It's Not Over

A Shock for Robin

A Shock for Robin

After his miserable supper of berries, which had led, unsurprisingly, to an upset stomach, Much was looking forward to finding some decent food in Nottingham.

All I wanted were some answers. 

Finding out that Marian had married – even though I knew deep down that it was probably inevitable given the amount of time I’d been gone – had put me in a foul mood that morning, and neither Much’s amusing monologues, nor Jasmina’s tinkling laughter as she skipped through the forest, could lift my spirits. All I could think about was that I’d made a complete mess of things.

Much was in a hurry to get to Nottingham, reminding me, as well as every skulking squirrel and ear-twitching rabbit, that it was market day and that even without coin he should be able to coax one or two of the market vendors to part with a badly bruised apple or some gristly bit of meat. I had trouble keeping up with him. However, I knew that no matter where he went, even if I lost sight of him, I would find him again. The bond we had formed over the years was far too strong for something as simple as distance, or a few hundred trees, to come between us.

“Come on, old man,” Jasmina called, waving at me.

She jumped over a log, almost fell into a bush and laughed. I laughed too. It was hard to be downcast for long with Jasmina around.  Perhaps that’s why I let her travel with us.

“At last!” Much shouted, pumping his fist in the air as we stepped out of the shady forest and onto the open grassland that separated Sherwood from the walls surrounding Nottingham.

Jasmina pointed and then turned to me. “That is Nottingham Castle, no?”

“No. I mean, yes.”

I winked and she screwed up her face in bafflement, failing to understand I was gently teasing her manner of speaking.

Nottingham Castle. 

To Jasmina it meant tales of bold knights, fair maidens and all-powerful kings. 

To me it meant a step closer to the woman I loved.

~ 

Much disappeared almost the moment we arrived, determined to fill his empty belly.

Jasmina eyed the market and declared the various stalls and their wares so much less interesting than those in her homeland, though she cheered considerably when she came upon a crate of chickens. Pulling on my shirtsleeve, she bade me to crouch beside her while she petted the foul-smelling birds. I didn’t like to tell her that they were bound for someone’s chopping block.

As Jasmina poked and giggled at the crated fowl, I scanned the marketplace. Nowhere did I see Marian. I mentally kicked myself. Of course she would not be here. She was married to the new master of Locksley, to a man who worked for the Sheriff of Nottingham, quite possibly his treasurer or scribe or master-at-arms. She would have servants to shop for their victuals and other personal needs.

I turned back to the chickens wondering if I could free one of them and give it to Jasmina without the owner noticing. It was a foolish notion, almost as foolish as expecting to see Marian among the noisy, smelly, jostling crowds and their equally noisy, smelly, jostling beasts and birds.

Lightly touching Jasmina’s arm, I suggested to her that we should go seek Much.

Jasmina nodded and, blowing the chickens a kiss, stood up.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked when I failed to follow her.

“Marian,” I said. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t.