Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 98 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

—— TTT ll = = ————— - —— ee remanm 4 Prince _xinst my nephew Robin? Remember that the ‘king was his godfather, and that the Earl of Huntington and young John were play- mates once.” ‘But hast thou any way to set the | Roger Warman smiled in turn, a foxy, almost. wolfish grin, suggestive of licking the chaps over a fat lamb about to be devoured. He looked foxy at the best of times, this steward of the Earldom of Huntington, with his red hair and sharp nose, his twinkling eyes and cunning expression, His make, long, Jean and muscular, was also like that of a fox, and had he been a soldier, he might have made a good one. As it was, his avarice led him, in a day when the profession of arms was the only one called hon- orable, to become a lawyer and bury his nose in reut-rolls and bills of charges to fill his own pockets. ‘The way to set the two at odds is not long a-finding,” he observed to the abbot. ‘The Earl hath long loved the Lady Marian, Lord Fitz Walter’s daughter, and the prince hath ‘ast an eye of favor the same way. They will both meet to-day, and the lady with them, so twill be strange if we cannot put strife between them.” The abbot nodded his head slowly, and turned again to look at the parclument. ‘* A thousand marks—four thousand pounds,” he muttered. ‘‘ We never lent him that much, Roger.” ‘‘ Holy abbot,” said the steward, in smooth, oily tones, ‘‘ it is not good that we should take the funds of the chureh and lend them to an un- godly reprobate, such as Robin, Earl of Hunt- ington, without requiring interest for the use of the same, and further interest again when that is unpaid. The treasury of Fountain Abbey was always open to him when I came to borrow for his needs, and it is meet that’ Fountain Abbey should possess his lands now that he hath wasted his substance in riotous living.” Again the abbot nodded his head slowly and stretched out his feet to a more comfortable | He was content to ac- | position before the fire. cept the steward’s arguments without any question, He had been guardian to his nephew, tobin Fitzooth, Earl of Huntington, since the infancy of the boy; and in all that time the ear! had been living, unknown to himself, on money lent by his guardian, instead of the dues of his retainers. The consequences were double: the retainers, living free for so long, adored the young earl who had released them from taxes, as they thought; but the estates of Huntington melted away day by day, as the careless boy, ignorant of writing, made his mark to deed after deed at his uncle’s biddirg, tlll the time had arrived at last when Robin Fitzooth, at his majority, was an earl without an earldom: an expert in every exercise of the military art, but guiltless of letters; a huntsman of the best, and the strongest youth in Nottinghamshire, but owning not a rood of land he could call his own under the law. ‘‘It is well that the prodigal should be pun- ished, Master Warman,” the abbot observed, in a satisfied tone. ‘‘The Abbot of Fountain Ab- bey can take better care of these broad lands than the madcap archer that ranges Sherwood like a clown afoot, instead of wielding the lance in tourney, as a knight should.” ‘Tis the blood of the Lady Roisia that makes him love the churl’s porridge rather than the knight’s pastry,” said Warman, sententiously. ‘“The Saxons are still thick in this country, and the earl loves it to be said that he is one of them. He wears his nair long, as they have the custom among their nobles, and goes afoot where other nobles ride.” . “The blood of Roisia—Waltheof of Northum- berland’s daughter—a Saxon to the backbone,” muttered the abbot; and the color rose to his cheeks, for he also was of Saxon blood, and strove to hide it on all occasions. Warman, who was of Norman-French birth, noted the change in his patron’s countenance, and smiled to himself as he covered the abbot with unctuous flattery. ‘Not that I say anything against Saxon blood,” he pursued, ‘* when it is not made plain to all the world that a man is proud of HA cies ing to the English race. They were beaten at Hastings, and any man who is proud of them ean consort with them for all me. But it boots not to talk of him now, for an ye wish he will be no earl by to-morrow’s dawn.” ‘‘ Canst.thou do it for me, Roger?’ asked the prior, in a tone of desire, mingled with caution. “Ay, well can I, my lord abbot, said the steward, with a low bow. “I lack but one thing,” ‘« And what is that?” asked the abbot. uneasily, |} and two sumpter-mules —_—-——-_- -erxwvwmnwn— Or SC -- —_—_—_- ——_—_- .000wv_l aI ————— — ee ee ———— Robin Hood opin OOd., for there was soraething in the other’s tone that sounded a litte strange. ‘‘My payment,” said the stewart, quietly. ‘And how much lackest thou?” asked the abbot, with his eyes still fixed on the burning logs as if in a fit of absence of mind. “*T lack the spurs of knighthood and an es- tate,” replied Warman, boldly. ‘‘ My fathers were good men and true at Hastings, but they went afoot. [Ihave given into your hands the broad lands of Huntington and Barnesdale; I need the manor of Tring and to be knighted, that the prince may make me High Sherif of | | that he had attained the honor of knighthood, | as he had, for it was as Sir Roger Warman Nottingham. If your reverence and grace will not do this for me, I can go to the earl and tell him how he hath been wronged by me and others, and then he will go to the justicers and eet his lands once more,” ‘Enough, Warman, enough,” said the abbot, lifting his hand to check the other's volubility. ‘‘Thou shalt be a knight an I can compass it, and sheriff thereafter.’ ‘*] know I can depend on my noble patron,” said the steward, bowing low and obsequiously, “My lord shall have his desire to-morrow, for | will have the writs made out to sign by the prince to-day. Were I your lordship, | would go to visit the Lord Fitz Walter. tY may be well to show the baron that his interests are dear to the church, Besides, the prince will be there, and ’tis more than like that our galliard Huntington will be there, too. Who knows what may happen?” The abbot shifted uneasily in his seat. “Thowrt right, Warman, thou’rt right,” he said. ‘Call brother Ignatius and tell him to saddle the mules, and we will goat once. This boy may get the ear of his grace else; and then all our pains are in vain.” —— ee eee a -— ——- —_ Roger Warman took up a small bell on the — table and rung it sharply, when it was answered by a lay brother, who came humbly in to see his superior, “Go bid the mules be prepared, brother,” said the abbot, in the cold, stately manner he always practiced toward his inferiors in rank, * Let Mather Ambrose, the cellarer, come with me, with apparel, for we shall be Lone several days.” Brother Ignatius bowed low in silence and left the room, when the abbot turned again vo considering the figures of the parchment which he held, which was nothing more than the ac- count of the Huntington estate, showing it to be in debt to Fountain Abbey for a thousand marks. The two worthies seemed never to be tired of comparing notes over this document, and began forthwith to concoct measures how to extort money from the retainers as soon as they should be in legal possession of the estates. While they discussed this, the wine in the flagon began to diminish, for the abbot could be liberal on occasion, and by the time Father Ambrose, the fat cellarer, came waddling into the room behind his protuberant stomach, the bottle needed to be replenished. Then Father Ambrose disturbed them both as he came in by his exclamation: ‘* Now, by St. Charles of Tours, thou shouldst look from the window, brother Gilbert, this morning, to see the brave show go by. Yonder is the Prince John and the Bishop of Ely him- self, passing.” Abbot Gilbert jumped up with unwonted agility and ran to the window. As he did s0, the clear, ringing notes of a hunting-horn sounded from the meadows of Fountain Abbey, and he looked down. There was the embroider- ed banner of the Lord Chancellor Bishop of Kly, side by side with the three leopards pas- sant of the house of Plantagenet. Abbot Gil- bert saw that his opportunity had arrived. CHAPTER IIL. THE FORESTERS. Two days after Prince John rode past Foun- tain Abbey and on the same day in which | Seathelock fought with the young earl, a party —— of fifteen men lay on the grass by the edge of Sherwood Forest, where the Nottingham road runs through. They talked together loudly and carelessly, and swigged brandywein from their leathern flasks. They wore steel morions on their heads and steel gorgets to protect neck and shoulders, but they were otherwise unpro- vided with defensive armor save a quilted green tunic. that might turn the eut of asword. For weapons, each man wore a broadsword at his side, and carried a quarter-staff in his hand. By those familiar with the marks in medieval attire these men would be recognized. as the servitors of some great lord, and the three leopards of ————E——E=_sS 6S eS een —— | - . _ ---——o— - — -- =_ 3 gold worked on their breasts were the bearings of the house of Plantagenet. As they sat there, carousing, and evidently waiting for some one, the quick tramp of a trot- ting horse was heard, and Roger Warman, the traitor steward of the Earl of Huntington, rode into the midst of them. A great change had come over his appearance, for he no longer wore the black garments of a notary. Instead, he was equipped in full armor of the time, mail- shirt, helmet, cuirass and gauntlets, while his sword clattered against the stirrup of te war- horse he rode, and his gold spurs prociaimed Sheriff of Nottingham, that he was now saluted by the men, “Stand to your arms,” he cried, as he rode through. ‘‘ Your man is coming; and remem- ber that if ye can pick a quarre! with him ‘tis better than to take him alive. The prince needs him not. Be ready.” Then the sheriff rode away toward Notting- ham, looking as gallant as an honest knight in his new armor, and mounted on the red roan steed which was part of his plunder of she Hunt- ington estates, The foresters, in their green coats, disposed themselves as if carelessly feastipg, but each had his great quarter-staff near him, as two men came out of the greenwood and sauntered carelessly toward them. They were the Earl of Huntington and Will Scarlet, surnamed “Scathelock.” Both carried their bows in their hands, ready strung. That of the earl, in par- ticular, was of such unusual size and thickness as to attract attention, for it seemed to be an impossibility that a man of anything but super- human strength should be able to bend it. None of the foresters made any mofion till the tivo new-comers were in their midst, when one of them rose, and pointing to the earl, said, Jeeringry: ‘* Here’s a fool fellow, that carries a how he cannot bend. Best give it me, fool fellow.” ‘ Nay,” answered the earl, with a grim smile, ‘this is but a light thing I use for a birding- bow, Ihave another at home that is stronger.” The foresters all langhed in a chorus of de- rision, and three more of them arose and began | | to swagger toward Huntington and Scathelock, twirling their quarter-staves over their fingers in a manner that boded ill for the preservation of peace. ‘Nay, then,” saidthe earl, coolly, ‘* Pll wager arose noble I can hit a hart at five hundred yards,” ‘To the fiend with thy rose nobles! Thou’st not so much asa silver groat in thy purse,” re- plied one of the men, with a coarse chuckle. ‘‘Nay, then, thou liest,” said the earl, as coolly as before. ‘‘See here, sirrah.” And he drew from the pouch at his girdle a handful of gold coin and jingled it before the eyes of the crowd. Instantly every forester was on his feet, and crowding round the earl and Scathelock with menacing looks. The chief among them made a grasp for the money, and the next moment the quarrel they had been provoking began. With singular rapidity and dexterity the Earl of Huntington began to throw the heavy gold coins, held between a thumb and finger, right into the faces of the astonished rufflans. Each coin struck edgewise with tremendous force, en- tirely unexpected, and each dropped a man, half-stunned to the ground. Then, in the midst of the confusion, Robin Fitzooth ran out of the press with great swiftness, Scathelock. closely following, and turned when safe out of the reac of a sudden assault. All the men were picking themselves up, and began to run toward him, when Huntington bent that mighty bow which had been the cause of all the disturbance, ‘‘ Hold thv hand, Scathelock,” he said, stern- ly, as the youth beside him was following his example. “ This quarrel isuone of thine. Leave it to me.” Will Scarlet obeyed in silence, and then the earl drew an arrow to the head and loosed that grand bow. TWANG!!! It sounded like the cord of a bass-viol as the string flew back, and the sharp whistle of the arrow was followed by a thud anda yell of mor- tal agony, as the foremost ruffian threw up his arms and fell back in the forest glade, dead, the gray feather of the earl’s arrow dripping with his blood, Hardly had the first arrow sped, when a sec- ond was on the string, and a second man fell transfixed, so that the rest halted in terror and amazement. The tall earl stood with his quiver ’ , CO! j ooksecom