Free Maid Marian by Elsa Watson

go around, so we must dine in shifts, ye see.”
    “Annie,” I said, hoping my voice did not convey the terror I felt, “what is it?”
    She chuckled softly and moved a bit closer. “’Tis meal porridge of oats and rye. They’ve no bread here till the harvest comes due, and this is the best they can manage. Look here, m’lady, they’ve placed some bits of meat in specially for ye.”
    I looked at the meat, twisted and unrecognizable, and lifted my spoon. I was loathe to offend such gracious hosts as these people were, but as I raised a piece to my mouth I felt my stomach heave with fright. With a powerful bite I got it down and much of the porridge and then determined that I could protest I hadn’t hunger enough to finish.
    The remains of my supper were promptly given to Riccon and Nat, who ate it down in four quick bites. I sat still on my log while the rest of the family consumed their meals, scraping the porridge from the bowl as if it were a rich cream pudding. Still we remained seated outside, but I did not question. I felt I had acted poorly about the supper and was ashamed—of that, of my accent, my manner, my clothes. There was no end to my current shame, and as apology or perhaps as penance, I sat in silence.
    When the night grew darker I calmed somewhat, sensing some safety in not being seen. After a time I noticed Bess at my elbow, clutching tightly to a crude wooden poppet, no more than a stick with two knobs for arms. I coaxed her in silence to let me see it, and when she did I brought forth my handkerchief, resolving to give it up for this girl.
    In those days I carried my needle and thread always about me for embroidering, and these I fished out together with my small eating knife. Working in silence, since I feared, for some reason, to let the others know what I did, I cut the linen and fashioned a gown. The sleeves and skirt I stitched tight with thread and with quick stitches I gave the shift a silken girdle, blue on white.
    All the while I was working, Bess stood close by, watching my hands in awe and silence. At last it was done, and I handed the poppet back to her mistress, pleased with this project as I had not been pleased with any in years. Bess clasped it to her with shining eyes and did not stray from my side again all that night or the following morning.

    A T LAST A NNIE SAID it was time to retire, and I rose, grateful, for I was chilled to the bone. Her mother went in and lighted a lamp, and Annie bid me follow as well. When I passed through the door, I saw for myself why we had stayed outside as long as we could, for within the house was cramped and dark, filled with smoke from the fire, fumes from the tallow lamp, and the scent of dampness.
    As near as I could discern in the dim light, the house had one room, heated by a fire on the floor which was overhung by a cauldron, dangling on a metal hook. No chimney carried the smoke away, so what did not find its way out through the door or the one bare window, remained within. The far end of the room held a bed, and it was to this that Annie led me. It was in truth less of a bed than a great straw mattress, molded from use into hills and dales and lumps of straw.
    Annie conferred with her mother a moment, and I was shown to a spot on the mattress where the roof above was known to have no leaks, and here I laid myself all alone, wrapped in my gown and cloak, to sleep. Annie lay on the inside, beside me, and young Bess was placed on my other, where she snuggled in close like a puppy. Soon the rest of the family entered and laid themselves along the mattress. Then someone blew out the tallow lamp, and we went to sleep.
    In truth, I should say, we were meant to sleep, but I could not relax myself. No sooner had the eight beings around me calmed their breathing and finished their coughs, but a scuttling sound began to emerge, sounding, I was certain, as if it came from directly above my own head. I lay still and listened, reassuring myself that my