Free Maid of Sherwood by Shanti Krishnamurty Page A

charlatan who had once travelled through their town.
    “Come, the hallway is clear enough for us to continue.”
    They wound their way through the castle halls and a staircase, stopping only when the sheriff paused before a set of double doors.
    “These suites have been set aside for your personal use,” he said. “Your chests have already been delivered.” He turned to Marian. “I do hope you will see fit to join me at supper. I cannot imagine a greater pleasure than sharing a plate with you.”
    Mother immediately shook her head. “I am sorry to deny you, Sheriff, but I fear Marian’s palate varies greatly from yours and I would not dream of denying you the comforts of your belly.”
    “Very well. The servants have already begun serving the lower tables. Our tables will not be served until Prince John arrives, so you have time to rest yourselves and change.”
    “Thank you, Sheriff.” Father pulled open the doors and stood aside for Mother and Marian. “We shall see you downstairs, then.”
    “Yes, thank you for all your kindness,” Mother said dismissively. Only once the doors were shut behind them did she sigh deeply. “What an odious man.”
    The sitting room was a riot of gold and green. Thick green velvet hangings trimmed in gold covered what Marian took at first glance to be stone walls. Upon closer inspection she realized they covered large, diamond shaped windows. She stared through the bubbled surface down at the distorted images of soldiers standing in the courtyard.
    “Is the castle always so heavily fortified?” Marian asked curiously.
    “It never was under King Richard’s rule,” Mother said.
    “Prince John probably has extra guards because of what the sheriff told us about possible spies,” Father said. “Marian, why not go and look at your rooms? They are very likely through that doorway.” He pointed across the room.
    “I—have my own rooms here?” Marian practically danced across the room, past two chairs and a low reclining couch also covered in thick green velvet. “Were your rooms like these, when you lived here?”
    “I never lived here,” Mother said. “I stayed in London.”
    “Then how do you know court has changed so much?” Marian paused at the doorway.
    Mother shrugged delicately. “One court is very much like another,” she said. “And Prince John always enjoyed his—baser—comforts more than Richard did.”
    “So you knew him, then?”
    “I knew of him. I was raised at court, Marian. I was not a confidant of either Richard or John. Now stop pestering me and go look at your rooms.”
    Marian meandered through the doorway in the opposite wall separating the sitting room from the bedrooms. Off the larger room, whose opulence rivaled the room she had just left, was a smaller bedroom with a single wide bed. A rich emerald comforter was spread across it, large pillows piled high. Prince John had spared no expense to ensure his guests were well satisfied with their surroundings.
    Marian sat on the bed. If this was how he was using his money—she blinked. Not his money. Their money. The heavy, unfair taxes her family and others like them paid were being used to keep Prince John and his court in luxury. And while the tax collectors were doing that, they were also lowering the morale of King Richard’s people. By the time the king returned, his people would no longer care. That, she realized, was when the real war would begin. It was not overseas, fighting for Christianity. It would be here, in England, between two brothers, one the rightful king, the other nothing more than a fraud. She felt sick. No wonder Robin did what he did. What other choice was there?
    “Marian, I need you out here, please.” Mother’s voice broke through her musing. “We must dress for supper.”
    Marian rose. Choosing a gown would be far easier than thinking over the prince’s plans for England.
    “What would you rather wear?” Mother greeted her, holding up a concoction of crimson