A strong wind tossed the dry, brown leaves past Sarah's doorway, and she caught a scent that seemed strange to her. Standing, she pulled her cloak from its resting-place on a jutting rock and wrapped it around her shoulders. She walked out the door and down the rocks carefully, feeling the growing unease as she wandered farther and farther away from the safety of her home. The crisp autumn winds whipped her wispy hair in all directions, and she paused by a turned oak tree to breathe deeply once more.
Something dangerous was on the rise. She could taste it. Whatever it was, it was far from here, but not too far away to still it's tangy scent. The woman's eyes narrowed behind her mask as she mentally noted that this was the third bad omen to rear it's ugly head this season.
The first was a lack of beechnuts on the forest floor. Every fall, children and wild pigs both would rustle through the underbrush looking for the edible nuts. Squirrels and chipmunks would also benefit from the plentiful food to guarantee their survival through the winter. Though, this year, the nuts were hard to find, almost too scarce to count as a asset to the forest folk. Lack of food, as small as a beechnut, could prove fatal for many people this coming winter.
The second bad omen was the sight of Nan's swollen belly. Although she had only seen it from afar, on the times she crept to Helen's clearing to spy or gain knowledge about the goings on around her, Marian's friend appeared to be pregnant. Sarah would swear on a feather from a fallen angel's wings that the child that she carried was one that was birthed in the May. A Maychild. Sarah knew that the babe would be born in the winter, and would most likely die, and not live to be a year old. She shook her head, thinking about the pain the new baby would bring to Nan.
Sarah sighed, and climbed back up the step-like stones to her small, dark cave. The scent of rotting flesh clung to her nostrils, and threatened to cause her nausea. She held a hand against her masked mouth and rushed into the cave, breathing in the stale cavern air. Sarah sank down onto a banket, supporting her head in her hands. She turned on her side, trying to push the murky, somber premonitions from her mind. Her thoughts drifted to Marian, and she wondered how she fared...
An old, frail woman pursued the merchant's stalls, leaning heavily on her ashen cane as she did so. There was a malformed hunch on her back, and it caused her to bend to accommodate the deformation. Her hood was pulled low over her face to conceal her face from sight, though no one would want to gaze upon her features. People bustled around her, hurrying to be on their way, paying no mind to the creeping old crone who emitted a wheeze each time she stepped on her right leg.
A small, blond boy ran ahead of her, almost knocking her off balance. She let out an angry grumble, and called after him, "'Ey, tha should watch where thou art going!"
The dirty-face lad ignored her and pushed roughly past some more people with the same forgotten courtesy. The woman rubbed her lower back, leaning against a merchant's booth. The rich, haughty merchant looked at her with disinterest, and she liked it that way. As soon as he went to help another customer, she slipped a few items from his display into her cloak. Rubbing her back again, she limped onward, leaving the trader wondering where his food had gone off too.
"Thief!" someone cried, and the old, frail woman lifted her head with sudden interest towards the shouter. A fat, red-faced shopkeeper shook his fist angrily in the distance, and the blond boy from before drove through the tight crowd, his arms overflowing with loaves of bread, fresh vegetables, and rich silks. Marian watched him hustle past, then turned her attention to his pursuers.
A brute of a guard parted the throng, rushing to catch up with the small thief. A wry smile crossed her lips as she waited for him to pass, and then casually stuck her cane in front of his racing feet, tripping him. The guard plummeted to the ground, letting out an angry shout as he did so. The blond boy turned around to witness the fallen guard, and the hunchbacked woman raised her head, revealing her shadowed features, that were anything but old. Smiling, she waved him on, and watched him disappear into the crowd.
Before the startled guard could rise from his position, the woman fled into an alleyway and out of the city of Nottingham, never once looking back. She entered the surrounding forest, and limped a ways before she put two fingers to her mouth and whistled. A jingling answered her call, mixed with the stomping of hooves, as a brown horse came to her, nuzzling her face, pushing her hood back.
Marian dropped her cloak and unstrapped the heavy sack that pulled on her shoulders, giving the impression of a hump underneath her cloak.
"Oh, thou should have seen it," she giggled, unlacing the skirt of her dress, uncovering more bulging bags strapped to her slim waist, hanging down past her knees, "'Twas the most delightful thing..."
Her jovial laughter echoed through the forest, "I could've sworn that that guard was going to come after me in full force." She shoved her skirt into a bag and slid into loose leggings before loading up the horse. Bringing the hood of her green cloak over her ears to protect from the fall chill, she patted the horse's flank lovingly, "Come, we go our usual route."
Marian added a log to the crackling fire and sat back down on her soft pile of dead pine needles. The horse was noisily munching on some grain some yards away, and an owl hooted in the distance. She took a swig of her pouch, which was filled with mead, and caught a dribble with her sleeve. The sweet liquid burned down her throat as she leaned back and closed her eyes.
She thought ruefully of Robert.
Lately, she had been longing for companionship. She lived the life of a rogue, alone and wandering, the only friend she could trust was her horse. She lived a life where she could trust no one, let alone make any friends, tell anyone her name. A life that brought her adventure, though dangerous, it grew tiresome to be on guard all the time. She lived a life that wasn't as appealing to her anymore. Weeks of trekking through the forest paths, smuggling supplies from right under the Sheriff's nose, to the poor people of Sherwood had taken its toll on her.
Dark, fatigued circles had appeared under her eyes, and she had gotten even skinnier than she was at the beginning of the spring. Her spirits had dropped, and she had lost all hope for the return of peace among England. Also, there was an unsettling feeling in her chest, a strange lonely pain that could not be filled by anything...
She opened her eyes to discover that it had started snowing. Delicate flakes floated down to land on her face, before melting. They clung to her lashes, and the corners of her mouth curved upward in a smile, probably the first time she had exercised those muscles in a few months. The warmth of the nearby fire made her sleepy, and soon she had ignored the ache in her heart for the ache of her bones, closing her eyes.
"Wake up!" a harsh voice called her out of her wintry reveries. Marian opened her eyes with a start, shaking her head free from the sleep induced drowsiness. A dark figure loomed over her menacingly, "Wake up tha silly wench!" She received a boot under her rib, making her cry out.
Two pairs of gloved hands heaved her from the snow-covered ground, and gruffly yanked her past the forest surroundings. The men were dressed in dark green, shiny badges holding their cloaks in place. Foresters. She was dragged to a large trail, away from her dying fire. Another man was trying to take her bucking horse too, but the strong willed mare was giving up a fight for her freedom.
"Stop!" she cried, kicking fiercely at her attackers. Like her horse, she wasn't one to remain helpless in a situation such as the predicament she was in. Marian would rather die in battle than killed while in chains. It was a shame to be caught off guard, while she was sleeping. What did they want?
"No! Stop!" she yelled again, struggling to get free. A fist met her nose, and the world careened around her. Men. Horses. Cage. People. Flames. Screams.
She was pushed cruelly into a large wooden cage, and her hands tied with thick rope to it's lower bars. Other people were tied similarly around her, silent, watching her with fearful eyes. Marian tasted blood that poured from her nose, and shook at her bonds.
"Bastards! Let me free!" she screamed. The cage lurched into movement, pulled by large horses, and the men, foresters, trailed behind. Kicking at the thick wooden bars of the cage, she screamed again, "Why? Thou art the very pigs of hell! I demand to be set free! Beasts...swine is what thou art! Argh!"
"Someone shut her up," the driver complained over his shoulder. A royal forester sighed and quickened his pace to reach into the cage, grabbing for her with gnarled hands, "'Ey, git o'er 'ere."
As she scooted away from him, a booted foot jutted out from behind her and between the openings of the cage, catching the forester in the shoulder, making him stumble back. The forester's face grew angry as he looked behind her at the unknown young man, "Thee again, eh?" Using the butt of the sword he had extracted from his belt, the forester struck the young man in the stomach, making him groan.
The young man fell to his knees, knocking into Marian as he did. His hands were tied to a higher bar, so he landed in a pray-like position, his forehead resting against the bar. Satisfied, the forester fell back to his position behind the large cage. Marian looked around her at the ragged people in the cage, then turned her attention to the man who tried to help her.
"Will?" she asked, amazed at the sight of a friend, "Will Scarlet?"
He raised his head weakly from the bar and nodded. Marian scooted closer to him, as close as the ropes allowed. She said, "What's going on?"
"They're trying to reach their quota," he said, still on his knees.
"Quota?" Marian asked, puzzled. Scarlet winced as he twisted to face her, "The Sheriff wants an certain amount of scoundrels in his dungeons at the end of the se'nnight."
"All these people, to please the Sheriff?"
"It's better us," Scarlet nudged towards the foresters, "Than them."
"How'd tha get in here, then?" she asked. Scarlet closed his eyes, shaking his head, "I'm a fool of a thief..." he leaned in closer to her, "Got caught in the open, counting my money."
"And..." Marian said, looking around at the sad people around her, "What about them?"
"Same petty reasons..."
Tears welled up in Marian's eyes, "What's our fate, then?" she asked, already knowing the answer already.
"Death."
She turned her face away from him, refusing to let him see her cry. Though, he probably knew she was. Through her tears, she saw an old woman, tied in like manner. Next to the old woman, there was a graying old man, slumped over into her lap. Her hands were free enough that she could gently caress the old man's sleeping face.
Something inside of her told Marian that the man was not asleep.
Her heart leapt in her throat as she pondered her fate and the fate of the others in this wretched cage. They were to die at the hands of the Sheriff, all because of his wonting need to kill, kill, kill. And all she could do was stare at a sad faced old woman, lovingly stroking her dead husband's face.
Marian silently vowed her promise to personally murder the Sheriff.
Scarlet was awoken by a lurching motion. They were at the entrance of the Nottingham dungeons. Some called them the very gates of Hell. Others said that you were as good as dead the minute you crossed the threshold. Many said that God himself had shunned everything evil in the world to live in the depths of the dark, threatening prison.
He believed them all.
He looked over at Marian, who was awake now, surveying her surroundings. Her hands were clenched into angry fists as she saw the castle guards coming towards them. Scarlet stood, standing protectively behind Marian. She looked up at him with fear-filled eyes, "Don't let them separate us, Scarlet."
"I won't," he said, though his tone wasn't convincing.
The cage's ramp was let down and the guards and foresters untied the dispirited people from the wagon and into the dungeon. It was agonizing, waiting for their turn, Marian shaking with fear. Will was taken first, and he made it hard for the guard by dragging his feet. It was all he could do to spite the royal pigs.
Then, Marian was dragged out after him, her hands tied behind her back, but before she could join the other people in the passageway, a voice called out, "Henry, bring that girl here." Marian froze, turning her head around to look at the speaker. A man in a dark cloak waited by a brick wall.
The guard pushed her towards the man, and she made her feet obey. The snow had just started falling, and the top of her head was already dusted with flakes. She stared at the ground as the man in black inspected her. A leather glove appeared from within the folds of the cloak and tipped her chin up. It was then that she saw who it was.
The Sheriff of Nottingham.
His face twisted into a sickly smile, "Marian..." he drawled slowly, "We meet again."
Her jaw remained shut while he leaned over to speak, "And we will see how differently our meeting will end this time." Marian's eyes narrowed as he spoke.
"Take her to my chambers...I will have my way with her," he said to the guard holding Marian, then he turned and walked away, an entourage of pages and squires following him. She turned to look at the tall archway, where the people were waiting. Will stood, his hands tied feebly behind his back, staring at her with sad eyes. She was pulled from his gaze, and lead indignantly after the Sheriff.
"Marian!" Will yelled, before the strong iron gate came crashing down in front of him, blocking Marian from his sight.