The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 33 - The Golden Bracelet

Her fingertips became cold and numb. It felt like when she had fallen into the icy water. Only this time, no one came to rescue her from it. No Gillian to chase the cold away and let the darkness give way to white snow again. Instead, it choked the air out of her, and Marian didn't manage to take the next breath. Without Gillian, the silence she so dreaded suddenly enveloped her.

"What?"

Her blood rushed in her ears as the wind rattled the windows, and a long, drawn-out howl passed through the gaps in the brickwork.

"Your maid Gillian's been hanged. Today at the noon hour," the sheriff repeated.

"No..." Her mouth went dry. These words seeped slowly into her mind, and Marian jumped from her chair. "No! This can't be happening!"

And him? He sat there looking at her, far from regretful. "My lady. You may be fond of this woman, but that does not change the laws. The theft of the possessions of such a high-ranking noble, especially in more than one instance, borders on treason according to the laws of the Crown."

"Fond?" Marian wanted to shout. She felt as if she might burst from within with exuberant emotion. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She could not believe it. This could not be true. It couldn't be true! "Gillian was my friend!" Marian couldn't stop her voice from getting louder. She had lost Robin, her mother, and now her only real companion. Over a few unimportant rings and bracelets.

The sheriff still didn't bat an eyelid. "That doesn't change her crimes, my lady."

"Crimes!" Marian felt like she would choke on the pain that wrapped around her heart like an icy hand. She thought of Gillian's smile, her laugh. How she had asked for the honey and how she had cared. Back when Robin had told his father that he didn't want to marry her because she was still a child. That he was going to war instead. Gillian had held her. Wiped away her tears, made her tea, and healed her wounded pride as much as her heart. She had no one else to talk to. No one was as honest with her. And he had left her only, most beloved friend hanging.

"I would have given it to her! I would have given her that and every necklace in my dresser, every silver knife, and every fucking silver decanter she needed!" Marian's voice rolled over, and she couldn't stop herself from pounding her fist on the damn table.

"You would have given her your late mother's bracelet?"

The last ounce of self-control was just enough to keep her fist from sinking into the sheriff's face. "Gillian was a good person. She wanted to help people! My mother would have... I..." her voice broke like a wave on rocks too high.

"So you knew?"

These words hit her like a fist blow. Marian heaved a sob. She could not hold it in. Should the sheriff take her for a child who had lost her favorite toy and was now raving.

Of course, she had known. After the first ring had disappeared, Gillian acted strangely. Marian didn't have to be a sheriff to notice that a guilty conscience was bothering her friend. As she slipped away, the young lady followed her into the village to the woman who had used the small, inconspicuous band of silver to pay the doctor for her daughter.

To Marian, the pieces in the silver caskets were mere trinkets-gifts she sometimes didn't even like. "I lose things all the time," she had said, seeing Gillian's tears of gratitude. There needed to be no promises, no agreements. They understood each other without words. At least, that was what she had believed.

"I would never have allowed this! You had no right!"

"Lady Marian," the sheriff straightened, and his voice hardened. "Not only did I have every right to do so. It was my duty. In your father's absence, I am supreme in Nottinghamshire, and the law is clear. As sorry as I am for you and your friend, that law is above your wishes or your affections for your servant. And if we start bending judgments for personal reasons - even if it is the Lady of Nottinghamshire's feelings - this law, which is for the preservation of society, loses all meaning."

The sheriff rose from his chair and circled the table. "You have a right to grieve, my lady. But the sentence has been passed and carried out." His gaze settled on the young girl whose heart was bursting in her chest. "To look the other way when injustice is done is never right, my lady. You are young and will surely learn."

The slap of her hand on his face was so loud that it turned his head to the side. Marian's palm tingled and burned. "I hate you," she pressed out, and she would have liked to slap him a hundred more times. Instead, Marian turned on her heel.

The corridors passed her by dimly. Tears blurred her vision, and Marian felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her. The rain was cold on her skin, and the wind tore at her clothes. But everything seemed distant. Marian did not listen to the shouts of the guards or concerned servants. Marian's mind raced, her heart beating so painfully with each pounding that it made her feel sick.

When she reached the square at the edge of the castle courtyard, deserted and empty by the storm, it reflected her emotional world, gloomy, cold, and alone. Everything seemed grey and bleak. Marian's heart felt like it had been broken into thousands of fragments. Now she had to step into these shards with every further step.

Was it her fault? Could she have done something?

The wind made the rope groan, and Marian had to turn away from the sight. Nausea rose in her, pressed into her throat, and, retching, she vomited beside the scaffold. She could not think. There was only cold and suffering: tears and pain.

Marian's legs were weak and shaky as she walked up the step to the gallows. Her hands felt numb and tingled icily as she reached out to touch her friend's cheek. Her eyes... Oh God, she would never forget. The empty, dead eyes and that fear-distorted face that had once smiled so warmly. Frozen in the moment of death. She was alone, without Marian, when she died.

"My lady," a guard tried to interrupt her, hurrying up the steps with rumbling steps.

"Cut her down."

"My lady. It is not customary. It-"

"Get her down now!" she screamed, and by God - she'd be ready to do it herself and bury Gillian with her own two hands, too, if they didn't get her friend down immediately. She clung to the guard, clenched her fists, and, desperate as she was, punched his chest repeatedly as he tried to hold her. "Please! Please..."

Marian cried, she screamed, and yet she could find no outlet that would have lessened the pain of her heart. She hated, grieved, and wanted to roar, scream, and rage. She wanted to hit the sheriff, curse him, and smash vases. Marian knew she would be advised to pray. As if praying always made everything better. Today she had been in the convent all day, sliding around on her knees and praying. But where was God when a kind-hearted woman was being dragged onto that gallows?

As Gillian's body was laid on the dirty floorboards, the pouring rain beating down on her, and the heavens wept with Marian for her lost friend, she swore to herself that Gillian's death had not been in vain.