Then Sir Richard snapped to the wicket gate, and returned to Robin.
"Well met, bold Robin," he cried, taking him by both hands. "Well met, indeed. I had intended to ride forth this very day to your home in the woods, to pay you your moneys with my thanks added thereto; but you have happily saved me and mine the journey. Welcome to my castle, recovered to me by your generosity."
[Ill.u.s.tration: LITTLE JOHN SINGS A SONG AT THE BANQUET
_That evening, whilst Monceux raged and stormed without, they all sat to a great feast._
[** "D.McK." (the ill.u.s.trator?), below and to the left of the ill.u.s.tration, is probably a part of the ill.u.s.tration. The c is underlined and superscripted. The period after the K is not evident.]]
Sir Richard presented his wife to Robin, and his son, who had but just returned from the Holy Land. The knight told him how the last few months had been most prosperous with him, instead of going so badly as he had feared; and explained that now, from one source and another, he was as rich as of yore. "So when we have feasted I will take you to my treasury, and there count you out thy money and its interest faithfully.
Yet in ridding myself of this debt I do not free my life of the obligation."
"You need say no more, Sir Richard," interposed Robin. ""Tis we who owe _all_ to you. As for your debt, why, it hath been repaid me already by my lord of Hereford. Is it not so, Stuteley?"
The little esquire protested solemnly that the Bishop had paid it to them as conscience-money. "Then I will pay it again," cried the knight, cheerfully, "sooner than be outdone by a Bishop in the matter of honesty; and I have a few presents for you, but these I will show you later."
Robin thanked him gratefully, and, taking him on one side, told how boy"s clothes were covering Mistress Marian and Dame Fennel at this instant. Would the knight"s wife take charge of them, and find them some apparel as would ease one of them at least from most uneasy feelings?
That evening, whilst Monceux raged and stormed without, they all sat to a great feast. Little John was already so much recovered of his wound as to sing them a song, whilst Robin made sweet accompaniment upon a harp.
The knight showed Robin presently his treasury, and again implored him to take the four hundred pieces of gold, if he would take no interest.
But his guest was firm: "Keep the money, for it is your own. I have but made the Bishop return to you that which he had first stolen from your hands."
Sir Richard again expressed his thanks, and now led them to his armory.
Therein Robin saw, placed apart, a hundred strong bows with fine waxen silk strings, and a hundred sheaves of arrows. Every shaft was an ell long, and dressed with peac.o.c.k"s feathers and notched with silver.
Beside them were a hundred suits of red and white livery, finely made and st.i.tched. "These are the poor presents we have made for you, Robin,"
said Sir Richard. "Take them from us, with ten thousand times their weight in grat.i.tude."
One of the knight"s own men came forward to give a sheaf of the arrows into Robin"s hand, and, behold, it was Arthur-a-Bland!
CHAPTER x.x.xII
A searching rain continued all that night. They well expected to find the Sheriff and his army encamped against them on the morrow.
Strangely enough, the morning showed the countryside quiet and peaceful as of old. Monceux and his fellows, if there, were well hid indeed--nothing might be seen of them.
From the castle battlements, afar off, mysterious under grey opaque morning, lay Nottingham. The old town seemed to be yet asleep; but there was plenty of movement within its gates for all that. A messenger had come out hastily to Monceux, even while he and Carfax had been perfecting details of the siege which they intended to apply to the knight"s castle. This man brought the Sheriff news of such moment as to cause him to give up the hope of catching Robin without another effort.
My lord of Hereford had had the news from York--he had sped it to Monceux: "The King is abroad; take care of thyself."
That was the item even as it had come in to Prince John from his cousin Philip of France: "The King is abroad."
Richard of England, the Lion Heart, he whom all thought to be safely out of the country--some said in a foreign prison, others that he was fighting the paynims in the Holy Land. In any case, he had returned, and now all such as the Sheriff and the Bishop of Hereford must put their houses in order, and say, once and for all, that they would be loyal and faithful and plot no more with fickle princes behind their true King"s back.
Sir Richard of the Lee, whose son had so lately come home to his father"s castle, could, an he had liked, have explained much to them. He knew that the King was in England; for had he not but a few hours since, parted from him with a pardon in his hand and happiness in his heart?
Friar Tuck, having been forced to run all night in order that he might be able to bring the news as to Little John in to Robin, had compensated himself for the loss of his repose by lying abed the better part of the next day. Stirring things were going forward in the old city of Nottingham, as we know; but only at dusk, when all was over and Robin and them all were safely lodged in Sir Richard"s stronghold, did the worthy friar open his little wicket gate and remember him of his fasting dogs.
He fed them and pa.s.sed the remaining hours of day in putting them through their tricks; then, feeling that he had well earned a good meal, the friar took out some sumptuous fare from his larder and arranged it conveniently upon the small wooden bench in his cell. He then lit a taper, as the night was at hand, bolted and barred his door, and drew his seat close to the promising board.
He uprolled his eyes, and had commenced a Latin grace, when suddenly came interruption unpleasant and alarming. One of his dogs began to bark, deeply and resentfully. The others followed him in the same note, changing the calm stillness of the night into discordant, frenzied clamor. "Now, who, in the name of all the saints, cometh here?"
exclaimed Tuck, wrathfully, proceeding to bundle his supper back into the small larder. "May perdition and all the furies grant that he may evermore know the pangs of an empty stomach!"
His pious wishes were rudely interrupted by a loud knocking upon the door of his hermitage. "Open, open!" cried a strident voice.
"I have no means of helping you, poor traveller," roared the friar. "Go your way into Gamewell, "tis but a few miles hence upon a straight road."
"I will not stir another yard," said the voice, determinedly; "open your door, or I will batter it down with the hilt of my sword."
The priest then, with anger glowing in his eyes, unbarred the door, and flung it open. Before him stood the figure of a knight, clad in black armor and with vizor down.
The Black Knight strode into the friar"s cell without waiting for invitation.
"Have you no supper, brother?" asked the knight, curtly. "I must beg a bed of you this night, and fain would refresh my body ere I sleep."
"I have naught but half of mine own supper to offer you," replied Tuck; "a little dry bread and a pitcher of water."
"Methinks I can smell better fare than that, brother;" and the Black Knight offered to look into the larder.
This was more than Tuck could bear, so he caught up his staff and flung himself before his guest in a threatening att.i.tude. "Why, then, if you _will_," cried the knight, and he struck the priest smartly with the flat of his sword.
The friar put down his staff. "Now," said he, with meaning, "since you have struck me we will play this game to a fair finish. Wherefore, if you are a true knight, give me your pledge that you will fight me on to-morrow morn with quarter-staff until one of us shall cry "Enough.""
"With all my soul," cried the knight, readily. "And will give more knocks than ever you have given your dogs."
"One gives and takes," retorted Tuck, sententiously; "put up your sword and help me to lay supper, for I am pa.s.sing hungry."
They spread the supper table between them, and once again the friar sat down hopefully. He spoke his grace with unction, and was surprised to hear his guest echo the Latin words after him. The knight unlaced his helm and took it off. He appeared as a bronzed and bearded man, stern-looking and handsome.
They then attacked the venison pasty right valiantly, and pledged each other in a cup of wine. The good food and comfort warmed them both, and soon they were at a gossip, cheerful and astounding. So they pa.s.sed the time until the hour grew late; and both fell asleep together, almost in their places, by the despoiled supper table.
In the morning they breakfasted on the remains, and then they washed their faces in the jumping brook. The knight told the priest that he had left his companions at Locksley on the previous evening. He asked so many questions as to Robin Hood and his men that the priest had to fence very skilfully.
If the knight had been in a hurry before he seemed now to have changed his mind. He said that he would wait for his companions, if the priest could bear with him, and Friar Tuck, having taken a great liking to this genial traveller, made no complaint.
"I must presently journey forth to visit a poor man who lieth on a sick bed," said the friar, thinking of Robin.
"Mayhap we may travel together?" suggested the knight. "I am going, so soon as friends have found me, into Gamewell."
"I go into Barnesdale," said Tuck, quickly, "which is in quite another direction."
At last the knight said he must go on, with or without his fellows, and he took up his sword. The friar then got out two quarter-staves, full nine feet long. Without a word he handed one to the knight.
He took it, and eyed the friar whimsically; then, seeing no sign of relenting in him, shrugged his shoulders. He put off his helm again, and both going out to the little glade by the ruined shrine of St. Dunstan, they prepared for a bout with the staves.