It's Not Over

Robin Spies on Marian and Guy

Robin Spies on Marian and Guy

It was late evening by the time we reached Locksley and I feared Guy and Marian might already be in bed. We would have made better time, but Jasmina fell short of breath during the last couple of miles and I had to carry her.

“Are they in there?” Jasmina asked as we cautiously approached the manor house.

I nodded and put a finger to my lips even though I was sure that neither Guy nor Marian could hear us.

Despite the evening chill, the hall’s shutters were open. I could see Marian standing in front of the great hearth, staring at a dying fire.

Grabbing Jasmina’s hand, I pulled her towards one of the open windows. Together we crouched below it.

“I am going to look and listen and you are going to sit beside me and be quiet,” I told her.

She nodded in agreement and, sitting cross-legged, her back against the wall, she regarded the sleepy village of Locksley and the setting sun. A few moments later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep, her head resting on my upper arm, pressing against my tattoo of the Jerusalem Cross hidden under my shirtsleeve.

Looking at the peacefully sleeping child, I was sorely tempted to forget this madness and quietly slip away from Locksley and from the woman I could never have; but hearing Guy speaking to Marian about some domestic arrangement changed my mind. I wanted to know why she had ended up with him, indeed, why he had ended up back in Nottingham, working for the much-hated Sheriff Vaisey.

Taking care not to wake Jasmina, I inched up the wall and peered over the windowsill.

Guy was standing by the large oak table – I recognised it as the one belonging to my father and then to me – goblet in hand. I watched as he reached for a jug and poured red wine into the goblet. From the high colour on his cheeks I guessed it to be his second or third at least.

I licked my lips. I hadn’t tasted wine in a long time.

Marian shivered and turned around. She walked over to the table and poured herself a goblet of wine. The only time I had seen her drink un-watered wine was at a wedding in nearby Nettlestone when I’d issued her a dare. I rested my forehead on the window ledge, feeling as if I were fighting for breath. My Marian had gone from being a girl to a woman and I had missed it.

Jasmina sighed in her sleep. Kissing the top of her head, I gently eased her to the ground and then returned to my spying.

Marian took a few sips of wine, placed her goblet on the table and turned to Guy, a determined look on her face.

“You have told me nothing of your business in London. Did your meeting with the other Black Knights go well?”

She stole a glance towards the open window and I ducked down, my heart racing, my breathing shallow.

I heard footsteps – Marian’s from their light tread – and then the shutters banged shut. It did not thwart me, however, as there was a large knothole in one of the wooden panels – the reason I’d chosen this window to spy through – and I was still able to see much of the hall when I peered through it.

“As I have told you many times before, Marian, this does not concern you.”

Guy was clearly in an ill temper. He took another gulp of wine and then wiped his chin with the back of his hand. It was clear he had not slept well of late. Nor had he had much time to tend to his personal needs, the beginnings of a beard clearly visible on his pale face.

“Surely all things concerning you, my husband, concern me,” she said, lightly touching him on the arm.

He turned towards her and his face softened.