Nottinghamshire - Castle De Burgh

The next day

The rising sun's light sent its golden rays through the large windows into the meeting hall of Castle De Burgh. The hounds lay idly before the stone fireplace, its arch flanked by two massive stone stags. On the long table near the windows, freshly baked bread gave off a tantalizing aroma. Red-cheeked and green apples lay alongside a few nuts and dried fruits in a silver bowl. Sour cream and herbs in small bowls, jams, and the carafes of wine and milk wove their own notes into the extraordinary morning scent of early hours, which flowed into the interior through the open windows.

Hardly anyone would have guessed from this harmonious and quiet scene what chaos had reigned within the walls of this castle just a few hours before. However, if one paid closer attention to the signs, one could guess what had happened: outside this chamber, there was still excited activity. The maids and servants whispered, taking every opportunity to put their heads together.

In the kitchen, the noise level was much louder than usual, but the chatter resounded even over the clatter of pots. At every entrance and important gate, there were two armed guards whose bags under their eyes testified to an exhausting night. They rubbed their sore feet or tried to sit down somewhere, for they had walked up and down the castle until dawn.

Everyone was talking about what had happened last night: the brazen thief Robin Hood had stolen the taxes from under the sheriff's nose again! And not only that - Hood managed to free a prisoner from the dungeon!

Earl De Burgh bent over his plate on a large and nobly carved chair at the head of the long table, whose red brocade upholstery was already slightly worn and testified to the fact that important lords and ladies had often sat on it. The bread crust cracked softly as he broke off a good piece of it, and a maid milled his goblet with wine.
"You look tired, dear." the aging earl's voice rang out. His once full and dark hair had grown a few patches terribly thin and had taken on a distinct shade of gray, and his beard, too, was streaked with the silver of age. Perhaps the gray streaks might have come from the worries that his wayward daughter or even the troublesome thief Robin Hood were causing him? His usually alert, watchful eyes were small and reddened today, testifying to exhaustion whose cause Marian did not have to guess this morning. She was no different. She, too, had hardly slept a wink that night.

"I have not slept well, Father. The commotion and the ringing kept me awake," she said quietly, only managing to wring a wan smile from herself.

Her father leaned back in his chair, tapping his hand thoughtfully on the tabletop. "Hood escaped through the sewage tunnels," he told her, and Marian raised her head to at least blink in feigned surprise.

"Oh? Really?"
"He must have had allies in the castle. The guards in the counting chamber said two thieves attacked them. And hardly anyone knows the old tunnel. Especially the collapsed entrance in the dungeons," her father noted, and Marian wondered if he was just telling her that, or if maybe he suspected something?

"I can't imagine that. Our servants are very loyal," she replied with conviction and hopefully with the appropriate intensity of indignation. Still, she felt the unpleasant prickle on the back of her neck that afflicted her whenever Earl De Burgh found out about her.'He can't know,' she tried to reassure herself.

As the maid curtsied and left the room to fetch a new carafe of wine, her father heaved a soft sigh. "Marian. If you know something..."

Damn. Where did parents get that sense to guess when their children were about to do something stupid or lie?

"Why should I know anything, Father?" she lied, shaking her head, which made a curl tickle her cheek.

"Robin of Locksley was well known to you, Marian," her father interposed, and Marian would have liked to groan in indignation.

"That's true," she said instead, "He thought me an annoying appendage that our fathers had tied to his leg to bind our houses and blood for even more influence and wealth. Robin of Locksley was always good at running away - so he did just that. He preferred war to me, would be presumed dead, and then suddenly returned as a dissident." Marian straightened up a little straighter, like a child vehemently resisting accusations of stealing the cookies - though the crumbs still clung to her cheek. "Nothing connects me to Robin Hood except an old agreement, which was not made with my will. Just as many things were not my decision."

Without her being able to prevent it, her tone became a little sharper and more reproachful than intended. Unspoken reproaches and old pain that had never quite faded away. Her father straightened in his chair as he noticed invisible clouds looming over the sunny morning, clouding the sunshine.

Earl de Burgh's eyes showed a pain not often seen in his features. He, too, usually hid his sorrow well behind a mask of righteous authority and noble detachment. This time, however, she realized that her words had struck him.

For a few moments, there was silence in the Great Hall. "You know I did everything for your own good." His voice had become harsher, weary in a wounded way. "What happened to Gillian then, I deeply regret. But I had no choice but to send you away. Your fiancé had gone off to war, and the vultures were already circling. And your condition after the incident with..." he broke off, and Marian's fingers buried themselves in the fabric of her dress.

How often and how violently had they argued about this?

"The monastery was to help you heal your pain. It was the right decision. Everything I do and what I did was always for your good, Marian," he said with fatherly sternness. They had had this conversation many times before without being able to accommodate each other. "No one could have guessed what kind of man Robert of Locksley was."

The best, the best, the best. That's what they kept telling her. But no one asked if she felt that way. The most terrible things were done with good intentions. Damn it, Marian knew that her father had always meant everything well. But those years in the convent had literally suffocated her. She felt as if she couldn't breathe. Marian pressed her lips together and stared at her plate as if the center of all her grave lay there. This was all wrong. Why was it that apparently only she could see this! "No. No one knows what kind of man Robert of Locksley is." She returned sadly, thinking silently, 'Maybe he doesn't even know himself.'

"I don't want to argue with you, Marian," her father said more conciliatorily, and a loving tenderness tugged at his exhausted features. "We don't have to talk about then. I just wanted to make sure you weren't in any danger. What happened then was unfortunate. But it must not continue to overshadow your life. Robin Hood is an outlaw now. Noble as his intentions may seem to you. I know the fascination such adventures have always held for you."

Marian could not hold on any longer. AShewished she had inherited more of her mother's calm self-control. At moments like these, Instead...

"Adventures?!" she groaned, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "This has nothing to do with adventures, father! You can see for yourself that the crown is squeezing the land dry, and there's hardly a drop left. People are starving and dying here in their homeland. To fund a war many miles away. They are driven to the brink of dying and despair, and when they steal to keep from perishing, you knob them for it!" Hot tears burned in her eyes. But Marian was too angry and too proud to cry.

Her father sighed sorrowfully and rubbed his large hand over his face and the bridge of his nose. His brow furrowed deeply as he took a deep breath. "It's not in my power to change that, and certainly not in yours, Marian. You must not even think such things. And certainly not speak them out loud. You are an earl's daughter." Her father's eyes settled on her, and Marian felt like a scolded child again underneath. "The laws and decrees of the crown regent are, after all, immutable. If we refuse to pay, the same will happen to us as to the young Earl of Locksley, child. Prince John is not afraid to collect taxes by force, and our people don't need royal soldiers at their doors on top of the hunger."

Marian wanted to roar with anger. This helplessness was driving her mad.

An abashed cough caused the Earl to pause. "Forgive me, your lordship? Visitors have arrived." A lanky servant had opened the great door to the hall a crack and was humbly peering in when a gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him aside like a toy. A black-clad figure strode toward the table like a storm cloud or an ominous shadow,

"I hope I'm not intruding." The sheriff unfastened the silver clasp that held his side cloak together. "My lady." He nodded curtly to Marian, then passed the heavy, fur-trimmed cloak to the servant, who bowed exaggeratedly low.

'Poor Edward. Any lower and he touches the ground with the tip of his nose,' Marian thought. He could feel the uneasiness that the sheriff's presence caused. And she was no different. As soon as she saw this man, her stomach contracted, and inside, her hatred ripened into a poison that poisoned her thoughts.

"Of course not." Earl De Burgh made a beckoning motion. "Amelia!" he turned to one of the maids, "bring wine and cider for our guest!" he ordered loudly, gesturing to the sheriff to sit down.

The latter, however, raised his hand and waved it away."I must decline, my lord. No wine for me," he said at once, "I'm afraid an official occasion as sheriff brings me here."

Her father sighed heavily, tightened in his chair, and settled his eyes on the sheriff with a waiting expression. They had known each other for many years, yet they seldom agreed. Sometimes they drank and laughed; other evenings, the air between the reigning Earl and the sheriff was so tense that Robin could have shot arrows with it.

Typically, Marian pressed herself against walls and doors to eavesdrop on her father's conversations. This time, however, she law the sword of Damocles dangling over her. Her grip tightened around the silverware. Was the air getting thicker or rather thinner? Was the collar of her dress suddenly too tight?

'He has no evidence against you. Stay calm.'

Marian cleared her throat. She loosened her stiff fingers around her knife and fork and placed them emphatically slowly beside the plate. As if clattering too loudly might irritate the predator, she thought she sensed behind the sheriff's cold countenance.

Resting her palms on the table, she pushed herself up and rose. She bowed her head like the good little daughter she was expected to be, "Then I will apologize, MyLords."

"No," the sheriff's voice cut through her attempted escape like a sharpened blade through a bowstring. "Please. Stay, my lady. You should hear what I have to say."