The Queen Of Arrows

Chapter 19 - The Fever

Robin's face was ashen. Cold sweat formed tiny drops all over his skin and made it shine wetly. His auburn hair stuck to his forehead and was in complete disarray. There was nothing bold or mischievous about the look in the impudent thief's glazed eyes. Robin looked terrible.

Marian's anger and suspicion fell from her in one fell swoop and gave way to sheer concern.

"Ma... rian?" the thief groaned, and his voice seemed so frail as if she wanted to break even at that small word, at her name. Robin's eyelids were only half open, and he still didn't seem to have entirely realized that she was actually there. "I... was dreaming about... You... dreamed..." With obvious effort, as if the movement alone cost him a lot of strength, he reached out and touched her cheek. A faint smile appeared on his lips for a fleeting moment. Then his hand sank as if powerless on his bed for the night.

This gesture and his words caught her so off guard that Marias paused momentarily. She shook her head and had to restart. "You're talking in a muddle." Marian had spent four years in the convent - enough time to pray and learn humility - but also to be taught by the sisters how to clean miracles, lower fevers, and deliver babies. She often sat beside the beds of the sick and held their hands while an ailment slowly brought them into the kingdom of God, as the Mother Superior always comfortingly put it. "Faith and time heal every wound, Marian," the Sisters had said to her, "but sometimes it needs the help of benevolent people and medicine." Marian could tell when a situation was severe.

"Robin, look at me. What has happened?" she asked slowly and with a serious tone that could not hide the uneasiness of honest concern. She reached determinedly for his face so that he looked directly at her. His skin was hot.

"I... feel ... weak ... Pain. Can hardly... think..." Robin struggled against the fever that was obviously tugging at him. He tried again to muster all his strength to raise his hand.

"Pain? Where? Where are you in Pain?" asked Marian insistently.

Robin groaned as he tried to sit up, reaching with his tanned arm for the blanket under which he was crouching. Only now did Marian notice that he had left behind the oh-so-fine and pale English complexion in the distance. A lighter scar stood out in the dark shadow of his beard on his chin.

"My leg," Robin groaned now, and Marian's gaze slid lower though the blanket shrouded anything that might have revealed itself to her. "The guard... In the dungeon. Got me... small cut... But..." Robin lost his strength and simply could not continue speaking. He swallowed hard, sank back onto his pillow exhausted, and Marian turned her head, looking for water or something to drink that she could give him. But there was nothing. No water barrel, no hose made of leather. Now it dawned on Marian why Robin had drunk the wine of necessity. She suddenly realized that she had judged him wrongly and felt a pang of guilt. But she had no time for that now.

So the Sheriff's man had wounded him in the leg?"Let me see that," she spoke, reaching for the blanket of rough loden to pull it carefully off him. Robin reeked of sweat and alcohol. Marian could hardly feel relief that she was not met by the sweet or savory smell of decay that accompanied many a bad injury. Immediately Marian realized the root of Robin's suffering. He had a long strip of linen wrapped around his leg, but the bandage was soaked with blood and wound water.

Marian reached for her dagger and gently cut the bandage from the leg. Carefully she untied the wrapped layers around the injury. The linen was roughly cut, and it was dangerous if the bandage was not changed often. Not only because of the inflammation but also because threads could get into the wound. When she had finally removed the bandages, Marian groaned softly at the sight of the wound. It was infected and had not been cleaned properly. Robin had probably tried to stitch it himself - as she credited him, still with an old needle he had found here - and the injury was festering.

"The dirty water from the tunnel must have inflamed the wound," she murmured, and Marian's gaze slid back to Robin's. He had closed his eyes again and was breathing heavily. For the first time since she had met him again, he did not seem like the proud rooster she always tried to see in him for her own protection. There lay a young man in the prime of his life. And yet, at that moment, he seemed so suffering and helpless that it smothered the hot fire of hurt Pain.

Marian had already lost Robin of Locksley twice. First when he left England for God and country and again when the news was brought that he had fallen in the Holy Land. Both times Marian could do no more than stand helplessly and shed bitter tears. She wept for a friend. She wept for a young man who had died too soon and alone far from home. She cried for a stubborn fool and a reason she did not want to admit to herself. For even wounded pride could not console her over the fact that her heart was broken.

"I won't let it happen again," Marian said firmly, reaching for the hem of her dress to cut a piece off her undergarment. This time he was not far away nor alone. She would not stand idly by; this time, she was not helpless. Marian bandaged the wound provisionally and covered Robin again so his fever would not worsen.

"I'll be back soon. I'll get some water and medicine." Her suspicion and all the anger was forgotten. Instead, she stroked Robin's sweaty hair out of his forehead almost tenderly.

Robin tried to sit up again to say something. There was a strange fear in his eyes that she couldn't explain. As if he actually feared she might disappear. "Marian..." Robin gently reached for her fingers. He barely possessed the strength to hold them - or even now, he was measuring the strength of his grip not to hurt her. "Don't go," he murmured. "I have... something to... tell you..." The last few words were little more than a whisper.

"You can tell me as much as you want later, Robin. You'll be fine, don't worry," Marian said firmly, releasing her fingers from his. Gently she laid him back on his bed of straw and soaked sheets. Marian wished she could take him away. To the castle, where she could send maids for a bather or medic. But Robin was no longer Robin of Locksley. He was Robin Hood now, and he could not stand up to a man like the Sheriff in that state. She could not smuggle anything out of the castle without it becoming suspicious. So she had to find another way.

Determination flashed in the young maiden's eyes as she squeezed Robin's hand gently. "I'll be back soon. And then I'll give you lots of nasty medicine to torture you with."

A wan smile crept onto Robin's lips. "You're going to have to... have to force me," he threatened blankly, and yet Marian could not prevent his words from eliciting a small laugh from her.

"Try to sleep some more until I get back."

Robin nodded slowly. Marian had hardly left the room before Robin was again lost in the deep swamps of fever dreams.