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The five scouts shook their heads.
Shit.
“What of the competition?” Tuck asked. “What will it look like?”
A different young man, bucktoothed and grimy from weeks of travel, stood from the circle sitting at the campfire. “There will be fifty-five participants. I included Robin—er, Robert’s—name on the tally.”
Alan-a-Dale smiled wide and ruffled my hair. It was short and scruffy, to my ears. “Why does she look just as pretty as a boy as she does a woman?” he asked the group, apropos of nothing.
I elbowed him with a smirk.
“Because you’re a proper rake, dandy,” Will murmured, shaking his head, earning a few chuckles from the other dozen or so men.
“And because you know her,” John said, serious. “No one else will.” He turned to me. “Which is why you need to be swift and inconspicuous. Stay hooded. It won’t be strange with this weather. Don’t look anyone in the eye for too long—”
“Yes, yes, we’ve been through this five times already, Little John,” I said with a flap of my hand. “I’ll be safe.”
He scowled.
“Plus,” I said with an innocent smile, “my valiant men will be there to protect the weak, fragile little damsel.”
More chuckles from the crew.
John rolled his eyes and sat back, propping his arms behind him. “You’re incorrigible, woman.” He nudged his chin at the young man still standing. “Continue.”
“Right. Fifty-five competitors.”
Friar Tuck cursed under his breath, slapping his knee.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“I should have bet against Scratch. He thought there’d be eighty. Dammit.”
“The weather is likely keeping some competitors away,” Alan pointed out.
Will snorted in disbelief. “You were going to gamble on the tournament . . . before it even began?”
The friar narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t, did I, boy?”
The next scout said he went to Wilford and learned my estate was vacant, abandoned. No one had done a thing with it yet.
The boy after him told us of the rules, and the length of the competition. “Four matches in eight hours, in groups. Hour-long intervals between them. I believe Robin will be in most danger between the matches, because she’ll be close to the other competitors.”
“Aye,” John said. “We’ll also be close. Spectators?”
“Hundreds are expected. Maybe thousands. All of Nottinghamshire is invited. This will be a spectacle.”
“Why so many?” Alan-a-Dale asked.
“Because there’s nothing to fucking do in this damned place, in this damp weather,” Will said. As if to make his point, the wind howled through the campfire.
Alan crossed his arms. “Right. I’d much rather be farming for honey with your father in Ravenshead.”
Will flared his nostrils. “Careful, dandelion.”
Tempers were flaring. We were all testy. It had been like this for days.
“The Sheriff of Nottingham himself will be there,” the scout said. “In attendance—not participating.”
