CHAPTER VIII.

The sun had declined about two hours and a half from the meridian, but

the day was still warm and bright. The month of May, in the olden time,

indeed, was a warmer friend than at present, if we may believe the

ancient tales and chronicles; and, in good sooth, the seasons of the

year seem to have changed altogether, and the weather to have become

chilly, whimsical, and crotchetty, as the world has grown older. There

are no vineyards to be found now in Northumberland, and yet many a

place in the northern counties retains the name to the present day,

evidently showing to what purposes they were formerly applied. It is

rarely now in England, too, that we have any title to call it the

merry, merry month of May, for, very often, cold and piercing are the

winds, sad the sleet and rain; and, for one of the bright and glorious

days of summer, we have a multitude of the dark and shadowy ones of

winter. Perhaps one cause of this change may be that which has brought

about many another evil in the land,--namely, the cutting down of those

magnificent old forests which sheltered the breast of England like a

garment, and stopped the fierce winds in their career over the island,

Indeed we know that the destruction of the woods in other countries has

produced such effects; and there is every reason to believe that here

also the climate has greatly suffered, though other benefits may have

been obtained.

However that may be, the month of May at that time in England was

indeed a merry month, replete with sunshine, bountiful in flowers, with

every bird in song, and every tree in leaf, and the whole world full of

the warmth and the tenderness of youth. It is true, indeed, that in the

early part of the month, April would still look in with a tear in her

eye to bid the earth good bye; and such had been the case on the

morning of the fourth of May, in the year of which we have lately been

speaking. About nine o'clock, two or three showers had swept past,

though the blue eye of heaven had seldom been altogether withdrawn, but

looked through the rain as through a veil, and every now and then the

sun peeped out, even while the drops were coming down, and flung a

rainbow over the bosom of the forest. The clouds, however, cleared off

entirely before noon, and left the world but the fresher for the

sprinkling, the woods looking more green, and the flowers more bright

and full of perfume.

The road from Sheffield--not the high road--running through

Bloodsworth, and leaving Nurstead a little to the right, at the

distance of about a mile past the former place, entered the extensive

woody ground, which had ceased for a space in the neighbourhood of

Mansfield; but which at that time covered the whole of the rest of the

country. A little farther on again, the scene changed to one of those

small, open greens, common in the forest, where two or three acres of

grassy turf appeared free from trees, but surrounded on all sides by

the wood. Fine old oaks and beeches stood forward here and there,

stretching out their long and rugged arms, covered with the soft hue of

spring, and leaving the line of the little savannah wild and irregular,

While a break amongst the trees on the right showed the sunshine

streaming into another opening of the same kind, and gave the

imagination room to sport through other groves and dells beyond.

In the midst of this green, with his arms crossed upon his chest, his

eyes bent on the ground, and his brow somewhat gloomy, walked Robert of

the Lees by Ely, as he had called himself, while not far off, under the

shadow of a wide-spreading oak, stood a boy, holding a white horse and

a bow, Robin seemed to be whiling away a time of waiting, in communing

with himself of many things, with that sort of desultory meditation

which woodlands gender more than any other scenes; and, ever and anon,

his lips proved faithless guardians to his thoughts, muttering a word

of two of what was passing in his mind, without his knowing that they

did so.

"Ha! Left Nottingham so soon with her paramour!" he said, "That was

hasty!" and again he was silent for a space. "They must have heard that

I had taken the chase in hand, or else the Earl has followed them

closer than they expected.--How this poor youth suffers! One would

think that he had lost the most precious thing on earth, instead of a

light-o'-love May-day flirt!--And after, all, perhaps, he has lost the

most precious thing on earth, for he has lost trust--confidence. That

can never come again when once it is gone.--Besides, a woman is to us

what we esteem her more than what she is. He held her to be all that is

good, and so in losing her he loses all that is good,--They are idle

things, these women; and yet there is good as well as bad in them. So

goes the old song--

"To whom does woman's love belong?

And who shall hold that fickle thing?

No iron chain was e'er so strong,

As long to bind its fluttering wing.

"Caught by the ear--caught by the eye--

The handsome face, the flattering tongue,

The pleasant smile, the well-told lie,

May win it, but not hold it long.

"The king has no command o'er love,

The peasant's sweetheart jilts the swain;

And those who stay, and these who rove,

Seek bands for woman's heart in vain.

"Rank, wealth, prosperity, and power,

Have all been tried, without avail;

Yet ne'er in dark misfortune's hour,

Has woman's love been known to fail."

So sung, or rather hummed, the bold forester, as he walked to and fro

along the sandy path; and, as is very often the case, the song seemed

the most convincing argument he could use, for it concluded the

discussion with himself concerning young Harland, and he turned his

thoughts to other things again.

"They will take him by surprise," he muttered to himself in the same

low tone as before; and then having uttered this vaticination, he

relapsed into silence, took another turn, and said--"The King

at Cambridge?--That cannot be for nothing: he has misled De

Montfort--Gloucester fortifying his castles too--that looks ill! He is

not to be trusted, Gloucester. He never was--he never will be.--Hark! a

horse's feet! Here come the Earls!"

Another moment, however, showed him that he was mistaken, for the horse

whose tramp he heard came from the side of Nottingham, and not from

that of Yorkshire. The animal itself was a good brown gelding, with a

short tail, which, in those days, was a rarity, for many of the

barbarous customs of the present time were then unknown. Indeed, though

it may seem a contradiction in terms, civilization in general has not a

little barbarism in it, and luxury is always sure to introduce

practices of which savages would be ashamed. The horse, however, as I

have said, was a good brown gelding with a short tail; the man that

bestrode it, a jolly, large-stomached personage, in the garb of a

tradesman; and the moment the forester saw him, he exclaimed, "Ha! our

good friend the sutler of Southwell! What makes you ride the forest,

Barnaby? You do not trouble Sherwood for nothing."

"Seeking you, Robin--seeking you," replied the sutler. "One that you

know of gave me this for you. It was to pass through no hands but mine

and yours. But look ye! Here comes a goodly train. Now will there be

rough work anon between the silken hoods and the men in Lincoln green.

I'll away, Robin--I'll away, for I love no blows but those of the

rolling pin!"

The man to whom he spoke took no notice either of his words or his

departure, so intent was he upon the contents of the letter which had

just been put into his hand. He read it over twice after the messenger

was gone, and seemed scarcely to remark the approach of a large party

on horseback, comprising, as the reader may have divined by this time,

the very personages for whom he was waiting. When he raised his eyes,

however, he beheld advancing towards him, at a slow pace, some twenty

mounted men, well armed, and headed by the old Earl of Monthermer. That

nobleman, however, was unaccompanied by one of those whom our friend in

the Lincoln green was the most anxious to see, the Earl of Ashby being,

as the reader is well aware, on the other side of Nottingham.

The party of old Monthermer, as he was called, consisted of himself and

his servants alone, having sent away all the other noblemen and

gentlemen who had met him in Yorkshire, to find their way, in separate

bodies to join their friends in London. His nephew, too, for reasons

that the old lord saw and well approved, had gone on with the Earl of

Ashby; and the only addition to his train since we last saw him, was a

stout old priest, his chaplain, who had been previously dispatched on a

mission to Northumberland.

At a distance of about twenty yards from the spot where the bold

forester stood, the Earl pulled up his horse and dismounted slowly,

giving the word to halt. He then advanced directly towards, him,

holding out his hand, which the other took with an air of respect and

deference, but without the least approach to fawning.

"Welcome to Sherwood, my good lord," said Robert of the Lees. "But why

come you alone? Would not the noble Earl of Ashby trust himself amidst

these shades?"

"He had left me, Robin," replied the Earl, "before I got your message,

with his son Alured and my nephew Hugh. He set out for Nottingham

yesterday, just after morning song."

"Ha!" exclaimed the forester, his brow growing dark. "'Tis strange I

heard not of it. Gone to Nottingham, just after morning song? He might

have been there by noon; and yet he was not."

"No, no," answered the Earl, "he could not arrive by noon. He had

matters of some moment to see to by the way. But were you so anxious to

have some speech with him?"

"I was," answered the forester, abruptly. "I was.--But it matters

not--I will send him a message; and now, my lord, will you mount your

horse again; and come with me? I have much to say to you, and many

things to tell, some of which you know, perhaps, already, but some of

which you have never heard."

"I can but stay an hour," replied the Earl; "for I must forward to

Nottingham to supper, and that will be a late one, even now."

"We have supper ready for you, my good lord," answered the forester;

"and you, at least, need not fear to ride through Sherwood in the

eventide."

"No feasting on the King's venison, Robin!" cried the Earl, with a

laugh; "but still our meal must be short, for I have business to do

to-night of more importance than my supper. Shall I bid the men come on

with me, or to stay here till I return?"

"Let them follow--let them follow," said the forester; "but keep them

out of earshot--the priest especially. Ho, boy! bring up my horse."

More at a sign by which he accompanied the call than at the words

themselves, the boy, whom we have mentioned as holding a white horse

under one of the trees, ran up with the animal in hand, while the Earl

gave directions to his men to follow him slowly, keeping at the

distance of some fifty yards. He then remounted, with his forest

friend, who led him on still upon the open road, saying--"You shall

have as little of the woodland as possible, and every step you take is

so much on your way to Nottingham."

"That is well," replied the Earl; "but now tell me, Robin, how many of

your old friends have you gathered round you here, in case of need?"

"Not more than a hundred," answered his companion, "With some forty in

Barnsdale."

"Sadly few!" said the Earl, musing.

"Many a stout soldier and many a true friend," replied the forester,

"love not to live the life and share the perils of an outlaw."

"There is a reproach in that," said the Earl; "but I pledge you my

knightly word, Robin, that I did my best to have the outlawry reversed

whenever we got the power into our own hands, but it was Gloucester

opposed it, and the Earl of Leicester judged it dangerous to thwart

him."

"You mistake, my lord," rejoined the forester, "and would have done me

but little service had you succeeded, though I thank you for the wish.

The enmity of my lord of Gloucester stood me in good stead. These are

riddles, my good lord, but they are easily read. Hark to another, not

much more difficult. My hundred men are not few, but many; for each

man, besides a sheaf of arrows, has a sheaf of friends, and about the

same number of each. We shall not count much less than two thousand,

noble sir, in the day of need, and that day is coming faster than you

imagine."

"There are clouds in the sky, certainly," replied the Earl,

"They overshadow the sun," rejoined the outlaw, abruptly. "The news I

had to tell you, but an hour ago, was merely that the King had

contrived to lead my lord of Leicester away from his resources, and

that Gloucester is fortifying himself in the marches of Wales--that he

has refused to be present at the tournament of Northampton, and that

people flock to him who are known to be favourers of the foreigners."

"I have heard something of this," said the Earl, "but knew not that it

had gone so far."

"Farther--farther, my lord," replied the other--"farther a great deal!

I have more tidings for you now. Gloucester is proclaimed a traitor,

Leicester has fallen back upon the Severn, and I fear me that means

have been taken to amuse the good Earl's son in that business of

Pevensey. Look at that letter, my lord."

"Ay this bears the likeness of war, indeed," replied the Earl, after

reading a paper which his companion, gave to him--"this bears the

likeness of war, indeed; and I am glad it has come to this. Gloucester

is a loss to the good cause, it is true, though he is cold and

cautious----"

"And selfish, and treacherous, and cunning," added the outlaw.

"But still there is little to fear," continued the Earl, "he is no more

competent to cope with Simon de Montfort, than an usher's white rod

with a soldier's battle-axe."

"He wants the energy of a strong will," said the outlaw, "and therefore

can never be a great man; but still his influence makes him dangerous,

my lord, and you must look to it."

"We will not despise him," replied the Earl; "but still I fear him not.

So long as the Prince is in the hands of De Montfort, the freedom of

England is secure. He is the power of the royal party, but we have

taken care that he shall have no means of acting--nominally free, but

watched, day and night--his servants, his keepers--his companions, his

gaolers. I could grieve for the noble Prince, I must confess, were it

not that the safety of the whole realm, the freedom of every man within

it, and the happiness of every English hearth, demand that he should be

prevented by any means from giving strength to his father's weakness by

his own powerful mind."

"I grieve for him, too," replied the outlaw. "I once, at York, saw an

eagle in a cage, my lord; and though it looked at me fiercely, as if it

would have torn me for my pains, I broke the bars, and let the noble

bird go free."

"We must not do that here," replied the Earl.

"I fear not," answered his companion. "Nevertheless, I grieve for the

Prince with all my heart; and would he but swear and keep his oath,

which princes seldom do, I would be the first to give him his liberty,

upon a promise to respect ours."

"We have tried that, good Robin," replied the Earl, "and we must do so

no more. The wisest man that ever lived, said, 'Put not your faith in

princes;' and this young leopard must, I fear, be kept in a chain,

however sad it be to fetter noble energies like his."

"Make the chain strong enough, then, my lord," said the outlaw; "for if

he breaks it, he will be more fierce than ever."

"Forged by Simon de Montfort, it will be strong enough," answered the

Earl; "but let us think of farther proceedings. So, Gloucester is

proclaimed a traitor?"

"Ay, and Mortimer, too," replied the forester, "and a number of others.

Many of the lords marchers have joined him, you see, and his power is

daily increasing."

"Then it is time," said the Earl, "for the friends of England to gather

round De Montfort. A battle cannot be far distant. Doubtless there will

be letters for me at Nottingham, and I will soon let you know where you

can meet us with your brave archers. Gloucester's day is over, and--"

"I know what you would add, my lord," replied the forester, "but I say,

No. This outlawry sits more easily on my shoulders than you can think.

Heaven forbid that you should ever have to try our life; but, were such

the case, you would soon grow fond of it. There is a charm in these

wild woods, and in our free existence amongst them, which leaves the

parade of the city or the castle sadly tasteless in the comparison. No,

my lord, I am well as I am, for the present. No man can call me

traitor; for kings and princes have cast off my allegiance, and I have

cast off their rule. Perhaps when happier days come back--when

England's wounds are healed--when justice and honour hold the sway, and

peace and liberty go hand in hand, I may reclaim my rights, my lord,

and ask your voice to testify that the Outlaw of Sherwood was as just

in his dealings, as true to his country, and as fearless in her defence

as any judge in his court, or statesman in the hall, or knight in the

saddle. But till then--good faith," he added, in a gayer tone, "I live

a merry life of it here, and am troubled with no remorse for the deeds

I do under the green leaf of the wood. However, enough of myself, and

as for your letters, you will find none at Nottingham. The sheriff is

no friend of Simon de Montfort, and that the Earl of Leicester knows by

this time. I would wager, my lord, a pipe of Malvoisie to a flitch of

bacon, that if you go on to Nottingham, you will be a tarrier in the

castle for longer than you reckon."

"If so," replied Monthermer, "the Earl of Ashby is a prisoner there by

this time."

"Not so, my lord," said the outlaw, drily "the Earl of Ashby has had

other things to do."

"Why, I thought that but now," exclaimed the Earl, "you did not know

where our good friend was?"

"True," answered his companion, "but I know what waited him at

Nottingham, if he arrived there yesterday.--Besides, my good lord, he

has a friend at court. Richard de Ashby passed through Nottingham

before him, was with the sheriff in close consultation for an hour, and

doubtless set forth duly, 'how good a subject the Earl is to the King,

and how humble a servant to the Earl of Gloucester.'--Take care, my

lord, that you are not betrayed, as well as deceived.--There is a viper

under your hand; and it may sting you."

"No--no--no!" said the old nobleman, shaking his head. "The Ashbys are

incapable of treachery: proud and irascible they both are, father and

son; but even in their pride there is no dishonour, though----"

"Though pride be the most dishonest of all our knave passions;"

interrupted the outlaw, "ay, and the meanest, too! But I believe you,

my good lord, they will not betray you, either father or son, but they

will betray themselves; and their roguish kinsman will betray you and

them every one. You judge, perhaps, that he came down but upon the lewd

errand of carrying off a peasant girl, but his business in Barnsdale

was of a darker character than that. Prisoner as the King now is, and

watched as the Prince now seems, they have agents over all the land."

"But can you be sure," said the Earl--"can you prove that this Richard

de Ashby is one of them? Base, I have always believed him to be; and I

recollect that while the feud existed between our two families, he did

all in his power to keep it alive, and prevent the breach from ever

being healed--pandering, like all mean sycophants, to the fiercer

passions of their lords; but I ever judged him a petty scoundrel, fit

only to cheat at cross and pile, or accomplish the ruin of a milkmaid.

I think not, Robin, that he has courage to deal with much greater

things. Have you any proof of his treachery in this business?"

"Something I know, my lord," replied the outlaw, "and much more do I

suspect--let them take my counsel who like it. What will you have? He

was first with Mortimer, and then with Gloucester; and then, making a

circuit round, to seem as if he came from the side of Norfolk, he

visited Leicester at Northampton, and spent two days there, seeing the

King thrice, and the Prince as often. Thence he went back to London,

was purveyed with a spy, one Richard Keen, a servant of the King's who

fled from Lewes; and thus accompanied, he followed you to Pontefract."

"I will tax him with it in his kinsman's presence," said Monthermer.

"The good Lord of Ashby wants not sense and discrimination. He was

eager for the business to be inquired into before, but the man's flight

with the light-o'-love girl of the inn broke off the investigation.

Think you his master has really any share in that bad business? I left

the poor man, her father, nearly broken-hearted."

"Share!" exclaimed the forester; "somewhat more than a share. She is

now his leman at Huntingdon. I had tidings this morning, and they are

now tasting together the fiery drop of joy which floats upon the deep

draughts of bitterness in the cup of vice. A few weeks will cloy him,

and then her sorrows will begin; but if I lay my hands upon him, so

help me the Blessed Virgin! as I will nail his ears to the door-posts

of good John Greenly's house, and scourge him with bowstrings from

Wakefield to Pontefract. But, to speak of what is more important, my

lord--do you think the rogue filched any of your secrets?"

"No," replied the Earl--"no, many of the people did not come; Hugh

Bigod, too, was away; and, as is often the case with long-concerted

meetings, to settle matters of great moment, we waited for each other,

and, in the end, the whole thing went to empty air. I could not but

think, however, that he strove hard to renew the breach between the

house of Ashby and ourselves. With the father he did not succeed, but

with the son he seemed to make some progress; so much so, indeed, that

I was well pleased when this Sir Richard told us his purpose of going

on before to London. After he was gone, Alured grew somewhat placable;

and when we parted company, Hugh went with the two lords, trying to

soothe and gain the younger one.--But here, Robin, what have we here?

Why you have made the forest as gay as a May-day bride!"