Her uncle had not come.
The Sheriff leaned leisurely back in his chair as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. The girl's uncle had not arrived as expected, and his patience was wearing thin. Marian had been a burden to him since the day she had arrived. And a burden that he would like to be rid of.
Removing his shiny black boots from the top of the desk, he sat up, gripping the broken silver tipped arrow that had been in his mind constantly over many months, haunting his dreams, frequenting his thoughts in his waking. His blue eyes gazed up the shaft, and finally reached the arrowhead. Reaching up his finger he stroked the blade, then recoiled, staring in shock at the droplet of blood that had appeared there.
"Still sharp," he murmured. Standing up, he went to the door and opened it, and spoke to the guard that stood there, "Get the girl. She is broken. Make her ready to hang at noon." And then just as quickly as he had opened the door, he slammed it just as abruptly, smiling wickedly to himself.
The girl had been broken.
A brisk wind rippled the skirts around Christine's legs as she watched the thieves prepare for battle. The man known to her as Scarlet was sharpening his knife with the small man, Much, whose small but strong fingers danced around his boots, lacing them tightly. A fat man was practicing moves with the larger man who she had seen the night before, John. Their ash staves moved swiftly, each blow met with a strategic block, as others watched, clapping their approval of their expertise. The nuns were gathering sticks and twine, rushing about the dirty men like nervous hens. A small smile appeared, before she quickly remembered who all this was for.
Marian.
Christine's eyes gazed around the clearing, before resting on a crumpled, sleeping man who leaned against a white birch. She strode purposefully over to him, her hands slowly clenched into fists as she did so. She passed Robert on the way, and he reached his hand out to her, but thought better of it, watching her silently.
Suddenly, Guy awoke, finding a masked person peering down at him. Night was fading into daylight, and he could hear the stomping of horses and the shouts of men around him. His hands were clasped together, tied with rope, as if he was in silent prayer, and he leaned against a tree, its bark scratching the back of his neck.
It seemed as if the masked character and he were the only two beings left on earth. The scenery changed drastically, the dark brown and green colors swirled and melded slowly together like soup being stirred with a wooden spoon above a fire. He shielded his eyes and squinted to take a closer look at this person's face, but before his eyes could adjust rightly, the figure had moved on, and all Guy could do was lean his head against the tree and wonder.
"This is far too dangerous, Christine, remember that I do not ask of thee to come with us," Robert told her as they sat behind the city walls.
"Thee did not ask for them to come," she said, motioning towards the huddled nuns, who were fletching arrows as fast as their nimble fingers could fly, "But here they are."
Scarlet ran towards them with great speed. Everyone gathered around as they waited for him to speak.
"Robert...'tis Marian," he panted, holding his hand to his chest as if it hurt him to breath.
"Marian!" Robert and Christine exclaimed together, standing up.
"She's...she's...to be...hung..."
"When?" Much asked, gripping the young man's shoulder.
"When...the sun is high..."
"Oh no!" Mother sobbed, flinging herself into the arms of Tuck, who comforted the nun. Christine grabbed at Robert's tense arm, "What shall we do?"
He pulled his hood down and shifted a quiver of silver-tipped arrows onto his back, grabbing his bow with his other hand. Then, he looked at everyone else, with a sly grin on his face, "We shall make sure she does not swing."
It took all Marian's strength to shove the chair into the corner, where the runoff from last night's rain dripped through a crack in the wall. The soft sound had woken her from nightmarish dreams, and brought her back to her world of pain. Her world of never-ending torture and filth.
Her left hand felt like a thousand bone needles were trying to poke their way through the skin. It tingled and twitched, for she had no control over it. Marian shook all over from the wintry chill that crept through the walls of the small cell that she was in, and penetrated her body. Her aching body.
She leaned back in her chair, opening her mouth, letting the water trickle onto her parched tongue. Then she spit out the liquid violently, rocking the chair so much that it tipped over, spilling her to the floor, her hands and ankles still tied to the wooden arms and legs. That water had betrayed her, for water it was not. Marian guessed that one of the castle's deep latrines was nearby, and its contents were leaking in through the walls.
She lay on the cold, stone floor, her head pinned under the back of the chair, and her knees felt crushed under the weight of the seat. She let out a growl that sounded more like a whimper. Marian would not cry. Not now. The Sheriff may have burned her, and beaten her, but he had not broken her. She leaned to the side and the chair rolled with her movements, her body no longer under it's heaviness.
Marian drifted in and out of darkness, dreaming nothing, seeing nothing but bottomless, empty gloom, and moving smoky shadows that reached out for her, calling her name...
"Get 'er up!" ordered a guard who had come into the room, and two others righted the heavy chair in which Marian sat. They untied her hands and ankles with cruel harshness, and pulled her up.
"Girlie's gonna swing today!" the guard to her right sang through his toothless mouth. She lifted her head weakly, "Swing?"
"Ya deaf girlie, th' Sheriff ordered tha' yer going in fo' a hangin'!" the other bearded guard said, dragging her out into the dimly lit hallway, and up the stairs. No one was going to force her to hang. Not even the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Gathering her courage, Marian socked one of them in the stomach, screaming, "No one owns me!"
She kicked herself out of the vise grip of the other, pushing him backwards down the stairs so that he toppled over the third and final guard that stood in her way.
"NO ONE OWNS ME!" she shouted again, and bolted with all of her energy left up the stairs, opening the oak door that led outside into the snow. Blinking at the bright light, she stumbled across the courtyard, falling numerous times, her blurred vision seeing nothing but white, falling snow.
Then she was tackled to the ground by a guard, her face pressed into the cold, frozen ground. It was then that she admitted her defeat, accepted her fate. She could fight no more, it had drained her of everything she had. All hope was gone.
Marian was to hang at noon.
She looked out at the crowd that had gathered to watch the hanging, holding her tears inside, not openly showing her fear. Because that would show weakness, and even Sarah had said that she was not one of the weak. And she would prove that until her dying day...which would be in only minutes... that she would not quit. The sky had slowly darkened in the last hour, and clouds formed above the city, thunder could be heard in the distance. The weather shadowed Marian's mood.
She was the only woman in a small pen with a dozen or more thieves, murderers, and rapists, only half of whom were truly guilty of their crimes. Some prayed on their knees, others laughed deliriously, and most were too drunk to care. Marian pressed her hands against the wooden bars and glared up at the Sheriff, who sat beside Prince John, on a sheltered part of the high walls of the castle.
Her contempt bubbled inside her stomach for the two men she hated most in the world. For the two men who had caused so much death, pain, and starvation. For the two men that held the reigns of the country, and guided it further and further into the pits of Hell.
"What's t' do fo' thee?" A man with a dirty face asked her and she turned her glare from the Sheriff to him. He wiped his nose on his sleeve as he waited for her answer.
"I must hang for the crime of being defiant..." she said, her voice dark and low, returning her gaze to the upper wall. He scratched his chin with an equally dirty hand.
"Hmmm, ne'er heard o' tha' one befo', swee'," the man responded, then left her to be alone.
The door of the cage creaked noisily open, and one by one, they were dragged out with heartless feeling, their hands bound tightly by ropes, and pushed unforgivingly towards the gallows. And one by one, they were lead up onto the creaky wooden scaffolding, nooses neatly fitted over their necks. Marian held an expression of stubborn stoniness on her face, and complied with all the guard's wishes.
She stared out at the jeering crowd, hating them also for watching intently as innocent lives were lost before them. Marian blinked wearily, and her eyes moved to the distant stone wall, where she saw a strange movement of people through the crowd. She shook her head at the foolishness, it was just the last remnants of hope playing tricks on her.
But she saw it again, and the gang of moving people spread out in the crowd, their faces unrecognizable to her. Wondering what was going on, she glanced up at the Prince and the Sheriff, to see if they had noticed. Of course they did not, for they were chatting earnestly about some petty problem that mattered to their royal heads. She looked to the guards, anxious to know if they suspected anything.
They didn't.
Something was up.
Marian searched the crowd once more, trying to pick out the strangers that she had seen before. She could find no one, but spied a curious movement on top of the high guard towers, and it was not a guard, for sure. The man did not wear one of the royal uniforms required by the Sheriff, but he did carry a quiver of arrows, like one of the hired archers, and a sword at his belt, like one of the keepers. What was going on?
They had just dropped the first criminal, and the sudden actions shook the gibbit boards that hung above them as the rope went taut, and then agonizingly soon, limp. Marian was sixth down the line of accused outlaws. She had to be brave, strong, and true. She could not show fault in her actions. She must be courageous.
It was awfully hard.
The second man was dropped, and Marian whimpered in fright, looking towards the people on the ground, pleading silently for any form of help with her eyes. They averted their gazes strategically, not wanting to accept their guilt. Desperately, she took a step forward, almost choking herself on the rope, "Doesn't anyone care?" she pleaded, before she was pulled back by one of the strong guards, a short knife at her throat.
"Don't make me cu' thee righ' now..." came a stale voice in her ear, and then she was shoved back into line, her eyes cast downwards in shame at her own helplessness. A shaking of the scaffolds signaled the loss of one more scoundrel. Marian peered ruefully out from behind her long brown hair, and this time, she met the attention of one other pair.
The eyes were a radiant azure blue, hidden under a forest green hood, and he stood at the end of the gallows at the very front of the gathered mass, watching her silently. She felt a sudden warmth in her belly and her knees go weak as he brought a subtle finger to his grinning lips.
Her mouth gaped with awe, as she watched her fearless Robert slip mysteriously back into the people. Marian looked to the other towers and saw that more strange men had gathered there, going unnoticed by the Sheriff and his men. She realized with astonishment that there were more thieves from Sherwood Forest in the crowd than in the forest at this time, and she believed that all of them were there.
For her.
She felt a sudden feeling of admiration swell in her breast, and almost started crying at the dauntlessly gallant actions of Robert, coming to Nottingham to save her from certain death. Oh, how she loved him, and her arms ached with longing to hug him, and plant kisses on his stubbly cheek. Nothing in the world could stop her from being with him, and she would personally hurt anyone who tried. She loved him so...
The third and fourth men had been swinging for some time now, shaking the ropes as they twisted and struggled. It was almost her turn, but she did not have half the fear in her heart as she had bottled up only mere moments ago. It was now her turn to fight, her turn to be victorious, her turn to spit on the Sheriff and his ways. Her turn to be happy.
The man next to her was let go, and his neck broke on impact, killing him instantly. It would soon be her turn. She felt the weight of one of the executioners' hands on her shoulder, but no fear pounded in her heart, for now she knew she was going to be saved. The gloved hands tightened the rope around her slender neck, and she clenched her fists in anxiety. Why hadn't they rescued her yet?
Suddenly without any warning, Marian felt the board let loose beneath her, and the noose became taut around her neck. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs with air, but the pressure of the burning twisted cords on her neck was too much. Oh, Sweet God, she was going to die. Marian's eyes cast wildly about the crowd with direst need, looking frantically for Robert, and the rest. Letting out an anguished cry, she felt her vision go cloudy then, her ears heard the strange buzzing of a thousand bees, and her breath slowed and became ragged. She was about to die.
Her eyes felt salty and dry, and she closed them ceremoniously, welcoming the inky blackness of somber death and defeat.