Chapter 8 – There's No Place Like Home
Scarlett incessantly paced the camp perimeter, anxiously awaiting the return of Little John and his master. He suddenly spied a figure rapidly approaching the camp; relieved to see it was indeed Little John, he ran to meet him. At the distressing sight of his master lying senseless within his friend's arms, he cried out, "Little John, what has happened to Robin?"
Little John didn't stop and gasped out breathlessly, "Arrow...Nottingham...archers..."
"Bring him to Joseph!" Scarlett called out as he helped Little John safely rush into the camp, "Much! Much, bring hot water! Quickly!"
He vaguely recalled someone scooping him up within their strong arms to carry him for some distance. Those same arms now gently lowered him down onto a soft pallet of blankets and pelts next to a crackling fire. He felt different hands carefully probing and attending at the site of his injury. Despite his exhaustion, he stirred himself just enough to ask the one question he simply had to have answered. He reached out blindly to grasp whomever was near and whispered, "The...King?"
A hand took his whilst a calm voice murmured, "The King is safe, Robin. He is resting and all will soon be well. Do not worry. Go to sleep, rest thyself."
Immensely relieved, he finally allowed himself to be lulled into a doze by the comforting warmth of the fire. As he lay there half-conscious, he could've sworn he heard voices quietly speaking nearby.
I have soup warming, he will be hungry when he wakes up.
He's slept for a long time. When will he wake up?
Are you sure he'll be all right?
Trust me, he's doing fine.
One of them was Much wasn't it? What was he saying? Something about soup? He sounded worried. He thought he heard Little John and Will Scarlett asking concerned questions as well. He also heard the Healer's reassuring voice, calm and steady as usual. He needed to let them all know that he would eventually be fine, to tell them to trust Joseph and not to worry. He tried his utmost to rouse himself but ended up falling deeply asleep instead.
He didn't know how long he slept. The painfully insistent throbbing of his ankle finally nudged him back to consciousness and he cracked his eyes open just a bit to see the concerned face of Joseph the Healer as he leaned over him to examine his foot. "Don't pull the arrow out yet…" he murmured and Sergeant Joe Wilson looked at him like he was crazy.
"Don't what?"
"Lemme steel meself before ya pull the arrow out….what's so 'ard about that?"
"Arrow? What arrow?"
"The arrow that bloody Sheriff of Nottingham's archer shot into me ankle..." A hand suddenly wrapped itself around his forehead, then felt both of his cheeks. He tried to twist away from the intrusive touch. "'ang about, whaddya think yer doin' Joseph?"
"See here Peter, it's either Joe or Wilson. Only my mother calls me Joseph," came the testy reply.
Why would the Healer suddenly be so touchy about his name? He opened his eyes all the way and blinked in shocked surprise. The Healer, Will Scarlett, Much and Little John were all gathered round and gaping down at him in open-mouthed concern. He shook his head and took a closer look at them all, finally noticing the differences in their clothing and the surroundings. He looked down at himself and found that he was lying in a bunk dressed in a nightshirt.
Carter leaned down and spoke to Wilson. "Maybe that sleeping pill was stronger than you thought Joe."
The King! He reached out and grabbed Wilson's arm in a sudden panic. "What've ya done wi' King Richard? Is 'e alright?"
"Who?" All four men blurted out at once.
"The King!" He received only four blank stares in reply, so he shook his head and tried again. "C'mon mates, the Gov'nor!"
"Oh you mean the Colonel!" Wilson rolled his eyes, then reached over to pat the back of his patient's hand as he answered, "He's fine Peter. Don't worry, we're taking good care of him."
Did 'e just call me Peter? What just 'appened 'ere? "Wait...uh...where am I?" He didn't realize he spoke the last question out loud until Carter knelt down to gaze at him in shocked concern.
"You're in my bunk buddy. Don't you remember? You hurt your ankle when you rescued the Colonel from Gestapo headquarters."
Wait a minute…Carter's earlier words just now registered. Everything was slowly and foggily coming back to him. He frowned and hissed, "Sleepin' pill? You slipped me a mickey? I shoulda known there was somethin' dodgy about that cuppa!"
Carter was caught unaware by the sudden change in his friend's mood and frantically backpedalled. "Uh, well, uh…" he looked desperately at Wilson. "Joe…a little help?"
Wilson came to his rescue. "Calm down Peter. It's not Andrew's fault, I asked him to do it. I wanted to make sure you got some rest."
"Cor, mate I got more than that!" He raked a hand through his hair, closed his eyes and felt vaguely sick to his stomach.
LeBeau nudged Kinch playfully, "I believe Pierre had quite a dream while he was asleep!"
It was all a dream...? It seemed so real! His eyes popped open. "Blimey! What a dream!" he scrubbed his hand over his face and then tiredly rubbed his eyes. He chuckled to himself, Maybe I really am descended from Robin Hood!
Carter, his interest piqued, leaned in to gently tap his friend on the shoulder, "Why dontcha tell us about it Peter?"
Wilson put a restraining hand on Carter's arm and shook his head, silently mouthing 'later'. The medic's caution was validated when Newkirk yawned and wearily settled himself back into the bunk. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and murmured, "I'll tell ya tomorrow, Will, uh, I mean Andrew. Gonna take a lil' kip right now..." He closed his eyes and drifted off, a contented smile on his face. He slipped easily back into sleep, satisfied that both in real life and in his dream, he had successfully accomplished his mission.
Their Colonel, the Lionheart, was safe.