"Such a man, my lord," he said, "thy father King Henry, of blessed memory, would not have suffered to commit his crimes for all these years, but most surely he would have sent an army of archers into the forests where he hideth, and would have hunted out every rogue and hung him forthwith."
"It was thy office, my lord bishop, to do this," retorted Richard sternly. "I left thee to rule my land justly and to keep down robberies and murders and brawls, but thou seemest to have added to the confusion and disorder." Many of the nobles who hated the bishop smiled to see the look of chagrin on William de Longchamp's face. They had chased him from England because of his pride and oppression, and the king's reply pleased t:hem mightily.
"Moreover, sir," said Hamelin, Earl de Warenne, "had my lord bishop been able to hang this stout outlaw, it is likely your highness would have been longer in prison."
Men looked in surprise at de Warenne as he said this, and saw the smile on his face.
"How is that, de Warenne?" asked king Richard. "What had this rascal to do with my release?"
"This, sire," was the reply, "that though he loves his king's deer overmuch, wherein he sins with many others, both rich and poor, it seems that he loves his king also, and in that he doth exceed the love that many of thy knights and lords bear thee. He lives by taking toll from travelers through thy forests, and as I have been informed he had gathered much wealthy gear and a store of money. Half of that wealth he did send to my lord mayor of London, and the amount of it was an carl's ransom. With it he sent a message which ran: 'From Robin Hood and the freemen of Sherwood, for the behoof of their beloved king, whom God save speedily from his evil enemies at home and in foreign parts.' Further, sire," de Warenne went on, while men looked at each other in wonder, "he took upon himself the office of tax-gatherer for these parts, and many a fat canon, abbot or prior who would not have paid the tax which was to set thee free, and many a miserly burgess, knight, or yeoman hath had a visit by night from this outlaw and been forced to pay the tax. By my head, but as men have told me, they have had to pay their tax twice over _ once to Robin Hood and again to the treasurer's sergeants _ and much they grieved thereat!"
The king laughed heartily, and his nobles joined in his merriment.
"And the toll and tax which he thus gathered," went on de Warenne, "this outlaw sent again to the lord mayor with this message, as I am told: 'For to release my lord the king, from unwilling knights, monks, and other surly knaves who love him not a groat's worth, by the hands of Robin Hood and his men of the greenwood.'"
"By my faith," said Richard, and his look and tones were earnest, "this is a man in whom much sense of right and justice must dwell. 'Tis clear he knoweth and loveth freedom greatly, and hath much pity for those who have to sit in duress and see the sunlight crawl across the floor of their cells. By the soul of my blessed father, if other of my liege subjects had been as loving and as busy in my behalf as this outlaw, I should not have pined in the castle of Hagenau by many a month!"
He looked darkly around the table and many a face went a little pale, for some knew that they had not been over zealous in raising the great sum which would release their lord. Many, also, had been beguiled a little by the promises of that traitorous brother of the king, Earl John of Mortaigne.
"By my faith, but I will see this outlaw," said the king; "and know what sort of man he is. How did he break the law?"
"By the slaying of my brother, sire," said William de Longchamp. "He slew Sir Roger on the highway, and afterward he slew five men-at-arms of the abbot of St. Mary's at York. Since then his murders and robberies have been numberless."
"I think he slew your brother, lord bishop, because Sir Roger would have seized FitzWalter's daughter, the lady Marian," said de Warenne in a quiet voice. "Is it not so? Your brother with a party of varlets set upon her and her villeins in the forest and would have borne her off to his castle, which some men call Evil Hold, as I learn, but that this outlaw was in hiding near and slew Roger with an arrow through his vizor."
"And, by my halidom," said King Richard, who ever praised brave deeds that had to do with the saving of ladies from ill-usage or oppression, "'twas a righteous deed, if as I remember 'twas not the first lady thy brother Roger had oppressed, my lord bishop?"
William de Longchamp looked fiercely at Earl de Warenne, who smiled carelessly at his enemy's wrathful glances.
"I will have you to know, sire," said William the chancellor, turning to the king, "that if you may not deem the slaying of my own poor kinsman of much worth, yet this thief and murderer, Robin Hood, hath done deeds of late that shall surely not gain him thy favor. He hath slain the sheriff of Nottingham, Robert Murdach, he hath wed the lady Marian, one of thy wards, and moreover, hath caused a knight whose lands lie near this castle to go with him and thieve and rob in thy forests."
"What is the knight's name?" asked the king, and his look was stern, for though he might be willing to overlook many things in a mere yeoman, he would have little mercy for a knight who forgot his honor and turned outlaw.
"It is Sir Richard at Lee, and his lands lie by Linden Lea, near by Nottingham," said William de Longchamp.
"I will seize his lands," said the king angrily, "and his head shall be cut off _ the recreant! Make proclamation," he went on, turning to one of the clerks of the treasury who stood behind his seat, "that whosoever taketh that knight and brings his head to me shall have his lands."
"If it please you, sire," said an old knight, who stepped forth from a group of richly dressed lords waiting behind the king, "I would say that there is no man living who could hold the knight's lands while his friend Robin and his men can range through the forest and draw a bow."
"Who are you?" asked the king, "and how know you this?"
"I am John de Birkin, sire," said the old knight, "and Sir Richard at Lee was my friend. Since Sir Richard fled, the new sheriff of Nottingham hath striven to hold his castle and lands in thy name, but no man will bide there. As they walk to and fro upon the fields they are pierced by arrows from the woods, their servants are beaten or have run away, and all the villeins that dwell upon the land have joined their master in the greenwood."
"By the soul of my father," said the king, starting from from his seat, "if ye speak true, then the best men dwell in the forests, and the caitiffs are law-abiding fools that pretend to rule for me while they let me pine in my prison. I will see this outlaw _ look you, de Birkin, send word to this rascal outlaw that he shall have my protection while he cometh and goeth, for I would willingly speak to him who loves me, yet who slays my sheriff and knights."
When the castle of Nottingham had been surrendered into the hands of the king he went hunting in the forest of Sherwood, which he had never before seen, and he was much pleased with the giant trees he found therein, the beautiful smooth glades, the cliffy hills and the rolling downland. On that day the king's party started a hart by Rufforal Brakes, which was so fleet and strong that it led horsemen and hounds for many miles northward into Barnisdale forest where, it being late, and the twilight falling, it was lost. That night the king slept at the house of the Black Monks of Gildingcote, and next day he sent his huntsmen through the forests making proclamation at various villages, castles and towns, that the hart which the king had hunted and lost the day before should henceforth be called a "hart royal proclaimed," and that no person should kill, hurt or chase the said hart, which was described by certain distinguishing marks by which any good woodman would instantly recognize it.
King Richard went hunting through the forest every day, and did not stay in one place; but never could he get to learn where Robin Hood was hiding. At last he called to him the chief forester of Sherwood, by name Sir Ralph Fitz-Stephen.
"Knowest thou not, Sir Forester," asked the king, "where my messenger may get word with this outlaw? Thou keepest this forest ill, since thou permittest seven score outlaws to live in it unmolested, and to slay my deer at their will. Find me this Robin Hood, or thou shalt lose thy off
ice."
Ralph Fitz-Stephen was a bold man and he made reply: "My lord king, it is not whether I or your Majesty may find Robin Hood, but rather whether Robin Hood will permit himself to be found. I make bold to say, sire, that these several years past have I striven to capture him and his band, and I have aided the sheriffs of every county which march on the forest shaws, but this outlaw is a very fox for hiding and hath as many holes. Nevertheless, I will do all I may to bring him to thee."
Fitz-Stephen thereupon gathered together all his foresters, told them what the king had said, and took counsel with them what had best be done to give the king his desire. Some advised one thing and some another, until the chief forester lost patience with them all.
"Out on ye, ye chuckleheaded loons!" he cried. "If this rascal outlaw were only half as wary as he is, he would still play with such louts as ye be. Little wonder ye have never been within a mile of catching him. Away with thee to thy 'walks,' and I will rely upon my own wits."
Very crestfallen, the foresters went about their duty. Most of them bore the marks of wounds given in many a scuffle with Robin and his men, and they felt that unless their master hit upon some means of finding the outlaw and bringing him to the king, they would soon lose their posts as foresters, which though on occasion brought them wounds or blows, yet gave them opportunities of gaining much pelf and of oppressing poor folks and gaining money or goods from them.
Two days later Ralph Fitz-Stephen came to where the king was staying at the castle of Drakenhole, and craved audience of him. When he saw the king he bent on one knee, and when King Richard had commanded him to speak he said:
"Sire, I have learned that since you have kept in these northern parts, the outlaw Robin has been haunting the roads by Oilerton, stopping rich travelers and taking of their wealth. Now I give thee counsel in what way thou mayest get word with this rascal. Take five of thy lords _ those who are not hasty or quick of temper, I would advise, lest they betray who ye be before thou has word with the outlaw _ and borrow monks' weeds (garments) from the abbot of Maddersey across the river here. Then I will be your guide, and I will lead you to the road where Robin and his comrades do haunt, and I lay my head on it that ye shall see that rascal ere you reach Nottingham."
"By my faith," said Richard with a hearty laugh, "but I like thy counsel, forester. Do thou get the monkish garb from my lord abbot for myself and thee and my five lords, and we will go with thee."
Though the day was already far gone, Richard would set out at once, and as soon as the monks' garments were brought he put the great black gown over his rich surcoat, which blazed with the leopards of Anjou and the lilies of France, and then upon his head he put a hood and a wide brimmed hat, such as ecclesiastics wore when they traveled. He was very elated at the prospect of so strange an adventure, and joked and laughed with the five knights whom he had chosen to go with him. These were Hamelin, Earl de Warenne, Ranulf, Earl of Chester, Roger Bigot, William, Earl of Ferrers, and Sir Osbert de Scofton.
In an hour they were on the road, the party having the appearance of five rich monks or chief officers of some great abbey, traveling on the business of their house. Two horses heaped with their baggage followed after, and behind them were three more larger horses, piled with provisions, table ware and other rich gear. The horses were in charge of two foresters, who were disguised as monkish servants.
For an hour they rode until it was dark, Richard joking with his knights or at times carolling in his glee. When night compelled them to call a halt, Ralph Fitz-Stephen suggested that they should turn a little from their way to the house of the canons of Clumber, where they would be sure of a lodging for the night. This was agreed to by the king, and after a short ride through the forest, they were received in the canons' guest chamber. Except for a merchant and his three men who were already eating their meal, and a man, who, by his careless air and dress, and his possession of a citole or little harp seemed to be a minstrel or jongleur, the great hall was empty. The king's party did not tell any one who there were, or they would have been invited into the private hall to sup with the canons; but King Richard preferred to remain unknown.
Food was therefore brought forth from the store carded on the sumpter horses, and the king and his lords and Ralph Fitz-Stephen ate at one of the tables in the hall, which was dimly lighted by three or four torches which spluttered and flared and smoked in their sockets on the pillars.
"I tell thee thou art a fool!" came suddenly the angry voice of the merchant. He seemed to be in altercation with the jongleur, who laughed and twanged his citole as he made some mocking reply. "Such a wastrel as thou art knoweth not the value of money, and its loss therefore is nothing to thee."
"What a moil and a coil thy money causes thee, good merchant!" replied the minstrel. "Thou art condemned from thy own mouth. He that hath money seems ever in fear of losing it. Tell me, canst thou ever sleep soundly at night? Doth thou ever trust wholly one of these thy men? Art thou not ever in fear of some foot-pad dashing upon thee and cutting thy throat for thy pelf? No, he that hath money taketh unto himself a familiar fiend, which forever tortures and torments. As for me, why, I have no money, and therefore I care not."
He twanged his citole and broke out gaily into the snatch of a gay song.
"Look you, merchant," he went on, while the other glared sullenly at him, "I never had more than two rose nobles at a time, and so fearful was I that some wretched fool would say I had stolen them or would try to steal them from me, that I made haste to spend them, and when the last had gone I felt happy again. Give me a corner away from the wind at night, a little meat and bread and a drink of wine each hour, my citole and the open road before me, and thou, sir merchant, may keep thy books of account, thy bales of rich gear and thy peevish laments over losing a few poor pounds to a bold outlaw."
"The rogue! He should have his eyes burnt out and his ears cropped!" cried the merchant. "If I had told him truly all I had, I should not now be robbed of every ,groat I made at Nottingham Fair!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the jongleur loud and long. "There sits the wind, does it? The outlaw played his old trick upon thee, did he? and thou didst fall _ thy miserly soul could not tell the truth, and therefore when he found that thou hadst more money than thou didst confess, he took it all! Ha! ha! ha~ sir merchant, if thou hadst wanted thy money less thou wouldst at least have had some of it now."
"What sayest thou?" cried the king from where he sat, turning toward the merchant. "Who hath robbed thee?"
"Who hath robbed me, sir priest?" replied the merchant, with a jeering voice, for the monks were not beloved by merchants, because of the high tolls and dues they demanded for leave to sell goods in their markets; "who else but that limb of Satan _ that landloping rogue Robin Hood! And if thou travelest that road tomorrow, sir priest, I hope he may do as much to thee as he hath done to me."
"Lord, man, thou art as sore as a bear whose ears the dogs have scored!" said the minstrel laughing. "Speak with more reverence to the Church and their servants. Think ye, old sore head, 'twas such as they did baptize thee a Christian _ if indeed thou art a Christian and not an unbelieving dog of a Moslem _ and with their aid alone thou shalt die and be buried _ if ye be not thrown on the roadside at the end as I have seen many a richer man and a finer spoken one!"
The merchant glared and snarled at the minstrel, then turned away, and wrapping himself in his cloak seemed wishful to forget his loss in sleep.
"Count not his words against him, lord abbot," said the minstrel. "'Tis not the man who speaks, but the merchant robbed of his profits. Hallo, here's some one that's as blithe as the merchant is gloomy."
The door of the hall had opened to the knocking of another wayfarer, and across the straw and rushes on the floor came a poor-looking old man and woman. They were raggedly dressed, and each bore a small bundle, which probably contained all they possessed.
"God bless ye all, gentles," said the old man, and his face was wreathed in smiles as he doffed his
ragged cap, first to the dark-robed monks and then to the minstrel, who grinned in reply, and getting up, swept his own hat with its ragged feather in an elaborate bow before the old man.
"Greeting to thee, old merry heart!" he said. "Did I not know that the nearest alehouse is twelve long miles away I would charge thee with having in thee the blessed liquor of the ruddy grape. What cheer, nunks?"
"Sir," said the old man gleefully, as he put his bag down on a bench, "I ha' met the finest adventure and the gentlest nobleman that ere I ha' known or heard on. 'Twas but four short miles out of Oilerton, and oh, but I had a dread of the woodsy Thick they were with trees, and every moment I was afraid that out of the dark some fearsome robber would dart and cut our throats for the few poor pennies we have."
"We be only poor folk, sir," interjected the old woman, who had a gentle face, though her hands were knotted and lined with a lifetime's toil, "and we be not used to traveling. We be going to get our poor son from prison at Tickhill."
"How got thy son in prison, dame?" came a kindly voice from among the black-robed monks. It was the king who spoke.
The old woman was almost overwhelmed at being addressed by one who spoke with an air of nobility, for she was only a poor wife of Nottingham. She curtsied low and replied:
Henry Gilbert - Robin Hood Page 26