The Chronicles of Robin Hood (17 page)

Preparations for the morning meal were going on, but save for the hurrying servants, who were setting out horn beakers and platters of crusty bread upon the long tables, there were few people about; for the men-at-arms had
scattered to their various tasks and duties, and most of the outlaws had gone with them, preferring to be out-of-doors on such a beautiful morning.

‘An ugly wound, lad,’ said Robin, frowning. ‘And it must be sorely painful.’

‘Aye, it’s a bit sharp,’ agreed Little John, catching his breath as Robin dipped a wad of linen into the bowl of water beside him, and began to clean the wound.

Sir Richard had come quietly into the hall, and halted beside the wounded man. ‘Here’s an end to your fine plan of leaving my roof this day—or for several days to come,’ he said quietly.

Robin looked up, blinking as the sunlight, slanting down through a nearby lancet window, shone into his eyes and dazzled him. ‘No, my friend, the lad will do well enough in our own stronghold.’

‘And how will you get him there?’

‘Why,’ said Robin, smiling, ‘Little John is a trifle large and heavy, to be sure, but he is not so heavy that four of us cannot carry him on a litter.’

And in a litter of freshly cut green branches, with Scarlet and Brand, Gilbert and Robin Hood for his litter-bearers, Little John was presently carried forth from the castle of Linden Lea. Sir Richard and his lady had done their best to prevail upon Robin to stay with them at least until Little John’s fever was passed; but the outlaw leader was resolved to rid the castle of his dangerous presence as soon as might be, and he remained firm in his resolve.

The sun was rising high above the ramparts when the outlaw band, with Little John lying very flat and long on his litter, went down through the rose-garden of the
castle to the narrow track which led towards the nearest arm of the forest.

As they crossed the open country between castle and woodshore, they kept a keen look-out for any sign of the sheriff’s men, but not a human creature did they see, save a whistling villein driving a heavy plough behind a team of eight oxen, who turned to gape and grin at them as they passed; and soon the shelter of the forest was gained, and the tree-boles rose all around them. Deeper and deeper they struck into the heart of Clumber Forest, travelling at a steady wolf-lope, and stopping every now and then to change litter bearers, for it was close and breathless in the forest, where the thick canopy of branches shut out the air as well as the sunshine.

Towards evening they came out into the wide glade below Dunwold Scar, and Alan, Reynold, Hugh, and Will Stukely, who were carrying Little John, set their burden down thankfully beside the scar of the old cooking fire, and mopped their brows. The fire-scar was fresh and dark, and there was dry wood ready to hand, for the outlaws had slept in their winter quarters on the night before the sheriff’s archery contest, and had meant to return there on their way north to Barnesdale. So a fire was quickly kindled, and coarse flour and salt meat fetched from their hidden store, and the cooks set to work. Twilight deepened to dusk, and the full golden moon of summer lifted above the tree-tops and shone down upon the leaping flames of the camp fire and the men who sat around it with their bows beside them.

The outlaws had exchanged their many-coloured homespun for well-worn Lincoln green; they had supped on broiled salt venison and little hot wheaten cakes, and now
they were enjoying the quiet hour before it was time to crawl into the dry ferny bedding in the caves above them, and sleep.

Little John sat with his back comfortably propped against the sloping turf-bank, staring rather hazily at the moon; while beside him, Robin sat forward, hands locked round updrawn knees, gazing into the fire.

The rest were talking idly among themselves, talking over the happenings of the day before, making plans for future days in Barnesdale Forest. Diggery fidgeted from time to time with the bandage on his arm. Will Scarlet had produced a battered dice box, and he and Goldsbrough were dicing against each other with chips of birch bark for the stakes.

Presently Much got up, yawning and stretching, and climbed up into the mouth of the nearest cave. Little by little, others followed him. Robin and Will Scarlet lifted Little John between them, and carrying him into the cave, set him down on a pile of dry fern.

The embers of the camp fire died down into grey ash, and all was quiet in the broad glade below Dunwold Scar.

Next morning Gilbert set off northward through the forest to carry news of the shooting party to the rest of the band; and after he had gone the camp at Dunwold Scar settled down to wait until Little John’s wound should be well enough for him to travel. And it seemed that they might have a long wait before them.

For several days Little John was direly sick, and lay in a high fever, tossing restlessly on his bed of fern, while Robin nursed him as tenderly as any woman could have done, and Much and Scarlet were never far from his side.
And when at last the fever left him, he was, as he said with disgust, as weak as a half-drowned rabbit.

More than a week after the shooting for the Silver Arrow, the outlaw band was gathered in Dunwold Glade waiting for supper. It was yet early in the evening, and there were several hours of daylight left; but they had hunted the day before and had no need to hunt again until the morrow; nor did they need, just then, to hold up any rich traveller for his gold or gear; and it was a close, steamy day, with thunder in the air—the sort of day when it is pleasanter to stay quiet than to move about. So any travellers that there were passed unmolested up and down the long straight road from Nottingham to Doncaster, and below Dunwold Scar the wood-rangers sprawled on the warm turf, many of them clad only in a rough kilt belted round the middle with a raw-hide strap.

The hum of a myriad insects filled the close air beneath the trees, and the little, green and bronze grasshoppers chirred ceaselessly among the grass-stems. The outlaws were feeling too blissfully lazy even to think. Little John lay flat on his back under a young birch tree that had rooted itself on the very threshold of the main cave, staring up at the pattern of the leaves against the blue summer sky, and whistling sleepily. Much and Scarlet had caught two grasshoppers and were having a race with them. Sometimes a man would slap at a stinging horsefly, or roll over to make himself even more comfortable than before. Very occasionally the cooks for the day bestirred themselves to attend to the venison stew. Nothing else moved or sounded in the broad glade.

Then, in the warm silence there sounded sharply the cry of a young tawny owl early at his hunting. Instantly
everyone was listening. Reynold was on guard-duty beyond the hazel scrub that closed the end of the glade, and it was his signal that they had heard. Someone was coming.

Robin raised his head from his arms and gave an answering cry—‘Kee-wik, kee-wik.’ Then he sat up, and getting quickly to his feet, stood listening for the next signal. There was a moment’s pause, and then the rap of a woodpecker hammering on a tree bole. Two raps, it gave; no more. That meant two people. Robin gave a low whistle with an odd shake at the end, which meant ‘Let them pass.’

All over the glade men were bestirring themselves, scrambling up and reaching their bows. The drowsy peace of the evening was broken, and everyone was wide awake and on the alert for whatever might happen.

Between the boles of the oak trees showed the blue flicker of a woman’s dress and the white mane of a palfrey; and the next moment out into the glade rode Sir Richard’s wife, the Lady Elizabeth, with Diccon the archer loping along at her stirrup. She glanced about her swiftly at the green-clad figures of the outlaws, and seeing Robin, urged her palfrey towards him in frantic haste.

He strode forward to aid her to dismount, and scarcely waiting for his steadying hand, she slid down from the saddle and turned towards him with a gesture of entreaty.

‘Oh, thanks be to Our Lady you have not gone north!’ she cried. ‘Robin Hood, if you are my husband’s true friend, save him from the scaffold!’

‘The scaffold?’ exclaimed Robin. ‘That is an ill word, Madam. What has happened?’

‘After you left us, we went to our hunting lodge at Woodstock, my husband and I,’ said she, speaking low and hurriedly. ‘The sheriff must have followed us, biding his time. May he burn for it, though he
is
but the creature of the accursed monks and the robber barons that the king’s brother has let loose on the land! This evening, as my husband was hawking by the river, and Simon D’Aubernoun with him, the sheriff and his men came out of the chase and called to him to surrender to them. I saw it all from the window of my bower; it was over in a moment, though Simon felled two of the men before his hands were bound; and he and my lord were taken captive and borne off towards Nottingham. And as soon as they were gone, I came to you—Diccon knew the way—to beg you to save my husband; for indeed he will find no mercy at the hands of those devils, and would ask for none!’

A savage exclamation made Robin look round quickly, and Alan was standing beside him, his eyes very bright in a bleak grey face. ‘Steady, lad,’ Robin said quickly, and turned back to the Lady Elizabeth. ‘How long since did this happen?’ he demanded. His own face had grown very grim, and he was tightening his belt as he spoke.

‘Scarcely two hours ago. They can only be five or six miles on their way as yet.’

Robin nodded, and spoke to his men, who had gathered round him. ‘Get your bows, lads, broadswords and bucklers. Much, see to the issue of arrows. We march for Clumber Forest at once!’

Instantly there began an ordered hurrying to and fro, as men collected their weapons and pulled on their discarded tunics. Alan lingered a moment to touch his
mother’s hand, and then strode away to collect his issue of clothyard arrows. Under his birch tree Little John was sitting bolt upright and staring gloomily in front of him; for he dearly loved a fight, and it was hard to miss this one. Robin glanced at him with understanding and then turned back to the Lady Elizabeth, who stood with hands clasped, eagerly watching the preparations as they went forward.

‘Madam,’ said Robin, ‘will you go home again now, or will you wait here until we return? You will be safe enough here in Dunwold Scar, with the caves for your shelter should the need arise—safer than in Woodstock, maybe.’

‘I will wait here,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘I could not endure to go home until I know that my husband is safe.’

‘Then here is soft turf and a cool shade for your comfort, and Little John to bear you company.’ And holding out his hand to her, Robin led her across the glade to the side of the wounded outlaw, who, unable to rise by reason of his wound, and having no cap to doff, bent his yellow head to her in all courtesy.

Diccon had looped the palfrey’s bridle over a low-hanging branch, and now came after Robin, saying respectfully: ‘Master, I be wanting clothyard arrows. There be only deer-bolts in my quiver, for I had no time to fetch others before we set out.’

Robin looked down at the little man. ‘Are you coming with us then? But what says your mistress to that?’

Diccon turned his head to look pleadingly at the Lady Elizabeth, who nodded, saying: ‘Go with Master Robin.’

‘Go to Much-the-Miller’s-Son, over yonder,’ Robin said; ‘and he will fit you out with all you need.’

Almost before the words were out of Robin’s mouth Diccon was off in hot haste towards the little brown wood-ranger who stood in the mouth of the store cave issuing the deadly clothyard shafts to the men who thronged about him.

Robin bent his head courteously to Sir Richard’s Lady. ‘Keep a good heart, Madam,’ said he gently. ‘We will bring your husband safely back to you.’ He turned away and went to join his men.

Will-the-Bowman had found time to stable the palfrey, and all was ready. A few moments later the broad glade was empty; four-and-twenty men had sunk into the green gloaming of the forest, as though they had never existed.

For a long moment the lady stood still, gazing at the place where they had disappeared; then she gave a long, quivering sigh, and gathering the blue folds of her skirts close about her, sank down upon the bank.

‘Will they save my husband?’ she asked desperately.

Little John, who had also been gazing—rather wistfully—after the rest of the band, turned to her, saying simply: ‘Robin promised to save your husband. I have never known him fail in a promise.’

The outlaw band pressed southward with all speed, travelling in single file. The heat of the day was passing, and the creatures of the wild that had slept through the long hot hours were beginning to wake and go about their business in the cool of the evening. In the open glades, deer cropped contentedly at the short turf, springing away at the approach of the passing humans, and returning to their cropping again two minutes later, as peacefully as before. There was a ceaseless fluttering of small birds among the upper branches; and far and near, all
across broad Sherwood, blackbird and thrush carolled their evening hymns in the upper sunshine, while in the cool shade among the tree-trunks squirrels lilted from branch to branch, and rabbits thumped and scampered on the turf.

And through all this busy life of the forest went Robin Hood and his outlaw band, heading for the Nottingham road, south of Worksop.

It was still broad daylight in the clearings when they passed from the chestnut trees of Southern Sherwood into the great oaks of Clumber Forest, but in the narrow rides it was dusk already; it was never daylight there, even at high noon. So closely did the huge oak trees stand together (oaks that were old when the Roman Legions paved their long road through the forest and called it Irming Street) and so heavy were the layers of interlacing branches overhead, that the sunshine never reached the forest floor, save here and there in single flakes and lances of gold; and there was no sound save the droning of insects, for few birds made their homes in that part of Clumber Forest.

The outlaws were nearing the end of their journey now, and they moved cautiously, for they were not far from the edge of the forest. Their feet made no sound on the cushiony moss with which the ground was covered, and they might have been four-and-twenty ghosts as they passed in utter silence between the crowding tree-trunks. On they went, swift and silent, threading the dark forest ways, and came at last to the edge of the Nottingham road. Here, among the dense scrub of hazel, dogwood, and wayfaring-trees that bordered the steep grass verge, they halted and stood waiting.