Robin Hood. Creswick Paul
would go.
"The Sheriff administers his portion of the forest very abominably then," returned Fitzooth. "We have no fears and whinings here; but I do not doubt that Warrenton chattered with a view to test our courage, or perchance to make more certain of my refusal."
"But we are to go, are we not, sir?" Robin was anxious again, for his father's tone had already changed.
"I have said it; and there it ends," said Fitzooth, shortly. "If the clerk will make the journey you shall make it too. Further, an the Squire will have you, you shall stay at Gamewell and learn the tricks and prettinesses of Court and town. But look to your bow for use in life, and to your own hands and eyes for help. Kiss me, Robin, and get to bed. Learn all you can; and if Warrenton can show you how to fashion arrows within the year I'll ask no more of brother George of Gamewell."
"You shall be proud of me, sir; I swear it. But I will not stay longer than a month; for I am to watch over my mother's garden."
"Never will shafts such as yours find quarry, Robin. I think that they would sooner kill the archer than the birds. There, mind not my jesting. Men shall talk of you; and I may live to hear them. Be just always; and be honest."
* * * * *
The day broke clear and sweet. From Locksley to the borders of Sherwood Forest was but a stone's cast.
Robin was in high glee, and had been awake long ere daylight. He had dressed himself in his best doublet, green trunk hose, and pointed shoes, and had strung and unstrung his bow full a score of times. A sumpter mule had been saddled to carry the baggage, for the dame had, at the last moment, discovered a wondrous assortment of fineries and fripperies that most perforce be translated to Gamewell.
Robin was carolling like any bird.
"Are you glad to be leaving Locksley, my son?" asked Hugh Fitzooth.
"Ay, rarely!"
"'Tis a dull place, no doubt. And glad to be leaving home too?"
"No, sir; only happy at the thought of the Fair. Doubt it not that I shall be returned to you long ere a month is gone."
"A year, Robin, a year! Twelve changing months ere you will see me again. I have given my word now. Keep me a place in your heart, Robin."
"You have it all now, sir, be sure, and I am not really so glad within as I seem without."
"Tut, I am not chiding you. Get you upon your jennet, dame; and, Robin, do you show the way. Roderick and the other shall lead the baggage mule. Have you pikes with you, men, and full sheaths?"
"I have brought me a dagger, father," cried Robin, joyfully.
So, bravely they set forth from their quiet house at Locksley, and came within the hour to Copmanhurst. Here only were the ruins of the chapel and the clerk's hermitage, a rude stone building of two small rooms.
Enclosed with high oaken stakes and well guarded by two gaunt hounds was the humble abode of the anchorite.
The clerk came to the verge of his enclosure to greet them, and stood peering above the palisade. "Give you good morrow, father," cried Robin; "get your steed and tie up the dogs. We go to Nottingham this day and you are to come with us!"
The monk shook his head. "I may not leave this spot, child, for matters of vanity," he answered, in would-be solemn tones.
"Will you not ride with the dame and my son, father?" asked Fitzooth. "George of Gamewell has sent in for Robin, and I wish that you should journey with him, giving him such sage counsel as may fit him for a year's service in the great and worshipful company that he now may meet."
"Come with us to-day, father," urged Mistress Fitzooth also. "I have brought a veal pasty and some bread, so that we may not be hungry on the road. Also, there is a flask of wine."
"Nay, daughter, I have no thought for the carnal things of life. I will go with you, since the Ranger of Locksley orders it. It is my place to obey him whom the King has put in charge of our greenwood. Bide here whilst I make brief preparation."
His eyes had twinkled, though, when the dame had spoken; and one could see that 'twas not on roots and fresh water alone that the clerk had thrived. Full and round were the lines of him under his monkly gown; and his face was red as any harvest moon.
Hugh bade farewell briefly to them, while the clerk was tying up his hounds and chattering with them.
When the clerk was ready Fitzooth kissed his dame and bade her be firm with their son; then, embracing Robin, ordered him to protect his mother from all mischance. Also he was to bear himself honorably and quietly; and, whilst being courteous to all folk, he was not to give way unduly to anyone who should attempt to browbeat or to cozen him.
"Remember always that your father is a proud man; and see, take those arrows of my own making and learn from them how to trim the hazel. You have a steady hand and bold eye; be a craftsman when you return to Locksley, and I will give you control of some part of the forest, under me. Now, farewell–take my greetings to our brother at Gamewell."
Then the King's Forester turned on his heel and strode back towards Locksley. Once he paused and faced about to wave his cap to them: then his figure vanished into the green of the trees.
A sadness fell upon Robin–unaccountable and perplexing. But the hermit soberly journeyed toward Nottingham, the two men-at-arms, with the sumpter mule, riding in front.
The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky.
Robin spied out a fine old stag, and his fingers itched to fit one of his new arrows to his bow. "These be all of them King's deer, father?" he asked the friar, thoughtfully.
"Every beast within Sherwood, royal or mean, belongs to our King, child."
"Do they not say that Henry is away in a foreign land, father?"
"Ay, but he will return. His deer are not yet to be slain by your arrows, child. When you are Ranger at Locksley, in your father's stead, who shall then say you nay?"
"My father does not shoot the King's deer, except those past their time," answered Robin, quickly. "He tends them, and slays instead any robbers who would maltreat or kill the does. Do you think I could hit yon beast, father? He makes a pretty mark, and my arrow would but prick him?"
[Illustration: ROBIN AND HIS MOTHER GO TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR
The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky.]
The clerk glanced toward Mistress Fitzooth. "Dame," said he, gravely, "do you not think that here, in this cool shadow, we might well stay our travelling? Surely it is near the hour of noon? And," here he sank his voice to a sly whisper, "it would be well perhaps to let this temptation pass away from before our Robin! Else, I doubt not, the King will be one stag the less in Sherwood."
"I like not this dark road, father," began the dame. "We shall surely come to a brighter place. Robin, do you ride near to me, and let your bow be at rest. Warrenton, your uncle's man, told me but yesterday–"
Her voice was suddenly drowned in the noise of a horn, wound so shrilly and distantly as to cause them all to start. Then, in a moment, half a score of lusty rascals appeared, springing out of the earth almost. The men-at-arms were seized, and the little cavalcade brought to a rude halt.
"Toll, toll!" called out the leader. "Toll must you pay, everyone, ere your journey be continued!"
"Forbear," cried Robin, waving his dagger so soon as the man made attempt to take his mother's jennet by the bridle. "Tell me the toll, and the reason for it; and be more mannerly."
The man just then spied that great stag which Robin had longed to shoot, bounding away to the left of them. Swiftly he slipped an arrow across his longbow and winged it after the flying beast.
"A miss, an easy miss!" called Robin, impatiently. Dropping his dagger, he snatched an arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow and sent it speeding towards the stag. "Had I but aimed sooner!" murmured Robin, regretfully, when his arrow failed by a yard to reach its quarry; and the clerk held up his hands in pious horror