“If I may make so bold, I would not try to enter the city from this gate, as ‘tis closely guarded since yesterday. But on the far side, no attack is looked for.”
“My thanks, gentle palmer,” quoth Robin, “your suggestion is good, and we will deploy to the gate upon the far side.”
So the men marched silently but quickly until they were near to the western gate. Then Arthur-a-Bland asked leave to go ahead as a scout, and quietly made his way to a point under the tower by the gate. The moat was dry on this side, as these were times of peace, and Arthur was further favored by a stout ivy vine which grew out from an upper window.
Swinging himself up boldly by means of this friendly vine, he crept through the window and in a moment more had sprung upon the warder from behind and gripped him hard about the throat. The warder had no chance to utter the slightest sound, and soon lay bound and gagged upon the floor; while Arthur-a-Bland slipped himself into his uniform and got hold of his keys.
‘Twas the work of but a few moments more to open the gates, let down the bridge, and admit the rest of the band; and they lot inside the town so quietly that none knew of their coming. Fortune also favored them in the fact that just at this moment the prison doors had been opened for the march of the condemned man, and every soldier and idle lout in the market-lace had trooped thither to see him pass along.
Presently out came Will Stutely with firm step but dejected air. He looked eagerly to the right hand and to the left, but saw none of the band. And though more than one curious face betrayed friendship in it, he knew there could be no aid from such source.
Will’s hands were tied behind his back. He marched between rows of soldiery, and the Sheriff and the Bishop brought up the rear on horses, looking mightily puffed up and important over the whole proceeding. He would show these sturdy rebels—would the Sheriff—whose word was law! He knew that the gates were tightly fastened; and further he believed that the outlaws would hardly venture again within the walls, even if the gates were open. And as he looked around at the fivescore archers and pikemen who lined the way to the gallows, he smiled with grim satisfaction.
Seeing that no help was nigh, the prisoner paused at the foot of the scaffold and spoke in a firm tone to the Sheriff.
“My lord Sheriff,” quoth he, “since I must needs die, grant me one boon; for my noble master ne’er yet had a man that was hanged on a tree:
Give me a sword all in my hand,
And let me be unbound,
And with thee and thy men will I fight
Till I lie dead on the ground.”