ALL IS FAIR IN NOTTINGHAM TOWN
"It's not fair, Papa!"
"I know, but what do you expect me to do about it? I don't make the rules."
"You're Robin Hood, aren't you? So change the rules!"
Robin smiled. "Eleanor, it's not that simple. My opinion isn't the only one that counts. I can't just barge in and change everything."
"You used to."
"That was many years ago, and for far different reasons. And it got me into a lot of trouble, too, I might add."
"There's no reason I can't enter the archery contest. It's those stupid, outdated rules against women competing. It's wrong and you know it!"
Stomp, stomp, stomp! went Eleanor's feet up the stairs to her bedroom. Slam! went the bedroom door. A moment later it opened again.
"It's a stupid rule, and I hate being a girl!"
Slam!
Robin sighed. He sympathized with Eleanor's frustration. She was the best young archer in the village, better than any of the boys her age. But the official contest rules forbade any women or girls from competing, or so he'd been told.
'You're Robin Hood! Change the rules!'
Eleanor had been making liberal use of such phrases lately. Ever since they'd sat their daughter down and given her the full family history, the recounting of her parent's adventures had become a never-ending source of useful material to be manipulated and exploited to her advantage.
"Why can't I?" she'd say when they told her no. "You did!"
'You did.' Those words nipped at Robin's heels nearly every day now.
Marian came into the room and glanced up the stairs. "You've only heard it since you came home," she informed him. "I've had to listen to it all day."
"I don't suppose it is fair, to exclude the girls if they want to try for the silver arrow," said Robin.
"Do the rules actually forbid girls, or is that just sacred, unassailable male tradition?"
"You know, I'm not sure, now that you mention it."
Marian raised her brows. "You're one of the judges and you don't know the rules?"
"Come on, Marian, it's my first year as judge. This is new for me. You can't expect me to have every little rule memorized."
She pursed her lips to stifle her smile, and Robin immediately wished he'd said nothing. He'd made quite a point of telling her, and Guy, that he wasn't entering the archery contest this year, but had instead volunteered to be one of the judges.
'Let someone else win for a change,' he'd said, without thinking how boastful it sounded. For a fact, he had won the yearly archery contest almost every summer since Sir William had become Sheriff. Taking home the silver arrow for first place was getting a bit monotonous, so Robin meant to step aside in the interests of fairness to the other hopefuls. However well-intentioned he believed his actions, it hadn't stopped Guy from smirking sarcastically at him and remarking, "How very noble of you, Locksley."
When Guy liked him, he smiled and called him Robin. When he was amused by him, it was a smirk, and "Locksley". When he was really peeved, and wanted to rub it in, it was a mocking sneer and "Hood". Guy hadn't called him "Hood" in a long time.
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"Do? Well, perhaps I'll ask to have a look at that list of rules."
"You mean to let Eleanor enter the contest?"
"If I can, why not?"
"Robin, she can't compete against the older boys. She's only fifteen. She'd be up against boys of seventeen and eighteen. She's not strong enough."
"She's plenty strong, Marian, and it's not all about strength, anyway."
"Well, it's a moot point, because they won't allow it. Don't get her hopes up. She's far too spoiled as it is. She needs to learn that she can't have everything her own way."
"I won't say a word to the little lass. When Archer gets here, we'll march straight to Nottingham and have a talk with Sir William."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"What? What's this? No girls allowed?"
"It's not fair, is it, Uncle Archer?"
"Of course it's not fair, and your father and I are going to set things right, aren't we, Robin?"
"If we can."
"No 'ifs' about it. Eleanor should get her chance. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she can't be in the contest, does it, Eleanor?"
Archer, on a visit from King John's court, sat at the noon meal in Locksley Manor with his brothers and their families. Uncle Archer's visits were always anticipated and much enjoyed. He was a great favourite with his nieces and nephews. He treated them as very important and special people, and never talked down to them or scolded them. As the bachelor uncle, with no wife or children of his own, he was free to spoil his young relatives as much as he wanted, and he did.
He always brought gifts with him. For Rodger and Eleanor, there were new, beautifully made quivers for their arrows. For Richard, the budding artist in the family, there was a bountiful supply of hard-to-come-by parchment and paintbrushes, and for Ghislaine, another doll to add to her growing collection.
"Don't get your hopes up too high," cautioned Marian. "If you can't be in the contest, there's plenty else to see and do."
"Yeah, Eleanor," said Richard. "There's the pie-eating contest."
"Oh, yes, thank you so much for your wonderful suggestion," answered Eleanor. "I get such enjoyment out of watching a bunch of men stuffing their faces with pie until it comes out their noses."
Rodger and Richard laughed, and so did little Ghislaine, though she had no idea why.
"I have to agree with Eleanor on that one," said Marian. "It's disgusting to watch. Who started that foolishness, anyway?"
"The idea came up one evening at the Trip Inn, as a bit of bragging between a pair of brothers we all know, or so Allan told me," said Robin.
"My money's on Hugh, the blacksmith," said Guy.
"Well, I'm betting on his brother Willie this time," said Robin. "Hugh won last year."
"Can women be in the contest? If they can, I'll place my bet on Hugh's wife Bess," said Archer.
"Archer, you are wicked!" laughed Meg as she wagged her finger at her brother-in-law.
"There's the traveling circus," offered Marian. "There will be jesters and jugglers and acrobats, and a puppet show."
"Mama, really! All that stuff is for the little children! I'm way too grown-up for that!"
"You weren't too grown-up last year. You enjoyed it, remember?"
"That was last year."
"What about the lion? Don't you want to see it again? I hear there are two lions in this year's show."
"Papa, please! The lion? Did you ever see him? He's ancient, and toothless! Anna's grouchy tomcat is scarier than that pitiful old thing."
"It's clear to me that there's no pleasing her," said Archer, with an indulgent grin at his niece. "That settles it, Robin. As soon as we finish eating, we go to Nottingham!"
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"Robin, I understand, but we all know it just isn't done. The rules specifically say—"
"May we see the rules?" broke in Archer. He gave the Sheriff his most charming smile, which few could resist. "Just curious, Sir William. I've never read them myself."
"All right. Give me a minute to find them." The Sheriff rummaged through the pile of papers on his desk, the very same desk that once belonged to Sheriff Vaisey. "Ah, yes, here we are." He handed a rolled-up paper to Robin.
Robin glanced down the page. "Okay, number of paces from the target, three shots, we record the best shot, yes, yes. Ages of contestants, hmm. Okay. What does this say here? The 'persons' entering the contest, Sir William. Persons. It doesn't say men."
"Now, Robin. Let's not bandy words. We all know that it's understood that the contest is open to men and boys, not women."
"I don't see that spelled out here." Robin looked up to see Archer smile and wink at him. "What do you say, my brother?"
"I'm with you, Robin. 'Persons' is either male or female, as far as I'm concerned."
"My dear fellows, consider! What would happen if I let a girl enter the contest?"
"I don't know, Sir William. You tell me," replied Robin cheekily, with an answering wink at Archer.
"Too threatening, perhaps," said Archer, with a straight face. "It might intimidate the young men of Nottinghamshire if they have to shoot against a girl. Maybe we should reconsider."
"Yes, maybe you're right, Archer. We wouldn't want to subject those of the male persuasion still in their tender years to the humiliation of being shown up by a girl. It might do them irreparable harm."
Sir William began to laugh. "I see what game you're playing at, both of you!" He shook his head at them. "Robin of Locksley, I'm not going to argue with you. Fine, your daughter Eleanor may enter the contest. But the consequences are on your head if it starts a riot."
"Thank you, Sir William," answered Robin, with a respectful bow. "My daughter will be thrilled, and I'll gladly suffer the consequences if my request does cause a disturbance. Nothing new for me."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Rodger sat on a bench in the stable, and picked up an arrow from the pile at his feet. He looked down the shaft to see if it was perfectly straight. He needed only three, but they had to be the best three arrows he'd made. Each boy would get three shots at the target, and the best shot, the one closest to the center, would stand as his final score.
He squinted at the arrow. Perfect, or nearly so. His arrow-making had improved by leaps and bounds from the first crude attempts.
Finally, he was of age to compete with the older boys. He harbored no dreams of winning first prize. He'd never been more than a mediocre shot. But he hoped for a good showing in the field of competitors, at least, and the chance to make his parents proud.
At nineteen, the boys joined the men. His father was competing this year. His father, Sir Guy of Gisborne, the man he'd lived with all his life, but was only now beginning to know and understand. It had been a year and several months since he'd learned his father's true story. Since that time it seemed to Rodger that all he did was observe his family.
In reality, life went on in the village of Locksley, and in Gisborne Hall, much as it always had. During the daylight hours, Rodger worked to perfect his horsemanship under Reggie's tutelage. He honed his skills with the sword under his father's supervision, and practiced his archery with Uncle Robin.
His father, with Allan a Dale, made the rounds of the Gisborne estate nearly every day, and Rodger accompanied them so that he could watch and learn how to manage his family's lands and the people who worked it. His mother had protested against her son being sent away to another manor to train as a page, and then a squire, with the goal of becoming a knight, and his father agreed. Rodger could learn what he needed to know right there in Locksley, from himself and Robin. Rodger was glad of it. He loved his home and his family and had no wish to live among strangers.
As the future Lord of Gisborne Hall, he took his father's instruction seriously. To prepare for his coming adult responsibilities, he busied himself in the evenings with lessons in reading, history, and mathematics, and all the other subjects a young man of his station in life was expected to absorb.
There were trips into Nottingham to shop, and visits with friends and family. In the previous summer, he'd accompanied his family on the long-awaited trip to London to see Uncle Archer and Tuck, and attended his first jousting contest. Eager to tell Eleanor of the sights he'd seen, he'd been bitterly disappointed at her reaction.
"Ho-hum," she'd yawned, with the jaded air of a world-weary traveler who has seen it all and then some. "Yes, Rodger, I've been there, more than once. So what? It's just a city, like any other. And what's so wonderful about jousting, anyway? It's just a bunch of silly showoffs bashing each other up."
Eleanor was as close and as dear as a sister to him, even if she acted more like a brother most of the time, but she was also a thorn in his side. Sometimes he liked her. At other times, when she made fun of him, he couldn't stand her. Especially when she teased him about girls.
Rodger was not as ignorant of the facts of life as Eleanor liked to make out he was. He'd had "the talk" from his father some time ago, in rough, plain-spoken language which would have horrified Meg if she'd been privy to it. Rodger added his father's well-meant, if rather coarse, explanations to those he'd already picked up from whispered conversations with other boys in the village, and the occasional, and often vulgar, jokes of the adult men. Some of his childhood wonderings on the subject were cleared up, but for all that, girls remained mysterious and intriguing creatures to Rodger.
He'd grown up surrounded by women—his mother, Aunt Marian, the female servants in the household, the other women in the village—but he'd never paid the young girls in Locksley much attention until the last year or so. Now they seemed to be everywhere. He had become acutely aware of their rounded forms, so delightfully different than his own, outlined under their dresses, as well as their long, flowing locks of black and red and gold, soft, fluttery voices, and eyes that looked upon him in ways that made him squirm inside, and yet ache with a strange longing he'd never felt before.
More than one young lass in Locksley sighed when the tall and handsome son of Sir Guy passed through the village on his gleaming black pony. When one of these enchanting beings attempted to converse with him, however, Rodger's tongue tied itself into knots. He was too genuinely modest to be aware that he was the object of many a girl's secret desire, and too shy to respond to the demure admiration in the swaggering manner that other boys of his age might.
Not all of his admirers were so young, either. Rodger was tall for his age, and strongly built, with a maturity in his features at odds with his fourteen years of life. People could be forgiven for believing him two, or even three, years closer to adulthood.
Eleanor knew of several girls older than herself, in Locksley and in the other villages, who entertained hopeless crushes on Rodger. This amused her to no end, and she loved nothing better than to tease him about it. She felt no jealousy. Handsome though he was, to her he was still just Rodger.
And, although he acknowledged to himself that she was, well, almost pretty, at least when her hair was combed and her dress was clean, she was still just Eleanor to him. Bratty, spoiled, boastful Eleanor.
But tonight Rodger didn't want to puzzle over Eleanor, or his father. His mind was on the Nottingham fair. The archery contest wasn't the only competition he'd signed up for. He had entered Starlight in the horse race, and he'd told no one, not even Reggie or Allan. Let them all be surprised when they saw him at the starting line. Starlight was the fastest horse in Nottinghamshire. The race was as good as won!
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Eleanor came into the stable with a triumphant light in her eyes, and plopped herself down on the bench next to Rodger. His peaceful solitude over, he reluctantly made room for her.
"Guess what?" she exclaimed. "You'll never guess, so I'll tell you. Sir William's going to let me be in the archery contest!"
"Congratulations."
"You could say it like you mean it."
Rodger smiled and picked up another arrow. "So, how did your father and Uncle Archer pull that one off?"
"My papa can do anything, that's why. He's Robin Hood, after all."
"If you say so."
"Are those the arrows you're using?"
"Yes. They're my best ones."
"You fletched them wrong."
"No, I didn't! My father showed me how."
"It's not how my father does it."
"So? There's more than one way to do it."
"Okay, but don't blame me if you don't win."
"Is that all you came out here for? To tell me you're in the contest and make fun of my arrows?"
"Do you want me to pick on you for something else? How about this—who are you asking to dance?"
"Dance? No one, since you ask. You know I hate dancing."
He hated dancing. Mother said it was important to learn, just as important, in fact, as learning to wield a sword or shoot his bow. Some nonsense about "social graces". But he detested the evening dancing lessons, even with Mother as his partner. At least she hadn't insisted that he learn to play an instrument. Richard treasured the lute Uncle Archer had brought him, and he practiced regularly with a tutor hired by their grandfather. Rodger loved his brother Richard, but they had little in common in their interests.
"If you'd just try it, instead of standing there on the sidelines like a numbwit, you'd like it. It's fun! I've an idea. Why don't you ask Margaret? She's crazy about you. I'm going to dance with her brother Robert, you know."
Margaret. The daughter of Sir Henry of Mansfield. All soft blue eyes and golden curls. But she had a tiresome habit of nervous giggling, and he had little liking for her brother. What Eleanor saw in that lout was beyond him to understand, but if she wanted to dance with him, well, that was her business. At least she didn't giggle like Margaret. Eleanor could take care of herself when it came to boys. She was a match for any of them.
"Good for you," he replied. "Have a great time."
She laughed and ruffled his hair as she'd done when they were children. He still hated it, but he refrained from striking her hand away. A gentleman of honour did not strike a woman, even when he was provoked.
"You're funny, Sir Rodger of Gisborne. What a stick-in-the-mud you are."
"You really think you're going to win the archery contest, don't you?"
"Why not? I've got as good a chance as anyone else."
"They'll laugh at you. All the boys will laugh."
"So? I don't care!"
"Good." He stood up, reached out his hand to her, and shook her hand solemnly. "Then, tomorrow at noon we'll meet on the field of battle, Lady Eleanor of Locksley, and may the best man win."