Chapter 1 - Gold & Candlelight

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England, Anno 1193

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England, Anno 1193

Nottinghamshire


It had been hours since the sky slowly changed from fiery orange and pink hues to darker purple and blue before the stars twinkled in the firmament. Thick white clouds drifted lazily across the horizon like sheep. Driven by a balmy late summer wind, the breeze carried the scent of hay and wildflowers as it wafted through treetops and foliage.

In the grassland and meadows, while the chirping of the crickets swelled with the dusk and the evening sounds created their own symphony, the exhausted farmers and farmhands had returned to their homes from their work in the fields by sunset. In the meantime, the shutters of the houses had been closed, fires lit, and blankets pulled up to the chin to keep out the chill of the night. A pale crescent moon stood high in the sky, casting its faint glow on the land as it slowly but surely sank into a deep slumber.

A broad trade route, winding like a snake through forest and countryside, led past farmsteads and fields, through the village beyond, and up to the fortress of the proud county. The silvery-white moonlight painted a play of pale shadows and lights on the forest floor of Sherwood Forest and slid over the dark stone of the castle of the noble Earl De Burgh, Lord of the sleeping lands. Its striking roof, covered with red shingles, concealed the chambers inside where tax money was counted.

A soft clacking sound pervaded the otherwise silent night. As quickly as the noise had risen, it had already died away again. The figure, however, pressed against the cold walls and hidden from the eyes of the guards under the protection of the long shadows, lingered a moment longer in the protective darkness. Heart pounding, Marian pressed closer to the rock of the old fortress. Moss and lichen tickled under her fingers as she clasped a piece of the masonry uneasily with her hand and listened for a few seconds to the sounds in the courtyard.

Somewhere the horses snorted or clattered in the small stable, dice rattled on a wooden barrel where a few guards indulged in gambling to escape the crippling boredom of a night shift. The young thief sighed with relief, checked once more the grip of her hook, which she had wedged in the mortar of two bricks, and then set her steps carefully on the fragile, reddish shingles.

Only one step separated her from the deadly slope below which the smooth castle wall stretched into the depths and finally ended on the hard pavement of the courtyard. Her fingers gripped the rope tightly as she lowered herself down it. A whirring sound accompanied the slender body until her boots touched silently down on the narrow window board.

A breeze rose, tugging at the cloak that shrouded her form and the hood on her head. Warm breath beat against the scarf before her face, condensing and dampening the fabric. Breathing became harder, and the feeling of the wet fabric so close to her face was uncomfortable and off-putting - but that was a small price the young woman was willing to pay. It was much better to forgo the luxury of free breaths than to risk perhaps being recognized.

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