The young man gently shook his head.

  “Let us speak seriously of thy situation, my dear Richard,” returned he. “The news of the events which have just occurred will be sent to London, and the King will be pitiless. We have attacked his own soldiers, and he will make thee pay for their defeat, not only by banishment, but by an ignominious death. Leave thy home, come with me. I give thee the word of an honest man that while a breath of life is in my body, thou shalt be safe under the care of my Merrie Men.”

  “I gladly accept thy generous offer, Robin Hood. I accept it with joy and gratitude. But before establishing myself in the Forest, which my children’s future makes my duty, I am going to try and soften the King’s anger. The offer of a considerable sum of money may induce him to spare the life of a well-born Knight.”

  That very evening Sir Richard sent a message to London to ask a powerful member of his family to speak to the King for him. The messenger came back from London at full speed, and announced to his master that Henry II., deeply irritated by the death of Baron Fitz-Alwine, had sent a company of his best soldiers to the Knight’s Castle, with orders to hang him and his son to the first tree on the roadside. The Chief of this company, who was a penniless Norman, had received from the King’s hand the Castle of the Plain as a gift to himself and his descendants to the last generation.

  Sir Richard’s kinsman likewise sent word to the condemned man that a proclamation was to be made in the Counties of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and Yorkshire, offering an immense reward to the man clever enough to capture Robin Hood and give him, alive or dead, into the hands of the Sheriff of either of these Counties.

  Sir Richard at once warned Robin Hood of the danger menacing his life, and announced his own immediate arrival.

  Actively assisted by his vassals, the Knight despoiled the Castle of all that it contained, and sent his furniture, arms, and plate to the trysting-place of Barnsdale.

  When the last wagon had crossed the drawbridge, Sir Richard, his wife, Herbert, and Lilas rode away from their dear home, and gained the Forest without hindrance.

  When the troop sent by the King reached the Castle, the doors were open and the rooms completely empty.

  The new owner of Sir Richard’s domains seemed much disappointed to find the place deserted, but as he had passed the best part of his life in struggling against the freaks of fortune, he readily accommodated himself to his circumstances.

  Consequently he sent away the soldiers and, to the great despair of the vassals, established himself as master of the Castle of the Plain.

  CHAPTER XII

  Three peaceful years followed the events we have just related. Robin Hood’s band had developed in a remarkable manner, and the renown of their intrepid Chief had spread all over England.

  The death of Henry II. had placed his son Richard on the throne, and the latter, after having squandered all the Crown treasure, had set out for the Holy Land, abandoning the Regency of the Kingdom to his brother, Prince John, a man of dissolute habits and extreme avarice, whose feeble spirit rendered him incapable of fulfilling the high mission entrusted to him.

  The misery of the people, already very great under Henry, became complete destitution during the long period of this bloodstained regency. Robin Hood, with inexhaustible generosity, relieved the cruel sufferings of the poor in Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, and he was the idol of them all. But if he gave to the poor, he took from the rich in return, and Normans, prelates, and monks contributed largely, to their great vexation, to the good works of the noble Outlaw.

  Marian still lived in the Forest, and the young couple still loved each other as tenderly as in the first days of their happy union.

  Time had not lessened William’s passion for his charming wife, and in the eyes of the faithful Saxon, Maude, like a pure diamond, still kept her immutable beauty.

  Little John and Much still congratulated themselves on their choice in taking to wife sweet Winifred and witty Barbara; and as for Will’s brothers, they had no reason to repent of their hasty marriages; they were happy, and life was rose-coloured to their eyes.

  Before we leave for ever two persons who have played an important part in our story, we will pay them a friendly visit at the Castle of the Dale in the valley of Mansfield.

  Allan Clare and the Lady Christabel still lived happily together. Their home, built chiefly under the Knight’s directions, was a marvel of comfort and good taste. A circle of old trees shut off the garden from inquisitive eyes, and seemed to place an insuperable barrier around the place.

  Beautiful children with sweet faces, living flowers in this oasis of love, enlivened the calm repose of the great House with their turbulent spirits, their laughing voices awoke the echoes, and the light steps of their little feet left a fleeting imprint on the sandy paths of the park. Allan and Christabel had remained young in heart, spirits, and looks, and for them a week seemed like a day a day passed as quickly as an hour.

  Christabel had not seen her father since her wedding with Allan Clare in Linton Abbey; for the irascible old man was cruelly determined to repulse all the efforts at reconciliation made by his daughter and the Knight. The Baron’s death affected Christabel profoundly; but how much greater would her sorrow have been if, in losing the author of her being, she had lost a true father.

  Allan had intended to maintain his rights to the Barony of Nottingham, and, by Robin’s advice, who recommended him to make all haste in putting forward his very just claim, he was on the point of writing to the King, when he learned that the Castle of Nottingham, with its revenues and dependencies, had become the property of Prince John. Allan was too happy to risk his peace and well-being in a struggle which the superior rank of his adversary would render as dangerous as it was useless. He therefore took no further steps, and did not regret the loss of this magnificent heritage.

  Robin’s attacks upon the Normans and the clergy became so frequent and so prejudicial to the rich that they attracted the attention of the Lord Chancellor of England, Longchamp, Bishop of Ely.

  The Bishop resolved to put an end to the existence of the Merrie Men, and he prepared a serious expedition. Five hundred men, with Prince John at their head, arrived at Nottingham Castle, and there, after a rest of several days, they made arrangements to seize Robin Hood. He, however, being promptly informed of the intentions of this honourable troop, only laughed, and prepared to baffle all their attempts without exposing his men to the dangers of a fight.

  He made his band take shelter, arrayed a dozen foresters in different costumes, and sent them to the Castle, where they presented themselves and offered to guide the troops into the inextricable recesses of the Forest.

  These offers of service were accepted with alacrity by the chiefs of the troop; and as the Forest covered very nearly thirty miles of ground, it was not easy to take account of the turns and twists through which the guides led the unhappy soldiers. Now the whole of the troop was engulfed in the declivities of a valley, now they sank knee deep in the muddy water of swamps, now they found themselves dispersed on wild and barren heights. They cursed a soldier’s life, wished the Lord Chancellor of England, Robin Hood, and his invisible band at the devil; for it should be observed that not a single green doublet had ever appeared upon the horizon.

  At the close of the day the soldiers found themselves seven or eight miles from Nottingham Castle, which they must regain if they did not wish to pass a night in the open. They returned therefore, exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, and without having seen a thing that could reveal to them the presence of the Merrie Men.

  For two weeks they renewed these fatiguing marches, and the result was always the same. Prince John, recalled to London by his pleasures, abandoned the undertaking, and returned with his escort to the town.

  Two years after this expedition, Richard returned to England; and Prince John, who justly dreaded to face his brother, sought refuge from the King’s anger within the walls of Nottingham Castle.

  Richard Coeur de Lion, having learned of the Regent’s obnoxious behaviour, stayed only three days in London; and then, accompanied by a small troop, marched resolutely against the rebel.

  Nottingham Castle was besieged. After three days it surrendered at discretion, but Prince John managed to escape.

  While fighting like the meanest of his soldiers, Richard had noticed that a troop of lusty yeomen gave him great assistance, and that it was owing to their valuable help that he was able to win the victory.

  After the combat, and once installed in the Castle, Richard asked for information concerning the brave archers who had come to his aid. But none could tell and he was obliged to seek information from the Reeve of Nottingham.

  This Reeve was the same man whom Robin had played the trick of taking him into the Forest and making him pay three hundred gold crowns for his visit.

  Under the influence of this poignant memory, the Reeve answered the King that the archers in question could certainly be none other than those of the terrible Robin Hood.

  “This Robin Hood,” added the mailicious Innkeeper, “is a downright rascal. He supports his band at the expense of travellers; he robs honest men, kills the King’s deer, and daily commits every of brigandage.”

  Halbert Lindsay, pretty Maude foster-brother, who had had the good fortune to keep his place as Warden of the Castle, happened by chance to be near the King during this interview. Impelled by a feeling of gratitude toward Robin and by the natural impetuosity of a generous nature, he forgot his lowly condition, made a step towards the Reeve’s august listener, and said in an eager tone

  “Sire, Robin Hood is an honest Saxon and an unhappy Outlaw. An if he despoil the rich of their wealth, yet he doth allay the misery of the poor; and in the Counties of Nottingham and York the name of Robin Hood is aye spoken with respect and eternal gratitude.”

  “Do you know this brave bowman personally?” asked the King of Halbert.

  The question recalled Halbert to himself. He blushed crimson, and replied confusedly “I have seen Robin Hood, but it was a long time ago; and I only repeat to your Majesty what is said of him by the poor whom he hath saved from dying of starvation.”

  “Come, come, my good lad,” said the King, with a smile, “hold up thy head and never disown thy friend. By the Holy Trinity, if his conduct be such as thou hast described to me, he is a man whose friendship must indeed be precious. I avow I should be charmed to meet this Outlaw; and as he hath done me a service, it shall never be said that Richard of England hath shown himself ungrateful, even toward an Outlaw. To-morrow evening I will hie me to Sherwood Forest.”

  The King kept his word. Early next morning, escorted by Knights and soldiers, and conducted by the Reeve, who did not find this expedition very attractive, he explored the paths, roads, and glades of the old wood, but the search was in vain. Robin Hood was not to be seen.

  But little pleased at his ill-success, Richard sent for a man who fulfilled the functions of Keeper in the Forest, and asked him whether he knew of any means of encountering the Outlaw Chief.

  “Your Majesty might search the wood for a year,” rejoined the man, “without perceiving even the shadow of an Outlaw, if you went accompanied by an escort. Robin Hood avoids strife as much as possible not from cowardice, for he knows the Forest so well that he hath naught to fear, not even the attack of five or six hundred men but from moderation and prudence. If your Majesty wishes to see Robin Hood, it were best to go disguised as a Monk, with four or five of your Knights, and I will be your Majesty’s guide. I swear by St. Dunstan that your lives will be in no danger. Robin Hood waylays ecclesiastics, he entertains them, he despoils them, but never doth he ill-use them.”

  “By the Holy Cross, Forester, thy speech is golden,” said the King, laughing, “and I will follow thy wise counsel. The garb of a Monk will become me but ill. No matter! Let them fetch me a Friar’s robe.”

  The impatient monarch was soon clothed in an Abbot’s costume, and chose four Knights, who dressed themselves as Monks, to accompany him. Moreover, following another stratagem suggested by the Keeper, they harnessed their horses in such a manner as to convey the impression that they carried a load of treasure.

  About a league from the Castle, the Keeper, who served as guide to the supposed Monks, approached the King and said

  “My Lord, look to the end of yonder glade; there you will see Robin Hood, Little John, and Will Scarlett, the three Chiefs of the band.”

  “Good,” said the King, gaily. And urging his horse forward, Richard made as though he would escape.

  Robin Hood leapt on to the road, seized the animal’s bridle, and compelled it to stop.

  “A thousand pardons, Sir Abbot,” said he; “pray tarry a while and receive my hearty welcome.”

  “Profane sinner,” cried Richard, seeking to imitate the habitual language of the clergy. “Dost dare arrest the passage of a holy man on a sacred errand.”

  “I am a yeoman of this Forest,” replied Robin Hood, “and my companions and I live upon the proceeds of the chase and the generosity of pious members of Holy Church.”

  “Upon my word, thou art a daring rogue,” answered the King, concealing a smile. “To dare tell me to my face that thou eatest my... the King’s deer, and plunderest members of the Church. By St. Hubert! thou dost possess at least the merit of frankness.”

  “Frankness is the only resource of those who possess naught,” returned Robin Hood. “But those who have revenues, lands, and gold and silver can pass them on, when they know not what to do with them. I believe, noble Abbot,” continued Robin, in a mocking tone, “that you are one of the happy number of whom I speak. That is why I ask you to come to the aid of our modest wants, and of the misery of our poor friends and dependants. You too often forget, my brothers, that round about your rich dwellings there are homes lacking bread, although you possess more money than wants for it to satisfy.”

  “Perchance thou speakest truth, yeoman,” replied the King, partly forgetting the religious character with which he was invested. “And the expression of loyal frankness which shines from thy face pleaseth me singularly. Thou hast an appearance of being more honest than thou art in reality. Natheless, for the sake of thy good appearance, and for love of Christian charity, I make thee a gift of all the money I possess at this moment forty pieces of gold. I am sorry that it is no more, but the King, who hath been staying for several days at Nottingham Castle, as thou hast doubtless heard, hath almost entirely emptied my pockets. This money, however, is at thy service, for I like well thy fine face and the strong countenances of thy lusty comrades.”

  With these words, the King handed Robin Hood a little leathern bag containing forty pieces of gold.

  “You are the paragon of Churchmen, Sir Abbot,” said Robin, laughing; “and if I had not made a vow to squeeze more or less every member of Holy Church, I should refuse to accept your generous offer. However, it shall not be said that you have suffered too cruelly on your way through Sherwood Forest. Your escort and horses may pass freely, and more, you must allow me to accept only twenty oieces of gold.”

  “Thou dost behave nobly, Forester,” replied Richard, who appeared sensible of Robin’s generosity; “and I shall give myself the pleasure of speaking of thee to our Sovereign. His Majesty knoweth somewhat concerning thee, for he told me to greet thee from him if I were so fortunate as to meet thee. I believe, betwixt ourselves be it said, that King Richard who doth love bravery where’er he finds it would not be sorry to give his thanks in person to the brave yeoman who helped him to open the Gates of Nottingham Castle, and to ask him why he and his valiant companions disappeared so soon after the battle.”

  “If some day I were happy enough to find myself in His Majesty’s presence, I should not hesitate to reply to the latter question; but at present, Sir Abbot, let us speak of something else. I love King Richard well, for he is English in heart and soul, though he belongeth by ties of blood to a Norman family. All of us here, priests and laity, are the faithful servants of His Most Gracious Majesty, and if you will consent, Sir Abbot, we will drink in company to noble Richard’s health. Sherwood Forest knoweth how to be freely hospitable when it receiveth Saxon hearts and generous Monks beneath the shade of its old trees.”

  “I accept thy kind invitation with pleasure, Robin Hood,” replied the King; “and I am ready to follow thee wherever thou dost wish to conduct me.”

  “I thank you for your confidence, good Monk,” said Robin, leading Richard’s horse toward a path ending at the Trysting Tree.

  Little John, Will Scarlett, and the four Knights disguised as Monks, followed the King, who was preceded by Robin Hood.

  The little escort had hardly entered upon the path when a deer, startled by the noise, ran quickly across the road; but more alert than the poor animal, Robin’s arrow pierced its side with deadly effect

  “Well hit!” cried the King, heartily.

  “That is not a very wonderful shot, Sir Abbot,” said Robin, looking at Richard in surprise. “All my men, without exception, can kill a deer like that, and my wife herself can draw a bow and accomplish acts of skill far superior to the feeble exploit which I have achieved before your eyes.”

  “Thy wife?” repeated the King, in questioning tone. “Thou hast a wife? By the Mass, I am anxious to make the acquaintance of the woman who shares the perils of thine adventurous life.”

  “My wife is not the only one of her sex, Sir Abbot, who prefers a faithful heart and a home in the wilderness, to a faithless love and the luxury of a town existence.”

  “I will introduce my wife to you, Sir Abbot,” cried Will Scarlett, “and if thou dost not acknowledge that her beauty is worthy of a throne, thou must permit me to declare either that thou art blind or that thy taste is execrable.”

  “By St. Dunstan!” returned Richard, “the popular fancy is quite right in calling you the Merrie Men. You want for nothing here lovely women, royal game, fresh verdure, and entire liberty.”