Chapter Eight
As it turned out, Marian was the first to bring the subject up.
After Robin helped her down from her panting horse (sneaking a long kiss during the process, much to the general amusement; Friar Tuck tut-tutted and bustled away) and Little John had walked it away, she immediately came over to John and Nancy, who were setting the table.
"Thy sisters send written tidings, boys, along with other messages. I had not known your family was so learned!" she laughed, handing them a parcel of birch bark tied with rough yarn. "The little one was most insistent for paper and ink!"
John could have gladly thumped his head against the table, but settled for slamming a plate down and clattering the tableware. Bridget! Why, oh why does she have to talk!
"We thank you, my, er, lady," Nancy said, receiving the parcel. "How do they? Well, we hope?"
"A little time, and all was well, Nathan Greensleeves." Marian eyed Nancy's grubby green tunic. "The elder, Titty, sends greetings and love to all and says be sure to wash! The little one sends kisses and wants to know when her brother John shall take them back to the island in the lake?" she finished with a question in her voice.
Worse and worse! John fumed, wondering why Titty had not suppressed the verbose Bridget.
Nancy's eyes widened, but she smoothly replied "Tis but a tale he would tell her, of an island where many a dream would come true. She thinks we went there once before, but it was nought but a vivid dream."
Marian apparently took this at face value, for she smiled and said "Much is made clear by that."
John shot a look full of thanks to Nancy, who smiled back. "Lady Marian, were there, perchance, any other messages our sisters wished to send?" he asked.
"Naught of interest. They both are doing well and are thriving."
Marian turned to Robin, who had come up behind her and had his hands on her shoulders. "Well, lads, back to work! Mustn't keep the lady of the forest!" he said with a wink, turning her away. "Dinner will be ready soon, I hope?" he added, looking right at John.
"Aye sir!" John answered. Nancy tucked the letters into her shirt and walked off to the supply hut.
"I'll get the wine, John, would you get the cups?" she called.
"Sure! Of course, Nancy, what else would I do?" he muttered to himself, feeling more and more sullen. What right had Nancy to steal the letters like that?
John knew he wasn't being fair, but honestly, right now, he could not care less. He slammed the cups onto the table and went back to his cooking. He stalked over to the parsnips, directing his mood towards them as he stirred them harder and harder, splashing it onto his face. The roast seemed to sense his mood as it began to glide off the improvised spit into the fire. In his haste to catch it, he stepped into the salt box and landed on his bottom. The meat continued its gliding. He leaned forward, rescuing it at the cost of five burnt fingers as he had not used the safety rags. A fine English curse ripped out before he could stop it, prompting a bout of giggles from Nancy who had stopped the pouring of wine to watch him. Just then, Tom came up and pulled him to his feet, causing him to spill all the salt once again.
John groaned and wiped his face as Tom walked away with a sympathetic look. Maybe Robin wouldn't notice the salt? There had only been a bit left, but it was the best sort, for the table.
No, that chance was slim at best and at worst would mean a public scolding and extra duty hours. John bit his lip, mad at the world in general and at Nancy, Robin, the meal and Bridget in particular.
Hopefully dinner would go better.
Maybe.
Robin did find out about the salt, rather quickly in fact. John reflected that he must have some odd desire for the stuff that drove him to locate all sources of it. However, since Marian was there, he was not scolded and escaped with a shaking and a heavy slap from Robin behind a tree.
Rubbing his face, he went off to get another jug of ale, as he and Nancy had been slated to serve at table. Dick hurried past with a little harp and a sheaf of papers, muttering under his breath about transposing and tuning something or other. John supposed that Dick was going to help Allan-a-Dale with the entertainment.
With a sour look, he grabbed the heavy jug from the creek and hefted it to his shoulder. At one point, he had thought Dick to a bit of a muff, and pitied him, rather unfairly in retrospect. Now part of him envied Dick's clever mind and weaker arms. He was never called on to wait at table or haul loads any more!
"Ho-la, John Inventor! Robin says we may eat now," Nancy called across the little glen. She had just come out of the pantry tent and a teetering stack of plates, bowls, two baskets and a little jug swayed in her arms. "Why so glum?"
"Tired," John said, setting down his jug. "Do they need this?"
"Mayhap. Might as well take it over there. I'll set dinner up by the twisted oak," Nancy said, catching a cup with her left hand. "Do grab some meat and Dick for us, would you?"
"Sure, Nance."
John wearily trudged up to the table, slipped the jug on it, and walked away. No one acknowledged him; he had not expected it. Most of them would be roaring drunk before long.
Dick had already nabbed a spot at the table, squeezed between Allan-a-Dale and Walt the Wit and was eating whatever he could get his hands on. John felt more than justified to leave him there.
When he got to the twisted oak, (juggling a goodly slice of venison) Nancy had set three plate out and was filling the last of the cups with—wine?
"Where's Dick?" she asked.
"Eating at the table, the sneak," John answered sourly, plumping the meat down. "Robin better not find out you nabbed some wine."
Nancy raised her eyebrows, but passed him his plate with a hearty chunk of meat.
"Do you want to read the letters while we eat?" she said.
John nodded, his mouth full of venison. Nancy passed him the bundle of letters. The string was untied.
"Most are addressed to you. I took mine and Dick's out of the stack."
"Thanks, Nathan." John swiped his hands on the grass and plucked the top piece of bark off the stack. It was not folded in any way, and simply said "To John, 8". He turned it over and began to read Titty's handwriting.
Dear John,
We have found Susan, Rodger, Peggy and Dot! Peggy and Dot are working for the Sheriff as housemaids. So is Roger. We ran into them during market. They seem to be doing quite well. Roger has become a jester!
John chuckled to himself, his bad temper easing. That was such a Roger thing to do.
But, John, I'm afraid I can't break this in any other way. Besides, you should know this sooner rather than later.
What was Titty talking about? The light was fading, making it harder to read the faint, smudgey writing.
Susan is very ill. Is there any way you could make it to Nottingham? We're scared for her.
He dropped his cup, ignoring the wine puddle on his hose as he read the words over and over again.
Susan is very ill—Susan is very ill—Susan is very ill—
A/N The potato mix-up in the last chapter is fixed as well. Thank you constantlearner for pointing it out!
Constructive critique is always appreciated. :)