GRAND ARCHERY CONTEST, NOTTINGHAM, ST LUKE’S DAY
ENTRANCE FREE
GRAND PRIZE – ONE GOLDEN ARROW
WHY NOT CHANCE YOUR ARM?
‘She wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for that,’ said Erasmus. ‘It’s an obvious trap.’
‘Arr,’ said the small man with derision and took another swig of his ale.
‘The prize isn’t worth anything,’ said Erasmus. ‘It’s probably not even real gold.’
‘It’s not the prize,’ said the tall man. ‘It’s the principle. Being a people’s hero isn’t just about bringing justice and stealing taxes, it’s about undermining the authority of the oppressor. If Marian can walk in there, win that arrow and walk out she’ll be the talk of all Nottinghamshire, perhaps more. You want to change the world, you’ve got to be visible.’
‘You think Marian’s going?’
‘Arr,’ said the tall man. Erasmus was puzzled by the sudden reversion to idiocy. He looked up to see the barman standing over them.
‘You done with those tankards?’ said the barman. Erasmus looked down at his – the head was still a mass of froth and, although he hadn’t taken a sip, it didn’t look particularly appetising.
‘Yes,’ he said. He made to pass the tankard over, but before he got his hand to it, the small man swapped it for his own, empty vessel and smiled vacuously at him. The barman took the empty tankards and left them alone.
Once Erasmus was sure he was out of earshot, he pursued his question. ‘Do you think Marian’s going?’ he said.
‘I might,’ said the tall man. Erasmus pushed over another coin.
‘She did say she was going, after all,’ said the tall man. ‘I didn’t realise it was valuable information at the time, or I’d have paid her something for it.’
Erasmus toyed with a coin, twirling it between his finger and thumb. He knew the legend about the golden arrow, of course, but the Robin of legend never seemed to have any kind of deep reason for his actions, he simply did things because he knew the Sheriff would get annoyed. Marian was a different proposition: she was intelligent enough to care about the right approach – would she really risk her neck for a mere trophy and the fame that went with it?
‘Penny for your thoughts.’ The tall man’s remark brought Erasmus back to his current situation. Erasmus shook his head, rolled the coin across the table, telling the men to buy themselves a drink on him, then rose and made his way out to the road. Behind him, the sound of raised voices from another corner of the inn heralded the beginning of a fresh outbreak of inebriate violence and Erasmus strode away down the road, grateful he wouldn’t be in the thick of it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Another day dawned and with it the realisation that Erasmus was beginning to find it difficult to remember how long he’d been away from his own time. The lack of any set routine, coupled with the distinct lack of clocks and calendars, left him with the feeling he had been away for months.
Certainly a lot had changed: back in the twenty-first century he had been a quiet man, who never did so much as say boo to a goose, he’d been a civilised man without a hint of violence and, if not fashionable, he’d at least been well turned out. Now, here he was after a matter of days, having been imprisoned twice and escaped both times, having caused injuries with bow and dagger, having killed small, defenceless animals with a variety of weapons, having robbed a man on a public highway (admittedly the same one he’d stabbed and shot earlier) and having spent time buying information from disreputable vagrants in shady dives and, what was worse, he was still wearing the same clothes he’d set out in all those days ago.
The grime of a violent way of life clung to him like the dust from the road that soiled his skin. He wanted a bath, a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, but what he wanted more was to know that everything was going to be all right.
This last point was, of course, his main bone of contention. The knowledge that Marian was to be embroiled in a trap that, historically, had been intended for Robin was the cause of mixed feelings. On the one hand, he didn’t think Marian would be any more likely to be caught than Robin but, on the other hand, he was no closer to repairing history and setting events in their natural course. If he was to put things right, it would have to be at a definite historical point, like the contest itself. The trouble was that without finding Marian, he could see no way of proving his case to Robin and thus persuading him to enter the contest as history had intended. In a way, he supposed, it was that common headstrong nature that made Marian and Robin the romantic match of legend: a shared bravado, almost an arrogance…
The sudden inspiration hit Erasmus with the force of a well-thrown board rubber. He’d been looking at the matter from entirely the wrong perspective: it wasn’t a question of substituting Robin for Marian – if he could make sure both of them were there, then the Sheriff would provide the necessary proof to open Robin’s eyes. Filled with the enthusiasm a good idea engenders, Erasmus broke camp and made his way through the woods to Robin’s encampment.
Erasmus had spent the night in Marian’s old camp. Apart from the convenience and relative comfort of the place, he had felt it was also safe: Deloial was likely to have been there in search of Marian whilst he was still languishing in Nottingham Castle and, given he hadn’t found her and that Sherwood was a vast forest, he would be aware that Marian had little need to return in the near future.
The way between the two camps was by now a well-trodden path for Erasmus: he walked it with the familiarity of his morning drive to school, allowing his mind to wander whilst his feet sought out the route of their own accord. The miles passed with ease and he soon found himself setting foot on the familiar log bridge and making his way over the river that marked the final stage of his approach.
He was halfway over the bridge when he got the odd feeling he wasn’t alone. Bringing his left foot down so that he was standing firmly on the log, he scanned the trees of the opposite bank for a glint of sunlight on steel or a hint of an arrowhead. He saw none and was just about to continue his crossing, when there was a crashing sound and Deloial emerged from a thicket, drawing his sword as he did so.
The man was still hobbling and, through a rip in his trousers, Erasmus could see that one of his legs were bandaged with cloth. His head was also bound - giving the impression he was wearing some kind of linen skullcap. He looked like he’d escaped from the set of a mummy film before the costume department had had a chance to finish, although the evil glint in his eyes looked as if it wouldn’t need much work in post-production. He approached the bank, toyed with mounting the log then, finding it too painful on his wounded leg, backed off and waited impatiently within arm’s reach of the bank.
‘Come across,’ he said, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed gravel during his encounter with the road.
‘What if I decide not to?’ said Erasmus.
‘I don’t think you have a choice. I know you need to see Robin – the Sheriff told me you would.’
‘And how would he know?’ said Erasmus, wondering how much Deloial had been told.
‘The Sheriff doesn’t need to explain his intelligence to me. I’m his servant, not his master.’
Erasmus considered this. Deloial struck him as the kind of person who would parade what knowledge he had if there were no risk in doing so, and telling someone that you knew they were a time traveller wouldn’t be dangerous in itself. The Sheriff was also likely to be well aware of the limitations of his underlings and probably kept Deloial in the dark as much as he did Gisburne. The problem was that, inasmuch as his need to see Robin, Deloial was perfectly right. There was no way he could just leave and come back another day – the golden arrow was to be contested today and this might be his last good chance to resolve the matter.
He rested his hand gingerly on the hilt of his dagger, wishing he had taken Deloial’s sword instead. Not that it would have helped, of course: Erasmus would have been left with a weapon he couldn
’t use and Deloial would have rearmed from Robin’s leafy armoury. Hesitantly, Erasmus took a few steps forward then stopped. Perhaps there was some way to use Deloial’s disabilities against him? He still didn’t want to kill the man – he assumed he had some part on history’s stage – but if he could incapacitate him in some way…
He drew Deloial’s dagger and held it point downwards in his hand, trying to convey the air of a man who’s killed a few rabbits in the last few days and is ready to graduate to larger foe. Continuing this masque of confident behaviour, he walked purposefully along the log and stopped within a foot of the bank. Deloial, who’d been watching in a kind of attentive slouch that took as much pressure off his leg as possible, stood up straight and approached the bank.
The two men sized each other up critically: Erasmus, a tousled, grubby man, barely five foot eight tall in his boots, with a couple of days’ growth of stubble on his chin and a look that wasn’t dissimilar to a frightened rabbit in his dark hazel eyes; Deloial, a limping, bandaged man with cruel, grey eyes, who would have stood at nearly six feet if he hadn’t suffered the daggers and arrows of outrageous fortune at the hands of the man he faced. Erasmus’ blind luck may well appear to be proficiency in another man’s eyes, but Deloial wasn’t entirely a fool.
‘You found out about the golden arrow, I hear,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ said Erasmus. ‘How did you know?’
‘Information can be bought.’
Erasmus nodded and was pleased he had decided not to say too much about his own involvement in the situation.
‘It would have been nice to find out exactly why the Sheriff is so interested in you, but I guess I can wait,’ said Deloial.
‘Wait for what?’
‘Didn’t you know? I’m under orders to bring you in. It has to be alive, I’m told, but there’s no stipulation about being unharmed. Perhaps I’ll extract some information first – find out what our noble Sheriff is so afraid of.’
This was new information to Erasmus and it gave him heart: if Deloial was fighting to capture, rather than kill, his job was considerably harder. He adjusted his grip on the dagger so that the blade pointed upwards and gleamed in the sunlight.
Deloial observed him critically. ‘You really fancy yourself the warrior now, do you?’ he said.
‘I might.’
‘I’ve been a soldier for ten years. I’ve been trained in every form of armed combat known to man. Do you seriously expect to better me in a duel?’
‘I’ve had my moments.’
Deloial adjusted his stance and grimaced at the pain it caused. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Give up now and let me take you in. It’ll be better for you in the long run.’
‘Come and get me,’ said Erasmus and took a step forward. Deloial brought his sword up and lunged forward. Erasmus caught the blow on the edge of his dagger then leant forward, causing the blades to slide along each other. Deloial’s momentum carried him onwards and his blade embedded itself in the log between Erasmus’ legs. Erasmus’ blade, meanwhile, jabbed the wounded soldier in the arm and, starting at the sudden pain, he lost his balance and fell from the riverbank. His flailing arm grasped at Erasmus’ ankle, causing him to lose his balance and tumble, his dagger flying into the river beneath him.
Erasmus caught the log as he fell and clung to it, Deloial in turn hanging from his ankles. For a moment they remained that way, but Deloial was losing blood from the fresh wound in his arm and his grip failed. Erasmus watched him fall into the churning waters, where the current rapidly carried him away from view. For a few moments more, Erasmus hung from the log then he tried, unsuccessfully, to pull himself up – he didn’t really have the upper body strength for gymnastics.
Inching along the log, he reached the bank and climbed that instead. As he reached the top, a shadow fell across him. He looked up, but the glare of the sun cast the man in silhouette and Erasmus couldn’t make out his face. The man leant down, grasped Erasmus’ arm and lifted him bodily over the bank, depositing him safely on the ground. Erasmus took a moment to regain his breath, then rose to his feet.
‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully.
‘No problem, lad,’ said Little John. ‘You seem to have a problem crossing that river, don’t you?’
‘When did you get here?’
‘Just in time, it appears,’ said John, his easy tone showing no evidence he had witnessed the struggle with Deloial. Erasmus looked back at the log and noticed that Deloial’s sword had also fallen into the river, so he decided not to enlighten John as to the true facts of the matter.
‘Is Robin around?’ he said.
Robin was cooking venison on a spit when Erasmus and John entered the camp. He seemed surprised to see Erasmus back so soon and even more surprised when he suggested they go off for a chat and the teacher shook his head.
‘It’s all right,’ said Erasmus. ‘I’ve nothing to say that can’t be said with everyone here.’
‘I should bleedin’ hope not,’ said Will. ‘I don’t hold with having secrets from each other.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Much. ‘And while we’re on the subject, Will, what did happen to the money from that merchant you robbed?’
‘I’m not bleedin’ telling you,’ said Will brusquely.
Robin grinned broadly, ruffling Much’s hair as he passed him, then looked at Erasmus uncertainly. ‘What’s your news?’ he said.
Erasmus produced the parchment he’d acquired at the inn from his pouch. ‘It’s today,’ he added.
Robin scanned the notice and looked at Erasmus with a puzzled expression. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’ he said.
‘I’d have thought you’d want to enter.’
‘Why? What use is a golden arrow? It’d be too soft to shoot anything with.’
‘It’s not the prize, it’s the contest. Who’s the greatest archer in Sherwood?’
‘Me, of course.’
‘And who knows?’
‘Everyone.’ Robin looked around his men for support. They all nodded their assent.
‘So what happens if someone else wins an archery contest?’
‘People think they’re good too. So what?’
‘But they still think you’re better?’
‘Of course. They’ve no reason not to.’
‘But why wouldn’t you turn up to a contest that’s in Nottingham, of all places?’
‘I didn’t know about it.’
Erasmus smiled. ‘That’s not what they’d say,’ he said. ‘“Robin’s afraid,” they’ll say. “He knows he’ll be beaten,” they’ll say. Do you want them to say that?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘You’re not afraid, are you?’
Robin’s scowl was an adequate reply.
Will looked at Erasmus and his eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you telling us this?’ he said. ‘What’s in it for you?’
‘Let’s just say I have a wager riding on the outcome,’ said Erasmus.
John grinned broadly. ‘Are the stakes worth it, lad?’
‘Oh, they’re worth it all right.’
‘Then we’ll want our share,’ said Will.
‘Oh, you’ll benefit,’ said Erasmus. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’
Robin appeared to be considering the matter. His face was drawn in concentration, which gave Erasmus concern. It would be a bad time for the young man to have suddenly outgrown his naivety.
‘Well?’ said Erasmus. ‘Do you fancy hanging a golden arrow in Sherwood?’
Robin’s face melted into a grin. ‘Why not,’ he said. ‘We’ll pop into Nottingham and by tonight the prize will hang from the Major Oak so we can all look… eh… down on its magnificence. Shall we go?’ He strode off purposefully in the direction of the river.
‘Hold on, lad,’ John called out. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Just chuck some water over the fire,’ said Robin. ‘We’ll get a fresh deer when we get back.’
‘Not that,’ said John, mo
tioning for Much to deal with the fire. ‘We can’t just walk into Nottingham, the Sheriff would have us arrested on the spot.’
‘He wouldn’t,’ said Robin. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because we’re a bunch of bleedin’ outlaws, that’s why,’ said Will.
‘But with all those people there? He wouldn’t.’
‘He would, lad,’ said John. Erasmus nodded his agreement too.
‘So, what are you saying? We can’t go? What was the point of telling me about this contest if we can’t go?’
‘You could go in disguise,’ said Erasmus. ‘Dressed as old beggars, perhaps.’
‘What would be the point of that? People would think an old beggar was the best archer in Sherwood.’
‘The people would know it was you.’
Robin’s face was a picture of confusion. ‘If they’d think it was me when someone who didn’t look like me won, why wouldn’t they think it was me when somebody else won?’
Erasmus tried to remember how the legend went. ‘You could tell them,’ he said.
‘Then what use would the disguise be?’
‘Not before you win. After you get back. You could fire an arrow with a note attached that read,’ Erasmus paused to recall the line, ‘Yon beggar was none but bold Robin Hood and your arrow now hangs from his oak in Sherwood.’
‘That’s pretty awful,’ said Robin.
John nodded his head in agreement.
‘I wouldn’t wanna be associated with that,’ Will added. ‘Besides, Robin’s right: he could just find out who won, then, if it was some nobleman, send a note saying the nobleman was me, signed Robin Hood. You wouldn’t actually need to turn up.’
Erasmus racked his brains. He hadn’t considered that persuading Robin would prove so difficult. Finally, a thought occurred to him.
‘It wouldn’t work,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ said Robin. ‘People know I’m good at disguise. True, I haven’t really done it for a while, but…’
‘It won’t work, because the person most likely to win is a woman.’
‘A woman!’ Robin gasped.
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