Robin Hood

Robin Hood presents the Golden Arrow to Maid Marian.

When he recovered himself Robin found them binding his shoulder. He smiled up at Warrenton to show that the hurt was little. “Are we too late for the joustings, Will?” he murmured, spying out Stuteley’s face of concern.

“We are to bring back the golden arrow with us which the Sheriff has offered as prize to the best marksman,” answered Warrenton, before the other could speak. “Now, you are to remember all that I have shown you, and shoot in confidence. Now come: the gates of Nottingham are opened, and your wound is neatly bandaged. Here is the arrow plucked from it: keep it for a trophy.”

“Is it a pretty shaft, Warrenton?” asked Robin, carelessly, as the old servant thrust it into his quiver.

“It is one of Will’s own, and that suffices.”

After Master Ford had briefly bidden them farewell, they left their beasts in charge of a fellow inside the gate, bidding him give the little grey jennet all care and attention.

Here, also, Robin got himself washed and made tidy for the Fair, and had some meat and drink to restore him. He found that it was to the long Norman cape he wore that he owed his life. The outlaw’s arrow had been diverted by the flapping garment, and had only pricked him in the fleshy part of his shoulder. The cape was so ripped, however, as to become ridiculous in its rags, so Robin asked for the loan of a pair of shears, and with them trimmed the cape so ruthlessly in his haste as to make it become more like an old woman’s hood.

“You have turned Saxon out of Norman very suddenly, master,” laughed young Stuteley.

It was a full three hours past noon ere they came to the Fair. A great ring had been made in the centre of it, and huge wooden stands had been built about this circle. They were covered finely with cloth of red and gold; and many flags and banners were flying above the tops and about the stands.

The blare and discord of trumpets rang out over the noise of the people. A great clamor of voices betokened the arrival of some great man at the front of the chief stand.

“The Sheriff has arrived,” cried Stuteley, who knew the ways at these affairs. “Hear how the people do cheer him! For sure he must be a man well liked…”

“These fellows will applaud anyone who has power and office,” said Warrenton, scornfully. “Master Monceux is not beloved of them, for all that. But hasten, or we shall be shut out. Already they are closing the gates.”

The clouds were heavy and grey, and a few large drops of rain began to patter down.

“Look to our bows, Warrenton,” cried Robin, in alarm.

“Be easy, lording – your bow shall not be at fault if the prize does not fall to your hand. Follow me.”

They were now at the wicket, and Warrenton produced his authority. Gamewell’s name was enough. They were ushered into a small box near by the Sheriff’s own, and there awaited events.

First came bouts of single-stick and quarter-staff, and Master Will was keen to take part in these contests. Warrenton counselled him to remain in the background, however.

“The folk are sure to recognize you, malapert,” said he, giving Stuteley his favorite name for him, “and there will be an outcry. Let be, then, and attend to your master.”

“It would be better, Will, I do think,” said Robin. “I have to find out cousin Geoffrey, and warn him against two villains waiting for him without the town.” And Robin gave them briefly the history of his adventure.

Ere he had ended the story, the Sheriff held up his baton as a sign that the jousting would begin. Two knights rode into the ring through the hastily opened gates, heralded by their esquires – amid the noise of a shrill blast of defiance. They were clad in chain-mail, bound on and about with white riband, and their armor was burnished in a manner most beautiful to behold. Their esquires threw down their gauntlets before the box of Master Monceux, and challenged the world to a trial of strength in these the lists-magnificent of Nottingham town.

Two black knights had ridden into the lists in answer to the challenge; and now all clamor was hushed. The Sheriff’s daughter, a pale, hard-faced girl, with straw-colored hair and mincing ways, announced in inaudible voice the terms of the contest. The heralds repeated them afterwards in stentorian tones; and the rivals wheeled about, the white knights couching their lances from under the Sheriff’s box. The others prepared themselves at the wicket-gate and waited for the signal.

This was given, and the four rushed together with a shock like a thunder-clap. These four knights gave good account of themselves.

The black knights had been unhorsed, and now they lay helpless in their heavy armor. Once on their feet, they were eager to renew the fray, and were soon again in readiness. At the second tilt they rudely unhorsed the white knights by sheer strength of arm; and all the people shouted themselves hoarse.

So the jousting went on; and, after the white knights had eventually won the first round, yellow and red took their places. Robin eagerly scanned the latter, trying to discover which of the two might be Geoffrey. A small, thin-faced man behind the Sheriff was no less eager to discover Montfichet in this favorable apparel; and evidently had sharper eyes than had Robin in piercing disguise. This wizened-faced fellow leaned back with satisfied smile, after one searching glance; then, drawing out his tablets, he wrote on them, and despatched his man in haste to London town.

Geoffrey was unhorsed in the second tilting; and lay so long upon the ground that Robin’s heart stood still. It was then discovered that this knight was unknown and had no esquire. Thus Robin knew him for his cousin.

“Attend him, Will, as you would myself,” cried Robin, anxiously, “and see now to his hurt…”

“He is but dazed, master, with his fall. It seems that these knights are armored so heavily that once down they cannot of themselves rise up again! Protect me from such war-gear! I’d sooner have my own skin and be able to be spry in it. What say you, old Warrenton?”

“Go to, malapert. Get down to him, and be as active with your hands as you are with your tongue.”

“I go, I go – see how I go!” and Will turned a somersault over him into the ring out of the front of their box. Robin called angrily on him to behave, and the little tumbler ran then to his duties as servant to the unknown Scarlet Knight.

Robin’s eager eyes roved hither and thither about the gay scene. Opposite him was a small box near to the ground, wherein sat two people only. One was a grave-faced man of courtly mien and handsome apparel: the other seemed to be his child.

Towards one of these two persons Robin’s glances for ever wandered. The laughing blue eyes of the girl, the queer little toss of her head which she gave in her unheard answers to her sober father, heartily pleased young Fitzooth, and in some way vaguely disturbed his memory. She was of about fifteen summers; and her hair was black as a winter’s night – and curled all waywardly around her merry face. Blue were her eyes when the quick fever induced by the tilting rushed in her blood – blue as meadow violets. Then, when the excitement was passed, they fell to a grey wonderment. Twice she encountered Robin’s glances; and the second time her eyes shone blue, as if ashamed, and the tint of her warm cheeks deepened. Demurely she turned away her face from him.

Young Fitzooth turned to Warrenton: “Can you tell me who these may be who sit alone in yon little box?” he asked, and cautiously pointed them out to the old retainer.

Warrenton was stupid, however, and would not see exactly where Robin would have him look. At last, as one making a discovery: “Oh, ’tis Master Fitzwalter you mean, lording? Ay, a right worthy, honest gentleman; and warden of the city gates. Next of importance in Nottingham town is he after Monceux, the Sheriff; and a prettier man in all ways. Now, were he Sheriff, Squire George of Gamewell would oftener be in Nottingham Castle than now, for we like not the Sheriff. The maid with Master Fitzwalter is his only child. She has no mother; and he is both parents to her. Ay, a proper man…”

“She is very beautiful, I think,” said Robin, speaking his thoughts almost without knowing it.

“Yes, yes, a passable wench. But I have no faith in them, lording. They are all as the Yellow One of Gamewell. They smile upon you that they may work their will; and evil comes of their favor, if not death. Now see…”

“You are crabbed, indeed, Warrenton; and I’ll hear no more. Do you know her name?”

“Fitzwalter, lording. Did I not say this was his child?”

“Has she no other name?” persisted Robin, patiently.

“Oh, ay … let me see. ‘Tis Judith, or Joan, or some such name. Mayhap, ’tis Catherine. I do misremember it, lording: but ’tis surely of no account. The archery is now to begin; and here I would have you give heed…”

He recommenced his cautions, warnings, and hints – being anxious that Robin should shine to-day for Gamewell’s sake.

Robin saw that the jousting was done, and that, after all, the red knights were conquerors. It fell to Geoffrey to ride forward and accept the coveted laurel wreath. Dipping his lance, Geoffrey caused his charger to bend its knees before the regal-looking box: and Master Monceux, after an inflated speech, placed the circlet of bays upon the end of Geoffrey’s lance. Then the unknown knight for a brief instant raised his vizor. The lean-faced man near to the Sheriff’s right hand exchanged a quick glance of understanding with the knight.

The Sheriff nodded to give the knight to understand that he was satisfied. With closed visor the scarlet one then paced his steed slowly and in quiet dignity around the lists, followed dutifully by Stuteley, until they had returned to the Monceux box. Again saluting gracefully, he extended his lance, with the wreath still depending from it, towards the Sheriff, as it seemed.

“Does he return the wreath, and wherefore?” asked Robin, in puzzled voice.

“To her to whom the wreath is yielded our Sheriff will award the title of Beauty’s Queen,” explained Warrenton. “‘Tis a foolish custom. Master Geoffrey, in this matter of etiquette, knows that the trifle should go to young Mistress Monceux. Otherwise, the Sheriff would have him beaten, no doubt; or injured in some shameful way upon his departure from the lists.”

“So that is the rule of it, eh, Warrenton?” said Robin. “I would like to choose my own Queen…”

“It matters not one jot or tittle to young Master Montfichet. See – the wreath has been duly bestowed and the Sheriff will announce his girl Queen, until the night, of Beauty in all Royal Nottingham. There will be some further mummery when the golden arrow is won. Doubtless, the winner will have to yield it up to Monceux’s girl again, on a pretence that all is hers, now she is Queen. So shall my lord the Sheriff keep his prize after all; and be able to offer it again next year.”

Robin checked the garrulous old man with a gesture.

“Now give me my bow, Warrenton,” commanded young Fitzooth, somewhat roughly; “and do you tell me how I am to enter myself in the lists.”

“Your esquire should announce you,” returned the other, respectfully. “See, here he comes.”

“The Red Knight would thank you, master, for your courtesies,” said Stuteley, approaching Robin. “He will wait for us at Nottingham gate; and prays that you will accept the chargers of the unhorsed knights from him. They are his by right of conquest, as you know.”

“I will accept them, and thank him for the gift,” returned Robin, briefly, guessing that this was the reply that Geoffrey would desire him to make. “Now tell the heralds that Robin of Locksley will enter for the Sheriff’s prize. Give no more of my name than that, Will,” he added warningly, in a lower voice.

Stuteley vanished, and Robin turned again to the lists. The Sheriff’s daughter had already been crowned, and sat now in supercilious state in the Sheriff’s own seat. Geoffrey had gone, and Fitzwalter’s box was empty.

“I’ll not shoot at all,” said Robin, suddenly. “Go, Warrenton, bring back Stuteley to me. I have changed my mind in the matter.”

“Does your wound fret you, lording?” asked Warrenton, solicitously. “Forgive me that I should have forgot…”

“Nay – ’tis not that at all. I have no wish to shoot. Fetch Will to me.”

It was too late. Stuteley had already given in Robin’s name to the heralds, and signified that he would shoot first of all. He came into the box even as Warrenton went out for him.

Half-angrily, Robin took the bow from the retainer’s hands and slung his quiver about him. He strode moodily across the lists to the spot where the other archers had already gathered. When they saw this youngling with his odd little cape preparing himself, they smiled and whispered together. Robin strung his bow and slipped an arrow across it.

The crowd became suddenly silent, and this nerved the lad to be himself once more. He forgot his momentary vexation and aimed carefully. His arrow flew surely to the target and struck it full in the middle. “A bull! A bull!” roared Warrenton and Stuteley, together. Robin stepped back.

“None so bad a shot, master,” said the next archer to him, in a quiet tone. “You have provided yourself now with a truer shaft, I ween?”

It was Will o’ th’ Green, with stained face and horse-hair beard. His eyes challenged Robin’s in ironical defiance, as he moved to take his turn. His aim seemed to be made without skill or desire to better Robin’s shot; yet his arrow found resting-place side by side with the other.

The mob cheered and applauded themselves hoarse; while the markers scored the points evenly to these first two archers.

These two stood apart, silent amidst the din. Once Will seemed to be about to speak: then changed his mind. He glanced sidelong at young Stuteley and Warrenton; then hummed a ballad-tune under his breath.

The contest went on and the first round came to an end. Out of twenty and three rivals nineteen had scored bulls at this range. The markers gave the signal to the heralds, and these announced the results with loud flourishings.

The target was taken down and the range increased. The range of the mark from the archers for the second round was fixed at forty ells – the same distance as had chanced before between Robin and Master Will when in the greenwood together. The outlaw offered to shoot first; but the heralds requested them to keep in the same order as in the preceding round.

Robin fitted his arrow quietly and with some confidence to his bow, then sped it unerringly towards the target. “A bull! Another bull to Locksley!” cried out Warrenton, in stentorian tones, and the fickle mob took up the cry: “Locksley! A Locksley!” with gusto.

Will aimed with even more unconcern than before. His arrow took the center fairly and squarely, however; and was in reality a better shot than Robin’s. The shafts were withdrawn; then the other contestants followed. This round brought down the number of competitors to five. The markers carried back the target to a distance of five-and-fifty ells; and truly the painted circles upon it seemed to be now very small.

Robin again took his stand, but with some misgiving. The light was uncertain, and a little fitful wind frolicked across the range in a way very disturbing to a bowman’s nerves. His eyes half-anxiously addressed themselves to that box wherein he had spied Mistress Fitzwalter.

His heart leaped – she had returned, and her strange gaze was fixed upon him! Robin drew his bow and flew his shaft. Unconsciously he used the arrow plucked from his own shoulder by Warrenton.

Again did he gain the center, amid the cries and jubilations of Stuteley and the old retainer.

“Now Master Roughbeard, better that!” shouted Warrenton.

The outlaw smiled scornfully and made ready. He drew his bow with ease and a pretty grace, and made a little gesture of confidence as his agile fingers released the arrow. It leaped forth rushingly towards the target, and all eyes followed it in its flight.

A loud uproar broke forth when the markers gave their score – an inner circle, and not a bull. Master Will made an angry signal of disbelief; and strode forward down the lists to see for himself. It was true: the wind had influenced a pretty shot just to its undoing, and Will had to be content with the hope that the same mischance might come to Robin or any of the other bowmen before the round was ended.

The outlaw wished especially to win – that he might have the satisfaction of vexing the Sheriff of Nottingham. Will had intended to send back this prize – a golden arrow – from his stronghold of Sherwood, snapped into twenty pieces, with a letter of truculent defiance wrapped about the scraps. He wished to make it plain to Master Monceux that the free archers of Sherwood were better men than any he might bring against them, and that they despised him very heartily. Now that he saw a likelihood of his being beaten his heart grew hot within him.

“Be not too sure of it, stripling,” said he, as he returned to Robin’s side. “Fortune may mar your next shot, as she has mine…”

“‘Tis like enough, friend,” answered Robin, smiling; “and yet I do hope that the arrow may be won by my hand. This is our second test, Master Will,” he added, in a low voice. “Forget it not – the freedom of the greenwood is the reward that I do seek even more than my lord the Sheriff’s golden arrow.”

The outlaw’s anger went suddenly from him.

“Then I do wish you God-speed, youngling,” he said, brightly. “You have in truth beaten me right honestly – for mine was an ill-judged shot.”

With Will out of it, the contest came to an easy conclusion; and presently the Sheriff’s arrow was duly awarded to Robin of Locksley by the markers.

The lad came forward shyly to receive the prize.

“Master Monceux thinks that you should shoot once more with the second archer,” said someone to him, leaning from the Sheriff’s box. Looking up, Robin espied the lean-faced man smiling disagreeably down at him.

“Let my lord state the terms of this new contest, then,” answered Robin, “and the reason for’t.”

“‘Tis said that you were over-favored by the wind and by the light.”

An angry answer was upon the lad’s lips: but he checked himself, and with slow dignity turned and went back to where the archers stood grouped together. Soon as he made known to him the difficulty which the Sheriff had raised, Will o’ th’ Green became furious.

“Locksley, have none of this trumpery prize,” cried he, in loud anger. “I do deny my right to any share in it, or to a fresh contest. Nor will I shoot again. Let Monceux vex his brain as he may with rules and conditions – they are not for Roughbeard, or for you. We have our own notions of right and justice; and since the Sheriff is loth to part with the prize that he has offered – why, yield it back to him, friend – and take the reward from me that you coupled with it.”

Other indignant protests were now heard from amongst the onlookers: and the Sheriff saw that he had raised a storm indeed. “Locksley! Robin Locksley!” was shouted noisily round and about; and Warrenton and Stuteley busily fostered the tumult. Master Monceux at last bade the heralds announce that Robin of Locksley had won the golden arrow – since the archer who had made nearest points to him did not desire nor seek a further trial.

“Were it necessary, lording,” muttered old Warrenton, “I would show you how to notch the arrow of the best archer here about – a merry trick, and one that I learned in Lancashire, where they have little left to learn of archery, for sure.”

“Nay,” put in Roughbeard, loudly, “the arrow is his without need of further parleyings. I do admit myself beaten this day – though on another occasion we will, perchance, reverse our present positions. Take or leave the arrow as you will, Locksley. For my part I would love to prick Monceux with it heartily.”

“You talk wisely, friend,” said Warrenton, approvingly, “and, as for making a match with you, why, that will we to-day. Do you ride with us to Gamewell and there you shall have archery and to spare.”

“Ay, and a welcome, too!” commenced Robin; then paused suddenly, remembering who Roughbeard really was. Montfichet of Gamewell entertaining Will o’ th’ Green!

The outlaw merely laughed good-humoredly at the lad’s confusion.

“Go, take the Sheriff’s prize; and vex him in some way, if you can, in the accepting of it!”

Again Robin walked forward towards the Monceux box; this time with flashing eyes and a resolve in his heart.

“Robin of Locksley,” said the Sheriff, scarce looking at him, “here is my golden arrow which I have offered as reward to the best bowman in this Fair. You have been accorded the prize; and I do yield it to you with sincere pleasure. Take the bauble now from our daughter’s hand, and use the arrow worthily.”

The heralds blew a brazen blast, and the demoiselle Monceux, with a thin smile, held out to Robin upon a silk cushion the little shining arrow which now was his. Bowing, and on one knee, Robin took up the glittering trophy.

“Surely ’tis a plaything more suited to a lady’s hair than to an archer,” murmured the lean-faced man, who stood close by. Catching Robin’s eye, he made a significant sign, as who would say: “Here is the Queen who would adorn it.”

Robin had that other notion in his mind, however, and saw that now the moment had arrived in which it should be put into execution. Somehow, he contrived to bring himself before the small low box wherein, half-startled, sat the maid Fitzwalter.

“Lady,” stammered the young archer, bowing to her, “do you please accept this little arrow which I have won. It is a pretty thing; but of small use to me. Maybe you could make some ornament with it.”

Then he could go no farther; but dumbly held it out to her.

The girl, having seen that her father was not unwilling, stretched out and took the Sheriff’s arrow from Robin’s shaking hands.

“Thanks to you, Robin o’ th’ Hood,” she said, with that roguish little toss of her dark curls; “I’ll take the dart, and wear it in memory of Locksley and this day!” Her eyes looked frankly into his for a brief instant; then were hid by her silky lashes.

Robin, with bounding heart, walked proudly back to where old Warrenton stood, glowing; and the people thunderingly applauded the archer’s choice.

“Right well was it done, Locksley!” roared the outlaw, near forgetting himself. “I love you for it.” For he saw only that the Sheriff had been slighted, and cries of: “A Locksley!” were renewed again and again.

Master Monceux looked furiously at this archer who had taken the prize with only the briefest word of thanks to him: and would have spoken, had not his daughter, with chilling gesture, forbidden it. She gave no outward symptom of the anger stirring within her: she wore her worthless but royal crown of bay, whilst the other toyed thoughtfully with the golden arrow, and wondered who the gallant giver of it might be.

Robin, Warrenton, Stuteley, and Roughbeard rode towards the gate of Nottingham on the horses of the defeated knights. They had decided to stay no longer at the Fair: the noisy play and mock-joustings that were to follow the archery had no attraction for them.

Will Stutely becomes Robin Hood’s squire.

Robin Hood: Season One

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“Give not so earnest a mind to these mummeries, child. ‘Twas all a trick! What did you see? A golden fortune and a happy life?”

“I did see a man, sir, dressed all in Lincoln green. He was like unto my father, in a way, and yet was not my father. Also there was a stripling page, who turned into a maid. Very beautiful she was, and I would know her again in any guise.”

“Ah, Master Robin, have you eyes for the maids already?”

“This was so sweet a lady, sir, and in some manner I do think she died. And the man shot an arrow, meaning me to see where it fell, since there would be her grave. That is what I think he meant. But then the picture was gone as quickly as it came.”

“Sister Nell, do you hear these marvels? Take your place and let us see what the crystal can show to you. Most worthy conjurer of dreams, take up your wand again: we all are waiting impatiently to know what is in store for us!”

“These things are true that the glass mirror shows, lording,” answered the wizard, reappearing. “The crystal cannot lie.”

He spoke unwittingly in a natural key. Robin turned round upon him very shrewdly.

“Friend wizard,” said the youth, half at random, “have you ever played at archery in that greenwood which your glass showed us so prettily?”

“Like as not, young master, though I am an old man.”

“Fie on you, friend!” cried Robin, exulting in a sudden discovery. “Remember that the crystal cannot lie. It tells me now that you and I will meet in rivalry, to shoot together for a strange prize – the freedom of Sherwood!”

The wizard hastily drew near and pretended to peer into the glass. “What would you do?” he whispered, fiercely.

“I can be generous, Will o’ th’ Green,” spoke back Robin, quite sure now. “Keep your secret, for I will not betray you.”

At this moment there uprose without the booth a most deafening tumult. Forthwith all ran to the opening of the tent to see what might be amiss; but Master Will, who peeped out first, needed no more than one glance. He gave way to the others very readily and retreated unperceived by the Squire and Mistress Fitzooth to the rear of the tent.

Cries of: “A Nottingham! A Nottingham!” rent the air, and added to the clangor of bells and trumpetings. As the Squire and Robin looked forth they beheld a flying crowd of men and women, all running and shouting.

Before them fled the stroller and his three sons, capless and terrified. The old man’s triangle had been torn from him and was being jangled now by Nottingham fingers.

“There is trouble before us. Come, Robin,” said Montfichet, as he stepped out, with the lad close at his heels.

“What is the tumult and rioting?” cried out the Squire, authoritatively, and he blew twice on a silver whistle which hung at his belt.

The strollers rushed at once toward the old man, and faced their enemies resolutely when they had gained his side. They were out of breath, and their story was a confused one.

The little tumbler recovered first. After the Squire had left them, he said, the Nottingham lad had returned with full a score of riotous apprentices, all armed with cudgels. They had demanded a fresh trial of skill for the Squire’s purse of pennies.

“Which was denied us in most vile words, lording,” cried out one from the crowd, which had come to a halt and was now formed in an angry sheepish ring about the front of the wizard’s tent.

“Nay, we refused their request most politely, most noble,” said the little stroller. “And then they became vexed, and would have snatched your purse from us. So my brother did stow the pennies quickly into his wallet, and, giving me the purse…”

“You flung it full in my face!” roared the Nottingham wrestler, pushing his way to the front, “you little viper, so I snatched at him to give him the whipping he deserved, when…”

“I could not see my boy injured, excellence, for but doing his duty as one of Cumberland’s sons. So I did push this fellow.”

“It is enough,” said George Gamewell, sharply, and he turned upon the crowd. “Shame on you, citizens,” cried he; “I blush for my fellows of Nottingham. Is this how you play an English game: to force your rivals to lose to you any way? Cumberland has won my purse: the test was fairly set, and fairly were we conquered. Surely we can submit with good grace.”

“‘Tis fine for you to talk, old man,” answered the lean, sullen apprentice. “But I wrestled with this fellow and do know that he played unfairly in the second bout. Else had I not gone down at the clutch, as all did see.”

“Insolent!” spoke the Squire, losing all patience; “and it was to you that I gave another purse in consolation! Go your ways ere I cause you to be more soundly whipped than your deserts, which should bring heavy enough punishment, for sure. Come to me, men, here, here!” He raised his voice still louder. “A Montfichet! A Montfichet!” he called; and the Gamewell men who had answered to his first whistling, now lustily threw themselves upon the back of the mob.

Instantly all was uproar and confusion, worse than when they first had been startled from the wizard’s tent. The Nottingham apprentices struck out savagely with their sticks, hitting friend and foe alike. The burgesses and citizens were not slow to return these blows, and a fierce battle was commenced.

The strollers took their part in it with hearty zest now that they had some chance of beating off their foes. Robin and the little tumbler between them tried to force the Squire to stand back, and very valiantly did these two comport themselves.

The head and chief of the riot, the Nottingham apprentice, with clenched fists, threatened Montfichet. Robin and the little stroller sprang upon the wretch and bore him to the ground. The three rolled over and over each other, punching and pummelling when and where they might. Robin at last got fairly upon the back of their enemy and clung desperately to him; whilst the stroller essayed to tie the man’s hands with his own garters.

The riot increased, for all were fighting now in two great parties; townsfolk against apprentices. The din and shouting were appalling. Robin and the little tumbler between them rolled their captive into the wizard’s tent.

The Squire helped to thrust them all in and entered swiftly himself. Then he pulled down the flap of canvas, hoping that thus they might not be espied. “Now, be silent, on your lives,” he began; but the captured apprentice set up an instant shout.

“Silence, you knave!” cried Montfichet. “Stifle him, Robin, if need be; take his cloth.” He felt for and found the wizard’s black cloth.

The Squire was quite out of breath. “Where is our wizard friend?” he went on, peering about in the semi-darkness. “Most gentle conjurer, we wish your aid.”

But Master Will had beaten a prudent retreat through the back of the tent. The canvas was ripped open, letting in a streak of light. They left their prisoner upon the ground, and cautiously drew near the rift.

The noise without showed no abatement. The fighting was nearer to the tent, and the bodies of the combatants bumped ever and anon heavily against the yielding canvas.

“They will pull down the place about our heads,” muttered the Squire. “Hurry, friends.”

Just then Robin stumbled over the skeleton of the ape, and an idea seized suddenly on his brain, and, picking himself up, he clutched the horrid thing tightly, and turned back with it. Thrusting open the proper entrance of the tent, Robin suddenly rushed forth with his burden, with a great shout.

“A Montfichet! A Montfichet! Gamewell to the rescue!”

He held the ape aloft and thrust with it at the press. The battle melted away like wax under a hot sun at the touch of those musty bones. Terror and affright seized upon the mob, and everywhere they fell back.

Taking advantage of this, the Squire’s few men redoubled their efforts, and, encouraged by Robin’s and the little stroller’s cries, fought their way to him. The tumbler had come bounding to Robin’s side and made up in defiant noise that which he lacked in strength of arm. The tide was turned, the other strollers and the Gamewell men came victoriously through the press and formed a ring about the entrance to the wizard’s tent.

Robin, still brandishing his hideous skeleton, wished to pursue the beaten and flying rabble; but the Squire counselled prudence.

“You have done right well, Robin of Locksley, and dearly do I love you for your courage and resource. George Montfichet will never forget this day. Here let us wait until the Sheriff’s men come to us. I hear them now, come at last, when all the fighting’s done.”

“What is your name, lording?” asked the little stroller, presently.

“Robin Fitzooth.”

“And mine is Will Stuteley. Shall we be comrades?”

“Right willingly, for between us we have won the battle,” answered Robin. He had taken a liking to this merry rogue; and gave him his name without fear or doubt. “I like you, Will; you are the second Will that I have met and liked within two days; is there a sign in that?”

“A sign that we will be proper friends,” replied the stroller.

Montfichet called out for Robin to give him an arm. The Squire, now that the danger was over, felt the reaction; and he had strange pains about his breast.

“Friends,” said Montfichet, faintly, to the wrestlers, “bear us escort so far as the Sheriff’s house. It will not be safe for you to stay here now. I would speak with you later, since notice must be taken of this affair. Pray follow us, with mine and my lord Sheriff’s men.”

He spoke with difficulty, and both Robin and Mistress Fitzooth were much perplexed over him. The party moved slowly across the scattered Fair; nor heeded the mutterings and sour looks of the few who, from a distance, eyed them.

Nottingham Castle was reached, and admittance was demanded. When the Sheriff heard who was without his gates he came down himself to greet them. He was a small, pompous man, very magnificent in his robes of office, which he was wearing this day in honor of the Fair. In the early morning he had declared it open; and on the last day would bring his daughter to deliver the prizes which would be won at the tourney.

Master Monceux, the Sheriff of Nottingham, was mightily put about when told of the rioting. He protested that the rogues who had conspired to bring about this scandal should all be thrust into the stocks for two whole days, and should afterwards be scourged out of the city. He was profuse in his offers of hospitality to his guests; knowing Montfichet to have a powerful influence with the King. And Henry might return to England at any moment.

The strollers and the Squire’s retainers had been told to find refreshment with the Sheriff’s men-at-arms in the buttery. Robin pleaded, however, with the Squire for little Will to be left with them.

“I like this impudent fellow,” he said, “and he was very willing to help us but a little while since. Let him stay with me and be my squire in the coming tourney.”

“Have your will, child, if the boy also wills it,” Montfichet answered, feeling too ill to oppose anything very strongly just then. He made an effort to hide his condition from them all, and Robin felt his fingers tighten upon his arm.

“What is it, dear patron?” Robin asked, anxiously.

“Beg me a room of the Sheriff, child, quickly. I do think that my heart is touched with some distemper.”

Robin ran to the Sheriff.

“Sir,” said he, “my patron is overcome of the heat and commotion. He prays that you will quietly grant him some private chamber wherein he may rest.”

“Surely, surely!” said the Sheriff. “Ay, and I will send him a leech – my own man, and a right skilful fellow. Bid your master use this poor house as he would his own.” The Sheriff spoke with great affectation. “In the meantime I will see that a proper banquet is served to us within an hour. But who is this fellow plucking at your sleeve? He should be in the kitchen with the rest.”

“He is my esquire, excellency,” returned Robin, with dignity.

Mistress Fitzooth had been carried off by the Sheriff’s daughter and her maids as soon as they had entered the house, so that Robin alone had the care of Montfichet. With Will Stuteley’s assistance they brought the old man safely to the chamber allotted them by the fussy Sheriff. Robin was glad when, at length, they were left to their own devices.

“‘Tis a goblet of good wine that the lording requires to mend him,” said the little stroller. “I’ll go and get it, Robin Fitzooth.”

The wine did certainly bring back the color to the Squire’s cheeks. Robin chafed his cold hands and warmed them betwixt his own. Slowly the fit passed away, and George Montfichet felt the life returning to him.

“‘Twas an ugly touch, young Robin. These escapades are not for old Gamewell, lad; his day has come to twilight. Soon ’twill be night for him and time for sleep.”

The Squire’s voice was sad. He held Robin’s hand affectionately, as the latter continued his efforts to bring back warmth to him.

“But I will do some proper service for you, child. You shall not find me one to lightly forget. Will you forgive me now? I will return to Gamewell soon as I may and there rest for a few days.”

“I’ll take you, sir. It will be no disappointment to me. I have seen all that I wish of Nottingham Fair.”

“You shall return for the tourney; and if your father will give you leave, young Cumberland, you shall become my Robin’s esquire. No thanks; I am glad to give you such easy happiness. Arm me to the hall, Robin; I am myself again, and surely there is a smell of roasted meats!”

“You are a worthy leech, Will,” presently whispered Robin. “The wine has worked a marvel. Come, follow us, and forget not that I still will wrestle with you! Ay, and show you some pretty tricks.”

“Unless I have already learned them!” retorted young Stuteley, laughing. Then, becoming serious, the little stroller suddenly bent his knee. “I’ll follow you across the earth and sea, master,” he murmured, touching Robin’s hand with his lips.

He lightly sprang to his feet again, seeing that Montfichet now impatiently awaited them. Together they made their way to the banquet spread in the Sheriff of Nottingham’s wide hall.

King’s Foresters rescue young Robin Hood and his mother from Will o’ th’ Green.

The Adventures of Robin Hood: The Complete Series

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These were the foresters of Nottingham, roving far afield. The Sheriff of Nottingham had become angered at the impudent robberies of late, and now all of his foresters had spread themselves about Sherwood in the hope of making such a capture of the outlaws as would please their master and bring substantial reward to themselves. On the head of Will o’ th’ Green, the chief of the band, was set the price of ten golden crowns.

But alas! these crowns were still to seek; for Will o’ th’ Green, at first hint of the danger, had put his horn to his lips and given a long, low call upon it, and next instant not a robber was to be seen.

Each man had dropped to his hands and knees as soon as he had reached the bushes; and the foresters might beat and belabor Mother Sherwood in vain, for she would never betray her children.

Fitzooth’s men-at-arms were glad to be released, and were eager now to give all information against their assailants. One of the fellows swore roundly that the learned clerk had given Will o’ th’ Green a very plain hint; but this assertion was most properly put aside by all who heard it.

Robin gave his story of the business, and then, having thanked the captain of the foresters, would have continued the journey. The clerk was no longer to be denied, however, from his food: and so it came about that presently the four of them were at a meal together under the trees – the captain of the foresters having agreed to join with Robin, the hermit, and Mistress Fitzooth in an attack upon the good wine and pasty which the latter had provided.

The foresters returned in twos and threes from their fruitless search, and stood about in little knots discussing the chase. All agreed that the outlaws had some stronghold underground, with many entrances and ways into it; easily to be found by those in the secret, but impossible of passage to persons in pursuit.

“Do you go to Gamewell, friends?” asked the captain, after the meal had been finished. When he had been answered yes, he told Mistress Fitzooth that she might have an escort for the rest of the way; since he and his men must travel to Gamewell themselves, to report the encounter to Squire George of Gamewell.

Gladly Mistress Fitzooth heard this, and very cheerfully they all started afresh upon the journey.

Robin alone was sad; the fact that the robber chief’s arrow had flown more near a woodman’s mark than his own rankled within his breast.

Ah, but a time would come when Master Will o’ th’ Green should see better archery than he now dreamed of. And Robin should be the master who would teach the lesson.

Building such day-dreams, he cantered quietly enough beside his mother’s jennet; whilst the clerk and the captain of the foresters chattered amiably together. The dame listened to their gossip, and put in her own word and question; she had an easy mind now and could give herself to talk of Prince John and his impudent rebellion.

“So the barons would really make him King?” asked she, round-eyed: “King of all these lands and forests?”

“Some of our barons have sworn so much,” answered the forester, lightly; “but men speak best with their swords, dame. Have you not heard of young Montfichet’s doings? He has undone himself indeed.”

“Waldemar Fitzurse is behind it all, and young De Brocy,” the clerk interrupted, loudly, giving him a warning glance.

The friar pointed to Robin. “‘Tis the lad’s cousin, and he does not know of Geoffrey Montfichet’s outlawry,” he whispered.

“Some say that the King will establish an assize of arms on his return from France, whereby every knight, freeholder, and burgess must arm himself for England’s defense,” continued the clerk, easily. “‘Tis a pretty notion, and like our King.”

“There are tales about our Henry, and ballads more than enough,” replied the forester, shrugging his shoulders. “Will o’ th’ Green knows a good one, I am told.”

At the mention of the outlaw’s name Robin pricked up his ears. He asked many questions concerning Master Will; and learned that he had been outlawed by Henry himself for the accidental slaying of a younger brother in a quarrel years since. Before that he had been a dutiful and loyal subject, and there were some who vowed that Master Will was as loyal now as many of Henry’s barons. Will shot the King’s deer, truly, but only that he might live: the others conspired against their monarch’s honor, in order that their own might be increased.

The cavalcade came into sight of Gamewell Hall while still at this gossip. The night was falling and lights burned behind the embrasured windows of the castle, for such it was in truth, being embattled and surrounded properly by a moat and heavy walls.

The captain wound his horn to such purpose that the bridge was soon lowered, and the whole party began to trot over it into the wide courtyard before the hall. That it was a very magnificent place was apparent, despite the shadows.

Before the door of the hall Robin sprang lightly from his horse and ran to help his mother from her saddle with tender care: then moved to give assistance to the clerk. The latter had bundled himself to firm ground, however, and now stood stolidly expectant.

Master Montfichet – George of Gamewell, as the country folk called him mostly – had come down to greet his guests, and was waiting upon them ere Robin could turn about. The Squire was an old man, with white hair curling from under a little round cap. He wore long black robes, loose and rather monkish in their fashion. He seemed as unlike his sister as Robin could well imagine, besides being so much more advanced in years. His face was hairless and rather pale; but his eyes shone brightly. There was a very pleasant expression in the lines about his mouth, and his manner was perfect. He embraced Robin with kindliness; and real affection for his sister seemed to underlie his few words of welcome. To the Friar of Copmanhurst he was so courteous and respectful that Robin began to wonder whether he himself had ever properly regarded the clerk in the past. If so great a man should bow to him, what ought Robin to do? Robin remembered that he had often ventured to rally and tease this good-natured master who had taught him his letters.

The Squire bade them follow him, so soon as their horses and baggage had been duly given over to the servants and he had heard the forester’s complaint against the outlaws. The Squire made little comment, but frowned.

At the conclusion of the captain’s report, they came into the hall, lighted by a thousand fat tapers.

“Sister Nell – do you please dismiss us,” said the Squire, in his courtly way, after he had signed to some waiting-maids to take charge of Mistress Fitzooth. “I will lead Robin to his chamber myself, and show him the arrangement we have made for his stay at Gamewell. Supper will be served us here in less than an hour. Father, your apartments shall be near my own. Come with me, also.”

In the room allotted to him Robin found new and gay clothes laid out upon a fair, white bed, with a little rush mat beside it. A high latticed window looked out upon the court, and there was a bench in the nook, curiously carven and filled with stuffs and naperies the like of which Robin had never seen before.

The walls were hung with tapestries, and very fierce and amazing were the pictures embroidered upon them. The ceiling was low and raftered with polished beams. Behind the door was a sword suspended by a leathern belt.

“For you, kinsman,” the Squire had said, smilingly.

Robin lost no time in doffing his green jerkin and hose, and then he washed himself and eagerly essayed his new habiliments. When the sword had been buckled on, our young hero of Locksley felt himself equal to Will o’ th’ Green or any other gallant in Christendom.

He strode along the corridors and found his way back to the great hall. There the Master of Gamewell and his mother awaited him. Mistress Fitzooth’s eyes shone approvingly, and Robin slipped his fingers into hers.

“I’ll build a castle as fine as this, mother mine, one of these days,” Robin told her: and he began to ask Master Montfichet questions as to the number of claims-at-law that he must have won in order to hold so splendid a domain. The Squire smilingly told him that the King had given Gamewell to him as a reward for valor in battle many years agone.

“Then will I fight for the King,” cried Robin, with flashing eyes, “so that I may win my father Broadweald and all the lands of it.”

“And I will teach you, Robin: be sure of that,” said old George Montfichet. “But your sword must be swung for the right King, harkee. Not for rebellious princes will we cry to arms; but for him whom God hath placed over us – Henry the Angevin.”

“Amen,” murmured the clerk, fervently. “Let law and order be respected always.”

“It may mean much to you, friar,” said Montfichet. “Young John has the Priory of York under his hands.”

“He has not fingers upon Sherwood, and we are free of it!” cried the clerk. Then he hastily corrected himself. “We hermits can have no fear, since we have no wealth. Happy then the man with naught to lose, and who has a contented mind.”

“I will be free of Sherwood Forest, father, if that boon shall wait upon my archery. Master Will, the robber, swore that if I beat him, sir” – he had turned his bright face to old Gamewell’s – “I should go free of the greenwood. And I will win the right.”

“‘Tis scarcely Will’s to grant,” frowned the Squire; “yet, in a way, he has control of the forest. It is a matter which I will look to, since the Sheriff seems so fearful of him,” he added, significantly.