by Kate Danley
He had practiced.
He was prepared.
He was ready.
It did not calm the pounding beat of his heart.
He fingered the penny once more. He had watched the archery tournament since he was small. Now it was his chance to join the line. It would cost his entire windfall to enter, but the winner would win a purse of half the fees collected. And this year, as if it was a sign from the heavens, the Sheriff of Nottingham had offered up one arrow of pure gold and one of silver to the two best archers at the tournament.
If he won just second place, he could trade the silver arrow for food and medicine for his father, never mind the fortune gold would bring.
After all, he was only a year older than King Henry, he told himself. And if a man his age could fight the French and oversee an entire nation, it was not unreasonable to consider that a man of his age could win a game.
He looked down.
His hands were trembling.
A friar in a coarse, brown robe was collecting the entry fee. He waddled up to each of the contenders and held open his bag. "Come on, lads! For a good cause! Half to God! Half to ye! Absolve yourself of half your sins with your entry fee! And the other half? Well, show the lads your skills, and they won't goad you into sinning again! HEE HEE!"
Robin clutched his single coin tight in his fist. Was he sure he could win? Was he sure he was not squandering money that could put food on his father's table? He thought of his father's gaunt face, his hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. A penny would never be enough to fill out his flesh. Robin regarded the clinking bag of coins in the friar's palm, and bravely stepped forward.
"Good lad!" the friar announced as he held the bag out for Robin to drop in his coin. "Saints preserve you and blessings upon your bow. With an arm as strong as yours, you'll get your penny back soon enough!" The friar lifted the bag. "Who would challenge this brute and give him a run for this money!"
Robin stepped aside to join the throng of other archers, realizing the friar paid the same blessings and praise upon all who put their coin in the purse. He tried to distract himself by pulling out the string out from his quiver and notching it onto his small bow. He prayed it did not break and ruin everything.
"ROBIN!" cried a voice.
Robin turned around and saw a mop of bright red hair. A familiar face jumped up and down over the throng of people.
"WILL!" Robin yelled back. "WILL SCARLOCKE!"
Will elbowed his way through the crowd to Robin's side. He threw his freckled arms around Robin, clapping him on the back. "How goes it, coz?"
Robin was not sure if he was relieved or anxious to have this distraction from the coming trial. "What are you doing here?"
"Father gave me the day off." He placed his hand aside his pale, thin mouth and whispered, "Rumor has it there are fair maids looking for a dance." He waited for Robin's response, but Robin said nothing. Instead, Robin fiddled with a pair of gloves and swayed, nervously peeking at the men surrounding them as if sizing them up. Realization dawned. "Are you entered in the archery tournament?"
Robin's eyes shifted. "Yes?"
Will's jaw dropped and he gave a low whistle. "Where'd you come up with the funds? That's a lot of ale you could have bought." He pointed over to the tents and gave Robin a nudge. "I bet the friar would give you back your entry if you changed your mind. Think of it, cousin of mine! Ladies. And ale. For both of us!"
"I just had a chance. I decided to take it. Just... to try. Once."
Will shook his head in mock disappointment. "Well, each man must do what each man must do. I will cheer loudly from the sidelines for you. And don't you worry, cousin. I shall make sure to find you a proper wench with a bosom ample enough in size to catch all your tears when you lose." Will cupped his fingers in front of his chest. "Will these be big enough?" He held out his hands further. "No, we're gonna need bigger. Enormous! There will be so many tears! Massive tears! All that coin. Gone!"
Robin stared furiously at the ground, trying to pretend he did not know Will as a group of girls walked by, giggling with scandal at the bawdy pantomime.
"I'm not with him," Robin tried to explain to the maidens.
Will laughed. "Relax, coz!" He opened his arms out wide like the entire world was at their feet. "It is the May Games!"
The friar cinched the bag closed and a great cheer rose from the throng. Robin realized that for a moment, his nervousness had been forgotten. His cousin danced away, but Will paused to give Robin a knowing salute. Robin wondered if that had been Will's plan all along. He smiled as his cousin caught up with the girls.
"Follow me, boys!" said the friar, giving the entrants a friendly wave. "Let us march down to the field! Show off your arms to all the lovely lasses looking upon you!" The friar gave the crowd a wink as the men paraded down the green. Robin's face warmed as soft, feminine whispers and giggles followed his footsteps. He had not practiced this part in his training.
Finally, the friar stopped them. A line had been marked in the grass with a rope. He pointed. "Split yourselves! Stand behind! Twelve men at a time! May your arrows fly true and strike the heart of your quarry: those round, villainous straw targets at the far end of the field. Slay them with a kill shot! Now, men, I leave you here to face your fates as I join the May Games court! God bless your every draw!"
Pipes and drums struck up a tune and the entire assembly exploded into cheers. A distant procession made their way through the masses. Excited, the friar toddled off toward a canopy made of leafy boughs and stood, waiting, beside empty chairs festooned with flowers. Robin strained on his tiptoes to see the festival's court. From the gathering, a woman stepped forward.
And time stood still.
Robin could not breathe.
She was tall and willowy. Her dress was fine, but not rich. Her unblemished skin was kissed with freckles where a man might dream to rest his lips. Her hair was red like fire. The more superstitious might say it was the mark of a witch, the curse of Judas. But if it was a curse, let him be damned to hell.
"And the Queen of May!" said the fat friar, lifting a crown of hawthorn. "The beautiful Maid Marian Leaford!"
The girl bent her knees, but still the friar had to stand on his tiptoes to place the wreath on her head. The crowd laughed as, drunkenly, he lost his balance and their soon-to-be queen had to catch him. As she righted him, he planted the circlet on her braided mane with one hand and patted it into place.
But the mirth was lost on Robin. Instead, he only saw her gentle ministrations to a fool unworthy of her touch.
"Marian," Robin whispered, memorizing the taste of that name on his lips, the rumble of those words in his chest, and the warmth that spread through his veins at the sound of her laugh.
She whispered to the ladies beside her as the court took their seats, so unaware of him. Something in his heart felt it might burst if some other man gained her favor, if she did not look his way.
Suddenly, the winner of last year's tournament stood to the side and raised his hat, dragging Robin's attention to the task at hand. "Archers, ready! On my mark, you will release! May luck carry your arrows true! Nock... Draw... LOOSE!"
Jarred back into the world, Robin realized the first line was already taking their shots. Robin shuffled to take his place with the next.
Robin turned his body and warmed his bowstring, working it back and forth. He noted the man beside him, a man who could have almost been his twin, except he was dressed in black and carried himself with the ease of a noble. The man returned the appraising glance as Robin chose his arrow.
"Nock..."
Nerves taut, Robin almost jumped. He remembered not to rush, to stay focused, all that mattered was the target, not the others around him. He placed his arrow on the string.
"Draw..."
He inhaled, lifting his bow from the ground. He pulled back to his anchor point.
"LOOSE!" shouted the winner, dropping his hat down.
Arrows sailed through the air. Rob
in paused, and when he was ready, he released.
The string of his bow twanged as his arrow took flight. It happened so fast, he had no time to think. It was in his hand. He felt the shock of its release. It was gone. Where had it gone?
His arrow struck the center of the target.
A cheer rose from the multitude.
The sight of it quivering in the braided straw made Robin feel as if he had already won.
"Step back, archers, and allow the next challengers to take your place!" the winner directed.
Robin shuffled back, his pulse pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears. His attention flitted to the court beneath the bower. Marian still laughed with her friends, but there was a moment when their eyes met, a moment when she gave him a congratulatory smile, a moment before she pulled away.
It warmed him even more than striking the target.
"Excellent marksmanship," said the man dressed in black.
Robin dragged himself away from Marian, wanting nothing more than to be ready in case she cast her glance his way once again, but instead forced himself to say, "You, too."
"You should consider joining the Sheriff of Nottingham's archers," said the man with careful nonchalance.
"What?" asked Robin, his attention pulled back by the man's words.
"You have a natural talent. You should put it to use. Allow it to serve king and country," said the man.
It felt as if the heavens were shining on him.
Robin beamed as a foreign sense of pride swelled in his chest. He had come down just to win a purse, but to be a mere shepherd and farmer and to have such words of praise shared with him by a competitor was almost too much. "That... I... I had never considered such a possibility."
"The Sheriff is always needing skilled guards," said the other. He leaned forward as if telling Robin a secret. "In fact, I have been told he has men at these tournaments all over Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire scouting for talent just like yours."
"Really?" asked Robin, stunned.
"Think about it," said the other man. "He pays six pennies a day for a good archer who can ride a horse. I'd be happy to put in a word."
But their conversation was interrupted. "We have a tie! Many ties! They must've all lit candles to Saint Sebastian this week! God smiles down upon all these lads today!" announced the friar. He pointed to Robin, his new friend in black, and a handful of other boys. "Your bows have been blessed! We go another round! Back the target up fifty paces!"
The pressure of the moment descended on Robin. There were eyes, important eyes, on him. It was not just a matter of a purse and a prize. This could determine his entire future. This could mean a better day for him and his father. He wouldn't have to stay in the Sheriff's service long, just long enough to pay for his father's medicine and debts. He contemplated the man beside him once again. Was he one of the scouts? Were his words an overture to something greater?
Robin realized he had been distracted while everyone around him had been preparing. The winner from last year was already raising his hat. "Nock..." Robin scrambled to place his arrow on his string. "Draw..." He pulled back, rushed and harried. "LOOSE!"
Robin knew it was not as good the moment the arrow left. His string even snapped against his wrist, stinging with a harsh rebuke. He cursed. But once again, some heavenly power seemed to be on his side. A stray wind must have aided him in the final stretch, for his arrow struck the center of the target.
"We have yet another tie!" the friar called again.
The friar pointed to only Robin and the man in black.
"You anticipated nature well," said the archer in black. "I imagine the Sheriff's people are quite interested in you now."
"Back up the target another fifty paces!" said the friar.
Everything was happening so fast. Robin could barely keep up.
But then a young lady dressed in green, dark hair braided with daisies, skipped up to the friar's side and whispered in his ear.
The friar held up a sober hand as he belched. "Word just in from this gentle waiting woman. Our fair queen has announced she shall bestow her favor upon any of these men who can shoot an arrow through her crown at over 200 yards!"
A gasp of delight rang out across the crowd as Marian stood, holding her hawthorn wreath aloft. The friar took it from her and marched it down the field. He placed it on the braided straw at the far end, framing the dead center of the target. A mighty cheer then rose as the friar raised his hands in victory and toddled back to the viewing box.
This time, Robin could feel Marian's gaze upon him and the heat of her encouraging smile. He did not dare look. This was too important. His entire future hung in the balance. The target was so far away, it was almost impossible to see. The drums beat.
The man in black let his arrow fly and it struck the target, perfectly centered in the middle of the wreath. It was an incredible shot. There was no way Robin could win. His heart fell into his shoes.
At least he had won the silver arrow, he tried to console himself.
But the coveted prize now seemed tarnished. He was about to lose the favor of both Marian and the Sheriff of Nottingham. Neither would want him when the archer beside him had beaten him soundly and fair.
Robin stepped forward, taking his best arrow from his quiver.
Carefully, he nocked it on his bowstring, resting the shaft on his thumb. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind. He tried not to think that he was about to come up second best in front of everyone at the fair. He tried not to think about how for the rest of the Games, everyone would dismiss him as the one who lost. He tried not to think of Marian placing the crown upon the man beside him.
He pulled back his string.
He aimed.
And he let his arrow fly.
He stared at it as it soared across the blue, cloudless sky. An eternity passed as it hung in the air. Another thousand years more before it made its descent. He had no idea if he was on the mark or off. He had no idea if he would be lauded a hero or laughed off the field.
"He has struck true! This archer has struck true! He has knocked aside the arrow of the Sheriff's own man!" declared the friar.
Robin gulped. The man in black turned to him. Though nothing had changed in his expression, his interest was strangely less appealing. There was a threat to it. It was the calculating look of a butcher eyeing livestock for fatness just before the slaughter. "What's your name, lad?" he asked.
"Robert... that's my Christian name. But people call me Robin," he replied, wetting his lips and almost wishing his arrow had not flown so well. "Robert Hood... Robin... of Barnsdale."
"Robert Hode?"
"Hood." He nervously released the string from his bow and wound it so it wouldn't get tangled. He then placed everything in his large quiver.
"Right," said the archer, without another word. He turned to walk away.
Robin called him back, offering out his hand. "And yours?"
The man seemed surprised. "Guy. Sir Guy of Gisborne. I shall... remember your skill and speak with the Sheriff about you." Guy clasped Robin's forearm, but almost as if he was using the opportunity to examine it for its strength. "Don't wander off. Allow me to buy you a congratulatory drink later."
The friar came waddling back with all the arrows and presented them to Robin. Robin had no idea this was part of his purse, too. To have an armful of fletched, iron-tipped arrows was a luxury beyond his dreams. He and his father could hunt without fear. He carefully put the precious tools away.
The friar then turned with the wreath and handed it outstretched in supplication to Maid Marian. He then slapped Robin on the shoulder and ushered him toward the court.
"Come forward, lad!' said the friar. "Come forward and receive your reward!"
Robin was frozen beneath the power of Marian's gaze. His face burned. His feet were clay. His pulse beat its rhythm in his ears. Maid Marian rose as slowly as a dream. The corners of her mouth lifted with an amused smile.
"And what
is your name, gentle archer?" she asked, her voice like the music of water on river rocks.
"Robert. Robin. Of Barnsdale," he choked.
She took a leafy bough covered in yellow cowslip flowers from one of her courtly maids. "Kneel, Robin of Barnsdale!" He did and bowed, as if receiving divine benediction. She touched one shoulder, then the next. "I do hereby declare you the winner of our archery tournament." She gave the bough back to her friend with joyful solemnity and raised the hawthorn wreath with both hands. With great ceremony, she lowered it until it rested on his head. "And so, I crown you the finest archer in our games. Rise, newest member of the May court!" She took the bough back from her friend, kissed it, then handed it to Robin. "Receive this favor from your queen!"
He took the leafy scepter and clutched it to his chest. He felt as if he had never understood happiness until this moment.
"And take the purse and golden arrow owed to you!" she continued.
Robin had forgotten his original reason for entering in the first place. The money had been chased from his mind completely. But Maid Marian clutched the purse first to her heart, then touched the arrow to her lips, and finally passed them both to him. The throng of watchers cheered lustily.
But just as the weight of his prizes were laid upon his palms, his arms filled with more than he could carry, just as he felt his soul might overflow or explode into a million stars, a cry called across the grassy field. "Robin! Robin!"
He turned.
It was Much.
He was supposed to be with Robin's father.
Much never ran.
Robin's blood turned cold.
Much stopped at Robin's side, gasping. He bent over to catch his breath. "You must come! It’s your father! Come!"
The whole world crashed down.
The raucous noise of the crowd turned to a hum of concern and worry. Robin looked back at Marian. He was frozen, unable to move, laden with boughs and prizes, a crooked wreath, and the confused memory of a bliss that was just there. How had the world changed so much in just an instant? Hadn't he just won an archery tournament? He could not figure out what he was supposed to do.
