"I hear that his son hath joined that villainous robber and murderer, Robin Hood," said the justice. "Sheriff," he went on, turning to that officer, "you must take strong measures to root out that band of vipers who haunt Barnisdale. He hath not only, as I hear, slain Sir Ranulf of the Waste, but he hath burnt down his castle also."
"Far be it from me, sir justice," said the prior boldly, "to take the part of so great a robber, but what he hath done, hath been done by barons and lords of our county within this last year, and none of them ever received punishment from thee or from any of the king's justices!"
Sir Niger glared fiercely at the prior and muttered something under his red beard. The king's justice looked angrily at the speaker and could find nothing to say, for he knew it was true that when powerful knights Such as de Belame and Sir Niger did evil, their wealth and their influence shielded them from punishment.
"This I know," said the abbot hastily, "that if Sir Herbrand of Werrisdale doth not come with four hundred pounds ere this day be done, he loses his land and is utterly disinherited."
"It is still very early," said the prior, "for the day hath but half gone. It is a great pity that he should lose his land. His son slew the knight, Sir Ivo, in fair fight, and ye do Sir Herbrand much wrong so to oppress him. He is but a poor man with no powerful friends to aid him."
"Thou art ever against me, thou quarrelsome man," said the abbot, and his heavy face went red with anger. "I never say aught but thou dost contradict me."
"I would have no more than justice done against high and low, knight or villein," said the prior sturdily.
Just then there came in the high cellarer, the officer who looked to the provisions which had to be supplied to the abbey. He was so corpulent in body and red in face that it almost seemed that he partook more than was good of the food and drink over which he had control.
"Ha! ha!" he said, and laughed in a fat wheezy way; "this is the day when Sir Herbrand de Tranmire must lose his land if he pay us not four hundred pounds. I'll dare swear that he is dead or hanged, and will not come hither, and so we'll have his land."
"I dare well undertake with thee," said the justice, "that the knight will not come today. And as I did lend thee some of the four hundred pounds, I count that I gain more than I sent thee, seeing that the knight's lands are worth much more than what they are pledged for."
"Ye say right," said the abbot. "We be all sharers in the land of the knight except Sir Niger, and he seeks revenge alone."
"Come you now to meat," said the cellarer, and he led the way to the wide hall, where all the company sat down to a rich meal, served on silver platters by pages in fine attire. They laughed and jested as they ate, for they felt sure that the knight could not pay the money he owed, and therefore they would all make a great profit out of his land.
In the middle of their feasting there came the knight himself into the hall. He looked sad and sorrowful, and was dressed not in the rich clothes which Robin had given him, but in his old and worn garments. Behind him came Little John, clothed like a poor squire, in patched and soiled jerkin and ragged hose.
"God save you all!" said the knight, kneeling with one knee on the floor.
The abbot looked at him, and gladdened to see how mean and poor he looked. "I have come on the day thou didst fix for me, father," went on the knight.
"Hast thou brought my money?" asked the abbot in a harsh voice.
"Not one penny," said the knight and shook his head sadly.
The abbot laughed. "Thou art an unlucky fellow!" he said, mocking him. Then raising his flagon of wine, he said to the justice:
"Sir justice, drink to me, for I think we shall have all we hoped to get."
Then, having drained the flagon, the abbot turned and said to the knight:
"What dost thou do here, then, if thou hast not brought my money?"
"To pray you, father, for a little further time," said the knight in a sad voice. "I have striven hard to find the money, and if thou wouldst give me but four more months I shall be able to make up the sum due to thee."
"The time is over, my man," said the justice in a scornful voice. "As thou hast not the money, thou wilt no longer have thy land."
"Oh, for sweet charity's sake," prayed the knight, "do thou be my friend, sir justice, and shield me from these that would strip me to see me starve."
"I am a friend of the abbot's," said the justice coldly, "and I will see naught but justice done between thee. If thou hast not the money, thou must lose thy land. 'Tis the law, and I will see it fulfilled, hark ye!"
Then the knight turned to the sheriff. "Good sir sheriff," he said, "do ye plead with the abbot on my behalf to grant me a little longer time."
"Nay," said the sheriff, "I will not _ I may not."
At length the knight, still kneeling, turned to the abbot.
"I pray thee, good sir abbot," he pleaded, "be my friend and grant me grace. Hold ye my land until I make up the amount which is due to thee. I will be true man to thee in all things, and serve thee rightfully."
"Now by the rood," said the abbot, and he was furiously angry, "thou art wasting thy breath to ask such foolish prayers. I tell thee thou mayest get other land where thou wilt, but thy land is mine now, and never more shalt thou possess it."
"By my faith," replied the knight, and he laughed bitterly; "thus is tested indeed the friendship which thou didst once profess to me!" The abbot looked evilly upon the knight, for he did not like to be reminded of such things in the presence of the enemies of Sir Herbrand.
"Out upon thee, traitorous and cozening man!" he cried. "Thou didst make the bond to pay me on this day, and thou hast not the money. Out! thou false knight! Speed thou out of my hall!"
"Thou liest, abbot!" cried the good knight, and got up from his knees. "I was never a false knight, but ever a man of honor. In many lands have I fought, and in jousts and tournaments have I borne a lance before King Henry and the kings of France and Germany. And ever in all places did I get praise until I came hither in thy hall, sir abbot!"
The justice was moved at the noble knight's words, and he thought the abbot had been harsh and oppressive. Therefore he turned to Abbot Robert and said:
"What wilt thou give him beyond the four hundred pounds so that he release all claim on his land to thee?" Sir Niger looked black, and growled at the justice in his beard. "Give him naught!" he said in a low tone to the abbot.
"I'll give him a hundred pounds!" said the abbot.
"Nay, 'tis worth two hundred _ six hundred pounds in all," urged the justice.
"Nay, by the rood!" cried the knight and came to the foot of the table, and with flashing eyes, he looked forward from one to other of his enemies. "I know thy plots against me," he went on. "Ye foul living monks desire my land, for thou art ever yearning to add acre to acre and to grind down the souls and bodies of thy poor villeins to get more wealth from them. Thou, Sir Niger, wouldst revenge thyself of the death of thy kinsman, whom my brave son slew in fair and open combat. But chiefly thou desirest to have vengeance upon me because thou art not bold enough to seek for Robin Hood, who aided my son against thee. Therefore thou wouldst ruin and oppress me who cannot fight against the evil power of your Wrangby lords. But I tell thee, have a care how far thou goest. As for thee, sir abbot, here are thy four hundred pounds!"
With that he drew a bag from his breast, untied the mouth and emptied the golden coins upon the table.
"Have thy gold, abbot," he said mockingly, "and much good may it do thy immortal soul."
The prior came forward with two monks, and having counted the gold and found it was the proper amount, the prior made out a quittance and handed it to the knight. Meanwhile the abbot sat still, dumbfounded and full of shame, and would eat no more. The faces of the others also showed how bitterly they felt the way in which the knight had turned the tables upon them. Sir Niger le Grym, with a red and angry face, chewed his nether lip and darted fierce glances at the knight, who stood boldly meeting his g
aze.
"Sir abbot," said the knight, waving the receipt in their faces, "now have I kept my word, and I have paid ye to the full. Now shall I have my land again for aught that ye can say or do."
With that he turned and strode out of the door, followed by Little John. Getting on their horses, they went back to their inn, where they changed their clothes, and having dined, rode out of the town and took the road toward the west, for the knight desired much to reach home swiftly, to tell his dear wife how well he had sped, thanks to the noble kindness of Robin Hood.
"Sir knight," said Little John, as they rode together through the forest ways a few miles from York, "I liked not the evil look upon that knight's face who sat at table with the abbot. 'Twere well to take heed against a sudden onfall or an ambush in a secret place."
"I fear not Sir Niger le Grym," replied the knight, "nor any other knight so he come against me singly. But the Wrangby knights are full of treachery, and seldom fight except in twos or threes. Therefore thy words are wise and I will take heed. Do thou leave me now, good woodman, for I would not take thee so far out of thy way."
"Nay," said Little John, "I may not leave thee in this forest. My master said I was to be thy squire, and I would stay with thee in case thou needest me until thou hast reached thy own lands."
"Thou art a faithful fellow," said Sir Herbrand, "and
I would that I could reward thee. But as thou knowest I am bare of money and jewels."
"I need no such rewards, I thank thee, sir knight," replied Little John. "I was ever ready to go out of my way for the chance of a good fight, and I think we shall have a few knocks ere we have gone far, or I know not a murderous look in a man's eyes."
Little John felt sure that Sir Niger le Grym had meditated treachery when Sir Herbrand had put down the money, and he did not doubt that at some likely spot the knight would be set upon and perhaps killed in revenge.
As they rode along both kept a sharp lookout when the road narrowed and ran through thick woods, but they cleared the forest, and toward the end of the afternoon they found themselves upon the desolate moors, and there had as yet been no sign of their enemy. But now they were in the wild country, where the power of Sir Isenbart, Sir Niger and their evil companions was strongest, and the two riders pushed on swiftly, hoping to reach the town of Stanmore before nightfall.
In this solitary country they met few people except a shepherd or two, or a couple of villeins now 'and then passing homeward from some errand. Once they saw a hawking-party in the distance, and another time they met a band of merchants with their baggage ponies. At length they began to mount a long and steep ascent toward a high ridge called Cold Kitchen Rigg, at the top of which was a clump of fir-trees, their heads all bent one way by the strong wind which seemed always to blow up there.
As they pushed their jaded horses up the last few yards, suddenly from between the bushes beside the trees came the sound of a whizzing arrow, and next moment a bolt rattled harmlessly against Little John's buckler, which hung beside his knee, and then fell to the ground. Glancing down at it he saw it had a short black shaft, and knew at once who it was that thus warned him. He called to the knight, who rode a few paces before him, "Ware the trees, sir knight!" But even as he spoke, out from the firs came a horseman in mail armor, with lance set, and rushed at Sir Herbrand. At the same time, from the other side of the narrow road another horsed knight dashed out with a huge mace in his hand and came toward Little John. The road was steep, and they thought that the speed with which they came down the track Would without doubt dash the two riders to the ground. But both the knight and John were prepared in a measure for the attack. Sir Herbrand had drawn his sword as he heard the arrow whiz from the bush, and now dressed his shield, so that when the first knight sped against him he parried the lance with his buckler, and as his opponent, foiled of his blow, swept helplessly by him he brought his sword down upon the other's neck with such force that the man rolled from the saddle. The horse careered madly down the hill, and the knight's spur catching in the stirrup, he was dragged along the road, his body leaping and bumping over the rough places.
Next moment, however, a third knight had come swiftly from among the trees, and had attacked Sir Herbrand with his sword so fiercely, that on the steep road it required all the good knight's strength to keep his horse from falling, and at the same time to ward off his enemy's shrewd blows.
As for Little John, he was in hard case. So fiercely had the second knight dashed at him that John scarcely had time to dress his buckler, and half the blow from the descending mace was received upon his arm, numbing it so that it seemed almost powerless. With drawn sword, however, John did his best to defend himself; but the stranger being mounted on a stronger horse, as well as being protected by full armor, John could but just hold his own, while he could do little hurt to his opponent. Fiercely the blows from the heavy mace came down upon the yeoman's buckler, and the stranger pressed his horse so violently against the weaker animal which John bestrode, that John knew that it would be but a matter of a few moments before he would be overthrown upon the sloping road.
Suddenly the knight checked in his assault and seemed to shiver; a hollow groan came from the headpiece, the mace fell from the lifted hand, and the mailed figure swayed in the saddle. John looked and saw the end of a short black arrow jutting from the armpit of his enemy. At such close range had it been shot that it stood deep in the flesh. Little John looked around and saw a hazel bush beside the way, and from among its leaves the round tanned face of Ket the Trow looked out, its usual good-nature now masked by a terribly savage look of triumph.
With a clatter the knight pitched to the ground, and his horse stood shaking beside the corpse of its master. Seeing the fall of his comrade, the third knight, who was fighting with Sir Herbrand, suddenly put spurs to his horse and dashed away through the trees. Rushing down the slope beyond, he could be seen riding swiftly over the moor in the direction of Wrangby Castle. Sir Herbrand, who was wounded, forbore to pursue his enemy.
Not so Ket the Trow. With a stealthy movement he ran across the road and was swallowed up in the tall bracken fronds.
"Who is that?" cried Sir Herbrand. "Is it one of the men of these felon knights who have attacked us?"
"Nay," said Little John; "it is one to whom I owe my life today, for if his arrow had not ended this rogue's life here, I think I should have been overborne."
"Who is this knight?" said Sir Herbrand, and getting off his horse he went and lifted the dead man's vizor. "By Holy Mary!" said the knight, "it is Sir Niger himself!"
"Then there is one less of that evil crew," said John, "or perhaps two, for I doubt not that he on whose neck thou didst beat is dead by now, for if he was alive when he fell, his horse hath killed him by now."
"Do you ride back, John," said Sir Herbrand, "and if the knight and his horse are to be found, bring them back, for I would give him proper burial. Moreover, by all the laws of combat, his harness and his horse are mine."
John did as the knight bade him, and having retraced his steps about half a mile he found the horse quietly cropping the grass by the wayside, the body of its rider being a few yards away, the spur having become loosened when the horse had ceased its wild running. He lifted the dead man on the horse and went back to Sir Herbrand, and leading the two captured horses, each with its dead master on its back, the knight and Little John pursued their way and in an hour came to a wayside chapel. There they entered in, but the hermit who was its guardian was absent. Having stripped the armor from the two dead knights, Sir Herbrand laid the bodies decently before the altar, and then with Little John kneeled down and said a prayer.
Afterward, taking the two horses with the armor piled upon them, they pursued their way to their night's lodging-place, and the next day Sir Herbrand reached his home, and was fondly welcomed by his wife and by all his people. When he had told them how he had been befriended by Robin Hood, his dame and her household made much of Little John and wished him to
stay with them for many days. But on the second day John said he must return to his master, and finding that he would not longer stay, Dame Judith made him up a good bag of meat and gave him a gold ring, and the knight made him a present of a strong horse, and gave him in gold the value of Sir Niger's horse and armor, which he said belonged by right to Little John. Thereafter the good outlaw bade farewell, and Sir Herbrand, at parting, shook his hand and said:
"Little John, thou and thy master have been good friends to me and my son, and may evil betide me if ever I forget thy good fellowship and aid. Tell thy master that within a year and a day, God willing, I will seek him and bring the money he hath so nobly lent me on the surety of Our Lady, and with that money will I bring a present. And tell him, also, from me, that if, as I think likely, evil days come upon our dear land through the wrong and despite which Duke John beareth to his brother King Richard of the Lion Heart, there will be need for a few good and valiant men like thy master. And if he should at any time require my aid, tell him I can arm a hundred brave fellows to follow me."
Henry Gilbert - Robin Hood Page 18