Robin Hood - Paul Creswick (the best motivational books .TXT) 📗

"I will give you four pieces of gold for it," said Robin.

The butcher stopped his thin horse at once. "Take the reins then, master," cried he, joyfully; "the cart and all is yours for the sum! Pay it to me, and I will go back into Locksley forthwith."

"Do you come from that village, friend?" asked Robin, as he paid over the gold, "and are you not afraid to ride through Sherwood alone?"

"You are strange to this country, friend," answered the jolly butcher, "else you would know that now our Sherwood is free as air to all men. The outlaws and wicked ones have all been driven out of it."

"Is this indeed so? Truly I am rejoiced at the news. And Locksley—is not the Ranger there now dead, and his house burned? I do misremember his name."

"Master Fitzooth is dead and lieth in Locksley ground. Also his son, wild Robin, is no more. He gave himself early to the outlaw band, and was slain. We have a new Ranger at Locksley, one Adam of Kirklees, a worthy man and a generous. I thank you for your gold: now take my load and may fortune befriend you."

"God rest you, butcher," answered Robin, laughing, as the other turned on his heel and began his song once more. "Stay—stay—I have a thought," he called out after the butcher. "How can I sell meat in this garb?"

The other paused and scratched his head doubtfully.

"I'll give you another piece for your clothes, friend," said Robin, persuasively. "Is it a bargain?"

"I'll do it for another piece," said the butcher. "Ay, and think myself fortunate. This is a very happy day, for sure. Strip yourself, beggar; and you can hand your purse over to me with the rags if you care to!"

Robin laughed again and shook his head. The change was soon effected, and within ten minutes he was leading his spavined horse toward the gates of Nottingham. In the distance he could hear the butcher's loud song losing itself in the forest sounds.

He smeared his face with grease and earth and rubbed his hair awry ere daring to enter the city. Boldly he led his shuffling horse to the market and there took up his place. He had no notion of the price to ask, and the folk, finding him so foolish and easy a man, soon began to crowd about the cart.

Robin gave as much for a penny as the other butchers did for five or six when his customer was poor. If he seemed to be a prosperous citizen who would buy, Robin had quite another price for him.

The butchers about him could not quite understand these novel methods: but they saw with envy that the harebrained fellow was selling all his meat. His loud voice and foolish gestures made them think him some crazy loon who had slipped off with his good man's cart. They entered into conversation with him, and found his witless speech most entertaining.

They had all been bidden to a supper in the Sheriff's buttery that night, this being holiday-time; and they begged Robin to join with them, hoping to have no little amusement from him. With a vacant stare he agreed to eat the Sheriff's mutton.

All the time he had sharp eyes and long ears; but could find out nothing of the Sheriff's plans, nor happen on sight of Mistress Fitzwalter. When they were sitting down to the supper in Monceux's buttery he perceived towering high amongst the Sheriff's servants the figure of Master Little John.

"So, friend, my visit here has not been vain," thought Robin, grimly. "Now we shall see and hear things, no doubt." He settled himself to an attack upon the viands, and played his part with the Sheriff's ale, not forgetting to keep up the attitude of foolishness he had adopted in the market.

The laughter grew long and loud, and presently the Sheriff himself came down. He made them a speech and gave a toast. My lord of Hereford, looking very pale and limp, also came into the buttery for a space and made them a Latin grace.

Then Monceux told them, with bristling eyebrows, how he had been instructed by the Bishop of Hereford that the pestilent evil bands whose power had once been broken had re-formed in Sherwood. The Sheriff re-stated the reward to be given for the head of any malefactor and disturber of their laws, as ordered by Prince John; and said further that in a few days he was going to despatch his men into and about the forest to satisfy the Bishop. "Whilst I am preparing my fellows, there is a chance for all honest citizens and burgesses to earn a fair sum. My lord of Hereford will add his reward to the man who shall recover his money to him, or part of it; and I will give such man freedom from all taxes and levies," added the Sheriff, importantly.

Robin wondered whether Little John had spoken of the company. While he was eyeing darkly the burly figure of Master Nailor, the latter came over to him under a pretence of filling Robin's glass.

"By my skin, Locksley," whispered the giant into his startled ear, "this is a foolish adventure! Your head is as good as off your shoulders in this place. Hasten to leave it soon as you can, for fear the Bishop may know you as I have done."

Robin only stared in his new half-vacant manner. Little John moved away to another part of the room. Hard questions formed themselves in Robin's mind—how had Little John known him? Stranger still, why did not my lord of Hereford recognize Master John Little Nailor? He had been foremost in the business with the Bishop. Robin recollected, all at once, that when the Bishop had briefly come in to bless the supper, Little John had gone out hurriedly with some dishes.

That was it, no doubt; but a mystery still remained. Robin decided to pierce it ere the night was done. Some of the guests were far gone in their cups, already; and Monceux had given over the buttery to the butchers for the night. "I'll stay here then," decided Robin; and, pretending to be suddenly overcome by the strong ale, he tumbled himself down upon the rush-strewn floor.

He set up a great snoring, until Little John, taking him by the heels, dragged him through the kitchen into a little larder, and there shut the door on him. "Lie there, nasty pig," cried Little John from outside with disgusted air, for his fellow-servants to note. "Lie there in a clean sty for once; and if you grunt again I will surely souse you under the pump!" At this threat Robin's snores abated somewhat in their violence.

"I would drop him into the river forthwith," spoke a harsh voice, startling Robin into fierce astonishment. There was no mistaking those tones: so cruel, so false, so malicious. "Roger and Micah—Micah and Roger." One of these two villains it was of a surety! But Robin had seen them both slain on the day of that battle wherein poor Will of Cloudesley had perished?

Trembling with amazement, he cautiously got upon his knees and peeped through the keyhole. In the flagged kitchen, amidst the reek of hot foods and disordered dishes, were two men—one of them Little John. The other was dressed as a cook, and as he turned his face towards the light of the fire Robin knew him for one of the two traitor outlaws. He had changed little.

Little John answered his remark over his shoulder: "You would do many a rash thing, Roger, if you could," was all he said; but he spoke in sneering tone.

"Ay, marry; and one thing I would do, right instantly, dear gossip," said Roger, busying himself with the dishes. Robin saw that they shone like gold in the ruddy light of the fire. "I would not have you as helpmate in this kitchen had I the ordering of matters. Big hands and heavy hands and thieving hands. Ah, I need not be wizard to know them when I see them!"

"You shall feel them, little Roger," said Little John, very angry. And he soundly cuffed the cook about the head. Roger snarlingly drew back and snatched up a dish. Full viciously he flung it at Little John, and after it another and another.

The first struck the giant's shoulder and fell clattering upon the red tiles. The second dish struck Little John as he recoiled and cut his forehead and head. Blood ran down instantly over his cheek. The third smashed itself against the wall harmlessly. Drawing in his breath, Little John commenced a long chase of his foe, who had raced off to the other side of the table.