Robin Riddick: Chapter Eight-In a Bullseye
The day of the tournament, the grounds of Nottingham castle were filled with the populous of every neighboring village. Archers from all corners of England were gathered in small clumps here and there chatting of how grand they were and how surely they would be the victors of the tournament.
In the middle of all the festivities was the royal box. There, Maid Caroline sat with Prince Johns. In her hands, she was strangling a white kerchief. If she had read Robin’s letter correctly he would be dressed as a poor farmer and she would recognize him by a large white feather in his cap. She had scanned the field a hundred times and still she could not find the telltale feather. Just as a feeling of rushing calm had passed over her at the thought that Robin had decided not to enter, she saw him. Dressed shabbily in filthy rags, there he stood, 20 yards off; the white feather visible over the teems of bystanders. Her heart sank, and all she could do was pray that he was not the best of the gathered archers. Even though she knew in her heart this to be false hope.
A trumpets blast announced the start of the tournament. “May the games begin.” With those words uttered by the prince the arrows began to fly. As the games preceded it looked as if Robin and Sheriff Paris would be the last standing.
Two hours later, Robin defeated his last opponent, shaking hands, nice shot and all that. Robin peered down field to see whom would be his rival for the title: Sir Mimsey DeGoring or Sheriff Paris. DeGoring had already fired: just slightly off center, but a good shot. Paris pulled back upon his bow and let the arrow fly; Dead Center. Sir Mimsy DeGoring had lost, and the title would now come down to Robin and Paris.
“Ladies and Gentlemen I give you our final contestants.” The crowds cheered at this. Paris would have the first shot. Drawing back and releasing, Paris’ arrow hit the heart of the target. Robin took aim carefully; drawing back the bow, and closing his eyes, he released his grip. The arrow went whirling through the air, splitting Sheriff Paris’ arrow in two, and landing in the bull’s-eye. Robin had won! Yelling and cheering rang out: “To the Farmer” the people shouted at the top of their lungs. Robin made his triumphed way to the royal box to be christened The Greatest Archer in all of England; a serpent smile graced Johns face.
“Pray tell me good farmer, to whom am I bestowing this honorable title?” snickered Johns.
“To Vincent DiDiesel your highness”, muttered the farmer from underneath his cap.
“I christen the, Vincent DiDiesel, The Greatest Archer in all England and…” John took a deep breath. “A traitor to the crown of England! Seize him at once!” Suddenly, guards surrounded the farmer. “Remove his cap”, Ordered Paris. As the shaven head rose up to look at them, it was not Robin, but Little Zeke. “Sorry to disappoint Ya mate” Confusion and dismay now replaced the presumptuous smile on Johns face.
“Now Robin” Cried out Little Zeke. Merry Goggle Headed Men were now ripping their cloaks off and making their way towards Little Zeke. Robin came swinging into the Royal box grabbing maid Caroline by the hand and placing her protectively behind him. Un-hilting his sword Robin placed its blade next to Johns throat. “Well Prince Johns, did you enjoy the tournament?” Johns looked up in disbelief. “How?” was all he could manage to stutter.
“Do to the throngs of people here today it was simple to place my disguised Merry Men throughout the crowd unnoticed.”
“So”, asked Paris, who too was confused. “It was not you I was arching against?”
“I hate to depress you further Sheriff, but twas I you arched with. As I approached the royal box to claim my title, Little Zeke stepped in front of me and I dropped back into the crowd.” Still rendered speechless, John sat helplessly at the mercy of Robin.
“Oh Robin, I worried so”, cried Caroline as she clutched Robins free arm.
“It was nothing Madame.”, said Robin turning to her. Paris took his chance. Ripping his sword from its scabbard, he forced Robins blade form Johns throat. Robin quickly spun his attention back to the matter at hand and away from the deep blue eyes of Maid Caroline, but it was too late. Paris’ sword was pointed at Robin’s heart.
“Now you fools, now!” shouted Paris to the guards who, up until that point, had been starring mouths agape. Within moments they had hold of Robin. It took four men to hold him, but they had him.
“Robin of Gratzner, tomorrow you will hang for treason!” cackled Johns. Just then a sinister idea dawned on Paris. “Sire might I have a word?” clucked Paris motioning for the prince to come hither. He whispered his plan into the prince’s ear, and when he was finished a look of pure lunacy coated Johns face.
“Unless of course” Johns added. “Maid Caroline would be willing to wed…me?”
“Don’t do it Caroline!” yelled Robin as he attempted to free himself but to no avail. “Not for me!”
Caroline thought a moment; could she truly let Robin die? A moment was all she needed; her mind and heart were made up.
“I need an answer Caroline.” Johns said coolly.
“If I marry you, Robin and his men will go free?”
“That’s correct.”
“Yes then.” She said quietly
“I’m afraid I didn’t hear you”
“YES” she shouted. Tears streaming down her face.