Alan came round the bench and did as he was bid, and Sir Richard strode from the hall.
Standing on the farther bank of the moat the sheriff was shaking both fists in the air and shouting lustily, demanding that Sir Richard should come out to him, while Guy of Gisborne stood beside him, as silent as the sheriff was noisy. Then the head and shoulders of Sir Richard appeared over the wall of the archers’ gallery, close beside the gatehouse; and the sheriff redoubled his shouting. ‘Traitor! Caitiff!’ bellowed he. ‘You have a score or more of desperate robbers within your walls—villains and cut-throats all! I charge you now, yield them up to me within the hour, if you do not wish to hang beside them!’
‘I am no traitor, but a loyal knight to the king, as you well know!’ shouted back Sir Richard. ‘And it’s sick at heart the king would be, if he could know how his brother misrules in his absence! I do not deliver up to you a single one of the men now sheltering within my walls.’
While the sheriff was yet spluttering with rage at this reply, Guy of Gisborne cut in smoothly: ‘Perhaps you do not know that the leader of these men is the notorious Robin Hood himself?’
‘I know it well enough,’ replied Sir Richard. ‘Have you anything else to say?’
‘Nothing, my friend, save that the day may come when you will bitterly regret your refusal!’
The sheriff struck in again: ‘If you do not deliver up these men, we shall lay siege to this castle, and have them out by force!’
Sir Richard leaned farther out over the coping of the rampart, shaking his head and smiling gently. ‘It is not lawful for such as you to lay siege to a knight in his own castle, and well you know it!’ said he. ‘Send to the king’s brother for the Royal Warrant, if you like; and in the meantime I bid you good-night!’ And he stepped back and was at once hidden from view by the rampart wall.
On the farther side of the moat, the sheriff and his men stared at each other blankly, while Guy of Gisborne gnawed at his lower lip and frowned blackly at the walls of the castle. They knew that what Sir Richard had said was true. It was unlawful for anyone not holding the Royal Warrant to lay siege to a knight in his own castle, and they dared not risk bringing down upon themselves the wrath of John, the king’s brother, who was ruling the country so harshly during Richard Cœur-de-Lion’s absence on the Crusades. They could send and beg the Royal Warrant, to be sure, but long before it could be granted, the outlaws would be safe in their forest stronghold again.
Then Guy of Gisborne shrugged his shoulders with an ugly laugh, and putting his hand on the shoulder of the enraged sheriff, drew him away. As they moved off, with their disappointed men-at-arms and foresters trailing sulkily behind them, the heads of the sheriff and the manor steward were very close together, as though already they were hatching some evil plot between them.
The great hall of the castle showed a merry scene that night. Torches flared in their iron sconces against the walls, and on the open hearth a fire of spitting pine logs sent its red and yellow many-tongued flames leaping half-way to the dim roof. All down the long tables the forest rangers sat among Sir Richard’s men-at-arms, supping right royally, and drinking deep of the nut-brown ale which stood in leather jacks ready to their hands.
At the high table across the far end of the hall sat Robin, between Sir Richard and his lady, and with them Alan A’Dale, and Sir Richard’s squire, a pleasant, dark-eyed lad named Simon D’Aubernoun. Little John sat at the high table also, by right of being Robin’s lieutenant; he sat sideways on the bench with his wounded leg stretched out before him, and he was weak from loss of blood, his usually brown face very white in the torchlight, and though he looked about him gaily, laughing often at some jest of the young squire who sat beside him, he did little justice to his supper, for he was feeling sick and ill with pain.
Robin seemed as merry as any man in Sir Richard’s hall that night, but in his heart he was anxious and ill-at-ease; and presently, seeing the Lady Elizabeth deep in converse with her son and not likely to overhear him, he turned to Sir Richard, saying: ‘I wish that I and my men were not under your roof to-night, for I very much fear that your sheltering of such as we will bring trouble upon you.’
‘If it should be so,’ said Sir Richard, gravely, ‘it cannot be helped—and who has a better right to give you aid and shelter than I, who am your friend?’
‘True. But I have no wish to bring ruin upon my friend. And indeed, I would not have led my wolfpack to your gate, but would have held on towards the forest, which is a more fitting sanctuary for such as we, if Little John had not taken an arrow in his knee.’
‘You could never have gained the forest, with that young giant to carry,’ said Sir Richard, glancing down the table to where Little John sat with his platter of food untouched before him. ‘You did the only thing that there was to do; and if trouble should come of it, I shall bear it gladly, for your sake, friend Robin. And if the worse befalls, I can always follow Alan’s example and join myself to you in the Greenwood.’
‘And what of your lady wife?’ questioned Robin.
Sir Richard smiled. ‘You have already two ladies in your band. Could you not make room for a third?’
‘Willingly!’ replied Robin. ‘But nevertheless, I and my lads quit your roof to-morrow, for the longer we remain here, the greater will be your danger.’
And in that determination he remained firm, despite all that the good Sir Richard and his lady could say to make him change his mind.
9
The Rescue of Sir Richard
ON THE MORNING after the shooting for the Silver Arrow, Little John was flushed and restless, and when Robin examined his wound it was red and angry.
They were in the great hall of the castle, where, after the custom of those days, everybody but the Lord and Lady of the house had spent the night wrapped in coarse rugs and coverlids upon the deeply rush-strewn floor, with the dogs curled up among them.
Preparations for the morning meal were going on, but save for the hurrying servants, who were setting out horn beakers and platters of crusty bread upon the long tables, there were few people about; for the men-at-arms had scattered to their various tasks and duties, and most of the outlaws had gone with them, preferring to be out-of-doors on such a beautiful morning.
‘An ugly wound, lad,’ said Robin, frowning. ‘And it must be sorely painful.’
‘Aye, it’s a bit sharp,’ agreed Little John, catching his breath as Robin dipped a wad of linen into the bowl of water beside him, and began to clean the wound.
Sir Richard had come quietly into the hall, and halted beside the wounded man. ‘Here’s an end to your fine plan of leaving my roof this day—or for several days to come,’ he said quietly.
Robin looked up, blinking as the sunlight, slanting down through a nearby lancet window, shone into his eyes and dazzled him. ‘No, my friend, the lad will do well enough in our own stronghold.’
‘And how will you get him there?’
‘Why,’ said Robin, smiling, ‘Little John is a trifle large and heavy, to be sure, but he is not so heavy that four of us cannot carry him on a litter.’
And in a litter of freshly cut green branches, with Scarlet and Brand, Gilbert and Robin Hood for his litter-bearers, Little John was presently carried forth from the castle of Linden Lea. Sir Richard and his lady had done their best to prevail upon Robin to stay with them at least until Little John’s fever was passed; but the outlaw leader was resolved to rid the castle of his dangerous presence as soon as might be, and he remained firm in his resolve.
The sun was rising high above the ramparts when the outlaw band, with Little John lying very flat and long on his litter, went down through the rose-garden of the castle to the narrow track which led towards the nearest arm of the forest.
As they crossed the open country between castle and woodshore, they kept a keen look-out for any sign of the sheriff’s men, but not a human creature did they see, save a whistling villein driving a heavy plough behind a team of eight
oxen, who turned to gape and grin at them as they passed; and soon the shelter of the forest was gained, and the tree-boles rose all around them. Deeper and deeper they struck into the heart of Clumber Forest, travelling at a steady wolf-lope, and stopping every now and then to change litter bearers, for it was close and breathless in the forest, where the thick canopy of branches shut out the air as well as the sunshine.
Towards evening they came out into the wide glade below Dunwold Scar, and Alan, Reynold, Hugh, and Will Stukely, who were carrying Little John, set their burden down thankfully beside the scar of the old cooking fire, and mopped their brows. The fire-scar was fresh and dark, and there was dry wood ready to hand, for the outlaws had slept in their winter quarters on the night before the sheriff’s archery contest, and had meant to return there on their way north to Barnesdale. So a fire was quickly kindled, and coarse flour and salt meat fetched from their hidden store, and the cooks set to work. Twilight deepened to dusk, and the full golden moon of summer lifted above the tree-tops and shone down upon the leaping flames of the camp fire and the men who sat around it with their bows beside them.
The outlaws had exchanged their many-coloured homespun for well-worn Lincoln green; they had supped on broiled salt venison and little hot wheaten cakes, and now they were enjoying the quiet hour before it was time to crawl into the dry ferny bedding in the caves above them, and sleep.
Little John sat with his back comfortably propped against the sloping turf-bank, staring rather hazily at the moon; while beside him, Robin sat forward, hands locked round updrawn knees, gazing into the fire.
The rest were talking idly among themselves, talking over the happenings of the day before, making plans for future days in Barnesdale Forest. Diggery fidgeted from time to time with the bandage on his arm. Will Scarlet had produced a battered dice box, and he and Goldsbrough were dicing against each other with chips of birch bark for the stakes.
Presently Much got up, yawning and stretching, and climbed up into the mouth of the nearest cave. Little by little, others followed him. Robin and Will Scarlet lifted Little John between them, and carrying him into the cave, set him down on a pile of dry fern.
The embers of the camp fire died down into grey ash, and all was quiet in the broad glade below Dunwold Scar.
Next morning Gilbert set off northward through the forest to carry news of the shooting party to the rest of the band; and after he had gone the camp at Dunwold Scar settled down to wait until Little John’s wound should be well enough for him to travel. And it seemed that they might have a long wait before them.
For several days Little John was direly sick, and lay in a high fever, tossing restlessly on his bed of fern, while Robin nursed him as tenderly as any woman could have done, and Much and Scarlet were never far from his side. And when at last the fever left him, he was, as he said with disgust, as weak as a half-drowned rabbit.
More than a week after the shooting for the Silver Arrow, the outlaw band was gathered in Dunwold Glade waiting for supper. It was yet early in the evening, and there were several hours of daylight left; but they had hunted the day before and had no need to hunt again until the morrow; nor did they need, just then, to hold up any rich traveller for his gold or gear; and it was a close, steamy day, with thunder in the air—the sort of day when it is pleasanter to stay quiet than to move about. So any travellers that there were passed unmolested up and down the long straight road from Nottingham to Doncaster, and below Dunwold Scar the wood-rangers sprawled on the warm turf, many of them clad only in a rough kilt belted round the middle with a raw-hide strap.
The hum of a myriad insects filled the close air beneath the trees, and the little, green and bronze grasshoppers chirred ceaselessly among the grass-stems. The outlaws were feeling too blissfully lazy even to think. Little John lay flat on his back under a young birch tree that had rooted itself on the very threshold of the main cave, staring up at the pattern of the leaves against the blue summer sky, and whistling sleepily. Much and Scarlet had caught two grasshoppers and were having a race with them. Sometimes a man would slap at a stinging horsefly, or roll over to make himself even more comfortable than before. Very occasionally the cooks for the day bestirred themselves to attend to the venison stew. Nothing else moved or sounded in the broad glade.
Then, in the warm silence there sounded sharply the cry of a young tawny owl early at his hunting. Instantly everyone was listening. Reynold was on guard-duty beyond the hazel scrub that closed the end of the glade, and it was his signal that they had heard. Someone was coming.
Robin raised his head from his arms and gave an answering cry—‘Kee-wik, kee-wik.’ Then he sat up, and getting quickly to his feet, stood listening for the next signal. There was a moment’s pause, and then the rap of a woodpecker hammering on a tree bole. Two raps, it gave; no more. That meant two people. Robin gave a low whistle with an odd shake at the end, which meant ‘Let them pass.’
All over the glade men were bestirring themselves, scrambling up and reaching their bows. The drowsy peace of the evening was broken, and everyone was wide awake and on the alert for whatever might happen.
Between the boles of the oak trees showed the blue flicker of a woman’s dress and the white mane of a palfrey; and the next moment out into the glade rode Sir Richard’s wife, the Lady Elizabeth, with Diccon the archer loping along at her stirrup. She glanced about her swiftly at the green-clad figures of the outlaws, and seeing Robin, urged her palfrey towards him in frantic haste.
He strode forward to aid her to dismount, and scarcely waiting for his steadying hand, she slid down from the saddle and turned towards him with a gesture of entreaty.
‘Oh, thanks be to Our Lady you have not gone north!’ she cried. ‘Robin Hood, if you are my husband’s true friend, save him from the scaffold!’
‘The scaffold?’ exclaimed Robin. ‘That is an ill word, Madam. What has happened?’
‘After you left us, we went to our hunting lodge at Woodstock, my husband and I,’ said she, speaking low and hurriedly. ‘The sheriff must have followed us, biding his time. May he burn for it, though he is but the creature of the accursed monks and the robber barons that the king’s brother has let loose on the land! This evening, as my husband was hawking by the river, and Simon D’Aubernoun with him, the sheriff and his men came out of the chase and called to him to surrender to them. I saw it all from the window of my bower; it was over in a moment, though Simon felled two of the men before his hands were bound; and he and my lord were taken captive and borne off towards Nottingham. And as soon as they were gone, I came to you—Diccon knew the way—to beg you to save my husband; for indeed he will find no mercy at the hands of those devils, and would ask for none!’
A savage exclamation made Robin look round quickly, and Alan was standing beside him, his eyes very bright in a bleak grey face. ‘Steady, lad,’ Robin said quickly, and turned back to the Lady Elizabeth. ‘How long since did this happen?’ he demanded. His own face had grown very grim, and he was tightening his belt as he spoke.
‘Scarcely two hours ago. They can only be five or six miles on their way as yet.’
Robin nodded, and spoke to his men, who had gathered round him. ‘Get your bows, lads, broadswords and bucklers. Much, see to the issue of arrows. We march for Clumber Forest at once!’
Instantly there began an ordered hurrying to and fro, as men collected their weapons and pulled on their discarded tunics. Alan lingered a moment to touch his mother’s hand, and then strode away to collect his issue of clothyard arrows. Under his birch tree Little John was sitting bolt upright and staring gloomily in front of him; for he dearly loved a fight, and it was hard to miss this one. Robin glanced at him with understanding and then turned back to the Lady Elizabeth, who stood with hands clasped, eagerly watching the preparations as they went forward.
‘Madam,’ said Robin, ‘will you go home again now, or will you wait here until we return? You will be safe enough here in Dunwold Scar, with the caves for your shelter
should the need arise—safer than in Woodstock, maybe.’
‘I will wait here,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘I could not endure to go home until I know that my husband is safe.’
‘Then here is soft turf and a cool shade for your comfort, and Little John to bear you company.’ And holding out his hand to her, Robin led her across the glade to the side of the wounded outlaw, who, unable to rise by reason of his wound, and having no cap to doff, bent his yellow head to her in all courtesy.
Diccon had looped the palfrey’s bridle over a low-hanging branch, and now came after Robin, saying respectfully: ‘Master, I be wanting clothyard arrows. There be only deer-bolts in my quiver, for I had no time to fetch others before we set out.’
Robin looked down at the little man. ‘Are you coming with us then? But what says your mistress to that?’
Diccon turned his head to look pleadingly at the Lady Elizabeth, who nodded, saying: ‘Go with Master Robin.’
‘Go to Much-the-Miller’s-Son, over yonder,’ Robin said; ‘and he will fit you out with all you need.’
Almost before the words were out of Robin’s mouth Diccon was off in hot haste towards the little brown wood-ranger who stood in the mouth of the store cave issuing the deadly clothyard shafts to the men who thronged about him.
Robin bent his head courteously to Sir Richard’s Lady. ‘Keep a good heart, Madam,’ said he gently. ‘We will bring your husband safely back to you.’ He turned away and went to join his men.
Will-the-Bowman had found time to stable the palfrey, and all was ready. A few moments later the broad glade was empty; four-and-twenty men had sunk into the green gloaming of the forest, as though they had never existed.
For a long moment the lady stood still, gazing at the place where they had disappeared; then she gave a long, quivering sigh, and gathering the blue folds of her skirts close about her, sank down upon the bank.
‘Will they save my husband?’ she asked desperately.