Chapter III: Part 3

“‘Aye! by my mitre, willingly,’ returned the bishop rather warmly; ‘I’ll wager a purse of gold against thee and thy whole band;’ and he drew forth about fifty golden nobles. Locksley replied by throwing upon the turf before the gallery a little bag containing at least an equal quantity of the precious metal, and both stakes were given to the king as umpire of the sport.

“The royal archers now took their station upon the line, and one after another let fly an arrow at the broad target. ‘Why give us such a mark as that?’ cried one of them, named Clifton, as his arrow pierced the centre. ‘We’ll shoot at the sun and moon. ‘Boldly said, my fine fellow,’ replied Locksley as he drew his bow-string; ‘you and I will have a bout together presently:’ and carelessly discharging his arrow, it quivered within a hair’s breadth of his opponent’s. The spectators pleased at such fine archery, shouted at the sight, but the king and the bishop of Hereford could ill conceal their surprise and disappointment. Locksley’s men followed, and each one’s arrow alighted within a few inches of the centre of the target, but so had those of the royal archers.

“‘The game is equal,’ said the king, when he had mounted his horse and galloped across the field; ‘ye must shoot again, my brave men. Finsbury has ne’er before seen such archery as this.’

“‘If my gallant friend here,’ cried Locksley, ‘who aims at nothing less than bringing down yon glorious sun, will but agree to the trial, he and I might decide this contest between ourselves. That is,’ he continued, ‘with your majesty’s royal leave.’

“‘What say’st thou, Clifton? art thou content to stake thy reputation against this braggart’s?’ asked King Henry.

“‘Right willingly, my liege,’ replied the archer; ‘I’ll lay my own trusty bow against his, that he hits not the mark that I do.’

‘A fair wager,’ cried Locksley, ‘which I readily accept.’

“At the instigation of the champions the broad target was removed, and in its place, a slight willow wand, not above an inch and a half in circumference, was planted firmly in the earth. The spectators gazed with increased wonder. ‘They surely will not aim at such a mark as that,’ said they one to another. But the royal bowman stepped to the line, and after carefully adjusting his arrow, let it fly: it peeled off the bark of the wand as it passed by, and alighted in the earth a few yards farther on. A loud huzza rent the air, and ‘Clifton! a Clifton!’ was shouted from one end of the lists to the other. The gay yeoman did not wait till these cries had subsided. ‘I will notch his shaft,’ he said aloud as he advanced composedly to his post; and fitting his arrow, he drew the bow-string to his ear, and after one moment’s deliberation discharged the weapon with his utmost force. The shaft flew true, and to the amazement of the beholders, rived asunder that of his opponent. At first a deep silence prevailed, many could not see where the arrow had struck, and some were dumb with astonishment; but when one of the attendants pulled it forth, a shout of applause was raised, so loud, so long, and so vehement, that those of the good citizens of London who had remained at home rushed forth from the gates in hundreds to inquire the cause of so violent an outbreak.

“The king’s vexation at this defeat of his party quickly changed into admiration of Locksley’s superior skill. He rode up to his side: ‘Wilt thou be one of my archers?’ he asked; ‘a hundred pounds a year, the free use of my pantry, and a new suit of livery each three months, shall be thy reward.’

“‘It grieves me, my liege,’ replied the yeoman, ‘that I cannot comply with thy request; but grant me one boon, and I and my gallant men will support thee to our deaths.’

“‘Name it, good Locksley; ’tis already granted;’ said the king.

“‘Pardon, most gracious liege, pardon for the outlawed Robin Hood and his brave followers.’

“‘And art thou Robin Hood?’ asked Henry, his countenance flushed with anger, ‘whose defiance of the law has filled the whole north country with alarm. By St. George, but thou art the boldest villain that e’er shot bow. Ho! guards there, take charge of this over-valiant knave.’

“‘Remember thy promise,’ cried a gentle voice from the gallery. ‘Remember thou hast pledged thine honour.

“King Henry turned as he recognised the sweet tones of his lovely consort, and a smile played upon his lips as he replied, ‘’Twas but in jest, fair Eleanor, ’twas but in jest.’ ‘We will willingly grant pardon to thee and thy followers,’ he continued to the outlaw, ‘if ye will forsake your unlawful pursuits, and lead the sober lives of honest yeomen.’

“‘We cannot quit the green woods of Sherwood,’ said Robin Hood; ‘but if your majesty will grant us leave to range the forest, and now and then exercise our archery upon one of the thousands of fat deer that bound so gaily o’er the lawns, we will promise that no traveller shall again complain of the outlaws of Nottinghamshire.’

“The king bit his lips in silence, but at that moment the defeated archer advanced and tendered his bow to the victor.

“‘Thou’rt a good marksman, Clifton,’ said he; ‘if thou hadst made a little more allowance for the distance, thine arrow would not have passed the wand; keep thy bow, man; though I tell it thee, there’s but one better archer in merry England.’

“‘If I had known that thou wert Robin Hood,’ cried the bishop of Hereford, as the king delivered the well-filled purses to the outlaw, ‘I would not have wagered against thee. Thou hast already had more gold of mine than I e’er intended.’

“‘Surely thou dost not forget the jovial dinner we gave thee under our trysting tree,’ replied Robin Hood; ‘yet if thou dost begrudge the payment, I will return it even now.’

“‘Nay, nay, master,’ cried Little John, who had accompanied his captain, ‘that were unwise; since thou hast promised not to relieve travellers of their superfluous wealth, ’twere folly not to keep all the gold thou comest honestly by.’ Robin Hood with a smile threw the purses to his more considerate follower, bowed low to the king, and still lower to his fair patroness, and accompanied by his five gay yeomen, departed from the field.

“Sherwood forest soon rung again with the sound of his bugle-horn, but the promise given on Finsbury field was kept during King Henry’s life-time; no traveller had reason to complain of the bold outlaws.

THE KNIGHT OF WIERYSDALE.

“We must suppose that several years had elapsed since Robin Hood’s victory in Finsbury field, when the following tale commences. Richard the Lion-hearted had succeeded to his father’s throne, and with many of his nobles had joined the memorable crusades. During his absence in Palestine, the internal state of England had become far worse than it was at the time of his accession. Baron rose up against baron, and princes made war upon each other, till discord, tumult, and fierce rapine, reigned throughout the land. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at, when the laws were for a time suspended and force of arms alone decided the contest, that the bold foresters had again recourse to their superior strength.

“It was a bright morning in early summer, when a solitary horseman was proceeding upon his journey through one of the narrow roads that crossed Barnesdale forest;

“‘All dreary was his semblance,
And little was his pride,
His one foot in the stirrup stood,
The other waved beside;

“‘His hood was hanging o’er his eyes,
He rode in simple array,
A sorrier man than he was one
Rode never on summer’s day.’

“A deep sigh escaped from the melancholy horseman, and big tears coursed each other down his cheeks, at every step of his poor lean beast; and when three men suddenly emerged from the wood, and stood before his path, he seemed scarcely conscious of their presence.

“‘God save thee, sir knight,’ cried one of them, a tall forester, nearly seven feet high, moved with compassion at his forlorn appearance. ‘Welcome to our merry green-wood. Thou must be our guest to-day.’

“‘Leave me, good sirs, I pray ye,’ said the knight mournfully, ‘my sorrows are already too heavy for me to bear; add not to my distress.’

“‘Nay, be not so downcast,’ returned the former speaker. ‘Thou art in good hands, and may’st trust us. Our master waits dinner for a guest, and thou art the first man who has passed through Barnesdale this day.’ Then taking the knight’s rein in his hand, the forester led the jaded steed through the intricate paths of the wood, until he arrived at an open lawn, where a band of yeomen were reclining under the shade of a huge elm.

“‘Welcome, sir knight,’ said one of them rising and doffing his cap at the appearance of a stranger. ‘Welcome to merry Barnesdale.’

“‘Who art thou,’ inquired the horseman, ‘that causest travellers to be constrained from their way? I am but a poor knight, without so much as a piece of gold, wherewith to buy me food.’

“‘More welcome still,’ exclaimed the forester, assisting him from his horse. ‘We shall have the blessings of charity upon our deeds. Thou hast heard of Robin Hood,—I am that outlaw, and these are my gallant followers.’

“‘Unless report belie thee,’ replied the knight, ‘thou art a friend to the unfortunate. Dismiss me at once, and let me speed on.’

“‘Dine with us first,’ said the forester, ‘and freely shalt thou depart.’ A cloth was spread beneath the shady branches, and covered with a profusion of the most delicious viands. Rhenish wine also, and ale plentifully abounded, and with cheerful hearts about twenty yeomen seated themselves around. ‘Eat gladly, sir knight,’ said Robin Hood; ‘here’s to thy health, and a more merry countenance;’ and as he spake he tossed off the contents of a goblet.

“‘Thanks, thanks, my noble host,’ replied the stranger; ‘it grieves me that I shall ne’er be able to return thy goodness.’

“‘Truly, good sir, thou look’st but grievous,’ answered the outlaw. ‘Tell me, is there aught in which my services can avail thee; what is the cause of thy deep sorrow?’

“‘I have lost land and gold,’ returned the knight, ‘and I fear that my good name must follow them.’ His tears burst out afresh. ‘They call me,’ he continued, ‘Sir Rychard o’ the Lee. I am sprung of noble blood, and for these last three hundred years have mine ancestors wore spurs. Twelve short months ago I had a noble house and fine estate, with four hundred pounds a year; but now, except my lovely wife and my sweet children, I have nothing in the world.’

“‘How hast thou lost thy riches?” inquired Robin Hood anxiously.

“‘’Tis a short story,’ replied the knight; ‘I fought in a fair field with a knight of Lancashire, and slew him. To save my liberty, I mortgaged the broad lands of Wierysdale to St. Mary’s Abbey, and if I pay not the amount to-morrow, my castle will be forfeited.’

“‘What is the sum thou owest, and what wilt thou do if thou losest thy land?’ asked the outlaw.

“‘Four hundred golden pounds must I pay, if I would keep fair Wierysdale,’ he replied. ‘I go to beg grace for another year; if the holy abbot will not grant it, I must flee away across the broad seas to a country where they know me not.’

“‘Where are thy friends?’ asked Little John; ‘will they not be security for thee?’

“‘Alas,’ replied Sir Rychard, ‘when I had money and house, and lands, I lacked not friends, but now my oldest companions turn from me as a herd of deer would from a poor wounded hart. My only trust is in God and the blessed saints.’

“‘Will Peter, or Paul, or John, be surety for thee?’ asked the outlaw. ‘By my troth, good sir, thou must find wealthier friends than they.’

“‘I have none other,’ replied the knight mournfully, ‘except it be the Blessed Mary, who in all my trials has never failed me.’

“‘Thou hast indeed a good friend,’ said Robin Hood; ‘and if thou wilt swear by our dear Lady that in twelve months from this day it shalt be restored to me, I will lend thee what thou wantest.’ The knight fell upon his knees, gave the required promise, and drawing forth a silver image of the Virgin, he devoutly kissed it.

“In the meanwhile Little John had gone to the outlaws’ treasury, and now returned with a heavy bag. He quickly counted out four hundred pieces of gold and offered them to the knight, with a beautiful doublet of scarlet cloth. These he readily accepted. At Robin Hood’s bidding, a gallant grey steed with rich housings was next brought forth, and after having received a pair of golden spurs from the hands of the noble outlaw, the knight vaulted into the saddle.

“‘’Twould be a shame,’ said Robin Hood, ‘that so well equipped a knight should ride without esquire; ‘I will lend thee my brave man, Little John, until thou gettest a yeoman for thy service.’ The forester willingly agreed, and mounting a stout palfrey, he was soon ready to accompany his new master. With tears of joy instead of sorrow, the knight bade farewell to his kind and generous host, struck his spurs into his new charger, and followed by Little John, galloped swiftly over the plain.

“On the morning after this adventure, the holy superior of St. Mary’s Abbey, in the old city of York, was seated in his hall, attended by several of the monks.

“‘Upon this day twelve months ago,’ said he to his attentive listeners, ‘there came a knight who borrowed four hundred pounds, upon the security of his lands and castle. The hour is near at hand; unless he appear and pay the money before yon glass has run, the fair lands of Wierysdale will belong to this sanctuary.’

“‘It is early yet, holy father,’ replied the prior; ‘the poor man may be in a far country, and it would be hard to use him thus harshly. Methinks thy conscience, my lord abbot, would but ill bear so rude a treatment to an unfortunate knight.’

“‘Thou art ever in my beard,’ exclaimed the superior angrily. ‘By all the saints I swear that, unless the knight of Wierysdale appear ere the sun has set, he shall be disinherited.’

“‘He is either dead or he cannot pay,’ said a fat monk, who was high cellarer, ‘and St. Mary’s Abbey will be enriched with a goodly sum. Shall I not seek the lord justice, holy father, and bid him attend to prepare deeds for the transfer of the land.’

“‘Yea, brother,’ replied the abbot; ‘’tis but lost time to wait for our debtor, therefore use despatch, good brother—use despatch.’ The cellarer left the room as quickly as his fat limbs would carry him, and in less than an hour returned with the lord chief justice.

“In the mean time Sir Rychard o’ the Lee and his esquire had arrived in York, and taken up their abode at an inn. After they had rested for awhile from the fatigue of their journey, they dressed themselves in their sorriest habiliments, and set out to the abbey. Upon knocking at the great gates, they were immediately admitted, and conducted into a lofty and spacious room, whose high pointed roof ornamented with grotesque images, narrow Gothic windows, and beautifully tesselated pavement, combined to strike the beholder with admiration, and increase his reverence for the inmates of such a noble dwelling.

“The knight and his attendant doffed their caps and bowed low as they entered the hall, and advanced to the upper end, where, upon a carved oaken throne, sat the abbot of St. Mary’s, with the lord chief justice of York by his side.

“‘God save thee, holy father,’ said the knight, as he kneeled before him; ‘I have attended thee this day as thou didst bid me.’

“‘Hast thou brought any money, sir knight?’ asked the priest in a harsh tone.

“‘Not one penny,’ replied the suppliant. ‘I am come to beg that thou wilt extend the time of payment for one more year.’

“‘That is unfortunate,’ rejoined the abbot, with difficulty repressing his delight at the intelligence. ‘The day is nearly gone, and unless thou canst pay down four hundred pounds ere the setting of the sun, thy lands must pass to the accruement of St. Mary’s Abbey. Sir justice,’ he continued, looking askance, ‘here’s to thee;’ and in the height of his satisfaction he emptied a goblet of wine at a single draught.

“‘Good sir justice,’ said the knight imploringly, ‘wilt thou not assist me in my distress. Day by day will I serve thee until I have repaid thy goodness.’

“‘Nay, sir,’ returned the justice, ‘I cannot do it if I had the will.’ ‘Give him two hundred pounds more, holy father, and the good knight will sign thee a release of the lands that he can no longer claim.’

“‘Never,’ replied the knight fiercely, as he started to his feet. ‘Merciless tyrants as ye are, ye get not my lands thus. Never shall monk or friar be heir to Wierysdale.’

“‘What,’ cried the priest, rising from his seat; ‘darest thou beard the abbot of St. Mary’s; out upon thee for a false knight, thy castle is no longer thine.’

‘Thou liest,’ returned the knight, stamping his heel upon the pavement until it rung again: ‘never was I false. I’ve stood in tournaments against noble earls and greater men than thou, and have oft proved myself a true knight and good. Take back thy gold,’ he continued, as he poured out the contents of his purse at the abbot’s feet; ‘and think not that thou canst so easily get the fair lands of Wierysdale. Hadst thou shown courtesy to a suppliant knight, thou should’st have had recompense.’ Then snatching away the papers which the justice had before him, Sir Rychard darted a look of defiance at the abbot, and with a firm step departed from the hall, leaving the holy father overwhelmed with astonishment, disappointment, and regret.

J. Gilbert]

“Sir Rychard returned to his inn, gave away his old garments to the first beggar that passed by, and after dismissing his gallant esquire with the warmest thanks for his assistance, again started off with an attendant whom Little John had procured for him. He rode on, singing merrily, until he drew rein at his own gate in Wierysdale. His lady, with tears in her eyes, had been watching his approach, but when she saw the joyful countenance and proud bearing of her husband, she ran forth to clasp him in her arms, and learn the cause of such unexpected joy. The story was briefly told, and from that day to the end of their lives the good knight and his lady did not fail to remember in their prayers the name of Robin Hood.”

I had just finished this tale, when the chimes from the distant steeple faintly reached our ears. The hour at which we were expected back had arrived, and we were at least a quarter of an hour’s walk away. We started to our feet, bounded through the wood, and over the low palings, and made many a passenger laugh heartily as we chased past him to our home.

OUR FIFTH MEETING.

REYNOLDE GRENELEFE.

This evening we resumed our old seats under the sycamore tree in the shrubbery, when I thus continued my tales:—

“After the departure of the knight of Wierysdale, Little John determined upon seeking an adventure, that he might have something to boast of among his companions, when he returned to Barnesdale woods. By chance he learned that there was to be a grand archery meeting near Nottingham, and that the high sheriff was to award a prize to the best marksman. Without delay, he rode across the country bypaths which no one but a daring forester would have chosen, and upon the next morning reached the appointed ground, just as the sports were about to commence.

“The best bowmen of the county had entered the lists, and as a silver bugle-horn was to be awarded to the victor, each man had resolved to do his best to gain it. Upon the appearance of the new competitor, they looked at each other, and after whispering together, laughed at the presumption of the stranger, who had dared to offer himself as their rival. One by one the well-known and oft victorious archers advanced, and shot their arrows so near the centre of the target that it was next to impossible to say whose aim had been the truest; Little John shot last, and with such success that his arrow knocked out one of the very nearest of his opponents’. The sheriff, surprised at his dexterity, rode up, examined the target and declared that he could not pronounce a decision. At the suggestion of the forester, to whom the others now paid greater respect, a thick white wand, which a ranger had been using to keep back the spectators, was placed upright in the ground at twenty paces farther distance. Again the sports began.—The Nottingham men supported their reputation, and no less than three arrows stuck in the mark; the outlaw fired last, and also hit the wand. These four again shot, when two of the bowmen missed, and the contest remained to be decided between the first marksman of Nottingham, and the bold stranger.

“The populace had often given vent to their admiration of such gallant archery, by loud huzzas, but now a breathless silence prevailed. The sheriff, anxious for the honour of his county, rode up and down in a perfect fever of excitement, and spoke encouraging words to the Nottingham champion. The man coolly took up his position and drew his bow with the greatest care, but the shaft unfortunately flew half an inch above the mark. Little John smiled, advanced and shot his arrow a third time into the middle of the wand. A feeling of disappointment seemed to spread over the spectators, and the defeated archer could ill conceal his chagrin.

“‘Tell me, my good friend,’ said the sheriff as he rode up to the victor, and presented him with the prize, ‘what name bearest thou? and what country dost thou dwell in?’

“‘My name is Reynolde Grenelefe,’ replied the forester; ‘I was born and bred in merry Holdernesse, and am now roving from town to town to seek a better fortune.’

“‘By St. Hubert,’ rejoined the sheriff, ‘thou art the best archer that e’er drew bow in Nottingham. Wilt dwell with me, and protect the king’s deer from the cursed outlaws?’

“‘Willingly, an thou’lt pay me well,’ answered the forester boldly.

“‘Thou shalt have forty pounds a year, and three new suits of clothes, and shalt dine every day off the king’s venison,’ said the sheriff.

“The artful forester readily agreed, and on the same day took up his abode in his new master’s mansion, where he soon became on good terms with all the household, except the steward, who took a mortal aversion to him on account of his favour with their master. One day the sheriff went out hunting early in the morning, leaving Reynolde Grenelefe asleep in bed, where he lay until it was nearly noon; he then rose, and going to the kitchen, asked the steward for his dinner.

“‘Thou lazy villain,’ he replied, ‘dost think thou hast earned it. By my troth thou shalt have neither to eat nor drink till my lord hears of thine idleness.’

“The forester laughed, and gave a stride towards the pantry door, but the steward was too quick for him: he turned the key in the lock, pulled it out, and placed it in his pocket. Without a word the outlaw stepped up and struck him with his open palm upon the ear, and the poor steward, stunned with the shock, fell heavily down. Reynolde then spurned the door with his foot, bursting lock and bar asunder, and entering the pantry, he found a goodly venison pasty and a bottle of strong ale, upon which, without either grace or ceremony, he began a most furious attack. While he was thus busy the cook came in, and seeing the steward lying on the floor, and the new servant devouring the contents of the pantry, he soon guessed the true state of the matter. Arming himself with a huge rolling pin, he crept quietly towards the offender, and before he could protect himself, struck him upon the back of his head; the outlaw well nigh fell, but catching at a board, he sustained himself, and then drawing his sword, rushed at his cowardly antagonist. For full an hour did they thump and belabour each other till they could scarcely stand. ‘Give me thy hand,’ cried Reynolde, dropping his sword. ‘Thou art a valiant fellow, and ’twere pity to break thy bones. Come with me to the woods; I am one of Robin Hood’s men, and if thou’lt join us we’ll give thee a suit of Lincoln green, and teach thee the merry life of a forester.’

“The cook consented; and after breaking open their master’s treasury and seizing upon all the silver plate and money that it contained, the treacherous servants left the house, and mounting two of the finest horses in the sheriff’s stable, galloped off with their booty to Barnesdale forest.

“Welcome, my brave yeoman. Where hast thou tarried?’ exclaimed Robin Hood, as Little John presented himself and his companion before the gallant captain. ‘And who bringest thou to the green-wood?’

“‘Thou shalt hear all, good master,’ replied the tall forester. ‘Thy worthy friend, the sheriff of Nottingham, hath sent thee his cook, his silver chalices, and three hundred golden pounds:’ and he related the story of his adventures with the greatest glee, while Robin Hood, who owed the poor sheriff many a grudge, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and he was obliged to throw himself upon the grass from sheer exhaustion.

“Just as Little John was concluding his narration, a huntsman’s bugle sounded in the distance. He stopped and listened for a moment. ’Tis my dear master’s horn,’ he exclaimed; ‘I must away to him;’ and darting through the woods, he ran over hill and dale until he reached the spot where the sheriff of Nottingham and his attendants were beating among the thickets in search of game.

“‘Ha! Reynolde Grenelefe,’ he exclaimed, as his servant stood before him, ‘where hast thou been?’

“‘Roving through the forest, good master,’ replied Reynolde; ‘and by my troth I have beheld the strangest sight that mortal eyes e’er saw. In yon dense wood is a fine stag, whose hide is of a bright green colour, and a herd of seven-score more lie scattered around him. His horns are so large and sharp that I dare not shoot for fear that he might rush at me and tear me, and hearing thy bugle-horn, I have hastened to tell thee of so strange a creature.’ The sheriff, filled with wonder, desired to be immediately conducted to the animal, and the outlaw started off again at his full speed, followed by his master until they arrived at the spot where Robin Hood was still lying upon the turf. ‘This is the hart, good master,’ said Little John, pointing to his captain; ‘and there is the gallant herd;’ and he directed the sheriff’s attention to a band of yeomen who were reclining under the shade of some neighbouring trees.

“‘Thou hast betrayed me,’ he cried, drawing his sword, and biting his lips with rage. ‘Thus shalt thou suffer for thy treachery;’ and he struck a fierce blow at his conductor.

“‘Calm thee, good master,’ exclaimed Little John, nimbly avoiding the weapon. ‘Thou hast given me many a good dinner, and now thou shalt have a jovial supper in return.’ Two foresters advanced, and gently disarmed the still threatening prisoner, who very quietly suffered himself to be seated at a well spread cloth. At the entreaty of the outlaws he began to eat; but when Little John brought him wine in his own cup, his mortification was so great that he could not swallow another morsel. The foresters pressed him so much the more, and laughed loud and long at his rueful countenance, while two or three sang ballads celebrating their own victory over the sheriff of Nottingham.

“The poor man could endure the scene no longer. He started to his feet, and would gladly have made his escape, but his flight was arrested. ‘For one night, sir sheriff, thou shalt be an outlaw like us,’ said Robin Hood to him. ‘Thou shalt have thy couch under the green trees of Barnesdale, and if on the morrow thou likest thy fare, we will give thee a green mantle, and teach thee to shoot the grey goose-wing.’ Night drew on; the foresters, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, laid themselves down under the most shady trees, and binding their prisoner, that he might not escape during the darkness, compelled him to share their broad couch. All night long he tossed about and groaned, and when, oppressed with weariness, he at length fell asleep, dreams of the most hideous nature wakened him to fresh torment. The darkness seemed to him interminable; but at length the sun rose, and the foresters one and all roused themselves from their slumbers. ‘Hast thou passed a good night, sir sheriff?’ asked Robin Hood. ‘How likest thou our downy beds?’

“‘The beasts of the field lie more softly,’ replied the sheriff. ‘Rather than make me pass another night like this, I pray thee send an arrow through my heart, and I’ll forgive thee. But wherefore dost thou detain me? I have no gold, and that traitor Reynolde Grenelefe has robbed me of what I possessed at home. Suffer me to go and I will be thy best friend to my dying day.’

“‘Swear that thou wilt never harm the foresters of Barnesdale,’ replied Robin Hood, ‘and thou shalt depart;’ and he presented the cross of his sword to the sheriff’s lips.

“He took the oath, and the outlaw immediately cut his bonds; then ordering his horse to be brought, he helped the anxious sheriff to his saddle, and bade him a merry ride. The goaded steed flew along the narrow pathway, and quickly emerging from the woods, bore his glad rider home to Nottingham.

“A twelvemonth was nearly elapsed since Robin Hood had lent the four hundred pounds to the knight of Wierysdale, and but two days yet remained to Lammas-tide, when the money would become due.

“By economy and service in arms the worthy knight had been enabled to save much more than the required sum. He purchased a hundred tough yew bows, with strings of twisted silk, a hundred beautiful quivers, well stored with arrows, each of which was notched with silver, feathered with the plume of a peacock, and tipped with a head of burnished gold; and mounted on the outlaw’s steed, he set out to Barnesdale wood, followed by a troop of his attendants, bearing the weapons of the chase before them.

“On his way the knight passed through a little town, where the inhabitants were celebrating a rural fair. The banks of a stream, over which he crossed by a rustic wooden bridge, were crowded with gaily dressed peasants, anxious to purchase the rare commodities which they were able only once a year to procure at this long-expected mart. There were tents of blue, and white, and crimson cloths, and long streaming banners floated proudly above them. There were open stalls too, and rich displays of costly goods, and the busy throngs, as they incessantly poured on and on, seemed full of merriment and gladness. It was a joyous scene, and the knight gazed upon it with heart-felt pleasure. He wished to join in it, but he remembered that the day was close at hand when he had promised repayment to the generous outlaw, and he struck his spurs into his charger’s sides. He had proceeded but a short way, when a loud noise broke upon the distant murmur that had hitherto reached him from the meadows, and caused him again to draw his rein. It seemed like the quarrelling of men in angry strife, and every moment it grew louder and louder. ‘There may be need of our assistance,’ said the knight to his followers; and he instantly galloped to the spot whence the confusion arose. At the sight of a band of armed horsemen the crowd became calm, and opened a passage-way.

“‘What means this uproar?’ asked the leader. ‘Are ye not celebrating games of joy and peace?’ A dead silence prevailed. ‘Tell me, my friend,’ he continued, addressing one who stood nearest him, ‘why are ye thus at variance?’

“‘Yon stranger,’ replied the man, pointing to a gallant looking yeoman who rested upon his bow, apart from the rest;—‘Yon stranger has borne off every prize this day. We know him not; and think ’tis unfair that the best men in our county should get no victory.’

“‘Come hither, sirrah,’ cried the knight to the offender. ‘Who art thou that darest to shoot and wrestle better than any man in Nottinghamshire?’

“The yeoman stepped forward boldly:—‘What can it matter, sir knight, who I am?’ he replied. ‘I’ve won the prizes, and have a right to them, but these poor clowns cannot stomach a heavy fall, or my arrow in the centre of their bull’s eye.’

“‘Shame on ye, my friends; would ye wrong a victor of his lawful reward?’ exclaimed the knight, turning to the multitude. ‘Where are the prizes?’ An old man advanced, and taking the horseman’s bridle, led him to a tent, where were spread upon the grass a handsome saddle and bridle, ornamented with gold, the prize of the swiftest runner; a finely carved bow, and an arrow, three feet long, of the purest white silver, to be given to the truest marksman; and a pipe of the best Rhenish wine to be awarded to him who should gain the day at wrestling. All these had the stranger indubitably won; but when he demanded them, the disappointment of the native peasants broke out into loud murmurings, and as few espoused the cause of the victor, it had well nigh gone hard with him. Staves had been brought into play, and more than one sword had been drawn, when the arrival of the knight and his attendants quieted the tumult.

“‘Hast thou a steed to bear this goodly saddle?’ said the knight to the stranger; ‘and how wilt thou carry off this pipe of wine?’

“‘I came a-foot,’ replied the man; ‘but rather than leave so brave a prize, I will bear the saddle on my own back; as for the cask, these good peasants are welcome to it.’

“‘Thou’rt a noble fellow,’ returned the knight of Wierysdale, throwing him a purse of gold. ‘There’s for thy wine, and if thou wilt follow me, thou shalt have a charger for thy saddle.’ The yeoman readily complied. One of the knight’s men dismounted, and gave up his horse to him; he quickly clapped on his elegant furniture, and with the how at his back, and quiver by his side, he sprung into the seat, and ranged himself with the rest of the attendants. The noble intercessor next ordered that the wine should be broached, and distributed to all who would partake of it. The command was quickly obeyed, amidst the cheers of the peasants, who soon forgot their previous quarrels and disappointments in the pleasures of the jovial cup. The knight waved his hand to them and rode on, but he had lost so much time at the fair, that the sun sank down long before he reached the woods of Barnesdale, and he was obliged to halt at a little cottage by the way-side.

“The morrow was Lammas-day; Robin Hood ordered a fat buck to be dressed, and preparations made for his expected guest; but noon passed without any appearance of him.

“‘Go thou,’ said the outlaw to his favourite attendant, ‘and see if thou canst espy this slothful knight. Take Will Scarlet and the Miller’s Son with thee, and if his faithful surety send any over-burdened travellers to pay my debt, bring them hither. But, I charge ye, if a poor man, or a merry jester, or a damsel in distress pass by, help them to your utmost, give them gold and assist them on their way.’

“The three foresters gladly obeyed, and soon reached the high road that ran through the wood. Many a stout yeoman and honest peasant did they encounter, and pass with a fair salutation, and one poor beggar, half clothed in rags, they sent on his path rejoicing. As they reached the summit of a hill, two monks riding upon palfreys, attended by about a score armed men on foot, and six sumpter mules heavily laden, appeared just ascending upon the opposite side.

“‘I’ll wager my best bow-string,’ exclaimed Little John, ‘that these holy fathers have brought our captain’s money. Bend your bows, my lads, and scatter the herd that follows them.’ The foresters let fly arrow after arrow in such quick succession that the frightened travellers turned and fled precipitately; the archers pursued, and soon gained upon the fugitives, who one and all rushed into the woods, and endeavoured to escape amid the concealment of the foliage. Those on foot soon disappeared, but the two monks on their palfreys and the sumpter mules were easily captured by the outlaws. They immediately tied the hands of their prisoners behind them, and fastening the reins of their steeds together, they drove them to the presence of the chief, who doffed his cap, and advanced with great courtesy to meet his guests.

“‘I pray ye, holy fathers,’ he said to them, ‘take not offence at the rough usage of my followers. I care not to dine unless in goodly company, and therefore did they bring ye from your straight journeying.’ The monks preserved a sullen silence, and suffered their bonds to be cut, and themselves dismounted without speaking a word.

“‘Gramercy, good sirs,’ cried Robin Hood, ‘methinks ye have but a small share of courtesy. What holy house do ye inhabit?’

“‘We are but poor brethren of St. Mary’s Abbey,’ replied one of the monks, who was the high cellarer, ‘and were on our way to London to do reverence to the pope’s legate, who has required our presence.’

“‘May his blessing attend ye,’ said the outlaw, in a mock solemn tone. ‘Come now, my good friends, the feast is spread, sit ye and make merry.’ It is probable that in their present condition the monks would have declined this request, had not the savoury odour that arose from a smoking haunch of venison and a roasted wild swan smoothed down their angry feelings. They were soon seated by the side of the gallant forester; sparkling wine was brought, and the health of the pope’s legate was drunk with great glee. The monks ate heartily, and quaffed many a cup to their host and his merry men; forgetting, in their enjoyment, that they would pay dearly for the treat. Robin Hood laughed and sang, and his men trolled out their legendary ballads, till the sun had nearly reached the horizon.

“‘I fear me,’ said the outlaw to Little John, ‘that our dear Lady is wroth with us. The day is well nigh spent, and our four hundred pounds are yet to come.’

“‘Ne’er fear,’ replied the tall forester. ‘These kind monks have brought it, I dare swear—for they come from her holy abbey. Tell us, good fathers, have ye not repayment for us from your sainted patroness?’

“‘We have heard naught of this before,’ replied the high cellarer. ‘We possess but twenty marks wherewith to defray the expenses of our travelling. Let us away, kind sirs, or we shall ne’er reach Nottingham this night.’

“‘If ye have but twenty marks,’ returned Robin Hood, ‘ye will have to beg for charity ere ye reach your journey’s end. See, my bold Little John, how much thou canst find in yonder heavy looking trunks. If ’tis as ye say I will charge ye nothing for your feast; but if ye have a prize, ye must e’en be content to part company with it.’

“Little John soon returned with the trunk upon his shoulders, and spreading his mantle upon the grass, he poured out a heap of gold upon it.

“‘Good master, here are eight hundred pounds or more,’ he said, when he had counted out some few pieces and divided the rest into similar quantities. ‘By my troth thou could’st not have wished for better payment.’

“The monks’ vexation was now at its height; they bit their lips and cast anxious glances towards their palfreys.

“‘Ye will need some few of these,’ said Robin Hood, as he gave a handful of golden pieces to each of them; ‘the patron saint of St. Mary’s has sent us the rest as repayment for the money we lent to the knight of Wierysdale.’ They eagerly clutched the offered gold, and without opposition from the outlaws mounted their steeds with most surprising celerity, and, leaving the sumpter mules behind them, rode off amid loud shouts of laughter.

“The topmost branches of the trees alone were gilded with the rays of the setting sun, and the foliage had begun to cast a deeper shade, when a party of horsemen emerged from the woods upon the lawn where the bold foresters were merrily regaling themselves at the expense of the poor monks whom they had plundered.

“In an instant they started to their feet, and fifty shafts were levelled at the intruders, but when the foremost rider leaped from his horse and threw himself into the arms of Robin Hood, they easily recognised him as Sir Rychard o’ the Lee.

“‘Welcome, sir knight, thrice welcome,’ exclaimed the outlaw. ‘Truly thou look’st more merry than when last I saw thee in these woods? Hast thou recovered thy fair domains?’

“‘Ten thousand thanks to thee, my noble, my generous friend,’ cried the knight. ‘I still hold my fathers’ lands, and with the blessing of our Lady, I am come to return the sum I borrowed of thee.’

“‘’Tis already paid, my gallant sir,’ returned Robin Hood. ‘Two monks from the Abbey of the Holy Virgin have this day brought me back my gold with interest; so keep thy money, and when thou seest a man in need, remember Robin Hood.’

“‘Nay, thou wilt overwhelm me with thy kindness,’ replied the knight. ‘I would have been with thee ere the noon-tide, but yonder knave had the audacity to win every prize at a village festival, and, had I not interceded, he would have received but a sorry recompense for his achievements.’

“‘Ha! hast thou one of my truest men among thy followers?’ exclaimed the outlaw, as he recognised the victor. ‘George o’ the Green would have stood toughly against a score of lazy peasants, methinks.’

“‘Yes, good master,’ joined in the forester; ‘but what can one arm do against three-score? Of a truth I should have had a morning bath, an it had not been for this gallant knight.’

“Robin Hood whispered a few words to Little John, who left them and almost instantly returned with a bag of gold.

“‘Take this, good sir,’ said the chief outlaw, as he handed it to the knight. ‘The monks of St. Mary’s paid me too much by four hundred pounds. Thou canst not yet be rich; take it as a reward for thy generous intercession.’

“The knight would have refused, but he knew that by so doing he should displease his generous friend. ‘I accept thy gift,’ he replied. ‘One day I may be able to repay thy goodness; till then I shall remain a heavy debtor. But I entreat thee, receive this poor present as a humble tribute of my gratitude;’ and at his command, his followers alighted from their steeds, and laid the bows and quivers at the outlaw’s feet.

“The foresters all shouted for joy, as their chief distributed the handsome gifts among them. Many started off at once to try their new weapons; while the others resuming their seats upon the grass, helped the knight and his followers with unbounded liberality, and passed the rest of the evening in drinking and singing, till darkness closed upon their gaiety. Couches of fern and dried rushes were prepared for the guests, who slept soundly in the foresters’ rude bowers, until the bugle-horn wakened them from their dreams, at the dawn of morning. The knight, anxious to return to his lady, stayed not to break his fast: bidding farewell to the kind outlaws, he sprung into his horse’s saddle, and with his attendants rode off to his beloved home in Wierysdale.”

OUR LAST EVENING.

THE GOLDEN ARROW.

My legends of Robin Hood were well nigh exhausted: the Midsummer holidays were drawing near, and we should soon be busily engaged in striving for the prizes that were awarded to the most proficient scholars.

“This is the last time I shall tell you of bold Robin Hood,” said I, when my school-fellows had gathered round me; “but if, after the holidays are passed, we all meet again, I will endeavour to find some other by-gone stories to relate to you, that I hope will be equally interesting.” They thanked me warmly, and I thus continued:—

“When the monks of St. Mary’s Abbey had escaped from the hands of the outlaws, they urged on their steeds to the utmost, nor did they draw rein until they reached the good town of Nottingham. Without delay, they sought the sheriff of the county, and made known to him the treatment they had received in the woods of Barnesdale.

“That worthy functionary listened with great attention to their complaint, and still burning with revenge for the many insults that he had received from the outlaws, he promised that he would rest neither night nor day till Robin Hood and his men were taken. Not knowing exactly how to accomplish this, to him, desirable object, he determined upon laying the matter before the king, and mounting his fleetest steed, he rode with great haste to London, where he demanded an audience of the valiant monarch, who had just returned from his long captivity in Austria.

“‘What!’ cried Richard, when the sheriff had finished his complaint. ‘Canst thou not take a sorry rebel who owns not a single castle? Get thee gone for a coward. An thou dost not bring me that outlaw’s head within half-a-year, thy shrievalty shall be given to a better man.’

“The poor sheriff felt his disgrace, and returned slowly home to Nottingham, pondering on the king’s words, and devising plans by which he might retrieve his lost character. He thought of a notable scheme. He caused it to be proclaimed that an archery meeting would be held at Nottingham, and that a golden arrow would be given to the victor of the games. The day arrived, but he in vain looked for the coats of Lincoln green, that he had hoped would be among the crowd, and he rode about anxiously endeavouring to discover the outlaws of Sherwood. There were gallant yeomen in mantles of blue, and buff, and scarlet, and some there were in green, but they were good bowmen of Nottingham, and the sheriff was almost in despair. He ordered the sports to commence, and never was better archery shown before. A tall stranger, with a light blue jacket, excited the admiration of every one, and the arrow would have been his prize, but a rival yeoman followed and shot with such dexterity that he fairly eclipsed all those who had preceded him. He was dressed in a bright scarlet coat, crossed by a silken belt, from which was suspended a little bugle-horn of silver and gold; his lower limbs were clothed in the skin of a deer, bleached as white as snow; and upon his head he wore a long black hood, which fell gracefully down his back.

“When the sports were concluded, this gay forester was unanimously declared the winner of the day, and amid the shouts of the spectators, he was led to the tent, beneath which the sheriff of Nottingham stood to award the golden arrow. The stranger fell upon one knee, and, with much praise of his gallant archery, the prize was delivered to him. He rose, placed the arrow in his belt, and a triumphant smile lighted up his features as, for one moment, he looked at the donor’s face. It was enough, the sheriff caught the glance, and it acted like magic upon him.

“‘Ho! guards, seize him!’ he shouted with his utmost strength. ‘’Tis Robin Hood, the outlawed rebel! Five hundred pounds for his head!’ In a second, the forester had gained the middle of the field, and had blown a long shrill blast upon his horn. At the signal, yeomen flew from every part of the field and ranged themselves around him. The sheriff was astounded, he cried to his men to follow; and, mounting his horse, galloped towards the daring rebels. A flight of arrows met him half way, and his steed fell tumbling to the earth; the rider arose unhurt, but his men had fled on all sides, and he was obliged to follow them.

J. Gilbert]

“‘Base cowards,’ he cried, ‘ye shall be hung on the highest gibbets in Nottingham;’ and snatching a huge cross-bow from the hands of one of the fugitives, he levelled it at the retreating band and fired. One man dropped; it was the tall forester in the light blue coat.

“At this, the sheriff’s followers took courage, and with a loud shout, dashed onwards in pursuit of the outlaws, who had taken up their wounded companion, and were now full half a mile in advance. Arrows innumerable fell like hailstones on each party, and many of the Nottingham men fell, sorely hurt; but the chase continued, and the sheriff seemed still determined to pursue. For hours did the foresters use their fleetest speed, turning ever and again to discharge their bows, until they were well nigh exhausted. They would have stopped and fought, but the overwhelming numbers that pursued gave them but a poor chance of victory. In this extremity, a young knight, riding upon a grey charger, and attended by several armed horsemen, met them upon the road. Surprised at so unusual a sight, the knight reined up his steed and disposed his men around him, as if to dispute the road. This bold step had well nigh proved his ruin. A hundred arrows were pointed at him, and, at a word, would have pierced through his breast-plate to his heart.

“‘Hold,’ shouted Robin Hood, dropping his bow, ‘’tis Sir Rychard o’ the Lee! ’Tis the good knight of Wierysdale.’ The knight recognised the voice, leaped from his horse, and threw himself into the outlaw’s arms. A few words briefly explained to him the reason of their flight.

“‘To my castle, to my castle,’ he cried; ‘’tis close at hand, and will defy the sheriff of Nottingham, with ten thousand of his men.’ Then vaulting into his saddle, he took the wounded forester, Little John, before him upon his steed, pointed out his fortress to Robin Hood and galloped away.

“The castle of Wierysdale, surrounded on every side by noble trees, stood upon a slight eminence in the middle of an extensive valley. The building itself was of immense strength; it was girded by a lofty stone wall, six feet in thickness, and two ditches of considerable breadth and depth encompassed it. Over these were bridges that could be raised or lowered at pleasure; and a strong iron door was the only way of entrance to the castle.

“The outlaws increased their speed, and soon reached this promised refuge. The gates were wide open; they rushed in, and at a word the draw-bridges were raised, and the portcullis dropped. In a few more minutes the sheriff, with his followers at his heels, loudly demanded admittance. ‘Sir knight,’ he cried, ‘if thou dost not deliver up the outlaws of Sherwood thou shalt be branded as a traitor.’

“‘Away, proud braggart,’ retorted the knight. ‘Dost thou threaten me? By my good sword thou shalt one day rue thine insolence.’ A flight of arrows stopped farther parley, and the sheriff was in despair. It was useless, even with the multitude that he had at his command, to attempt forcing the castle, and the knight had set his authority at defiance. Burning with disappointment and rage, he denounced him as a traitor to his king, and rushing through the mass who crowded behind him, he returned to Nottingham.

“For twelve days did Robin Hood and his foresters dwell with the good knight of Wierysdale, feasting upon the most delicate food, such as they seldom met with in their forest retreats. Little John’s wound quickly healed, and ere long he winded his bugle-horn as merry as the rest, among the echoing woods of Barnesdale.