“Brother,” returned the Prior, indignantly, “you are cruel; a poor man with a debt to discharge should in all justice have a final delay of four and twenty hours. It would be shameful of you to lay claim to property on which you had no rights. In acting thus you would ruin an unfortunate creature and reduce him to great misery, while as a member of Holy Church it is your duty to relieve as much as possible the burden which doth weigh upon our unfortunate fellow-creatures.”

  “Keep your counsels for those who need them,” replied the Abbot, angrily. “I will do what meseemeth good without heeding your hypocritical reflections.”

  At this moment the Chief Cellarer entered the refectory.

  “Have you any news of Sir Richard of the Plain?” the Abbot asked of him.

  “Nay. But that matters not. All I know is that his property is now yours, Sir Abbot.”

  “The Chief Judge is here,” continued the Abbot; “I will ask him whether I may now claim Sir Richard’s Castle.’

  The Abbot went to find the Judge, and the latter, for due consideration received, replied to the Monk

  “Sir Richard will not come to-day, therefore you may consider yourself entitled to all his estates.”

  “This iniquitous judgment had just been given when I presented myself at the gate of the Monastery.

  In order to prove the generosity of my creditor, I had arrayed myself in mean garments, while the men who accompanied me were also very poorly accoutred.

  The porter of the Abbey came to meet me. I had been kind to him in the time of my prosperity, and the poor man had not forgotten it. He told me of the conversation which had taken place between the Abbot and the Prior. I was not surprised; I knew well that I had no reason to expect any grace from the holy man.

  “Be welcome,” continued the Monk; “your arrival well be a very agreeable surprise to the Prior. My Lord Abbot will doubtless be less satisfied, for already he looketh upon himself as owner of your estates. You will find a large company in the Great Hall, several lords and gentlemen. I hope, Sir Richard, that you will put no confidence in the honeyed words of our Father Superior, and that you have brought the money,” added the porter, in tones of affectionate solicitude.

  I reassured the good Monk, and proceeded alone to the Great Hall, where the whole of the Community was assembled in solemn conclave, to make arrangements for informing me of the sequestration of my property.

  The exalted assembly was so disagreeably surprised at my appearance that I might well have been some phantom come from another world on purpose to snatch from their grasp some ardently coveted prey.

  I humbly saluted the honourable company and, with an air of false humility, I said to the Abbot “You see, Sir Abbot, I have kept my promise and have come back.”

  “Have you brought the money?” demanded the holy man, sharply.

  “Alas! not one penny...”

  A pleased smile hovered on the lips of my generous creditor.

  “Then what doest thou here, an thou art not prepared to discharge thy debt?”

  “I am come to entreat you to give me yet a few days longer.”

  “It is impossible; according to our agreement, thou must pay this very day. If thou canst not do it, thine estates belong to me; besides which, the Judge hath so decided. Is that not true, my Lord?”

  “It is,” replied the Judge. “Sir Richard,” he continued, throwing a contemptuous look at me, “the lands of your ancestors are the property of our worthy Abbot.”

  I feigned a great despair and entreated the Abbot to have compassion upon me, to grant me three days longer. I depicted to him the miserable fate in store for my wife and children, an they were turned out of their home. The Abbot was deaf to my entreaties, he wearied of my presence, and imperiously commanded me to quit the Hall.

  Exasperated by this unmerited treatment, I held up my head proudly, and advancing to the middle of the great room, I laid upon the table a bag full of money. “Here are the four hundred pieces of gold you lent me. The dial doth not as yet show the hour of noon; I have therefore fulfilled all the conditions of our agreement, and, despite your subterfuges, my estates will not change owners.”

  “You cannot conceive, Robin,” added the Knight, laughing, “the Abbot’s stupefaction, rage, and fury. He rolled his head from side to side and glared around him, muttering incoherently, and looking like a madman.

  After enjoying the spectacle of his dumb fury for a few seconds, I left the Hall and regained the Porter’s lodge. There I arrayed myself in more suitable garments; my men also changed their clothes, and, accompanied by an escort worthy of my rank, I re-entered the Hall.

  The change in my outer appearance seemed to strike the company with astonishment; deliberately I advanced to the Judge’s chair.

  “I address myself to you, my Lord,” I said, in a loud firm voice, “to ask in the presence of this honourable company whether, having fulfilled all the conditions of my bond, the lands and Castle of the Plain are not mine?”

  “They are yours,” replied the Judge, reluctantly.

  I acknowledged the justice of this decision and left the Monastery with a light heart.

  On the way home, I met my wife and children.

  “Rejoice, my dear ones,” I said, as I embraced them, “and pray for Robin Hood; for without him we should be beggars. And now let us try to show generous Robin Hood that we are not insensible of the service he hath rendered us.”

  We set to work the very next day, and my estates, with proper cultivation, soon realised the value of thy loan. I bring thee five hundred pieces of gold, my good Robin, one hundred bows of the finest yew, with quivers and arrows, and besides that, I make thee a present of the troop of men whose fine appearance thou didst but now admire. The men are well armed and each one hath a good horse to ride. Accept them as followers, they will serve thee with gratitude and fidelity.

  “I should hurt mine own self-esteem an I were to accept so rich a gift, my dear Knight,” replied Robin with emotion. “Nor can I take the money which thou dost bring. The Chief Cellarer of St. Mary’s Abbey broke his fast with me this morning and his expenses here have put eight hundred pieces of gold into our coffers. I do not take money twice in one day; I have taken the Monk’s gold in place of thine, and thou art out of my debt. I know, my dear Knight, that the revenues of thy property have been impoverished by the King’s exactions, and they must be carefully managed. Think of thy children. I am rich; the Normans crowd into these parts with their pockets full of money. Never speak of service or gratitude betwixt us, unless I can be useful in furthering the fortunes or the happiness of those whom thou dost love.”

  “Thou dost treat me in so noble and generous a manner,” replied Sir Richard, greatly moved, “that I feel I should be indiscreet to force upon thee a gift which thou dost refuse.”

  “Yea, Sir Knight, let us speak no more of it,” said Robin gaily. “But tell me how it is thou didst come so late to keep thine assignation.”

  “On my way hither,” replied Sir Richard, “I passed through a village where all the best yeomen of the West Country were gathered together, occupied in trying feats of strength against one another. The prizes destined for the victor were a white bull, a horse, a saddle and bridle studded with gold nails, a pair of gauntlets, a silver ring, and a cask of old wine. I stopped awhile to watch the sport. A yeoman of ordinary size gave such proofs of strength that it was evident the prizes would be his, and, indeed, having felled all his adversaries, he remained master of the field. They were about to give him the objects he had earned so well, when he was recognised as one of thy band.”

  “Was he in truth one of my men?” asked Robin, quickly.

  “Yea, they called him Jasper the Tinker.”

  “Then he gained the prizes, brave Jasper?”

  He gained them all; but under pretext of his being one of the band of Merrie Men; they disputed his right to them. Jasper defended his cause valiantly. And then two or three of the other combatants set to calling thee evil names. Thou shouldst have seen the vigour of lungs and muscles with which Jasper defended thee; he spake so loud and gesticulated so wildly that knives were drawn, and thy poor Jasper would have been vanquished by the number or treachery of his enemies, when, aided by my men, I put them all to flight. This small service rendered to the brave lad, I gave him five pieces of gold to drink with, and I invited the fugitives to make acquaintance with the cask of wine. As you may imagine, they did not refuse; and I brought Jasper away in order to save him from their future vengeance.

  “I thank thee for having saved one of my brave fellows, my dear Knight,” said Robin. “He who lends his support to my companions hath an endless claim upon my friendship. An ever thou have need of me, ask me what thou wilt; my arm and purse are ever at thy disposal.”

  “I shall always look upon thee as a true friend, Robin,” answered the Knight; “and I hope that thou wilt treat me in the same spirit.”

  The remaining hours of the afternoon wore merrily away, and toward evening Sir Richard accompanied Robin, Will, and Little John to Barnsdale Hall, where all the members of the Gamwell family were again assembled.

  Sir Richard could hardly refrain from smiling as he admired the ten charming women who were presented to him. After having directed the Knight’s attention to his beloved Maude, Will took his guest aside and asked him in a whisper if he had ever seen so ravishing a face as Maude’s.

  The Knight smiled, and whispered to Will that he would be lacking in gallantry toward the other ladies, if he permitted himself to say aloud what he thought of the adorable Maude.

  William, enchanted by this gracious reply, went over to his wife and kissed her with the firm conviction that he was the most favoured of husbands and the happiest of men.

  When night fell, Sir Richard left Barnsdale, and, escorted by some of Robin’s men, who were to guide him through the Forest, he soon regained the Castle of the Plain with his numerous following.

  CHAPTER X

  Sheriff of Nottingham (we are now speaking of Lord Fitz-Alwine of happy memory) having learnt that Robin Hood and a portion of his band were in Yorkshire, thought it would be possible, with a strong troop of his own brave men-at-arms, to clear Sherwood Forest of these outlaws, who, separated from their chief, would find it impossible to defend themselves. In planning this clever expedition, Lord Fitz-Alwine resolved to watch the approaches to the Forest in order to catch Robin as he returned. We know that the Baron’s mercenaries were not very courageous, but he likewise sent to London for a troop of ruffians and trained them himself for the pursuit of the Outlaws.

  The Merrie Men had so many friends in Nottingham that they were warned of the fate in store for them and the Baron’s kind intentions, even before he himself had fixed the day on which the bloody battle was to take place.

  This gave the Foresters time to put themselves on the defensive, and to prepare to receive the Sheriff’s troops.

  Attracted by the hope of a rich reward, the Baron’s men marched to the attack with every appearance of indomitable courage. But no sooner had they entered the wood, than they were met by such a terrible volley of arrows that the ground was strewn with the corpses of half their number.

  A second volley, more vigorous and more murderous still, followed the first; each arrow found its mark while the bowmen remained invisible.

  Having thus filled the ranks of the enemy with fear and confusion, the Foresters broke from their hiding-places, shouting loudly and overthrowing all who tried to resist them. A terrible panic spread among the Baron’s troop, and in indescribable confusion they regained Nottingham Castle.

  Not one of the Merrie Men was wounded in this strange encounter, and in the evening, recovered from their fatigue, as fresh and vigorous as they had been before the combat, they collected upon litters the bodies of the soldiers who had been killed, and deposited them at the Outer Gate of Lord Fitz-Alwine’s Castle.

  Desperate and furious, the Baron passed the night in cursing his luck. He accused his men; he said that his patron saint had deserted him; he laid the blame of the non-success of his arms on everybody, and proclaimed himself a valiant leader, but the victim of the faintheartedness of his subordinates.

  On the evening of the following day, one of Lord Fitz-Alwine’s Norman friends came to visit him, accompanied by fifty men-at-arms. The Baron told him of his misadventure, adding, doubtless to excuse his perpetual defeats, that Robin Hood’s band was ever and always invisible.

  “My dear Baron,” quietly replied Sir Guy Gisborne (such was the visitor’s name), “if Robin Hood were the devil in person and I took it into my head to tear out his horns, I should tear them out.”

  “Words are not deeds, my friend,” answered the old man sharply; “and it is very easy to say, ‘I could do that, an I would,’ but I defy you to catch Robin Hood.”

  “An it pleased me to take him,” said the Norman, carelessly, “there would be no need to excite myself. I feel strong enough to tame a lion, and, after all, Robin Hood is only a man; a clever man, I admit, but not a diabolical or unassailable being.”

  “You may say what you please, Sir Guy,” declared the Baron, evidently bent on persuading the Norman to make an attempt against Robin Hood, “but there is not a man in England, be he peasant, soldier, or great Lord, could make this heroic Outlaw bow down before him. He believes in naught, he fears naught, and a whole army would not intimidate him.”

  Sir Guy smiled disdainfully.

  “I do not doubt the bravery of your fine Outlaw in the very least,” said he; “but you must own, Baron, that up to the present Robin Hood hath fought only phantoms.”

  “What!” cried the Baron, cruelly wounded in his self-esteem as commander-in-chief.

  “Yea, phantoms; I repeat it, my friend. Your soldiers are made, not of flesh and bones, but of mud and milk. Who ever saw such fools? They fly before the Outlaws’ arrows, and the name alone of Robin Hood sets them a-shuddering. Oh! if I were but in your place!”

  “What would you do?” asked the Baron, eagerly.

  “I would hang Robin Hood.”

  “My good intentions in that respect are not lacking,” replied the Baron, sombrely.

  “So I perceive, Baron. It is the power that is lacking. Well, it is lucky for your enemy that he hath never found himself face to face with me.”

  “Ha, ha!” laughed the Baron, “you would put your spear through his body, would you not? You amuse me very much, my friend, with all your bragging. Let be, you would tremble from head to foot, if I were only to say, ‘There is Robin Hood.’”

  The Norman bounded up.

  “Know well,” said he, furiously, “that I have no fear of either man or devil or of anything in the world, and I challenge you to test my courage. Since the name of Robin Hood was the starting-point of our conversation, I ask you, as a favour, to put me on the track of this man whom you are pleased to consider invincible, only because you are unable to vanquish him. I undertake to seize him, crop his ears, and hang him up by the feet, with no more compunction than if he were a hog. Where is this mighty man to be with?”

  “In Barnsdale Forest.”

  “How far is the Forest from Nottingham?”

  “Two days’ journey would take us there by unfrequented ways; and as I should be grieved, my dear Sir Guy, if you were to come to any harm through me, if you will permit it, I will join my men to yours, and together we will go seek the rascal. I have learnt from a trustworthy source, that, at this moment, he is separated from the greater part of his men; it would therefore be easy, if we act with prudence, to surround the robbers’ den, carry off their Chief, and deliver his band over to the vengeance of our soldiers. Mine have suffered greatly in Sherwood Forest, and they would be overjoyed to take a fierce and savage revenge.”

  “I am right glad to accept your offer, my good friend,” replied the Norman; “for it will give me the satisfaction of proving to you that Robin Hood is neither a devil nor invincible. And, not only to equalise the struggle between the Outlaw and myself, but likewise to show you that I do not intend to act in any underhand manner, I will don a yeoman’s costume and fight hand to hand with Robin Hood.”

  The Baron concealed the pleasure which his guest’s vainglorious reply gave him, and in a fearful and solicitous tone, hazarded some timid remarks on the danger his excellent friend would run, and on the imprudence of a disguise which would put him in direct contact with a man renowned for his strength and skill.

  The Norman, bursting with vanity and self-confidence, cut short the Baron’s false-hearted objections; and the latter hastened with a briskness quite remarkable in one of his age to make ready his men-at-arms.

  An hour later, Sir Guy Gisborne and Lord Fitz-Alwine, accompanied by a hundred men, and with the air of conquerors, took the cross-road that would lead them to Barnsdale Forest.

  It had been arranged between the Baron and his new ally that he should direct his troop toward that part of the wood agreed upon beforehand, while, guarding against any appearance of sinister motive by his yeoman’s garb, Sir Guy would take another direction, seek out Robin Hood, and fight him whether or no, and would, of course, slay him. The success of the Norman (we might add that he did not in the least doubt his own success) would be announced to the Baron by a peculiar blast upon a hunting-horn. At this triumphant call, the Baron would proclaim the Norman’s victory, and gallop up to the field of battle. The victory verified by the sight of Robin’s corpse, the soldiers would search the thickets and copses and underground retreats, to kill or take prisoner (the choice was graciously left to them) any Outlaws unlucky enough to fall into their hands.

  Whilst the troop were making their way secretly to Barnsdale Forest, Robin Hood was stretched carelessly beneath the thick foliage of the Trysting Tree, fast asleep.

  Little John was seated at his leader’s feet, thinking the while of his charming wife and his sweet Winifred’s many good qualities of heart and mind, when his tender dream was disturbed by the shrill cry of a thrush, which, perched on one of the lower branches of the Trysting Tree, sang out loud and shrill.