Maid Marian by Elsa Watson

Author:Elsa Watson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781400080786
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2004-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

BY THE TIME WILL STUTLEY recovered his nerve, the cold winds of winter swelled in force, sweeping down from the north and whistling through the trees of Sherwood. Robin set his men to work building bowers and gathering wood so the band might have supplies enough to last the winter through. Two score or more of the men moved into a broad-mouthed cave that stood near the river, but this was considered too chilly by Annie, who required that we have a wood-built house.

Just as she wished, a bower was built of our very own, and this we swept with happy hearts, squeezing green moss into the cracks and lining the floors with dry grass and deer pelts. We had space enough for our own fire and a propped-up door that could be removed to let out the smoke. We thought ourselves quite lucky indeed. The roof was so cunningly covered with boughs that not a drop of rain fell in, and we were left dry in our little house.

’Twas lucky indeed that we two shared a long experience with dull winter days, for Robin spent most of this time away, staying disguised at this inn or that, gathering news about Prince John. The keepers of the Blue Boar Inn were great friends of his, and I heard that he passed near all of January in their warm barn, exchanging tales as one does in winter when the snowstorms fly.

At times that winter my heart complained, weeping over the lost comforts of Warwick and bemoaning the darkness of our hut. But when these thoughts grew strong enough, I summoned an image of Lady Pernelle and her clawing hands and made myself believe I was happy. And, in fact, ’twas a great help to have Annie near, for she kept my memory honest and recalled the dullness of winters at Warwick with such dreary detail as made me smile.

Perhaps I was growing accustomed to harshness, or perhaps my critical mind was weak, but as it was I firmly believed I’d passed harder winters than that one. Our lives were not so terribly dull, for we had our stitching and friends about. Most days too we had need to call in one of the men to test if his tunic were too long, too short, or nearly perfect. Robin did pass our way sometimes, and when he did he always stopped to sit by our fire and tell us the news and hear how we were passing the time.

I missed his company in a thousand ways, and at first I begged him to return to the camp, that we might resume our talks of the world. Whenever I asked he would tarry longer, passing a night in the cave with his men and bringing his smile to our bower at the morrow. He brought us news and London wine and herbs to burn in our small fire, but then he would always be off again, his eyes expressing his sorrow at parting while his two feet itched to be away.

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