"A Hood! A Montfichet!" was called and called again. Some maids from the opposite windows threw them kisses and waved pretty kerchiefs in their honor.
Within the church, waiting for them soberly at the chancel steps, was my lord of Hereford, dressed out in his finest and richest robes, and beside him Friar Tuck. For Robin Hood and Will Scarlett the Bishop had enmity and contempt, but towards the Earls of Huntingdon and Nottingham this time-serving man could only profess an abundance of respect.
The brides were to be escorted from Gamewell by no other person than the King himself. He was to give them both in marriage, and had promised them jewels and to spare when they were come to Court.
Loud cheering and noise from the mob without the church told of their approach. The people were wild with joy at having their King amongst them like this.
Citizens, burgesses, apprentices were all in their best, their wives and their sweethearts all dressed out in splendid attire. As the King jumped down from his horse before the lych gate, and held out his strong hand to help the brides from off their milk-white mares, the whole place became alive with excitement and rapture.
Little maids, with baskets of violets and primroses, flung their offerings prettily under the feet of the two beauteous blushing brides, who leaned so timidly upon the King's proud arms.
At last the service was begun and both couples were well nigh wed. The Bishop had spoken the Latin service impressively and with unction.
In the first row stood Monceux, in all the pomp of his shrievalty, with his councilmen and aldermen. Master Simeon, with face leaner than ever and inturning eyes, glared impotently at the chief actors in this historic scene.
Alone missing from it was the cold, colorless beauty of the demoiselle Marie. She had taken herself to her room this morn, and had sworn never to leave it again. But now that the double marriage was nearly made she suddenly appeared, thrusting her way rudely through the gathered crowd at the church door. She was wild-eyed, dishevelled, her dress fastened all awry. Folks looked once at her, and then exchanged glances between themselves.
"Stay this mockery of marriage, my lord," she cried, fiercely facing the Bishop. She had elbowed a path for herself to the chancel steps. "I do forbid the marrying of these two." She pointed a trembling finger from Robin to Marian. "This woman is blood-guilty, and Holy Church may not countenance her." She shrilled, desperately, "'Twas she who foully killed Master Fitzwalter, her own father, and I have proof of it!"