A/N: This is set in the world of Robin's Country, one of my favorite Robin Hood books (somewhat in the style of Outlaws of Sherwood by Robin McKinley, if you've read that one). It's told from the perspective of a young runaway slave-boy, who is named Dummy because he is a mute. He runs away and stumbles into Robin's camp, and learns about the outlaws.
Disclaimer: This world belongs to legend; these characterizations of the legend and the characters of Dummy and his friends belong to Monica Furlong.
The day of the fair was hot, even in the shadows. Dummy's green shirt – a gift from Marian that morning, given with the smile she gave more often now – clung to the sweat on his back. All around him, people were sweating and chatting and laughing. He ignored the noise and discomfort as he searched for Robin.
Robin didn't think Dummy would find him. He'd laughed that morning as Marian asked Robin to take someone with him. He'd teased her, telling her he'd keep anyone with him who could see past the disguise he'd planned. The lines of worry on Marian's face deepened as Robin, still laughing, slipped through the trees to go put on his disguise. She had turned to Dummy.
"Watch him, Dummy? If you can. Find him, and help keep him safe. Come find us if there's trouble." Dummy had nodded, glad Marian trusted him now. It made the forest seem a little bit like a home, like the places others had. He wanted to keep that trust.
But first he had to find Robin, and the huge crowd of people, so much larger than any Dummy could remember seeing, made that hard. He'd glimpsed Will Stutely, moving with the grace that marked him even in this multitude, and he had seen Little John easily making a path through the mob, his large, loud laugh ringing over the entire crowd. But Dummy had not seen Robin, Marian, or any others of Robin's merry band.
A noise – different than the chattering, talking, rollicking noise of the crowd – drew his attention to his left, in-between two wooden houses and down an alley. It was the sound of ugly, bullying laughter, followed by angry voices. He flinched. It sounded like how Roger used to laugh. He hesitated, fighting the desire to go back to Sherwood, to hide in the greenwood. It felt safe. Nowhere else felt that way. But Robin would probably be at the center of any commotion. And he had promised to find Robin.
The noise died down as he moved, slipping around people and then through the alley. He hung in the shadows, looking out to see a crippled man resting on a crutch, bending over two young boys, ringed around by other youths. The cripple straightened slowly, painfully, and kept his hand on one boy's shoulder. He pushed the boy outward, towards the alleyway, and the circle sullenly parted and then moved away, back towards the fair.
"There, lad," said a rough, gravelly voice. "And mind you stay out of trouble for the rest of the day!"
"I will," said the lad in a low voice, his hand clenched around something Dummy couldn't see. The boy looked up at the cripple with a fervent, resolute expression. "I won't get in trouble again."
"Well then, be on your way," said the gravelly voice. The lad nodded, turned, and raced down the street, away from the group of boys at the other end. They moved around the cripple, one shoving him towards the wall and out of the way.
The cripple collected his crutch, his tattered, scarlet rags, and turned to go deeper into Nottingham. Then he paused for a moment. Looking into the alley where Dummy was, he straightened slightly—and winked.
It was Robin. Dummy didn't know how he knew – maybe it was the sparkle with the wink, or the subtle assurance in Robin's manner, but he'd found him. Dummy nodded back to Robin – who had started his slow, painstaking walk towards the fair again – and then stayed in the shadows. He watched Robin make it to the end of the street, where the boys had disappeared, and then Dummy turned and plunged back into the alleyway. He had to make it to that street before Robin went elsewhere.
For the rest of the day, Dummy shadowed Robin from a distance. He watched Robin haggle over prices for cheap food, whining that even cripples had money to spend on fair days, and then walk slowly around the rest of the fair in no particular pattern. Watching him pass by a neighboring lord's champion, Dummy realized that Robin had been viewing the other archers, the competition. Dummy wondered what Robin had seen, what he learned, just from watching them walk and talk. Robin would surely win, since Marian wasn't going to be in the contestants as competition. Would the Sheriff catch him if he won?
The day grew hotter and hotter, and still Dummy stayed in the shadowy parts of the fair, trying to escape attention. Robin – who seemed to know where Dummy was without ever looking – took routes that allowed Dummy to follow while remaining obscure, and once even stopped when Dummy was near a food vendor. But once the trumpets sounded, announcing the archery tournament, Robin picked up his crutch and walked forward, right into the heart of the crowd. He was going to the shooting ground.
Hesitantly, Dummy stepped out from the shadows and followed at a distance. He kept Robin's back in sight easily, the scarlet rags flamboyant amid the sensible farmers' clothing. Eventually they came close to the field, and Robin went to join the contestants. Dummy slipped under a woman's basket and around her brood of children, moving forward till he pressed up against the rough wooden fence. From there he could see Robin.
He saw Marian, too, across the green field, her boy-disguise slightly marred by the cool dignity that always surrounded her. Little John was standing behind the straw targets at the other end, his eyes fixed on hubble and bubble at the other end. Glancing around the field, Dummy saw more and more of the men, noticeable because of their quiet, concentrated attention on the starting edge of the field, where Robin, Will Stutely, and Tom were all within easy reach of the Sheriff's men.
A trumpet sounded. Someone made a speech, too far away for Dummy to hear. The contest started, the contestants lining up at one end. Again and again, through the rising heat, the contestants shot. Dummy, sweat dripping down his face, added silent prayers for a wind in addition to his prayers for Robin, Will, and Tom.
Another round. There were only eight shooting now, and only Will and Robin were left from Sherwood. Dummy had seen a guard giving Will a few glances earlier, but so far no one had looked at Robin. Please, Will, don't win, Dummy thought. But he's shooting with Robin. He can't win.
Two strangers from Lincoln shot; one missed the black ring on his second shot. Two guards, announced as Henry and Edwin, both missed a shot. Will's turn. Steady breath, Dummy reminded himself as Will drew, steady breath, steady hands, and steady sight. Release. Will's first arrow sped down the field, thudding with a dull sound into the outer part of the black circle. He drew again, Dummy thinking as he did, nock the arrow. Close your eye. Breath. Release. The second arrow thudded into the black, a little closer to the center. One more, Will, Dummy thought. One more.
Nock. Draw. Sight. Breath. Release. But as the arrow sped towards the target the wind Dummy wanted picked up, flapping the banners and pulling Will's arrow off. The men who bet on Will gave groans as his arrow hit the golden straw outside the circle. Glancing around, Dummy saw a captain look at another guard and shake his head. Will walked off the field, his shoulders slumped. Dummy breathed his own sigh, one of relief, and looked back towards the field.
Robin's turn now. Robin limped forward, slow and painstaking, to the archer's mark. He tucked his crutch under his arm and leaned on it, putting his bow in the same hand, awkwardly reaching behind him with his other hand to pull out an arrow. The audience had laughed at him on his first round until his shooting silenced the taunts. Now the crowd's hush was heavy with anticipation as he fumbled to nock the arrow. Dummy remembered his hands being so quick to nock arrows in Sherwood, so slow here.
But his release was so quick Dummy only had time to breath as Robin brought up the bow, sighted, and shot, the arrow winging its way through the wind to thud into the center of the black. The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound lasting the entire time it took Robin to get another arrow and nock it to the bow. The silence descended only for a second while Robin shot, then the cheers grew louder as Robin's second arrow pushed the first aside to hit dead center. The cheering did not stop as Robin nocked, drew, and shot his third arrow, again thudding to a perfect center. The cripple's dirty face was wearing Robin's grin as he put his hand to his crutch, turned, and limped back to the line next to the Lincoln stranger.
The cheers quickly died away as the sheriff's champion Hugh shot. No one liked him. No one wanted him to win, but everyone thought he would. His stance was rooted into the ground, his sighting deliberate and slow, his patience remarkable as he waited on the wind, and his arrows hit the target dead center, just as Robin's had.
The last archer, the neighboring lord's champion, was as deliberate as Hugh but less perfect. But he too hit the black every time, and when the next round was called, he was one of the four remaining.
But the next round did not begin right away. The sheriff, as impatient with the heat as Dummy, called for cool wine and a fan, and food while they were at it, and the vendors scurried to serve him. Dummy, taking advantage of the shifting crowd to move himself, slipped around to where he'd seen Marian, and went up and tugged on her hand. She looked down at him and smiled.
"It's all right, Bird," she said. "The Sheriff doesn't know him, and neither do the guards. And Little John disappeared when the guards sighted him, and Will is with a couple of the men, just in case." She looked to the end of the field, her smile fading. "And we will pray that God keeps their blindness in place, for I think Robin will win." Dummy tightened his grip, and when she looked down, nodded. The smile reappeared, and she nodded too. "Be off with you then! Wait for him, down at the end of the field, and while you're at it," she reached into her boy's purse with her other hand, "get something cool to drink, for we can't have our lookout dizzy with heat." Dummy grinned, took the coin she offered, and went back to his end of the field. Buying a drink from a vendor, he gulped the cool, sweet-tasting liquid, and handed the cup back, wiping his mouth with his hand. He smiled at the seller, ducked his head, and turned back around to plunge into the crowd near the fence, worming his way back to the front. He never saw the startled jump of a man sitting nearby, nor did he see the man rise and push through the crowd in his direction.
The contestants were lined up again by the time Dummy reached the fence, pushing and squirming until he was in front, brushing off good-natured scoldings as people reluctantly made room. He leaned eagerly over the fence as the tall, brown-faced Lincoln townman shot. The targets, moved back fifty paces, were a challenging mark for any archer, but the Lincoln man was skilled. His arrows, while not always hitting the black, thudded into the target every time. He bowed to the cheers from the crowd, and fell back to the archers' line. The lord's champion shot next, and one of his arrows went wide, accompanied once more to groans from the crowd. It thudded into the ground feet behind the target, sticking straight up as if taunting its former master. The champion turned on his heel and scowled at the crowd's catcallers. On his way back to the line he passed Robin, shuffling forward, and as he passed Robin fell. Dummy, closer to the line, had seen him deliberately push Robin off balance, and Robin, his bow, his crutch, and his filthy scarlet rags went sprawling in the field. Slowly, painfully, Robin reached around him to gather his property, and the boos turned to silence as he struggled to his knees to reach his spilled arrows. A little child, brown-clad and white-skinned, ran forward and picked them up.
"Here you go," he said, holding them out to Robin. Robin's tightly set lips relaxed and he grinned, reaching forward to ruffle the boy's blond hair before taking the arrows. "I hope you win," the child said, looking up to Robin as Robin rose. "My Dad says you're the best shot he's ever seen."
"I'll have to do my best then, won't I?" Robin said in the rough, gravelly voice of the beggar. The child nodded and ran back to the crowd as Robin started limping forward again. Dummy jumped in surprise as a hand gripped his shoulder tightly, but looking up he saw Will. He started to relax, then frowned at the sight of Will's face, set in deep lines.
"It's not good, Bird," Will said, bending to speak into Dummy's ear. "Robin might have gone mostly unnoticed, but the Sheriff is sure to notice him now. People love Robin wherever he goes, and the Sheriff knows it." He clapped Dummy on the shoulder. "Be ready to move quickly, Bird, once the contest is over. Keep a sharp lookout for trouble." He straightened and turned, moving back into the crowd.
Dummy turned back around to watch the field. Robin, having reached the line and propped himself up on his crutch, was pulling an arrow from his quiver with the same slow, awkward movements. The sheriff must be convinced by that, Dummy thought desperately. It would convince anyone. But as Robin sighted and released as if both things happened in the same thought, Dummy silently begged him to miss. But Robin, either unaware of the danger or glorying in it, shot as true as he always did, and once again hit the black center. His second arrow was right beside the first, and his third arrow split the second in half. The gasp that followed the last arrow's thud was followed by silence. Dummy, scared to death, looked over at the Sheriff, who was frowning. But, Dummy thought with relief, he's not frowning at Robin. He's frowning at his own champion!
The champion waited till Robin shuffled back into the contestant line, and then walked forward again. To Dummy, begging for the contest to finish soon, he seemed to take forever as he nocked, sighted, and shot the first arrow. It too hit dead center. His second arrow, however, sped to the rim of the black ring, and his third was inbetween the two others, making a straight line marching to the inside. The crowd, tossing their hats and cheering as Robin won, were silenced when the Sheriff came to his feet and cleared his throat.
"I have been informed," he said, his voice cracking. He paused to clear it, and straightened his purple-and-fur robe. "I have been informed," he repeated, "that Robert Smith," here Dummy tensed at Robin's fake name, "the shooter from Nottingham, had an unfair advantage. His target was unevenly lined up for the last challenge. On further investigation we found he had bribed a servant to set up the target. I declare him disqualified."
Dummy's hands, gripping the fence in a white-handed grip, relaxed. He knew Robin didn't cheat, but neither was he arrested, and Dummy felt only relief. His reaction was the opposite of most of the crowd. The noise level crescendoed until Dummy cowered by the ground to cover his ears. The noise died away with frightening quickness, however, and he uncovered his ears and looked up. The sheriff's guards had a sword at Robin's throat.
"I object to cheating," the sheriff said dryly. "I would behead you in Nottingham Square, but that might be a waste. So I offer you a choice: come join my guard and – for as long as you prove useful – you will keep your head, or I can send you on a short walk and you become a shorter person." He paused for a moment. "Well?"
Robin hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"Good. Guards, take him to the castle. Now someone get me a cup of wine to stave off this intolerable heat." The sheriff propped his feet up on the dais railing and leaned back into the shade. Two of the guards surrounding the very still cripple grabbed his arms and started to push him forward while the rest of the guards formed a ring around the dais and stood there with swords extended, warning the angry crowd not to act stupidly. Dummy didn't stop to watch what they would do, but plunged forward to follow the guards taking Robin. Slowed by the immense crowd around the dais, he reached the street just as the guards and Robin disappeared. Licking his dry lips, he began to run, to run as fast as he'd been taught, to dodge obstacles and jump over debris, telling himself he was back in the forest, he was safe, Robin was safe, and he was just running to catch up. His breath came harder and harder till he was gasping. But as he ran down another street and around a corner towards the castle, even through his gasps he could hear the sounds from up ahead – dull thuds and muffled grunts. Turning the corner, he ran smack into a giant, leather-clad figure with an upraised staff.
It was Little John, who dropped the staff in time to stop Dummy from falling backwards. "Bird!" he shouted. He grinned down at the figure who was tiny by comparison. "It's all right, he's safe, see?" Dummy, still gasping, ducked around Little John's massive figure to see Robin, standing upright and laughing, still in his beggar's rags. Grouped around him were the Merry Men, several of them talking at once.
"Good thing the sheriff only sent two soldiers," Will was saying. "Hurry up, Robin, Marian's worried," said another. "Next time we go to the fair, we're leaving you at home," Will finished. "What possessed you to get yourself arrested, forsooth? What if the Sheriff had sent more than two soldiers-"
"Two soldiers were all a cripple needed," Robin grinned. "But before we leave –" he beckoned to one of the men, and whispered something in his ear. The man grinned, grabbed two of his comrades, Gilbert and Edwin, and left. "Now what have we here, Little John?" he asked, as Little John, grinning, shoved Dummy forward. "Bird! Did you like the archery contest?" He laughed out loud as Dummy shook his head. Dummy longed to ask Robin why Robin was laughing when he'd almost been taken to Nottingham castle, but couldn't. He bit his tongue in frustration. Robin was already moving, giving orders for the men to disperse and meet back in Sherwood, telling Will and Tom to leave now, asking Bryan and Peter to make sure a few others were safe. The small crowd of men quickly vanished down the street, melting into twos and threes as they went. Dummy, taking a moment to catch his breath, watched them leave before he turned to make his own way back. But in turning, he ran smack into another figure. It was Master, the man from the drink stand.