CHAPTER XVI
HOW ROBIN HOOD MET SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA
Then answered him the gentle knight
With words both fair and thee:
"God save thee, my good Robin,
And all thy company!"
Now you must know that some months passed by. The winter dragged
its weary length through Sherwood Forest, and Robin Hood and his
merry men found what cheer they could in the big crackling fires
before their woodland cave. Friar Tuck had built him a little
hermitage not far away, where he lived comfortably with his
numerous dogs.
The winter, I say, reached an end at last, and the blessed spring
came and went. Another summer passed on apace, and still neither
King nor Sheriff nor Bishop could catch the outlaws, who,
meanwhile, thrived and prospered mightily in their outlawry. The
band had been increased from time to time by picked men such as
Arthur-a-Bland and David of Doncaster--he who was the jolliest
cobbler for miles around--until it now numbered a full sevenscore
of men; seven companies each with its stout lieutenant serving
under Robin Hood. And still they relieved the purses of the rich,
and aided the poor, and feasted upon King's deer until the lank
Sheriff of Nottingham was well-nigh distracted.
Indeed, that official would probable have lost his office
entirely, had it not been for the fact of the King's death.
Henry passed away, as all Kings will, in common with ordinary
men, and Richard of the Lion Heart was proclaimed as his
successor.
Then Robin and his men, after earnest debate, resolved to throw
themselves upon the mercy of the new King, swear allegiance, and
ask to be organized into Royal Foresters. So Will Scarlet and
Will Stutely and Little John were sent to London with this
message, which they were first to entrust privately to Maid
Marian. But they soon returned with bad tidings. The new King
had formerly set forth upon a crusade to the Holy Land, and
Prince John, his brother, was impossible to deal with--being
crafty, cruel and treacherous. He was laying his hands upon all
the property which could easily be seized; among other estates,
that of the Earl of Huntingdon, Robin's old enemy and Marian's
father, who had lately died.
Marian herself was in sore straits. Not only had her estates
been taken away, and the maid been deprived of the former
protection of the Queen, but the evil Prince John had persecuted
her with his attentions. He thought that since the maid was
defenseless he could carry her away to one of his castles and
none could gainsay him.
No word of this peril reached Robin's ears, although his men
brought him word of the seizure of the Huntingdon lands.
Nathless he was greatly alarmed for the safety of Maid Marian,
and his heart cried out for her strongly. She had been
continually in his thoughts ever since the memorable shooting at
London town.
One morning in early autumn when the leaves were beginning to
turn gold at the edges, the chestnut-pods to swell with promise
of fatness, and the whole wide woodland was redolent with the
ripe fragrance of fruit and flower, Robin was walking along the
edge of a small open glade busy with his thoughts. The peace of
the woods was upon him, despite his broodings of Marian and he
paid little heed to a group of does quietly feeding among the
trees at the far edge of the glade.
But presently this sylvan picture was rudely disturbed for him.
A stag, wild and furious, dashed suddenly forth from among the
trees, scattering the does in swift alarm. The vicious beast
eyed the green-and-gold tunic of Robin, and, lowering it head,
charged at him impetuously. So sudden was its attack that Robin
had no time to bend his bow. He sprang behind a tree while he
seized his weapon.
A moment later the wild stag crashed blindly into the tree-trunk
with a shock which sent the beast reeling backward, while the
dislodged leaves from the shivering tree fell in a small shower
over Robin's head.
"By my halidom, I am glad it was not me you struck, my gentle
friend!" quoth Robin, fixing an arrow upon the string. "Sorry
indeed would be any one's plight who should encounter you in this
black humor."
Scarcely had he spoken when he saw the stag veer about and fix
its glances rigidly on the bushes to the left side of the glade.
These were parted by a delicate hand, and through the opening
appeared the slight figure of a page. It was Maid Marian, come
back again to the greenwood!
She advanced, unconscious alike of Robin's horrified gaze and the
evil fury of the stag.
She was directly in line with the animal, so Robin dared not
launch an arrow. Her own bow was slung across her shoulder, and
her small sword would be useless against the beast's charge. But
now as she caught sight of the stag she pursed her lips as though
she would whistle to it.
"For the love of God, dear lady!" cried Robin; and then the words
died in his throat.
With a savage snort of rage, the beast rushed at this new and
inviting target--rushed so swiftly and from so short a distance
that she could not defend herself. She sprang to one side as it
charged down upon her, but a side blow from its antlers stretched
her upon the ground. The stag stopped, turned, and lowered its
head preparing to gore her to death.
Already its cruel horns were coming straight for her, while she,
white of face and bewildered by the sudden attack, was struggling
to rise and draw her sword. A moment more and the end would
come. But the sharp voice of Robin and already spoken.
"Down, Marian!" he cried, and the girl instinctively obeyed, just
as the shaft from Robin's bow went whizzing close above her head
and struck with terrific force full in the center of the stag's
forehead.
The beast stumbled in its charge and fell dead, across the body
of the fainting maid.
Robin was quickly by her side, and dragged the beast from off the
girl.
Picking her up in his strong arms, he bore her swiftly to the
side of one of the many brooks which watered the vale.
He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly almost, in his agony
of fear that the she was already dead, and he could have shed
tears of joy to see those poor, closed eyelids tremble. He
redoubled his efforts; and presently she gave a little gasp.
"Where am I? What is't?"
"You are in Sherwood, dear maid, tho', i' faith, we gave you a
rude reception!"
She opened her eyes and sat up. "Methinks you have rescued me
from sudden danger, sir," she said.
Then she recognized Robin for the first time, and a radiant smile
came over her face, together with the rare blush of returned
vitality, and her head sank upon his shoulder with a little
tremble and sigh of relief.
"Oh, Robin, it is you!" she murmured.
"Aye, 'tis I. Thank heaven, I was at hand to do you service!"
Robin's tones were deep and full of feeling. "I swear, dear
Marian, that I will not let you from my care henceforth."
Not another word was spoken for some moments, while her head
still rested confidingly upon his breast. Then recollecting, he
suddenly cried:
"Gramercy, I make but a poor nurse! I have not even asked if any
of your bones were broken."
"No, not any," she answered springing lightly to her feet to show
him.
"That foolish dizziness o'ercame me for the nonce, but we can now
proceed on our way."
"Nay, I meant not that," he protested; "why should we haste?
First tell me of the news in London town, and of yourself."
So she told him how that the Prince had seized upon her father's
lands, and had promised to restore them to her if she would
listen to his suit; and how that she knew he meant her no good,
for he was even then suing for a Princess's hand.
"That is all, Robin," she ended simply; "and that is why I donned
again my page's costume and came to you in the greenwood."
Robin's brow had grown fiercely black at the recital of her
wrong; and he had laid stern hand upon the hilt of his sword.
"By this sword which Queen Eleanor gave me!" he said impetuously;
"and which was devoted to the service of all womankind, I take
oath that Prince John and all his armies shall not harm you!"
So that is how Maid Marian came to take up her abode in the
greenwood, where the whole band of yeomen welcomed her gladly and
swore fealty; and where the sweet lady of Allan-a-Dale made her
fully at home.
But this was a day of deeds in Sherwood Forest, and we 'gan to
tell you another happening which led to later events.
While Robin and Marian were having their encounter with the stag,
Little John, Much the miller's son, and Will Scarlet had sallied
forth to watch the highroad leading to Barnesdale, if perchance
they might find some haughty knight or fat priest whose wallet
needed lightening.
They had scarcely watched the great road known as Watling Street
which runs from Dover in Kent to Chester town--for many minutes,
when they espied a knight riding by in a very forlorn and
careless manner.
All dreary was his semblance,
And little was his pride,
His one
foot in the stirrup stood,
His other waved beside.
His visor hung down o'er his eyes,
He rode in single array,
A sorrier man than he was one
Rode never in summer's day.
Little John came up to the knight and bade him stay; for who can
judge of a man's wealth by his looks? The outlaw bent his knee
in all courtesy, and prayed him to accept the hospitality of the
forest.
"My master expects you to dine with him, to-day," quoth he, "and
indeed has been fasting while awaiting your coming, these three
hours."
"Who is your master?" asked the knight.
"None other than Robin Hood," replied Little John, laying his
hand upon the knight's bridle.
Seeing the other two outlaws approaching, the knight shrugged his
shoulders, and replied indifferently.
"'Tis clear that your invitation is too urgent to admit of
refusal," quoth he, "and I go with you right willingly, my
friends. My purpose was to have dined to-day at Blyth or
Doncaster; but nothing matters greatly."
So in the same lackadaisical fashion which had marked all his
actions that day, the knight suffered his horse to be led to the
rendezvous of the band in the greenwood.
Marian had not yet had time to change her page's attire, when the
three escorts of the knight hove in sight. She recognized their
captive as Sir Richard of the Lea, whom she had often seen at
court; and fearing lest he might recognize her, she would have
fled. But Robin asked her, with a twinkle, if she would not like
to play page that day, and she in roguish mood consented to do
so.
"Welcome, Sir Knight," said Robin, courteously. "You are come in
good time, for we were just preparing to sit down to meat."
"God save and thank you, good master Robin," returned the knight;
"and all your company. It likes me well to break the fast with
you."
So while his horse was cared for, the knight laid aside his own
heavy gear, and laved his face and hands, and sat down with Robin
and all his men to a most plentiful repast of venison, swans,
pheasants, various small birds, cake and ale. And Marian stood
behind Robin and filled his cup and that of the guest.
After eating right heartily of the good cheer, the knight
brightened up greatly and vowed that he had not enjoyed so good a
dinner for nigh three weeks. He also said that if ever Robin and
his fellows should come to his domains, he would strive to set
them down to as good a dinner on his own behalf.
But this was not exactly the sort of payment which Robin had
expected to receive. He thanked the knight, therefore, in set
phrase, but reminded him that a yeoman like himself might hardly
offer such a dinner to a knight as a gift of charity.
"I have no money, Master Robin," answered the knight frankly. "I
have so little of the world's goods, in sooth, that I should be
ashamed to offer you the whole of it."
"Money, however little, always jingles merrily in our pockets,"
said Robin, smiling. "Pray you tell me what you deem a little
sum."
"I have of my own ten silver pennies," said the knight. "Here
they are, and I wish they were ten times as many."
He handed Little John his pouch, and Robin nodded carelessly.
"What say you to the total, Little John?" he asked as though in
jest.
"'Tis true enough, as the worthy knight hath said," responded the
big fellow gravely emptying the contents on his cloak.
Robin signed to Marian, who filled a bumper of wine for himself
and his guest.
"Pledge me, Sir Knight!" cried the merry outlaw; "and pledge me
heartily, for these sorry times. I see that your armor is bent
and that your clothes are torn. Yet methinks I saw you at court,
once upon a day, and in more prosperous guise. Tell me now, were
you a yeoman and made a knight by force? Or, have you been a bad
steward to yourself, and wasted your property in lawsuits and the
like? Be not bashful with us. We shall not betray your
secrets."
"I am a Saxon knight in my own right; and I have always lived a
sober and quiet life," the sorrowful guest replied. "'Tis true
you have seen me at court, mayhap, for I was an excited witness
of your shooting before King Harry--God rest his bones! My name
is Sir Richard of the Lea, and I dwell in a castle, not a league
from one of the gates of Nottingham, which has belonged to my
father, and his father, and his father's father before him.
Within two or three years ago my neighbors might have told you
that a matter of four hundred pounds one way or the other was as
naught to me. But now I have only these ten pennies of silver,
and my wife and son."
"In what manner have you lost your riches?" asked Robin.
"Through folly and kindness," said the knight, sighing. "I went
with King Richard upon a crusade, from which I am but lately
returned, in time to find my son--a goodly youth--grown up. He
was but twenty, yet he had achieved a squire's training and could
play prettily in jousts and tournaments and other knightly games.
But about this time he had the ill luck to push his sport too
far, and did accidentally kill a knight in the open lists. To
save the boy, I had to sell my lands and mortgage my ancestral
castle; and this not being enough, in the end I have had to
borrow money, at a ruinous interest, from my lord of Hereford."
"A most worthy Bishop," said Robin ironically. "What is the sum
of your debt?"
"Four hundred pounds," said Sir Richard, "and the Bishop swears
he will foreclose the mortgage if they are not paid promptly."
"Have you any friends who would become surety for you?"
"Not one. If good King Richard were here, the tale might be
otherwise."
"Fill your goblet again, Sir Knight," said Robin; and he turned
to whisper a word in Marian's ear. She nodded and drew Little
John and Will Scarlet aside and talked earnestly with them, in a
low tone.
"Here is health and prosperity to you, gallant Robin," said Sir
Richard, tilting his goblet. "I hope I may pay your cheer more
worthily, the next time I ride by."
Will Scarlet and Little John had meanwhile fallen in with
Marian's idea, for they consulted the other outlaws, who nodded
their heads. Thereupon Little John and Will Scarlet went into
the cave near by and presently returned bearing a bag of gold.
This they counted out before the astonished knight; and there
were four times one hundred gold pieces in it.
"Take this loan from us, Sir Knight, and pay your debt to the
Bishop," then said Robin. "Nay, no thanks; you are but
exchanging creditors. Mayhap we shall not be so hard upon you as
the Christian Bishop; yet, again we may be harder. Who can
tell?"
There were actual tears in Sir Richard's eyes, as he essayed to
thank the foresters. But at this juncture, Much, the miller's
son, came from the cave dragging a bale of cloth. "The knight
should have a suit worthy of his rank, master--think you not so?"
"Measure him twenty ells of it," ordered Robin.
"Give him a good horse, also," whispered Marian. "'Tis a gift
which will come back four-fold, for this is a worthy man. I know
him well."
So the horse was given, also, and Robin bade Arthur-a-Bland ride
with the knight as far as his castle, as esquire.
The knight was sorrowful no longer; yet he could hardly voice his
thanks through his broken utterance. And having spent the night
in rest, after listening to Allan-a-Dale's singing, he mounted
his new steed the following morning an altogether different man.
"God save you, comrades, and keep you all!" said he, with deep
feeling in his tones; "and give me a grateful heart!"
"We shall wait for you twelve months from to-day, here in this
place," said Robin, shaking him by the hand; "and then you will
repay us the loan, if you have been prospered."
"I shall return it to you within the year, upon my honor as Sir
Richard of the Lea. And for all time, pray count on me as a
steadfast friend."
So saying the knight and his esquire rode down the forest glade
till they were lost to view.
