Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER XXIX.

The wind was from the south, sighing softly through the trees--the sun had gone down about half an hour--the moon was rising, though not yet visible to the eye, except to the watchers on castle towers, or the lonely shepherd on the mountain. The night was as warm as midsummer, though the year had now waned far; and in the sky there were none but light and fleecy clouds, which scarcely dimmed the far twinkling stars as they shone out in the absence of the two great rulers of the night and day. It was one of those sweet evenings which we would choose to wander through some fair scene with the lady that we love, looking for the moon's rising from behind the old ivy-clad ruin, and re-peopling the shady recesses of wood and dale with the fairy beings of old superstition, though they have long given place to the harsher realities of a state of society which has become, to use Rosalind's term, "a working-day world indeed."

Such was the night when, under the brown boughs of the wood, with yellow leaves overhead and long fern around, sat a party of some seven or eight stout men, dressed in the green garb which we have already described in another place. Their bows rested against the trees close by, their swords hung in the baldrics by their side, some horses were heard snorting and champing at no great distance, and a large wallet lay in the midst, from which the long-armed dwarf, Tangel, was drawing forth sundry articles of cold provision, together with two capacious leathern bottles and a drinking cup of horn. There were two persons there whom the reader already knows--the bold leader of the forest outlaws, and the old Earl of Monthermer--now, alas! an outlaw likewise. Though his wounds had been severe, and he had suffered much both in body and in mind, the old knight's spirit seemed still unquenched. On the contrary, indeed, with no weighty matters pressing on his mind, with the fate and fortune of others, nay, of his country itself, no longer hanging on his advice, it seemed as if a load had been removed from his bosom; and as he half sat, half lay, upon the turf, he could jest with the men around him more lightly than in his stately hours of power and influence.

"Poor hunting, Robin! poor hunting!" he said. "Now I would not have this day's sport recorded against us, as true foresters, for very shame."

"'Tis no want of craft, my good lord," replied Robin, "'tis the nearness of the court which drives all honest beasts away. We might have had bucks enough, but that they are rank just now."

"Like the age, Robin--like the age!" answered the Earl. "However, we must e'en make the best of our fate, and put in the bag what fortune chooses to send. There are hares enow, and a fine doe, though you were as tender of them as if they had been children."

"I never love to wing an arrow at a doe," said Robin Hood. "I know not why, they always look to me like women, and often do I lie in the spring time and see them trip along with their dainty steps, their graceful heads moving to and fro, and their bright black eyes looking as conscious as a pretty maid's at a May-day festival; and I think there must be some truth in the old story of men's souls sometimes taking possession of a beast's body."

"Not so often, Robin," rejoined the Earl, "as a beast's soul taking possession of a man's body. I could pick you out as goodly a herd from the court of England as ever trooped through the shades of Sherwood, or were driven out by the piping swineherd to eat acorns in the lanes by Southwell."

"Doubtless, doubtless, my lord," replied Robin; "men will make beasts of themselves in all places, while the honester four-legged things of the forest seem as if they wanted to gem up, manward. Why, down by that very place, Southwell, there is a fallow doe who knows me as well as if she were one of my band; she comes when I call her, if she be within hearing, and lets me rub her long hairy ears by the half-hour. Then what long talks will we have together! I ask her all sorts of questions; and she contrives to answer one way or another, till, if I be too saucy with her about her antlered loves, she butts at me with her round hornless head, and stamps her tiny foot upon the ground. You would say 'twas a very woman, if you saw her."

"'Tis a wonder that she has escaped without an arrow in her side," replied the Earl.

"Nay," cried Robin; "there is not a man in Sherwood or twenty miles round, who would pierce a hole in her brown bodice for all that he is worth. Every one knows Robin Hood's doe; and foul befal him that hurts her. But come, Tangel, what hast thou got there? 'Tis so dark, I cannot see."

"A huge hare pie," said Tangel, "and bottles of stuff to baste it with; but the crust's as hard as the sole of a shoe, and unless thine anelace be somewhat sharper than thy wit, thou wilt go without thy supper, and be obliged to take the testament of the Scotch tinker."

"And what is that?" asked Robin.

"Drink for all," replied the dwarf; "but I will light a torch, Robin, lest thou shouldst cut thine invaluable thumb, and spoil thy shooting for the next month."

A torch was soon lighted; and, seated round the great hare pasty, Robin Hood and his friends began their evening meal. But the horn cup had only gone once round when the outlaw held up his hand, crying, "Silence!" and interrupting a burst of merriment which one of Tangel's hard jests upon a forester opposite had just produced. All was silent in a moment amongst the little party; but no other sound reached their ears, and Robin Hood was again resuming the conversation, saying, "I thought I heard a horn," when the notes were repeated, but it was still far in the distance.

"It is Yockley, from the second mere," said the outlaw, starting up. "It must be your nephew, my lord, who sounded first. I expect no one from such a quarter to-night; but I must answer; and Yockley will bring him hither."

Thus saying, he put his horn to his lips and blew a long blast upon it, very different from that which they had just heard, but well understood by all the foresters as indicating where their leader was to be found.

"Is it not dangerous, Robin?" said the Earl. "I expect not my nephew here, and we are but six."

"We could soon call more," replied Robin; "and our horses are near. But if there be any danger in the party, Yockley will not bring them hither. Now, take some more food, my lord, and send round the cup again. It must be the Lord Hugh, escaped from the revel of the castle, to take a ride in Sherwood by the moon's light."

No more was said in regard to the sounding of the horn; and the merry jest again went on, around the green table where their viands were spread. The torch, stuck in a hole in the ground, shed its light upon the various faces in the circle and upon the sylvan repast; and a song from one of the foresters cheered the minutes, till, at length, again the horn hastened much nearer, and Robin again gave his accustomed reply. In about three minutes more the forms of a man on horseback and another on foot by his side, were seen coming through the trees, while the eyes of the whole party round the torch were turned towards them.

"Why, who is this?" exclaimed the Earl; "my good yeoman, Tom Blawket, as I live! He has found his old lord out, even in Sherwood."

The eyes of Blawket had not been idle as he came up; and though the Earl was no longer habited as the high noble of a splendid and ostentatious age, the faithful servant singled him out instantly. Springing from his horse, he kissed his master's hand with affectionate reverence, while a tear stood in his eye; but he could utter nothing except, "Oh, my lord!"

"Well, Blawket," replied the Earl, laying his hand on the yeoman's shoulder, "I am glad to see thee, my good friend, though thy coming may be somewhat dangerous."

"I come not without cause, my lord," said Blawket, "and sad cause too, and I must give my message hastily, for there is no time to lose. Your nephew, sir, has been arrested on suspicion of treason, being seen conversing with three masked men in the forest. He dared not say that one of them was yourself, my lord, because a price has been set upon your head; and the first word of your being near would send half the nobles of the court hunting you through Sherwood."

"Let them come!" said Robin Hood, calmly; "we would entertain them well."

"He refused to answer their questions," continued Blawket, "and has gained some four and twenty hours--that is, till to-morrow at the hour of two or three, when they will be put to him again, he, in the meantime, remaining a close prisoner. He therefore prays you, my lord, to provide for your own safety with all speed, leaving this part of the forest, and betaking yourself to a distance from Nottingham."

"Where is the Prince?" demanded the old Earl.

"He is gone to Derby, as I hear," replied the yeoman, "to put down some rough-handed clowns amongst the mountains there, who will not believe that the great Earl of Leicester is dead."

"These are bad tidings, indeed," said Robin Hood; "we cannot storm Nottingham Castle, I fear, and set him free."

"Bad tidings, indeed," repeated the Earl; "and I know not well whether to go at once to the King's court and justify poor Hugh, or----"

"Nay, nay, my lord," cried Robin Hood, "that will not do. I have always found it best when one of sound discretion, whom we love, beseeches us for his sake to do this or that, not to aim at more than he requires, thinking that we can better his advice, but simply to perform his bidding if we can. Otherwise, not knowing all the secret causes of his desire, we often break his purpose while we seek to mend it. He asks you to go, my lord; 'twere better to do so far. I will remain: nay, go nearer still to Nottingham, this very night; and the castle walls will be thicker and stronger than they ever have been yet, if I hear not all that takes place within them. Nay, more--should danger threaten the good young lord, we will find means to give him help. Although, as the old song goes, 'The castle walls are strong and high,' yet there are means of leaping over them, if one have but a good will.--Fear not, my lord--fear not! All that your nephew asks is to be enabled, by your absence in some place of safety, to acknowledge whom it was he met in the forest here, without danger to yourself. Was it not so, Tom?"

"Exactly so," replied the yeoman, "and he seemed no way cast down. But the King's people are eager enough after him, that is clear, for I found that they dogged me nearly to Lambley Haggard, which made me so long, otherwise I should have been down two hours ago, for I was forced to ride on, and then come back again. I found one of them still waiting near the Mere; but, as he was teasing a pretty boy who seemed to have lost his way, I picked a quarrel with the vermin, and so belaboured him that he will dog no honest man again for some weeks to come, even if he can contrive to drag his bones back to Nottingham to-night."

"Well done, yeoman--well done, Tom!" cried several voices; and the old Earl, who had been buried in thought while his servant spoke, now turned to his forest companion, saying, "Send a quick messenger to the Prince, Robin. It is with him that Hugh's safety rests. It seems that I ought to go hence, and therefore I will do so at once; but, Blawket--you speed back to Lord Hugh, and tell him, that if need be, I am willing, at a moment's notice, to surrender myself into the Prince's hand--ay, or the King's, though that, I know, were death--for the few days of my old life are worth nought compared with the long high course before him. Speed you back, Blawket, at once, while I will mount and away! Robin, let me have one of your men with me. Come, Morton of the Moor, you shall show me the way."

A few words more passed between Robin and the Earl, ere the old nobleman departed; but, as soon as he was gone, the bold forester turned to Blawket, who was already on his horse's back, exclaiming, "Stay, Tom, a moment! Who was this boy you spoke of?--Where have you left him?"

"I know not, the boy," answered Blawket, "and I left him with one of your people, upon assurance of safety and of freedom to come and go, for he was weary and seemed terrified."

"He is with Harry of Mansfield," joined in Yockley, who had accompanied the yeoman thither, "and we both promised that we would let him go when he liked, for it was of being kept he seemed most afraid. But he asked for you, Robin, and so Harry is bringing him along down the vert course and by the roe lane."

"We must on, and meet them," said Robin Hood. "Go you back, good Blawket, speedily, and should anything new happen, come again to the second mere. You, Yockley, go on to the lodge as fast as your legs can carry you, and bring up the people there to the Royal-hart Pond. Lead on the horses,--I will afoot."

Thus saying, he walked on, with his arms folded on his broad chest and his eyes bent upon the ground. His countenance was seldom, if ever, gloomy, for serenity was one of its peculiar characteristics. Sometimes it was grave indeed, and very often thoughtful, but the wrinkled frown had no place there, and even when the quick burst of anger crossed it, it showed itself only in the lightning of the eye and the expansion of the nostril. His face was now anxious, however, and as he walked along, his lips, as was very frequent with him, gave unwitting utterance to that which was passing in his heart.

"We must not let him perish," he said. "I doubt this King--he is too weak to be honest. 'Tis strange how near the fool and the rogue are akin. Wisdom and goodness,--ay, wisdom and goodness,--they are brother and sister; the one somewhat gentler than the other, but of the same blood."

The pace of a thoughtful man is generally slow, but it was not so with Robin Hood upon the present occasion; for while he thus meditated, and murmured broken sentences to himself, he strode on at a rapid rate, till, at the distance of about a mile from the spot where he had been seated with the Earl, the sound of voices speaking met his ear, and pausing, he turned to one of those behind him, saying, "You must ride to Derby, Dickon; seek out the Prince, say you bring him a message from the Lord Hugh de Monthermer, and, when you see him, add that if he would save a friend's life, he must to Nottingham with all speed. Take one of the horses as far as Beeston--it will carry you well so far; but you must use speed. So, knock up the merry miller, and bid him, for love of Robin Hood, to lend you his black mare to Derby. Away, with you, good Dickon, and when in Derby, tell good Margery Green, of the Setting Sun, to send me what tidings she has had out of Cumberland,--Here, bring forward the torch!--Now, boy, what do you want with me?"

These last words were addressed to a slight youth, dressed in a page's habit, but not such as we represent--upon the stage or in pictures--as the garb of a page of the middle ages. The upper garment which he wore was one of the loose cassocks then very generally is use, of a rich purple cloth, descending considerably below the knee, and somewhat longer indeed than the ordinary petticoat of the English peasant girl of the time. From underneath this, appeared a small foot, covered with long-toed riding boots; and a green hood with a trimming of grey squirrel fur, clasped round the neck with a gilt fermail or buckle, was brought far over the forehead, concealing the greater part of the face. Over the right shoulder was slung a belt, holding a long dagger, underneath which appeared a wallet or pouch of velvet trimmed with fur. To judge from his size and general appearance, the boy might be some fourteen years of age, and apparently not of a very strong and hardy make. Ere he answered, he shaded his eyes with his hand, somewhat dazzled it seemed by the light of the torch, and Robin had to ask him again, "What want you with me, my good lad?"

"I would speak with you alone," said the boy--"I would speak with you alone, and immediately; for the matter is of life and death."

Robin Hood took the torch from the man that held it, and bade the rest stand back. Then, fixing his eyes with a calm, searching gaze upon the part of the youth's countenance which was visible under the hood, he waited in silence to hear what the boy had to say. The page hesitated for a moment, and then murmured, "The Lord Hugh de Monthermer----"

"Oh, we know about him!" cried Robin Hood. "Stale news, young gentleman, if that be all!"

The boy, who had seemed at first abashed and uncertain, now lifted his head with an angry toss, as if offended, replying boldly, "You are rash and hasty. Hear before you answer, Sir Forester. The news is not stale, though you think yourself so wise. You know that the Lord Hugh is in prison, for you have had his man with you; but you know not that he is condemned to death, and that his head will be struck off in the castle-yard, to-morrow, at daybreak. Do you know that?"

"No, by the Blessed Virgin!" replied Robin Hood, "I do not know it; and I say that it shall not be, if I have power to help it!"

"Ay, there is the question," cried the boy. "Have you the power?"

"Of that anon," replied Robin Hood; "first show me that the tidings are true."

"There," said the page, "read that, if thou canst read. If not, I will for thee;" and he held out an open letter to the Outlaw, who took it eagerly from his hand, and gazed at it by the light of the torch.

The writing consisted of two parts, traced by different hands, the latter being evidently an answer to the former, scrawled down in haste at the bottom of the paper. The first was to the following effect:--

"To, my noble and well-beloved Lord the Earl of Mortimer, greeting. These from the humblest and most devoted of his servants, Richard de Ashby.

"If the time given, my good lord, till three to-morrow, be permitted to run on, the game will escape us, for I doubt not the Prince is already informed; and be you sure that he will set off with all speed, and if he arrive in time, will save the criminal. I therefore send you up a man who is ready to swear that he heard the criminal say to the monk, as they passed through the gates together, that out of De Montfort's ashes would soon rise up a ph[oe]nix to destroy his enemies. The fellow is well tutored in his tale, so that you shall not catch him tripping, and I do beseech you to make use of him before the King without delay, so that, if possible, there may be an axe between our enemy's head and his body before noon to-morrow. If the forfeited estates be divided between you and my good lord of Pembroke, I would advise the one I love best to choose the northern ones. They are worth five hundred marks a year more than the others."

All this was written in a fine and clerkly hand, while the letters below were rough and dashing, and somewhat difficult to read. The words, however, were as follows:--

"TRUSTY FRIEND,--

"The matter is settled. The King has called together all the Barons on the spot--luckily, Gloucester was away, and Talbot's voice was drowned in the rest. He dies to-morrow at daybreak. I have the warrant under the King's hand. Thanks for the hint. The northern estates are mine, and friends shall not go unrewarded by yours,

"MORTIMER."

"Ha!" said Robin Hood, after he had read the letter and the reply--"ha! this is mighty good. Why, what a nest of scorpions have we here; and this is the court of England! Oh, De Montfort!--noble De Montfort! if thou didst want an advocate to plead thy cause and justify thy holy zeal to crush the venomous reptiles that infest the land, this paper has a tongue that would convince the dead. But we will see. May God so help me, as I am at this execution to-morrow--if we find not other means to stay it! and beware, my Lord of Mortimer, how you come within mark of the English yew--for thy breast must be cased in steel, indeed, if I drown not the peacock's feather in your heart's black blood!--Do you hear them coming from the lodge, Miller?"

"Not yet, Robin," replied the man to whom he spoke. "Tom is upon the hill--he will sound his horn."

"We must give the youth warning what we are about to do," said Robin Hood, running his eye attentively over the form of the page before him--"we must give him warning.--Ha! Richard de Ashby! So--so!--Boy, this is news, indeed, you have brought me. Have you aught else to tell?"

"Not now," answered the boy, "for I must be back to Nottingham with all speed, lest I be missed. To-morrow will do for my other tidings--I cannot think he will be so hasty there."

"Nay--nay, if thou hast aught to tell," exclaimed Robin; "tell it now. One never can say to-morrow's sun will rise. There are precipices at every rood on the highway of human life, over which our best intentions fall, and dash themselves to pieces. Speak out--speak out! it will but take thee a spare minute."

"Well, then," replied the boy, "doubtless you love not much the Earl of Ashby?"

"Not much," answered Robin Hood, bluffly, "but his son much less."

"It matters not," rejoined the page; "but I tell you the Earl's life is in danger from secret foes. There is a man--a base, bad man--the betrayer of all that trust in him----" The boy paused, and seemed to gasp for breath. "He seeks the Earl's death; ay, and that of his son also," he continued, "in order that--that--that he may wed the heiress of the house, and himself become its head. If I did know a friend of the Earl, I would beseech him earnestly to watch the old man well; ay, to watch his food--to watch his steps--to have his wine tried before he drinks it--never to let him forth alone, if it be but to taste the morning air upon a sunny bank.--But you are his enemies."

"Yet we will act as friends," said Robin Hood. "He shall have warning, ay, and assistance at hand, in case of need.--And now," he added, in a low and soft tone, advancing a step, and taking the page's hand--"and now what is to become of thee, poor thing?--Dost thou think I do not know thee, Kate?"

She shook terribly, and cast down her eyes, without reply.

"'Tis well," he continued, finding that she did not answer. "But listen to me, Kate Greenly--listen to one that speaks to thee kindly. Thou hast done a good act this night; let it be balm to thy heart; nay, let it be more--let it be but as seed that thou hast sown, to bring forth still more plentiful fruit hereafter. Cast off the villain, whom thy better nature hates; leave him to the deeds which will, ere long, bring down destruction on his head; let him receive the reward of his own wickedness, and then----"

"Die!" said Kate Greenly--"there is nothing else left for me to do. Nay, speak not of my father--utter not his name, for it is worse than fire even to hear it mentioned. Talk not to me of the cloister, where I might linger out long days of miserable memory. My life is near its close--my heart is broken--by my own act, I know; but all the more dreadful is the wound. There is no balm that can heal this--there is no time that can soothe it. He whom I trusted is a villain. Me he might have injured, betrayed, cast off, trampled upon. I might have wept, or raved, and still lived on; but to find him a traitor--a murderer--a fiend--to be forced, as if for my punishment on earth, to betray him who has betrayed me, and to blast his schemes and his fame who has blasted my name and my happiness--this is the cup of death, I tell thee, and a bitter death it is!--But I must go back! Thy people have promised that they will not stay me, and I must go back. Whatever tidings I can give, you shall have; for I have sworn to unravel the dark clue--to frustrate the wicked scheme, and to bring down upon his head the punishment he merits. God will give me strength to tread this path where every step is agony; and, oh! when it is done, may he receive the broken heart and penitent spirit, for the sake of Him who died to save us!"

"Amen!" said Robin Hood. "Yet stay a moment, thou must have some one to guide thee back; thou art nearer the town than thou thinkest for.--I will speak a word with thee by the way."