THE KNIGHT OF WIERYSDALE.
“We must suppose that several years had elapsed since Robin Hood’s victory in Finsbury field, when the following tale commences. Richard the Lion-hearted had succeeded to his father’s throne, and with many of his nobles had joined the memorable crusades. During his absence in Palestine, the internal state of England had become far worse than it was at the time of his accession. Baron rose up against baron, and princes made war upon each other, till discord, tumult, and fierce rapine, reigned throughout the land. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at, when the laws were for a time suspended and force of arms alone decided the contest, that the bold foresters had again recourse to their superior strength.
“It was a bright morning in early summer, when a solitary horseman was proceeding upon his journey through one of the narrow roads that crossed Barnesdale forest;
“‘All dreary was his semblance,
And little was his pride,
His one foot in the stirrup stood,
The other waved beside;
“‘His hood was hanging o’er his eyes,
He rode in simple array,
A sorrier man than he was one
Rode never on summer’s day.’
“A deep sigh escaped from the melancholy horseman, and big tears coursed each other down his cheeks, at every step of his poor lean beast; and when three men suddenly emerged from the wood, and stood before his path, he seemed scarcely conscious of their presence.
“‘God save thee, sir knight,’ cried one of them, a tall forester, nearly seven feet high, moved with compassion at his forlorn appearance. ‘Welcome to our merry green-wood. Thou must be our guest to-day.’
“‘Leave me, good sirs, I pray ye,’ said the knight mournfully, ‘my sorrows are already too heavy for me to bear; add not to my distress.’
“‘Nay, be not so downcast,’ returned the former speaker. ‘Thou art in good hands, and may’st trust us. Our master waits dinner for a guest, and thou art the first man who has passed through Barnesdale this day.’ Then taking the knight’s rein in his hand, the forester led the jaded steed through the intricate paths of the wood, until he arrived at an open lawn, where a band of yeomen were reclining under the shade of a huge elm.
“‘Welcome, sir knight,’ said one of them rising and doffing his cap at the appearance of a stranger. ‘Welcome to merry Barnesdale.’
“‘Who art thou,’ inquired the horseman, ‘that causest travellers to be constrained from their way? I am but a poor knight, without so much as a piece of gold, wherewith to buy me food.’
“‘More welcome still,’ exclaimed the forester, assisting him from his horse. ‘We shall have the blessings of charity upon our deeds. Thou hast heard of Robin Hood,—I am that outlaw, and these are my gallant followers.’
“‘Unless report belie thee,’ replied the knight, ‘thou art a friend to the unfortunate. Dismiss me at once, and let me speed on.’
“‘Dine with us first,’ said the forester, ‘and freely shalt thou depart.’ A cloth was spread beneath the shady branches, and covered with a profusion of the most delicious viands. Rhenish wine also, and ale plentifully abounded, and with cheerful hearts about twenty yeomen seated themselves around. ‘Eat gladly, sir knight,’ said Robin Hood; ‘here’s to thy health, and a more merry countenance;’ and as he spake he tossed off the contents of a goblet.
“‘Thanks, thanks, my noble host,’ replied the stranger; ‘it grieves me that I shall ne’er be able to return thy goodness.’
“‘Truly, good sir, thou look’st but grievous,’ answered the outlaw. ‘Tell me, is there aught in which my services can avail thee; what is the cause of thy deep sorrow?’
“‘I have lost land and gold,’ returned the knight, ‘and I fear that my good name must follow them.’ His tears burst out afresh. ‘They call me,’ he continued, ‘Sir Rychard o’ the Lee. I am sprung of noble blood, and for these last three hundred years have mine ancestors wore spurs. Twelve short months ago I had a noble house and fine estate, with four hundred pounds a year; but now, except my lovely wife and my sweet children, I have nothing in the world.’
“‘How hast thou lost thy riches?” inquired Robin Hood anxiously.
“‘’Tis a short story,’ replied the knight; ‘I fought in a fair field with a knight of Lancashire, and slew him. To save my liberty, I mortgaged the broad lands of Wierysdale to St. Mary’s Abbey, and if I pay not the amount to-morrow, my castle will be forfeited.’
“‘What is the sum thou owest, and what wilt thou do if thou losest thy land?’ asked the outlaw.
“‘Four hundred golden pounds must I pay, if I would keep fair Wierysdale,’ he replied. ‘I go to beg grace for another year; if the holy abbot will not grant it, I must flee away across the broad seas to a country where they know me not.’
“‘Where are thy friends?’ asked Little John; ‘will they not be security for thee?’
“‘Alas,’ replied Sir Rychard, ‘when I had money and house, and lands, I lacked not friends, but now my oldest companions turn from me as a herd of deer would from a poor wounded hart. My only trust is in God and the blessed saints.’
“‘Will Peter, or Paul, or John, be surety for thee?’ asked the outlaw. ‘By my troth, good sir, thou must find wealthier friends than they.’
“‘I have none other,’ replied the knight mournfully, ‘except it be the Blessed Mary, who in all my trials has never failed me.’
“‘Thou hast indeed a good friend,’ said Robin Hood; ‘and if thou wilt swear by our dear Lady that in twelve months from this day it shalt be restored to me, I will lend thee what thou wantest.’ The knight fell upon his knees, gave the required promise, and drawing forth a silver image of the Virgin, he devoutly kissed it.
“In the meanwhile Little John had gone to the outlaws’ treasury, and now returned with a heavy bag. He quickly counted out four hundred pieces of gold and offered them to the knight, with a beautiful doublet of scarlet cloth. These he readily accepted. At Robin Hood’s bidding, a gallant grey steed with rich housings was next brought forth, and after having received a pair of golden spurs from the hands of the noble outlaw, the knight vaulted into the saddle.
“‘’Twould be a shame,’ said Robin Hood, ‘that so well equipped a knight should ride without esquire; ‘I will lend thee my brave man, Little John, until thou gettest a yeoman for thy service.’ The forester willingly agreed, and mounting a stout palfrey, he was soon ready to accompany his new master. With tears of joy instead of sorrow, the knight bade farewell to his kind and generous host, struck his spurs into his new charger, and followed by Little John, galloped swiftly over the plain.
“On the morning after this adventure, the holy superior of St. Mary’s Abbey, in the old city of York, was seated in his hall, attended by several of the monks.
“‘Upon this day twelve months ago,’ said he to his attentive listeners, ‘there came a knight who borrowed four hundred pounds, upon the security of his lands and castle. The hour is near at hand; unless he appear and pay the money before yon glass has run, the fair lands of Wierysdale will belong to this sanctuary.’
“‘It is early yet, holy father,’ replied the prior; ‘the poor man may be in a far country, and it would be hard to use him thus harshly. Methinks thy conscience, my lord abbot, would but ill bear so rude a treatment to an unfortunate knight.’
“‘Thou art ever in my beard,’ exclaimed the superior angrily. ‘By all the saints I swear that, unless the knight of Wierysdale appear ere the sun has set, he shall be disinherited.’
“‘He is either dead or he cannot pay,’ said a fat monk, who was high cellarer, ‘and St. Mary’s Abbey will be enriched with a goodly sum. Shall I not seek the lord justice, holy father, and bid him attend to prepare deeds for the transfer of the land.’
“‘Yea, brother,’ replied the abbot; ‘’tis but lost time to wait for our debtor, therefore use despatch, good brother—use despatch.’ The cellarer left the room as quickly as his fat limbs would carry him, and in less than an hour returned with the lord chief justice.
“In the mean time Sir Rychard o’ the Lee and his esquire had arrived in York, and taken up their abode at an inn. After they had rested for awhile from the fatigue of their journey, they dressed themselves in their sorriest habiliments, and set out to the abbey. Upon knocking at the great gates, they were immediately admitted, and conducted into a lofty and spacious room, whose high pointed roof ornamented with grotesque images, narrow Gothic windows, and beautifully tesselated pavement, combined to strike the beholder with admiration, and increase his reverence for the inmates of such a noble dwelling.
“The knight and his attendant doffed their caps and bowed low as they entered the hall, and advanced to the upper end, where, upon a carved oaken throne, sat the abbot of St. Mary’s, with the lord chief justice of York by his side.
“‘God save thee, holy father,’ said the knight, as he kneeled before him; ‘I have attended thee this day as thou didst bid me.’
“‘Hast thou brought any money, sir knight?’ asked the priest in a harsh tone.
“‘Not one penny,’ replied the suppliant. ‘I am come to beg that thou wilt extend the time of payment for one more year.’
“‘That is unfortunate,’ rejoined the abbot, with difficulty repressing his delight at the intelligence. ‘The day is nearly gone, and unless thou canst pay down four hundred pounds ere the setting of the sun, thy lands must pass to the accruement of St. Mary’s Abbey. Sir justice,’ he continued, looking askance, ‘here’s to thee;’ and in the height of his satisfaction he emptied a goblet of wine at a single draught.
“‘Good sir justice,’ said the knight imploringly, ‘wilt thou not assist me in my distress. Day by day will I serve thee until I have repaid thy goodness.’
“‘Nay, sir,’ returned the justice, ‘I cannot do it if I had the will.’ ‘Give him two hundred pounds more, holy father, and the good knight will sign thee a release of the lands that he can no longer claim.’
“‘Never,’ replied the knight fiercely, as he started to his feet. ‘Merciless tyrants as ye are, ye get not my lands thus. Never shall monk or friar be heir to Wierysdale.’
“‘What,’ cried the priest, rising from his seat; ‘darest thou beard the abbot of St. Mary’s; out upon thee for a false knight, thy castle is no longer thine.’
‘Thou liest,’ returned the knight, stamping his heel upon the pavement until it rung again: ‘never was I false. I’ve stood in tournaments against noble earls and greater men than thou, and have oft proved myself a true knight and good. Take back thy gold,’ he continued, as he poured out the contents of his purse at the abbot’s feet; ‘and think not that thou canst so easily get the fair lands of Wierysdale. Hadst thou shown courtesy to a suppliant knight, thou should’st have had recompense.’ Then snatching away the papers which the justice had before him, Sir Rychard darted a look of defiance at the abbot, and with a firm step departed from the hall, leaving the holy father overwhelmed with astonishment, disappointment, and regret.
THE KNIGHT OF WIERYSDALE
J. Gilbert
“Sir Rychard returned to his inn, gave away his old garments to the first beggar that passed by, and after dismissing his gallant esquire with the warmest thanks for his assistance, again started off with an attendant whom Little John had procured for him. He rode on, singing merrily, until he drew rein at his own gate in Wierysdale. His lady, with tears in her eyes, had been watching his approach, but when she saw the joyful countenance and proud bearing of her husband, she ran forth to clasp him in her arms, and learn the cause of such unexpected joy. The story was briefly told, and from that day to the end of their lives the good knight and his lady did not fail to remember in their prayers the name of Robin Hood.”
I had just finished this tale, when the chimes from the distant steeple faintly reached our ears. The hour at which we were expected back had arrived, and we were at least a quarter of an hour’s walk away. We started to our feet, bounded through the wood, and over the low palings, and made many a passenger laugh heartily as we chased past him to our home.