IT"S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME
"I feel like such a hypocrite," muttered Robin, as he and Guy, and their wives and children, joined the procession of lords and ladies passing before the colourfully canopied berfrois, where King John sat with his wife and his young son, Henry III, and a large number of attendants. They were there, ostensibly, to pay their respects to the king before the opening day of the tournament.
"Just keep smiling, Locksley," Guy whispered to him. "Play the game. The bastard isn't a mind reader, after all. You can curse him all you want inside as long as you smile on the outside. He'll never know the difference."
Robin sighed with resignation, but his stomach churned. How he hated to play the role of Earl of Huntingdon when it involved bowing to the man he so despised! He knew Guy hated it, too. But they both had their families to think of.
King John's eyes narrowed at the sight of Robin and Guy, and a sneer curled his lip. His scornful gaze swept over Marian and Meg as they curtsied, and lingered for a moment on Eleanor, Richard, and Ghislaine, before returning to the two men, who, finished with their bows, had very fake smiles frozen on their faces. John could find nothing amiss, however, much as he wanted to, so at last he waved his scepter over them and let them pass on without comment.
As the Locksleys and the Gisbornes joined Archer in the seats reserved for them near the top of the berfrois, however, the king's frown changed to an exultant smile. Ha! His old nemesis, Robin Hood, and that equally despicable Sir Guy, forced to bow humbly to him! Both Robin and Guy espied the triumphant smirk aimed in their direction as they sat down.
"He enjoyed that," Robin grumbled.
"Of course he did," answered Guy. "I think we just made his day."
"Still, I'll never regret dumping him down the well in Nottingham Castle," said Robin. "It was worth all the trouble it got me into later."
"I agree," said Guy, with a smile.
"You do? You paid for it more than I did."
"Yes. But I look back at that day fondly just the same."
"Why is that?"
"Because it was the moment when I realized that I could really start to like you, Robin."
The grandstand gave an excellent view of the entire field. They looked out over the array of pavilions set up along the length of the lists, the banners fluttering in the brisk spring breeze, and the tree of shields, an ancient oak whereupon hung the shields of the participating knights. Knights and nobles and commoners from all over the country were gathered for the opening part of the contest, the vespers tourney. Held on the eve of the larger tournament, it was the opportunity for the squires and younger knights to display their fighting prowess before the older, more experienced knights, and the king and his guests.
"Our beloved monarch hasn't lost his taste for ostentatious show, has he?" observed Marian,
"It looks like he spared no expense," said Robin. "Trying once again to make himself popular, is he? And make people forget he's a tyrant?"
"Possibly," replied Archer. "If so, he'll be fighting an uphill battle. Rumour has it that the war with France isn't going well. He stands to lose even more territory."
"He's not the leader that Richard was."
"No, and it gets worse. The barons are growing angrier by the day at the taxes he's levied on them to pay for this war," Archer added. "I've even heard talk of civil war between John and the barons if he doesn't relent."
"No wonder he leaves us alone," said Guy. "He's got much bigger problems to worry about."
A trumpet blast announced the start of the tourney. All the young knights and squires filed out onto the field, to the cheers of the crowd.
"Where is Rodger? I don't see him," said Eleanor.
"Here he comes," answered Archer, as he pointed toward a tall, dark-haired young man, wearing the Gisborne black and gold and carrying a bow, with a sword strapped to his hip and a shield slung over his back. Archer and Robin stood up and cheered him, while his parents waved. Rodger heard them, and turned to smile and wave in return. His eyes briefly met Eleanor's, and the smile faded, before he turned away.
Eleanor had seen Rodger only once after their arrival in London. A terse greeting was all she'd received from him—no handshake, no hug, and no smile. It was then that she remembered she'd never answered Rodger's last letter, written some months earlier. In her eagerness to secretly correspond with Robert of Mansfield, she'd neglected Rodger.
He's angry with me, she thought as she watched him choose his arrows for the first contest. But I can't help it. I don't want him to think there's more between us than there really is.
She had reason to fear it. The last letter he'd sent could have been written to anyone, except for one line, one thought. Except for that one line, she could have gone on believing that Rodger loved her only as a friend.
Am I reading too much into it? No, he wouldn't write what he did to a friend. What did Mama say? 'He's not your brother, Eleanor, and some day—' And Papa? He's no help. 'Some of the best marriages start out as friendships. He's been a loyal friend to you. Don't throw that away because you think you like someone else.'
Papa didn't like Robert. He wanted her to marry Rodger, and so did Mama. Did Rodger, was he—
I can't. I like him, I really do, but….
Eleanor suddenly wished she'd stayed home in Locksley, and never come to London.
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Rodger hadn't forgotten the unanswered letter. He'd waited for weeks to hear from her, to be assured that she still valued their friendship at least, but was met with silence. Eleanor no longer thought of him, even as a friend.
I shouldn't have said what I did in my letter. I wish I hadn't. I made a fool of myself, and for what? But it's too late now, he thought bitterly.
He stepped forward to take his shots, eyes fixed upon the target as he tried to wipe the image of Eleanor from his mind.
What does it matter if she cares nothing about me, anyway? There are beautiful girls everywhere.
He drew back his bow for the final shot, and struck the very center of the target.
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Rodger led the way among the younger squires. He placed third in the archery contest, and first place in the joust a plaisance, which cost his opponents several splintered lances and a good many bruises. The crowd cheered thunderously as he swiftly unseated his last foe with a fluid grace and strength that made the other young men look clumsy by comparison.
Stephen—bold, fearless, and soon to be made a full-fledged knight—led his team of squires and young knights, among them Rodger and his friend Geoffrey, to victory in the final melee a cheval. The tourney ended late in the afternoon. The competing squires and knights met in the center of the lists and shook hands and embraced each other in the spirit of chivalry.
It was then time to rejoin their families for the evening's feast. Rodger went back to Archer's quarters, peeled off several layers of mud and sweat-soaked clothes, washed, and dressed for supper. He was bruised and banged up and sore all over, but he was proud of his showing in the tourney. Surely even Eleanor would not be able to find anything to tease him about.
And if she does, so be it. I don't care, he told himself, sincerely believing that he meant it.
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Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of King John, arrived for the post-tourney feast at the castle, and upon learning that Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian were there as well, asked them to join her at her table. Robin and Marian were overjoyed to see that noble lady once again, and Eleanor was delighted to finally meet the monarch for whom she was named. Despite her regal bearing, her costly garments and dazzling jewels, the queen was all warm friendliness to Robin and his family, and soon put them all at ease. Having learned some time earlier of Sir Guy of Gisborne's change of heart, and his pardon from her son Richard, she was quite gracious to him when he and his family were introduced to her.
Eleanor soon lost whatever nervousness she felt upon meeting the queen. She chatted freely with her namesake whenever the opportunity arose. The same could not be said for her reunion with Rodger, seated directly across from her.
Though Rodger studiously avoided looking in Eleanor's direction during the meal, Eleanor found she couldn't take her eyes off him. He had changed in the several months he'd been in London, changed so much, in fact, that she knew not what to make of him. What was he, nearly sixteen? He could have been mistaken for eighteen, even twenty. He was as tall and broad-shouldered as his father, with his father's strong, refined features and intense blue eyes. A dark stubble of beard shadowed his chin and jaw.
In place of the awkward shyness of his boyhood, there was a calm confidence about him that stopped just short of arrogance. It showed in his stride, the tilt of his head, and in the way he joined in conversation with his father and uncles as a man on an equal footing with them, in a voice that had dropped to a man's deep tones.
Was it really only a few months ago that they had wrestled together on the grass at the fair, and argued childishly over the archery contest? The young man sitting across from her at the long feast table was a stranger to her now, and she could find no words to say to this stranger.
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After the meal, as the tables were cleared and couples began to gather for the dance, Queen Eleanor invited them to stay for more talk. She inquired into the doings of Robin's former outlaw gang members, and was especially interested to know what had become of Little John.
"And what of my 'Big Bear'?" she laughed. "Where is that strapping lad? He didn't come with you?"
Robin was sorry to tell her that Little John had not been well over the winter.
"I'm afraid we're all getting older, my lady," he said. "John's feeling it the most. He wanted to be here with us, but was not able to make the journey."
"Please extend to him my best wishes," Queen Eleanor replied. "I have not, nor ever will, forget the service he rendered me."
While the others reminisced over the events of that day, Rodger turned to his mother.
"Is he really ill, Mother?" he asked anxiously.
"He's tired, son. He's not a young man anymore. The winter was hard on him."
Rodger hung his head. He'd been so caught up in training for the tournament that he hadn't thought about Little John for quite a while. But John had always been such a kind friend to him, he deserved better than that.
"Mother, I'm going to write to him, as soon as the tournament's over, and when I come home, the first thing I'm going to do is visit him!"
"He will be happy to see you, Rodger. Little John loves you dearly. He would be proud of you if he could have seen you today."
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Rodger looked out over the huge dining hall, and the available young women not yet partnered up for the dance. The auburn-haired maiden in the white and gold gown, or the flaxen-haired one in the sky-blue dress? The blonde girl glanced in his direction and smiled demurely. It was decided. He went to her and asked for her hand. She accepted, and they joined the other dancers.
Eleanor stood in a corner of the crowded room and watched as Rodger led the girl to the dance. She scowled as she saw him smile and gaze down into the girl's blushing face with those piercing blue eyes of his, the eyes that had steadfastly refused to look in her direction all evening.
What did you expect, that he would ask you to dance when he thinks you ignored his letter?
She had looked for an opportunity all through the feast to explain to him, to talk with him, to reassure him that they were still friends, but the chance had never come. Rodger was angry with her. He was not going to talk to her, let alone ask her to dance. Her cheeks burned as she watched him circle the floor with his lovely partner in his arms.
Very well, let him dance with that simpering ninny if that's what he wants! Look at him, so full of himself just because he's a squire and the girls fawn on him. He's not the Rodger I remember. London has spoiled him. Fine! If he chooses to ignore me, if he wants to play that sort of game, I don't have to play along. There are other young men here to dance with. I'm sure if I just look around I can find—
"Eleanor of Locksley, would you honour me with a dance?"
"Robert!"