Henry Gilbert - Robin Hood

by Robin Hood (Lit)

  "'Tis time ye ceased plotting, lads," he said, with a curious break in his voice. "Ye are but serfs, of no more worth than the cattle ye clean or the gray swine ye feed-written down on the lawyers' parchments with the ploughs, the mattocks, the carts, and the hovels ye lie in, and to be sold at the lord's will as freely!"

  Tears were in his voice, so great was his passion, so deeply did his knowledge move him.

  "I tell thee thou shouldst creep back to the sties in which ye live," he went on, "and not pretend that ye have voice or wish in what shall befall ye. For the lord is sick of his unruly serfs, and tomorrow _ tomorrow he will sell thee off his land!"

  A great breath of surprise and rage rose from the men before him.

  "Sell us?" they cried. "He will sell us?"

  "Ay, he will sell some ten of thee. The parchment is already written which shall pass thee to Lord Arnald of Shotley Hawe."

  "That fiend in the flesh!" said Robin, "and enemy of God _ that flayer of poor peasants' skins! But, lads, to sell thee! Oh, vile!"

  A great roar, like the roar of maddened oxen, rose from the throats of the villeins. Oh, it was true that, in strict law, the poor villeins could be sold like cattle, but on this manor never had it been known to be done. They held their little roods of land by due services rendered, and custom ruled that son should inherit after father, and all things should be done according to what the older men said was the custom of the manor.

  But now to be rooted out of the place they and their folk had known for generations, and sold like cattle in a market-place! Oh, it was not to be borne!

  "Man," said one, "where got you this evil news?"

  "From Rare, man to Lord Arnald's steward," replied Much. "I met him at the alehouse in Blythe, and he told it me with a laugh, saying that Guy of Gisborne had told the steward we were an unruly and saucy lot of knaves whom he knew it would be a pleasure for his lordship to tame."

  "Ye say there are ten of us to be sold?" asked a timid voice in the rear. "Do ye know who these be?"

  "What matter?" roared one man. "It touches us all. For me, by the holy rood, I will run to the woods, but I will put my mark on the steward ere I go."

  "Rare knew not the names of any," said Much. "What matter, as Hugh of the Forde says. There are ten of ye. They are those who have given the hardest words to Guy of Gisborne, and have felt the whip most often across their backs at the post."

  "How many of us are here, lads?" said Will the Bowman in a hard voice.

  "We were thirty a while ago," said one with a harsh laugh. "But now we are but fourteen, counting Much."

  "Where is Scarlet and his little lad?" asked Robin. He had suddenly remembered that his friend was not among others _ yet Scarlet had been the boldest in opposing the unjust demands and oppressive exactions of the steward.

  "Will Scarlet lies in the pit!" said Much, "nigh dead with a hundred lashes. Tomorrow he will be taken to Doncaster, where the king's justice sits, to lose his right hand for shooting the king's deer."

  "By the Virgin!" cried Robin, "that shall not be. For I will take him from the pit this night." He started off, but many hands held him back.

  "Master, we will go with thee!" cried the others.

  "See here, Master Robin," said Will the Bowman, speaking quietly, but with a hard ring in his voice. "We be fourteen men who are wearied of the ill we suffer daily. If we do naught now against the evil lord who grinds us beneath his power we shall be for ever slaves. I for one will rather starve in the greenwood than suffer toil and wrongful ruling any more. What say you, lads all?"

  "Yea, yea! We will go to the greenwood!" they cried.

  "Whether Master Robin leads us or not, we will go!" Robin's resolution was quickly taken.

  "Lads," he cried, "I will be one with you. Already have I done a deed which I knew would be done ere long, and I am doubly outlaw and wolf's-head. The abbot's men-at-arms came hither while! was away and claimed my lands. Scadlock and my good lads resisted them, and were like to suffer death for doing so. With my good bow I shot five of the lord's men, and their bodies lie in a row beneath that wall."

  "I saw them as I entered," said Will the Bowman, "and a goodly sight it was. Had you not slain Hubert of Lynn, I had an arrow blessed by a goodly hermit for his evil heart, for the ill he caused my dear dead lad Christopher. Now, lads, hold up each your hand and swear to be true and faithful till your death day to our brave leader, Robert of Locksley."

  All held up their hands, and in solemn tones took the oath.

  "Now, lads, quickly follow," said Robin.

  In a few moments the garth was empty, and the dark forms of Robin and his men were to be seen passing over the fields under the starlit sky.

  There was not one backward look as the men passed through Fangthief Wood and came out on the wold behind the village. From here they could dimly see the little group of hovels lying huddled beside the church, the dull water of the river gleaming further still, and the burble and roar of the stream as it flowed through the millrace came faintly up to their ears.

  In those days, whenever the villein raised his bended back from the furrows, and his eyes, sore with the sunglare or the driving rain, sought the hut he called home with thoughts of warmth and food, he was also reminded that for any offence which he might commit, his lord or the steward had speedy means of punishment. For, raised on a hill as near as possible to the huts of the serfs, was the gaunt gallows, and, near by, lay the pit. Gallows or Galley Hill is still the name which clings to a green hill beside many a pretty village, though the dreadful tree which bore such evil fruit has long since rotted or been hewn down. In the village street itself were the stocks, so that he who was fastened therein should escape none of the scorn, laughter, or abuse of his familiars.

  It was thus with the village of Birkencar. On the wold to the north were the gallows and the pit, only a few yards from the manor-house, in the parlor of which Guy of Gisborne dealt forth what he was pleased to term "justice." The manor-house was now dark and silent; doubtless Guy was sleeping on the good stroke of business he had done in getting rid of his most unruly, stiff-necked serfs.

  Over the thick grass of the grazing fields the steps of Robin and his men made no noise, and, having arrived at a little distance from where the gallows stood, Robin bade the others wait until he should give them a sign. Then, passing on as quietly as a ghost, Robin approached the prison built under ground, in which serfs were confined when they awaited even sterner justice than that which the lord of the manor could give.

  The prison was entered by a door at the foot of a flight of steps dug out of the soil. Robin crept to the top of the steps and looked down. He did not expect to find any guard at the door, since the steward would not dream that anyone would have so much hardihood as to attempt a rescue from the lord's prison.

  As Robin scanned keenly the dark hole below him, down which the starlight filtered faintly, he was surprised to see a small figure crouching at the door. He heard a groan come from within the prison, and the form beneath him seemed to start and cling closer to the door.

  "O uncle," said a soft voice, which he knew was that of little Gilbert of the White Hand, "I thought thou didst sleep awhile, and that thy wounds did not grieve thee so much. Therefore I kept quiet and did not cry. Oh, if Master Robin were but here!"

  "Laddie, thou must go home," came the weak tones of Scarlet from within the prison. "If Guy or his men catch thee here they will beat thee. That I could not bear. Laddie, dear laddie, go and hide thee somewhere."

  "O Uncle Will, I can't," wailed the little lad. "It would break my heart to leave thee here _ to think thou wert lying here in the dark with thy poor back all broken and hurt, and no one near to say a kind word. Uncle, I have prayed so much this night for thee _ I am sure help must come soon. Surely the dear sweet Virgin and good Saint Christopher will not turn deaf ears to a poor lad's prayers." "But, laddie mine, thou art sick thyself," came Scarlet's voice. "To stay there all night will cause thee great ill, and
_ "

  "Oh, what will it matter if thou art taken from me," cried the little boy, all his fortitude breaking down. He wept bitterly, and pressed with his hands at the unyielding door. "If they slay thee, I will make them slay me too, for my life will be all forlorn without thee, dear, dear Uncle Will!"

  "Hallo, laddie, what's all this coil about?" cried Robin in a hearty voice, as he rose and began to descend the steps.

  Little Gilbert started up half in terror; then, as he realized who it was, he rushed toward Robin, and seizing his hands covered them with kisses. Then, darting back to the door, he put his lips to a crack and cried delightedly:

  "I said so! I said so! God and His dear Saints and the Virgin have heard me. Here is Robin come to take you out."

  "Have they scored thee badly, Will?" asked Robin.

  "Ay, Robin, dear man," came the answer with a faint laugh; "worse than a housewife scores her sucking pig."

  "Bide quiet a bit, lad," replied Robin, "and I'll see if what axe has done axe can't undo."

  With keen eyes he examined the staples through which the ring-bolt passed. Then with two deft blows with his axe and a wrench with his dagger he had broken the bolt and pulled open the door. The little lad rushed in at once, and with a knife began carefully to cut his uncle's bonds.

  Robin gave the cry of a plover, and Scadlock with two of his own villeins hurried up.

  "Quick, lads," he said. "Bring out Will Scarlet; we must take him to Outwoods and bathe and salve his wounds."

  In a few moments, as gently as was possible, they brought poor Scarlet forth and laid him on the grass. A hearty but silent handgrip passed between him and Robin, while little Gilbert, his eyes bright, but his lips dumb with a great gratitude, kissed Robin's hand again and again.

  "Where are the others?" asked Robin of Scadlock, when two of the men had raised Scarlet on their shoulders and were tramping down hill.

  "I know not," said Scadlock. "They were whispering much among themselves when you had gone, and suddenly I looked round and they were not there. I thought some wizard had spirited them away for the moment, but soon I saw some of them against the stars as they ran bending over the hill."

  "Whither went they?" asked Robin, a suspicion in his mind.

  "Toward the manor-house," was the reply.

  "Go ye to Outwoods," Robin commanded. "Do all that is needed for Scarlet, and await me there."

  With rapid strides Robin mounted the down, while the others with their burden wended their way toward Fangthief Wood. When Robin reached the top of the down the manor-house stood up before him all black against the stars. He ran forward to the high bank which surrounded it, but met no one. Then he found the great gate, which was open, and he went into the garth and a few steps along the broad way leading up to the door.

  Suddenly a form sprang up before him _ that of Much, the Miller's son.

  "Ay, 'tis Master Robin," he said in a low voice, as if to others, and from behind a tree came Will Stuteley and Kit the Smith.

  "What's toward, lads?" asked Robin. "Think ye to break in and slay Guy? I tell ye the manor-house can withstand a siege from an armed troop, and ye have no weapons but staves and your knives."

  "Master Robin," said Will the Bowman, "I would that ye stood by and did naught in this matter. 'Tis a villein deed for villein fowk to do. 'Tis our right and our deed; in the morn when we're in the greenwood we'll do thy biddin' and look to no one else."

  A flame suddenly shot up from a heap of dried brush laid against a post of the house before them, then another near it, and still another. The sun had been shining fiercely the past two weeks, and everything was as dry as tinder. Built mainly of wood the manor-house would fall an easy prey to the flames.

  "But at least ye must call out the women," urged Robin. "There is the old dame, Makin, and the serving-wench-would ye burn innocent women as well?"

  Already the inmates were aware of their danger. A face appeared at a window shutter. It was that of Guy. A stone hit the frame as he looked out and just missed him as he dodged back.

  Huge piles of brushwood had been heaped round the house, and these were burning furiously in many places, and the planks of the walls had caught fire, and were crackling and burning fiercely.

  "Guy of Gisborne!" came the strong voice of Will the Bowman, "thy days are ended. We have thee set, like a tod [fox] in his hole. But we've no call to burn the women folk. Send 'em out, then, but none o' thy tricks."

  They heard screams, and soon the front door was flung open and two women stood in the blazing entrance. One of the men with a long pole raked the blazing brushwood away to give them space to come out. They ran forward and the door closed. Next moment it had opened again, and a spear came from it. It struck the villein with the pole full in the throat, and without a groan he fell.

  A yell of fury rose from the others who were standing by, and some were for rushing forward to beat down the door.

  "Ha' done and keep back!" came the stern level tones of Will the Bowman. "There's nobbut the steward in the house and he'll burn. Heap up the wood, and keep a keen watch on the back door and the windows."

  An arrow came from an upper window and stuck in a tree near which Will was standing. Will plucked out the quivering shaft and looked at it coolly.

  "Say, Makin," he said to the old woman who had come from the house, "are there any of the abbot's archers in th' house?"

  "Noa," replied the old housekeeper; "nobbut the maistet."

  "I thought 'twas so," replied Will. "Yet he should shoot a bolt better than that."

  "You're no doomed to die by an arrow," said the old dame, and laughed, showing her yellow toothless gums.

  "No, maybe so," replied Will, "and maybe not. I lay no store by thy silly' talk, Makin."

  "Nor will the maistet die by the fire ye've kindled so fine for un," went on the old woman, and laughed again.

  Will the Bowman looked at the fiercely burning walls of the house and made no answer. But he smiled grimly. Who could escape alive from this mass of twisting and whirling flames?

  Suddenly from the rear of the house came cries of terror. Robin, followed by Will, quickly ran round, and in the light of the burning house they saw the villeins on that side with scared faces looking and pointing to a distance. They turned in the direction indicated, and saw what seemed to be a brown horse running away over the croft.

  Glancing back they saw that the door of a storehouse which adjoined the manor-house was open, though its wood and flame were burning. With a cry of rage Will the Bowman suddenly started running toward the horse.

  "Come back! come back!" cried the villeins in terrified voices. "'Tis the Spectre Beast! 'Twill tear thee to pieces!"

  But he still ran on, and as he ran they could see him trying to notch an arrow to the bow he held in his hand.

  "Whence did it come?" asked Robin of the villeins.

  "It burst on a sudden from the house, with a mane all of fire and its eyes flashing red and its terrible mouth open," was the reply. "It ran at Bat the Coalman there, and I thought he was doomed to be torn to pieces, but the Bargast turned and dashed away over the croft."

  "I think Guy has escaped you," said Robin, who suspected what had happened.

  "How meanst tha?" asked Bat the Charcoal-burner.

  "I doubt not that Guy of Gisborne has wrapped himself in some disguise and frightened you, and has now got clear away," replied Robin.

  "But 'twas the Spectre Mare!" the villeins asserted. "We saw its mane all afire, and its red flashing eyes and its terrible jaws all agape."

  Robin did not answer. He knew it was in vain to fight against the superstition of the poor villeins. Instead, he went back to where he had left Makin, the old woman.

  "Makin," he said, "did thy master flay a brown horse but lately?"

  "Ay, but two days agone."

  "And where was the hide?"

  "In th' store beyond the house."

  "Thou saidst thy master should not die by fire, Makin?"

/>   "Ay," replied the old woman, and her small black eyes in a weazened yellow face looked narrowly into Robin's.

  "Will the Bowman hath gone to shoot thy master," went on Robin; "but I think he will not catch him. I think thou shouldst not bide here till Will comes back, Makin. He will be hot and angry, and will strike blindly if he guesses."

  The old woman smiled, and gave a little soft laugh. Then, with a sudden anger and her eyes flashing, she turned upon Robin, and in a low voice said:

  "And could I do aught else? A hard man he's been and a hard man he'll be to his last day _ as hard to me as to a stranger. But these arms nursed him when he was but a wee poor bairn. 'Twas I told him what to do wi' the hide of the old mare. Could I do aught else?"

  "Ay," said Robin, "I know thou'st been mother to a man who has but a wolf's heart. But now, get thee gone ere Will of Stuteley comes."