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Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

by G. P. R. James · English · Gutenberg #49987 · 952,755 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

Author: G. P. R. James


        
Release date: September 16, 2015 [eBook #49987]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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                              COLLECTION
                        OF ANCIENT AND MODERN
                           BRITISH AUTHORS.
                           VOL. CCCLXXXVI.
          ==================================================
                             FOREST DAYS
                       A ROMANCE OF OLD TIMES.




              -----------------------------------------
              PRINTED BY CRAPELET, 9, RUE DE VAUGIRARD.






                             FOREST DAYS

                       A ROMANCE OF OLD TIMES.

                          BY G. P. R. JAMES,
           AUTHOR OF "MORLEY ERNSTEIN," "THE ROBBER," ETC.



                                PARIS,
                      BAUDRY'S EUROPEAN LIBRARY,
              3, QUAI MALAQUAIS, NEAR THE PONT DES ARTS;
                AND STASSIN ET XAVIER, 9, RUE DU COQ.
  SOLD ALSO BY AMYOT, RUE DE LA PAIX; TRUCHY, BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS;
  BROCKHAUS AND AVENARIUS, RUE RICHELIEU; LEOPOLD MICHELSEN, LEIPZIG;
        AND BY ALL THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS ON THE CONTINENT.

                                1843.






                                  TO
                 JAMES MILNES HASKILL, ESQ. M P. ETC.

MY DEAR SIR,

In offering you a book, which I fear is little worthy of your
acceptance, and a compliment which has become valueless, I cannot help
expressing my regret at having no other means of testifying my esteem
and respect for one, who has not only always shown a most kindly
feeling towards myself and my works, but has ever advocated the true
interests of literature. You will, nevertheless, I am sure, receive the
tribute not unwillingly, however inadequate it may be to convey my
thanks for many an act of kindness, or to express a feeling of high
esteem founded on no light basis.

In the volumes I send, you will find many scenes with which you are
familiar, both in history and in nature; but one thing, perhaps, will
strike you with some surprise. We have been so much accustomed, in
ballad and story, to see the hero of the forest, Robin Hood, placed in
the days of Richard I., that it will seem, perhaps, somewhat bold in me
to depict him as living and acting in the reign of Henry III. But I
think, if you will turn to those old historians, with whose writings
you are not unfamiliar, you will find that he was, as I have
represented, an English yeoman, of a very superior mind, living in the
times in which I have placed him, outlawed, in all probability, for his
adherence to the popular party of the day, and taking a share in the
important struggle between the weak and tyrannical, though
accomplished, Henry III., and that great and extraordinary leader,
Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.

In regard to the conduct of my story, I have nothing to say, but that I
wish it were better. I think, however, that it will be found to contain
some striking scenes of those times; and I trust that the struggle of
feelings, depicted in the third volume, may afford you matter of some
interest.

          Believe me to be,
                   My Dear Sir,
               With the highest esteem,
                    Your most faithful servant,
                        G. P. R. JAMES.






                            FOREST DAYS.




                              CHAPTER I.


Merry England!--Oh, merry England! What a difference has there always
been between thee and every other land! What a cheerfulness there seems
to hang about thy very name! What yeoman-like hilarity is there in all
the thoughts of the past! What a spirit of sylvan cheer and rustic
hardihood in all the tales of thy old times!

When England was altogether an agricultural land--when a rude plough
produced an abundant harvest, and a thin, but hardy and generous
peasantry, devoted themselves totally to the cultivation of the
earth,--when wide forests waved their green boughs over many of the
richest manufacturing districts of Great Britain, and the lair of the
fawn and the burrow of the coney were found, where now appear the
fabric and the mill, there stood, in a small town, or rather, I should
call it, village, some fourteen miles from Pontefract, a neat little
inn, well known to all the wayfarers on the road as a comfortable
resting place, where they could dine on their journey to or from the
larger city.

The house was constructed of wood, and was but of two stories; but let
it not be supposed on that account that it was devoid of ornament, for
manifold were the quaint carvings and rude pieces of sculpture with
which it was decorated, and not small had been the pains which had been
bestowed upon mouldings and cornices, and lintels and door-posts by the
hand of more than one laborious artisan. Indeed, altogether, it was a
very elaborate piece of work, and had probably been originally built
for other purposes than that which it now served; for many were the
changes which had taken place in that part of the country, as well as
over the rest of England, between the days I speak of, and those of a
century before.

Any one who examined the house closely, would have seen that it must
have been constructed before the year 1180, for there was very strong
proof, in the forms of the windows, and the cutting across of several
of the beams which traversed the front, that at the period of its
erection the use of glazed casements in private houses was not known.
At the time I speak of, however, glass had become plentiful in England,
and, though cottages were seldom ornamented with anything like a
lattice, yet no house with the rank and dignity of an inn, where
travellers might stop in rainy and boisterous weather, was now without
windows, formed of manifold small lozenge-shaped pieces of glass, like
those still frequently employed in churches, only of a smaller size.

The inn was a gay-looking, cheerful place, either in fine weather or in
foul; for, as there are some men who, clothe them as you will, have a
distinguished and graceful air, so are there some dwellings which look
sunshiny and bright, let the aspect of the sky be what it will. The
upper story of the house projected beyond the lower, and formed of
itself a sort of portico, giving a shelter to two long benches placed
beneath it, either from the heat of the summer sun, or the rain of the
spring and autumn; and it need not be said that these benches formed
the favourite resting place of sundry old men on bright summer
evenings; and that many a time, in fine weather, a table would be put
out upon the green before the house, the bench offering seats on one
side, while settles and stools gave accommodation on the other, to many
a merry party round the good roast beef and humming ale.

Before the door of the inn, spread out one of those pleasant open
pieces of ground, which generally found room for themselves in every
country village in England; on which the sports of the place were held;
to which the jockey brought his horse for sale, and tried his paces up
and down; on which many a wrestler took a fall, and cudgel-player got a
broken head. There too, in their season, were the merry maypole and the
dance, the tabor and the pipe. There was many a maiden wooed and won;
and there passed along all the three processions of life--the infant to
the font, the bride to the altar, the corpse to the grave.

Various were the memories attached to that village green in the hearts
of all the neighbourhood; various were the associations which it called
up in every bosom and various were the romances, probably much better
worth listening to than this that we are going to tell, which that
village green could have related. It had all the things pertaining to
its character and profession: it had a dry, clear, sandy horse-road
running at one side, it had two foot-paths crossing each other in the
middle, it had a tall clump of elms on the south side, with a well, and
an iron ladle underneath. It had a pond, which was kept clear by a
spring at the bottom, welling constantly over at the side next the
road, and forming a little rivulet, full of pricklebacks, flowing on
towards a small river at some distance. It had its row of trees on the
side next to the church, with the priest's house at the corner. The
surface was irregular, just sufficiently so to let some of the young
people, in any of their merry meetings, get out of sight of their
elders for a minute or two; and the whole was covered with that short,
dry, green turf, which is only to be found upon a healthy sandy soil.
In short, dear reader, it was as perfect a village green as ever was
seen, and I should like very much, if such a thing were possible, to
transport you and me to the bench before the inn door on some fine
afternoon in the end of the month of June, and there, with a white jug
of clear Nottingham ale before us, while the sun sunk down behind the
forest, and the sky began to glow with his slant rays, to tell you the
tale which is about to follow, marking in your face the signs of
interest which you would doubtless show--the hope, the fear, the
expectation, perhaps the smile of surprise, perhaps the glistening drop
of sympathy--suffering you to interrupt and ask a question here and
there, but not too often--forgiving a moment's impatience when the tale
was dull, and thanking you in the end for your friendship towards the
good and noble who lived and died more than five centuries ago.

In truth, reader, you know not what a pleasure there is--when the mind
is clear from care or sorrow, the heart well attuned, the object a good
one, and the tale interesting--you know not what a pleasure there is,
to sit down and tell a long story to those who are worthy of hearing
one.

And now, having made a somewhat wide excursion, and finding it
difficult to get back again to the tale by any easy and gradual
process, I will even in this place, close the first chapter, which, by
your leave, shall serve for a Preface and Introduction both.




                             CHAPTER II.


It was in the spring of the year, somewhere about the period which good
old Chaucer describes in the beginning of his Canterbury Tales,


   "Whanne that April with his shoures sote,
    The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,
    And bathed every veine in swiche licour,
    Of whiche vertue engendred is the flow'r:"


it was also towards the decline of the day, and the greater part of the
travellers who visited the inn for an hour, on their way homeward from
the neighbouring towns, had betaken themselves to the road, in order to
get under the shelter of their own roof ere the night fell, when, at
one of the tables in the low-pitched parlour--the beams of which must
have caused any wayfarer of six feet high to bend his head--might still
be seen a man in the garb of a countryman, sitting with a great, black
leathern jug before him, and one or two horns round about, besides the
one out of which he himself was drinking.

A slice of a brown loaf toasted at the embers, and which he dipped from
time to time in his cup, was the only solid food that he seemed
inclined to take; and, to say sooth, it probably might not have been
very convenient for him to call for any very costly viands--at least,
if one might judge by his dress, which, though good, and not very old,
was of the poorest and the homeliest kind--plain hodden-grey cloth, of
a coarse fabric, with leathern leggings and wooden-soled shoes.

The garb of the countryman, however, was not the only thing worthy of
remark in his appearance. His form had that peculiarity which is not
usually considered a perfection, and is termed a hump; not that there
was exactly, upon either shoulder, one of those large knobs which is
sometimes so designated, but there was a general roundness above his
bladebones--a sort of domineering effort of his neck to keep down his
head--which gave him a clear title to the appellation of hunchback.

In other respects he was not an unseemly man--his legs were stout and
well turned, his arms brawny and long, his chest singularly wide for a
deformed person, and his grey eyes large, bright and sparkling. His
nose was somewhat long and pointed, and was not only a prominent
feature, but a very distinguished one in his countenance. It was one of
those noses which have a great deal of expression in them. There was a
good deal of fun and sly merriment about the corners of his mouth and
under his eyelids, but his nose was decidedly the point of the epigram,
standing out a sort of sharp apex to a shrewd, merry ferret-like face;
and, as high mountains generally catch the sunshine either in the rise
or the decline of the day, and glow with the rosy hue of morning before
the rest of the country round obtains the rays, so had the light of the
vine settled in purple brightness on the highest feature of his face,
gradually melting away into a healthy red over the rest of his
countenance.

He wore his beard close shaven, as if he had been a priest; but his
eyebrows, which were very prominent, and his hair, which hung in three
or four detached locks over his sun-burnt brow and upon his aspiring
neck, though they had once been as black as a raven's wing, were now
very nearly white.

With this face and form sat the peasant at the table, sopping his bread
in the contents of his jug, and from time to time looking down into the
bottom of the pot with one eye, as if to ascertain how much was left.
He stirred not from his seat, nor even turned his head away from the
window, though a very pretty girl of some eighteen years of age looked
in at him from time to time, and his was a face which announced that
the owner thereof had at one time of his life had sweet things to say
to all the black eyes he met with.

At length, however, the sound of a trotting horse was heard, and the
peasant exclaimed, eagerly--"Here, Kate! Kate!--you merry compound of
the woman and the serpent, take away the jack; they're coming now. Away
with it, good girl! I mustn't be found drinking wine of Bourdeaux. Give
me a tankard of ale, girl. How does the room smell?"

"Like a friar's cell," said the girl, taking up the black jack with a
laugh. "Grape juice, well fermented, and a brown toast beside."

"Get thee gone, slut!" cried the peasant, "what dost thou know of
friars' cells? Too much, I misdoubt me. Bring the ale, I say--and spill
a drop on the floor, to give a new flavour to the room."

"I'll bring thee a sprig of rue, Hardy," said the girl; "it will give
out odour enough. Put it in thy posset when thou gett'st home; it will
sweeten thy blood, and whiten thy nose."

"Away with thee," cried the man she called Hardy, "or I'll kiss thee
before company."

The girl darted away as her companion rose from his seat with an
appearance of putting, at least, one part of his threat in execution,
and returned a minute after, bearing in her hand the ale he had
demanded.

"Spill some--spill some!" cried the peasant. But as she seemed to think
such a proceeding, in respect to good liquor, a sin and a shame, the
peasant was obliged to bring it about himself in a way which the
manners of those days rendered not uncommon.

The girl set down the tankard on the table, and, with her pretty brown
fingers still wet with a portion of the ale which had gone over,
bestowed a buffet on the side of the peasant's head which made his ear
tingle for a moment, and then carefully wiped her mouth with the corner
of her apron, as if to remove every vestige of his salute.

As nearly as possible at the same moment that she was thus clearing her
lips, the feet of the horse which had been heard coming, stopped at the
door of the inn; and loud applications for attendance called the girl
away from her coquettish sparring with Hardy, who, resuming his seat,
put the tankard of ale to his lips, and did not seem to find it
unpalatable, notwithstanding the Bourdeaux by which it had been
preceded. At the same time, however, a considerable change took place
in his appearance. His neck became more bent, his shoulders were thrown
more forward; he untied the points at the back of his doublet, so that
it appeared somewhat too loose for his figure; he drew the hair, too,
more over his forehead, suffered his cheeks to fall in, and by these
and other slight operations he contrived to make himself look fully
fifteen years older than he had done the minute before.

While this was going on, there had been all that little bustle and
noise at the door of the inn which usually accompanied the reception of
a guest in those days, when landlords thought they could not testify
sufficient honour and respect to an arriving customer without mingling
their gratulations with scoldings of the horse-boys and tapsters, and
manifold loud-tongued directions to chamberlains and maids.

At length the good host, with his stout, round person clothed in
close-fitting garments, which displayed every weal of fat under his
skin, led in a portly well-looking man, of about thirty, or
five-and-thirty years of age, bearing the cognizance of some noble
house embroidered on his shoulder. He was evidently, to judge by his
dress and appearance, one of the favourite servants of some great man,
and a stout, frank, hearty, English yeoman he seemed to be; a little
consequential withal, and having a decidedly high opinion of his own
powers, mental and corporeal, but good-humoured and gay, and as ready
to take as to give.

"Not come!" he said, as he entered, talking over his shoulder to the
landlord--"not come! That is strange enough. Why, I was kept more than
half an hour at Barnsley Green to be the judge of a wrestling match.
They would have me, God help us, so I was afraid they would be here
before me. Well, give us a stoup of good liquor to discuss the time; I
must not say give it of the best--the best is for my lord--but I do not
see why the second best should not be for my lord's man; so let us have
it quick, before these people come, and use your discretion as to the
quality."

The wine that he demanded was soon supplied, and being set upon the
table at which the peasant was seated, the lord's man took his place on
the other side, and naturally looked for a moment in the face of his
table-fellow; while the landlord stood by, with his fat stomach,
over-hanging the board, and his eyes fixed upon the countenance of his
new guest, to mark therein the approbation of his wine which he
anticipated. The lord's man was not slow in proving the goodness of the
liquor; but, without employing the horn cup, which the host set down
beside the tankard, he lifted the latter to his mouth, drank a good
deep draught, took a long sigh, drank again, and then nodded his head
to the landlord, with a look expressive of perfect satisfaction.

After a few words between my host and his guest, in which Hardy took no
part, but sat with his head bent over his ale, with the look of a man
both tired and weakly, the landlord withdrew to his avocations, and
the lord's man, fixing his eyes for a moment upon his opposite;
neighbour, asked, in a kindly but patronising tone--

"What have you got there, ploughman? Thin ale,--isn't it? Come, take a
cup of something better, to cheer thee. These are bad times, ar'n't
they? Ay, I never yet met a delver in the earth that did not find fault
with God's seasons. Here, drink that; it will make your wheat look ten
times greener! Were I a ploughman, I'd water my fields with such
showers as this, taken daily down my own throat. We should have no
grumbling at bad crops then."

"I grumble not," replied the hunchback, taking the horn, and draining
it slowly, sip by sip, "my crops grow green and plentiful. Little's the
labour that my land costs in tillage, and yet I get a fat harvest in
the season; and moreover, no offence, good sir, but I would rather be
my own man and Heaven's, than any other person's."

"Not if you had as good a lord as I have," answered the serving-man,
colouring a little, notwithstanding. "One is as free in his house as on
Salisbury-plain; it's a pleasure to do his bidding. He's a friend, too,
of the peasant and the citizen, and the good De Montfort. He's no
foreign minion, but a true Englishman."

"Here's his health, then," said the peasant. "Is your lord down in
these parts?"

"Ay, is he," replied the lord's man--"no farther off than Doncaster,
and I am here to meet sundry gentlemen, who are riding down this way to
York, to tell them that their assembling may not be quite safe there,
so that they must fix upon another place."

"Ho, ho!" said the peasant, "some new outbreak toward, against the
foreigners. Well, down with them, I say, and up with the English
yeomen. But who have we here?--Some of those you come to seek, I'll
warrant.--Let us look at their faces." And going round the table, with
a slow, and somewhat feeble step, he placed his eye to one of the small
lozenges of glass in the casement, and gazed out for a minute or two,
while the serving-man followed his example, and took a survey of some
new travellers who had arrived, before they were ushered into the
general reception room.

"Do you know him?" asked the peasant. "I think I have seen that dark
face down here before."

"Ay, I know him," answered the serving-man. "He's a kinsman of the Earl
of Ashby, one of our people, whom I came principally to meet. He's a
handsome gentleman, and fair spoken, though somewhat black about the
muzzle."

"If his heart be as black as his face," said the peasant, "I would keep
what I had got to say for the Earl's ears, before I gave it to his,
were I in your place."

"Ha! say you so?" demanded the lord's man. "Methinks you know more of
him, ploughman, than you tell us."

"Not much," replied the other, "and what I do know is not very good, so
one must be careful in the telling."

"What keeps him, I wonder?" said the serving-man, after having returned
to the table, and sipped some more of his wine.

"He's toying without, I'll aver," said the peasant, "with pretty Kate,
the landlord's daughter. He had better not let young Harland, the
franklin's son, see him, or his poll and a crab-stick cudgel may be
better acquainted. It had well-nigh been so three months ago, when he
was down here last."

These words were said in an undertone, for while one of two servants,
who had accompanied the subject of their discourse, led away the horses
to the stable, and the other kept the landlord talking before the inn,
there was a sound of whispering and suppressed laughter behind the door
of the room, which seemed to show that the Earl of Ashby's kinsman was
not far off, and was employed in the precise occupation which the
peasant had assigned to him.

The serving-man wisely held his tongue, and, in a minute after, the
door opened, and gave entrance to a man somewhat above the middle size,
of a slim and graceful figure, the thinness of which did not seem to
indicate weakness, but rather sinewy activity. He was dressed in
close-fitting garments of a dark marone tint, with riding-boots, and
spurs without rowels. Over the tight coat I have mentioned, coming
halfway down his thigh, was a loose garment called a tabard, of
philimot colour, apparently to keep his dress from the dust, and above
it again a green hood, which was now thrown back upon his shoulders.
His sword peeped from under his tabard, and the hilt of his dagger
showed itself, also, on the other side. His air was easy and
self-possessed, but there was a quick and furtive glance of the eye
from object to object, as he entered the room, which gave the
impression that there was a cunning and inquisitive spirit within. His
face was certainly handsome, though pale and dark; his beard was short
and black, and his hair, which was remarkably fine and glossy, had been
left to grow long, and was platted like that of a woman. His hand was
white and fine, and it was evident that he paid no slight attention to
his dress, by the tremendous length of the points of his boots, which
were embroidered to represent a serpent, and buttoned to his knees with
a small loop of gold. His hood, too, was strangely ornamented with
various figures embroidered round the edge; and yet so great was the
extravagance of the period, that his apparel would then have been
considered much less costly than that of most men of his rank, for his
revenues were by far too limited, and his other expenses too many and
too frequent, to permit of his indulging to the full his taste for
splendid garments.

As this personage entered the room, the sharp glance of the serving-man
detected the figure of Kate, the host's daughter, gliding away from the
opening door, but, turning his head discreetly, he fixed his eyes upon
the new-comer with a low reverence, advancing at the same time towards
him.

The Earl's kinsman, however, either did not, or affected not to know
the person who approached him, and the lord's man was obliged to enter
into explanations as to who he was, and what was his errand.

"Ha!" said Richard de Ashby, "danger at York, is there? My good lord,
your master, has brought us down here for nothing, then, it seems. I
know not how my kinsman, the Earl of Ashby, will take this, for he
loves not journeying to be disappointed."

"My lord does not intend to disappoint the Earl," replied the
serving-man; "he will give him the meeting in the course of
to-morrow--somewhere."

"Know you not where?" demanded the gentleman; and, as the servant
turned his eyes, with a doubtful glance, to the spot where the peasant
was seated, the other added, "Come hither with me upon the green, where
there are no idle ears to overhear."

If his words were meant as a hint for Hardy to quit the room, it was
not taken; for the hunchback remained fixed to the table, having
recourse from time to time to his jug of ale, and looking towards the
door more than once, after Sir Richard and the lord's man had quitted
the chamber.

Their conference was apparently long, and at length, first one of the
gentleman's servants, and then another, entered the little low-roofed
room, and approached the table at which the peasant sat.

"Hallo! what hast thou got here, bumpkin?" cried one of them--"wine for
such a carle as thou art!" and, as he spoke, he took up the tankard
from which the serving-man had been drinking.

"That is neither thine nor mine," replied Hardy, "so you had better let
it alone."

"Heyday!" cried the servant of the great man's kinsman; "rated by a
humpbacked ploughman! If it be not thine, fellow, hold thy tongue, for
it can be nothing to thee! I shall take leave to make free with it,
however," and, pouring out a cup, he tossed it off.

"You must be a poor rogue," said the peasant, "to be so fond of
drinking at another man's cost, as not to pay for your liquor even by a
civil word."

"What is that he says?" cried the man, turning to his companion--for,
to say sooth, although he had heard every word, he was not quite
prepared to act upon them, being one of those who are much more
ready to bully and brawl, than to take part in a fray they have
provoked--"what is that he says?"

"He called thee a poor rogue, Timothy," said his companion. "Turn him
out by the heels, the misbegotten lump!"

"Out with him!" cried the other, seeing that his comrade was inclined
to stand by him, "Out with him!" and he advanced, menacingly, upon the
peasant.

"Hold your hands!--hold your hands!" said Hardy, shaking his head--"I
am an old man, and not so well made as you two varlets, but I don't
'bide a blow from any poor kinsman's half-starved curs!--Take care, my
men!" and as one of them approached rather too near, he struck him a
blow, without rising from his stool, which made him measure his length
upon the rushes that strewed the floor, crying out at the same time, in
a whining tone, "To think of two huge fellows falling upon a poor,
deformed old body."

It so happened that the personage whom the peasant had knocked down was
the braver man of the two; and, starting up, he rushed fiercely upon
his adversary; which his companion espying, darted upon Hardy at the
same moment, and by a dexterous kick of his foot knocked the stool from
under him, thus bringing the hunchback and his own comrade to the
ground together. He then caught their enemy by the collar, and held his
head firmly down upon the floor with both hands, as one has sometimes
seen a child do with a refractory kitten.

"Baste him, Dickon--baste him!" he cried.

"I'll give him a dip in the horse-pond," said the other; "his nose will
make the water fizz like a red-hot horseshoe."

At that moment, however, the noise occasioned by such boisterous
proceedings called in pretty Kate Greenly, the landlord's daughter,
who, although she had a great reverence and regard for all the serving
men of Richard de Ashby, was not fond of seeing poor Hardy ill-treated.
Glancing eagerly round, while the peasant strove with his two
opponents, she seized a pail of water which stood behind the parlour
door, and following the plan which she had seen her father pursue with
the bulldog and mastiff which tenanted the back yard, she dashed the
whole of the contents over the combatants as they lay struggling on the
ground.

All three started up, panting; but the gain was certainly on the part
of Hardy, who, freed from the grasp of his adversaries, caught up the
three-legged stool on which he had been sitting, and whirling it
lightly above his head, prepared to defend himself therewith against
his assailants; who, on their part, with their rage heightened rather
than assuaged by the cool libation which Kate had poured upon them,
drew the short swords that they carried, and were rushing upon the old
peasant with no very merciful intent.

Kate Greenly now screamed aloud, exerting her pretty little throat to
the utmost, and her cries soon brought in the lord's man, followed,
somewhat slowly, by Richard de Ashby. The good landlord himself--having
established as a rule, both out of regard for his own person and for
the custom of his house, never to interfere in any quarrels if he could
possibly avoid it, which rule had produced, on certain occasions, great
obtuseness in sight and in hearing--kept out of the way, and indeed
removed himself to the stable upon the pretence of looking after his
guests' horses.

The lord's man, however, with the true spirit of an English yeoman,
dashed at once into the fray, taking instant part with the weakest.

"Come, come!" he cried, placing himself by Hardy's side, "two men
against one--and he an old one! Out upon it! Stand off, or I'll break
your jaws for you!"

This accession to the forces of their adversary staggered the two
servants, and a momentary pause took place, in which their master's
voice was at last heard.

"What! brawling, fools!" he exclaimed. "We have something else to think
of now. Stand back, and let the old man go! Get you gone, ploughman;
and don't let me find you snarling with a gentleman's servants again,
or I will put you in the stocks for your pains."

"I will break his head before he's out of the house," said one of the
men, who seemed to pay but little deference to his master's commands.

"I will break thine, if thou triest it," answered the lord's man,
sturdily. "Come along, old man, come along; I will see thee safe out of
the place, and let any one of them lay a finger on thee if he dare!"

Thus saying, he grasped Hardy's arm and led him forth from the inn,
muttering as he did so, "By the shoulder-bone of St. Luke, the old
fellow has got limbs enough to defend himself!--It's as thick as a roll
of brawn, and as hard as a branch of oak! How goes it with thee,
fellow?"

"Stiff--woundy stiff, sir," replied the hunchback; "but I thank you,
with all my heart, for taking part with me; and I would fain give you a
cup of good ale in return, such as you have never tasted out of London.
If you could but contrive to come to my poor place to-morrow morning,"
he added, dropping his voice to a low tone, "I could shew some country
sports, which, as you are a judge of such things, might please you."

"It must be early hours, then," replied the serving-man. "Those that
don't come to-night will not be here till noon to-morrow, it is true:
but still I think I had better wait for them."

"Nay, nay--come," said Hardy; "come and take a cup of ale with me,"
and, after a pause, he added, significantly, "besides, there's
something I want to tell you which may profit your lord."

"But how shall I find my way?" demanded the serving-man, gazing
inquiringly in his face, but with no expression of surprise at the
intimation he received.

"Oh, I will shew you," answered the peasant. "Meet me at the church
stile there, and I will guide you. It is not far. Be there a little
before six, and you shall find me waiting. Give me your hand on't."

The serving-man held out his hand, and Hardy shook it in a grasp such
as might be given by a set of iron pincers, at the same time advancing
his head, and adding, in a low tone,

"Take care what you do--you have a traitor there! One of those men is a
nidget, and the other is a false hound, come down to spy upon good men
and true."

Thus saying, he relaxed his hold, and, turning away, was soon lost in
the obscure twilight of the evening.




                             CHAPTER III.


The animal called the sluggard has greatly increased in modern days. In
former times the specimens were few and far between. The rising of the
sun was generally the signal for knight and yeoman to quit their beds,
and if some of the old or the soft cumbered their pillows for an hour
or so later, the sleeping time rarely if ever extended beyond seven in
the morning.

The sky was still grey when the stout yeoman, whom we have mentioned
under the title of the lord's man, but whose real name was Thomas
Blawket, sprang lightly out of his bed, and made that sort of rapid,
but not unwholesome toilet, which a hardy Englishman, in his rank of
life, was then accustomed to use. It consisted merely in one or two
large buckets of clean cold water poured over his round curly head and
naked shoulders, and then, with but some small ceremony of drying, his
clothes were cast on, and bound round him with his belt. The whole
operation occupied, perhaps, ten minutes, and a considerable portion
of that space of time was taken up in rubbing dry his thick, close,
short-cut beard, which curled up under the process into little knots,
like the coat of a French water dog.

"Give thee good day, host, give thee good day," he said, as he issued
forth. "I will be back anon;" and, sauntering forward leisurely on the
green, he stood for a moment or two looking round him, to prevent the
appearance of taking any preconcerted direction, and then walked slowly
towards the church, which stood behind the row of trees we have
mentioned. After gazing up at the building, which was then in its first
newness, he made a circuit round it, and passing the priest's house, he
reached what was called the Church Stile, where two broad stones, put
edgeways, with one flat one between them for a step, excluded all
animals without wings--except man, and his domestic companion, the
dog--from what was then called the Priest's Meadow.

On the other side of this stile, with his arms leaning upon the top
stone, was Hardy the Hunchback, whistling a lively tune, and watching
the lord's man as he came forward, without moving from his position
till the other was close upon him. Their salutation was then soon made,
and crossing the stile, the good yeoman walked on by the side of his
companion, sauntering easily along through the green fields, and
talking of all the little emptinesses which occupy free hearts in the
early morning.

The first hour of the day, the bright first hour of a spring day I
mean, appears always to me as if care and thought had nought to do with
it. It seems made for those light and whirling visions--not unmingled
with thanks and praise--which drive past the dreamy imagination like
motes in the sunshine, partaking still, in a degree, of sleep, and
having all its soft indistinctness, without losing the brightness of
waking perception: thoughts, hopes, and fancies, that glitter as they
go, succeeded each minute by clearer and more brilliant things, till
the whole, at length, form themselves into the sterner realities of
noonday life.

The two men wandered on in that dreamy hour. They listened to the sweet
birds singing in the trees; and it was a time of year when the whole
world was tuneful; they stopped by the side of the babbling brook, and
gazed into its dancing waters; they watched the swift fish darting
along the stream, and hallooed to a heron which had just caught one of
the finny tribe in its bill.

"Now had we a hawk," said the peasant, "we would very soon have Master
Greycoat there, as surely as foul Richard de Ashby will catch pretty
Kate Greenly before he has done."

"Think you so?" said the lord's man, certainly not speaking of catching
the heron. "Will she be so easily deceived, think you?"

"Ay, will she," answered the peasant. "Not that the girl wants sense or
learning either, for the good priest took mighty pains with her, and
she can read and write as well as any clerk in the land. Nor has she a
bad heart either, though it is somewhat fierce and quick withal--like
her mother's, who one day broke Tim Clough's head with a tankard, when
he was somewhat boisterous to her, and then well-nigh died with grief
when she found she had really cracked his skull. But this girl is as
vain as a titmouse, and though I do believe she loves young Harland,
the franklin's son, at the bottom, yet I have often told him that it is
as great a chance she never marries him as that the river will be
frozen next winter; and now I see this fellow come down again and
hanging about her as he did before, I say her vanity will take her by
the ears, and lead her to any market he chooses to carry her to."

"Alack and a-well-a-day!" said the lord's man, "that a gentleman like
that cannot let a far off place such as this be in peace, with its
quiet sunshine and good country-folks. He may find a light-o'-love
easily enough in the great cities, without coming down to break a
father's heart, and make a good youth miserable, and turn a gay-hearted
country girl into a sorrowful harlot! I hope he may get his head broke
for his pains!"

"He is like to get his neck broke for something else," replied the
peasant, "If I judge rightly. But we will talk more of that anon. Let
us get on."

Forward accordingly they walked, passed another field, and another, and
then took their way down a narrow, sandy lane, which in the end opened
out from between its high banks upon a long strip of ground covered
with short grass, and old hawthorn trees, with many a bank and dingle
breaking the turf, and Showing the yellow soil beneath.

"Why, you seem to live on the edge of the forest, ploughman," said the
serving-man; "it must be poor ground here, I wot?"

"It's good for my sort of farming," replied the other, shooting a
shrewd glance at him, along the side of his very peculiar nose; "you
have a mile to go yet, Master Yeoman, and we may as well go through a
bit of the woodland."

"Have with you, have with you!" replied the yeoman. "I love the forest
ground as well as any man, and often, when the season comes on, I turn
woodman for the occasion, and, with my lord's good leave, help his
foresters to kill the deer."

"Dangerous tastes in these days, Master Yeoman," said the peasant, and
there the conversation dropped again, each falling back into that train
of thought which had been awakened in their minds by the reference to
Kate Greenly, and her probable fate; for, although we are accustomed to
consider those as ruder times--and certainly, in the arts of life, man
was not so far advanced as in the present day--yet the natural
affections of the heart, the sound judgment of right and wrong, and the
high emotions of the immortal spirit within us, do not depend upon
civilization, at least as the term is generally applied, but exist
independent of a knowledge of sciences, or skill in any of man's
manifold devices for increasing his pleasures and his comforts. They
are rather, indeed, antagonist principles, in many respects, to very
great refinement; and the advance of society in the arts of luxury is
but too often accompanied by the cultivation of that exclusive
selfishness which extinguishes all the finer emotions, and leaves man
but as one of the machines he makes.

The mind of the stout yeoman, following the track on which it had begun
to run, represented to himself what would be the feelings of the rustic
lover, to find himself abandoned for a comparative stranger, and not
only to know that the girl he loved was lost to him for ever, but
degraded and debased--a harlot, sported with for the time, to be cast
away when her freshness was gone. He had no difficulty in sympathising
from his honest heart with the sensations which young Harland would
experience--with the bitter disappointment--with the anger mingled with
tenderness towards her who in her folly blighted her own and his
happiness for ever--with the pure and unmitigated indignation against
him who, in his heartless vanity, came down to blast the peace of
others for the gratification of an hour. He thought of the father, too;
but there, indeed, his sympathies were not so much excited, for it
needed but to see good John Greenly once or twice to perceive that
there was no great refinement in his virtue--that self was his first
object--and, after meditating over that part of the subject for two or
three hundred yards, as they walked on through the hawthorns, he said
aloud, with a half laugh, "I shouldn't wonder if he would rather have
her a lord's leman than a countryman's wife!"

"Not at first," answered Hardy, understanding at once what he meant;
"he will take it to heart at first, but will soon get reconciled to
it." And again they fell into thought, walking on over the smooth turf,
upon which it was a pleasure to tread, it was so soft, so dry, and so
elastic.

As they proceeded, the hawthorns became mingled with other trees; large
beeches, with their long waving limbs not yet fully covered with their
leaves, stood out upon the banks, here and there an oak, too, was seen,
with the young leaves still brown and yellow; while patches of fern
broke the surface of the grass, and large cushions of moss covered the
old roots that forced their way to the surface of the ground.

The trees, however, were still scattered at many yards' distance from
each other, and cast long shadows upon the velvet green of the grass,
as the sun, not many degrees above the horizon, poured its bright rays
between them. But when the yeoman looked through the bolls, to the
northward and westward, he could see a dim mass of darker green
spreading out beyond, and showing how the forest thickened, not far
off; while, every now and then, some cart-way, or woody path, gave him
a long vista into the very heart of the woodland, with lines of light,
where the beams of day broke through the arcade of boughs, marking the
distances upon the road.

That they were getting into the domain of the beasts of chase was soon
very evident. More than one hare started away before their footsteps,
and limped off with no very hurried pace. Every two or three yards, a
squirrel was seen running from tree to tree, and swarming up the boll;
and, once or twice, at a greater distance, the practised eye of the
good yeoman caught the form of a dun deer, bounding away up some of the
paths, to seek shelter in the thicker wood.

The way did not seem long, however, and all the thousand objects which
a woodland scene affords to please and interest the eye and ear, and
carry home the moral of nature's beautiful works to the heart of man,
occupied the attention of the stout Englishman, as they walked onward,
till the distance between the trees becoming less and less, the
branches formed a canopy through which the rays of the morning sun only
found their way occasionally.

"Why, Master Ploughman," said the lord's man, at length, "you seem
plunging into the thick of the wood. Does your dwelling lie in this
direction?"

"In good sooth does it!" answered the ploughman;--"it will be more open
presently."

"Much need," rejoined the yeoman, "or I shall take thee for a forester,
and not one of the King's either."

The peasant laughed, but made no reply, and in a minute or two after,
the yeoman continued, saying--"Thou art a marvellous man, assuredly,
for thou art ten years younger this morning than thou wert last night.
Good faith, if I had fancied thee as strong and active as thou art, and
as young withal, I think I should have left thee to fight it out with
those two fellows by thyself."

"Would that I had them for but half an hour, under the green hawthorn
trees we have just passed," said the peasant, laughing--"I would need
no second hand to give them such a basting as they have rarely had in
life--though I doubt me they have not had a few."

"Doubtless, doubtless!" answered the yeoman--"But word, my good friend,
before we go farther: as you are not what you seemed, it is as well I
should know where I am going?"

"I am not what I seemed, and not what I seem either, even now," said
the peasant, with a frank and cheerful smile, "but there is no harm in
that either, Master Yeoman. Here, help me off with my burden; I am not
the first man who has made himself look more than he is. There, put
your hand under my frock, and untie the knot you will find, while I
unfasten this one in front."

So saying, he loosened a little cord and tassel that was round his
neck, and with the aid of his companion, let slip from his shoulders a
large pad, containing seemingly various articles, some hard, and some
soft, but which altogether had been so disposed as to give him the
appearance of a deformity that nature certainly had not inflicted upon
him. As soon as it was gone, he stood before the honest yeoman, a
stout, hearty, thick-set man, with high shoulders indeed, but without
the slightest approach to a hump upon either of them; and regarding,
with a merry glance, the astonishment of his companion--for those were
days of society's babyhood, when men were easily deceived--he said, "So
much for the hunch, Master Yeoman. Had those good gentlemen seen me
now, they might not have been quite so ready with their hands; and had
they seen this," he added, showing the hilt of a good stout dagger
under his coat, "they might not have been quite so ready with their
swords. And now let us come on without loss of time, for there are
those waiting who would fain speak with you for a short time, and give
you a message for your lord."

The yeoman hesitated for an instant, but then replied--"Well, it
matters not! I will not suspect you, though this is an odd affair. I
have helped you once at a pinch--at least, I intended it as help--and
you will not do me wrong now, I dare say."

"Doubt it not, doubt it not," said the peasant--"you are a friend, not
an enemy. But now to add a word or two to anything else you may hear
to-day, let me warn you as we go, that one of those two men you saw
struggling with me last night is a traitor and a spy. Ay! and though I
must not say so much, I suppose, of a lord's kinsman, I rather think
that he who brought him is little better himself."

"Hard words, hard words, Master Ploughman, or whatever you may be,"
said the lord's man, with a serious air--"I trust it is not a broken
head, or an alehouse quarrel that makes you find out treason in the
man. Besides, if he be a spy, he can only be a spy upon his own
master."

"And who is his own master?" demanded Hardy. "Come, put your wit to,
and tell me that."

"Why, Sir Richard de Ashby, to be sure," replied the man; "Truly!"
answered Hardy. "Methought the cognizance of the house of Ashby was a
tree growing out of a brasier?"

"And so it is," said the man, "and he has it on his coat."

"And what has he on his breast?" demanded Hardy. "Three pards, what
they call passant?"

The man started. "Why that is the King's!" he cried.

"Or the Prince Edward's," added Hardy. "So now when you return, tell
your lord to look well to the Earl of Ashby's kinsman--if not to the
Earl himself. We had tidings of something of this kind, and I remained
to see--for you must not think me such a fool as to give a serving-man
hard words for nothing, and bring blows upon my head without an
object."

"Did you see the leopards, then?" demanded Blawket. "Did you see them
with your own eyes?"

"I grappled with him when he sprang upon me," answered his companion,
"and with my two thumbs tore open his coat, while he thought that we
were merely rolling on the floor like a terrier and a cat. Under his
coat he had a gipon of sendull fit for a king, with three pards
broidered in gold upon the breast. When I had seen that, I was
satisfied; but that mad girl Kate thought I was brawling in earnest, I
suppose, and dashed a pail of water over us, which made us all pant and
lose our hold, and as for the rest, you know what happened after. He is
no servant of Richard de Ashby; the poor knave keeps but one, and, on
my life, I believe, that having long ago sold his soul to the devil for
luxury and wastel bread, he has now sold the only thing he had left to
sell, his friends, to some earthly devil, for gold to win away pretty
Kate Greenly."

The yeoman cast down his eyes on the ground, and walked on for a step
or two in grave deliberation.

"Marry," he said, at length, "if this tale be true,--that is to say, I
do not doubt what you say, good comrade,--but if I can prove it to my
lord's content, I shall be a made man in his opinion for discovering
such a trick, and get the henchman's place, which I have long been
seeking.--I never loved that Richard de Ashby; though he is as soft and
sweet as his cousin Alured is rash and haughty."

"It will be easily proved," replied his companion. "Charge Sir Richard
boldly, when your good lord and his friends have met, with bringing
down a servant of the King, disguised as his own, to be a spy upon
their counsels."

"Nay, nay--not so," replied the serving-man. "I am more experienced in
dealing with lords than thou art. That will cause my master to take up
the matter, and may make mischief between the two earls. Nay, I will
pick a quarrel with him in the inn kitchen, will make him take off his
coat to bide a stroke or two with me; and then, when we all see the
leopards, we will drag him at once before his betters."

"First tell your lord the whole," said Hardy, somewhat sternly. "It may
behove him to know immediately who he is dealing with."

"I will--I will!" replied the man; "and I will let him know my plan for
proving the treachery. But what have we here?--Your cottage, I
suppose?--Why, you have a goodly sight of sons, if these be all your
children. Shooting at the butts, too, as I live! Ay, I see now how it
is!"




                             CHAPTER IV.


As merry a peal as ever was rung, though not perhaps as scientific a
one, ushered in the month of May, and as bright a sun as ever shone
rose up in the eastern sky, and cast long lines of light over the green
fields, glistening with the tears of departed night. The spring had
been one of those fair seasons which have but rarely visited us in
latter years, when, according to the old rhyme,


         "March winds and April showers
          Had brought about May flowers."


Almost every leaf was upon the trees, except, indeed, in the case of
some of those sturdy old oaks, which, in their brown hardihood, seemed
unwilling to put on the livery of spring. The snowdrop had had her
season and was gone, but the violet still lingered, shedding her
perfume in the shade, and the hawthorn flaunted her fragrant blossoms
to the wooing air. It was, in short, the merry, merry month of May, and
her ensigns were out in every hedge and every field, calling young
hearts to gaiety and enjoyment, and promising a bright summer in her
train.

Many a maiden had been out, before the sun rose, from behind the
distant slopes, to gather May dew to refresh her beauty, and many a
youth, seeking the blossom of the white-thorn, had met, by preconcerted
accident, the girl he loved under the lover's tree, and kissed her as
warmly as under the mistletoe. Young Harland, however, had looked for
Kate Greenly at the place where he had found her on the same day in the
former year, but had looked in vain; and, as he returned homeward,
somewhat disappointed, had found her with a party of gay girls,
sometimes laughing with their laughter, sometimes falling into deep and
gloomy thought.

Her young companions broke away to leave her alone with her
acknowledged lover; and Kate walked quickly home by his side, with a
varying and a changeful air, which we must notice for a moment, though
we cannot pause to tell all that passed between them. Sometimes she was
gay and saucy, as her wont; sometimes she was thoughtful and even sad;
sometimes she affected scorn for her lover's gentle reproaches;
sometimes she raised her eyes, and gazed on him with a look of
tenderness and regret that made him sorry he had uttered them. Her
demeanour was as varying as an April day; but that it had often been
before, and he saw not a deeper shadow that spread with an ominous
cloud-like heaviness over all. They parted at the door of her father's
house, and young Ralph Harland turned him home again, thinking of the
pleasure of the merry dance and all the sports that were to come, and
how a little gift, which he had prepared for her he loved, would quiet
all idle quarrels between him and fair Kate Greenly.

The village green, the sweet little village green which we have
described, was early decked out with all that could be required for the
sports of the day. The tall May-pole in the centre, surmounted with a
coronet of flowers, streaming with ribbons and green leaves, and every
sort of country ornament, was prepared for the dance around it, which
was soon to take place. Every tree was hung with garlands, and even the
old well was decorated with wreaths and branches of the hawthorn and
the oak. The inn itself was a complete mass of flowers; and, before the
door, at a very early hour, were arranged the various prizes which were
to reward the successful competitors in the rustic sports of the day.
There was a runlet of wine stood beside the little bench beneath the
eaves, and in a pen, formed by four hurdles, was a milk-white ram, with
his horns gilded, and a chaplet twisted round his curly pate; and
further off, leaning against the wall, stood a long yew bow, with a
baldric, and sheaf of arrows, winged with peacock's feathers, bearing
silver ornaments upon the quiver.

These prizes were the first object of curiosity, and at an early hour
many a group of boys and girls, and youths and maidens, gathered round
the pen where the fat, long fleeced ram was confined, and pulled him by
the gilded horns, while others looked at the bow, and every now and
then stretched out a hand to touch and examine it more closely, but
were deterred by a loud shrill voice from one of the windows of the
inn, shouting, "Beware the thong!"

No season of merriment occurred at that time in England without
bringing together its crowd of minstrels and musicians; and even then
so populous had the gentle craft become, and so dissolute withal, that
laws and regulations were found necessary for the purpose of
diminishing the numbers of its followers and regulating their manners.

"Free drink for the minstrels" was a general proverb assented to by
all, and the consequence was, that having the opportunity, they seldom
wanted the inclination to pour their libations too freely, a good deal
to the inconvenience, very frequently, of their entertainers. The
class, however, which came to a May-day merry-making in a common
country village was, of course, not of the highest grade, either in
musical skill or professional rank; and the first who appeared on the
village-green was a piper, with his bag under his arm, producing, as he
came, those extraordinary sounds which are found to have a very
pleasant effect upon some portions of the human species, but are almost
universally distasteful to the canine race. Upon this occasion almost
all the dogs in the village followed him, either barking or howling.
The good piper, however, did not seem to consider it as at all a bad
compliment, but sitting himself down upon the bench before the inn
door, played away to his square-headed auditory, till some human
bipeds, and amongst the rest Jack Greenly himself, came forth with a
jug of humming ale, and set it down beside him.

The piper drank, as pipers will drink, a long and hearty draught, then
looked around him, and as a matter of course, commended liberally to
the ears of his entertainer the preparations which had been made for
the May-day games.

A floyter, or player on the flute, was not long behind, and he himself
was succeeded by a man with a rote but the great musician of all, the
performer on the viol, without whom the dance would not have been
perfect, like all other important personages, caused himself to be
waited for; and at length, when he did appear, came accompanied by his
retinue, consisting of two long-eared curs, and a boy, carrying his
viol, carefully wrapped up in the recesses of a fustian bag. With great
airs of dignity, too, he took his way at once into the house, and both
prudently and humanely tuned his instrument in a room where few if any
ears were nigh to hear.

Fain would I, dear reader, could such a thing be permitted, indulge in
a long description of the May-day games of old England. Fain would I
tell you who in the wrestling match won the milk-white ram, or shot the
best arrow, or hurled the best quoit; but there are more serious things
before us, and to them we must hurry on, leaving to imagination to
undertake the task of depicting not only these, but the still greater
struggle which took place amongst many a hardy yeoman for a fine horse.
of Yorkshire breed, given by Ralph Harland himself in honour of her he
loved.

Suffice it then, for the present, that the sports of the morning were
over, that the noonday meal, too, was at an end, that the girls of the
village had rearranged their dress for the lighter amusement of the
evening, and were gathering gaily under the group of trees to begin
their first dance around the Maypole. Ralph Harland stood by Kate's
side, and was asking anxiously what made her so sad, when suddenly he
raised his eyes, and his countenance became even more overcast than
hers.

The sound which had made him look up had certainly nothing unusual in
it on that busy morning. It was but the tramp of three or four horses
coming at a rapid pace, but the young man's heart was anxious; and when
his eyes rested on the face of Richard de Ashby, who rode in, followed
by three men, and dressed with unusual splendour, well might the young
franklin's bosom be troubled with feelings bitter and indignant,
especially as he saw her whom he loved turn red and white, and read in
the changing colour the confirmation of many a dark suspicion.

The personage who had produced these sensations seemed at first to take
no notice of the gay groups around him, but advancing at once to the
low inn door, which was nearly blocked up by the jovial person of John
Greenly himself, he sprang to the ground lightly and gracefully,
asking, in such a tone that all around could hear what he said, whether
the Earl of Ashby had yet arrived.

On finding that such was not the case, he turned round with an
indifferent air, saying, "Good faith, then I must amuse myself as best
I may, till my fair cousin comes. What have you going forward here--a
May-day dance? Good sooth, I will make one. Pretty Kate," he continued,
advancing to the spot where she stood, "will you give me your hand to
lead you a measure round the Maypole?"

"It is promised to me," said Ralph Harland, in a stern tone, before
Kate could reply, bending his brows angrily upon his rival.

"Is it, indeed!" cried Richard de Ashby, gazing at him from head to
foot with that cool look of supercilious contempt which is so hard to
bear, and yet so difficult to quarrel with.--"Well, but she has two
hands; she shall give you one and me the other, and this pretty little
damsel," he continued, to a girl of some twelve or thirteen years of
age, who stood by listening, "this pretty little damsel shall take my
other hand--so that is all settled. Come, Master Violer, let us hear
the notes of the catgut! Come, sweet Kate, I long to see those lovely
limbs playing in the graceful dance."

Poor Ralph Harland! it was one of those moments when it is equally
difficult to act and not to act, especially for one inexperienced,
young, and brought up in habitual deference for superior rank and
station. A direct insult, an open injury, he would have avenged at once
upon the highest head that wagged in all the realm; but the covert
scorn of the manner, the hidden baseness of the design, he knew not how
to meet; and following, rather than accompanying, his light-o'-love
sweetheart to the dance, he joined in a pastime to which his heart was
but ill attuned.

It is under such circumstances that those who are wronged have always
the disadvantage. Ralph was fierce, silent, gloomy; while Richard de
Ashby was all grace, self-possession, smiles, and cheerfulness. His
speech and his glances were for Kate Greenly alone. His looks and his
voice were full of triumph, his eyes full of meaning; and many a time
and oft, as they danced gaily round, he whispered to her soft things,
of which no one heard the whole, although there was a keen and eager
ear close by, listening for every sound to fix a quarrel on the
speaker.

At length the notes of the viol stopped, and the dance came to an end,
just as Richard de Ashby was adding a word or two more to something he
had been saying in a low tone to the fair coquette beside him, while
her colour changed more than once, and eyelids were cast down. The
sudden silence rendered the last half of the sentence audible. It
was--"Then lose not a moment."

Ralph Harland cast her hand from him indignantly, and fronting Richard
de Ashby, exclaimed--"To do what?"

"What is that to thee, peasant?" demanded Richard de Ashby, colouring
as much with anger at his words having been overheard, as with pride.

"Everything that she does is matter to me," replied Ralph, fiercely,
"if I am to be her husband; and if I am not, woe be to the man that
makes her break her promise."

"You are insolent, peasant," replied the Earl's kinsman, with a look of
scorn; "take care, or you will make me angry."

"It shall be done without care," replied Ralph Harland, feeling no more
hesitation, now that he was fully embarked; "let go my arm, Kate, and I
will soon show you and others of what egg-shells a lord's cousin can be
made.--What brings you here to spoil our merriment, and mar our May-day
games? Take that as a remembrance of Ralph Harland!" and he struck him
a blow, which, although Richard de Ashby partially warded it off, made
him stagger and reel back. But at that very moment, the three servants
he had brought with him, who had hitherto stood at a distance, seeing
their master engaged in a squabble with one of the dancers, ran up, and
one of them, catching him by the arm, prevented him from falling.

His sword was now out of the sheath in an instant; the weapons of his
attendants were not behind, and all four rushed upon the young
franklin, exclaiming, "Cut off his ears! The villain has dared to
strike a nobleman! Cut off his ears!"

All the villagers scattered back from the object of their fury, except
two--Kate Greenly, who cast herself upon her knees before Richard de
Ashby, begging him to spare her lover, and Ralph's old grey-headed
father, who, running up from the inn door, placed a stout staff in his
son's hand, exclaiming, "Well done, Ralph, my boy! Thrash 'em all! Ho!
Greenly, give me another stick that I may help him!"

One of the serving-men, however, struck the old franklin with the
pummel of his sword, and knocked him down, while the two others pressed
forward upon Ralph, and the foremost caught his left arm, just as
Richard de Ashby, putting Kate aside, came within arm's-length of him
in front, reiterating with fierce vehemence, "Cut off his ears!"

It is probable that the order would have been executed unmercifully,
had not a sudden ally appeared upon Ralph Harland's side.

Leaping from the window of the inn, a man clothed in a close-fitting
coat, and hose of Lincoln green, with a sword by his side, a narrow
buckler on his shoulder, a sheaf of arrows under his left arm, and a
leathern bracer just below the bend of the elbow, sprang forward, with
a pole some six feet long in his hand, and at three bounds cleared the
space between the inn and the disputants. The third leap, which brought
him up with them, was scarcely taken, when one blow of his staff struck
the man who held Ralph by the left arm to the ground, and a second sent
the sword of Richard de Ashby flying far over his head.

At the same moment he exclaimed, looking at the servant whom he had
knocked down, "Ha! ha! my old acquaintance; when last we had a fall in
yonder inn together, I thought we should meet again! Fair play! fair
play!--Not four against one! Get you in, Kate Light-o'-love! out of
harm's way! The day may not end so well as it has begun. Fair play, I
say, or we may take odds too!"

Richard de Ashby looked round, furiously, after his sword, and laid his
hand upon the dagger that hung at his right side; but the sight he saw,
as he turned his eyes towards the inn, was one well calculated to
moderate, at least, the expression of his rage, for some eight or nine
men, all habited alike in close coats of Lincoln green, were coming up
at a quick pace from behind the house, and their apparel, and
appearance altogether, could leave little doubt that they were
companions of him who had first arrived, and in whom he recognised with
no slight surprise, the same blue-nosed old peasant whom he had found
contending with his servants not many nights before. The hump, indeed,
was gone, and the neck was straight enough. All signs of decrepitude,
too, had passed away; but the face was not to be mistaken, and Richard
de Ashby's countenance fell at the sight.

He was no coward, however; for, amongst the swarm of vices, and
follies, and faults, which degraded so many of the Norman nobility of
that day, cowardice was rarely, if ever, to be met with. They were a
people of the sword, and never unwilling to use it.

His first thought, then, was to resist to the death, if need might be;
his next, how to resist to the best advantage. Snatching his sword,
then, which one of his servants had picked up, he looked to the clump
of trees, but Harland, and the man in green, with a whole host of
villagers, whose angry faces betokened him no good, were immediately in
the way, so that his only resource seemed to be to retreat to the inn
door.

The first step he took in that direction, however, produced a rapid
movement on the part of the yeomen, or foresters, or whatever the
green-coated gentlemen might be, which cut him off from that place of
refuge, and, at the same moment, the voice of Hardy exclaimed, "Stop
him from the church path, Much! This rat-trap of ours has too many
holes in it, but that will close them all--Now, Master Richard de
Ashby, listen to a word or two. You come here with no good purposes to
any one, and we want no more of you. But you shall have your choice of
three things:--You shall either get to your horse's back, and go away,
swearing, as you believe in the blessed Virgin, never to set foot in
this place again,--I don't think you dare break that oath,--or--"

"I will not!" replied Richard de Ashby, fiercely.

"Very well, then," said Hardy; "if that is the case, you shall stand
out in the midst, cast away sword and dagger, betake you to a
quarter-staff, and see whether, with the same arms, young Ralph Harland
here will not thrash you like a sheaf of wheat."

"Fight a peasant with a quarter-staff!" cried Richard de Ashby. "I will
not!"

"Well, then, the third may be less pleasant," said Hardy. "I have
nothing else to offer, but that we all fall upon you and yours, and
beat you till you remember Hendley-green as long as you call yourself a
man."

"Murder us, if you will," said Richard de Ashby, doggedly; "but we will
sell our lives dearly."

"I don't know that, worshipful sir," said the man with the purple nose;
"we have no inclination to thrash more men than necessary, so all your
servitors may take themselves off, if they like. Run, my men, run, if
it so please you. But make haste, for my quarter-staff is itching to be
about your master's ears!" And so saying, he made it whirl round in his
hand like the sails of a mill.

One of the men needed no time to deliberate, but betook himself to his
heels as fast as he could go. A second hesitated for a moment or two,
and then saying, "It is no use contending with such odds," moved slowly
away. The third, however--Hardy's old adversary in the hostelry--placed
himself by Richard de Ashby's side, saying, "I will stand by you, sir!"
and added a word or two in a lower tone.

"Now, Much--and you, Tim-of-the-Mill," cried Hardy, "let us rush on
them all at once, beat down their swords with your bucklers, and tie
them tight. Then we will set the bagpipe before them, and flog them
half way to Pontefract. Quick! quick! I see the priest coming, and he
will be for peace-making."

The first step was hardly taken in advance, however, when the blast of
a trumpet sounded upon the high road, and a dozen different cries from
the villagers of----

"Hold off! hold off!"

"Forbear! Here comes the Sheriff!"

"Run for it, Master Hardy--they are the lords Greenly talked of!"

"Away--away, good yeomen!" all uttered at once, gave notice to the
gentlemen in green that some formidable enemy was in the rear.

In a moment after, two or three gentlemen of distinguished port, riding
slowly at the head of some fifty horsemen, came down the road upon the
green; and Hardy, as he was called, seeing that the day was no longer
his own, was passing across to join his companions on the other side,
when Richard de Ashby cast himself in his way, and aimed a blow at him
with his sword. The stout yeoman parried it easily with his staff, and
struck his opponent on the chest with the sharp end of the pole, thus
clearing a path by which he soon placed himself at the head of the
foresters.

"Come with us, Harland," he cried, "you will be safer away."

Richard de Ashby, however, shouting aloud, and waving his hand to the
party of gentlemen who were advancing, soon brought some of them to his
side. "Stop them! stop them!" he cried, pointing to the men in green.
"I have been grossly ill used, and well-nigh murdered!--Let your men go
round, my lord, and cut them off."

A word, a sign, from an elderly man at the head of the party, instantly
set some twenty of the horsemen into a gallop, to cut off the foresters
from the road to the church. They, on their part, took the matter very
calmly, however, unslinging their bows, bending them, and laying an
arrow on the string of each, with a degree of deliberation which shewed
that they were not unaccustomed to such encounters.

The villagers however, scattered like a flock of sheep at these
intimations of an approaching fray; the girls and the women, screaming,
and running, and tumbling down, took refuge in the neighbouring houses,
or ran away up the road. The greater part of the men decamped more
slowly, looking back from time to time to see what was going on; while
some six or seven stout peasants and the yeomen stood gathered together
under one of the trees, armed, in some instances, with swords and bows,
and one or two displaying a quarter-staff, but all seeming very well
disposed to take part in the fray, on one side or the other.

Things were in this state, and that hesitating pause had intervened
which usually precedes the first blow in a strife of any kind, when the
priest, who had been seen before to quit his house, now hurried forward
to the group of gentlemen who, without dismounting from their horses,
had gathered round Richard de Ashby. His errand was, of course, to
preach peace and forbearance; and although his face was round and rosy,
his body stout, and indicating strongly a life of ease and a fondness
for good things, it is but justice to say, that he not only urged the
necessity of quiet and tranquillity with eagerness and authority, but
he rated Richard de Ashby boldly for his conduct in the village, and
showed that ho knew a great deal more of his proceedings than was at
all pleasant to that personage.

"Sir, you are one of those," he said, "who are ever ready to play the
fool with a poor village coquette, who, if in riding through a place
they see a poor girl proud of a neat ankle or a jimp waist, are ever
ready to take advantage of her vanity to work her ruin; and if such men
put themselves in danger, and get a broken head, they must take the
consequences, without running on to bloodshed and murder."

The priest was still speaking; the yeomen were slowly retreating
towards the church, without at all heeding the horsemen in their way;
two or three elderly noblemen were listening attentively to the works
of the good clergyman; and two young ones, a step behind, were holding
themselves somewhat apart from each other, with no great appearance of
friendship between them, when the one on the left hand of the group
suddenly put the magnificent horse on which he was mounted into a quick
canter, and rode straight towards the foresters.

At first, supposing his purpose to be hostile, they wheeled upon him,
raising their bows at once, and each man drew his arrow to his ear; but
seeing that he was not followed, they assumed a more pacific aspect;
and, while one of the old lords whom he had left behind, called to him
loudly, by the name of Hugh, to come back, he not only rode on, but, to
the surprise of all, sprang from his horse and grasped young Harland
warmly by the hand.

This proceeding for the time drew all eyes in that direction, and the
end of the priest's speech was but little attended to; but, at his
request, one of the gentlemen sent off a servant to the horsemen near
the church, telling them not to act without orders.

In the meantime a brief conversation between the young nobleman and the
franklin took place, after which, remounting his horse, the former came
back to the group, and said, "May I venture a few words, my lords?"

"Of course, Lord Hugh will take part against me," exclaimed Richard de
Ashby, "or old Earl Hubert's blood will not be in his veins!"

"Not so," replied the young gentleman; "all old feuds between our
families have--thanks to God and the wisdom of those two noble
Earls--been done away. No one more rejoices in the friendship which now
exists between our houses than I do--none will more strenuously strive
to preserve it. I came merely to tell that which I know and that which
I have just heard. The young man I have been speaking with is as honest
and true as any knight or noble in the world. He once rendered me a
good service, and no one shall harm him; for that at least I pawn my
name and knighthood. He tells me, however, that this worthy gentleman
here, having taken a fancy to his promised bride, thinks fit to intrude
on their May-day sports, and, stretching somewhat the privileges of a
gentleman, makes love to the girl before his face. His endurance, it
seems, does not reach that length, and he struck our friend Sir
Richard, who fell upon him again, sword in hand, with his three
servants, when these good foresters of Barnesdale interfered to see
fair play."

"The whole is true, I doubt not," cried the priest, "for----"

"Look! look!" cried Richard de Ashby, fiercely; "while you listen to
such gossip, they are making their escape! They are going into the
priest's house, as I live!"

As he spoke, a loud voice from the other side of the green shouted, in
a laughing tone, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"

All eyes were instantly turned in that direction, where, at the door of
the priest's house, two or three of the foresters were still to be
seen, the rest of them having gone in one by one. In front of the group
stood the man they called Hardy, and he repeated again, with a loud
shout, "For Richard de Ashby's bonnet!"

As soon as he saw that he had attracted attention, he suddenly raised
the bow he held in his hand, drew it to the full extent of his arm, and
an arrow whistled through the air. Richard de Ashby had started
slightly on one side as soon as he saw the archer take his aim, but the
forester altered the direction of his arm, with a laugh, even as he
loosed the shaft from the string, and the missile, with unerring truth,
passed through the hood that it was intended for, and would have fallen
beyond had it not been stopped by a jewel in the front. As it was, the
arrow remained hanging amongst his black hair, and when he drew it
forth, with a white cheek, and a somewhat trembling hand, he read
imprinted in black letters, on the wood just below the feather,
"Scathelock. Remember!"

The nobles handed the arrow one to another, read the name, and the word
that followed it, and then gazed in each other's faces with a meaning
look.

"Call back the horsemen," said one of the elder gentlemen. "These men
are gone; and it is as well as it is."




                              CHAPTER V.


Such events as we have described in the last chapter were by no means
uncommon in the fairs and merry-makings of England at the period of
history in which our tale is laid. The sunshiny gaiety of the morning,
in the April day of states and societies, is too often changed into
sorrow and clouds ere night.

The sports were not resumed upon the village green; and all the
amusements and occupations with which a May-day generally closed--the
fresh dances by the moonlight, on the delights of which old Fitz
Stephen so fondly dwells, the parting of the garlands, the gifts of
flowers, the light song, and the gay tale amongst the young; with the
merry jest, the wassail cup, and the game of chance amongst the elder,
were all forgotten. The villagers and country people dispersed each to
their several homes, and the inn, with such conveniences as it could
afford, was given up to the nobles and their train. Arrangements were
made for accommodating all the men of high degree with chambers, if not
suitable to their rank, at least possessing some degree of comfort.
Truckle beds were found for pages and squires, and straw was laid down
for the yeomen, who were accustomed to lie across the doors of their
masters' rooms. Much bustle and confusion was of course created by all
these proceedings; horses had to be taken care of as well as men; and
the voice of the good host was heard frequently shouting aloud for his
daughter Kate, or grumbling low at her giddy idleness in being absent
at such a moment as that.

"Ay, Master Greenly, Master Greenly!" said the tapster--"it is May-day
evening, remember. Pretty Kate has twenty lads courting her by this
time, if you could but see. I should not wonder if she and young
Harland were kissing and making-up behind the church, at this moment."

"Not they," replied the host; "it will take her a fortnight to get over
that matter. Kate's a silly girl, she could'nt do better for herself
than young Harland. Why his father, old Ralph, is as rich as an abbey,
and as hospitable as a county knight; his table is never without a pie
or a pasty from ten in the morning till vespers, and there's ale for
whoever chooses to draw it. I would sooner be a franklin in these days
than a baron by half. Run out, Bessy, and see if you can find Kate
anywhere."

In the meanwhile, after some conversation on the green at the door of
the inn, the lords had taken possession of the little room of common
reception, while their chambers were prepared for sleeping; and a cook,
who had been brought with the party, established himself in the
kitchen, and, aided by his own particular assistant, or knave, as he
called him, together with two women belonging to the household of John
Greenly, was preparing a supper for his masters from all that he could
lay hands on in the place, in addition to a large body of capons, young
ducks, and pigeons, which, as well as spices and other rich condiments,
had been brought thither on two sumpter horses. The scanty number of
personages assembled in the little hall, indeed, did not justify the
great profusion of good things which the cook was so busily concocting,
but he very prudently considered that he himself was to be fed as well
as the host, to whom, in case of civility and obedience, he made a
point of extending his bounties, and that all the chief servants of the
different gentlemen present, with his special favourites and friends in
the retinue of his own master, would also expect to be regaled, at
least as well as their several lords.

To that master and his companions, however--amounting, in the whole, to
the number of ten personages--we must now turn; but it is only of four,
out of the whole party, that we shall give any particular description,
having already said enough of Richard de Ashby, and the five others
being gentlemen, whose history, though mixed up in some degree with the
fate of those we are most interested in, did not affect it so
immediately as to require us to present a minute portrait of each to
the eye of the reader.

The Earl of Ashby himself was a man considerably past the prime of
life, and of what was then called a choleric temperament, which does
not alone mean that he was hot in temper and disposition, but that he
was constitutionally so. Age, indeed, had in some degree tamed his
fiery blood; and a good deal of indulgence in the pleasures of the
table, with no great distaste for good old wine of any country, had
tended to enfeeble him more than even time had done.

He had still a great opinion of his own importance, however, and looked
upon his skill in arms, wisdom in council, and judgment in matters of
taste, as by no means inferior to the first in the land; and, to say
the truth, when once upon his horse's back, and armed at all points, he
would bide a blow, or lead a charge, with any man, although his knees
bent somewhat under him when on foot, and he was glad enough to be
freed from the weight of his armour as soon as possible. His judgment,
too, was a sound one when not biassed by passion, though there was a
certain degree of wavering unsteadiness in his character, proceeding
more from temper than from weakness of mind, which rendered him an
insecure ally in trying circumstances. He piqued himself much upon
being just, too, but like many other people who do so, his justice had
almost always a tinge of prejudice in it, and was in fact but a
perception of specious arguments in favour of the side that he
espoused.

His son, Alured de Ashby, resembled his father in many points; but many
of his mother's qualities entered into his character likewise. The old
Earl had married a foreigner, a sister of the King of Minorca--kingdoms
being, in those days, very often but small things. Her dowry had been
in proportion to her brother's territory; but to her husband she
brought an accession of dignity, and increased his pride by her own.
That pride was, perhaps, her only bad quality, for a strong and
pertinacious determination of character, which she also possessed, was,
of course, good or bad according to the direction in which it was
guided. She, herself, being of a fine mind, and a high-spirited though
tender heart, had employed the resolute firmness of which we speak to
struggle against the misfortunes that beset her father and her brother
during her early years, and to give them support and strength in
resisting a torrent which seemed destined to sweep them away.

Her son, however, nurtured in prosperity, and pampered by praises and
indulgence, possessed her pride in its full force, without the
mitigating influence of her kindness and tenderness of heart; and,
neither having so good a judgment, nor such high motives, as herself,
what was firmness in her became obstinacy in him--an obstinacy of a
harsh and unpleasant kind. He was by no means without talents,
indeed,--was as stout a man-at-arms as ever sat in the saddle, had a
natural taste and genius for war, and had distinguished himself in many
of the expeditions, or _chevauchées_, of the time. He was a high and
honourable man, too, kept his word strictly, wronged no one but through
pride, and was generous and liberal of his purse. Thus he was esteemed
and respected more than liked, and was more popular with his inferiors
than with his equals.

One knightly quality, it is true, he wanted. He cared little for love,
there being only one person in the world, after his mother's death, for
whom he ever felt anything like real tenderness. That person was his
sister. She was nine years younger than himself; he had held her on his
knee when she was an infant; she had been a plaything to him in her
childhood, and an object of interest during her whole life. Perhaps the
reason that he so loved her was, that she was the very reverse of
himself in all respects: gentle, yet gay, and lively almost to
wildness; tenderhearted, clinging, and affectionate, yet with a spice
of saucy independence withal, which often set rules and regulations at
defiance, and laughed at anger which she knew would fall but lightly on
her head.

As we shall have to speak more of her hereafter, however, we will now
turn to another of our group, and talk of the good Earl, whose trusty
man, Blawket, we have already introduced to the reader's notice. Hugh,
Lord of Monthermer, or Mo'thermer, as it was generally pronounced--and
whom, as his name is not a very musical one, we shall more frequently
call "the Earl"--was in the fifty-ninth or sixtieth year of his age;
and--as he had seen many perils by land and sea, had been in wars
against the heathen, both in Spain and Palestine, and had spent the
greater part of his life in the tented field, and on the battle
plain--his frame was somewhat worn and shaken, though he had once well
merited the name which had been bestowed upon him in early years, when
people, from the hardships which he endured unshrinkingly, had
called him _Iron Monthermer_. He was still strong and powerful,
however--though gaunt and meagre; a brown tint of health was upon his
face, and the light of clear and strong intelligence was in his eye.
His features were aquiline, and somewhat harsh, his chin prominent, his
brow strongly marked, and his forehead high and capacious, with his
white hair lying lightly upon it, like snow upon a mountain.
Notwithstanding several defects in point of beauty, and a sternness of
outline in almost every feature, there was something uncommonly
pleasing, as well as striking, in the whole expression of his
countenance, and one read there kindness of heart, as well as firmness
and decision of character. He was habited richly enough, but not
gorgeously so; and, though not what was considered armed in those days,
he carried more weapons, but of a different sort, about his person than
is required for any modern trooper.

The fourth person, of whose appearance we shall now give some account,
was the young man who had ridden forward to speak with Ralph Harland,
Hugh de Monthermer by name, but commonly called by all who knew him,
"The Lord Hugh." He was the only nephew of the Earl, and presumptive
heir to his title and estates. At the same time, however, he was
altogether independent of his uncle, being the son of that James de
Monthermer, who was summoned to parliament in the first year of the
reign of Henry the Third, as Baron Amesbury, having married the heiress
of that ancient house. His father had long been dead; and as he had
received his military education under his uncle, he still attached
himself to that nobleman--respecting him as a parent, and treated by
him as a son. He was some four or five years younger than Alured de
Ashby, but had nevertheless gained considerable renown in arms, both
under his uncle, and in service, which he had taken for a time with the
King of Castile, in order to win his knightly spurs with honour. In
person, he somewhat resembled the Earl, though he was taller, and his
features were both softened by youth, and were smaller in themselves.
His complexion was of a dark, warm brown, his hair short and curling,
his hazel eyes full of light and fire, and a frank, but somewhat
sarcastic smile, playing frequently about his well-cut lip. On the
whole, it is seldom that a handsomer face meets the eye, and his
countenance well expressed the spirit within, which was gay and
cheerful, but none the less thoughtful and imaginative. There might be
a slight touch of satirical sharpness in his disposition, which often
prompted a laugh or a jest at any of the many follies that an observing
eye, in all ages, and all states of society, must meet at every turn.
But a kind heart and a well regulated mind taught him to repress,
rather than to encourage such a disposition, and it seldom broke forth
unless the absurdity was very gross.

In those ages it was rare to find a man in his station who possessed
even a very low degree of learning. To read and write was an
accomplishment, and anything like elegance of composition, or a
knowledge of classical lore, was hardly, if ever, dreamt of. In these
respects, however, circumstances had given Hugh de Monthermer an
advantage over many of his contemporaries. Various foreign languages he
had acquired in following his uncle; and having been crushed and nearly
killed, by his horse falling in one of the passes of the Taurus, he had
been left for several months in a convent amongst the mountains, while
broken bones were set, and health restored, by the skill of the monks.
There, some of the friars, more learned than the rest, had taken a
pleasure in solacing his weary hours, by communicating to him what was
then considered a rich store of knowledge. With a quick and intelligent
mind, he had thus gained, not only much information at the time, but a
taste for reading, which in after years excited some envy, and called
forth many a scoff from others, who had themselves no inclination for
any exercises but those of the body.

Amongst these was Alured de Ashby, who affected to hold his military
talents cheap, and called him a book-worm; but, nevertheless, Hugh de
Monthermer quietly pursued his course, although, to say the truth, for
reasons of his own, he was not a little anxious to gain the friendship
of the house of Ashby, which during many years had been separated from
his own by one of those fierce and bloody feuds that so often existed
in those days between the noble families of the land. The
reconciliation of the two houses had been but lately effected, and
could scarcely yet be called cordial, though the bond of party feeling
brought them frequently into long and intimate communication with each
other.

The dress of the young Lord was not so homely as that of his uncle;
there might, indeed, be a little foppery in it; for though the colours
were dark, yet the embroidery which appeared in every part was rich and
costly, and the long and hanging sleeves of the loose coat he wore, was
in itself one of the distinguishing marks of a petit maître of that
day. Into the extreme, however, he did not go: there was no long and
braided hair, there were no devils, and angels, and cupids, hanging
over his head on a fanciful hood; but instead of that most ugly part of
our ancient garments, he wore a cap or hat, a mode then common in
Flanders and in Italy, with a long feather crossing from right to left,
and nearly touching his shoulder. With the exception of the loose
tunic, or gown, all the rest of his dress fitted as closely as
possible, leaving nothing to embarrass the free action of his limbs,
except, indeed, the long points of his shoes, which, though very
moderate for that period, were certainly not less than twenty inches
longer than necessary.

The rest of the party was composed of several noblemen, wealthy and
powerful, but of less distinction than the two Earls we have mentioned,
and evidently looking up to them as to their leaders; and besides
these, was a distant cousin of the Earl of Monthermer, brought, as it
were, to balance the presence of Richard de Ashby, though, to say the
truth, if he more than outweighed that gentleman in wealth and
respectability, he was very much his inferior in cunning and talents.

As a matter of course, the events which had just taken place upon the
green formed the first subject of conversation with the personages
assembled in the inn. The younger men only laughed over the occurrence.
"You must get some fair lady to darn the hole in your hood, Richard,"
said the Lord Alured.

"I wonder," added another of the young noblemen, "that the arrow did
not carry away one of those soft tresses."

"It might well have been called Scathelock, then," observed a third.

"It only disturbed a little of the perfume," rejoined Alured. The elder
gentleman, however, treated the matter more seriously. The Earl of
Ashby rated his kinsman with an angry brow for his licentiousness, and
represented to him with great justice the evil of nobles bringing
themselves into bad repute with the people.

"Do you not know," he said, "that at the present moment, between the
king and his foreign minions on the one hand, and the people on the
other, the English noblemen have to make their choice?--and, of course,
it is by the people that we must stand. They are our support, and our
strength, and we must avoid in all things giving them just cause of
complaint. Scathelock?--Scathelock?--I have heard that name."

"You must have heard if often, my father," said Alured de Ashby. "It is
the name of one of our good forest outlaws of Sherwood. I have seen the
man twice in the neighbourhood of our own place, and though I did not
mark this fellow with the arrow much, he has the same look and air."

"Seen him twice, and did not arrest him?" cried Richard de Ashby, with
marked emphasis.

"Heaven forefend!" exclaimed Alured laughing. "What, arrest a good
English yeoman, on account of a taste for the King's venison! If Harry
would throw open his forests to us, and not give to proud Frenchmen and
Spaniards rights that he denies to his English nobles, we might help
him in such matters; but as it is, no free-forester shall ever be
arrested by our people, or on our land."

The Earl of Monthermer and his nephew had both been silent, leaving the
rebuke of Richard de Ashby to his own relations; for they well knew the
jealousy of the nobles with whom they were leagued, and were anxious to
avoid every matter of offence. The poor kinsman, however, had
established a right to sneer even at the proud Earl of Ashby and his no
less haughty son, upon grounds which at first sight would seem to
afford no basis for such a privilege. His poverty and partial
dependence upon them had taught them to endure much at his hands which
they would have borne from no other man on earth; and he, keen-sighted
in taking advantage of the higher as well as the lower qualities of all
those he had to do with, failed not to render their forbearance a
matter of habit, by frequently trying it as far as he dared to venture.

"Forgive an old proverb, Alured," he replied, "but you know, it is
said, that 'fowls of a feather flock together.' Perhaps, as you love
forest thieves so well, you have no distaste for the King's venison
yourself?"

"An unlucky proverb for you, Richard," said the young lord, while his
father's cheek got somewhat red; "if what we have heard be true, the
fowls you flock with are not quite those that suit our present
purposes."

"What you have heard!" exclaimed Richard de Ashby, turning somewhat
pale. "If you have heard aught against me," he added, after an
instant's thought, turning at the same time towards Hugh de Monthermer,
and bowing low, "I know to what noble hands I may trace it."

"You are mistaken, sir," said Hugh, sternly. "Respect for these two
noble lords, your kinsmen, has made me eager that no charge should be
brought against you by any of our people. Of this they are well aware."

"And they are aware also," added the Earl, "that both I and my nephew
declared from the first that we believe you utterly innocent of all
knowledge of the fact, even if it should prove to be true."

"What fact?" demanded Richard, in a low tone, and with a wandering eye,
which did not produce a very favourable impression on the minds Of
those who observed his countenance. "What fact, my lord?--but any
charge brought by a Monthermer, or one of a Monthermer's followers,
against an Ashby; should be viewed with some slight caution, methinks."

"Certainly!" said Alured de Ashby, in a marked tone.

But to the surprise of both, the Earl of Monthermer added likewise,
"Certainly!--Old feuds, even after they are happily laid at rest," he
continued, calmly, "will leave rankling suspicions, especially in the
minds of the low and the uneducated, and such I doubt not may be, in
some degree at least, the origin of a charge to which I would not have
listened for a moment, if it had not been that my good lord and friend
here, who was present when it was made this morning, insisted that it
should be inquired into.--The charge is this, sir, that you have with
you, disguised as one of your servants, a spy of the King's. This
accusation was brought by my good yeoman, Blawket, who vows he saw that
man with you when I sent him to meet you and others here but a few days
ago.--Sir, you seem agitated, and I know that such a charge must
necessarily affect any gentleman deeply; but my Lord of Ashby here
present is well aware that, from the first, I declared my conviction of
your innocence of all share in the transaction."

"I assure you, my lord,--on my honour, gentlemen believe me," cried
Richard de Ashby, hesitating, "it is not true--the man is a liar!"

"No, Sir Richard, no," said Hugh de Monthermer at once, "the man is no
liar, but as honest a yeoman as ever lived. You may have been deceived,
Sir Richard," he added, with a slight smile curling his lip; "we are
all of us subject to be deceived, occasionally. Blawket may have been
deceived, too; but that I should say may soon be proved, for he
declares that the leopards of Henry of Winchester will be found upon
the breast of your servant, Richard Keen."

"Fool!" muttered Richard de Ashby to himself, but at the same moment
his kinsman, the Earl, exclaimed, "Let him be sent for--let him be sent
for!"

"I will call him immediately," said Richard de Ashby, turning towards
the door; "but I declare, so help me Heaven! if this man have ever been
in the King's service, it is more than I know."

"Stay, stay, Richard!" exclaimed the Lord Alured. "Let some one else go
and call him, and let no word be said to him of the matter in hand."

"Do you doubt me, my lord?" demanded his kinsman, turning upon him with
a frowning brow. "If I am to have no support from my own relations----"

"An honest man needs no support, sir, but his own honesty," said Lord
Alured, interrupting him. "Not that I doubt thee, Richard," he
continued; "but I would fain have thee tell me how that fellow came
into thy service, while some one else calls him hither. Sir Charles Le
Moore, I pr'ythee bid them send hither this Richard Keen. Now, good
cousin, tell us how this man came to thee, for he is not one of our own
people born, that is evident. Richard Keen! I never heard the name."

"How he came to me, matters not much to the question," replied Richard
de Ashby. "I hired him in London. I was told he was a serviceable
knave, had been in France and Almaine, and--but here comes Sir Charles
Le Moore. Have you not found him?"--and as he spoke he fixed his eyes
eagerly, but with a dark smile, upon the face of the gentleman who
entered, as if some anticipations of triumph had crossed his mind.

"The people have gone to seek him," said Sir Charles; "he is somewhere
about the green, and it is growing dark; so I let them go, as I know
not the place."

A moment or two elapsed, but before the conversation could be generally
renewed, one of the attendants of the Earl of Ashby appeared at the
door, bringing intelligence that Richard Keen was nowhere to be found,
and that his horse and saddle-bags had disappeared also.

The kinsman of the Earl of Ashby affected to be furious at the
news--"The villain has robbed me of the horse," he said, "and,
doubtless, of other things also. My lord," he continued, tuning to the
Earl of Monthermer, "I beg your pardon; doubtless your servant was
right, and this man has fled, having obtained same intimation of the
charge against him. Did any of you see him go?" he added, addressing
the servant who had appeared.

"No, sir," replied the yeoman. "We were all upon the green, for it must
have been, while these noble lords were talking with you, before they
came in, that he went away. The host saw him go toward the stable, just
before the arrow was shot that stuck in your hood."

Richard de Ashby frowned, for the man's tone was certainly not the most
respectful. But before any observation could be made, a noise and
bustle was heard without, which suspended the reply upon the lips of
the Earl's kinsman; and the next moment, the landlord himself, with his
full round face on fire with anger and grief, pushed his way into the
room, exclaiming--"Noble lords and gentlemen, I claim justice and help.
They have taken away my daughter from me--they have corrupted and
carried off my poor Kate.--You, sir, you are at the bottom of this!" he
continued, turning furiously to Richard de Ashby. "I have seen your
whisperings and your talkings!--My good lords and gentlemen, I claim
justice and assistance."

"How now!" cried Richard de Ashby, in as fierce a tone as his own, but
not quite so natural a one. "Dare you say that I have anything to do
with this? Your light-o'-love daughter has made mischief enough to-night
already. Let us hear no more of her. Doubtless you will find her in
some cottage, if not in the woods, with her lover, trying to make up by
courtesies for her fickle conduct of this morning."

"No, sir--no, no, no!" replied the host, vehemently; "she is in neither
of those places! She was seen, some half an hour ago, going out at the
end of the village with your servant beside her; and a boy says that he
found a black mare tied to a tree not a quarter of a mile along the
road. Gentlemen, I pray you do me right, and suffer not my child to be
taken from me in this way by any one, be he gentle or simple."

"Was your daughter going willingly!" demanded the Earl of Ashby.

"I know not, sir--I know not!" cried the host, wringing his hands; "all
I know is, they have taken her, and I am sure this is the man who has
caused it to be done."

"I know nothing of her, fellow!" replied Richard de Ashby. "You must
hold your daughter's beauty very high to suppose that I would take the
trouble of having her carried off."

"Why, Richard, you are not scrupulous," said his cousin.

"London and Winchester," cried another gentleman, with a laugh, "are
indebted to him for many a fair importation, I believe."

"His taste lies amongst country wenches," added a third. And
notwithstanding the misery of the injured father, a great deal of
merriment and jesting was the first effect produced by the complaint of
the host.

"If this tale be true," said Hugh de Monthermer, who had been looking
down with a frowning brow, "I would strongly advise Sir Richard de
Ashby to mount his horse, put his spurs to the flanks, and not draw a
rein till he is safe in Nottingham. There be people about this
neighbourhood who are likely to render such a course expedient."

"I shall do no such thing, sir," replied Richard de Ashby; "this good
man's suspicions are false as far as they regard me, though it is not
at all improbable that the knave, Keen, who has, it seems, deceived
me--and is a good-looking varlet, moreover has played the fool with a
buxom light-headed country wench, whose cheek I may once or twice have
pinched for lack of something better to do."

"Such being the case, my Lord of Ashby," said the Earl, drily, "as your
kinsman has nought to do with the affair, and as this servant of his
has cheated and robbed him, injured this good man, and is suspected of
being a spy--by your leave, I will send some of my people after him
without farther delay. Without there! Is Blawket to be found?"

"Here, my lord," replied the man, standing forward as upright as a
lance and as stiff as a collar of brawn, from amidst a group of six or
seven servants, who were all discussing as vehemently on the one side
of the door the events which had just taken place as their masters were
on the other.

"Mount in a minute," said the Earl of Monthermer. "Take with you three
of your fellows whose horses are the freshest; follow this Richard
Keen, from the best information you call get, and bring him hither with
all speed, together with the girl he has carried off."

"Shall I beat him, my lord?" asked the yeoman.

"Not unless he resists," replied the Earl; "but bring him dead or
alive, and use all means to get information of his road."

"I will bring him, my lord," replied Blawket, and retired, followed by
the host, who ceased not, till the man was in the saddle, to give him
hints as to finding his daughter, mingled with lamentations over fate
and praises of the house of Monthermer.

"Now," said the Earl, when they were alone, "let us speak of more
important things;" but it being announced that supper was well-nigh
ready, the Earl of Ashby, who had an affection for the good things of
this life, proposed that any farther conversation should be put off
till after that meal. The other Earl, knowing that his placability
depended much upon the condition of his stomach, agreed to the
suggestion; and after the ceremony of washing hands had been performed,
the supper was served and passed over as such proceedings usually did
in those days, with huge feeding on the part of several present, and
much jesting on the part of the younger men. A good deal of wine was
also drank, notwithstanding a caution from the Earl of Monthermer to be
moderate. But moderation was little known at that time. Malvoisie was
added to Bordeaux, and the spiced wine, then called claret, succeeded
the Malvoisie; a cup of hippocras was handed round to sweeten the
claret, and the Earl of Ashby fell asleep at the very moment the
conference should have begun.




                             CHAPTER VI.


I cannot help grieving that amongst all the changes which have taken
place,--amongst all the worlds, if I may so call them, which have come
and gone in the lapse of time, the forest world should have altogether
departed, leaving scarcely greater or more numerous vestiges of its
existence than those that remain of the earth before the Flood. The
green and bowery glades of the old forest, their pleasant places of
sport and exercise, the haunts of the wild deer, the wolf, and the
boar, the fairy-like dingles and dells, the woodcraft that they
witnessed, the sciences, and the characters that were peculiar to
themselves, have now, alas! passed away from most of the countries of
Europe, and have left scarcely a glen where the wild stag can find
shelter, or where the contemplative man can pause under the shade of
old primeval trees, to reflect upon the past or speculate upon the
future. The antlered monarch of the wood is now reduced to a domestic
beast, in a walled park; and the man of thought, however much he may
love nature's unadorned face, however much he may feel himself cribbed
and confined amongst the works of human hands, must shut his prisoner
fancies within the bounds of his own solitary chamber, unless he is
fond to indulge them by the side of the grand but monotonous ocean. The
infinite variety of the forest is no longer his: it belongs to another
age, and to another class of beings.

In the times I write of, it was not so, and the greater part of every
country in Europe was covered with rich and ancient wood; but, perhaps,
no forest contained more to interest or to excite than that of merry
Sherwood--comprising within itself, as the reader knows, a vast extent
of very varied country, sweeping round villages, and even cities, and
containing, in its involutions, many a hamlet, the inhabitants of which
derived their sustenance from the produce of the forest ground.

The aspect of the wood itself was as different in different places as
it is possible to conceive. In some spots the trees were far apart,
with a wide expanse of open ground, covered by low brushwood, or the
shall shrub bearing the bilberry; in others, you came to a wide extent,
covered with nothing but high fern and old scrubbed hawthorn trees; but
throughout a great part of the forest the sun seldom if ever
penetrated, during the summer months, to the paths beneath, so thick
was the canopy of green leaves above, while those paths themselves were
generally so narrow that in many of them two men could not walk
abreast.

There were other and wider ways, indeed, through the wood, some of them
cart roads, for the accommodation of woodmen and carriers, some of them
highways from one neighbouring town to another: but the latter were not
very numerous or very much frequented--many a tale being told of
travellers lightened of their baggage, in passing through Sherwood;
and, to speak the truth, no one could very well say, at that time, who
and what were the dwellers in the forest, or their profession; so that
those who loved not strange company, kept to the more open country if
they could.

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful ride across almost any part of the
woodland, offering magnificent changes of scene at every step, and the
people of those times were not so incapable of enjoying it as has been
generally supposed; but still, with all the tales of outlaws and
robbers which were then afloat, it required a stout determination, or a
case of great necessity, to impel any of the citizens of the
neighbouring towns to make a trip across the forest in the spring or
autumn of the year. Those who did so, usually came back with some story
to tell, and some, indeed, brought home stripes upon their shoulders
and empty bags. The latter, however, were almost always of particular
classes. Rich monks and jovial friars occasionally fared ill; the petty
tyrants of the neighbouring shire ran a great risk, if they trusted
themselves far under the green leaf; the wealthy and ostentatious
merchant might sometimes return rather lighter than he went; but the
peasant, the honest franklin, the village curate, the young, and women
of all degrees, had generally very little to relate, except that they
had seen a forester here, or a forester there, who gave them a civil
word, and bade God speed them, or who aided them, in any case of need,
with skilful hands and a right good will.

Thus there was evidently a strong degree of favouritism shown in the
dealings of the habitual dwellers in the greenwood with the various
classes of travellers who passed through on business or on pleasure.
But, nevertheless, it was the few who complained, and the many who
lauded, so that the reputation of the merry men of Sherwood was high
amongst all the inferior orders of society at the time when this tale
begins.

So much was necessary to be said, to give the reader any idea of the
scene into the midst of which we must now plunge, leaving Barnsdale
behind us, and quitting Yorkshire for Nottingham.

It was about two o'clock, on the second of May, then, that a party of
horsemen reached a spot in the midst of Sherwood, where the road--after
having passed for nearly two miles through a dense part of the wood,
which the eye could not penetrate above fifteen or twenty yards on
either side--ran down a slight sandy descent, and entered upon a more
open scene, where the trees had been cleared away not many years
before, and where some two hundred acres of ground appeared covered
with scattered brushwood and bilberry bushes, sloping down the side of
a wide hill, at the bottom of which the thick wood began again,
extending in undulating lines for many a mile beneath the eye of the
traveller.

The number of the journeyers was five; and they pulled in the rein to
let their horses drink at a clear stream which crossed the road, and
bubbling onward, was soon lost amongst the bushes beyond. Four of them
were dressed as yeomen attached to some noble house; for although
liveries, according to the modern acceptation of the word, were then
unknown, and the term itself applied to quite a different thing, yet
the habit was already coming in, of fixing a particular badge or
cognizance upon all the followers or retainers of great noblemen, as
well as of kings, whereby they might know each other in any of the
frequent affrays which took place in those times. Sometimes it was
fixed upon the breast, sometimes upon the back, sometimes upon the arm,
where it appeared in the present instance. Each of the yeomen had a
sword and buckler, a dagger on the right side, and a bow and a sheaf of
arrows on the shoulders; and all were strong men and tall, with the
Anglo-Saxon blood shining out in the complexion.

The fourth personage was no other than Ralph Harland, the stout young
franklin, of whom we have already spoken. He, too, was well armed with
sword and buckler, though he bore no bow. Besides the usual dagger,
however, he wore, hanging by a green cord from his neck, a long,
crooked, sharp-pointed knife, called in those days an anelace, which
was, I believe, peculiar to the commons of England and Flanders, and
which was often fatally employed in the field of battle in stabbing the
heavy horses of the knights and men-at-arms.

The horses of this party were evidently tired with a long, hot ride,
and the horsemen stopped, as I have said, to let their beasts drink in
the stream before they proceeded onward. As they pulled up, a fat doe
started from the brushwood about thirty yards distant, and bounded away
towards the thicker parts of the forest, and at the same moment a loud,
clear, mellow voice, exclaimed--"So, ho, madam! nobody will hurt you in
the month of May! Give you good day, sirs!--whither are ye going?"

The eyes of all but young Harland had been following the deer, and his
had been bent, with a look of sad and stern abstraction, upon the
stream, but every one turned immediately as the words were uttered; and
there before them on the road, stood the speaker. How he came there,
however, no one could tell, for the moment before, the highway was
clear for a quarter of a mile, and there seemed no bush or tree in the
immediate neighbourhood sufficiently large to conceal a full grown man.

The personage who accosted them was certainly full-grown, and very well
grown, too. He was in height about five feet eleven, but not what could
be called large in the bone; at least, the proportion of the full and
swelling muscle that clothed his limbs made the bone seem small. His
foot, too, was less than might have been expected from his height; and
though his hand was strong and sinewy, the shape was good, and the
fingers were long. His breadth over the chest was very great; but he
was thin in the flank, and small in the waist; and when his arm hung
loosely by his side, the tip of his middle finger reached nearly to his
knee. His countenance was a very fine one; the forehead high and broad,
but with the brow somewhat prominent above the eyes, giving a keen and
eagle-like look to a face in every other respect frank and gentle. His
well rounded chin, covered with a short curling beard, of a light brown
hue, was rather prominent than otherwise, but all the features were
small and in good proportion; and the clear blue eye, with its
dark-black eyelashes, and the arching turn of the lip and mouth, gave a
merry expression to the whole, rather reckless, perhaps, but open and
free, and pleasant to the beholder.

In dress he was very much like the foresters whom we have before
described; he wore upon his head a little velvet cap, with a gold
button in the front, and a bunch of woodcock's feathers therein. He had
also an image, either in gold or silver gilt, of St. Hubert on
horseback, on the front of the cross-belt in which his sword was hung.
The close-fitting coat of Lincoln green, the tight hose of the same,
the boots of untanned leather, disfigured by no long points, the sheaf
of arrows, the bow, the sword, and bracer, were all there; and,
moreover, by his side hung a pouch of crimson cloth called the
gipciere, and, resting upon it, a hunting horn, tipped with silver. As
the fashion of those days went, his apparel was certainly not rich, but
still it was becoming, and had an air of distinction which would have
marked him out amongst men more splendidly habited than himself.

Such was the person who stood before the travellers when they looked
round, but taken by surprise, none of the party spoke in answer to his
question.

"What!" he said, again, with a smile, "as silent as if I had caught you
loosing your bow against the king's deer in the month of May? I beseech
you, fair gentlemen, tell me who you are that ride merry Sherwood at
noon, for I cannot suffer you to go on till I know."

"Cannot suffer us to go on?" cried Blawket. "You are a bold man to say
so to five."

"I am a bold man," replied the forester, "as bold as Robin Rood; and I
tell you again, good yeomen, that I must know."

What might have been Blawket's reply, who shall say? for--as we have
before told the reader--he had some idea of his own consequence, and no
slight reliance on his own vigour; but Ralph Harland interposed,
exclaiming, "Stay, stay, Blawket, this must be the man we look for to
give us aid. I have seen his face before, I am well-nigh sure. Let me
speak with him."

"Ay, ay, they show themselves in all sorts of forms," answered his
companion, while Harland dismounted and approached the stranger. "One
of them took me in as a ploughman, and now we have them in another
shape."

In the meanwhile, Harland had approached the forester, and had put into
his hand a small strip of parchment, in shape and appearance very much
like the ticket of a trunk in modern days. It was covered on one side
with writing in a large, good hand, but yet it would have puzzled the
wit of the best decipherer of those or of our own times to make out
what it meant, without a key. It ran as follows:--

"Scathelock, number one, five, seven, to the man of Sherwood." Then
came the figure of an arrow, and then the words, "A friend, as by word
of mouth. Help, help, help!"

This was all, but it seemed perfectly satisfactory to the eye that
rested upon it, for he instantly crushed the parchment in his hand,
saying, "I thought so!--Go on for half a mile," he continued; "follow
the man that you will find at the corner of the first path. Say nothing
to him, but stop where he stops, and take the bits out of your horses'
mouths, for they must feed ere they go on. Away!" he added; "away! and
lose no time."

Ralph Harland sprang upon his horse's back again, and rode on with the
rest, while the forester took a narrow path across the brushwood, which
led to the thicker wood above. They soon lost sight of him, however, as
they themselves rode on; but when they had gone nearly half a mile,
they heard the sound of a horn in the direction which he had taken.

A moment or two after, they came to a path leading to the right, and
looking down it, saw a personage, dressed in the habit of a miller's
man, leaning upon a stout staff in the midst of the narrow road. The
instant he beheld them he turned away, and walked slowly onward,
without turning to see whether they noticed or not. Harland led the way
after him, however, for the path would not admit two abreast, and the
rest followed at a walk.

They thus proceeded for somewhat more than a mile, taking several
turns, and passing the end of more than one path, each so like the
other, that the eye must have been well practised in woodcraft which
could retrace the way back to the high road again. At length they came
to a little square cut in the wood, about the eighth part of an acre in
extent, at the further corner of which was a hut built in the simplest
manner, with posts driven into the ground, and thatched over, while the
interstices were filled with flat layers of earth, a square hole being
left open for a window, and one somewhat longer appearing for the door.

Here their guide paused, and turning round, looked them over from head
to foot without saying a word.

"Ha! miller, is this your mill?" said Blawket, as they rode up.

"Yes," answered the stranger, in a rough tone, shaking his staff at the
yeoman; "and this is my mill-wheel, which shall grind the bran out of
any one who asks me saucy questions."

"On my life, I should like to try!" cried Blawket, jumping down from
his horse.

"Hush--hush!" cried Harland; "you know we were told not to speak to
him."

"And a good warning, too," said the other. "You will soon have somebody
to speak to, and then pray speak to the purpose."


    "Ah! Madge she was a merry maid,
     A merry maid, with a round black eye;
     And everything Jobson to her said,
     The saucy jade she ask'd him, 'Why?'

    "'I'll deck thee out in kirtles fine,
     If you'll be mine,' he said, one day;
     'I'll give you gold, if you'll be mine.'
     But 'Why?' was all the maid would say.

    "'I love you well, indeed I do,'
     The youth he answered, with a sigh;
     'To you I ever will be true.'
     The saucy girl still ask'd him, 'Why!'

    "But one day, near the church, he said,
     'The ring is here--the priest is nigh,
     Come, let us in, Madge, and be wed;'
     But then she no more ask'd him, 'Why?'"


So sung the miller, with an easy, careless, saucy air, leaning his back
against the turf wall of the hut, and twirling his staff round between
his finger and thumb, as if prepared to tell the clock upon the head of
any one who approached too near.

There was no time for any farther questions, however: for he had
scarcely finished the last stave, when the forester whom they had first
met appeared from behind the hut, with a brow that looked not quite so
free and gay as when the travellers had last seen him. "Come--come,
master miller," he said, "you should have to do with corn. Get some
oats for these good men's horses, for they must speed back again as
fast as they came."

"They will find oats enough in the hut, Robin," replied the other; "but
I will do your bidding however, though I be a refractory cur."

Almost at the same moment that the above reply was made, the young
franklin was speaking likewise.

"Go back again faster than we came?" he said. "I shall not feel
disposed to do that, unless----"

"Unless I show you good cause," interrupted the forester. "But I am not
going to do that. You shall stay with me for a while: these men may go
back again, for we do not want them. Let them return by Mansfield; that
is their only chance of finding those they seek. The Southwell and the
Winborn side I will answer for. You know me, Harland, I think; and if
you do, you know that my word is not in vain."

"I believe I do know you," replied Ralph Harland; "and I will trust
you, at all events. But why should I stay, and not go with them, if
there is a chance of finding the people that we want on the Mansfield
road?"

"Because the chance is but a small one," replied the forester, "and
because there is something for you to do here, which, I fear me,
is better for you now than anything that can be done for you
elsewhere.--Quick! slit open the bag with your knife, careless miller,
and let the horses feed out of it on the ground. I want the men to get
back quick. Hark ye, yeoman! Is your name Blawket?"

"The same, Master Forester," replied the yeoman. "What of me?"

"Why, this," answered the other. "I have heard of you from Scathelock,
and know you are a faithful fellow. You must return to my good lord,
your master, for me. Tell him that I will meet him between Bloodworth
and Nurstead, the day after to-morrow, by three in the afternoon. Let
him bring his whole company with him, for I have tidings to give which
it imports them much to hear."

"Find some other messenger, good forester," replied the yeoman. "My
lord sent me to seek for Richard Keen and Kate Greenly, and bade me not
come back without having found them."

"Pshaw!" said the forester, "did I not tell you you would find them on
the road to Mansfield, if at all? If they be not there, they have given
you the slip, and are in Nottingham by this time. Away with you, Master
Blawket, without more words! Give the man a cup of wine, miller; his
stomach is sour with long fasting."

"I know not," murmured Blawket, hesitating still, but feeling an
authority in the forester's speech, under which his own self-confidence
quailed. "But who shall I say to my lord sent me back with this
message? I must give him some name, good forester."

"Well, tell him," replied the person he addressed, with a smile upon
his countenance, "that it is Robert of the Lees by Ely, sent you."

"Tell him Robin Hood!" cried the miller, with a loud laugh.

"Do as I bid you," rejoined the forester. "Say Robert of the Lees: by
that name will he know me, from passages in other days; and hark!" he
continued--"be sure the Earl of Ashby comes with him, and utter not
one word of what that foolish miller just now said."

"I understand--I understand!" cried Blawket, with a much altered
manner--"I will do your bidding, Master Robin of the Lees; but this
horse eats so wondrous slow."

"He will soon be done," said the forester. "Give him the wine, miller.
We have no cups here; take it from the stoup good Blawket, and hand it
to your comrades."

A large tankard of wine which had been brought from the hut went round,
and then a minute or two passed in silence while the horses finished
their corn. When it was done, the four yeomen mounted, and at a word
from the forester, the miller led the way before them at a quicker
pace, leaving his leader behind with the young franklin.

When they were gone, the forester took a turn backwards and forwards
before the hut, without speaking; then pausing, he grasped Harland's.
hand, saying, in a tone of stern feeling--"Come, Harland, be a man!"

"You have bad tidings?" asked the young franklin, gazing with painful
earnestness in his face. "Tell me, quickly!--the worst blow is past.
They are not on the road to Mansfield?"

"There is scarcely a chance!" said Robert of the Lees; "I believe they
passed some two hours since, and----"

"And what?" demanded Ralph, in a low, but eager tone. "And Richard of
Ashby is at Nottingham, waiting for them."

Ralph Harland cast himself down upon the ground, and hid his eyes upon
his hands; while the stout forester stood by, gazing upon him with a
look of deep sadness and commiseration, and repeating three times the
words, "Poor fellow!"

"Oh, you cannot tell--you cannot tell!" cried Ralph Harland, starting
up, and wringing his hand hard; "you cannot tell what it is to have
loved as I have loved--to have trusted as I have trusted, and to find
that she in whom my whole hopes rested, she whom I believed to be as
pure as the first fallen snow, is but a wanton harlot after all. To
quit her father's house, voluntarily--to fly with a base stranger--the
promised bride of an honest man--to make herself the leman of a knave
like that! Oh, it is bitter--bitter--bitter! Worse than the blackest
misfortune with which fate can plague me that I can never think of her
again but as the paramour of Richard de Ashby! Would I had died
first--died, believing that she was good and true!"

"It is a hard case," said the forester, "and I grieve for you deeply;
but there is a harder case still than it,--that of her father, I mean.
To you, she can be nothing more--she has severed the tie that bound you
together; but she is still his daughter, and nothing can cut that bond
asunder, though fallen and dishonoured.--It were well if we could
separate her from her seducer, Ralph, and give her back to her father's
care. This is all, I fear, that now remains for us to do.--Had I known
this two hours earlier," he continued, "the nose and ears of Richard de
Ashby would by this time have been nailed to the post where the four
roads meet; but the runner Scathelock sent me last night, fell lame on
the other side of the abbey, and I did not get the news till about an
hour before you came. The scoundrel, in the meanwhile, skirted the
forest by Southwell at ten o'clock this morning, so that it is all too
late. The time of punishment for his crimes, however, will come: we
need not doubt that; but the time for preventing this one, I fear, is
past."

"But how--but how can we punish him?" cried Ralph Harland, eagerly; "if
he be in Nottingham town, how can we reach him there? How can we even
make him give up the wretched girl, and send her back to her father!"

"We cannot do it ourselves," replied the forester, "but we can make
others do it. Did you not hear the message I sent to the good old Lord
of Monthermer?"

Ralph Harland bent down his eyes with a look of bitter disappointment.
"If that be your only hope, it is all in vain," he said; "the
Monthermer is linked to the Earl of Ashby by a common cause; and in the
great movements of people such as these, the feelings, and even the
rights of us lesser men are never heeded. The old Earl, good as he is,
will not quarrel with Richard de Ashby for John Greenly's daughter,
lest it breed a feud between him and the other Lord. There is but cold
hope to be found there."

His companion heard him to an end, but with a faint smile upon his
countenance. "I asked the Earl of Ashby, too," he said; "perhaps we may
do something more with him."

Ralph Harland shook his head. "Not till you have got his neck under
your baldrick," he said.

"Perhaps I may have by that time," replied the forester; "I mean," he
continued, in a serious tone, "that I may by that time have a hold upon
him which will make him use his power to send back this light-o'-love
girl to her father's house. I know old John Greenly well, and grieve
for him. Once I found shelter with him when I was under the ban of a
tyrant, and no one else would give me refuge.--I never forget such
things. He is somewhat worldly, it is true; but what host is not? It is
a part of their trade; they draw their ale and affection for every
guest that comes, the one as readily as another, so that he pay his
score. But still the man has not a bad heart, and it will be well-nigh
broken by his daughter's shame."

"She has broken mine," said Ralph Harland.

"Nay--nay!" replied his companion; "you must think better of all this.
You loved her--she has proved false. Forget her--seek another. You will
find many as fair."

"Ay," replied Harland, "I shall find many as fair, perhaps fairer; but
I shall find none that had my first love--none with whom all the
thoughts of my early years were in common--none with whom I have
wandered about the fields in boyhood, and gathered spring flowers for
our May-day games--none with whom I have listened to the singing of the
birds when my own heart was as light and tuneful as theirs--none for
whom I have felt all those things which I cannot describe, which are
like the dawning of love's morning, and which I am sure can never be
felt twice over. No--no! those times are past; and I must think of such
things no more!"

"It is all true," said Robert of the Lees, "but the same, good youth,
is the case with every earthly joy; each day has its pleasure, each
year of our life has things of its own. As the spring brings the fruit,
and the autumn brings the corn, so every period of man's existence has
its apportioned good and evil. I have ever found it so, from infancy
till this day, now eight-and-thirty years, and you will find it
likewise. You will love another--differently, but as well; with less
tenderness, but more trust; with less passion, but with more esteem;
and you will be happier with her than you would have been with this
idle one; for passion dies soon, killing itself with its own food;
esteem lives, and strengthens by its own power. Shake not thy head,
Ralph. I know it is vain to talk to thee as yet, for sorrow and
disappointment blind a man's eyes to the future, and he will look at
nothing but the past."

"But of the Earl of Ashby," said young Harland, little cheered, to say
the truth, by his companion's reasoning; "how can you get such a hold
of him as will make him constrain his own kinsman to give up his
paramour?--Alas! that I should call her so!"

"Take your bridle over your arm," replied the forester; "come with me,
and I will tell you more. You want rest, and food, and reflection; but
nothing can be done before to-morrow, so we shall have plenty of time
to discuss the means, and to arrange the plan."




                             CHAPTER VII.


Upon the edge of the merry forest-land, on the side nearest to
Derbyshire, not far from the little river Lind, and surrounded at that
time by woods which joined the district on to Sherwood itself, there
rose, in the days I speak of, a Norman castle of considerable extent.
It had been built in the time of William Rufus--had been twice attacked
in the turbulent reign of Stephen--had been partly dismantled by order
of Henry II.--and had been restored under the dominion of the weak
tyrant John. Being not far from Nottingham, it was frequently visited
by noble and royal personages, and was often the scene of the splendid
and ostentatious hospitality of the old baronage of England.

It has now crumbled down, indeed, and departed; the ploughshare has
passed over most of its walls, and the voice of song and merriment
is heard in it no more. The lower part of one of the square
flanking-towers in the outer wall is all that remains of the once
magnificent castle of Lindwell; and a dingly copse, where many a
whirring pheasant rises before the sportsman, now covers the hall and
the lady's bower.

In the days of which I speak, however, it was in its greatest
splendour, having come into the possession of the Earl of Ashby by his
father's marriage, and being the favourite dwelling of the race. It was
situated upon a gentle eminence, and the great gate commanded a view
over some sixty or seventy acres of meadow land, lying between the
castle and the nearest point of the wood; and for the distance of
nearly three miles on the Sherwood side, though there was no cultivated
land--except, indeed, a few detached fields here and there--the ground
assumed more the aspect of a wild chase than a forest, with the thick
trees grouping together to the extent of an acre or two, and then
leaving wide spaces between, as pasture for the deer and other wild
animals, only broken by bushes and hawthorns.

This district was properly within the limits of Sherwood; but, as all
persons know, who are acquainted with the forest laws, certain
individuals frequently possessed private woods in the royal forest,
which was the case of the Earl of Ashby in his manor of Lindwell; and,
whether or not he had originally any legal right of chase therein, such
a privilege had been secured to the manor in the reign of John, by the
king's special grant and permission. His rights of vert and venison,
then, as they were called, extended over a wide distance around, and it
was reported that some disputes had arisen between himself and his
sovereign, whether he had not extended the exercise of those rights
somewhat beyond their legitimate bounds.

In the same merry month of May, however, of which we have just been
writing, and but one day after the occurrences took place which have
just occupied our attention, a gay party issued forth from the gates of
the castle, and took its way in the direction of Nottingham. We have
called it gay, and it was so altogether: gay in colouring, gay
in movement, gay in feeling. At the head of it appeared three
light-hearted young women, a lady and her two maids, all about the same
age, and none of them having as yet numbered twenty years. Their
clothing, was rich and glittering; and they were followed by a page,
possessing all the requisite qualities for his office in saucy boldness
and light self-confidence. Three or four yeomen came next, who, having
been left behind while their lord went with numerous attendants upon a
distant progress, had necessarily had all the love and the merriment of
the lower hall to themselves. The horses which bore the whole party
were fresh, proud, and spirited; and never, perhaps, was more
brightness of appearance and heart embodied in one group than in that
which took its way down from the castle gate and through the meadows
below; but we must pause, for a moment upon the fair leader of the
cavalcade, for she is worth a short description.

The Earl's daughter, Lucy de Ashby, wanted yet a few months of that
period when girlhood may be said to end and womanhood begin; where the
teens--which are so longingly looked for by the child--come to their
end, and the third ten of the allotted seven begins. Oh, how long do
the five tens that are to follow appear, when viewed from the brow of
the hill of youth! And yet the two that are gone contain the brightest
and the sweetest part of our apportioned time.

Lucy looked not older than her years, for she was small and delicately
formed; but yet there was the fulness of womanhood in every line. Her
face had not much colour, and yet it was not pale, but the whole hue
was warm and healthy, and fairer than that of the southern nations of
Europe, though still evidently the complexion of what is now called a
brunette. The brow, the nose, the lips, the chin, were all beautifully
cut; though the model was not Greek, for the forehead was wider and
higher, and there was a slight, a very slight wave in the line between
the brow and the nose. The eyebrows were dark, small, and long,
slightly depressed in the middle over the eye, but by no means either
arched or strongly defined, according to the eastern notions of beauty,
but, on the contrary, shaded softly off, so as only to show a definite
line to beholders when at a little distance. The eyes beneath them were
large and long, but with the deep black eyelashes, which she had
derived from her mother, shading them so completely, that the sparkling
of the dark iris was only clearly seen when she looked up.

That, however, was often the case; for in her gay liveliness, when she
had said some little thing to tease or to surprise, she would still
raise the "fringed curtain" of her eye to mark the effect it produced,
and to have her smile at anything like astonishment that appeared upon
the countenance of those who heard her.

The lip, too, was full of playfulness; for, indeed, sorrow had but sat
there once, and tears were very unfrequent in those dark, bright eyes.
There had been people seen, perhaps, more beautiful in mere feature,
but few more beautiful in expression, and certainly none ever more
captivating in grace of movement and in variety of countenance. Her
dress was full of gay and shining colours, but yet so well assorted, so
harmonious in their contrast, that the effect could not be called
gaudy.

The same was not the case with her two women, who, with the pleasant
familiarity of those times, were chattering lightly to their mistress
as they rode along, upon the ordinary subject of women's thoughts in
all ages--alas! I mean dress. There was, on the contrary, a good deal
of gaudiness about their apparel, and their taste did not appear to be
of the most refined kind.

"Nay, dear lady," said one of them, "I would have put on the robe of
arms when I was going to Nottingham to wait for my father. It does look
so magnificent, with the escutcheon of pretence for Minorca just on
your breast, the silver field on one side, and the azure field on the
other, and the beautiful wyverns all in gold."

"I cannot bear it, silly girl," replied the lady; "to hear you talk
about wearing the fields, one would suppose that I was a piece of
arable land; and as to coats of arms, Judith, I like not this new
custom; women have nothing to do with coats of arms. I put it on once
to please my brother, but I will never wear it again, so he may cut the
skirt off and use it himself next time he goes to a tournament."

"Dear, now, lady, how you jest," replied the girl; "he could never get
it on; why, Lord Alured's thigh is thicker than your waist; and I do
declare I think it much handsomer than that azure and gold you are so
fond of. I would not wear that, at all events."

"And pray, why not?" demanded Lucy de Ashby, with some surprise; "they
are the two colours that divide the universe, girl--azure the colour
for heaven, gold the only colour for this earth; so between the two I
should have all mankind on my side. Why would you not wear them?"

"Because they are the colours of the Monthermers," replied the girl;
"and they are old enemies of your house."

"But they are friends now," rejoined Lucy, into whose cheek, to say
truth, the blood had come up somewhat warmly. She ventured to say
nothing more for a minute or two, and when she did speak again, changed
the subject.

The conversation soon resumed its liveliness, however; and thus they
rode on, talking of many things, and laughing gaily as they talked,
while the yeomen who were behind amused themselves in the same manner.

After about half a mile's ride, they approached nearer to the banks of
the little stream, which being every here and there decorated with
bushes and tall trees that hung over the water, was sometimes seen
glancing through a meadow, and then again lost amongst the thick
foliage.

Just as they were entering a closer part of the woodland, and leaving
the stream on their right, one of the yeomen exclaimed, "By----!" using
an oath of too blasphemous a kind to be even written down in the
present age, but which in those days would have been uttered in the
court of the king, "By----there is somebody netting the stream. Quick,
Jacob, quick! come after them. You, Bill, go round the wood, and catch
them on the other side. See, they're running that way--they're running
that way!" and setting spurs to their horses, the whole of Lucy's male
attendants, with the exception of the page, galloped off as fast as
ever they could, shouting and whooping as if they had been in pursuit
of some beast of the chase.

Lucy de Ashby paused for a moment, and called to the page, who was the
last to leave her, not to go; but the spur had been already given to
his horse, and the boy became seized with a sudden deafness which
prevented him from hearing a word that the lady uttered. Lucy gazed
after them with a thoughtful look for an instant, then laughed, and
said--"'Tis a droll fancy that men have to run after everything that
flies them."

"Ay, and dogs as well as men," added one of the girls.

"And women as well as both," answered Lucy. "I have more than three
quarters of a mind to go myself; but I will not, girls; and so, to be
out of the way of temptation, we will ride slowly on."

Thus saying, she shook her rein, and keeping her horse to a walk,
followed the road before her into the thicker part of the wood, leaving
her truant attendants to come after as they might.

In about a quarter of an hour the first of the men appeared at the spot
where they had left her, but he was by no means in the same plight as
when he last stood there. His clothes were dripping as well as his
hair; there were the marks of severe blows on his face; his smart
apparel was soiled and torn, and he was both disarmed and on foot. In
short, he looked very much like a man who had been heartily beaten and
dragged through a horse-pond. A loud hallo, which reached his ear from
the direction of the stream, seemed to visit him with no very pleasant
sensations, for he darted in at once amongst the bushes, and hid
himself as well as he could for a few minutes. At length, however, two
of his comrades appeared; but they seemed to have fared not much better
than himself, for though they had preserved their horses, both were in
terrible disarray, and had returned from the fray evidently with broken
heads.

"Where is Bill?" said one to the other as they came up; "I saw him
running this way."

"Poor devil, he got it!" replied his comrade.

"And you got it, too, I think," cried the one who had first appeared,
now coming out from amongst the bushes. "Why, I never saw or heard
anything like that blow of the staff across your shoulders, Jacob. You
echoed like an empty cask under a cooper's hammer."

"Ay, Bill," said the man to whom he spoke, "and when the man bestowed
upon you the buffet in the eye, and knocked you down, what a squelch
was there! Why, it was for all the world as when the scullion, bringing
in the kitchen dinner, let the apple pudding fall, and it burst itself
upon the pavement."

"I will be even with him," said the man called Bill; "but where's the
page and Walter?"

"They galloped off to the castle as they could," answered the third,
"and your horse along with them, so you must go back too, and we must
ride after the lady as fast as we can go."

"Pretty figures you are to follow her into Nottingham," rejoined Bill;
"and what will my lord say when he finds that we four and the page were
beaten by five men on foot?"

"There were more than five," replied the other, "I am sure."

"I thought I saw some in the bushes," added the third.

"Come, come," exclaimed Bill, "there were only five, I was disabled by
being knocked into the river, otherwise I would have shewn them a
different affair."

"I dare say you'd have done wonders," answered the other, with a sneer;
"but we must get on, so you go back to the castle as fast as you can."

"Pr'ythee see me beyond those trees," said the yeoman on foot; "if
those fellows are hiding there, they may murder me!"

"We have no time--we have no time!" replied one of the horsemen--"Go
along with you! If you hadn't been in the stream, you would have
thrashed them all; so thrash them now, good Bill;" and thus saying, the
two rode on, for certainly there is no human infirmity, though it is a
very contagious one, which meets with such little sympathy as fear.

Onward, then, they went at a quick pace, hoping to catch up their young
mistress before she reached Nottingham, but feeling a little ashamed
for having left her at all, and not a little ashamed at the result of
their expedition.

When they had gone about a couple of miles, however, without seeing
anything of Lucy de Ashby, the one looked round to his comrade, and
said, "It is odd we haven't come up with her--she must have ridden
fast."

"Oh, it is just like her," replied the other, "she has galloped on just
to tease us, and punish us a little for having left her in the wood. I
would wager a besant that she does not draw a rein till she gets to
Nottingham."

"Ay, but the best of it is," rejoined his companion, "that we shall
hear no more of it than just, 'Jacob, you should not have quitted me;
you should have let the stream take care of itself,' instead of twenty
great blustering oaths, such as Lord Alured would have given us. Then
it will be all fair weather again in a minute."

"Ay, she is very kind!" said the other yeoman, "and when anything does
go wrong, she knows that one did not do it on purpose."

With such conversation, and with praises of their sweet lady, which one
may be sure were well deserved, as no ear was there to hear, no tongue
to report them, the yeomen rode on; but the one called Jacob did so, it
must be confessed, uneasily. His eyes, as he went, were bent down upon
the ground, which in that part was soft, searching for the traces of
horses' feet, but though he gazed eagerly, he could perceive none,
till, at length, they reached the gates of Nottingham, and entering the
city, proceeded at once to what was called the lodging of the Lord
Ashby. It was, in fact, a large, though low-built house, shut from the
street by a court-yard and a high embattled wall. The gates were open,
and all the bustle and activity were apparent about the doors, which
attended in those days the arrival of a large retinue. There were
servants hurrying hither and thither, horse-boys and grooms slackening
girths, and taking off saddles, servers and pantlers unpacking baskets
and bags, and boys and beggars looking on.

"What, is my lord arrived?" cried one of the men who had followed Lucy,
springing from his horse; "we did not expect him till to-night, or
to-morrow morning."

"He will be here in half an hour," replied the horse-boy, to whom he
addressed himself; "we rode on before."

"What tidings of my young lady?" said a server, walking up; "we thought
we should find her here to meet the Earl."

"Is she not arrived?" cried the yeoman who had remained on horseback,
in a tone of dismay; "she came on before us--we fancied she was here!"

The one who had dismounted sprang into the saddle again,
exclaiming--"This is some infernal plot!"

The story was soon told, and the whole household of the Lord of Ashby,
or at least such a part of it as was then in Nottingham, was thrown
into a state of confusion indescribable. In the midst of this, some ten
or twelve men mounted their horses, though every beast was tired with a
long day's journey, and set out to seek for the fair lady who was
missing, beating the forest paths in every direction. But not the
slightest trace of her could they find; and, after a two hours' search,
were coming home again, when, having made a round on the Southwell
side, they met the party of the Earl himself, riding slowly on towards
Nottingham.

He was accompanied by only four or five attendants, but had with him
his son Alured and Hugh de Monthermer, the other Earl having remained
behind at Pontefract to settle some business of importance there. It
may be easily conceived what indignation and surprise the tidings,
brought by the servants, spread amongst the party they thus met. Lord
Alured chafed like an angry tiger, and the old lord vowed every kind of
vengeance. Hugh de Monthermer's lip quivered, but all he said was,
"This is horrible indeed, my lord, that your lordship's daughter cannot
ride from Lindwell to Nottingham in safety! What can we do?"

"We!" cried Alured de Ashby. "Hugh of Monthermer, you have little
enough to do with it, methinks! What I shall do, will be to cut off the
ears of the scoundrels that left their lady on any account, when they
were following her to Nottingham."

"My lord of Ashby," said Hugh de Monthermer, addressing the Earl, "I
merely used the word _we_, because, as a gentleman, and your friend, I
take as deep an interest in the affair as any one. I and my men are at
your command to seek for this lady instantly; and we will strive to do
you as good service in the search as the best of your own people, if
you will permit us."

"Certainly--certainly, my good lord!" replied the Earl--"Alured, you
are rash and intemperate.--Three hours ago, they say, this happened.
Should they have taken to the forest, they cannot have gone very far,
if they have followed the horse-paths; and were one of us to go back to
the second road to the left, where there stands a meer[1], he must, by
beating up those lanes, either come upon the party themselves or find
the horses, if they have turned them loose, and taken to the footways."


---------------

[Footnote 1: One of the posts, or marks, by which the limits of the
forest were distinguished.]

---------------


"They have not gone into the forest," cried Alured de Ashby; "depend
upon it, these are some of the king's people, or the bishop's. Better
far let us scour the more open country along the banks of Trent. You
will soon hear at the bridges whether such persons have passed that
way."

"Stand out, Jacob," said the Earl; "you were one of the fools that were
misled. What like were these men who lured you from your lady?"

"I think they were men at arms disguised," answered the servant, in a
sorrowful and timid tone; "for so well practised were they at their
weapons, that they beat us all in the twinkling of an eye; besides,
when I struck one of them, I heard something clatter underneath, like
armour. The net, too, did not look like a real net."

"It is very clear, the whole was a trick," said the Earl. "I doubt not
you are right, Alured, but still we had better spread out, and scour
the whole country across. You, with part of the men, take the banks of
the Trent--I, with others, will skirt the borders of the forest from
Nottingham to Lindwell--and our young friend here, with his own two
servants and two of ours, will, perhaps, examine the forest itself from
the second turning on the road to Southwell, as far as he may judge it
likely, from the time which has elapsed, that these gentry could have
advanced. I will send people to meet him when I reach Lindwell, who
will tell him what success we have had, and give him aid and
assistance."

Alured de Ashby seemed not over well pleased at the arrangement, for
his brows still continued heavy, his cheek flushed, and his proud lip
quivering; but he made no objection, and after a few words more, the
party separated upon the different tracks they proposed to follow,
having still three or four hours of daylight before them.

Alured rode on, with his fiery temper chafing at the insult which had
been offered to his family, and but the more irritable and impatient
because he had no one on whom to vent his anger.

His father pursued his course more slowly, and with very different
thoughts. Wrath in the bosom of the son swallowed up every sensation;
but the loss of a child, which he had treated but lightly in the case
of the innkeeper, now filled the Earl's breast with deep anxiety and
apprehension, though certainly poor Greenly had more cause for
agonizing fear and sorrow than the proud noble.

It is a curious fact, however, and one which gives a strange indication
of the lawless state of the times, that no one imagined the absence of
Lucy de Ashby could proceed from any ordinary accident.




                            CHAPTER VIII.


The sun had declined about two hours and a half from the meridian, but
the day was still warm and bright. The month of May, in the olden time,
indeed, was a warmer friend than at present, if we may believe the
ancient tales and chronicles; and, in good sooth, the seasons of the
year seem to have changed altogether, and the weather to have become
chilly, whimsical, and crotchetty, as the world has grown older. There
are no vineyards to be found now in Northumberland, and yet many a
place in the northern counties retains the name to the present day,
evidently showing to what purposes they were formerly applied. It is
rarely now in England, too, that we have any title to call it the
merry, merry month of May, for, very often, cold and piercing are the
winds, sad the sleet and rain; and, for one of the bright and glorious
days of summer, we have a multitude of the dark and shadowy ones of
winter. Perhaps one cause of this change may be that which has brought
about many another evil in the land,--namely, the cutting down of those
magnificent old forests which sheltered the breast of England like a
garment, and stopped the fierce winds in their career over the island,
Indeed we know that the destruction of the woods in other countries has
produced such effects; and there is every reason to believe that here
also the climate has greatly suffered, though other benefits may have
been obtained.

However that may be, the month of May at that time in England was
indeed a merry month, replete with sunshine, bountiful in flowers, with
every bird in song, and every tree in leaf, and the whole world full of
the warmth and the tenderness of youth. It is true, indeed, that in the
early part of the month, April would still look in with a tear in her
eye to bid the earth good bye; and such had been the case on the
morning of the fourth of May, in the year of which we have lately been
speaking. About nine o'clock, two or three showers had swept past,
though the blue eye of heaven had seldom been altogether withdrawn, but
looked through the rain as through a veil, and every now and then the
sun peeped out, even while the drops were coming down, and flung a
rainbow over the bosom of the forest. The clouds, however, cleared off
entirely before noon, and left the world but the fresher for the
sprinkling, the woods looking more green, and the flowers more bright
and full of perfume.

The road from Sheffield--not the high road--running through
Bloodsworth, and leaving Nurstead a little to the right, at the
distance of about a mile past the former place, entered the extensive
woody ground, which had ceased for a space in the neighbourhood of
Mansfield; but which at that time covered the whole of the rest of the
country. A little farther on again, the scene changed to one of those
small, open greens, common in the forest, where two or three acres of
grassy turf appeared free from trees, but surrounded on all sides by
the wood. Fine old oaks and beeches stood forward here and there,
stretching out their long and rugged arms, covered with the soft hue of
spring, and leaving the line of the little savannah wild and irregular,
While a break amongst the trees on the right showed the sunshine
streaming into another opening of the same kind, and gave the
imagination room to sport through other groves and dells beyond.

In the midst of this green, with his arms crossed upon his chest, his
eyes bent on the ground, and his brow somewhat gloomy, walked Robert of
the Lees by Ely, as he had called himself, while not far off, under the
shadow of a wide-spreading oak, stood a boy, holding a white horse and
a bow, Robin seemed to be whiling away a time of waiting, in communing
with himself of many things, with that sort of desultory meditation
which woodlands gender more than any other scenes; and, ever and anon,
his lips proved faithless guardians to his thoughts, muttering a word
of two of what was passing in his mind, without his knowing that they
did so.

"Ha! Left Nottingham so soon with her paramour!" he said, "That was
hasty!" and again he was silent for a space. "They must have heard that
I had taken the chase in hand, or else the Earl has followed them
closer than they expected.--How this poor youth suffers! One would
think that he had lost the most precious thing on earth, instead of a
light-o'-love May-day flirt!--And after, all, perhaps, he has lost the
most precious thing on earth, for he has lost trust--confidence. That
can never come again when once it is gone.--Besides, a woman is to us
what we esteem her more than what she is. He held her to be all that is
good, and so in losing her he loses all that is good,--They are idle
things, these women; and yet there is good as well as bad in them. So
goes the old song--


    "To whom does woman's love belong?
       And who shall hold that fickle thing?
     No iron chain was e'er so strong,
       As long to bind its fluttering wing.

    "Caught by the ear--caught by the eye--
       The handsome face, the flattering tongue,
     The pleasant smile, the well-told lie,
       May win it, but not hold it long.

    "The king has no command o'er love,
       The peasant's sweetheart jilts the swain;
     And those who stay, and these who rove,
       Seek bands for woman's heart in vain.

    "Rank, wealth, prosperity, and power,
       Have all been tried, without avail;
     Yet ne'er in dark misfortune's hour,
       Has woman's love been known to fail."


So sung, or rather hummed, the bold forester, as he walked to and fro
along the sandy path; and, as is very often the case, the song seemed
the most convincing argument he could use, for it concluded the
discussion with himself concerning young Harland, and he turned his
thoughts to other things again.

"They will take him by surprise," he muttered to himself in the same
low tone as before; and then having uttered this vaticination, he
relapsed into silence, took another turn, and said--"The King
at Cambridge?--That cannot be for nothing: he has misled De
Montfort--Gloucester fortifying his castles too--that looks ill! He is
not to be trusted, Gloucester. He never was--he never will be.--Hark! a
horse's feet! Here come the Earls!"

Another moment, however, showed him that he was mistaken, for the horse
whose tramp he heard came from the side of Nottingham, and not from
that of Yorkshire. The animal itself was a good brown gelding, with a
short tail, which, in those days, was a rarity, for many of the
barbarous customs of the present time were then unknown. Indeed, though
it may seem a contradiction in terms, civilization in general has not a
little barbarism in it, and luxury is always sure to introduce
practices of which savages would be ashamed. The horse, however, as I
have said, was a good brown gelding with a short tail; the man that
bestrode it, a jolly, large-stomached personage, in the garb of a
tradesman; and the moment the forester saw him, he exclaimed, "Ha! our
good friend the sutler of Southwell! What makes you ride the forest,
Barnaby? You do not trouble Sherwood for nothing."

"Seeking you, Robin--seeking you," replied the sutler. "One that you
know of gave me this for you. It was to pass through no hands but mine
and yours. But look ye! Here comes a goodly train. Now will there be
rough work anon between the silken hoods and the men in Lincoln green.
I'll away, Robin--I'll away, for I love no blows but those of the
rolling pin!"

The man to whom he spoke took no notice either of his words or his
departure, so intent was he upon the contents of the letter which had
just been put into his hand. He read it over twice after the messenger
was gone, and seemed scarcely to remark the approach of a large party
on horseback, comprising, as the reader may have divined by this time,
the very personages for whom he was waiting. When he raised his eyes,
however, he beheld advancing towards him, at a slow pace, some twenty
mounted men, well armed, and headed by the old Earl of Monthermer. That
nobleman, however, was unaccompanied by one of those whom our friend in
the Lincoln green was the most anxious to see, the Earl of Ashby being,
as the reader is well aware, on the other side of Nottingham.

The party of old Monthermer, as he was called, consisted of himself and
his servants alone, having sent away all the other noblemen and
gentlemen who had met him in Yorkshire, to find their way, in separate
bodies to join their friends in London. His nephew, too, for reasons
that the old lord saw and well approved, had gone on with the Earl of
Ashby; and the only addition to his train since we last saw him, was a
stout old priest, his chaplain, who had been previously dispatched on a
mission to Northumberland.

At a distance of about twenty yards from the spot where the bold
forester stood, the Earl pulled up his horse and dismounted slowly,
giving the word to halt. He then advanced directly towards, him,
holding out his hand, which the other took with an air of respect and
deference, but without the least approach to fawning.

"Welcome to Sherwood, my good lord," said Robert of the Lees. "But why
come you alone? Would not the noble Earl of Ashby trust himself amidst
these shades?"

"He had left me, Robin," replied the Earl, "before I got your message,
with his son Alured and my nephew Hugh. He set out for Nottingham
yesterday, just after morning song."

"Ha!" exclaimed the forester, his brow growing dark. "'Tis strange I
heard not of it. Gone to Nottingham, just after morning song? He might
have been there by noon; and yet he was not."

"No, no," answered the Earl, "he could not arrive by noon. He had
matters of some moment to see to by the way. But were you so anxious to
have some speech with him?"

"I was," answered the forester, abruptly. "I was.--But it matters
not--I will send him a message; and now, my lord, will you mount your
horse again; and come with me? I have much to say to you, and many
things to tell, some of which you know, perhaps, already, but some of
which you have never heard."

"I can but stay an hour," replied the Earl; "for I must forward to
Nottingham to supper, and that will be a late one, even now."

"We have supper ready for you, my good lord," answered the forester;
"and you, at least, need not fear to ride through Sherwood in the
eventide."

"No feasting on the King's venison, Robin!" cried the Earl, with a
laugh; "but still our meal must be short, for I have business to do
to-night of more importance than my supper. Shall I bid the men come on
with me, or to stay here till I return?"

"Let them follow--let them follow," said the forester; "but keep them
out of earshot--the priest especially. Ho, boy! bring up my horse."

More at a sign by which he accompanied the call than at the words
themselves, the boy, whom we have mentioned as holding a white horse
under one of the trees, ran up with the animal in hand, while the Earl
gave directions to his men to follow him slowly, keeping at the
distance of some fifty yards. He then remounted, with his forest
friend, who led him on still upon the open road, saying--"You shall
have as little of the woodland as possible, and every step you take is
so much on your way to Nottingham."

"That is well," replied the Earl; "but now tell me, Robin, how many of
your old friends have you gathered round you here, in case of need?"

"Not more than a hundred," answered his companion, "With some forty in
Barnsdale."

"Sadly few!" said the Earl, musing.

"Many a stout soldier and many a true friend," replied the forester,
"love not to live the life and share the perils of an outlaw."

"There is a reproach in that," said the Earl; "but I pledge you my
knightly word, Robin, that I did my best to have the outlawry reversed
whenever we got the power into our own hands, but it was Gloucester
opposed it, and the Earl of Leicester judged it dangerous to thwart
him."

"You mistake, my lord," rejoined the forester, "and would have done me
but little service had you succeeded, though I thank you for the wish.
The enmity of my lord of Gloucester stood me in good stead. These are
riddles, my good lord, but they are easily read. Hark to another, not
much more difficult. My hundred men are not few, but many; for each
man, besides a sheaf of arrows, has a sheaf of friends, and about the
same number of each. We shall not count much less than two thousand,
noble sir, in the day of need, and that day is coming faster than you
imagine."

"There are clouds in the sky, certainly," replied the Earl,

"They overshadow the sun," rejoined the outlaw, abruptly. "The news I
had to tell you, but an hour ago, was merely that the King had
contrived to lead my lord of Leicester away from his resources, and
that Gloucester is fortifying himself in the marches of Wales--that he
has refused to be present at the tournament of Northampton, and that
people flock to him who are known to be favourers of the foreigners."

"I have heard something of this," said the Earl, "but knew not that it
had gone so far."

"Farther--farther, my lord," replied the other--"farther a great deal!
I have more tidings for you now. Gloucester is proclaimed a traitor,
Leicester has fallen back upon the Severn, and I fear me that means
have been taken to amuse the good Earl's son in that business of
Pevensey. Look at that letter, my lord."

"Ay this bears the likeness of war, indeed," replied the Earl, after
reading a paper which his companion, gave to him--"this bears the
likeness of war, indeed; and I am glad it has come to this. Gloucester
is a loss to the good cause, it is true, though he is cold and
cautious----"

"And selfish, and treacherous, and cunning," added the outlaw.

"But still there is little to fear," continued the Earl, "he is no more
competent to cope with Simon de Montfort, than an usher's white rod
with a soldier's battle-axe."

"He wants the energy of a strong will," said the outlaw, "and therefore
can never be a great man; but still his influence makes him dangerous,
my lord, and you must look to it."

"We will not despise him," replied the Earl; "but still I fear him not.
So long as the Prince is in the hands of De Montfort, the freedom of
England is secure. He is the power of the royal party, but we have
taken care that he shall have no means of acting--nominally free, but
watched, day and night--his servants, his keepers--his companions, his
gaolers. I could grieve for the noble Prince, I must confess, were it
not that the safety of the whole realm, the freedom of every man within
it, and the happiness of every English hearth, demand that he should be
prevented by any means from giving strength to his father's weakness by
his own powerful mind."

"I grieve for him, too," replied the outlaw. "I once, at York, saw an
eagle in a cage, my lord; and though it looked at me fiercely, as if it
would have torn me for my pains, I broke the bars, and let the noble
bird go free."

"We must not do that here," replied the Earl.

"I fear not," answered his companion. "Nevertheless, I grieve for the
Prince with all my heart; and would he but swear and keep his oath,
which princes seldom do, I would be the first to give him his liberty,
upon a promise to respect ours."

"We have tried that, good Robin," replied the Earl, "and we must do so
no more. The wisest man that ever lived, said, 'Put not your faith in
princes;' and this young leopard must, I fear, be kept in a chain,
however sad it be to fetter noble energies like his."

"Make the chain strong enough, then, my lord," said the outlaw; "for if
he breaks it, he will be more fierce than ever."

"Forged by Simon de Montfort, it will be strong enough," answered the
Earl; "but let us think of farther proceedings. So, Gloucester is
proclaimed a traitor?"

"Ay, and Mortimer, too," replied the forester, "and a number of others.
Many of the lords marchers have joined him, you see, and his power is
daily increasing."

"Then it is time," said the Earl, "for the friends of England to gather
round De Montfort. A battle cannot be far distant. Doubtless there will
be letters for me at Nottingham, and I will soon let you know where you
can meet us with your brave archers. Gloucester's day is over, and--"

"I know what you would add, my lord," replied the forester, "but I say,
No. This outlawry sits more easily on my shoulders than you can think.
Heaven forbid that you should ever have to try our life; but, were such
the case, you would soon grow fond of it. There is a charm in these
wild woods, and in our free existence amongst them, which leaves the
parade of the city or the castle sadly tasteless in the comparison. No,
my lord, I am well as I am, for the present. No man can call me
traitor; for kings and princes have cast off my allegiance, and I have
cast off their rule. Perhaps when happier days come back--when
England's wounds are healed--when justice and honour hold the sway, and
peace and liberty go hand in hand, I may reclaim my rights, my lord,
and ask your voice to testify that the Outlaw of Sherwood was as just
in his dealings, as true to his country, and as fearless in her defence
as any judge in his court, or statesman in the hall, or knight in the
saddle. But till then--good faith," he added, in a gayer tone, "I live
a merry life of it here, and am troubled with no remorse for the deeds
I do under the green leaf of the wood. However, enough of myself, and
as for your letters, you will find none at Nottingham. The sheriff is
no friend of Simon de Montfort, and that the Earl of Leicester knows by
this time. I would wager, my lord, a pipe of Malvoisie to a flitch of
bacon, that if you go on to Nottingham, you will be a tarrier in the
castle for longer than you reckon."

"If so," replied Monthermer, "the Earl of Ashby is a prisoner there by
this time."

"Not so, my lord," said the outlaw, drily "the Earl of Ashby has had
other things to do."

"Why, I thought that but now," exclaimed the Earl, "you did not know
where our good friend was?"

"True," answered his companion, "but I know what waited him at
Nottingham, if he arrived there yesterday.--Besides, my good lord, he
has a friend at court. Richard de Ashby passed through Nottingham
before him, was with the sheriff in close consultation for an hour, and
doubtless set forth duly, 'how good a subject the Earl is to the King,
and how humble a servant to the Earl of Gloucester.'--Take care, my
lord, that you are not betrayed, as well as deceived.--There is a viper
under your hand; and it may sting you."

"No--no--no!" said the old nobleman, shaking his head. "The Ashbys are
incapable of treachery: proud and irascible they both are, father and
son; but even in their pride there is no dishonour, though----"

"Though pride be the most dishonest of all our knave passions;"
interrupted the outlaw, "ay, and the meanest, too! But I believe you,
my good lord, they will not betray you, either father or son, but they
will betray themselves; and their roguish kinsman will betray you and
them every one. You judge, perhaps, that he came down but upon the lewd
errand of carrying off a peasant girl, but his business in Barnsdale
was of a darker character than that. Prisoner as the King now is, and
watched as the Prince now seems, they have agents over all the land."

"But can you be sure," said the Earl--"can you prove that this Richard
de Ashby is one of them? Base, I have always believed him to be; and I
recollect that while the feud existed between our two families, he did
all in his power to keep it alive, and prevent the breach from ever
being healed--pandering, like all mean sycophants, to the fiercer
passions of their lords; but I ever judged him a petty scoundrel, fit
only to cheat at cross and pile, or accomplish the ruin of a milkmaid.
I think not, Robin, that he has courage to deal with much greater
things. Have you any proof of his treachery in this business?"

"Something I know, my lord," replied the outlaw, "and much more do I
suspect--let them take my counsel who like it. What will you have? He
was first with Mortimer, and then with Gloucester; and then, making a
circuit round, to seem as if he came from the side of Norfolk, he
visited Leicester at Northampton, and spent two days there, seeing the
King thrice, and the Prince as often. Thence he went back to London,
was purveyed with a spy, one Richard Keen, a servant of the King's who
fled from Lewes; and thus accompanied, he followed you to Pontefract."

"I will tax him with it in his kinsman's presence," said Monthermer.
"The good Lord of Ashby wants not sense and discrimination. He was
eager for the business to be inquired into before, but the man's flight
with the light-o'-love girl of the inn broke off the investigation.
Think you his master has really any share in that bad business? I left
the poor man, her father, nearly broken-hearted."

"Share!" exclaimed the forester; "somewhat more than a share. She is
now his leman at Huntingdon. I had tidings this morning, and they are
now tasting together the fiery drop of joy which floats upon the deep
draughts of bitterness in the cup of vice. A few weeks will cloy him,
and then her sorrows will begin; but if I lay my hands upon him, so
help me the Blessed Virgin! as I will nail his ears to the door-posts
of good John Greenly's house, and scourge him with bowstrings from
Wakefield to Pontefract. But, to speak of what is more important, my
lord--do you think the rogue filched any of your secrets?"

"No," replied the Earl--"no, many of the people did not come; Hugh
Bigod, too, was away; and, as is often the case with long-concerted
meetings, to settle matters of great moment, we waited for each other,
and, in the end, the whole thing went to empty air. I could not but
think, however, that he strove hard to renew the breach between the
house of Ashby and ourselves. With the father he did not succeed, but
with the son he seemed to make some progress; so much so, indeed, that
I was well pleased when this Sir Richard told us his purpose of going
on before to London. After he was gone, Alured grew somewhat placable;
and when we parted company, Hugh went with the two lords, trying to
soothe and gain the younger one.--But here, Robin, what have we here?
Why you have made the forest as gay as a May-day bride!"




                             CHAPTER IX.


The words of the old Earl gave a good idea of the picture which was
presented to his eyes. It was indeed like a May-day pageant, or like
one of those scenes which we now-a-days see upon the stage, but which
are but feeble representations of those that in former times were
constantly acted in reality. Though, it is true, we form exaggerated
images of many things that we do not behold, imagination presents but a
very faint idea of the splendour and decoration of those ages when
sumptuary laws were enacted in various countries to prevent peasants
from displaying gold and silver embroidery in their garments. What may
be called representation was a part of that epoch. It was in every
palace, and in every castle, at the table of the grave citizen, with
his gold chain, in the arm-chair of the justice, in the ball of the
franklin. It sat upon the forked beard of Chaucer's merchant, it
appeared in the party-coloured garments of the gallant of the court. In
short, a great part of everything in that day was effect: it was one of
the great objects of the age, and all classes of people had an eye for
it. Perhaps in all things, as in their great buildings, their taste was
better than our own--in very few points it could be worse; and in
consulting what is bright and pleasing to the eye, what is exciting and
dazzling to the imagination, they followed where nature led--nature who
delights in striking contrasts, as much as in gentle harmonies.

If, indeed, we can form a very faint idea of the splendour of the court
and the castle, our conception is still more inadequate of the
picturesque decoration of humbler scenes in those days. We are apt to
conceive that it was all rude, or gross; and we scarcely believe in the
charms of the merry morrice dance, in the graces and attractions that
sported round the May-pole, in the moonlight meetings which Old
Fitzstephen records, or in any of the sweeter and more gentle pleasures
and pastimes of the peasantry of Old England; and yet all these things
were true, all were enacted by living beings like ourselves upon every
village green throughout the land, long before a feeble mockery of them
crept into a close and stifling playhouse.

Stronger passions--or perhaps the same passions but less under control
than in the present day--took their part therein, from time to time,
and prompted to all those wild energies which spring from deep and
highly-excited feelings. Graces free and uncultivated were there
likewise, and the honest outpourings of the heart, subjected to no dull
sneer from the lips of false refinement, burst forth with the touching
force of simplicity and truth. The universal weaknesses of our nature
mingled with all the rest, and varied the drama through a thousand
parts. Vanity, and self-love, and pride, and envy, had their share in
the gathering of spring flowers, in the weaving of the garland, in the
decoration of the tent, in the choice of the May queen, and in the
dance upon the sward; but to say sooth, they gave a pungency and a
brightness, and a human interest to the whole.

I beseech thee, then, dear reader, carry thy mind back to the times of
which I write, and recollect that such scenes as that which met the eye
of the old Lord Monthermer, were every-day realities, and not any part
of a cold fable.

Whether planted by accident or design I know not, but at the side of
one of the little savannahs I have described, where the grass was short
and dry, six old oaks came forward from the rest of the wood, three on
either hand, at the distance of about forty feet apart, forming a sort
of natural avenue. Their long branches stretched across and nearly met
each other, and under this natural canopy was spread out the long
table, prepared for the good Earl's repast; while, from bough to bough
above, crossing each other in various graceful sweeps, were innumerable
garlands, forming a sort of net-work of forest flowers, The board,
too--let not the reader suppose that it was rude and bare, for it was
covered with as fine linen as ever came from the looms of Ireland or
Saxony.[2] The board had a nosegay laid where every man was expected to
sit, and the ground beneath was strewed with rushes and green leaves to
make a soft resting-place for the feet. Under the trees were gathered
together various groups of stout archers in their peculiar garb, with
many a country girl from the neighbouring villages, all in holiday
apparel. A number of young countrymen, too, were present, showing that
the rovers of the forest were at no great pains to conceal their place
of meeting; for their lawless trade found favour in the sight of the
many; and their security depended as much upon the confidence and
goodwill of the lower orders, as upon the dissensions and disunion of
the higher classes.


---------------

[Footnote 2: I need not refer the learned reader to the curious
investigations of M. le Grand; and perhaps for the less inquisitive it
may be enough to say, that such was literally the fact.]

---------------


The first sight of the Earl and the outlaw caused not a little bustle
amongst the companions of the latter. There was running here and there,
and putting things in array; and it was very evident that, although
expected and prepared for, everything was not quite ready when the Earl
arrived.

"Give him good morrow--give the noble Earl good morrow!" cried the
forester, putting his horn to his lips and waving his hand for a
signal.

Every man followed his example, and in a moment the whole glades of the
forest rang with the sounds of the merry horn. Not a note was out of
tune, no two were inharmonious, and, as with a long swell and fall, the
mellow tones rose and died away, the effect in that wild yet beautiful
scene was not a little striking and pleasant to the ear.

"Yeomanly! yeomanly! right yeomanly done!" cried Robin Hood. "This is
the way, my lord, that we receive a true friend to the English Commons
and the good old Saxon blood. Will you please to dismount, and taste
our cheer? If yonder cooks have not done their duty, and got all ready,
I will fry them in their own grease, though I guess from yon blazing
log that they are somewhat behindhand."

As he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon a spot, to which those of the Earl
followed them, where a scene not quite harmonious with the poetry of
the rest of the arrangement was going on, but one very satisfactory to
the hungry stomachs of the Earl's retainers. An immense pile of blazing
wood, fit to have roasted Hercules himself, was crackling and hissing
and roaring so close to a distant angle of the wood, that the flames
scorched the green leaves on the farther side. Beside it were some five
men, in clean white jackets, running hastily about, and basting sundry
things of a very savoury odour, which by the contrivance of small
chains and twisted strings, were made to revolve before the fire. Each
man was glad enough to keep to windward of the blaze; and, even then,
full many a time were they forced to run to a distance for cool air and
free breath, for the heat was too intense for any one to endure it long
without suffering the fate of the immense masses of meat which were
turning before it.

About fifty yards from this burning mountain was a lesser volcano, from
which, upon the primitive tripod of three long poles; hung sundry pots
of vast dimensions, emitting steams very grateful to the nose; while,
in a cool spot under the trees, appeared the no less pleasant sight
of two large barrels, one twined round with a garland of young
vine-leaves, and the other with a wreath of oak. A host of drinking
cups, fit to serve an army, lay near them, and a man with a mallet was
busily engaged in driving a spigot and faucet to give discreet vent to
the liquor within.

"Ho! where is Little John?" cried Robin Hood--"a small friend of
mine, my lord, whom you must know. What! Naylor! the master of our
revels--where is he? By my life, he is basting the capons! Hallo!
friend John!--You will easily see, my lord, how he deserves his title."

As he spoke, a yeoman, some six feet four in height, with shoulders
that seemed as fit to carry the bull as the calf, a round head covered
with nut-brown hair, and a face running over with fun and jest, came
near and shook the Earl's proffered hand.

"We have met before, I believe, Little John," said the Earl, "and I
think in as warm a feast-day as this!"

"Warmer, my lord, by a bucket full," replied Naylor. "One of those
feasts where one is as likely to be carved as carve."

"I recollect, your face well," said the Earl.

"John of Andelys would recollect it better, my lord, if he could
recollect anything, poor fellow," answered the yeoman. "When last he
and I and you met together, he had got you by the throat, with his
dagger through your avantaille. I just tapped him on the head, to
remind him not to do such things; and whether he went away or not I
don't know, but if he did, he certainly did not carry his brains with
him."

"Ay, you did me good service there," replied the Earl--"I should have
lost an eye, at least. There's a jewel, my good friend," he continued,
taking a ring from his finger--"I won it with hard strokes myself, near
Tripoli, and I give it to you for as good a blow as ever was struck by
an English yeoman."

"I'll set it in my cap, my lord," replied Little John, "and, perhaps,
some day----"

"Nay, now, no boasting, John!" cried Robin Hood; "but let the Earl sit
down to meat. It is the season, my good lord, when one strikes neither
hart nor hare, when the partridge is free for her brood, and even the
wild bustard runs unscathed. Thus, my good lord, I cannot give you
forest cheer; otherwise, so help me Heaven! as you should dine at the
King's expense, while his majesty be revelling with my Lord of
Leicester. However, not being able to treat you as a yeoman, I will
feast you as a baron; and if those good cooks do but their duty, no
castle hall in all merry England shall show a better supper than yours
this day."

"I doubt it not, good Robin--I doubt it not!" replied the Earl, with a
good-humoured laugh; "you are Lord of Sherwood, and may hold your court
of free-baron when you like. On my life! you have a peacock," he
continued, as a long train or men began to approach, bearing large
wooden trenchers loaded with viands--"and the noble baron of beef too!"

"True, my lord.--true!" replied Robin, "I could not feast an earl, you
know, without giving him a young peacock with his tail spread, nor
receive your merry men honourably without a double sirloin from the
best ox in the country. The beef's my own," he continued, "for I bought
it with gold out of my purse; and the peacock's my own, for Little John
gave it to me."

"And how he came by it--you did not ask," said the Earl, smiling.

"Nay, why should I?" demanded Robin Hood, in the same jesting tune;
"you would not have me doubt my man's honesty?"

"Heaven forbid!" replied the Earl; "and I will claim a slice of the
fair bird, by the same title."

"Come, my lord, come," cried Robin; "let us sit down.--We have no
salt-cellar here, to make a distinction between highest and lowest," he
continued aloud; "so let every man place himself where he can find
room.--Peaceably there,--peaceably! Give seats to the women, and show
yourselves courteous as knights. If there be not stools for all, there
are platters for all, with meat to spare, and God made the green
ground, you know, long before man made a settle. Here my lord, sit by
me, and I will help you; and, as my chaplain is not here, I will give
you a forest grace to your meat--Reverence, my men--reverence!"

Each man stood up, took off his hat, and crossed himself, and Robin
Hood, bowing his head, and running the two parts of his sentence
somewhat close together, though there was a slight pause between them,
said, "God give us his blessing--and let no man disturb us!"

We have given the words of the forester, as affording the best account
of the arrangement of his party; and it is only necessary to add that
about a third of the number of those present found seats upon the
ground, while the rest placed themselves on stools round the table; and
it is to be remarked that many of the village girls, who had come as
guests, preferred the green sward, with a stout young bowman beside
them, eating, as was then customary with lovers, out of the same dish.

As Robin had said, indeed, there was plenty of food for all; for,
besides two gigantic barons of beef, there was many a roasted pig of
tender age, capons, and fowls, and pigeons, a heron here and there,
together with that most excellent of all ancient dishes, a bittern made
into soup, while, in the centre of the table, was seen the peacock with
his magnificent tail spread out.

Close by the herons wherever they appeared, had been placed, by
direction of Little John, who would have his jest at the long-legged
fowl, large dishes of magnificent trout. "There," said the master of
Robin Hood's revels, "the ancient enemies sit side by side peaceably,
to show that man's maw made friends of all things!"

There was no serving at the table of Robin Hood. The Earl's good yeomen
fell as readily into the customs of Sherwood as their lord, and,
sitting down pell-mell with the green-coated rangers, attacked the meat
as soon as grace was said. The cooks, themselves, when their function
was done, and the dinner was dished up, took such places as they could
find, and every man drawing forth anelace, or dagger, as the case might
be, assailed the dish that was before him, and helped his neighbours
and himself. For some time a deep silence fell over the whole party,
and less noise attended the proceeding than ever occurs now-a-days, for
dishes ages platters were all of wood, and the knives were encountered
by no forks in those times, so that little clatter accompanied the
operation either of carving or eating.

At the end of about ten minutes, some five or six of the younger men
rose from various parts of the table, and made an excursion towards the
barrels we have mentioned. They returned loaded with large flagons, and
the only act of ceremony which took place was, that Little John
himself, with a large black jack full of strong ale in one hand, and a
stoup of wine in the other, approached the Earl, while another brought
a large silver cup, and offered him to drink. Thus refreshed, another
attack upon the unresisting viands succeeded, after which more tankards
of wine were set around for every line to help himself as he liked. The
juice of the grape soon had its effect so far as to quicken the
movements of the tongue; and the jests and laughter, and, it must said,
noise also, became considerable.

From time to time the Earl and Robin Hood exchanged a word in a lower
and more serious tone; but, in general, the old nobleman joined in
gaily with the rest, with few words, indeed, and calm withal, but with
a well-pleased smile, and a frequent glance down either side of the
table at the row of merry faces which surrounded him.

"Come, Pigmy, come!" cried Robin Hood, at length, addressing Little
John, "cheer us with a song, if thy portion of the baron have left thee
any voice; but mind, no ribaldry, and as little impudence as may be."

"Heaven deliver us!" cried Little John, "I shall never be able to sing!
I am like a city lady, who has just been called _madam_ for the first
time in her life, and somewhat faint with the smell of fat viands.
Come, Billy of Southwell, fill me a cup of wine; for I must do our
captain's bidding."

And having taken a deep draught, he went on, in a voice of a fine tone,
indeed, but loud enough, according to the whimsical thought of the
poet, to


         "Sweep the sear leaves off the trees,
          As if a storm pass'd by."


                                SONG.

                     Robin Hood and the Grinder.

    "Lythe and listen, my merry-men all,
     Lythe and listen to me,
     Of a wonderful matter that once did befal
     Under the greenwood tree.

    "Those who go out to catch are caught,
     As you shall presently hear;
     For bold Robin Hood once a lesson was taught
     Which well-nigh had cost him dear.

    "'I'm going alone,' said Robin, one day--
     'I'm going alone, to see
     What sport I can make on the king's highway,
     For I am as good as three.

    "'Take any three men from Nottingham town,
     And set them all of a row,
     If they bide my buffet and do not go down,
     They shall set me up for a show.'

    "Bold Robin went out, and he met with a man--
     A grinder he was by trade;
     And 'Hillo! stand fast!' good Robin began,
     'Bide here, till the toll be paid.'

    "'Get out of my way, toll-taker,' said he;
     'I'm a grinder, and one of hot blood,
     And I have a strap that should well leather thee,
     Wert thou even our bold Robin Hood!'

    "Then Robin he took his stout staff in his hand,
     And struck at the grinder a blow,
     But he jump'd aside, and his running wheel-band
     O'er Robin's two shoulders did throw.

    "With a tug at the end, and a twitch at the buckle,
     He pull'd it down over his wrists--
     I know not if Robin's forgotten his knuckle,
     But he left him the sign of his fists.

    "Good luck for bold Robin!--the grinder took fright
     At three yeomen, who came from the wood,
     Or right sure he'd have pummell'd him on until night,
     And made jelly of bold Robin Hood!"


Robin laughed heartily at the song; and turning to the Earl, he
said--"If men should ever talk of me after I am dead, they'll take my
character from yon knave's songs. But come, my lord, I'll give you one
myself, to another tune."


                                SONG.

                            Merry England.

    "Ho, merry England! merry England, ho!
     The crimson grape grows ruddy in fair France;
     There the rich juices from the wine-cup flow,
     There beat the timely feet in graceful dance.
        But give me back the bower
        Where pass'd youth's jocund hour--
     Ho, merry England! merry England, ho!

    "Ho, merry England merry England, ho!
     Light fills the skies, and gilds the fields of Spain;
     Orange and olive, thyme and myrtle, grow
     O'er purple hill and perfume-breathing plain;
        But give to me the glade,
        And twinkling forest shade,
     Of merry England, merry England, ho!

    "Ho, merry England! merry England, ho!
     Bright shines the sun on the Italian shore,
     And art and nature gain a brighter glow
     From memories of greatness gone before;
        But my dear island home
        Veils not the crest to Rome,
     Ho, merry England, merry England, ho!

    "Ho, merry England, merry England, ho!
     Thy hills, and dells, and groves,
     Are full of brighter things than other lands:
     Glorious remembrances, and happy loves,
     And hearts sincere, and true and honest hands.
        There let my life go by,
        And my grave, when I die,
     Be merry England, merry England, ho!"


It seemed to be a favourite song with the outlaw, and also with his
companions, for at the close of each stanza they took up the refrain
of--


    "Ho, merry England, merry England, ho!"


and singing it to a wild though very simple minor airs produced a
powerful effect upon their hearers and upon each other. When they had
done, their leader poured out some wine, saying, "Pledge us a cup, my
lord the Earl, in wine--better than which Gascony never produced,--to
that dear mother-land for which we have bled, or are willing to bleed.
Here's to Merry England!"

The Earl willingly drunk the toast; and after a few words more, he
said, in a low voices to his companion, "I fear I must mar your
merriment, Robin, by departure. I am anxious for tidings, and have
perhaps delayed somewhat too long already. I know that letters must be
waiting for me, and they may need an instant answer."

"Seek them not at Nottingham, my lord, at all events," replied the
forester; "aware of the trap they hid laid for you there, I have
already sent out people to stay all messengers De Montfort may have
dispatched to you, and bid them turn aside to the little village of
Stapleford. There you will find them, if at all. Yet I would fain have
you remain here an hour or two longer; for, in the course of this
night, I myself expect tidings by a sure hand and a nearer way."

"I will leave either the priest or my good yeoman, Blawket, with you,"
said the Earl, in a low tone. "Both are to be trusted."

"The priest!" exclaimed Robin Hood, "God bless his reverence, I forgot,
and took his trade out of his hand just now. I must add a paternoster
to-night, when he is at the table; but, in good truth, I quite forgot
him.--Blawket must do, I fear, my lord; but yet I could have wished to
have some one with me whom I could consult in case of need; for I, too,
may have to act at a moment's warning, and may require to arrange some
plan for joining you speedily, which I could not do with either the
yeoman or the priest. Still I suppose you are right, and had better
proceed."

"Hark!" cried the Earl, and, after a momentary pause, he added, "I
thought I heard the blast of a horn at a great distance; perhaps it is
your messenger."

"No," replied the outlaw; "I heard it too, but it came from the east. I
have scouts out that way. Some one must be riding Sherwood worthy of
notice. We shall soon know more. Silence, my men, silence! There is a
horn, I think, from the ash-tree covert!"

All was instantly still, and for rather more than a minute no one
spoke. But patience began to grow weary, and one or two at the lower
end of the table were beginning to say an occasional word to their next
neighbour in a low tone, when the horn again sounded, much nearer than
before, and Little John started up, exclaiming, "That's Kneller's blast
at the hollow oak on Mostyn's Edge!"

"Look to your bows, my merry men," cried Robin Hood; "whoever it is, he
comes this way fast. We may have to show the Earl some of our habits of
life."

Every man now rose from the table at once, the implements Of archery
(which were hung upon, or leaning against, several of the trees around)
were has

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