a tall woman, too—though not as tall as Marian—and her company always made Marian feel a little less uncomfortable in her own body. “You look tired,” Seild murmured, amusement fading. “My husband told me of Robin’s death. And the rumors—they’re saying . . .” Seild shook her head. “Never mind what they’re saying. I’m so sorry, Marian. If there’s anything I can do, any way I can help . . .” Her sad smile finished the sentence for her.
Most people avoided the subject of Robin, as if she might forget about her grief if no one spoke of it. But Seild’s gaze was gentle, and her touch warm, and her sympathy all too real. Marian’s eyes stung, and she whispered, “Thank you, Seild.”
Seild released her chin but held on to her arm a moment longer. “I should rejoin my husband, but may I visit you in the morning to see how you are? I’ll leave the other ladies behind if you like.” That came with another little smile, one that made it easier for Marian to smile back.
“I’ll look forward to it.” Marian laid her hand on Seild’s for a moment, then took her leave to join her father by the tables.
Her father’s face was uncharacteristically grim as they sat, and he gestured for a nearby server to fill his cup.
“Father?” Marian kept her voice low and waited for the server to retreat again. “What happened with the Sheriff today?”
He took a long swallow of wine, then sighed as he set his cup back down. “A lot of talk.”
“I suppose if there’s one thing to draw such thunderclouds to your face . . .”
At home, he would’ve laughed. Now, he only smiled a little, a brief flicker. “More taxes,” he said, voice short. “Stricter laws and fewer watchmen for the towns—less ability to prevent crime and more power to punish it. Less relief for the poor. And more taxes.”
Thoughts of Robin and her planned midnight escapade slipped away. Marian leaned closer, trying to keep her voice even. “More taxes? Father, half the people of Locksley town are already in debt. And our fields barely feed Edwinstowe as it is.”
“Don’t frown,” her father said lightly, despite his own grim face. “I don’t imagine most other lords are telling their wives and daughters and sisters about the conversations they’re having with the Sheriff. I tell you only because Locksley will suffer, and by extension so will you.”
Marian took a bit of mutton to buy herself a moment to school her features. “The Sheriff has only what he sees here in the city by which to judge the state of Nottinghamshire. Surely if he saw how low the people have become, he would—”
“The decree comes from the crown, not the Sheriff.” Her father set upon his dinner methodically, a sign he had no appetite but was forcing himself to eat. “A portion of all livestock, feed, and grain now go to the crown each fortnight.”
“Each—” Marian had to stop and adjust the volume of her voice. “Each fortnight? Most are lucky to have a new calf or lamb once a year. But for the big herds in the highlands, the Sheriff will have stripped the land of livestock before the season is over.”
“A man may keep his animals each fortnight if he pays their value in coin instead.” Her father speared a chunk of meat on his knife and glared at it. “Or if his Lord does.”
Marian lifted her head, glancing around the great hall at the other visiting noblemen. Some were quiet, like her father—but others were laughing, making requests of the minstrels circling the tables, signaling for more wine, more meat. She could not imagine that every noble would consider it his duty to bleed for his people’s livelihoods. “That’s absurd,” Marian whispered. “In a year’s time we’ll be standing with those beggars on the streets of Nottingham.”
Her father swallowed the hunk of mutton with a grimace and muttered, “Midge makes a better roast than this, and he’s a stableman.” Then he laid down his knife and turned, finally, to look at his daughter. The lines about his eyes and mouth seemed deeper in the harsh light of the torches set at intervals around the hall, and he looked tired. “It’s the first of many discussions, Marian. Don’t trouble yourself with it yet.”
Marian pushed a slab of bread around in the drippings on her plate and gazed toward the far end of the hall. The Sheriff sat there with two of