When Robin came to his senses he found himself surrounded by the outlaw band. On this occasion they appeared as friends, however—and welcome ones to boot; for it had been a near matter that Robin's history had been ended by Master Carfax on this day.
Now were the tables turned, and very completely. The foresters had been overcome by Will and his outlaws, thanks to the diversion brought about by the Lincoln men. Much was sitting up with a more rueful countenance than he had when Robin had first spied him on this morning; and little sharp-nosed Midge was busy bathing and binding his cracked poll.
Some half-score of the foresters, with Master Ford, had escaped along the road towards Locksley: the rest were bound, and their horses confiscated by the outlaws.
Master Simeon, with rage and terror depicted plainly upon his countenance, lay writhing at Robin's feet, bound with the very cord with which he had sought to end young Fitzooth's life. His enemies had trussed him across a quarter-staff, and had tied the knots large and tight about him.
"Well, Locksley, how now?" asked Will o' th' Green, with gruff kindliness. "Are the vapors passed? Can you twiddle your bow again?"
"Not skilfully enough now to take place against you,Will," smiled Robin, recovering himself more and more. "I am atrembling yet. I had thought to see the blue sky no more——"
"Ay, my man's arrow was not too soon, Locksley," said Will, gravely. "This fellow's hand was upon the rope, and another moment might have seen you gallows-fruit upon this tree." He paused to bend over a forester lying prone near them, with his face buried in the grass. Robin saw that the man's body was transfixed by an arrow.
"He is no more," Will told them, looking up presently; "your aim was a shrewd one, Hal," he went on, addressing himself to one of his band.
"Is he indeeddead?" asked Robin, in an awestruck voice.
"'Twas his life or yours," answered Will o' th' Green, grimly. He turned to his men. "Now, comrades," cried he, "have you searched our prisoners and prepared them? 'Tis well. Are they bound together, then, by the arms, twos and threes, as is appointed in our rules; and is the right leg and left leg of each villain shackled together?... Stand them up, then, with their faces toward Nottingham, and bid them march."
"There is yet this one, captain," said one of the men, indicating Carfax. "What shall we do with him?"
"Has he been searched closely?" enquired Will. Without waiting a reply, he roughly ran his fingers through Master Carfax's pockets, and unfastened his tunic at the bosom. A parchment dropped out and Will snapped it up.
"I come from the Prince," whined Carfax, speaking at last; "and if so be you are Master Will Cloudesley, or Will o'th' Green—as these folks do call you—why, I have a very gracious message for you."
The outlaw gave a signal to his men. "Set him upon his feet," he ordered, "and loosen these cords. Now, excellence, speak at your ease."
"Believe him not, Master Will," interposed Stuteley, afraid that Carfax was going to turn the tables on them in some treacherous way. "He is a very proper rogue."
"Be easy, friend," said Will o' th' Green. "Every one is judged here in fairness. These men," pointing to the shamefaced, miserable foresters, "were caught in the doing of an evil deed, and so were dealt with summarily. But this one did not seem to have a hand in it."
"It was he who commanded them, sir," suddenly shrilled the little Lincoln named Midge. "He is, in sooth, a diabolical villain, and did very foully strike our companion here whilst men were holding him."
"All testify against you, excellence," said the outlaw, speaking again to Carfax. "What is your story of it? Speak without fear."
"This rascal did imprudently waylay us on the road with a demand for money," began Carfax, "and I, riding back at his noise, did recognize him for one Robin Locksley, a notorious fellow who has defied my lord the Sheriff's authority; and has also been suspect of being of your company—which is a thing, saving your presence, Master Cloudesley, that has been poor recommendation in the past. Further, with our own eyes have we seen him shoot and kill one of his Majesty's stags, a most valued beast with sixteen pointed antlers, as you cansee. We were but exercising the law upon him, as is appointed.... That is to say,Master Fordwas directing his men to carry out the law," said Carfax, with his thin cheeks pale with fear. "I did but counsel prudence, and plead for the youth."
"Enough," cried Will, with contempt in his tones. "Now tell me the message which the Prince has sent by so worthy a messenger."
"That is for your private ear," said Simeon, cunningly.
"You may speak plainly before my comrades," said Will. "Doubtless they are as interested in the Royal words as I myself."
"I was to bid you come at once to the City gate, so many of you as would," Carfax said, "there to receive the King's pardon from the hands of our beloved Prince. Indeed, his gracious Highness did well expect to see you before him three days agone, at the tourney."
"Dressed about with red ribbons, I trow?" enquired the outlaw, as if helping him.
"Indeed yes, Master Cloudesley. You have said it, indeed. Knowledge of your loyalty to us was brought to the Prince by me. By me, good friend," he repeated, insinuatingly. "And now give back to me my parchment—which, being writ in the Latin tongue, is truly no more than a cartel to my lord the Abbot of York—and let us set forth joyfully. For henceforth ye will be as free men, and what is past will be forgotten."
"I can read you the scroll, Will," said Robin, quietly. "I have some knowledge of the priestly tongue."
The outlaw handed him the scroll, and all waited in silencewhilst Robin deciphered it. Carfax snapped his teeth together in vexation at this unexpected turn. "Hecannot read the parchment. Is it likely?" he cried. "He will but pretend to read it, and make lies with which to confound me. 'Tis writ in most scholarly Latin, that only few may learn."
"There is treachery here for you, Will," spoke Robin, without heeding these outcries. "This is a notification from the Prince to the Abbot of York saying that his emissaries have sounded you and that you are ready with your men to strike for him."
"I have said so much," commented Will, "naming three conditions."
"They are written herein: first, that a general amnesty is to be granted; second, that the ban of excommunication is to be removed from off you by the Holy Church; and third, that the Prince shall find your men, afterward, honorable employment."
"That is so, Locksley. The letter is exact."
"So the Prince writes to the Abbot, asking him to promise the second of your conditions, saying that it need be only a promise, for he has not the least intention of holding to a bargain with one so evil as yourself, and that after he has won the throne from Henry his father, matters such as these will be disposed of by his soldiery, if need be."
"It is not true," screamed Carfax. "He lies to you, Master Cloudesley, seeking to be revenged on me."
"Any clerk can read these lines to you, Will," answered Robin. "The Prince continues praying for the welfare of them all at York, and saying that he has already promised inthe Abbot's name that the loan shall be taken off; that the Abbot is to receive and watch narrowly one Geoffrey of Montfichet, who has been exiled for treason, but who now imprudently has returned to work on their behalf in England."
"Now do I know that you are reading truly," cried Will, and his brow grew black. "For how could you know that your cousin was concerned in this? You false-hearted knave," he added, turning to Carfax, "false as your false master—your doom is sealed. Tie him up by his heels, and let him hang head downward from this tree whereon he would have hung gallant Locksley. Be speedy, men."
At this Simeon Carfax became as one quite demented, and Robin interposed.
"Let us not punish the man for his master's fault, Will," cried he. "Deal with him only on the score of my quarrel with him, when I shall say—let him go. For I should always feel shame were we to be as harsh with an enemy as he would be with us. It would show us no better then he."
"Take him then, since Locksley will have it so, and tie his legs under the belly of his horse—first setting him face to tail upon it," said Will. "And you, Hal, go and cut me the antlers from off yon poor beast."
When this was done he caused his men to attach the horns by means of a cord to Master Carfax's head; then, with his own hand, Will gave the horse a lead towards Nottingham.
Then, with a "view halloo," the steed bearing the unfortunate man was started in real earnest; and the foresters sent staggering by after it along the road to Nottingham.
When they were out of sight, Robin thanked the outlawagain for all that he had done for them. Will merely shrugged his shoulders, as one who would say: "'Tis a matter not worth breath"; and, giving his men a signal, prepared to return to his own fastnesses. Robin begged them to take the body of the deer, and, with small reluctance, the outlaws accepted the offer.
The Lincoln men bade Robin farewell also, saying that they would now go on towards their own homes with a light heart: for, having met the outlaws and found them most agreeable company, they had no more fear of Sherwood.
So Robin and little Stuteley, waving farewell to all these strange friends, moved on towards Gamewell, although Robin really had little hope now of coming by the Prince's grace into what seemed to be but his rights. The Sheriff and Simeon Carfax would attend to that, no doubt.
A curious dejection settled upon Robin. He had nothing but gloomy thoughts upon him as he trudged towards the Squire's domain. Nor did his spirits rise at his reception by old Gamewell. The Squire appeared almost uneasy with him; and was short in his speech, although once or twice a kindlier light flashed in his bright eyes.
"Already he regrets that he should have pressed me to take up the Montfichet name," thought Robin to himself, imagining that herein was the cause of the Squire's distemper.
He began to tell Montfichet of their doings and adventures: but had no sooner come to that part of the narrative referring to the Prince's purse than the Squire broke out: "Talk not to me of that man," cried he, vehemently. "He is an unworthy son of a much-tried father. Forsooth, this has become an ageof disobedience and unfilial behavior; one has but to look round to find most sons alike. The Fifth Commandment is now without meaning to the younger generation."
"I have no father, sir," said poor Robin, half in defense; for Gamewell looked so fiercely at him. "Nor do I seek to keep you to your offer," added he, in his thoughts.
"I was not thinking so much of you, boy," replied the Squire; and again a better expression shone briefly in his face. "Give you good night, Robin Locksley—you know your chamber. Sleep well and we will talk together in the morning."
The morning saw no easement of the Squire's attitude towards Robin; and as soon as breakfast was ended he determined to go without wasting breath upon the errand which had brought him.
"For sure, he is repenting of his offer," reasoned Robin. "Perchance already his heart is moved again towards Geoffrey, and who shall be more glad than I to find this so? I'll let the Squire think it comes from me—as in truth it does—this whimsey to prefer the name of Fitzooth to Montfichet!"
So bravely, as he was about to leave him, Robin spoke to the old man.
"Sir," he said, "I have it in me to speak plain words with you, and I may."
"Have no fear, boy. I am one who loves an open mind." Montfichet spoke with meaning.
"Well, sir, I would say with reference to that which you once did press upon my mother and myself—that I shouldtake your name and half-fortune with my cousin Geoffrey—that I have thought well upon your kind offer."
"There was to be a year go by, Master Fitzooth, ere you should give answer."
"In a year or now, sir," said Robin, firmly, "I cannot see that I should accept. I have no quarrel with my cousin, and I will not come between him and your heart—which pleads against yourself on his behalf."
Montfichet broke forth then, and Robin learned suddenly what had come between him and this strange, capricious man.
"No quarrel with Geoffrey, say you?" he shouted, bringing his fist down with violence upon the oak table. "No, I trow you have not, Robin Fitzooth! But I have a quarrel both with him and you. Know that I have heard the story of your escapade with that mean son of mine, who must come prowling like a thief in the night about the walls of Gamewell. I know the Scarlet Knight's secret, and yours—who did think it brave to deceive and outwit an old man."
"Sir, sir!" began Robin, aghast at this storm.
"Nay, I will hear no more of it. Treachery and deceit—always they hang about my house. You deceived me, Robin Fitzooth, and cozened my servant Warrenton. So I cast you out of my heart for ever. For the rest of my days I will be sufficient unto myself: after I am gone, the dogs may quarrel above my grave for the bones of Gamewell."
He almost pushed Robin from him, and turned brusquely away. Dazed and confounded, Robin faltered rather than walked to reach Stuteley, who stood awaiting him in the courtyard. Without a word, Robin took his hand. "Come, Will;let us go," he muttered, thickly: and with wrathful heart Robin Fitzooth shook the dust of Gamewell from off his feet.
Faintly through his mind came memory of the clerk's warning: but it was all of it so unjust! He had never intended to deceive the Squire: all that he had done had been done without thought. After all, what fault had he committed against Montfichet?
"'Fore Heaven," said Robin, furiously, "I never will speak with that man again—nor cross the threshold of his house!"
So the clouds gathered more and more thickly over the head of Robin Fitzooth.
The Demoiselle Marie was behind all this. She had known Geoffrey's plans from her lover, Master Carfax; for Master Carfax had had interviews with those two of Will's band, Roger and Micah, the traitors sworn against Geoffrey.
'Twas all wheel within wheel and plot within plot. Carfax had by nature a face made to show differently on either side of it. Thus he was in service with the Prince; and, whilst knowing the younger Montfichet to be his master's ally, affected outwardly to recognize him as one against whom the hands of all righteous men should be raised.
Master Simeon had gone forth with the Prince's message to Will o' th' Green, and with John Ford, in order that he might install that latter worthy at Locksley. Afterward Simeon was to journey to the Priory of York, as we know. Marie Monceux, to complete Robin's undoing, bade her father go to Gamewell and there tell Montfichet how Robin had helped Geoffrey to his scarlet-ribboned horse, giving the Squire the story as it had come through the two false outlaws. Certain proof she sent in a strip of the red cloth which Montfichet well knew to belong only to his house at Gamewell.
So suddenly Montfichet's mind was poisoned against Robin; with the result that we have seen. The Squire began now to believe Ford's tale that young Fitzooth was of the outlaw band, and at once withdrew all support of Robin so faras the Rangership of Locksley was concerned. "No doubt," thought the Squire, bitterly, "he is son of his father in discontent and false pride. Fitzooth never was frank with me, and has trained his son to distrust and deceive all men."
Truly the Sheriff's daughter was exacting full penalty for Robin's disregard of her at the Nottingham Fair.
She had employed her hand also against the maid Fitzwalter, as we shall find later.
Robin, in forbidding silence, strode along the road until they neared the shrine of St. Dunstan, when he looked eagerly toward the stout little hut of the clerk, hoping to find his old friend standing at the door of it, with his barking dogs.
All was silent, however, and deserted. To Robin's surprise, the gate of the palisade stood wide open; and the door of the hut also. He glanced at Will.
"Surely the priest is abroad imprudently, master?" said young Stuteley. "See how he has left his little house—open to the world! He must be of a very trusting nature for sure."
"I remember now that the gate was unlatched yesterday," spoke Robin, slowly. "I noticed it then and meant to talk with you on the point, Will. I hope that no evil has befallen the clerk."
"'Tis three weeks or more since we have had tidings of him," said Stuteley. "Shall we go in and make search?"
They entered the rude dwelling and soon exhausted every hole and corner of it in a vain hunt for some token of the clerk. The kennels at the back were empty and forlorn; and some bread which they found in the hermit's tiny larder was mouldy and very stale.
"Let us push on to Locksley, Will; mayhap we shall have better cheer waiting us there!"
They trudged on quietly. His master's depression had reached and overcome merry Stuteley. They began unconsciously to walk quickly and more quickly still as they approached Locksley. The day was overcast and very still.
Presently Robin, throwing back his head, sniffed the air.
"Surely there is a strange smell in these woods, Will? Does it not seem to you that there is a taste of burning grasses in the breeze?"
"Master," answered Stuteley, his face suddenly paling at some inner fear, "I do smell fire such as a blazing house would give forth. Well do I know the scent of it; having seen our own home burned last year."
"Hurry, hurry, Will; my heart misgives me. Some further disaster is upon us. This is my evil day, I know. Hurry, for the love of me!"
They set off at a frenzied scamper through the woods, taking the short footpath which would lead them to the back of the house of Locksley. Robin broke through the trees and undergrowth and hastily scaled the fence that railed off their garden from the wild woods.
A dread sight met his starting eyes. Dull brown smoke curled from under the eaves of his home in dense clouds; the windows were gaping rounds from which ever and anon red flames gushed forth; a torrid heat was added to the sickening odor of the doomed homestead.
Somebody grasped him by the hand.
"Thanks be that you are returned, excellence," spoke a rough voice, with emotion. "This is a sorry welcome."
"My mother?" gasped Robin, blankly, and his heart stood still for Warrenton's answer.
"Not a hair of her head has been touched. Old Warrenton would not stand here to tell you the sorry tale were it otherwise. But the house must go; 'tis too old and dry a place for mortal hand to save."
Stuteley had joined them by this, and the three gazed for a minute in stupefied silence on the flaming destruction of that home so dear to Robin Fitzooth. Warrenton, grimed and righteously angry, began his tale.
Yesterday, at dusk, the sound of a winding horn had brought them all anxiously to the garden. "We thought that you had returned with young Stuteley," said the old man-at-arms; "but we found ourselves facing none other than Master Ford the forester, with about six or more of the most insolent of his men. Peremptorily be bade us deliver up this house to him, pulling out a warrant from his bosom and waving it before your mother's face."
"Ford, was it?" questioned Robin. Then light broke in upon him. Yesterday, after the battle between Will's band and that of Master Carfax, some of the defeated foresters had fled to the north of Sherwood.
"You must bear up, young master," said Warrenton; "the Squire will doubtless build you a new home."
"Alas, Warrenton! Master Montfichet has turned against me now," said Robin then, "and against you also. Continue your story, and you shall hear ours when you have done."
So Warrenton continued, telling them how John Ford had made an attempt to seize the place: how Warrenton and the few servants had striven to beat him back: and how, after valiant fighting, they had succeeded in keeping them from taking the house at least. The garden they could not retain; but Warrenton, having established himself at one of the upper windows, had so shrewdly flown his arrows, that Ford himself had been wounded and one of his men killed outright.
Night had fallen upon them in this way, and the dame thought that it would be a good scheme for one of her maids to now endeavor to slip out and arouse the village to their help. One of the women therefore essayed the journey; but was so clumsy as to attract the enemy's attention. She was seized and made to confess how the house was protected and where it was most likely to fall before a sharp assault. Being a witless wench, she told them truly, and Master Ford then bade her help them collect sticks and leaves in order that they might be able to fire the place as a last resource.
Those within had thought that the girl had managed to evade danger, and cheerfully waited for help from the village.
A determined attack was commenced at daybreak; and Ford and his men succeeded in gaining possession of the kitchens without loss. Another of the servants was captured, also a second maid-servant was injured by an arrow, so seriously as to die within twenty minutes.
Warrenton kept the stairs and barricaded the inner door from the kitchens by putting tables and chairs against it. At length a parley was called, and Ford shouted his conditions through the keyhole. The besieged then learned that thedistant village was still unaware of their peril. Ford offered to let them all go forth free, if now they would yield up the house to him.
Mistress Fitzooth had a mind to accept, but Warrenton counselled no. After a long argument Ford swore that he would burn the house over their heads if they did not surrender it within an hour; and, going back to the garden, he began to bring in the loose dry pieces of wood and sticks he and his men had collected in the night.
At three hours after noon, Ford, having given one more warning to them, had bidden his fellows do the worst. In a few moments the smell of burning filled the house; and Mistress Fitzooth became as one distraught.
"We had two women left to us," Warrenton continued, "and a lad, who was worth as much as a man to me. I bade them open the door softly, and rush forth whilst the wretches were employed at their fiendish work in the rear. This we did, and so gained, unperceived, the little shed near by the gate. From a crack in the boards, I could command bowshot of the whole front; and I had given the lad a bow of yours. The two maids, taking your mother's hands, pulled her along under the hedge until they gained the road. Then all three ran furiously toward the village.
"We who were left behind had not long to wait. Presently, one came round to the front with a piece of flaming wood and boldly thrust it through the nearest lattice. Him I killed at once with an arrow through the back. They were now but five against us. Presently two others came stealthily from the back: but, seeing their companion dead, ran back hastily.
"Master Ford appeared next, and began to look suspiciously about him. His fellow had rolled over in his death-struggles, and so might have been slain from my window in the house-front. Curls of smoke were coming up from under the thatch by now; and Ford, making up his mind, ran out with the others, and flung himself upon the door.
"We had left it latched; and so it gave enough of resistance in his blind attack to justify him in believing it was still held from within. It fell inwards, at last, with a crash; and Ford sprang triumphantly across the threshold. His fellows rushed after him, trying now to beat out the fire."
Warrenton paused, and all fell again to watching the leaping flames.
"Meanwhile I guessed that your mother was safe, and had already alarmed the villagers," continued the old retainer. "So, with a shout, I rushed out upon the villains, with the lad, and pulled the broken door back to its place, shutting them in, that they might enjoy their own fell work in all security. Two of them did attempt escape just since by leaping from out of the window. But my bow was ready strung for them."
"Have you killed four men, then, Warrenton?" said Robin, his blood running cold. Then suddenly the full meaning of it flashed upon him. "And Ford?" he cried, with a gesture of horror, "and the two others?"
"Nay," said Warrenton, grimly. "I had come round here to see whether they had preference for fire or for my arrows, having left the boy to guard the front. Then I saw you and young Stuteley, and in my chattering I had nigh come to forget them. But there is Master Ford beckoning to us from your own room."
A frenzied, dreadful figure had indeed appeared for a brief instant amongst the thick curling smoke. It waved two hopeless hands out towards the falling dusk, and then incontinently vanished.
A thin scream sounded in Robin's ears, as a rush of flame mercifully swallowed up this apparition: like as not, 'twas the sound of the fire itself. The end had come, both to the unhappy foresters and Robin's home. With a huge torrent of noise the roof of it crushed in, half stifling the fire.
Then the flames seized full mastery; and amid a shower of sparks, the red tongues licked and devoured the last of their prey.
Robin hastened to find his mother, that he might be relieved of his anxiety and be rid for the moment of the sight of the awful catastrophe of the fire. Warrenton and Stuteley rushed in together, at his command, to try to save the two remaining foresters; but it was a very forlorn hope. Warrenton in his just revenge had pushed things to their extreme limits: Master Ford and all his band had paid the utmost penalty of their failure to overcome this relentless old man.
Mistress Fitzooth had secured refuge and was now much calmer. She embraced her son and wept over him in joy at this reunion. Robin could see, however, that she was indeed much overwrought by these troubles. She had not yet recovered from the loss of her husband.
They stayed with these poor people, who found room forthem somehow, out of sheer charity, for neither Robin nor the dame had any money. It was a bitter business, in sooth: and next day Robin, finding his mother far from well, humbled himself to beg assistance from the Squire. He despatched the letter by Warrenton, and then patiently set himself to wait a reply.
Also, he determined to seek an audience with the Prince. His home had been burned, his small patrimony gone: he had now no means of keeping himself and the dame from starvation save by living on another man's bread.
The clerk, his one tried friend, was gone—no one knew where.
The Prince would surely yield him the right to be Ranger at Locksley in his father's place! The house had been given to dead Hugh Fitzooth by Henry, the King.
An uneasy feeling took possession of Robin, for Warrenton had defied and overcome the Sheriff's man when he had been properly empowered to expel mother and son from Locksley, and there were seven dead men, nay eight, to be accounted for—and they were all of them King's Foresters.
Montfichet answered him by sending a purse of money and a curt letter saying that Mistress Fitzooth was to come to Gamewell, where for the rest of her days she would always find a home. For Robin he could do nothing: already the Sheriff had drawn up a proclamation of outlawry against him, setting the price of a hundred crowns upon him, living or dead.
Mistress Fitzooth never saw Gamewell or her brother again. Her disorder took a sudden and fatal turn; and within a week Robin found himself doubly an orphan—without home, money, or hope. Only two good friends had he—little Stuteley and staunch Warrenton.
The Squire had refused to see the latter and had sent him the reply to Robin's note by one of the servants. Montfichet was angered with Warrenton because he had been deceived by him.
Robin laid his mother to rest beside his father. That was as long as he might dare stay in Locksley. Every day he feared to be seized by Master Monceux's myrmidons. Stuteley kept watch on the road through Sherwood by day and Warrenton by night.
The morning of the interment brought news of danger. One of the few faithful foresters of Locksley was at his post—the rest, having no master, had disported themselves upon their own various errands—and he heard from a shepherd that a body of soldiers were journeying to Locksley. Full two score and ten of them there were; one, the leader, carrying a warrant for Robin's arrest. The forester hastened to save his young master.
The time was short. Robin had scarcely pause to perform the last sad offices above his mother's grave ere he must beflying for his life. His only chance was to take to the woods and hide in them.
Warrenton urged him to seek shelter in the thicker forest about Barnesdale, at the north-western end of Sherwood. Whispers gave a story that the higher parts were honeycombed with strange caves; and all the countryside knew that away in Barnesdale were the headquarters and camps of Will o' th' Green. It was the place of all others for shelter; and Stuteley became joyful in the thought of the adventures that must chance to them therein.
Warrenton was sober, however, over it. He had a presentiment that the days would be hard and the food scanty and plain. Still 'twas a man's life, after all.
They nearly plunged themselves into the hands of the enemy by mistaking their road.
So it chanced that Robin spied his old enemy Simeon Carfax and narrowly missed being seen also by him. The three fugitives hid themselves high up in the branches of a tree; and watched with beating hearts their enemies hurrying onward to Locksley. With the band of soldiers, pikemen, and foresters were two whom Robin observed narrowly. Sounds of their talk reached his ears; and, since these two fellows rode somewhat apart from the rest, Robin was able to distinguish their chattering.
He had unfailing ear for a voice. These were those traitors in Will's band, the two outlaws whom he had encountered on the day of the joustings at Nottingham Fair. "Roger and Micah," murmured Robin to himself, after listening a while. "Yes, those were the names they usedthen. So, friends, Iam forearmed against you, for I will step with heavy foot in your concerns by-and-by—when I do find Master Will o' th' Green! Roger—and Micah—I'll not forget."
Soon as they had passed, the three slid quietly to the ground and thereafter betook themselves very cautiously through the wood. Robin determined to find Will soon as he might and lay his case before him. The outlaw would give him refuge, no doubt.
The noise of the soldiers passed away in a murmuring discordance, and the three fugitives walked now more boldly towards Barnesdale. Ere sundown they were very heartily tired. They lay themselves down in the long grasses and while two slumbered the third watched.
Such foods as dry bread and berries were all that they could command; but there was water in plenty. The evening came, and after it night—and so to break of the next day.
Robin would have recommenced the flight soon as they had bathed themselves in a little shallow stream. Ere an hour of daylight was theirs, sounds of hurried approach warned them to be alert. Someone was crashing recklessly through the wood, following their trail clearly. Robin bade Warrenton and little Stuteley hide on either hand whilst he put himself directly in the path of this pursuer.
It proved to be none other than that one faithful forester of Locksley who had warned him of the soldiery. Robin welcomed him all the more gladly when he heard that this good fellow meant to throw in his own fortunes with those of his unjustly treated young master.
He had news for them, too. It transpired that Master Carfax had several duties in hand—as was his wont. First, he had to seize Robin and bring him, alive or dead, to the Sheriff. Next he was to declare all the Fitzooth property to be confiscated; and, having put seal upon any of it that might be left from the fire, he had to instal as temporary Ranger one of the Sherwood men whom he might think fit and trustworthy. Then a messenger was to be despatched with another parchment to the Abbot of York: writ this time in true Norman tongue.
After these things were executed Master Simeon was to turn his men about, and march them determinedly upon the outlaws' stronghold, which was now known to be at Barnesdale, and exterminate the band.
A task none so easy, after all!
For the satisfactory doing of these small commissions Carfax was to receive one hundred and fifty pieces of gold; and also would be accepted by the Sheriff as a fitting husband for the pale, hard-eyed demoiselle, Marie of Monceux. 'Twas this reward that made Master Simeon desperate and dangerous.
The forester, John Berry by name, told Robin further that Carfax had clothed his body in chain-mail, and was carrying a dreadful axe in his belt—with which to avenge the insult put upon him in the matter of the stag's horns.
"Let us seek Barnesdale forthwith," said Robin. "I am all agog to warn Will o' th' Green—for he has been a stout friend to me."
"Hurry then, master," cried Berry, the forester. "You are not far from the Barnesdale road. In sooth, as I followedyour tracks, I wondered how you had come so far within a very short space. You are now within touch of Gamewell."
It was true. In the mazy forest they had nearly described a circle, and were now perilously nigh to Gamewell and the squire.
An idea came to Robin. He turned to Warrenton.
"Could we but find that underground path whereby cousin Geoffrey came and went from the pleasance, old friend," said he, "why—we might play the Yellow Lady to purpose!"
"Excellence," replied Warrenton, "I will undertake to bring you to the forest entrance of Master Will's castle within a score of minutes."
"Lead us, Warrenton—and I prithee be better guide than you have been so far in this adventure."
After taking many by-paths, and through a big tunnel-shaped cave, the path became dry again, and lighter: and soon they saw that the end was near. They emerged presently, tired and dirtied; and found themselves under the bank of a little jumping woodland river—far down in a gorge of rock and brake, studded and overhung with thick trees.
It was a wild spot: and only the notes of the birds and the rush of the falling water disturbed it. But ere they had proceeded a quarter of a mile up the bank of the stream a sudden bend in it brought them the harsh noise of desperate and near fighting.
Loud shouts and battle-cries sounded on their left; and, running speedily in this direction, our four adventurers chanced upon a strange sight.
It was strange by the manner of their view of it; for, havingclambered up the bank to the top of the gorge, they saw themselves on the highest edge of a spur of ground—with the low down rocky valley of the river behind, and before them a little narrow plain—as equally below them as was the water they had left. On this plain were a number of men engaged in deadly battle. Round and about were the thick dark woods of Barnesdale.
A moment's glance showed Robin that they had arrived too late to help Will o' th' Green by way of warning. The outlaw's foes were upon him, and seemingly had the robber and his band at a disadvantage.
The ground descended below the four onlookers so abruptly as to cut them off from the plain. They were near to the battle; and yet altogether remote from it.
"Our arrows must do duty for us, then," muttered Robin, grimly, soon as he understood this. "Fit shafts across your bows, friends, and aim with all your hearts in it. Let not those of either side see us. 'Tis thus that our services shall be of most value to Master Will."
They dropped to their knees and aimed their arrows carefully. They had full quivers with them, and Warrenton and Robin felt themselves in a manner to be pitted one against the other. The battle raged so furiously below, however, that for a minute these allies were compelled to remain idle—not daring to loose their shafts for fear of slaying friends as well as foes.
Sounds of a horn, shrill and impatient, suddenly called the soldiers back to their ranks beside Master Carfax. Robin spied this worthy now; and saw that he bestrode a black horseclumsily—as if armored indeed. Simeon evidently had withdrawn his men from a mêlée for fear that in it he might not be properly protected. He was seen to be issuing orders very peremptorily to the men.
Meanwhile the outlaws rallied themselves to their leader's side. They, were sadly decreased in numbers; and, whilst the living thus formed about in battle array, there were many poor fellows of both sides left upon the field who stirred not even to the imperative commands of their commanders.
Now was Robin's chance.
"Choose your man, each one of you," said he, in a suppressed eagerness; "and soon as the soldiers issue at the charge shoot down upon your mark."
Carfax gave an order almost as he spoke. Instantly Robin loosed his bow, and singing death flew from it. He overturned the soldier nearest to Master Simeon, even as Warrenton's shaft struck another dead at once.
The forester Berry and little Stuteley added to the confusion—both wounding the same soldier simultaneously. Then Carfax, believing that these arrows came from Will's band, sounded a charge and spurred his horse forward amongst his pikemen.
They rushed forward with swinging axe and clanking sword upon the outlaws, who now delivered a sudden stream of shafts. These Robin's band supplemented by shrewder arrows. Seven of the soldiers rolled over as they ran, killed forthwith; and Robin, having pricked Simeon's horse, shot him again in the ear whilst meaning to find his master.
The beast plunged wildly into the soldiers, trampling andscattering them. But many managed yet to meet the robbers, and the desperate hand-to-hand fighting was recommenced.
ROBIN HOOD AND HIS COMPANIONS LEND AID TO WILL O' TH' GREEN FROM AMBUSH Their arrows flew together, marvellous shots, each finding its prey.ROBIN HOOD AND HIS COMPANIONS LEND AID TO WILL O' TH' GREEN FROM AMBUSHTheir arrows flew together, marvellous shots, each finding its prey.
Robin bade the others cease. The four of them peered from out of their cover over the crest, and watched breathlessly. Carfax had fallen from his horse and lay floundering on the close grass. Stuteley sped a gooseshaft into his forearm ere Robin could check him.
Warrenton drew his master's attention and anger away from his esquire by a quick whisper.
"See, lording—quick! Look how some of the enemy do creep about Master Will; they will strike him and his fellows from the rear!"
"The two who lead them are not uniformed—like as not they are those treacherous ones whom I have such cause to remember."
So muttered Robin, with parted lips, and gasping his words disjointedly. "Smite them, Warrenton," cried he, suddenly and excitedly. "Speedily, instantly—or they will end this fight against us.Now!"
Their arrows flew together, marvellous shots, each finding its prey. The two wretches threw up their arms as they ran; and, uttering dismal cries, fell upon the earth, and in their death-struggles tore up vain handfuls of the soil.
"Follow, follow," called Robin, to his three faithful ones. "Locksley! A Locksley! To the rescue!"
They tumbled headlong down the slope, shouting vociferously as they came. The soldiers, alarmed and already disheartened, imagined that these eager enemies were butforerunners of a large reinforcement. Hastily they disengaged themselves from the outlaws, and, gathering up Master Carfax, rushed pell-mell with him backward to the woods on the right.
Will o' th' Green's few men hurried them with their arrows; and soon as Robin had come down to level ground he fell to streaming his shafts into the rout. He was bruised, begrimed, and cut about his face by the thorns and rocks; yet was so furious against Master Simeon and his myrmidons that these things were not even felt by him. Shouting "Locksley! Locksley!" more and more triumphantly, he ran alone in fierce pursuit.
The soldiers disappeared under the trees, and ran even then. Warrenton and the outlaws came on in support of young Robin; and the defeat of Carfax and his men was completed. They were chased through the woods of Barnesdale, which these wild outlaws knew so well. Some were shot with arrows mercifully; others fell under the cruel blows of the outlaws' short axes. A few escaped with Master Carfax back to the Sheriff of Nottingham—not one-third of those who had set out at his command. It was the most desperate of affairs yet betwixt the greenwood men and those representing law and order as conceived by the Sheriff. On either side many were killed—the outlaw band was reduced in numbers, and its leader, Will o' th' Green, was amongst those who were to plot and fight no more in Sherwood.
When Robin and the rest of them returned from their long chase, tired with an immense fatigue, they found sad work still before them. Robin tended Will himself, and bound uphis many wounds: and sought to beguile him to live—if but to spite Monceux and his wretches. But Will o' th' Green had been pierced too dreadfully by his enemies' darts: he had only strength to drink a little water and say his last words to his men.
In the dusk of this day he lay in Robin's arms, wizard no more; and asked that someone should give the call he knew so well—the strange, short signal upon the horn which ever had rallied these men. Then as they, with dejected faces, drew nigh to him, he spoke to them all—bidding them hate the laws and defy them so long as they were unjust and harsh. He counselled them to choose amongst themselves a new leader—one who would be impartial and honest; and the one who could bend the best bow.
"Be not robbers to any who are poor and who are good fellows—having only their poverty against them. Be kind to those who help you, but exact toll as heretofore of all who come through the greenwood. The rich to pay in money, and blood—if it be necessary."
He added these words with an effort; and his mind wandered in the shadowy fields of death. Robin saw how his fingers twitched, as if they plucked still the cord of his good yew bow. He smoothed back Will's dark hair from off his brow, and put water to the outlaw's lips. Will o' th' Green glanced up at him, and something of his old expression—half-grim, half-smiling—showed that he struggled still to hold hands with life.
"For you, Locksley," he muttered, puckering his brows, "there are two roads open. One, to yield thyself to Monceux and the rack—for not even your uncle at Gamewell shouldsave you, even did he so wish; the other—to join with these honest fellows and live a free life. What else is left to you? If you would be as dutiful to the laws as the earth to summer sun, it should not avail you. Your lord the Sheriff is in the hands of his girl—and she listens with willing ear to Master Carfax. Ask not how I know these things. Your cousin is outlawed——"
"I shall live in the greenwood, Will," answered Robin, quietly, "with your brave men and you—if so be I may. Have I won now the freedom of the forest?" He showed him the broken peacocked arrow which the Clerk of Copmanhurst had given him.
The outlaw held up his right hand and laid it on Robin's bowed head: "Upon you, Robin of Locksley, do I bestow, with this my last breath, full freedom of the forests of England," he said, very loudly. Then he relaxed from his frown to a rare smile. "Learn this sign——" he said, and showed Robin, with feeble fingers, how the greenwood men knew each other in any disguise. It was a simple signal, very easy to know, yet very sure. No one might suppose it given by accident—yet of design it appeared quite innocent. The smile was fading from Will's face as Robin repeated it carefully after him; and even as he spoke again he died.
"Farewell—friends all—take this brother into your good company, and make him and those with him right welcome. I pray you to remember and abide by those kindly rules which have always—always——"
His speech fell away into meaningless words, and the light left his face. He moved in Robin's arms and sighed. Then,as his body rolled slowly over, and he lay with his back turned to them, they saw that his worst wound was in it—a dastard's blow. So ended the life of Will o' th' Green—or Will of Cloudesley: he of whom many stories have been told in other books.
They took him up reverently and buried him in a secret place—so that none to this day can say where he lies. And the outlaws swore an oath of vengeance against him who had so foully slain their chief.
Robin guessed wisely that the mortal blow had been given by one of those two traitors in Will's own camp. Had they not been riding with Carfax in the early morn—not as prisoners-of-war—but as informers and spies?
The next day was passed in burying the dead of both sides. The outlaws accepted Robin without question as one full welcome amongst them; and Warrenton, Stuteley, and John Berry were also given the freedom of the woods and taught the signs and freemasonry of them.
The bodies of the soldiers and mercenaries were stripped and heaped together into a pit, and roughly covered with earth and leaves. Then the outlaws betook themselves to their caves to settle who should be chief of the band in Will's place.
Whilst they were employed in this difficult business, the Sheriff sent out another and larger body of armed men—obeying the insolent command of his Prince. Fear sat upon the soul of Monceux then: for he did not doubt that another suchdisaster as that which had chanced to his other men would mean disgrace and the end of his lord-shrievalty.
This second company who were captained by Hubert the Archer, with bandaged Carfax second in command, had an easy conquest, however, of Sherwood and Barnesdale—for none challenged them, nor questioned their proceedings in any respect. Nor was there sign left in the woods of Robin or the outlaws—they were vanished so utterly that Carfax conceived them all to have either died of their wounds or fled disconsolate from the neighborhood.
In either event this was most excellent news; and, having patrolled the forest and searched it indifferently well, the men-at-arms of Nottingham agreed that peace-loving folk had no more to fear from the wild spirits of Sherwood. They were gone, banished—and the King's forest was now safe of passage to all.
Carfax, poking here and there, found the fresh grave of his own fellows, and disturbed it mightily. He bade Hubert disinter them all; and pretended to recognize each one. Here was the arch-rebel Will of Cloudesley—this one was the second man of his band. Here was young Robin Fitzooth, as dead as mutton—and here was his fellow Stuteley. So Master Simeon went on, to his own satisfaction and to Hubert's, who foresaw large rewards to be paid for these poor dishonored bodies.
They brought three of them back, with every circumstance of importance. They were shown to the Prince as being the last remains of Will Cloudesley, Robin Fitzooth, and Hall the Outlaw—a well-known marauder in Will's company.
Prince John forthwith praised the pikemen and archers, and bade Monceux give them great rewards—a thing which vexed the mean Sheriff much. Then they all rode about and through the forest in a great hunt of the Royal deer, graciously attended by the Prince himself.
Monceux was forgiven; and Simeon, having quite recovered all his old self-esteem, was duly betrothed to the demoiselle Marie. A new Ranger was appointed at Locksley; and another house was found for him. No one said him nay.
A proclamation against all outlaws and freebooters having been issued and signed with many flourishes by John, he betook his Royal person to York, carrying lean-faced, smiling Carfax with him. Mistress Monceux hid her sorrow and devoted her energies forthwith towards the undoing of the maid Fitzwalter, against whom she yet nursed much spite.
The Prince stayed at Gamewell on his way, and patronized indulgently old George Montfichet, although the latter's dislike of his Royal guest was only too thinly veiled. Then John took farewell of Nottingham and Sherwood, making an easy business of it. Monceux had ridden out on this morning to make dutiful obeisance and escort the Prince through Locksley to the borders.
Outside the gates of Gamewell John delivered himself to the men-at-arms, retainers, burgesses, and citizens of Nottingham, who had inquisitively followed the Sheriff.
"We will not forget your hospitality, friends all," said he, in his slightly swaggering and yet withal effeminate way; "and see, in some measure of return for it, we leave you ourSherwood free from pestilent robbers and evil defiers of the law. When we came to Nottingham there were these and others; but now they are all driven out of our Royal forest—many slain with the arrows of my Hubert, or beaten with the staves of your own fellows. This surely is some sort of gift—see to it that you keep well that which we have secured for you."
Then he rode forth amid the cheerings of the crowd, Hubert and his followers scattering largesses as they rode.
All through that long winter Robin had lain hidden in the Barnesdale caves with the remains of the band of outlaws which had begun with Will of Cloudesley's advent and nigh ended with his death. At first there had been some quarrelling and jealousy amongst them as to who should be the new captain.
There were, with Robin and his three recruits, twenty and two men all told. These had decided upon many tests between themselves in order to settle who should lead; and when there were tests of archery Robin had beaten them all.
Yet he had no wish to set himself at their head, having sped his arrows so well more for the reason that a good bowman cannot but aim well when his fingers are upon his weapon. So he had said modestly that they must reckon without him, and that he would gladly obey the man the others should choose.
Then there had been fresh bickerings, and they were once nearly discovered by the Sheriff's foresters, who by some means stumbled upon one of their underground passages.
The winter brought with it many privations; and they decided at length to leave Barnesdale and go into the county of Lincoln. They made their ragged clothes as much like those of the King's Foresters as they could and then set out.
One thing had been agreed on: that they must have some new clothes and induce other bold spirits to join with them: else Sherwood would be lost to them for ever.
Robin had quite decided to cast in his lot with these men. He felt that they would be loyal to each other, and he knew that the only traitors which this band had known were now no more. A bitter hatred of the Sheriff; of lying Carfax and of Royalty, as personified by the unjust, indolent Prince, had moulded Robin's character into steel, as it were.
Robin had counselled this journey to Lincoln. In the secret caves about Barnesdale, Will of Cloudesley had amassed and stored away much wealth. It was useless to them here in Nottingham; but in Lincoln one of them might go in to the market and buy sufficient Lincoln cloth and needles and thread to fit them all out.
Swords might also be obtained; and some shirts of chain-mail, new bows and new arrows.
The band started away under cover of a crisp February night, and had come into sight of Lincoln within three days. They had just finished their morning meal of the third day when they were overtaken by a stoutish man whose clothing was of the most remarkable description. He wore a cloak which was so clouted and patched that the first part of it hung about him in a dozen folds. He had on his head three hats, one rammed tightly over the other, so that he cared neither for wind nor rain. On his back was a bag held by a thong of strong leather about his neck. In his right hand was a long crooked stick.
The outlaws had naturally hidden themselves at first sound of his footsteps. They watched him go by, and passed jests between themselves concerning him. Stuteley begged that he might be allowed to play a joke upon the fellow.
"Go after him by all means, if you will," said Robin; "but be polite, for I have it in my mind that this is a man known to me. I would that I could hear him speak."
"Follow me, master, warily, and you shall hear him speak to a purpose!" cried little Stuteley.
When the stranger found that someone walked behind him, he quickened his pace. Stuteley called out to him, but he made no reply.
"Stand, as I bid you, fellow," cried little Stuteley again, "for you shall tarry and speak to me."
"By my troth," said the other, answering him at last, "I have no leisure for talk with you, friend. 'Tis very far to my lodging and the morning grows. Therefore, I will lose my dinner if I do not hasten."
"I have had no meat nor bread betwixt my lips this day," retorted Will Stuteley, coming up with him. "And I do not know where I may get any, for if I go to a tavern they will ask me for money, of which I have not one groat, unless you will lend me some until we do meet again?"
The clouted man replied very peevishly: "I have no money to lend you, friend; for I have lost the little I had in a foolish wager made at Nottingham. But you are a younger man than I, though you seem to be more lazy; so I can promise you a long fast if you wait until you have money from me."
Now, something in the man's tones roused memories in little Stuteley, yet he could not resolve them into shape. The fellow's face was so obscured by the three hats that one could scarcely get a peep at it.
"Since we have met this day," said Stuteley, wrathfully, "I will have money of you, even though it be but one penny. Therefore, lay aside your cloak and the bag about your neck; or I will tear it open. And should you offer to make any noise my arrows shall pierce your fat body like unto a cullender."
The man laughed discordantly; and again Stuteley thought he recognized him.
"Do you think, friend, that I have any fear of your arrows? Stand away or I will beat you into grist."
Stuteley bent his bow and set an arrow upon the cord, but not so quickly as to save himself from a mighty thwack from the man's cudgel. The little esquire sprang back, and in doing so dropped both bow and arrow. Nothing dismayed, he drew his sword, and engaged at once with the stranger.
Their blows fell about each other's bodies like hail, and Stuteley found that not all his Cumberland tricks could help him with so furious an opponent. His enemy had little skill, but plenty of strength and agility; his stick whirled and twirled, beating down Stuteley's guard time after time. He was, besides, a bigger man and much older.
Robin's esquire began to see that he had met a sturdy opponent, and even as this tardy knowledge came into his mind, the stranger gave him a crushing body blow, and he tumbled fairly to the ground. There Stuteley lay, with closed eyes and white face.
"'Tis a pity to rest so soon, friend," remarked the stranger, with irony. "Would it not be better to snatch my money from me, and take your ease afterwards in that tavern which you wot of?"
Stuteley answered nothing, but lay deadly still. Robin and the rest were too far behind to perceive what had happened. The strange-looking man turned away without bestowing another glance on his little enemy, and soon his quaint figure disappeared over the brow of the next hill.
Within a dozen minutes the outlaws came up and discovered poor Will Stuteley lying on the ground, faintly moaning. They bathed his head, but could find no wounds. Robin was much upset, and began to eagerly question his esquire so soon as he showed signs of returning to his wits.
"Tell me, little Will, what evil mischance has fallen to you?" asked Robin, with emotion.
Stuteley raised his head and looked about him in a dazed manner.
"I have been all through the county of Cumberland, master," said he, at last, in a weak voice, "and I have wrestled and fenced with many; yet never since I was a child and under my father's hand have I been so put to it." He shut his eyes again; then opened them viciously. "I encountered with our fellow-traveller and saw no reason to fear such a clown. Yet he has scratched my back so heartily that I do fear it never will be straight again."
"Nay, nay, Will. I'll nurse you well, be sure on't," murmured Robin, full of pity and despair.
"Dear master, I speak but as I feel," continued Stuteley, half shutting his eyes. "But the rascal has not gone far from us; and were some of you to hasten, doubtless he would be brought to book, and I might see him punished ere I die. Goyou, old Warrenton, you are a stubborn fighter; and take John Berry and two of the rest."
"I'll e'en fetch him to you myself, malapert," said Warrenton.
"He is more deadly than your Lady in Yellow, I promise you," said Stuteley. "Be wary, and let at least six of you surround him."
"That would be wasting the time of five of us," answered old Warrenton, in an off-hand way; "I will go alone."
"Let someone then prepare bandages for our Warrenton, and take my shirt for them. He will need such service."
Warrenton and Berry, with another, ran off at this. Robin saw that Stuteley was not so near his end as he affected to imagine; and made him more comfortable beneath a tree, covered him with a cloak, gave him some drink, and ministered to him considerately.
The old man-at-arms fully intended to capture their quarry alone; feeling to be on his mettle, as it were. So he ran as fast as he could before the other two; but not so fast as to catch up with the man he sought.
Presently he espied him far down the road; and, knowing a shorter path to Lincoln, whither he judged the man was bound, Warrenton called to the others and they struck away from the road.
They made their plans as they walked, and at length cut off the enemy. He did not look so formidable as Stuteley had painted him; and as he drew near they felt this was an easy business. Two of them sprang out upon him, and one, seizing his twisted stick, dragged it violently out of his hands.Warrenton flashed a dagger at his breast, saying sinisterly: "Friend, if you utter any alarm I will be your confessor and hangman. Come back with us forthwith and you may end your fight properly with our companion. He waits greedily for you."
"Give me the chance," answered the fellow, valiantly, "and I will fight with you all."
Berry and the other outlaw instantly gave him the frog's march backward along the road; but the villain struggled so fiercely that they presently began to tire.
"Now grant me my life," said their prisoner, "and I will give you good money to the sum of one hundred pieces. It is all my savings, which I promised to give into the hands of a wicked usurer in Lincoln."
"Well," said Berry, pausing, "this is a fair sum, and might heal our companion's wounds very comfortably. Hold him fast, comrades, whilst I go back for his staff. Without that he cannot do much harm."
Whilst he was gone the fellow began again. "I am a miller, friends," said he, much more at ease already, "and have but lately returned from doing a good bargain in wheat. Also, I am esteemed a fair archer, and, since I perceive that you are foresters all, this matter will tell with you in my favor. I could draw you a pretty bow had I but the use of my arms."
"Nay, master miller, but we would sooner hold you tight, and take your skill for granted," answered the outlaw.
Berry came back and stuck the staff into the ground at a little distance.
"Now count out your pieces, miller," said Warrenton.
There was a keen wind blowing and the miller turned about so as not to face it directly they gave him half-freedom. Warrenton said gruffly to him: "Count, miller; count truly and honestly."
"Let me open my bag then," said the rogue. He unfastened it from his neck, and, setting it on the ground, took off his patched cloak. He placed his bag carefully upon it, holding the bag as though it were heavy indeed. Then he crouched down over it and fumbled at the leathern thong.
The outlaws had all gathered closely before him as he plunged in his fingers. In the bag were too pecks of fine meal; and as soon as the cunning miller had filled his hands full he suddenly drew them out and dashed the white powder fair into the eager faces of the men about him.
Then he snatched up the bag by the two corners and shook out the rest of the meal. It blew in a blinding cloud about Warrenton and the rest, and filled their eyes so utterly as to leave them all three at the miller's mercy.
He caught up his stick and began to belabor them soundly.
"Since I have dirtied your clothes, friends," cried he, between the blows, "'tis only right that I should dust them for you! Here are my hundred 'pieces'; how like you them?"
Each word was accompanied by a tremendous thwack. He fell so heartily into the business as to become unwary. Robin and the rest, hearing the shouting and noise, came speeding down the road, with Stuteley recovered already. They chanced on a strange sight.
Berry, old Warrenton, and the outlaw were dancing aboutin an agony of rage, helpless and blind, and striking vain blows at empty air. The man with the three hats was belaboring them with his staff so thoroughly as to have become a man with no hat at all. They all were tumbled upon the road.
"Why all this haste?" roared he, not noticing Robin or the others. "Why will you not tarry for my money? 'Tis strange that no man will wait upon me this day, whilst I am in so generous a mood!" He sprang up and down, whacking them without ceasing. His feet encountered one of his many hats and ruthlessly kicked it aside.
"'Tis Much the Miller!" cried Robin, recognizing him by his voice "'Tis the miller who helped to save me in Sherwood. Friend, you have never yet paid me my guinea, and I now do claim it of you."
Master Much ceased his occupation. He turned warily about to Robin. So soon as he had looked well at him, he dropped his stick and came over very frankly to him.
"So it's the gipsy?" said he, grinning all over his broad face. "And they have neither flayed you nor hanged you yet? And are these fellows with you?"
"We are the free men of Sherwood," said Robin, "and were coming to Lincoln to get ourselves new clothes and weapons. Also we had hoped to find other good men and true willing to join with us."
Much went up to Stuteley, and craved his pardon very handsomely at this. "Had I but looked at you, friend, I might have known you for the other gipsy, and these fellows for some of those who did save you both from Master Carfax.That is always my way: but never have I been so sorry for't as on this day, for now, through being too hasty, I have lost your good will."
"Nay, Master Miller, but that is not so," said Stuteley.
Warrenton and Berry at first were inclined to play with the miller as he had with them; but Robin pleaded so well for good fellowship that, after a little, peace was proclaimed.
Much, to atone for his misdeeds, undertook to do their business in Lincoln; and set himself busily to work on their behalf. He found them all comfortable and quiet quarters where they might stay unnoticed and unmolested, and Stuteley went with Robin to buy the cloth for their suits.
They stayed in and about the old town for nearly three weeks, until all were well equipped. Much asked that he might join with them and bring his friend Midge and a few other merry souls.
Robin explained to him that they had rules, which, although few and simple, were strict, and that they had, at present, no especial leader, since all had elected to remain equal and free, observing the same laws and pledged to each other in loyalty unto death. A common bond of independence bound them.
"Why, then, master, we are your men," said Much; "for we are all sick to death of the Normans and their high-handed ways, to tell truth; and right gladly will we take service with you."