Along the causeway rode a knight with a score of stout men-at-arms behind him. The Knight was clad in a plain long robe of gray serge, gathered in at the waist with a broad leathern belt, from which hung a long dagger and a stout sword. But though he was so plainly dressed himself, the horse he rode was a noble barb, and its trappings were rich with silk and silver bells.
Sir Richard of the Lea cometh riding to Emmet Priory.
So thus the band journeyed along the causeway between the dykes, till at last they reached the great gate of Emmet Priory. There the Knight called to one of his men and bade him knock at the porter’s lodge with the haft of his sword.
The porter was drowsing on his bench within the lodge, but at the knock he roused himself and, opening the wicket, came hobbling forth and greeted the Knight, whilst a tame starling that hung in a wicker cage within piped out, “In coelo quies! In coelo quies!” such being the words that the poor old lame porter had taught him to speak.
“Where is thy prior?” asked the Knight of the old porter.
“He is at meat, good knight, and he looketh for thy coming,” quoth the porter, “for, if I mistake not, thou art Sir Richard o’ the Lea.”
“I am Sir Richard of the Lea; then I will go seek him forthwith,” said the Knight.
“But shall I not send thy horse to stable?” said the porter. “By Our Lady, it is the noblest nag, and the best harnessed, that e’er I saw in all my life before.” And he stroked the horse’s flank with his palm.
“Nay,” quoth Sir Richard, “the stables of this place are not for me, so make way, I prythee.” So saying he pushed forward, and, the gates being opened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind him. In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and ring of horses’ feet on cobble-stones, whereat a flock of pigeons that strutted in the sun flew with flapping wings to the high eaves of the round towers.
Whilst the Knight was riding along the causeway to Emmet, a merry feast was toward in the refectory there. The afternoon sun streamed in through the great arched windows, and lay in broad squares of light upon the stone floor and across the board covered with a snowy linen cloth, whereon was spread a princely feast. At the head of the table sat Prior Vincent of Emmet all clad in soft robes of fine cloth and silk; on his head was a black velvet cap picked out with gold, and around his neck hung a heavy chain of gold, with a great locket pendant therefrom. Beside him, on the arm of his great chair, roosted his favorite falcon, for the Prior was fond of the gentle craft of hawking. On his right hand sat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich robes of purple all trimmed about with fur, and on his left a famous doctor of law in dark and sober garb. Below these sat the high cellarer of Emmet, and others chief among the brethren.
Prior Vincent entertains the Sheriff of Nottingham and the man of law at the Priory.
Jest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be. The weazened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile, for in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid him in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea. The learned doctor had been paid beforehand, for he had not overmuch trust in the holy Vincent of Emmet.
Quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, “But art thou sure, Sir Prior, that thou hast the lands so safe?”
“Ay, marry,” said Prior Vincent, smacking his lips after a deep draught of wine; “I have kept a close watch upon him, albeit he was unawares of the same, and I know right well that he hath no money to pay me withal.”
“Ay, true,” said the man of law in a dry, husky voice, “his land is surely forfeit if he cometh not to pay; but, Sir Prior, thou must get a release beneath his sign manual, or else thou canst not help to hold the land without trouble from him.”
“Yea,” said the Prior, “so thou hast told me ere now, but I know that this knight is so poor that he will gladly sign away his lands for two hundred pounds of hard money.”
Then up spake the high cellarer: “Methinks it is a shame to so drive a misfortunate knight to the ditch. I think it sorrow that the noblest estate in Derbyshire should so pass away from him for a paltry five hundred pounds. Truly, I—”
“How now,” broke in the Prior, in a quivering voice, his eyes glistening and his cheeks red with anger, “dost thou prate to my very beard, sirrah? By Saint Hubert, thou hadst best save thy breath to cool thy pottage, else it may scald thy mouth.”
“Nay,” said the man of law, smoothly, “I dare swear this same knight will never come to settlement this day, but will prove recreant. Nevertheless, we will seek some means to gain his lands from him, so never fear.”
But even as the doctor spoke there came a sudden clatter of horses’ hoofs and a jingle of iron mail in the courtyard below. Then up spake the Prior, and called upon one of the brethren that sat below the salt, and bade him look out of the window and see who was below, albeit he knew right well it could be none but Sir Richard.
So the brother arose and went and looked, and he said, “I see below a score of stout men-at-arms and a knight just dismounting from his horse. He is dressed in long robes of gray which, methinks, are of poor seeming; but the horse he rideth upon hath the richest coursing that ever I saw. The Knight dismounts and they come this way, and are even now below in the great hall.”
“Lo, see ye there now,” quoth Prior Vincent. “Here ye have a knight with so lean a purse as scarce to buy him a crust of bread to munch, yet he keeps a band of retainers, and puts rich trappings upon his horse’s hide, whilst his own back goeth bare. Is it not well that such men should be brought low?”
“But art thou sure,” said the little doctor, tremulously, “that this knight will do us no harm? Such as he are fierce when crossed, and he hath a band of naughty men at his heels. Mayhap thou hadst better give an extension of his debt.” Thus he spake, for he was afraid Sir Richard might do him a harm.
“Thou needst not fear,” said the Prior, looking down at the little man beside him. “This knight is gentle, and would as soon think of harming an old woman as thee.”
As the Prior finished, a door at the lower end of the refectory swung open, and in came Sir Richard, with folded hands and head bowed upon his breast. Thus humbly he walked slowly up the hall, whilst his men-at-arms stood about the door. When he had come to where the Prior sat, he knelt upon one knee. “Save and keep thee, Sir Prior,“ said he; ”I am come to keep my day.”
Sir Richard of the Lea begs mercy of the Prior of Emmet.
Then the first word that the Prior said to him was, “Hast thou brought my money?”
“Alas! I have not so much as one penny upon my body,” said the Knight; whereat the Prior’s eyes sparkled.
“Now, thou art a shrewd debtor, I wot,” said he. Then, “Sir Sheriff, I drink to thee.”
But still the Knight kneeled upon the hard stones, so the Prior turned to him again. “What wouldst thou have?” quoth he, sharply.
At these words, a slow red mounted into the Knight’s cheeks; but still he knelt. “I would crave thy mercy,” said he. “As thou hopest for Heaven’s mercy, show mercy to me. Strip me not of my lands, and so reduce a true knight to poverty.”
“Thy day is broken and thy lands forfeit,” said the man of law, plucking up his spirits at the Knight’s humble speech.
Quoth Sir Richard, “Thou man of law, wilt thou not befriend me in mine hour of need?”
“Nay,” said the other, “I hold with this holy Prior, who hath paid me my fees in hard gold, so that I am bounden to him.”
“Wilt thou not be my friend, Sir Sheriff?” said Sir Richard.
“Nay, ’fore Heaven,” quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, “this is no business of mine, yet I will do what I may,” and he nudged the Prior beneath the cloth with his knee. “Wilt thou not ease him of some of his debts, Sir Prior?”
At this the Prior smiled grimly. “Pay me three hundred pounds, Sir Richard,” said he, “and I will give thee quittance of thy debt.”
“Thou knowe
st, Sir Prior, that it is as easy for me to pay four hundred pounds as three hundred,” said Sir Richard. “But wilt thou not give me another twelvemonth to pay my debt?”
“Not another day,” said the Prior, sternly.
“And is this all thou wilt do for me?” asked the Knight.
“Now, out upon thee, false Knight!” cried the Prior, bursting forth in anger. “Either pay thy debt as I have said or release thy land, and get thee gone from out my hall.”
Then Sir Richard arose to his feet. “Thou false, lying priest!” said he, in so stern a voice that the man of law shrunk affrighted, “I am no false knight, as thou knowest full well, but have ever held my place in the press and the tourney. Hast thou so little courtesy that thou wouldst see a true knight kneel for all this time, or see him come into thy hall and never offer him meat or drink?”
Then quoth the man of law, in a trembling voice, “This is surely an ill way to talk of matters appertaining to business; let us be mild in speech. What wilt thou pay this knight, Sir Prior, to give thee release of his land?”
“I would have given him two hundred pounds,” quoth the Prior, “but since he hath spoken so vilely to my teeth, not one groat over one hundred pounds will he get.”
“Hadst thou offered me a thousand pounds, false Prior,” said the Knight, “thou wouldst not have got an inch of my land.” Then turning to where his men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, “Come hither,” and beckoned with his finger; whereupon the tallest of them all came forward and handed him a long leathern bag. Sir Richard took the bag and shot from it upon the table a glittering stream of golden money. “Bear in mind, Sir Prior,” said he, “that thou hast promised me quittance for three hundred pounds. Not one farthing above that shalt thou get.” So saying, he counted out three hundred pounds and pushed it toward the Prior.
Sir Richard of the Lea payeth his debt, to the Prior’s confusion.
But now the Prior’s hands dropped at his sides and the Prior’s head hung upon his shoulder, for not only had he lost all hopes of the land, but he had forgiven the Knight one hundred pounds of his debt and had needlessly paid the man of law fourscore angels. To him he turned, and quoth he, “Give me back my money that thou hast.”
“Nay,” cried the other, shrilly, “it is but my fee that thou didst pay me, and thou gettest it not back again.” And he hugged his gown about him.
“Now, Sir Prior,” quoth Sir Richard, “I have held my day and paid all the dues demanded of me; so, as there is no more betwixt us, I leave this vile place straightway.” So saying, he turned upon his heel and strode away.
All this time the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and mouth agape at the tall man-at-arms, who stood as though carved out of stone. At last he gasped out, “Reynold Greenleaf!”
The Sheriff of Nottingham meeteth an old friend and knoweth him.
At this, the tall man-at-arms, who was no other than Little John, turned, grinning, to the Sheriff. “I give thee good den, fair gossip,” quoth he. “I would say, sweet Sheriff, that I have heard all thy pretty talk this day, and it shall be duly told unto Robin Hood. So, farewell for the nonce, till we meet again in Sherwood Forest.” Then he, also, turned and followed Sir Richard down the hall, leaving the Sheriff, all pale and amazed, shrunk together upon his chair.
A merry feast it was to which Sir Richard came, but a sorry lot he left behind him, and little hunger had they for the princely food spread before them. Only the learned doctor was happy, for he had his fee.
But now a twelvemonth and a day has passed since Prior Vincent of Emmet sat at feast, as has just been told, and once more the mellow fall of another year has come. But the year had brought great change, I wot, to the lands of Sir Richard of the Lea; for, where before shaggy wild grasses grew upon the meadow lands, now all stretch away in golden stubble, betokening that a rich and plentiful crop had been gathered therefrom. A year had made a great change in the castle, also, for, where were empty moats and the crumbling of neglect, all was now orderly and well kept.
Bright shone the sun on battlement and tower, and in the blue air overhead a flock of clattering jackdaws flew around the gilded weather-vane and spire. Then, in the brightness of the morning, the drawbridge fell across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the gate of the castle swung slowly open, and a goodly array of steel-clad men-at-arms, with a knight all clothed in chain-mail, as white as frost on briar and thorn of a winter morning, came flashing out from the castle courtyard. In his hand the Knight held a great spear, from the point of which fluttered a blood-red pennant as broad as the palm of one’s hand. So this troop came forth from the castle, and in the midst of them walked three pack-horses laden with parcels of divers shapes and kinds.
Sir Richard of the Lea sets forth to pay his debt to Robin Hood, a year and a day having passed.
Thus rode forth good Sir Richard of the Lea to pay his debt to Robin Hood this bright and merry morn. Along the highway they wended their way, with measured tramp of feet and rattle and jingle of sword and harness. Onward they marched till they came nigh to Denby, where, from the top of a hill, they saw, over beyond the town, many gay flags and streamers floating in the bright air. Then Sir Richard turned to the man-at-arms nearest to him. “What is toward yonder at Denby to-day?” quoth he.
“Please your worship,” answered the man-at-arms, “a merry fair is held there to-day, and a great wrestling-match, towhich many folk have come, for a prize hath been offered of a pipe of red wine, a fair golden ring, and a pair of gloves, all of which go to the best wrestler.”
“Now, by my faith,” quoth Sir Richard, who loved good manly sports right well, “this will be a goodly thing to see. Methinks we have time to stay a little while on our journey, and see this merry sport.” So he turned his horse’s head aside toward Denby and the fair, and thither he and his men made their way.
Sir Richard stoppeth upon his way at the fair at Denby.
There they found a great hubbub of merriment. Flags and streamers were floating, tumblers were tumbling on the green, bag-pipes were playing, and lads and lasses were dancing to the music. But the crowd were gathered most of all around a ring where the wrestling was going forward, and thither Sir Richard and his men turned their steps.
Now when the judges of the wrestling saw Sir Richard coming and knew who he was, the chief of them came down from the bench where he and the others sat, and went to the Knight and took him by the hand, beseeching him to come and sit with them and judge the sport. So Sir Richard got down from his horse, and went with the others to the bench raised beside the ring.
Now there had been great doings that morning, for a certain yeoman named Egbert, who came from Stoke over in Staffordshire, had thrown with ease all those that came against him; but a man of Denby, well known through all the countryside as William with the Scar, had been biding his time with the Stoke man; so, when Egbert had thrown every one else, stout William leaped into the ring. Then a tough bout followed, and at last he threw Egbert heavily, whereat there was a great shouting and shaking of hands, for all the Denby men were proud of their wrestler.
When Sir Richard came, he found stout William puffed up by the shouts of his friends, walking up and down the ring, daring any one to come and try a throw with him. “Come one, come all!” quoth he. “Here stand I, William of the Scar, against any man. If there is none in Derbyshire to come against me, come all who will, from Nottingham, Stafford, or York, and if I do not make them one and all root the ground with their noses like swine in the forests, call me no more brave William the wrestler.
William of the Scar throweth Egbert of Stoke in the wrestling ring.
At this all laughed; but above all the laughter a loud voice was heard to cry out, “Sin’ thou talkest so big, here cometh one from Nottinghamshire to try a fall with thee, fellow”; and straightway a tall youth with a tough quarterstaff in his hand came pushing his way through the crowd, and at last leaped lightly over the rope into the ring. He was not as heavy a
s stout William, but he was taller and broader in the shoulders, and all his joints were well knit. Sir Richard looked upon him keenly, then, turning to one of the judges, he said, “Knowest thou who this youth is? Methinks I have seen him before.”
Stout William’s challenge is taken up.
“Nay,” said the judge, “he is a stranger to me.”
Meantime, without a word, the young man, laying aside his quarterstaff, began to take off his jerkin and body clothing until he presently stood with naked arms and body; and a comely sight he was when so bared to the view, for his muscles were cut round and smooth and sharp like swift-running water.
And now each man spat upon his hands, and, clapping them upon his knees, squatted down, watching the other keenly, so as to take the vantage of him in the grip. Then like a flash they leaped together, and a great shout went up, for William had gotten the better hold of the two. For a short time they strained and struggled and writhed, and then stout William gave his most cunning trip and throw, but the stranger met it with greater skill than his, and so the trip came to nought. Then, of a sudden, with a twist and a wrench, the stranger loosed himself, and he of the scar found himself locked in a pair of arms that fairly made his ribs crack. So, with heavy, hot breathing, they stood for a while straining, their bodies all glistening with sweat, and great drops of sweat trickling down their faces. But the stranger’s hug was so close that at last stout William’s muscles softened under his grip, and he gave a sob. Then the youth put forth all his strength, and gave a sudden trip with his heel, and a cast over his right hip, and down stout William went, with a sickening thud, and lay as though he would never move hand nor foot again.