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

the hand of any woman in this realm."

It was impossible not to perceive the King's gracious meaning, although Geoffrey could scarce believe in his good fortune. He thanked his King in a voice full of gratitude and affection. "You did say that the Princess of Aragon might need a protector, sire," he added, trembling at his own audacity. "Will you grant me permission to be her champion and defy the world?"

"'Tis what I had promised for you, my lord of Nottingham," said Richard, quietly, "and best reason for your knight-hood! Watch well over her, and guard her from herself—if need be."

For Much the Miller, for Middle the Tinker, for Little John, Stuteley and old Warrenton the King had kindly words. He knew them all, it seemed; and they marvelled more and more amongst themselves to hear how he was aware of all their histories. There was no adventurer, no man of them whom he did not know by name and fame, at least; and this King proved so gracious and royal a man that all of them loved him forthwith and dubbed him in their hearts a right worthy monarch.

They built a great fire, having now no more fear of Monceux or Hereford, or any one of them. The Sheriff would hold his office from Will Scarlett's hands from now!

The archers from Nottingham who had been held as prisoners were at once released, and the King signalled for Sir Richard's followers to appear. This they did with a rush, and Robin saw then how the King had held them all truly in his hand, for these fellows, and even Sir Richard of the Lee, their master, would have had to obey him had he ordered them to engage the greenwood men in sudden combat.

As it was, all were merry and boon companions. Laughter and song floated upward as the jumping flames of the camp fire they had built. The friar sang them the song which Robin had heard so often, and Robin himself played upon the harp. Night came and they slept—King of England and his subjects together, in all joy and happiness. The fire burned low, and deep Sherwood watched over them—forest mother of them all.

Next morning the King asked if they had any spare liveries of the scarlet and white. "For," said he, "'tis only fair that I should lead you into the city of Nottingham clad as you are yourselves, since now you are my bodyguard."

So Nottingham awoke to find a great company of men approaching it. Foremost came a number of archers dressed all in bright liveries and carrying their bows unslung in token of peace. Behind them marched a motley host—the servitors of Sir Richard and of old George of Gamewell, and last of all the Sheriff's own archers.

Monceux came out to meet them with Master Simeon, whilst my lord of Hereford watched furtively from the city walls. The chief of the approaching host rode forward, and his stern, dark face was plain to see.

"'Tis the King!" cried Carfax, who knew Richard well. "Now may our tongues be politic and say the right words."

"Go to meet him, Simeon," whispered the Sheriff, all in a flutter of fear and hope. "'Tis like that he hath encountered Sir Richard of the Lee, and so will know his story of things. Be prudent, be humble."

But Richard waved Carfax haughtily aside. "I will speak with your master, fellow," he said, harshly. Carfax shrank cringingly to one side, and Monceux dismounted from his milk-white horse to meet his King.

"Greetings and welcome, sire, from this your faithful city," began Monceux, very hurriedly. "The joyful tidings of your return were brought to me two days agone, and at once I did prepare for your coming."

"With a-hanging to wit, and murderous attack upon the castle of this faithful knight," said Richard. "A welcome not much to our mind, Sheriff."

"Sire, when the hanging was going forward I did not then know you were so near," explained Monceux, making matters worse. "And, for the matter of that, 'twas for foul murder that I would have hanged the villain, who did escape through your knight's evil practices. Thereby I do accuse Sir Richard of offending against the laws."

"Enough, Master Monceux," interrupted the King, contemptuously. "The murder was not done by the man whose life you did seek so earnestly to end. The killing of Fitzwalter, my warden of these gates, was due to the foul hands of your own cook, Roger de Burgh. As you have stomach for a hanging, see to it that this fellow be brought to book. Know you this writing?"

And Richard showed him the parchment which Will Scarlett had found in the hearth of the hall at Nottingham Castle.

Monceux turned green and white, and gasped for air. "I had no hand in this dreadful business, sire, I swear it," he gurgled. "We did conspire between us to entice the maid Fitzwalter into Nottingham, I confess, hoping that Robin Hood, the outlaw, would come to visit her, and we might so trap him. He hath been the author of this mischief, I promise you, and is a villainous wretch. If Roger killed Master Fitzwalter, 'twas done in the belief that he was engaged with Hood."

"As I thought," muttered the new Earl of Nottingham, under his breath.

"Therefore," said Richard, slowly, "you, Monceux, knew all along that Little John was not guilty, and yet did seek to hang him."

"Sire, he stole my plate also, and had been excommunicated by my lord of Hereford."

"Take Roger and hang him speedily," cried the King, to end it. "And bring me to the Bishop. Stay!" he called to the quickly retreating Sheriff; "ere you go, Monceux, learn that from henceforward you must look for patronage from this my lord of Nottingham," he added, with a gesture. "He will be your master, and you will hold the feof of Nottingham Castle at his hands."

"Will Scarlett—Master Geoffrey of Montfichet—you?" gasped Monceux.

"Even I, Master Sheriff," replied the man of many names.

"Know also, Monceux," added Richard, indicating Robin and his men, "these are my archers and especial guards. From now the ban of excommunication must be removed."

The Bishop had come down from the walls and had drawn nigh. "Fetch me book and candle, Carfax," said he, "and I will remove the ban."

"You will be wise to do so, my lord," the King said, significantly. The Bishop deemed it prudent to give no particular heed to his sire's tone. At once he proceeded to take off the ban of excommunication he had so hastily pronounced upon Robin Hood and the rest of his merry men.

"Now, Robin, take payment for your entertainment of me in the woods," the King said, in a voice that would brook no denial. Robin drew near and kneeled before him, doubtfully. "Rise, Robin of Huntingdon, first Earl of the shire!" cried Richard, tapping him with the point of his blade. "Take rank amongst my knights, and learn that thy King recognizeth above the other neither Saxon nor Norman of his subjects—all to me are English; and I love the man who is brave and who dealeth fairly as he may with his fellow men. You have kept the spirit of liberty alive in this my land, and I hold no anger against you because you have been impatient under wrong."

His proud voice was silent; while Robin Earl of Huntingdon seized his King's hand to his lips and kissed it in a wonderment of gratitude.

CHAPTER XXXIV

It was the wedding-day of four happy people. The day was bright, the sky blue, and Sherwood had taken upon itself early summer raiment.

The old church of Nottingham was already crowded to excess.

The newly banded guard of Royal bowmen, gay in their scarlet and white livery, were formed up in two straight lines from the church door to the lych gate.

So soon as the weddings were over all would go back to a great feast, given at Gamewell Hall, in honor of the day. Then afterward the two couples would go with the king into London, to be followed within seven days by the rest of the Royal guard. Richard meant to employ these fellows shrewdly and test their loyalty. Not for reasons of sentiment only had he forgiven Robin and his men.

The hour was reached, and at once a small company was seen issuing forth from Nottingham Castle. Against his will Master Monceux had given use of the castle to the two bridegrooms—the newly made Earls of Nottingham and Huntingdon.

With Robin and Geoffrey were, firstly, old George of Gamewell, proud above all others in knowing that he had now a son who would ensure honor to the race of Montfichet all their days. The Squire was happy and radiant. He walked between them, and turned his head ever and again in laughing speech with Sir Richard of the Lee and his heir. Stuteley and Little John were next, the long and short of it; and after them the jovial Friar of Copmanhurst. Arthur-à-Bland, with a gold chain about his neck, given him by the knight Sir Richard, walked with Middle the Tinker on his left and Much the Miller on his right. Close behind trotted the small complaisant Midge, dressed up very fine in a livery of purple doublet and green hose.

They came to the lych gate, and the crowd jostled itself in its admiration. As they walked, rather consciously, up the narrow path between the smiling ranks of their fellows the crowd cheered them radiantly.

"A Hood! A Montfichet!" was called and called again. Some maids from the opposite windows threw them kisses and waved pretty kerchiefs in their honor.

Within the church, waiting for them soberly at the chancel steps, was my lord of Hereford, dressed out in his finest and richest robes, and beside him Friar Tuck. For Robin Hood and Will Scarlett the Bishop had enmity and contempt, but towards the Earls of Huntingdon and Nottingham this time-serving man could only profess an abundance of respect.

The brides were to be escorted from Gamewell by no other person than the King himself. He was to give them both in marriage, and had promised them jewels and to spare when they were come to Court.

Loud cheering and noise from the mob without the church told of their approach. The people were wild with joy at having their King amongst them like this.

Citizens, burgesses, apprentices were all in their best, their wives and their sweethearts all dressed out in splendid attire. As the King jumped down from his horse before the lych gate, and held out his strong hand to help the brides from off their milk-white mares, the whole place became alive with excitement and rapture.

Little maids, with baskets of violets and primroses, flung their offerings prettily under the feet of the two beauteous blushing brides, who leaned so timidly upon the King's proud arms.

At last the service was begun and both couples were well nigh wed. The Bishop had spoken the Latin service impressively and with unction.

In the first row stood Monceux, in all the pomp of his shrievalty, with his councilmen and aldermen. Master Simeon, with face leaner than ever and inturning eyes, glared impotently at the chief actors in this historic scene.

Alone missing from it was the cold, colorless beauty of the demoiselle Marie. She had taken herself to her room this morn, and had sworn never to leave it again. But now that the double marriage was nearly made she suddenly appeared, thrusting her way rudely through the gathered crowd at the church door. She was wild-eyed, dishevelled, her dress fastened all awry. Folks looked once at her, and then exchanged glances between themselves.

"Stay this mockery of marriage, my lord," she cried, fiercely facing the Bishop. She had elbowed a path for herself to the chancel steps. "I do