Henry Gilbert - Robin Hood

by Robin Hood (Lit)

  He looked about him for a reply.

  "'Twas I, master," came a voice from about their feet, whence they had not expected it to come. Looking down they saw Ket the Trow just finishing his task. "Master," he said as he rose from his knees, "I would not slay this fellow, for I thought thou wouldst sooner have him alive. He hath done thee much evil, and had it in his mind to do much more."

  Robin stepped up and looked at the face of the unconscious man.

  "'Tis Richard Illbeast!" he said. "Ket, clever lad, I thank thee! Now, justice shall be done to him at last."

  For fear that the sheriff should get aid from the knights in the castle, Robin gave instant orders. A horse was quickly brought up from where it had been left in hiding by Little John, for use in case Will had been in need of it, and the body of the Jew-baiter was thrown across it. Then with quick strides the outlaws left the spot, and the gate-guard, looking from his chamber over the great doors, which he had closed by command of the sheriff as he hurried through, saw the outlaws disappear into the dark leafless forest on the further down.

  When the band had threaded many secret ways until they had reached the depths of the forest, thus making pursuit almost impossible, Will Stuteley left the side of his brother the palmer, with whom he had been having much joyful talk, and went to Robin and told him that he had arranged that Silas should go that day two hours after noon, with men and horses to meet his father Reuben and his little sister Ruth, and that he had appointed a spot called the Hexgrove or Witchgrove, on the highroad by Papplewick, where they should meet. As time pressed, therefore, Robin called Iiet the Trow and told him to push forward quickly to Barrow Down, where he was to prepare the old man and the girl for the journey, and then he was to lead them to the Hexgrove, where Robin and his band would be waiting.

  Having arranged this, Robin turned in the direction of the place indicated, and pursued his way with less haste. By this time Richard Illbeast had revived, and his evil eyes, as he realized where he was, told more than words the hatred in his heart against Robin and his men. His sullen looks glanced from face to face of the men walking beside the horse on which he lay bound, and in their stern looks as they met his he knew there was as little mercy for him as there would have been in his own heart if they had fallen into his hands.

  Trained woodman as he was, Robin never traveled through the forest without having scouts thrown out on all sides of him, and to this habit of perpetual watching he had owed many a rich capture, and avoided many an ambush. When they were already half a mile from the Hexgrove, a scout came running up to Robin and said:

  "Master, Dick the Reid (Red) saith there is a man in rich dress with six archers riding down the road at great speed. He will reach the Witch trees about the time thou reachest them."

  Having given his message, at which Robin merely nodded, the scout disappeared again to take up his place ahead. Robin quickened the pace of the party and gave a quick eye at the figure of Richard Illbeast to see no bonds were loosened.

  In a little while the band of outlaws were hiding in the dense leafless thickets on both sides of the grove. Very soon they heard the rapid beat of horses' hoofs, and round the turn of the track came a horseman, short and sturdy of build. He wore a rich black cloak, edged with fur, fastened on the right shoulder by a gold buckle in which shone a rich ruby. A white feather jutted from his black beaver hat, also fastened by a jewel. The horse he bestrode was a fine animal, richly caparisoned. If his dress had not bespoken the rider to be a man of authority and power, the masterful look on his heavy red face, with beetling eyebrows, thick jaw and stem eyes would have said plainly enough that this man was accustomed to wield wide powers of life and death. Yet there was also a dignity in his look and bearing which showed that he had good breeding.

  Behind him were six archers, dressed in stiff jerkins, their legs also thrust in long leather boots reaching halfway up their thighs. Stout men and stalwart they were, with quick looks and an air of mastery. Robin's heart warmed to them. Such doughty fellows ever made him long to have them of his company.

  At sight of the richly dressed man in front Robin had smiled to himself, for he knew him, and then, seeing how rapid was the pace at which they were riding toward where he and his fellows were hidden, he chuckled. When the horsemen were some six yards away Robin led the horse from out of the thickets into the road right in the path of the pounding horsemen.

  Richard Illbeast, turning his face toward them, went a sickly pale. At the same time the leading horseman, reining his steed with a strong hand, came to a halt some few feet from Robin, and having shot one keen glance at the bound man he turned round and cried in a curt voice:

  "There is our man! Seize him!" at the same time pointing to Richard Illbeast, who writhed in his bonds at the words.

  Three of the archers spurred forward as if to lay hands on the bound man, when Robin drew back his horse and holding up his hand said:

  "Softly, good fellows, not so fast. What I have I hold, and when I let it go, no man living shall have it."

  "How now, fellow!" cried the man in the rich cloak. "I am marshal of the king's justice. I know not how thou hast captured this robber and cut-throat. Doubtless he has injured thee, and by good hap thou hast trussed him on thy horse. But now thou must give him up to me, and short shrift shall he have. He hath been adjudged worthy of death many times, and I will waste no more words over him or you. Want you any more than justice of him?"

  Robin laughed as he looked in the face of the justice's marshal. The six archers gaped at such hardihood, nay, recklessness in a man who looked to be no better than a poor woodman. Men usually doffed the hat to Sir Laurence of Raby, the marshal of the king's justice, and bent the knee humbly, yet this saucy rogue did naught but laugh.

  "Justice!" cried Robin scornfully. "I like thy words and thy ways but little. All the justice I have ever seen hath halted as if it were blind, and I like thy hasty even less than thy slow justice, sir marshal. I tell thee thou shalt not touch this man."

  "Seize the prisoner and beat down the peasant if he resists," cried the marshal angrily.

  The three archers leapt from their horses and came swiftly forward. When they were within the reach of an arm, Robin put his fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. There was the noise of snapping twigs, and next moment the three archers recoiled, for twenty stalwart outlaws with taut bows and gleaming arrow points stood on both sides of the road.

  The marshal went almost purple with rage. "What!" he cried, "thou wouldst threaten the king's justice! On thy head be it, thou knave, thou robber!"

  "Softly, good marshal," replied Robin with a laugh. "Ye know who I am, and ye know that I reckon the king's justice or his marshal at no more than the worth of a roasted pippin. Thy justice!" he laughed scornfully. "What is it? A thing ye sell to the rich lords and the evil-living prelates, while ye give naught of it to the poor whom they grind in the mire. Think ye if there were equal justice for rich and poor in this fair England of ours, that I and my fellows would be here? Justice! by the rood! I tell thee this, sir marshal, I know thee for a fair man and an honest one _ hasty and hot perhaps, yet straight in deed except your will be crossed. But I tell thee, if thou wert as evil as others of thy fellows, thou shouldst hang now as high as this rogue here shall shortly hang, and on the same stout tree!"

  The outlaw's voice rang out with a stern stark ring in it, and his dark eyes looked harshly in the face of the marshal. For a moment the latter's eyes were fierce; then his face cleared suddenly and he laughed:

  "Thou rascal, I know thou wouldst! I know thee, Robin, and pity 'tis so stout a fellow is driven to the woods."

  "Stay thou there, sir marshal," said Robin sternly, "and thou shalt see justice done as well and more cleanly by men who ye say are outside the law as thou canst do it, who sell the king's justice." Then, turning to Little John, he bade him release Richard Illbeast from the horse, and set him beneath a bough.

  Just as this was done, out of the woods came riding
the old Jew Reuben and his daughter, accompanied by Ket the Trow and four outlaws. The little girl, Ruth, cast her keen glance round the strange assembly, and suddenly caught sight of the evil face of Richard Illbeast. With a shriek she leapt from her horse, and running to Robin fell on her knees before him, crying out in a passion of words:

  "That is he who slew our poor people! Oh, save my father! Save my father! Let him not hurt us!"

  Then she rushed away and stood by the side of her father, clutching him with both hands, while with flashing eyes and trembling form she turned and defied the scowling looks of Richard Illbeast.

  "Reuben of Stamford," Robin cried; "is this the man whom ye saw slaying thy people at York?"

  "Ay," replied the old Jew; "it is indeed he. With his own hand I saw him slay not only the hale and strong, but old men and women and even _ may conscience rack him for the deed _ little children."

  "And thou, sir marshal, what crimes hath thy justice to charge against this knave?"

  "Oh, a many!" said the marshal. "But one will hang him as high as Haman. He slew Ingelram, the king's messenger, at Seaford, and robbed him of a purse of gold; he filched a pair of spurs from the house where the king slept at Gisors in France; he slew an old and simple citizen of Pontefract, and when he swore to pass beyond the sea as an outlaw and was followed by the sons of the citizen, he by a trick escaped them after slaying two and wounding , a third. But for the evil deeds done at York he hath been proclaimed far and wide, and my master the king's justice hath been much angered to learn that the miscreant had fled, who led the murdering and robbing of his majesty's loyal Jewish subjects. But enough, Robin! Up with him, and let us begone!"

  Not a word spake Richard Illbeast, but he glared about with wild and evil eyes, and knew that the bitterness of death, which he had meted out to others so often, was his at last. And thus he died, with no appeal for mercy or pity, for he knew too well that he had never given either the one or the other to those who had craved it of him ere he slew them.

  When all was done, the marshal bade good-bye to Robin with hearty words, saying quietly in his ear as he walked with him:

  "Robin, 'tis not only the poor folk that have thought well of many of thy deeds, believe me. Thy justice is a wild justice, but like thy bolts, it hits the mark. I forgive thee much for that."

  "Fare thee well, sir marshal," replied Robin. "I have had little to do with thy justice, but that little hath driven me into the forest as thou seest. Yet I would have thee remember to deal gently with poor men, for thou must bear this in mind, that many of them are pushed to do violent deeds because they cannot get justice from them whom God hath placed over them."

  "I will not forget thy words, good Robin," said the marshal; "and may I live to see thee live in the king's peace ere long."

  When, a little later, Silas and his men came up, the old Jew and Ruth were given into their charge, and Robin sent twelve of his men as a guard to convey them to the town of Godmanchester, where the Jews would take up their abode for the future.

  The noise of Robin's deed was carried broadcast through the countryside. Men and women breathed again to think that so evil a man as Richard Illbeast was slain at last, and Robin's fame for brave and just deeds went far and wide.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  HOW ROBIN HOOD SLEW THE SHERIFF

  It was a year and a day since Robin had lent the four hundred pounds to Sir Herbrand de Tranmire, and again he sat in his bower and the rich odors of cooking pasties, broiling and roasting capons and venison cutlets blew to and fro under the trees. Anon Robin called John to him.

  "It is already long past dinner time," said Robin; "and the knight hath not come to repay me. I fear Our Lady is wroth with me, for she hath not sent me my pay on the day it is due."

  "Doubt not, master," replied Little John; "the day is not yet over, and I clare swear that the knight is faithful and will come ere the sun sinks to rest."

  "Take thy bow in thy hand," said Robin, "and let Arthur-a-Bland, Much, Will of Stuteley, with ten others, wend with thee to the Roman way where thou didst meet the knight last year, and see what Our Lady shall send us. I know not why she should be wroth with me."

  So Little John took his bow and sword, and calling up the others, he disappeared with them into the deeps of the forest which lay close about the outlaws' camp. For an hour Robin sat making arrows, while the cooks cast anxious glances in their pots now and then, and shook their heads over the capons and steaks that were getting hard and overdone. At length a scout ran in from the greenwood, and coming up to Robin said that Little John and his party were coming with four monks and seven sumpter or baggage horses, and six archers. In a little while, into the clearing before Robin's bower came marching the tall forms of Little John and his comrades, and in their midst were four monks on horseback, with their disarmed guard behind them.

  At the first glance at the face of the foremost monk Robin laughed grimly. It was Abbot Robert of St. Mary's Abbey! And the fat monk beside him was the cellarer.

  "Now, by the black rood of York!" said Robin, "ye be more welcome, my lord abbot, than ever I had thought thou wouldst be. Lads," he said, turning to those of his fellows who had run away from Birkencar, "here is the very cause of all thy griefs and pains whilst thou wert villeins, swinking in the weather, or getting thy backs scored by the scourge; it was he who forced thee to flee and to gain the happy life ye have led these several years in the greenwood. Now we will feast him for that great kindness, and when he hath paid me what the Holy Mother oweth me _ for I doubt not she hath sent him to pay me her debt _ he shall say mass to us, and we will part the greatest friends."

  But the abbot looked on with black looks, while the cellarer, fat and frightened, looked this way and that with such glances of dread that the foresters laughed with glee, and jokingly threatened him with all manner of ill-usage.

  "Come, Little John," said Robin, "bring me that fat saddle-bag that hangs beside the cellarer, and count me the gold and silver which it holds."

  Little John did so, and having poured out the money on his mantle before his master, counted it and told out the sum. It was eight hundred pounds!

  "Ha!" said Robin, "I told thee so, lord abbot. Our Lady is the truest woman that ever yet I knew, or heard tell of. For she not only pays me that which I lent her, but she doubles it. A full gentle act indeed, and one that merits that her humble messengers shall be gently entreated.''

  "What meanest thou, robber and varlet?" cried the abbot, purple in the face and beside himself with rage to see such wealth refted from his keeping. "Thou outlaw and wolf's-head, thou vermin for any good man to slay-what meanest thou by the tale of loan to Our Lady? Thou art a runaway rogue from her lands, and hast forfeited all thou ever hadst and thy life also by thy evil deeds!"

  "Gently, good abbot," said Robin; "not on my own account did Our Lady lend me this money, but she was my pledge for the sum of four hundred pounds which I lent a year ago to a certain poor knight who came this way and told a pitiful tale of how a certain evil abbot and other enemies did oppress him. His name, abbot, was Sir Herbrand de Tranmire."

  The abbot started and went pale. Then he turned his face away, and bit his lip in shame and rage to think that it was Robin Hood who had helped Sir Herbrand, and so robbed him and the lords of Wrangby of their revenge.

  "I see in all this, sir abbot," said Robin, sternly, "the workings of a justice such as never was within thy ken before. Thou didst set out to ruin and disgrace Sir Herbrand. He fell in with me _ was that by chance, I wonder? _ and by my aid he escaped thy plots. On his way home three evil knights set on him from that nest of robber lords at Wrangby. Two were slain, and Sir Herbrand and his squire went on their way unharmed."

  The abbot glared with shame and rage at Robin, but would say no word.

  "Hadst thou not better forsake evil and oppressive ways, lord abbot," went on Robin, "and do acts and deeds more in the spirit of Him Who died upon the tree for the sake of the sinfulness of the world? B
ut now, lads," he went on, turning abruptly to his men, "we will dine our guests in our generous greenwood way, and send them off lined well with venison and wine, though their mail bags be empty."

  And right royally did the outlaws feast the abbot and the cellarer and their guard. The abbot indeed made sorry cheer and would not be roused, and ate and drank sparingly, almost grudgingly, for he felt the shame of his position. To think that he, the lord abbot of St. Mary's, one of the richest and proudest prelates in Yorshire, should have been outwitted, flouted and thwarted by a runaway yeoman and his band of villeins, who now sat around him casting their jokes at him, urging him to make merry and to be a good trencherman! Shame, oh, shame!

  When dinner was ended, Robin said: "Now, lord abbot, thou must do me a priestly office this day. I have not heard mass since yesterday forenoon. Do thou perform mass and then thou mayest go."

  But the abbot sullenly refused, and all Robin's persuasions were in vain.

  "So be it," said Robin, and ordered ropes to be brought. "Then tie me this unpriestly priest to that tree," he commanded. "He shall stay there till he is willing to do his office, and if it be a week, no food shall pass his lips till he do as I desire."