"A Good Knight "

By ALWrite

He wanted to see Walter. Marion put down the horse's hoof, turned and straightened her back. For the first time she looked properly at the stranger. A knight. His apparel gave this much away. Who was he, and why was he here?

"And you are?"

"Robin Longstride."

It was a Saxon name, and a strange name for a knight. Most of the nobles were Normans, their names French. His name was that of a commoner.

"Plain 'Robin Longstride', no 'Sir'?" she asked, half teasingly.

"No, Ma'am. No 'Sir'," he answered with a half-smile and dismounted.

A handsome face looked at her, a face that reminded her of Robert. But then, lately, every man seemed to remind her of her husband. Her dreams were filled with him, sometimes with images of battle, but most of the times with his smile and his tenderness. Once he had visited her dreams to tell her 'good-bye'. What a devastating waking this had been!

The stranger stood in front of her, somewhat awkwardly. He shunned her look, as if he was the bearer of bad news. Bad news could mean only one thing: he had been sent to collect the tax money. Money that they hadn't got.

"Are you here about the tax?" she asked straightforwardly. Why else would he wish to speak to Walter?

"No," he shook his head. A slightly embarrassed look stole over his face, and his voice changed. A frown settled on his forehead.

"I'm here to bring him his sword. His son is dead."

Dead. Robert. Dead.

"This way." Her words came quickly, and then she turned. Had to because she did not wish the stranger to see how much his news affected her.

Robert. Dead. And with his death her fate was sealed. The Sheriff's words echoed in her ears: 'Peper Harow will fall to the crown, and you will be living in the hedgerow. You'll be glad to come to me then...'

For a moment, her knees almost gave way, and she stumbled slightly. But this was not the time to be weak. She placed her hand on her heart.

Robert. Dead.

She remembered only too well how anguished he had looked that last day. He had held her tightly, pressed her to him as if she were his lifeline, kissed her as if he wanted to devour her. When she had understood he meant to leave and clung to him in an attempt to stop him she had felt the sword at his side – Sir Walter's sword, the sword her father-in-law had refused to hand over to his son because he felt his son did not honour the words written on its hilt.

She became aware of her surroundings again.

"He'll take your horse," she said, pointing to an elderly man. The stranger handed over his horse and untied the sword. It gave her another moment of respite.

Robert hadn't commented on her questioning look about the sword at his side but lifted his head defiantly. 'Good-bye, my love,' he had said, then he had mounted and left. Ten years ago. It had happened at exactly the spot where the stranger had dismounted.

She turned slightly. The man was still following her. She led him into the tack room that led into the house. Walter was calling out for her, and the maid who brought water told her so, too.

"Yes, I hear him. Tell him we have a guest."

As was her ritual when she came in from a day's work outside she sat down to wash her feet.

With Robert dead her whole situation had changed. Now she would be homeless at Walter's death. The land belonged to the Loxley's, and a widow could not inherit lands and titles – only a male heir would be able to do so.

So she would have to think about what to do after Walter's death...

Suddenly, she became aware that the stranger was standing only a few feet away, watching her. He must of necessity wonder who she was, giving orders the way she did. Still scrubbing away at her feet she looked up at him.

"I am Marion Loxley. Robert's wife."

"My lady... I owe you an apology. If I'd have known..."

And what good would that have been? He still would have had to tell her the truth eventually.

"Bad news is bad news. No matter how it comes."

She sat up straight, looking at him standing there, tall and massive.

"Did you fight alongside my husband?" she asked.

He hesitated a moment. "Yes."

"Did he die well?"

And what was dying 'well'? She didn't give a damn about this idea, but she knew that it was important to men. A woman knew better than that.

Marion had seen people die, people she had nurtured and tried to save, people she had loved. There were all kinds of death, and, if the truth were told, 'dying well' was denied to most.

"In an ambush, Ma'am. He was the one chosen to bring home Richard's crown."

Back. Robert had been on his way back to her.

She felt her mind go dizzy, but then she could hear Walter call from outside: "Marion. Who is he?"

"A traveller, Walter," she called back.

Walter! He would be devastated hearing of Robert's death – especially with their quarrel. He wasn't the man to say it out loud, but Marion knew that he was sorry and wished to make amends. And now it was too late. How could she lessen the blow that awaited him?

Quickly, Marion closed the door and turned to the man standing awkwardly.

"This news will go very hard on him," she said. Her words unnerved the man somewhat; she could see it.

"Bring him in..." Walter called from outside.

"Yes, yes!"

She entreated the man to speak a white lie: no matter what Robert might have said or done in his last moments, let his father have peace...

At this very moment Sir Walter Loxley, tall, gaunt, imposing, blind, and still very much the Master of Peper Harow entered the room.

"Marion. Our traveller will be thirsty. Travellers are always thirsty. Is that not so? - Your name, Sir."

She took his cane and clutched it in her hands. It gave her something to hold onto.

"Longstride. Robin Longstride."

"Do you mock me?"

"Sir?... Your son, he asked me to return this."

While the stranger placed the sword softly into Walter's hands Marion was in a world of her own, their conversation a blur to her. All she did – all she could do – was standing close by in case Walter needed her.

Robert. She could not imagine him dead. He had been so loving, so sweet, their time together all too brief.

"No tears..." From far off she could hear Walter's words. 'No tears'... Yes, that's how she felt, too. As long as that stranger was around they had to act as hosts. There would be time for tears later.

"Did you see him die?" Walter's words suddenly penetrated the fog of pain that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned away. She didn't want to hear the answer to that. The man had said that Robert had died in an ambush; his death could not have been easy.

"I was with him when he passed." The stranger's words were soft and considerate. He avoided giving details – certainly as much for Walter's as for her own sake.

"His last words were of the loving bond between father and son."

He had heeded her advice, spoken the words that would give Walter some peace of mind. She was grateful to him for that.

She watched Walter run his hands over the stranger's face. A rugged, handsome face, she noticed. The man looked confused on account of Walter touching him like this.

"You will dine with us. But first, you must bathe, Sir. You stink."

With this Sir Walter turned to his daughter-in-law. His touch shook Marion out of her musings.

Dinner. She must take care of dinner, see to it that the servants prepared something special in honour of their guest. And find a wineskin for the men – there weren't too many left.

And then she would have to wash and get dressed. But there was still time for this.

Before she would be able to be in the company of these two men again she would have to withdraw to her bedchamber to do some proper thinking about the future. To pray for Robert. And to cry.

END OF PART 2

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