining in a chair beside the blazing fire. She had removed her furs to
reveal an expensive gown and fur-lined pelisse. Her glossy dark hair was
covered by a silk head-dress, one corner of which was drawn over the lower half
of her face and fastened with a curiously wrought silver pin.
A young novice hurried up to her.
"Please, my lady, a room is ready for you now." She looked up as the
tabarded man moved towards her and offered his hand. She took it gratefully.
"Thank you, Gilbert." Her voice was low, and hoarse with fatigue. He
motioned peremptorily to the novice to bring the furs. The young nun guided
them up the corridor to the guest room, holding a wax candle so its rich, clear
light gleamed against the stone walls and floor of the priory. The same golden
light illuminated the two travellers as they approached Robin, his eye still to
the crack in the door...an eye that narrowed thoughtfully as they passed. Soon,
however, his eye was drawn to another figure in the corridor, a slight,
graceful figure softly dressed in the pure white linen of a novice. His heart
leapt as he recognised Marion and he pulled back into the room, allowing her to
enter.
"Hello, Robin." Her
voice was quiet, and her face composed. Only in her eyes was there a hint of
wistful sadness.
"Marion." It came out
almost as a whisper, echoing the empty longing and blossoming hope filling his
heart.
She sat on the edge of the cot,
clasping her hands in her lap, unable to quite meet his gaze.
"How is everyone?"
"They're all well and send
their love. Much has grown another two inches, and so has Tuck!"
She smiled faintly but was
silent. He knelt beside her, gently taking her hands in his.
"Marion, we miss you so
much. Sherwood is a dark, cold place without you. My life is a dark, cold place
without you."
She looked up, the hint of a tear
on the lash of one eye, her voice faint, "I miss you too, Robin, and
Sherwood. Life here isn't quite what I had imagined." She smiled faintly.
"There's a price to be paid for leaving the world and it's a little higher
than I expected."
"Aren't you happy,
then?"
Her face was thoughtful.
"No. I feel safe, and contented, and I keep busy, but happy? No, not
happy."
"Then why stay? You know you
can return to Sherwood any time, Marion. We all miss you. It's like a part of
us is missing, a very special, beautiful part."
"Oh, Robin!" She stood up, pulling her hands away, and walking to the window, "Part of me wants to be with you but I'm afraid. There's a price to be paid for happiness too, and I don't know if I can meet it. I have been healing here in Halstead, but the wound was very deep and I don't know if I will ever really recover."
"Then let me take you
somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Nottingham, from Sherwood, from the
past. Let us make a new life together." As he said it, Robin felt his
heart yearn, to live quietly with Marion, safe and happy, rearing children and
growing old together. The dream was almost tangible, filling the room. He could
see it reaching out to Marion, touching her frightened, hurting heart with its
sunlit promise. He crossed the room and took her in his arms, very gently.
Reaching up a hand to trace the lightest of touches on her face, he looked into
her moss-green eyes. "I love you, Marion, as I have never loved anyone in
all my life. I will make any sacrifice for your happiness. I left my family and
my previous life. I will leave Sherwood and this life too. And if you ask me to
go away from you then I will, but only the knowledge that it is your wish will
enable me to bear life without you."
The tear in Marion's eye spilled
silently down her cheek, silvery in the dim light. "I don't know, Robin.
Part of me wants to be with you, part of me wants to be in Sherwood and part of
me wants to stay here where it is safe. I'm just not strong enough to choose.
One day I will be, and then either I'll take my vows or I'll come to you. I
have to make sure I take the right path."
His finger gently caught the tear
and he touched it to his lips. "I understand." He released her and
stepped back towards the door. "I will wait for you, Marion, until the
very last minute of my life. You know where to find me."
"In Sherwood." Her
voice barely brushed the air.
"In Sherwood." He
echoed her words, the faintest smile ghosting his lips, then slipped silently
out the door, the touch of her tear an ache on his skin.
Robin made camp alone that night, wrapped warmly in his cloak, the rustlings and cries of the night as familiar to him as the sound of his own breath. Sleep, however, eluded him, and he sat gazing, unseeing, into the embers of the fire. His heart still ached from seeing Marion, his ears still echoed with her words, but his love sustained the hope of her, and there was nothing more he could do except wait. As the night drew on, he found himself hearing other words, words that awakened a deep pain, a gut-churning sickness. The harder he tried to push them away, the more they tormented him. Eventually, in the cold, stark light of morning, he accepted the inevitable and turned his steps towards Huntingdon and his father.