Five marks, Indeed!

Here's, at the least, a hundred marks in gold!

ABBOT

That is my fees, my fees; you must not take them!

ROBIN

The ancient miracle!--five loaves, two small fishes; And then--of what remained--they gathered up Twelve basketsful!

ABBOT

Oh, you blaspheming villains!

ROBIN

Abbot, I chance to know how this was wrought, This miracle; wrought with the blood, anguish and sweat Of toiling peasants, while the cobwebs cl.u.s.tered Around your lordly cellars of red wine.

Give him his five and let him go.

ABBOT

[_Going out._]

The King Shall hear of this! The King will hunt you down!

ROBIN

And now--the next!

SCARLET

Beseech you, sir, to rest, Your wound will--

ROBIN

No! The next, show me the next!

SCARLET

This Norman baron--

ROBIN

What, another friend!

Another master of broad territories.

How many homes were burned to make you lord Of half a shire? What hath he in his purse?

SCARLET

Gold and to spare!

BARON

To keep up mine estate I need much more.

ROBIN

[_Pointing to the poor._]

Ay, you need these! these! these!

BARON

[_Protesting._]

I am not rich.

ROBIN

Look in his purse and see.

BARON

You dogs, the King shall hear of it!

ROBIN

[_Murmuring as if to himself._]

Five loaves!

And yet, of what remained, they gathered up Twelve basketsful. The bread of human kindness Goes far! Oh, I begin to see new meanings In that old miracle! How much? How much?

SCARLET

Five hundred marks in gold!

ROBIN

[_Half rising and speaking with a sudden pa.s.sion._]

His churls are starving, Starving! Their little children cry for bread!

One of those jewels on his baldric there Would feed them all in plenty all their lives!

Five loaves--and yet--and yet--of what remained, The fragments, mark you, twelve great basketsful!

BARON

I am in a madman's power! The man is mad!