The Outlaws of Sherwood (29 page)

The first match was barely a match at all. The other man came up to Little John's collarbone, and Little John, to Cecily's eyes with some embarrassment, took him gingerly up at his long arms' length, tied him in 6ne or two knots, and laid him tenderly on the ground. Cecily passed her hat around for coins in something of a daze; the two of them were immediately offered the first of the ale that Humphrey had told them to drink for him; but Little John refused politely and Cecily did the same.

They moved slowly along the commons; Little John stopped once or twice to flatten another would-be wrestler, while Cecily held the sky-blue cape. Her hat was soon sagging from the coins it carried. “I guess you haven't forgotten how,” said Cecily.

“Mmph,” said Little John. “I don't know yet whether I have or not; these poor fools are just the strong men from their villages; they are no contest. After they've worn me down a little, one of the real wrestlers will appear from somewhere and challenge me.” He looked down at her. “But your hat is already heavy, is it not? We don't want to attract cut-purses; that's not what we're here for.”

“Besides, one of them might recognise us,” said Cecily.

“There's that,” agreed Little John, and stopped at a horse trough to pour some water over his head. The sun was hot, particularly on faces accustomed to the forest shadows.

“You'll get your nice cape wet,” suggested Cecily.

“Water will
dry
,” said Little John. “You watch yourself and leave me to watch myself.”

“Sir,” murmured Cecily.

They did not have to ask many questions for the people who flocked around to watch Little John to give them the current gossip; the two of them were obviously not from Nottingham, and the town was buzzing with the tale of Sir Richard of the Lea, and Robin Hood, and the sheriff's fury.

“Robin Hood is more than man,” said one goodwife seriously.

Cecily said with real curiosity, “What is he, then?”

The woman lowered her voice. “He's an elemental, of course, child. I see by your face you're of good Saxon stock. Robin Hood is one of the old gods come back to save England from the Normans.”

The man lounging outside her stall with acorns under cups for unwary folk to bet on, said, “That's why he has to come to the archery contest, and the sheriff knows it. Why, you don't suppose the sheriff wouldn't have caught him a fortnight ago at Mapperley if he'd been an ordinary man, do you? I've just been up there—the folk are all so pleased to have their own master back they are in a mood to spend coin freely—and they all say that Robin came with a handful of men. It's not canny.”

“The sheriff hung three robbers this week,” the woman said comfortably; Cecily found herself swallowing rather hard. “You can see 'em hanging over the gate to the sheriff's house.”

“There,” said the man, as if that settled it.

“And what if this Robin Hood does not come to the fair today?” Cecily asked.

“He will,” said the woman.

The man shrugged and moved his acorn from under one cup, consideringly, to another. “If he does not, then the sheriff has won.”

“Won
what
?” said Cecily, half irritable and half apprehensive, to Little John, as they moved on.

Little John lifted his shoulders briefly. “I'm not sure; but part of why we've survived this long is because the foresters themselves half-believe this elemental stuff—and half want to, as it excuses them. Even ordinary outlaws, you know, when found, tend to sell their lives rather dearly to their captors.”

“But to risk your life for a golden arrow? What could any of us do with a golden arrow? It's silly,” said Cecily.

Little John looked at her as he had the first time she'd tried to block with her staff and he'd knocked her down. “'Twas an arrow made Robin Hood an outlaw. Don't forget. The sheriff hasn't. These people have not.”

The archery ground was already filling up; the three-sided tent, with the dais beneath, was set up nearer the mark where the archers would stand than to the targets that would tell who won the prize—as if the sheriff were more eager to see who came than to determine who shot well. There were practise targets set up a little to one side, and a few folk were sighting along their bowstrings and smoothing their arrows. One bored-looking man in the sheriff's livery was standing by the practise field, but when one of the archers shouted to him to move one of the marks farther down, to make the possibility of practice more like the coming contest, the man slouched over to the nearest straw target with infinite reluctance, dragged it a few feet only, and left. The archer who'd shouted and another man hauled the wooden frame back themselves.

Little John and Cecily drifted over to stand near some of the minstrels and acrobats who were wearing clothing similar to their own, so as to be a little less conspicuous. The proximity of the sheriff's tent, even empty as it was at present, made them both uncomfortable. One of the wrestlers Little John had defeated came up to him and asked, as if idly, where he was going from Nottingham. Little John gave a vague answer; they'd earned enough today that they would perhaps lie a night or two at the inn here before they moved on.

“I hope you're as good at wrestling fleas, then,” said the man. He had put a plain green shirt over his wrestler's garb and looked almost ordinary, except, perhaps, for the easy, alert way he moved—as if he might leap into a back flip at any moment. He might make a good outlaw, thought Cecily. “I hoped perhaps I could interest you in joining us; I am more an acrobat than a wrestler—as you may have noticed—and I would be glad to give it up in your favour. We might,” he added, eyeing Little John with a certain wistfulness, “use you in the acrobatics as well; we had a strong man once, but he left us a year ago to marry a farm girl, and waste himself on ploughing.”

“I thank you for your offer,” said Little John, “but I think not. We—have not had good luck travelling in company.”

“Jealousy?” said the man in green. “I am not surprised. I can tell you we are not like that—we even played our old strong man's wedding for free—but you may not believe me. Perhaps—” the man hesitated—“perhaps we'll call on you at the inn tomorrow, after you've had a chance to think on it?”

“If we meet you at the inn,” said Little John gravely, “we would be happy to speak to you further.”

Silence began to make its way through the crowd, in a twisty, snake-like manner; Cecily turned to look where the others were looking and saw a man she could guess was the sheriff, from the size of both his girth and the gold chain around his neck, approaching the dais with a grandly dressed party of courtiers. The party included two ladies, whose long brilliant skirts belled out in the breeze. It was a pretty picture, but Cecily remembered what it felt like, and stamped one hose-clad leg in satisfaction.

“The wind will do the archers no good,” said the man in green.

Little John grunted. “I know little of archery; but I have thought before that it is a matter of luck as much as skill; as most contests of arms are.”

“Arms and legs,” said the man, smiling; “it was skill that defeated me, not ill luck. But I think I agree with you here. Arrows are malicious mites, with wills of their own.”

“Aye,” said Little John, and fell silent, frowning; he was looking toward the archers lining up for the first target. There was a goodly number of them; one or two wore the sheriff's livery, but the most conspicuous group among them were the king's foresters, who made up nearly half the number of the whole.

“God help any outlaw trying to pull the sheriff's nose in that group,” said the green man.

“You have heard the rumours that Robin Hood will try?” said Cecily bluntly.

“Aye. Have not we all? And a fool he is, I say, if he falls for so foolish a lure.”

“You speak treason, or near to it,” said Little John gently; “for are we not to hope that the sheriff will succeed?”

“You're no Norman,” said the green man, “or I would not be here talking to you; even their money smells bad. Why should I hope a Saxon who has found a way to elude the Normans' hold will fall back into it? And now if I've passed the test, will you think of joining our company?” Little John smiled. “I did not mean a test, exactly, but you are right that we are not Norman.”

“And have little cause to love them,” Cecily put in, and Little John turned to look at her quellingly.

The green man grinned. “I like your assistant, but you feed him too well; he would not talk to strangers so easily if he'd had your experience.”

“He has had his own experience,” said Little John; “but it is true that I think about tying his tongue in a knot at least daily.”

The first archers were taking their turns; the foresters all shot well enough to go to the second round; a number of other folk did as well, including at least one lady.

“The only child of Sir Waleran, and it had to be a daughter,” said the green man; “but he is doing what he can with her instead of giving up quietly—or siring a bastard on some woman who can conceive sons.”

Cecily had her mouth open when Little John's foot descended on hers, and she hissed instead, and bit her tongue as her jaws snapped together. “Rmph,” she said, as the herald bellowed that the second round would begin at once.

About half the original number of archers stood up to shoot; including one ordinary-looking man with an extraordinarily long-handed bow, whose appearance at the mark caused Little John's hand to drop to Cecily's shoulder. She was still nursing her crushed foot, but she looked up. There was nothing about this man to draw attention: of medium height, curling brown hair visible under a rough hat—and an excellent shot: the arrow sank into the heart of the target almost before you saw him lift his bow. Something about the way he walked, though—and the long bow … It couldn't be. Little John's fingers tightened.

“If that's Robin,” said the green man, “he could have the sense not to draw quite so well till it was necessary.”

It wasn't Robin, of course, thought Cecily, because he doesn't shoot that well. But there was still something—the way the man caught the eye for no reason; the same something that Robin had.

“He seems to be alone,” observed the green man; “perhaps at least he chooses to risk only himself.” He shook his head. “He
is
a fool, and I'm sorry for it; but then …”

Cecily said, despite Little John's fingers, “Then—?”

“You like this outlaw, don't you?” said the green man. “And your master does not approve, which is wise of him. Perhaps yon Robin Hood has heard of what the sheriff has in mind if this contest does not catch him, and decided that this is the easier way for the folk he loves and would spare sharing his fate.”

“Easier?” said Cecily in alarm.

“Have you heard of Guy of Gisbourne?” said the green man.

Little John's head snapped around. The second round was over; the field of contestants was again cut by half; it still included Sir Waleran's only daughter, several foresters, and the brown-haired man who drew the eye for no reason.

“Ah, you have heard,” said the green man with satisfaction; “and have heard the right stories too.”

“I have not,” said Cecily. “Tell me.”

“Guy of Gisbourne is a kind of paid assassin,” said the green man, with a certain involuntary relish. “'Tis said he is the younger son of an old lord up north who hated him, and since he had nothing to lose, as he saw it, has gone in for hiring out to cut up other folk's enemies. He was in Palestine for a while, the stories say, and he was sent home in disgrace for being too bloodthirsty. He'd kill off a Saracen they might have held for ransom, and he threw someone's child off a battlement in Acre because it annoyed him.”

“The sheriff has hired him to track Robin Hood?” squeaked Cecily.

“Aye. And his band of cutthroats, all of them as charming and civilized as Guy himself, I believe. Even in Sherwood, Guy will find his quarry; the stories say that Guy doesn't sleep, and he finds his men by smelling the heat of their blood. I don't know about that, but there's something uncanny about him nonetheless.”

Uncanny. What the bauble-seller had said of Robin.

The third round went more slowly, for all that there were fewer archers; for each one shot only after carefully lining up the mark and sighting long down the length of the arrow before releasing the string. Several of the foresters missed nonetheless and were disqualified. One of them wanted to argue about it, but the sheriff raised one hand and then made a violent and highly suggestive gesture with the other, and the man subsided.

Sir Waleran's daughter, two foresters, and the brown-haired man were left. The watching crowd had a curious kind of hush over it, and there was some movement to press in closer, which sheriff's men immediately appeared from behind the sheriff's tent to prevent. The crowd became restless, and the fourth round was delayed a little till it quieted; despite the sheriff's men, who seemed to have received uncharacteristic orders not to be too rough, the crowd had contrived to shift forward by a few yards. Its edges were now even with the sheriff's tent.

Little John, Cecily, and the green man had not moved. They were all three taller than the average, and even Cecily could see over most of the heads of the crowd; and she felt frozen to her place besides.

“We are not the only ones who think that's Robin Hood,” said the green man. “There will be trouble if the sheriff tries to take him.”

It's not Robin, thought Cecily. It's Marian.

The brown-haired man shot last. The target was now set so far away that Cecily could see the center mark only as a bright blot of colour; but she saw when the two foresters' arrows went wide, and struck outside the blot. The breeze had picked up, and seemed to be coming from all directions at once; and a particularly fierce gust rushed over the crowd as Sir Waleran's daughter released her string. The arrow should have gone to the heart of the mark, thought Cecily, as the breeze fanned her right cheek; even so it struck within the left edge of the blot. The crowd sighed.