Path of the She Wolf (15 page)

Mother Veronica bent down slowly and pulled back the blood soaked covering, revealing a deep and gaping wound in Robert’s chest. ‘Your herbs cannot mend that, honey,’ she said gently. ‘No Forestwife, however skilled, however devoted, could mend that dreadful hurt.’

‘I must, I must mend him,’ Marian cried, dropping down on her knees beside him.

Robert stirred again and groaned. His face was grey and his mouth tightened into a terrible grimace.

‘Not this time, sweetheart,’ he hissed. ‘Not this time. Just hold me tight?’

Tears would not come, though Marian wished that they would. She could feel them there inside her, filling up a deep, tight well of burning anger in her chest. She took hold of Robert’s hand and held it for a moment, then put her face down onto the pillow beside him so that she could stroke his scarred cheek.

‘I can ease the pain,’ she whispered.

Robert nodded. Marian got up and started sorting through her bundles. Mother Veronica brought a cup and poured water from a jug, so that Marian could mix a sleeping potion. As she started to feed it carefully to Robert there came thuds and the sounds of shouting outside. Then all at once came the thunder of a horse, galloping fast away.

‘You stay here with him,’ the old nun told Marian. She hobbled through the passage and Marian could hear her speaking fast and low with John. She returned grim faced and breathless.

‘What?’ Marian asked.

‘The blasted Sheriff,’ she told them, crossing herself as she swore. ‘The Sheriff and a gang of King John’s men. They’ve surrounded our convent and Tom has dashed away on Rambler to try to bring us help from Langden.’

‘Do they attack?’ Marian asked.

Mother Veronica laughed bitterly. ‘They seem to be hesitating. I believe they’re afraid to rush fully armed into a holy place. They’re more afraid for their souls than of the Sheriff’s wrath, but they will not leave us in peace not if they think they’ve got the Hooded One in their sights! John takes aim at them through the window and he’s killed two men who moved towards the door. His stock of arrows is small but he has shown that he will not miss his target.’

It was clear that Robert could hear and understand for he groaned, making as though to get up but Marian pushed him down. ‘Keep still!’ she hissed, none too gently. Her mind was racing and her heart pounding like a hunted rabbit. Sharp cracks came as the Sheriff’s men kicked down the low wooden close that kept the sisters’ poultry safe.

‘Sweetheart,’ Robert muttered, groping for her hand. ‘Give me your special herbs . . . the forbidden ones.’

Marian shook her head. ‘No,’ she cried, her voice hoarse and choked.

‘Yes,’ he insisted, struggling to make his words clear. ‘It’s time. The time has come. Don’t let them take me! Death . . . it does not frighten me . . . not half as much, as to be made their prisoner.’

Marian looked despairingly up at the old nun. Mother Veronica turned away, her face full of pity, tears rolling steadily down her wrinkled cheeks. ‘There is naught else that you can do for him, honey,’ she shook her head.

With trembling hands Marian fumbled through her bundles, until the she found the one that she sought; deadly nightshade, all carefully tied in purple cloth. With trembling resolution she untied the bundle and tipped the dark powder into the cup, swirling it about.

‘It might taste bitter, sweetheart,’ she spoke through gritted teeth, supporting Robert’s head and lifting the cup to his lips.

Though he shuddered at the taste, he drank deeply, then lay back. ‘Hold me,’ he whispered.

Mother Veronica turned away and left them alone, she went stumbling down the passage towards John. Marian climbed up onto the bed beside Robert, and wrapped her arms about him gently stroking his head.

‘I hear the sweetest sound,’ he murmured. ‘I hear the rush and lap of the sea.’

Marian tried to smile, but a deep sigh came instead that turned into a sob. ‘Do you remember Baytown, sweetheart?’ she whispered, her eyes spilling over with tears at last. ‘Do you remember how we lived together on the cliff tops there, high above the sea.’

‘How could I forget it?’ Robert answered, his face relaxed and smiling now. ‘For it was there by the sea that the beautiful Green Lady first came to sleep with me.’

‘We were happy in that strange, storm-battered place.’ Marian made her mouth work, though her lips were stiff and unwilling. ‘We should have stayed there and lived quietly together.’

‘I would not have had it different, my love,’ he whispered. ‘I am happy now. All pain has gone. It is only the bitterness of leaving you that makes me sad.’

Suddenly Marian was sitting up and reaching for the cup. ‘It will not be goodbye,’ she said. ‘We shall not be parted.’

She gripped the wooden cup that was still half full of the deadly powdered berries and raised it to her lips, but Robert saw and understood. He lurched upright and smashed it out of her grasp. ‘No!’ he shouted, then slumped back onto the bed, as dark liquid splashed over her kirtle and down onto the floor.

Mother Veronica came hurrying back at the shout and quickly understanding what had happened, bent to take Marian into her arms. ‘No!’ she told her firmly. ‘Not you too! He has gone and you cannot help him anymore. You’ve got to save yourself!’

But Marian pushed her away and struggled to her feet. She looked down at the motionless figure on the bed and saw that the old nun was right. Robert had gone, all breathing ceased, his face grey-blue and still contorted from the angry shout.

A thunderclap of furious rage exploded in Marian’s head and she stared wildly around her at the sparsely furnished convent room with its crucifix and bare scrubbed floor. There at the bottom of the bed was Robert’s bow and an almost empty quiver thrown carelessly down beside it, just one arrow left.

‘No,’ Mother Veronica cried. Seeing where she looked and fearing the madness in her eyes.

‘Oh yes!’ Marian snarled. ‘Oh yes!’ She swooped down upon the weapon and snatched up the arrow.

She strode down the passageway and before John could understand or do anything to stop her she was out in the bright sunlight of the woodland. She marched, arrow notched, bow drawn, out into the middle of the broken close.

The men were hidden amongst the trees, for fear of John’s sharp aim, but they were shocked at the sight of the furious tear-stained woman wrapped in a nun’s cloak, her clothes marked with blood and a weapon in her hands.

A horse moved forwards, its rider so amazed and stunned that he forgot to control his beast. ‘Can it be true?’ he murmured. ‘The Hooded One a woman?’

Marian caught the glint of sunlight on his golden chain and laughed. She knew that gold chain, it bore the badge of office of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Though her hands still shook Marian took aim.

‘One last arrow for the Sheriff,’ she cried and let it fly.

‘No!’ John shouted.

‘Yes!’ Marian howled with delight, as the arrow sank deep into the Sheriff’s chest. The man lurched forwards, the surprised look on his face turning to horror.

Then Marian dropped the bow and staggered backwards. She neither saw nor cared where the answering arrows came from but John leapt up with a bellow of despair as six arrows thudded into her body. She sank quietly down to the ground.

Though arrows rained all around him, John burst out
from the convent doorway like an angry bear his face white with rage and wet with tears. He did not hear the distant sound of galloping horses but whisked arrows out fast from his quiver and sent them flying like bolts of lightning. At each movement of a branch, at each glint of a weapon, at each gasp of fright, he sent an arrow whistling in that direction.

‘Come on, come on,’ he cried. ‘Take me as well! You have taken my best and dearest friends. You can have me too!’

The sound of hooves grew louder and the air was filled with shouts. Still John moved steadily on towards the spot where Marian lay until at last he threw his weapon down and bent to gather her body up into his arms.

He expected arrows to thud into his own great frame but they did not come. At last he looked up and saw that the mercenaries had fled, leaving the Sheriff’s body lying beneath the trampling feet of his frightened horse. Out from the bushes came Tom leading Rambler, followed by Isabel, Will, Philippa, James and Sister Rosamund. They stood there grim and silent as John wept.

Philippa moved forwards and sank down onto her knees beside her friend’s body.

‘Agnes was right,’ she murmured. ‘Agnes was always right!’

Bending over Marian, she reached out and carefully broke off the arrow shafts.

Mother Veronica came slowly from the convent, clinging for support to the frame of the door. ‘Bring her
inside,’ she said quietly. ‘Put her down beside Robert; that is where she wanted to be.’

They buried the Sheriff in an unmarked grave, in the convent’s sacred ground. Though John complained, Mother Veronica insisted that it was done. ‘I doubt that it will bring us trouble,’ she said. ‘Those with him will go running back to their pay master, the King, understanding naught of what has happened here. We nuns are Christians,’ she said. ‘And we are decent folk! We are not like them!’