"That you will never do," answered Stuteley, with prophecy, in his weak voice. "But unbind my hands, Sheriff, for your soul's sake, and let me meet my end valiantly."

"To the gallows with him!" roared Monceux, giving the sign to the executioner; and Stuteley was hustled into the rude cart which was to bear him under the gallows until his neck had been leashed. Then it would be drawn roughly away and the unhappy man would swing out over the tail of it into another world.

Two fellows had great knives with them ready to cut him down, and quarter his body whilst life was in it, as the cruel sentence had ordained.

"Let me, at the least, shrive this man's soul ere it be hurled into eternity," said the palmer, stepping forward.

Monceux's face grew black with rage; and yet he scarcely liked to refuse, for fear it should injure him too much in the eyes of the people. "Perform the duty quickly then, Sir Priest," he snarled; and then rode back to Carfax. "Watch the palmer narrowly," he told him, "and do you secure him afterwards. Methinks he is some ally of these rascal outlaws; and, in any case, we shall do no harm in questioning him."

The palmer had hardly begun to string his beads when Little John commenced to elbow a path for himself through the crowd. He roughly thrust the soldiers aside as if they had been so many children, and came up to the edge of the cart. "I pray you, Will, take leave of your true friend here before you die," cried Little John.

The palmer had fallen back at his approach; and stood in some hesitancy.

In a moment Monceux saw what happened. "Seize that man!" he shouted to his pikemen. "He is that villain who did rob us of our gold plate, who nearly slew Roger, our cook. He is of the band--seize him; and he too shall hang!"

"Not so fast, gossip," Little John answered, with an ugly look; "I must needs borrow my friend of you for a while."

He had cut Stuteley's bands with two quick strokes of his dagger, and having wrenched a pike from out of one of the soldiers' hands, flung it to little Will. "Now, by my freedom, here's your prayer answered, comrade," cried Little John. "I have found you a weapon--do your best with it!"

The soldiers had recovered from their temporary surprise and flung themselves upon the prisoner and his would-be rescuer. Robin, from the back of the Sheriff's bowmen, sounded his horn, and instantly all became confusion and riot. In the melee the palmer sought to slip away unnoticed, but was detected by the keen eyes of Carfax. Master Simeon rode round with six of his fellows and caused them to seize the holy man, and bind him fast with leathern thongs.

But this small success was more than outweighed by the reverse suffered by Monceux and his men. Taken in a.s.sault at the rear, they had no chance with the greenwood men. Robin himself had released the widow's three sons, and they had not been slow in arming themselves. Some of those in the crowd, having secret sympathy with the outlaws and hating the Sheriff heartily for many small injustices, also flung themselves into the fray.

The greenwood men cleared the green square before the Sheriff's home by repeated rushes and desperate chargings. Broken heads and cut knees there were in plenty; and lucky the man who escaped with so little as these. Carfax won a place of safety for Master Monceux, and fell back slowly, with him the unwilling palmer, until shelter of the castle gates had been attained. Then the soldiers and pikemen grew very valiant, and shot out clouds of arrows, through the loopholes in the castle towers, upon townsmen and rioters alike.

Half a score of men were killed ere this day was ended, amongst them being that very apprentice who had wrestled on the day of Nottingham Fair with little Stuteley, the tumbler, for Squire o' th' Hall's purse.

Robin had an arrow through his hand, and nigh broke the shaft in pulling it out.

The greenwood men, well satisfied with the day's work, commenced an orderly retreat. Little John lowered the bridge for them, when they reached the city gates, and all fell back into Sherwood in good style.

Stuteley had been rescued, and walked joyfully by the side of his master. Next to him was Little John, and near him the widow's three sons. They had already asked for and obtained permission to take up a free life in the woods of Sherwood.

Two of the band had been killed by the murderous arrows of the Sheriff's fellows, and most of the outlaws bore wounds of some sort. Yet they were not cast down. Sorrow sat upon them for the loss of those two brave hearts, but for their own hurts they cared naught. The bodies of their comrades were being carried with them into the free and happy woods, and there should find rest.

"Tell me, Midge," said Robin, presently, and looking round for him, "what did become of the palmer who was so wishing to be of service to our Stuteley? He seemed a likeable old man, and I would not that we should seem ungrateful."

"I much fear me that Monceux's fellows did capture him, the same who bore off thee, Will," said Midge. "But they will scarcely do him hurt, being a holy man."

"I have no trust in either of them," Robin answered, vexed, "and I am grievously angry with you, Midge, for keeping this news to yourself.

The palmer must be recovered from Monceux, and at once. I will bethink me upon some plan to this end."

They walked on in silence. After a while, "I ne'er thought, master,"

said Stuteley, brokenly, "that I should see these woods again--nor meet Little John, either in quarrel or in friendship, nor see any of your dear faces again."

"By my crown, which is the hardest part of me," Little John cried, "I swear that in future you shall meet me how you will, gossip. Here's my hand on it."

Thus began the great friendship between these two, which was to last them all their days. Robin was glad enough of it; but the doubtful fate of the palmer still troubled him sorely. If he had known then that bitter truth which he was to learn very shortly he would have ridden back forthwith into Nottingham town, there to end this story at once.

Life had, however, many years and queer twists in it yet for Robin Hood of Barnesdale.

CHAPTER XXIV

The time of Nottingham Fair had come round once more, and again the Sheriff would give a prize. Monceux determined to make the prize a good one, such as might tempt any archer. He hoped thus that Robin might be lured into Nottingham.

He smiled to himself in grim satisfaction, and rubbed his hands softly together. To tell truth, he had been expecting Robin any moment during these last ten days, and had wondered why he had not come. The palmer should have proved a bait in himself, so the Sheriff imagined.

But Robin only learned on the eve of the Fair the whole truth about that holy man.

It was in this way. For ten nights had Robin waited at the trysting place for sight of Marian; and had waited in vain.

At last doubt grew into suspicion, and suspicion into fierce terror. Had Marian been abducted by Monceux, and did the Squire fear to tell him?

On the night before the Fair he took courage and marched up to the castle entrance, then wound his horn for the bridge to be lowered. Now, if Monceux could but have known, Robin would have been easy prey.

He rushed across the bridge soon as it had fallen, clangingly, upon the b.u.t.tresses. The same old servant met him at the gates, holding it open just a little way so that he might peer forth. Robin pulled his cloak about himself.

"I would see Master Montfichet, and at once," he began.

"My master is in London," replied the man, eyeing him.

"Did he journey alone? Did not Mistress Fitzwalter go with him? When did they go?"

Robin's questions came all of a rush. "My master hath been gone near two weeks. He went alone from here. But tell me who you are, clamoring so noisily with your questioning?"

"I am Robin Hood," said Robin, in desperation, "and now, for the love of Heaven, give me news of Mistress Fitzwalter."

"She left here on the day after my lord's departure."

"Hath left Gamewell?" Robin gasped. "How? In what way?"

The man sn.i.g.g.e.red. "To tell truth, excellence, she did leave us in strange guise. I have pondered more than ever upon the ways of women since the day. Mistress would have our maids make her a monk's gown, and I was bid to fashion her a staff such as these palmers carry in their hands. Then with sandalled feet----"

"Did she go forth from here upon the day of the rioting in Nottingham, when Stuteley and the others escaped?"

"It was upon the morning of that day," the man replied; "and I promise you, we have not seen her since."

Robin turned abruptly from him. Next minute he was running blindly under the night towards the city gates.

The Sheriff's prize had been announced far and wide. For the best archer there was an Arab horse, coal-black and worth a bag of gold, and with the horse there would be a saddle of silver and fine leather. Also a silk purse, worked by the demoiselle Marie, containing a hundred pieces.

There were other rewards for the quarter-staff and single-stick, but this year there would be no tourney.

It was a fete-day, and folk crowded into Nottingham by all gates. These had been lowered hospitably and were to remain down all day. The stages had been erected for quarter-staff.

There was a fellow, one Nat of Nottingham, who was believed to be the finest player at the game for many miles around. Several had tried their skill with Nat, but he had soon knocked every man of them off the stage rudely to the ground. He began boasting then of his prowess, and called them all cowardly and the like.