Robin Hood by Paul Creswick (most read books .txt) 📕

rents, and plenty of gold without. Wherefore, for charity's sake, give us a little of your spending money."

"We are poor monks, good Master Hood," cried Tuck, in a wheedling tone; "I pray you do not stay us. We are journeying with all speed to a monastery in Fountain's Dale, which we hear hath been deserted by its owners."

"I can tell you much concerning this very place," said Robin. "Give me alms, and I will open my lips to purpose."

The pretended abbot spoke now. "I have been journeying, good Master Hood, with the King," said he, in full deep voice, "and I have spent the greater part of my moneys. Fifty golden pieces is all that I have with me."

"It is the very sum I would ask of thee, Sir Abbot," said Robin, cheerily.

He took the gold which the other freely offered, and divided it into two even sums. One half he gave to those with him, bidding them take it to the treasury, the other he returned to the knight. "For thy courtesy, Sir Abbot, keep this gold for thine own spending. 'Tis like that you will journey with the King again, and need it."

"I will tell you now," said the pretended abbot, "for I see that you are truly Robin Hood, although so small a man, that Richard of the Lion Heart is returned to England, and hath bid me seek you out. He hath heard much of you, and bids you, through me, to come into Nottingham and there partake of his hospitality."

Robin laughed heartily. "That is where we may not venture, Sir Abbot, since we value our skins. But where is your authority?"

The knight produced the King's seal from under his abbot's gown. Robin looked at it, and fell at once upon his knees. "I love a true man," cried he, "and by all hearing my King is such an one. Now that he is come to take sovereignty over us we may hope for justice, even in Nottingham town. I thank you for your tidings, Sir Abbot; and for the love I have of valor and all true kingly virtues, I bid you and your fellows to sup freely with us under my trystal tree." He then offered to lead them into Barnesdale; and the pretended monks, after a short discussion, agreed to accept his offer.

They soon were come before the caves of Barnesdale, and were presented to those of the band already there. Presently Robin blew two blasts upon his horn, and the rest of the greenwood men made their appearance. All were dressed in their new livery, and carried new bows in their left hands. Each one knelt for a moment before Robin, as leader of them, ere taking his place.

A handsome, dark-haired page stood at Robin's right hand, to hold his cup for him and pour him wine. The signal was given, Robin graciously placed the abbot in the place of honor; and under the cool fresh evening, bright still with the aftermath of the day, the banquet was begun.

The Black Knight was struck with astonishment. "By all the saints," thought he, "this is a wondrous sight. There is more obedience shown to this outlaw man than my fellows have shown to me."

CHAPTER XXXIII

After supper Robin signalled to his men to bend their bows. The knight was startled, for he thought they intended to choose him for their target.

He was quickly undeceived, however, for two arrows were set up as butts for these archers. The knight marvelled indeed to see so small a mark given in this waning light. A garland of leaves was balanced on the top of each arrow, and Robin laid down the rules. Whoever failed to speed his shaft through this garland—and it was to be done without knocking it off the arrow—was to yield up his own shaft to Robin, and receive also buffet from the hand of Friar Tuck.

"Master," said Stuteley, "that may not be, for the good friar is not yet come to confess us this day." He winked his eyes at Robin, well knowing that the friar sat near to the other monks.

"Doubtless he will be here ere the game be ended," replied Robin, smiling. "I prithee commence soon as I clap my hands."

Little John, limping, Stuteley and old Warrenton each flew their arrows truly through the garlands, as did many of the rest. Poor Midge and Arthur-à-Bland were not so fortunate, for though both came near to doing it, the garlands unkindly fell off an instant after their shafts had flown through them.

"Where is the friar?" cried Robin, affecting to peer into the distance, already blue-grey with twilight. "Surely he is late to-night."

Then Tuck could bear it no longer, but stood up in his place. "Come near to me, thou villainous archers," he roared, "and I will buffet you right well."

"Ah, brother, what are you saying?" cried the knight, anxiously. "Surely you forget our vows and our cloth."

"I forget neither the one nor the other," returned Tuck. "But I would be no true man did I submit to watch quietly such bungling as these fellows have done. Come hither, Midge."

"You know them—you are of this company?" continued the knight, as if in alarm.

"I am very proud to be of it, brother," said the friar.

"I crave a boon," the knight then said, turning to Robin. "This is a little man who will receive the buffets; and though I seem a priest, yet am I willing to take the blow instead."

"If you would care to have a buffet from me," the friar cried, "you are most welcome. For though my arm is sore still from our play of this morn, I warrant me there is still some strength left in it;" and he rolled up his sleeve.

"Take, then, the first blow," said the knight, "and I promise you I will return it you with interest."

A smile lit up the face of the jolly friar. He turned up the sleeve of his cassock still further, and smote the false abbot such a blow as would have felled an ox.

"Thou hittest well, brother," the knight remarked, coolly.

The friar was amazed to see him withstand such a blow, and so was Robin. "Now, 'tis my turn," the knight said; and, baring his arm, he dealt Tuck such a blow as to send him flat upon his back.

There was a general laugh at this; but the exertion had caused the abbot's cowl to slip away from his head. The strong face and light beard of the Black Knight showed plainly to them all. "Alas, your majesty," cried Sir Richard of the Lee, springing up; "you have betrayed yourself."

"It is the King!" cried Scarlett, in sheer surprise; and reverently he knelt before the Black Knight. Robin glanced questioningly towards the greenwood men; then knelt himself beside Scarlett. At once the whole company fell upon their knees also.

"My lord King," said Robin, in hushed voice, "I crave mercy for my men and for myself. We have not chosen this life from any wickedness, but rather have come to it perforce."

The King towered amongst them. "Swear," cried he, in clear, loud voice. "Swear that you will forsake your wild ways, Robin Fitzooth, and will come with your men into my Court, and be good and faithful subjects from this night, and I will give you all the pardon that you crave."

"We will come into your Court and into your service, sire," answered Robin, gratefully, "nor ask anything better in this world than that."

The King bade them rise and continue their sports. "Night is come and I must ask a lodging of you—even as your chaplain gave me of his hospitality yester e'en," he said, comfortably. "And tell me, Robin, where is your Marian? What laggard in love are you to be here without her?"

"Nay, sire," said the little page, coming forward, "Robin is no laggard, nor am I far to seek. He is a very valiant, honorable man, and should indeed be a knight of this realm, if all men had their deserts."

Richard smiled then, and bent his haughty head to kiss the little hand she had extended to him. "Thou speakest truth, lady," he answered. "And I had not forgotten how the fair lands of Broadweald once were in Hugh Fitzooth's honest keeping. It may be that they will return to his son one day, for folks tell me that Guy of Gisborne is no more."

He turned to Scarlett. "And you are Master Geoffrey of Montfichet," said he, fixing his keen eyes on the other's face, "son of my father's friend, George Montfichet of Gamewell? And prithee, Master Geoffrey, what have you done with my little cousin, Aimée of Aragon?"

Scarlett confusedly explained that she was safe in his father's hall at Gamewell. "It seemeth, then, that you also have stolen from our Sheriff at Nottingham, Master Scarlett?" Richard observed, quizzing him. "Surely all men's hands are against Monceux!"

"Even as all men's hands are against venomous reptiles and the like," observed the friar, nodding his head. He had recovered from the buffet which Richard's hand had dealt, and had seated himself conveniently to watch the scene. He was truly the one least put about by it.

The King eyed him, and smiled to note his quiet self-possession. "What can I find for you, brother?" he asked, indulgently. "Some fat living, where there are no wicked to chastise, and where the work is easy and well endowed?"

"I only wish for peace in this life," replied the friar. "Mine is a simple nature, and I care not for the gewgaws and shams of Court. Give me a good meal and a cup of the right brew, health, and enough for the day, and I ask no more either of my God or of my King."

Richard sighed. "You ask the greatest thing in the world, brother—contentment. It is not mine to give or to deny. Yet if I can help you to find that wondrous jewel, I will do it right heartily." He glanced curiously from one to the other of the greenwood men. "Which of you is called Allan-a-Dale?" he asked; and when Allan had come forward, "So," said Richard, half sternly, "you are the man who stole a bride from her man at my church doors of Plympton. What have you to say in excuse of this wickedness?"

"Only that I loved her, sire, and that she loved me," said Allan. "Your Norman baron would have forced her to wed with him, desiring her lands."

"Which since hath been forfeited by my lord of Hereford," said Richard, quickly. "I know your story, Allan. Take back your lands and hers from me this night, and live in peace and loyalty upon them with your dame. Fennel, she is called, is't not so? 'Tis a pretty name."

"I thank you humbly, sire," said Allan-a-Dale, joyfully. "And Fennel shall thank you for herself. She will do it far better than I, be sure of it."

"Where is your dame?" said the King, looking about and half expecting to find her clad like Marian in boy's attire.

"She also is at Gamewell," said Sir Richard, hastily. "We left her there this morning when on our way to Copmanhurst. The Princess will take her into her train, and protect both Mistress Fennel and her lord."

"Our Princess will need a protector for her own self, I am thinking," said the King, thoughtfully. "Come hither, Scarlett, and kneel before me!"

Geoffrey wonderingly did so. "Arise, Geoffrey Earl of Nottingham," cried Richard, striking his shoulder with the flat of his sword; "take back your freedom from my hands, and be no more ashamed to attend our Court disguised and in false pretence. From this moment you have the overlordship of this forest for your father's sake and mine, and you are worthy to ask