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Authors: Theresa Tomlinson
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come. Sherwood and the surrounding wastes and woodlands were full of pigs, allowed to wander and forage freely for a short period of time in the pannage month so that they could gorge themselves on acorns and beech mast, fattening themselves up for the coming harsh months. Tom returned from Hathersage with news of the warm welcome that John had received.
‘He is famous there!’ Tom told them. ‘They all know John of Hathersage who walks with the Hooded One. They treat him like a king and regale him with the stories of his doings. Some are true, but half of them are rubbish. John laughs and puts them straight but still they tell the tales. I shall go back to Derbyshire and fetch him home for you in time for Christmas,’ he promised Magda.
‘Will he be safe there?’ Robert asked with unusual concern.
‘I believe that they’d defend him with their lives,’ Tom told him.
Now that Tom was back, more hunting trips were made to Sherwood and Marian salted and smoked the meat that they brought. The woodlanders always gathered and picked feverishly at this time of year, for the result meant the difference between eating or starving, life or death, but this year Marian worked more tirelessly than ever.
‘Even acorns,’ she insisted. ‘What’s good for pigs is good for us! However bitter they may taste, ground-up acorns can keep body and soul together, and we must fetch nettles to dry and crumble and blackthorn berries and juniper too.’
‘Haven’t we got enough?’ Magda complained. ‘You’ll wear yourself away to nothing if you don’t stop. You’ll have us gathering up the dust beneath our feet and storing it away for the snows.’
Marian hesitated, her brow creased. ‘It’s just that I have a terrible sense of urgency come upon me. Almost like . . . like my mother, Eleanor. You remember how she knew when things were going to go wrong.’
‘Aye?’ Magda was suddenly attentive.
‘And somehow I know that we must gather and gather, and not let one precious grain go to waste. I have other fears too; last week I thought I saw Robert’s mother, Agnes, down by the spring washing clothes.’
‘You saw her spirit?’ Magda gasped.
‘I believe I did, but it wasn’t fearful. I could never fear Agnes for she loved me well, but as she scrubbed andwashed I thought the water swam with blood. Then I blinked and she had vanished.’
Magda shivered and pressed her hands to her swelling stomach. ‘Your mother did have the sight,’ she agreed seriously ‘And she always saw true.’
Marian quickly understood the younger woman’s anxiety and went to place her own hand on Magda’s stomach. ‘’Tis not for this growing child that I see trouble. I think Agnes was giving warning for myself or maybe Robert.’
‘Aye,’ Magda spoke with some relief. ‘Robert would be the one.’
‘Yes,’ said Marian. ‘But do not speak of it to him, and certainly do not fear for this little one; I see nothing but happiness there.’
Magda was soothed a little. ‘Don’t you worry about Robert either,’ she said. ‘He’s safer here than anywhere and he doesn’t seem at all inclined to go off to join either Robert de Ros or another northern Lord.’
‘Aye,’ Marian agreed. ‘As they grow older they seem less ready for the fight, and I for one am very glad of it.’
‘My Tom’s not old,’ Magda insisted.
‘No he is not,’ Marian agreed. ‘But then your Tom has never been one for rushing into the attack; he has more sense. But still, he’s no coward; when there’s something desperately needs doing, he’s the one that’s always there, quietly risking himself.’
‘I know it,’ Magda murmured.
‘It’s strange,’ Marian sighed. ‘I do not want Robert to go away adventuring,’ she whispered, her eyes suddenlyswimming with tears, ‘but I cannot see him staying close by my side forever. How can I keep a wild wolf-man such as he, tamed like a tabby cat to sit by my fireside?’
Various, well-armed
‘He is famous there!’ Tom told them. ‘They all know John of Hathersage who walks with the Hooded One. They treat him like a king and regale him with the stories of his doings. Some are true, but half of them are rubbish. John laughs and puts them straight but still they tell the tales. I shall go back to Derbyshire and fetch him home for you in time for Christmas,’ he promised Magda.
‘Will he be safe there?’ Robert asked with unusual concern.
‘I believe that they’d defend him with their lives,’ Tom told him.
Now that Tom was back, more hunting trips were made to Sherwood and Marian salted and smoked the meat that they brought. The woodlanders always gathered and picked feverishly at this time of year, for the result meant the difference between eating or starving, life or death, but this year Marian worked more tirelessly than ever.
‘Even acorns,’ she insisted. ‘What’s good for pigs is good for us! However bitter they may taste, ground-up acorns can keep body and soul together, and we must fetch nettles to dry and crumble and blackthorn berries and juniper too.’
‘Haven’t we got enough?’ Magda complained. ‘You’ll wear yourself away to nothing if you don’t stop. You’ll have us gathering up the dust beneath our feet and storing it away for the snows.’
Marian hesitated, her brow creased. ‘It’s just that I have a terrible sense of urgency come upon me. Almost like . . . like my mother, Eleanor. You remember how she knew when things were going to go wrong.’
‘Aye?’ Magda was suddenly attentive.
‘And somehow I know that we must gather and gather, and not let one precious grain go to waste. I have other fears too; last week I thought I saw Robert’s mother, Agnes, down by the spring washing clothes.’
‘You saw her spirit?’ Magda gasped.
‘I believe I did, but it wasn’t fearful. I could never fear Agnes for she loved me well, but as she scrubbed andwashed I thought the water swam with blood. Then I blinked and she had vanished.’
Magda shivered and pressed her hands to her swelling stomach. ‘Your mother did have the sight,’ she agreed seriously ‘And she always saw true.’
Marian quickly understood the younger woman’s anxiety and went to place her own hand on Magda’s stomach. ‘’Tis not for this growing child that I see trouble. I think Agnes was giving warning for myself or maybe Robert.’
‘Aye,’ Magda spoke with some relief. ‘Robert would be the one.’
‘Yes,’ said Marian. ‘But do not speak of it to him, and certainly do not fear for this little one; I see nothing but happiness there.’
Magda was soothed a little. ‘Don’t you worry about Robert either,’ she said. ‘He’s safer here than anywhere and he doesn’t seem at all inclined to go off to join either Robert de Ros or another northern Lord.’
‘Aye,’ Marian agreed. ‘As they grow older they seem less ready for the fight, and I for one am very glad of it.’
‘My Tom’s not old,’ Magda insisted.
‘No he is not,’ Marian agreed. ‘But then your Tom has never been one for rushing into the attack; he has more sense. But still, he’s no coward; when there’s something desperately needs doing, he’s the one that’s always there, quietly risking himself.’
‘I know it,’ Magda murmured.
‘It’s strange,’ Marian sighed. ‘I do not want Robert to go away adventuring,’ she whispered, her eyes suddenlyswimming with tears, ‘but I cannot see him staying close by my side forever. How can I keep a wild wolf-man such as he, tamed like a tabby cat to sit by my fireside?’
Various, well-armed
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