VI 


HOW ROBIN GAVE AID TO SIR HERBRAND 


     ROBIN HOOD sat in his bower in Barnisdale Forest, and his men were waiting for their dinner. In the glade where they lay the crackle of fires under the pots and the bubbling of the stews in the cauldrons made pleasant sounds, and the smell of cooked venison and crusty pies when the cooks opened the earth-ovens put a keen edge on every man's appetite. 

     But Robin would not give the signal to dine, for they had had no adventure that morning. The men who had been lying in wait along the roads for travelers had reported that there seemed to be no one moving, and that day Robin had felt that he had no desire to dine until he had a stranger to sit and make cheer with him. 

     "John," said he at length to his lieutenant, who was lying on the grass near him honing the point of an arrow, "go you, lad, with Will and Much, the Miller's son, and wend ye to the Sayles by Ermin Street. From that place, since it lies high, ye may chance to see some wayfarer. If it be so, bring him to me, be he earl or baron, abbot or knight, or the king's justice himself." 

     Cheerfully Little John rose from his place, and taking his bow and arrows, called Will Stuteley and Much, and together they went through the forest-ways until they came to where the land lay high. Here, in clearings of the forest, were two little stone houses, ruined now and deserted. Ten years ago they had been dwelt in by freemen, who had farmed their few acres of land and fed their swine in the forest. But the evil lord of Wrangby had passed that way, had demanded of Woolgar and Thurstan, the freeholding dwellers, to own that they held their lands from the Wrangby lord. The farmers had been men of Danish blood, who could not brook such tyranny, and had defied the evil Sir Isenbart, with result that by force they had been dragged from their holdings, their crops destroyed, and their houses fired and broken down. Woolgar had been slain defending his home, and his wife and children had become serfs at Wrangby. Thurstan had taken to the woods with his two boys and had fled away, as men said, vowing that some day he would come back and help to burn down the Evil Hold and slay its lords. 

     "Remember Woolgar and Thurstan," said Little John, as they passed the broken houses, with tall weeds nodding from the windows. 

     "Ay, ay," said Much and Will, "they are two of the poor broken men for whom we will strike a big blow some day." 

     Passing through leafy paths the three outlaws at length reached the highway, where their feet beat on the high-crowned road that had been built by Roman hands eight hundred years before. 

     They came at last to where five roads met. The ground was high here, and there was a wide space where the forest-ways ran into each other. On all sides the ground sloped down, and they could see far over the tossing heads of the great forest which stretched away on all sides. They looked east and they looked west, but no man could they see. Then they looked north into the deep hollow of Barnisdale, and they were aware of a rider coming slowly along a narrow track between the trees to the left, which led from the town of Pontefract some seven miles away. 

     The horseman was a knight in mail, with a lance in his right hand, and he rode with bent head as if in deep thought. As he came nearer they could see that his face was grave, almost sad; and so dispirited was he that while one foot stood in the stirrup the other swung free, with the stirrup beating against it. 

Little John hastened forward to meet the knight, and bending on one knee before him, said: 

     "Welcome, sir knight, to the greenwood. For these three hours hath my master been expecting you, and hath fasted until you came." 

     "Thy master hath expected me?" said the knight, looking with surprise at the kneeling outlaw. "Who is thy master, good woodman?" 

     "He is Robin Hood," replied Little John, "and he craves that you should dine with him this day." 

     "I have heard of him," said the knight, "for a good fellow and a brave and just man. I will willingly take meat with him, though I had thought to have pushed on to Blythe or Doncaster before I dined. But how mean ye that thy master hath been awaiting me, since I know him not?" 

     "Our master will not dine today unless he have some wayfarer to keep him company," replied Little John. "'Tis a habit which our master hath at times." 

     "I fear me," said the knight, "I shall be but poor cheer for thy good leader." 

     In a little while the knight and the three outlaws stood before the bower of branches and leaves in which Robin Hood was seated. The outlaw rose and looked keenly in the face of the knight, then said: 

     "Welcome be ye, sir knight. I would have thee dine with me this day." 

     "I thank thee, good Robin," replied the knight. "God save thee and all thy men!" 

     Then bowls of water and a napkin were brought, and after Robin and the knight had washed their hands, they sat down to dinner. There was bread and wine, venison pies, fish, roast duck and partridges, besides stewed kale or cabbage, and the knight appeared to relish the rich repast laid before him. Robin did not ask the knight who he was, for it was not his custom to ask this of his guests until they had eaten. When at length the repast was finished and they had washed their hands again, Robin said laughingly: 

     "Now, sir knight, I hope you have dined well?" 

     "That I have, good Robin," was the reply. "Such a dinner, in faith, have I not had these three weeks." 

     "Well, now," went on Robin, smiling; "'tis unheard of that a yeoman should pay for a knight. I must ask toll of thee ere thou wendest further through these woods." 

     "My good Robin," said the knight with a sad smile, "I have naught in my purse that is worth thy accepting." 

     "Come, come," replied Robin, "thou art a knight with a knight's lands. Tell me truth now. What hast thou in thy saddle-bag?" 

     "I have no more than ten shillings," said the knight, and sighed heavily. 

     "Ho, there!" cried Robin. "Little John, go to this knight's horse and search his saddle-bag and see what he hath therein." Little John went off at once to do his master's command. 

     Robin turned to the knight, and said: "If indeed thou speakest truth I will not touch one penny thereof, and if thou hast need of more I will lend it to thee." 

     In a few moments Little John came back, and said: "Master, I find but this half a pound in the saddle-bag," and he held out the silver coin in one broad, brown palm. 

     "Fill up thy beaker to the brim," said Robin to the knight; "thou'rt a true man of thy word." Robin and the knight drank to their mutual health and safekeeping. 

     "'Tis a marvel," said Robin, "to see how thin is thy clothing. Never have I seen a knight so poor-seeming as thou art. Tell me truly, and I will not tell it to any man. Art thou a knight by birth, or wert thou made a knight by force for some brave deed, while thy means could not keep thee in dignity; or hast thou muddled thy wealth away, or been a brawler and a waster? How dost thou come to such a sorry pass?" 

     "None of those things which thou speakest of is the cause of my poverty and lowness," said the knight gravely. "For a hundred winters have my ancestors lived upon our land at home, and ever have they kept up the dignity of our name. But often it befalls, Robin, as thou must know, that a man falls into misfortune not by his own act, and only God who sitteth in the heavens may amend his state. Within the last two years, as my friends and neighbors know, I had four hundred pounds of money which I could spend, but now I have naught in all the world but my wife, and my lands that soon I must lose." 

     "How is it thou hast fallen into such dire need?" asked Robin. 

     "Because of my son who slew a man," replied the knight. "'Twas done in fair fight, but the kin of the slain man did oppress me, and it was their evil purpose to ruin me because of my son's deed. I have paid them much money, but they demanded more, and therefore I have had to pledge my lands to the abbot of Saint Mary's. And in my heart I believe mine enemies will do all they may to gain my land, and would fain see me beg my living along the wayside, for they are most bitter against me, and have so worked by fear and threats on all my 

     "Now by my troth," said Robin, and beat his knee with his clenched hand, "shall we never be done with hearing of the evil deeds and crafty ways of the fat abbot of St. Mary's? Tell me, now," he said to the knight, "what is the sum that thou owest?" 

     "Four hundred pounds," replied the knight sadly. "Four hundred have I already paid mine enemies, and they did demand four hundred more, which I was compelled to borrow from the abbot. And as I cannot pay it to the abbot tomorrow, I shall lose all I possess." 

     "Now, if you lose your land," asked Robin, "what have ye in mind to do?" 

     "I will busk me and go to the Crusade," said the knight, "but first I go to the abbey of St. Mary's to tell the abbot that I have not the money." He rose from his seat as if there was no more to be said. 

     "But, sir knight," urged Robin, "have ye no friends who will aid thee?" 

     "Friends!" said the knight bitterly. "While I was rich, friends boasted how they loved me, but as soon as they knew I was in need, and that powerful were mine enemies, they fled this way and that for fear that I should beg help of them." 

     Pity was in the eyes of Little John and Will the Bowman, and little Much, the Miller's son, turned away to hide a tear. The knight looked so noble and was so sad that the little man felt he would have done anything to help him. 

    "Go not away yet," said Robin to the knight, who reached for his sword to buckle it to his side; "fill thy beaker once more. Now, say, sir knight, if one should lend thee this money to save thy land, hast thou no one who will be a surety for the repayment?" 

     "Nay, by my faith," said the knight reverently, "I have no friend but Him that created me." 

     "Jape me no japes!" replied Robin. "I ask thee if thou hast not thine own friend -- not one of the saints, who are friends to all of us, but who cannot pay thy debts." 

     "Good outlaw," said the knight; "I tell thee truly, I have no friend who would answer for such a debt except Jesus and his Mother, the sweet Virgin!" 

     "By the rood!" cried Robin, and beat his knee again; "now thou speakest to the point. If thou didst seek all England through, thou couldst not find a surety better to my mind than the blessed Virgin, who hath never failed me since I first called upon her. Come now, John," he went on, turning to Little John, "go thou to my treasury and pay out four hundred pounds, and let each coin ring true and sound and be unclipped and uncut. The tale of money must be truly the amount which the evil abbot will take, so that he may not be able to throw back a single bad coin and thus seize the land of our friend." 

     Little John, with Much the Miller's son and Will Stuteley, went together to the secret place where Robin kept his chest of gold, and together they told out four hundred golden pounds, and wrapping them in a cloth which they tied up, Little John brought the money to Robin. 

     "Now here, sir knight," said Robin, untying the cloth and showing the gold to the knight, "are four hundred gold pounds. I lend it to thee on the surety of our, dear Lady the Virgin, and by her blessing thou shalt pay me this money within a year and a day from now." 

     The tears ran down the knight's thin cheeks as he took the money from Robin's hand. 

     "Sir Outlaw," said he, "never did I think that any man was so noble of mind as to lend me on such a security. Good Robin, I thank thee, and I will see to it that thou shalt not suffer the loss of a single penny of this money, but in a year and a day will I return with the full sum. And now I will tell thee, that though I had heard thee well and nobly spoken of by my son who loves thee, little did I think I should find that his words spoke less than all the truth." 

     "Who is thy son, sir knight?" asked Robin, "and where hath he met me?" 

     "My son is Alan-a-Dale," replied the knight, "whom thou hast aided more than once, and chief of all, for whom thou didst gain him the lady he loves best." 

     "Now this is a goodly meeting," said Robin, as he and the knight clasped each other's hands. "Alan hath spoken to me of his grief concerning thee, and how he had not the wherewithal to save thee and thy land from the clutches of the crafty monk. But little did I guess that thou wert Sir Herbrand de Tranmire himself. Glad am I indeed, Sir Herbrand, to be able to aid thee, for I love thy son Alan, and would do all I could to bring joy to him and to the father whom he loves. Now thou art another whom those evil lords of Wrangby have oppressed and wronged. Tell me, wilt thou in good time aid me to pull down that Evil Hold of theirs, and scatter the vipers in that nest?" 

     "That will I most gladly," said Sir Herbrand, and his voice was stem and hard. "Not only for my own sake will I do this, but for the many tyrannies and evils which they have done to poor folks, as I know, in the lands which run from their castle in the Peak to the marches of Lancaster. Much would it gladden me to aid thee, and I promise to give thee all help in this matter when and as thou wilt." 

     Then Robin Hood, from among his store of rich garments, took a knightly dress of fine array and donned it upon the knight, and it became him well. Also he gave him new spurs and boots, and afterward, when the knight had to continue upon his journey, he gave him a stronger and better horse than his own. 

     When he was about to set out, after the knight had thanked Robin with tears in his eyes for all the kindness he had shown him, Robin said: 

     "It is a great shame for a knight to ride alone, without page or squire. I will lend thee a little page of mine own to attend thee to the abbey of St. Mary's, so that he may wait on thee, and afterward bring me word how things befall. John," he called to his big lieutenant, "do thou take horse and ride with Sir Herbrand, and do all that is squirelike, and bring me back word of how the abbot and his crafty crew do receive him." 

     "I thank thee, good Robin," said Sir Herbrand with a smile, "for the little page thou sendest with me. And here I promise, by the sweet Virgin who hath never failed me, to bring to thee within a year and a day the money thou has so nobly lent me, together with gifts to repay thee for those thou hast given me." 

     "Fare thee well, Sir Herbrand," said Robin as he shook hands with the knight, "and send me back my little page when thou hast no longer need of him." 

    As Little John rode off behind the knight there was much laughter and many jokes about the little page, and the knight was advised not to spare the rod, "for," many said, "he was a saucy lad and needed frequent whipping." 

     For some time the knight and Little John rode on along the lonely forest roads, and the talk between them was of Robin Hood and the many deeds of goodness which he had done. 

     "I fear me," said the knight at length, "though I will bring all the men I may to aid him, that he will find when the time comes that to pull down that evil nest of Wrangby will be beyond our strength. Isenbart de Belame is a crafty and skilful fighter, and I fear your master hath little knowledge of warfare and of how to take a strong castle such as Wrangby." 

     "I have no fear of it," said Little John with a laugh. "My master is as wise a man as that limb of Satan. Besides, he hath right on his side, and is under the special care of Our Sweet Lady, and he that hath her blessing, who may avail against him?" 

     "'Tis true," replied the knight, "the Blessed Virgin is worth a strong company of men-at-arms. But so far and wide do the evil plots of Belame and the Wrangby robbers spread, and so fearful are men to incur their displeasure, that from here to Doncaster on the east, and to the marches of Lancaster on the west, I doubt if justice and right are ever allowed to be done if it comes to the ears of those evil men." 

     "Ay," said Little John sadly, "they have laid the fear of death or torture on all who wish to live in peace, but, as I hope to be saved, I believe their wicked days are numbered. In every village lives some maimed wretch who bears the marks of their torture, in every manor-house or castle dwells some lord or lady, knight or dame, who hath been put to shame, or suffered ill by their ruffian deeds. And it is in my mind that, were my master once to rise against the evil crew, every peaceful man from here to Lancaster would rise also, and never lay aside his weapons until the cruel band were utterly wiped out." 

     "May the Virgin grant that it be so!" said the knight. "But what are those that follow after that man? It would seem that they have it in mind to rob or injure him." 

     A little way before them was a group of some five or six men, walking in the middle of the road, and as the knight and Little John approached them they could see that each of the five men behind bore a naked sword in his hand, while the man in front held a cross before him and was almost naked. 

     "'Tis some felon who hath sworn to leave the country for some murder or other villainy," said Little John, "and those armed men are those whose kin he hath wronged, and who see that he go not out of the king's highway. And by the rood, he that holds the cross hath a right evil look." 

     When they reached the group the knight asked courteously what crime the felon had committed. The man with the cross was ungirt, unshod, bareheaded and barefooted, and was clothed merely in a shirt, as if he were about to be hanged on a gallows. His look was black and evil, and across one cheek was the weal of an old wound. The five men who followed with swords drawn were well-to-do townsmen, or burgesses as they were called. One, by his dress, and by a certain authoritative look about him, was a man of power and influence, and he it was who replied. 

     "This evil wretch here whom we follow is a murderous knave, by name Richard Malbęte," he said. "Our father was an old and doting man who, because he had ever dwelled in peace and quiet in his shop in Mercers Row in our town of Pontefract, loved to hear tales of travel and to speak to men who had fought and done warlike deeds. He fell in with this wretch here, who told many tales of his great adventures. Our father, John le Marchant, took this loose rascal into his house, much against the will and advice of us his sons. This Malbęte, or Illbeast, as he rightly names himself, did slay our father, in a right subtle and wicked manner, and then fled with much gold upon him. We raised the hue and cry after him, and he took sanctuary in St. Michael's church, and afterward he did swear before the coroner to abjure and leave this realm and to go to the port of Grimsby and there take ship. And we follow to see that he escape not." 

     By the looks the five brothers gave the murderer it was evident that they would almost welcome any attempt he might make to escape, for then they would be justified, if he went but a step off the highway, in slaying him out of hand. There was nothing, really, to prevent them doing that now, for he was unarmed and there was no one by to protect him, but being law-abiding citizens they reverenced the oath which the murderer had taken. 

     Little John had not seen the robber when he had been disguised as a beggar and had fallen in with Robin, so that he did not recognize him. He looked at the brutal face of the man keenly, and noted the cruel and crafty glances which Malbęte cast at the five brothers. 

     "I would counsel thee to take close heed of this rascal," said Little John to the sons of John le Marchant. "That evil face of his, I doubt not, hideth a brain that is full of guile and wile. Take heed lest by a trick he escape ye even now." 

     The eldest brother, who had previously spoken, was a man unused to take advice, and resented the counsel of a man who looked to be no better than a woodman. 

     "I need no counsel to know what to do with a rogue," he said stiffly. "This felon shall have his life let from him ere he can hoodwink us." 

     Little John laughed and said no more. When he and the knight had gone a little further the latter said: 

     "I have seen that robber and murderer once before. He was taken up at Gisors for robbing in the very house where Kin~ Henry was sleeping. The camp provost condemned him to be hung forthwith, but I heard that by a trick he had escaped the hands of the camp marshals and got clean away. He is a man of a most evil life, and his mind is full of plots and crafty contrivings." 

     "I knew it by his sly face," said John, "and I doubt not that one or more of the stiff-necked merchants behind him will pay with their lives for his escape." 

     Nothing further happened to the two wayfarers until they reached the town of York just as daylight was dying from the skies. They were among the last to enter the city as the guard was shutting the huge gates. They went to a decent inn which the knight knew, where they supped and slept that night. 

     Next morning, in the chapter-house of St. Mary's Abbey, were gathered the chief officers of the house. There was Abbot Robert, with proud curved lips, double chin, and fierce red face, and beside him on the bench was the prior, who was second in authority. He was a mild, good man, and did as much by kindness as the abbot did by his ways of harshness and tyranny. 

     Before them on a table were many parchments, for this was the day when tenants came to pay their rents or dues, and others came to appear in answer to some charge or demand made by the abbot. At the table were two monks who acted as clerks. On the right of the abbot sat one of the king's justices, who was traveling in that part of the kingdom, trying cases in the king's name. There were one or two knights also sitting there, together with the sheriff of York. 

     Many came in and paid their rents either in money or in goods; others came and complained of the way in which the abbot's bailiffs or stewards had oppressed them, and it was a wonder to hear how many manors held by the abbey seemed to have harsh bailiffs to rule them in the name of the abbot. To all such complaining the abbot gave little heed, though the good prior tried to make inquiry into the worst wrongs of which the poor freemen or villeins complained. 


     "They are all a pack of grumbling rascals," said the abbot angrily at length. "Save thy breath, prior, to say thy prayers, for I would rather leave my bailiffs to do as they think needful than meddle in matters of which I know little." 

     "Nevertheless, when such great wrongs are charged against the stewards of the abbey," said the prior, "methinks that for the honor of the abbey and for the grace of the Holy Virgin after whom our house is named, strict inquiry should be made, and if our servants be shown to have acted without mercy they should be punished." 

     "If things were left to thee, prior," said the abbot mockingly, "we should all go bare to give the rascally villeins all that they craved. Have done, and say no more. I am abbot, and while I am chief of this house I will do as it seems to me fit." 

     Just then into the chapter-house strode a tall and fierce-looking man. He was dressed in half armor, having a hauberk on his body, with a sword slung by a belt about his middle. On his head of rough black hair was a hat of velvet, which he doffed as he entered. Behind him came his squire, bearing his helmet and a heavy mace. The abbot rose in his seat. 

     "Ha, Sir Niger," he said with a laugh, "so thou hast come as thou didst promise. Dost thou think the knight of Werrisdale will balk us on this his last day of grace?" 

     "I think we may see him beg his bread of us today," replied Sir Niger le Grym with a cruel laugh. "We will see to it that he pays heavily for harboring his rascal son, Alan-a-Dale, and if we cannot get at that wretched squire himself, we will make the father suffer in his stead." 

     "I hear that his son hath joined that villainous robber and murderer, Robin Hood," said the justice. "Sheriff," he went on, turning to that officer, "you must take strong measures to root out that band of vipers who haunt Barnisdale. He hath not only, as I hear, slain Sir Ranulf of the Waste, but he hath burnt down his castle also." 

     "Far be it from me, sir justice," said the prior boldly, "to take the part of so great a robber, but what he hath done, hath been done by barons and lords of our county within this last year, and none of them ever received punishment from thee or from any of the king's justices!" 

     Sir Niger glared fiercely at the prior and muttered something under his red beard. The king's justice looked angrily at the speaker and could find nothing to say, for he knew it was true that when powerful knights Such as de Belame and Sir Niger did evil, their wealth and their influence shielded them from punishment. 

     "This I know," said the abbot hastily, "that if Sir Herbrand of Werrisdale doth not come with four hundred pounds ere this day be done, he loses his land and is utterly disinherited." 

     "It is still very early," said the prior, "for the day hath but half gone. It is a great pity that he should lose his land. His son slew the knight, Sir Ivo, in fair fight, and ye do Sir Herbrand much wrong so to oppress him. He is but a poor man with no powerful friends to aid him." 

     "Thou art ever against me, thou quarrelsome man," said the abbot, and his heavy face went red with anger. "I never say aught but thou dost contradict me." 

     "I would have no more than justice done against high and low, knight or villein," said the prior sturdily. 

     Just then there came in the high cellarer, the officer who looked to the provisions which had to be supplied to the abbey. He was so corpulent in body and red in face that it almost seemed that he partook more than was good of the food and drink over which he had control. 

     "Ha! ha!" he said, and laughed in a fat wheezy way; "this is the day when Sir Herbrand de Tranmire must lose his land if he pay us not four hundred pounds. I'll dare swear that he is dead or hanged, and will not come hither, and so we'll have his land." 

     "I dare well undertake with thee," said the justice, "that the knight will not come today. And as I did lend thee some of the four hundred pounds, I count that I gain more than I sent thee, seeing that the knight's lands are worth much more than what they are pledged for." 

     "Ye say right," said the abbot. "We be all sharers in the land of the knight except Sir Niger, and he seeks revenge alone." 

     "Come you now to meat," said the cellarer, and he led the way to the wide hall, where all the company sat down to a rich meal, served on silver platters by pages in fine attire. They laughed and jested as they ate, for they felt sure that the knight could not pay the money he owed, and therefore they would all make a great profit out of his land. 

     In the middle of their feasting there came the knight himself into the hall. He looked sad and sorrowful, and was dressed not in the rich clothes which Robin had given him, but in his old and worn garments. Behind him came Little John, clothed like a poor squire, in patched and soiled jerkin and ragged hose. 

     
