Robin Hood

Robin Hood helps the Scarlet Knight.

It was Warrenton who brought Master Geoffrey his red-armored steed and lance, after all; for, although Robin had had a voice in the choosing of the horse, and had helped the retainer to bind the shaft and interlace the cuirass and gyres with riband such as the knight had ordered, events stayed Robin from going out with these appurtenances of war to the Lady’s Bower.

Young Fitzooth had been commanded to his mother’s chamber so soon as he had come out from his converse with the Squire. There befell an anxious interview, Mistress Fitzooth arguing for and against the Squire’s project in a breath. Robin was perplexed indeed: his ambition was fired by the Squire’s rosy pictures of what he, as a true Montfichet, must adhere to without fail upon assuming the name and mantle of Gamewell.

Most of all Robin thought of his father. What would he counsel? “Remain Fitzooth, and fight your own way in the world, boy.” That is what he might say. In the end Robin decided to sleep upon the matter. In any case he would not consent to rob Geoffrey of his inheritance; and he told old Gamewell this to his face. “When I am gone you can do what you will with the place, boy,” the old man had answered. “I have no son; but, of course, the fees and revenues will be yours. If, for a whim, you beggar yourself, I cannot stay you. But take it whilst I live; and wear Montfichet’s shield in the days when my eyes can be rejoiced by so brave a sight, for you will ne’er disgrace our ’scutcheon, I warrant me. Perchance ’tis Geoffrey’s sole chance that you should wear the badge of Gamewell. I might choose to bequeath it elsewhere.”

The lad had checked him then. “Never that, sir,” he had said. “Let Gamewell land be ruled, for ever, by Gamewell’s proper lord. I pray you to let me take counsel with my mother ere I answer you.”

“It is what I would suggest myself. Go to her.”

Then had come the argument with his mother, which had unsettled him more than before.

He went down to discuss with Warrenton and Stuteley the means by which they best could bring the horse and arms to Geoffrey, and it soon became evident that no one other than Warrenton dare attempt it, for fear of betraying the son to his still angry father.

“Are you sure, Warrenton, that you will perform this business right carefully?” Robin asked, over and over again, until the old servant became vexed.

“I am part of the house of Montfichet, lording,” snapped Warrenton, at last, “and it is not reasonable to think that I will turn against myself, as it were. Be sure that the horse and his trappings will be safely carried to my second master, Geoffrey, at the hour given. Do you keep the Squire employed in talk; and find excuse to lie in the little room next to his own that you may hear him if he moves.”

So Robin and Will went back to the hall, and presently the Squire’s voice was heard through the arras which covered the north entrance to the apartment. He was in deep converse with the clerk, and entered the hall holding him by the arm. For a moment Robin and Will were unperceived; then the Squire’s bright, keen eyes discovered them.

“Now to bed, boy!” cried he, dropping his detaining hold of the priest. “‘Tis late; and I go myself within a short space. Dismiss your squire, Robin, and bid me good e’en. An early sleeper maketh a sound man.”

“Did I see you with Warrenton, Robin Fitzooth?” put in the clerk, curiously. “I would fain have some talk with him on the matter of archery. I am told that this old man can draw as pretty a bow as any in Nottingham.”

“As any in England, I would say,” said Gamewell, proudly. “That is, in his day. Now that age is upon Warrenton and his master, cunning in such matters is to seek. Yet he will teach you a few tricks when morning is come. Now kiss me, boy, and keep clear head and ready hand for the joustings and games to-morrow. Good night; God keep thee, Robin.”

He seemed to take it for granted that Robin would, in the end, consent to become of the house of Gamewell. Already Squire George looked upon him as heir to the hall and its acres; even as slowly did Warrenton, the shrewd and faithful man-at-arms. Truth to tell, the old servant did not regard the prospect with too kind an eye.

Young Fitzooth embraced his uncle, and bade him good night with real affection. There was no chance to alter his sleeping-room to one nearer to Gamewell’s chamber.

When he had reached his chamber, again came the suspicion of Warrenton. Robin unfastened his tunic slowly and thoughtfully. Presently he crossed the floor of his room with decided step.

“Will,” cried he, softly; and Stuteley, who had chosen his couch across the door of his young master’s chamber, sprang up at once in answer.

“Do you hold yourself ready, Will, so soon as the house is asleep. We will go out together to the bower; there is a way down to the court from my window. Rest and be still until I warn you.”

Stuteley replied in a word to him; and, blowing out his taper, Robin returned to his bed and flung himself upon it in patient expectation.

The hours passed wearily by, and movement could yet be heard about the hall. The open lattice gave entry to all sound from the court below; and from his window Robin could tell when the tapers in the hall were extinguished. Thrice he got up from his bed, and his stock of patience was slipping from him.

At last all was quiet and black in the courtyard of Gamewell.

“Will,” whispered Robin, opening his door as he spoke, “are you ready?”

Stuteley nodded as he entered on pointed toes.

“From the window,” explained Robin, pushing him towards the lattice. A faint starry radiance illumined the sky, and dim shadows held the angles and nooks of the court below them.

A dense ivy clung to and covered the walls of the house. To one of light and agile body it gave fair footing. Robin had hands and feet in it in a moment; and cautiously, adroitly came to the ground, and signalled to Will Stuteley.

The little ex-tumbler would have liked to have done tricks and shown his cleverness in the business, had there been time for it: as it was, Will dropped beside Robin lightly and easily, and instantly the two began to cross the court.

It was necessary for them to climb over the stables at their left hand. Some dogs, hearing these quiet, stealthy footfalls, began to bay furiously: and both the youths stayed themselves until the beasts went grumbling and suspicious back to the kennels.

They then renewed their journey, and, under the better light, made a safe crossing of the stable-roofs.

They managed at length to win the gardens, and then raced across the open ground to gain the shelter of the yew-trees bordering the bower. The pleasance, in the soft moonlight, looked ghostly enough: the statues and stone ornaments placed about the place seemed to be instinct with life and to wave signals of horror to Will’s starting eyes.

At last they approached the hut, and Robin saw in the bright moonlight that the door gaped black at them. There was no sign to betray either Warrenton or Geoffrey to him. Robin entered the hut, dragging the unwilling esquire after him.

A draught of chill air puffed in their faces as they entered; and a great owl blundered screamingly out into the night, the rush and noise of it startling Will to a cold ecstasy of terror. He would have plunged madly back to the hall had not Robin held firmly to him.

“Be not so foolish, friend,” said Fitzooth, crossly. His voice took his father’s tone, as always happened when he was angered.

They moved thereafter cautiously about the hut, groping before and about them to find something to show that Warrenton had fulfilled his mission. Presently Will stumbled and fell, pulling down Robin atop of him.

Robin, putting out his hand to save himself, found that his fingers grasped nothing but air. They were upon the verge of an open trap, in the far corner of the hut; and Stuteley had tripped over the edge of the reversed flap-mouth of this pit. Fitzooth’s hand rested at last upon the top rung of a ladder, and slowly the truth came to him. Quickly he drew himself up and whispered the discovery to the other.

In an instant, then, their fears were dispelled. Will would have gone down first into the pit had not Robin stayed him. Stuteley was anxious that his young master should come to no harm; and where a danger appeared an earthly one, he was quite willing to bear the brunt of it. It was thought of the Yellow Woman which dried up all the courage in his small, wiry body.

Robin carefully descended the ladder and found himself soon upon firm rocky ground. Stuteley was by his side in a flash: and then they both began feeling about them to ascertain the shape and character of this vault. Hardly had they commenced when Robin’s quick ears took warning. Sound of a quiet approach was plain.

The darkness of the pit was suddenly illumined, and the lads found themselves suddenly faced by the beams of a lanthorn suspended at about a man’s height in the air. From the blackness behind the light they heard a voice – Warrenton’s!

“Save me, masters, but you startled me rarely!” cried he, waving the lanthorn before him to make sure that these were no ghosts in front of him. “I have but this minute left Master Montfichet, having carried his horse to him in safety. He rides into Nottingham to-morrow, unattended. I would that I might be squire to him!”

“Did you indeed bring horse and arms down this ladder, Warrenton?” enquired Robin, with his suspicions still upon him. “Truly such a horse should be worth much in Nottingham Fair! I would dearly have loved to see so brave a business…”

“Nay, nay, lording,” answered Warrenton, with a half-laugh. “See” – and again he waved his light, showing them where the underground passage, for such it was, sloped upward to another and larger trap, now closed. “This way is one of the many secret ones about Gamewell, master: but do you keep the knowledge of it to yourselves, I beg, unless you would wish hurt to our future lord of Gamewell.”

Warrenton spoke thus with significance, to show Robin that he was not to think Geoffrey’s claims to the estate would be passed by. Robin Fitzooth saw that his doubts of Warrenton had been unfair: and he became ashamed of himself for harboring them.

“Give me your hand, Warrenton, and help me to climb these steps,” said he, openly. “‘Tis dark, for all your lamp; and I fain would feel friendly assistance, such as you can give.”

His tones rang pleasantly on Warrenton’s ears, and forthwith a good-fellowship was heralded between them. This was to mean much to the young hero of Locksley in the time to come; for Warrenton’s help and tuition were to make Robin Fitzooth something far better than the clever bowman he was already. This night, in a way, saw the beginning of Robin’s fortunes and strange, adventurous after-life.

The old servant told him quietly as they crept back to Gamewell that this passage-way led from the hut in the pleasance to Sherwood; and that Geoffrey for the time was hiding with the outlaws in the forest. “Our master is to be recognized by us as the Scarlet Knight at Nottingham Fair should one ask of us, lording,” Warrenton told him. “He implores us to be discreet as the grave in this matter, for in sooth his life is in the hollow of our hands.”

The old servant spoke no more. In silence he led them back into Gamewell by the private door through the stables by which he had himself emerged.

They regained their apartment, apparently without disturbing the household of Gamewell. Only did one pair of eyes and ears look and listen for them, and observe both their exit and return. It was the Clerk of Copmanhurst’s door that stood ajar; his busy mind that employed itself in speculation as to the cause and meaning of this midnight adventure.

Squire George of Gamewell wants Robin of Locksley to become his heir.

Squire George of Gamewell rested at his ease in the comfort of his own domain during the next day; and, though he would have Robin go into Nottingham, with his new esquire and Warrenton – Montfichet’s own man – young Fitzooth was more than content to stay near to his patron’s side.

There had been no difficulty in the matter of Master Stuteley’s detachment from the other strollers. The old tumbler was shrewd enough to see that his son would considerably better his fortunes by joining them with those of Robin of Locksley. Will was delighted, and wished to commence his duty in Robin’s service by instructing his young master at once in the arts of wrestling, single-stick, and quarter-staff.

The Squire laughed at their enthusiasm.

“Do you leave me, Robin, to the care of your mother: I warrant me I’ll come to no harm!” he said. “There are matters on which I would talk with her, and we must be at peace.”

Montfichet dismissed them. He was quite restored by this time, and settled himself to a serious conversation with his sister.

There were subjects which he touched upon only to her – being a secret man in some things, and very cautious.

“Having now no son, and being a lonely man,” he had written in his letter, and Dame Fitzooth had known from this that unhappy relations still existed between George of Gamewell and Geoffrey Montfichet, his only son.

The two men had been for a long time on unfriendly terms, though the Squire latterly had sought honestly to undo that which had been years a-doing. He could not own to himself that the fault was his altogether: but Geoffrey, exiled to London, had been brought back to Gamewell at his father’s entreaty. For a time things had gone on in a better direction – then had come Prince John’s rebellion.

Geoffrey Montfichet was found to have been implicated in it, and had been condemned to death. Only by the Squire’s most strenuous endeavors had this sentence been commuted by the King to life punishment. Geoffrey fled to Scotland, whilst the Squire had been exercising himself on his erring son’s behalf. It was the last straw, and George Montfichet disinherited his son. The hard-won Manor of Gamewell must pass from the line.

Squire George had suddenly perceived a chance to prevent that catastrophe. He had taken greatly to the lad Robin Fitzooth: and this boy was of the true Montfichet blood – why should he not adopt the Montfichet name and become the Montfichet heir?

This notion had been simmering in the Squire’s mind. It had been born at that moment when Robin had so cared for him and fought for him in Nottingham Fair. “Here, at last,” said the Squire, “have I found a son, indeed.”

Mistress Fitzooth had to listen to her brother’s arguments submissively. The dame saw stormy days for her ahead, for well she guessed that Hugh Fitzooth would never agree to what the other in his impetuous way was proposing. She listened and said “yea” and “nay” as the occasion offered: once she mentioned Geoffrey’s name, and saw Gamewell’s face cloud instantly with anger.

“He is no son of mine,” said Montfichet, in a hard voice. “Do not speak of him here, sister Nell – nor think me an unforgiving man,” he hastened to add, “for God knows that I did humble myself to the ground that I might save his head from the axe of the King’s executioner! And he disgraced me by running away to Scotland on the very night that I had gained Henry’s pardon for him. Nay; I have no kin with cowards!”

“Geoffrey may have some reasonable excuse, brother mine,” began the dame, anxious to make peace.

Gamewell cut her short. “There can be no excuse for him,” he said, harshly.

His voice softened when he talked of Robin, for he was concerned to gain his point.

“Fitzooth will be difficult in the matter, I do fear me,” murmured the dame, perplexed and ill at ease. “He is a Saxon, George, and thinks much of his descent and name. He looks to Robin winning fame for it, as in olden days. I do misdoubt me sorely.”

“Well, let the lad be known as Robin Fitzooth Montfichet – ’tis but tacking on another name to him,” said the Squire. “If he lives here, as I shall devise in my will, right soon will he be known as Gamewell, and that only! That fate has befallen me, and one might believe me now as Saxon as your Hugh, Nell.”

“You are none the worse for’t, George,” answered the dame, proudly. “Either race is a kingly one.”

“Saxon or Norman – shall Robin become Montfichet?” asked the Squire, commencing his arguments again.

Fate had in store for young Robin, however, very different plans from those tormenting Fitzooth the Ranger and old Squire George of Gamewell Hall.

Will Stutely becomes Robin Hood’s squire.

Robin started back angrily and faced the Squire. He began a confused complaint against the wizard, who had vanished behind the curtain on the left. Master Montfichet shrugged his shoulders indulgently.

“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.