Robin Hood, Paul Creswick [world of reading .txt] 📗

shall be shred into little pieces for this trick, and you also, false butcher."

"Nay, excellence," said a gentle voice near to him, "this is no butcher; but rather Master Robin o' th' Hood, a good yeoman and right Saxon. Some call him Robin of Locksley. Let me fill your goblet, excellence, for you have spilled all the wine."

Monceux glared at the speaker, a handsome lad dressed gaily in page's costume. The Sheriff's frown would have frightened most people, but the dark-haired boy only laughed and tossed his head in a queerly fascinating way. The Sheriff, relaxing, held out his goblet, and smiled back upon the page.

"Well done, Master Gilbert of Blois!" cried Robin, who sat at the Sheriff's left hand. "Now tell me how you discovered me, and I will love you——"

The lad blushed furiously. "I knew you from the first, Robin o' th' Hood," he answered, defiantly.

"In truth?" questioned Robin, slily, and with his own suspicions growing. No wonder he had seen nothing of Marian in Nottingham town.

"In truth—well, no," submitted the page. "Let me fill your tankard, friend. But very soon I did discover you. Is this the stag that you killed, Robin o' th' Hood?" he added, innocently.

Robin nodded; and the Sheriff flashed another look of anger upon him. "Sit you beside me, Gilbert," Robin ordered; "I am very fain to have speech with you."

Marian, with her woman's intuition, knew from his tone that she also was discovered. Yet she braved it out. "I will fill all the cups, Robin o' th' Hood," she said, firmly, with an adorable little shake of her black curls; "then will hear your adventures as a Nottingham butcher, which I see you are dying to tell to us."

The page skipped lightly from under Robin's threatening hand, and the merry men laughed loud and long. "He calls you Robin o' th' Hood, master!" cried John Berry, roaring like a bull. For some reason this nick-name tickled him mightily. He kept repeating it in all kinds of tones, and those about him began to laugh also.

"'Tis a very excellent name," said Robin, a little vexed. "A merry name, a man's name, and a name to my heart! I do adopt it from this day; for is not Robin Fitzooth of Locksley dead? My lord the Sheriff can tell you that he is, for he has burned him. Laugh at it, or like it, friends, which you will. But pledge me in it, for I have paid the reckoning."

Little John, Stuteley, and Much rose to their feet together in their hurry to be first. The others were not slow in following them.

"Long life to you and happiness, Robin o' th' Hood! Here's fortune's best and confusion to all your enemies! Huzza, Robin o' th' Hood!"

The darkening woods echoed it back to them. "Robin o' th' Hood! Robin—Hood!"

"You will have to be christened, gossip," said Little John, with an air of importance; "and surely I know the man who will be sponsor. But you spoke just now of a reckoning; and I do see that our guest is become fidgety. Shall I tot up the bill for him?"

"Do so, friend."

The Sheriff appeared uneasy at this. "I have not my purse with me," he began, apologetically.

"How did you purpose paying me for my beasts?" asked Robin.

"Why—that is—I have, of course, a small sum about me."

"What is that sum, gossip?" questioned Little John, very kindly.

"'Tis no more than forty pieces of gold," said Monceux, recollecting that he had named this amount to Robin.

"Is that all?"

"I have not another penny-piece, good Master Hood," replied the Sheriff.

"If that is true, then you shall pay no more than ten pieces of gold for your entertainment, excellence," decreed Robin. "Speak I soothly, men of the greenwood?"

"The Sheriff should swear by his patron saint that he will never more molest us," said one of the company, wisely; and this addition was carried unanimously.

"So be it, then," cried Little John, approaching Monceux. "Now, swear by your life and your patron saint——"

"I will swear it by St. George, who is patron of us all," cried the fat Sheriff, vigorously; and he swore that never again would he disturb or distress them in Sherwood.

"Let me catch anyone of you out of it!" thought he to himself.

Then he paid them ten pieces of gold; and having done this, rose up to go.

It was already full dusk. "Gossip," observed Little John, reprovingly, "you did not hand me your wallet, but took out instead the ten golden pieces. Let me see for myself that thirty remain. Mayhap some evil person has robbed you unbeknown."

"Nay—I do not think that," said the Sheriff, quickly; "I take great care of all my belongings——"

"Yet you may have been despoiled," persisted Little John; "permit me to satisfy myself and this company that you have had honorable treatment in these happy woods."

With a groan Monceux yielded his wallet, and Stuteley counted out the money in it with a loud voice; otherwise the company was silent. "There is another wallet, gossip," said the inexorable Little John, pointing towards the Sheriff's belt.

In all they counted out one hundred gold pieces. "We must add another 'nought' to the foot of our bill, excellence," said Robin, gravely. "Be of good heart; what is 'nought' but nothing? Ten pounds and a 'nought' added to it is a most reasonable account for such royal fare. Take then this money which you first gave me; we will keep the wallets."

"'Tis monstrous! 'Tis an enormity," bellowed Monceux, flying out. "Already you have stolen my plate, and now would strip me utterly! 'Tis rank villainy, and I promise you all——"

"You have promised enough to-night, Sheriff," retorted Robin: "away with him, Stuteley, and go you, too, Little John. Take our guest through the secret path so far as the roadway by Nottingham gate. There he may find his archers waiting for him. Be speedy."

They nodded and grasped the struggling Sheriff by either arm. His eyes were speedily bandaged by little Gilbert, and he made an undignified exit. Whilst the rest busied themselves removing the remains of the feast, Robin spoke quietly with the page.

"Since Little John has happily returned to us, Master Gilbert," said Robin, "'tis clear that he will want his quarters again. So I must move you."

"It matters not, Robin."

"You are over young to consort with such wild company, Gilbert," Robin continued; "and so I will take you to a safe asylum, unless, of course, you would sooner return into Nottingham."

"I have now no real home in Nottingham," said Marian, frankly. "My father has gone to London to find us a home there. He has been offered a post in the King's household. So soon as he had departed they sent for me to attend at the Sheriff's castle, saying I was to become maid to the demoiselle Marie. This I would not; and so escaped in the early dawn of the day——"

"I have a friend at Gamewell," said Robin, diffidently. "In sooth, it is mine own uncle, and he surely would not refuse me in this. Will you go with me, Gilbert, at once? Soon it will be night indeed."

"I'll go anywhere with you, Robin," answered the little page.

Yet Robin would not affect to recognize Marian, though his heart was thumping in his body. He led her silently, hastily, through the strange passages towards Gamewell, thinking how he should bring a welcome for the maid.

"You are not talkative, friend Robin," murmured his companion once.

"My heart is too full for speech, Gilbert," said Robin, softly then; and this answer seemed to satisfy Master Gilbert of Blois. Under the night he smiled happily to himself.

"Is this your bad hand, Robin?" he asked, presently, "the one that I did wound? Poor fingers! I am sorry now. Can you forgive me, Robin?"

CHAPTER XX

When they had reached the little hut near by the pleasance, Robin bade her stay. "I now must play Yellow Lady," said he, lightly. "She is the spirit of this grove, and under her guise I can venture near to the house. Lend me your cloak—the color will not matter on so dark a night."

"I will not be left alone here," said Marian at this, with great decision. "Not for all the Montfichets in Christendom. I'll go with you."

They crossed the pleasance side by side. Lights burned within Gamewell to guide them.

"I am not afraid, Robin," announced Master Gilbert of Blois, courageously. "You know I am no coward."

"Take my hand then," said Robin; "I like to feel that you are with me."

"Yet you have but known me a day," said Marian, trying to peep at him. Her tone was questioning and full of pretty malice.

He had a mind then to take her in his arms, but again forebore. "Be silent now," whispered he; "I must proclaim myself. I have scarce knowledge of the servants here, my chief friend being old Warrenton, and he is in the greenwood."

"Let us go back there," suggested his companion; "I am willing to risk the wild beasts and the Sheriffs wrath."

"'Tis no place for you," said Robin. "Here you will be both safe and comfortable."

"I do not like the shape of this house," argued Marian. "I do not feel that I will be happy in it."

"It is a home worthy to be your sister's, let alone yours, Master Gilbert. Now be done with your grumbling, for here you shall stay until your father's return."

At this she made a grimace, but obeyed him meekly, notwithstanding. As they drew near to the courtyard, Robin bade her follow him cautiously until they had made a full circle of it, and crept round to the front of the hall.

By good fortune the bridge was down. Old Gamewell had no fear of the world, it would seem. They might pretend now that they had crossed to the hall from the road. Robin wound his horn suddenly and confidently.

The dogs within Gamewell began to bark and growl, and presently they heard sounds of approach. In a moment more the doors were opened and they saw a servant armed with a lanthorn and a stick.

"I would have audience with Master Montfichet," said Robin, in a bold voice. "Pray take me to him at once."

"Do you come from Nottingham?" asked the man, civilly.

"I left there this day," replied Robin.

"Follow me," said the servant, briefly. He waited until they were safely inside; then closed the doors carefully. He led them across the court to the inner doors.

Here another fellow was in waiting, also carrying a light. "These are travellers from Nottingham, desiring audience of Master Gamewell," observed the first servant.

"Your names, gentles?" asked the second.

"I am Robin o' th' Hood, and this is Master Gilbert of Blois," said Robin, at once.

They were escorted into the great hall, and there, sat beside the open hearth, was old Squire George. He made a pathetic figure. Robin felt his heart go out to him.

Yet even when he had satisfied himself in a single glance as to the identity of one of the late-coming guests, Montfichet gave no sign. His was a strange nature, and he could not forgive Robin his innocent deceit.

"Sir," said Robin, respectfully, "I do feel shame in coming before you without waiting for your word of welcome. My errand must be my excuse."

"'Tis Robin Fitzooth!" said old Montfichet, then. "I was told that you had been killed long since."

"Robin Fitzooth is truly dead, sir. Behold in his place Robin o' th' Hood. I come to ask a service at your hands for the memory of this dead man, and in redemption of your promise given to him once in Nottingham."

"Ask it, friend."

The Squire's tones were kinder. Looking at him, Robin saw that he had aged. There were no longer signs of that fastidious attention to his apparel which had characterized Montfichet of