The palmer spoke in a muffled voice; and as his hood was pulled well over his head, Stout Will could not discern what manner of man he was. Over his shoulder he carried a long staff, with the fashion of a little cross at one end; and he had sandaled feet like any monk. Stout Will notice idly that the feet were very small and white, but gave no second thought to the matter.
“Who will shrive the poor wretch, if you have come away from him?” he asked reproachfully.
The question seemed to put a new idea into the palmer’s head. He turned so quickly that he almost dropped his hood.
“Do you think that I should undertake this holy office?”
“By Saint Peter and the Blessed Virgin, I do indeed! Else, who will do it? The Bishop and all his whining clerks may be there, but not one would say a prayer for his soul.”
“But I am only a poor palmer,” the other began hesitatingly.
“Nathless, your prayers are as good as any and better than some,” replied Will.
“Right gladly would I go,” then said the palmer; “but I fear me I cannot get into the city. You may know that the gates are fast locked, for this morning, to all who would come in, although they let any pass out who will.”
“Come with me,” said Stout Will, “and my master will see that you pass through the gates.”
So the palmer pulled his cloak still closer about him and was brought before Robin Hood, to whom he told all he knew of the situation. He ended with,