Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
forth in silence, without giving any word to the warder.
"Ah, you thieves!" said good Matthew Pole to the last of them, "if I
chose to shut you in, there would be fine hanging to-morrow."
"No, no," replied the man, "there would be one hung to-night, good
Matthew, and he would serve for all. You don't think we let the hanging
begin without having the first hand in it?"
A straggling house or two on the outside of the gate were passed in a
few minutes; a lane amongst trees lay to the right and left, and a
little stile presented itself in the hedge, formed of two broad stones
laid perpendicularly, and two horizontal ones for steps. Over these the
boy sprang at a leap before Hugh de Monthermer, who followed quickly,
though somewhat more deliberately.
The moment he was past, a hand seized his arm, and a voice cried,
"Free, free, may good lord! By my fay, we shall have all the honest
part of the Court under the green boughs of Sherwood ere long. Taking
the king's venison will become the only lawful resource of honest men;
for if they don't strike at his deer, he will strike at their heads."
"Ah! Robin, is that you?" said Hugh. "This is all thy doing, I know;
and I owe thee life."
"Faith, not mine," replied Robin Hood, "'tis the boy's--'tis the boy's!
My best contrivance was to get into the castle court to-morrow, by one
device or another; secure the gate, send an arrow into Mortimer's
heart, and another into the headsman's eye; make a general fight of it,
while you were set free, and then run away as best we could. 'Twas a
bad scheme; but yet at that early hour we could have carried it
through, while one half the world was asleep, and the other unarmed.
But Tangel declared that he could run up the wall like a cat, so we let
him try, taking care to have men and ladders ready to bring him off
safe if he were caught. So 'tis his doing, my lord; for you contrived
to get the elf's love while he was with you."
"And he has mine for ever," answered Hugh. "But alas! my love can be of
little benefit to any one now."
"Nay, nay, never think so," replied the Outlaw; "as much benefit as
ever, my good lord. Cast off your courtly garments, take to the
forest-green, with your own strong right hand defend yourself and your
friends, set courts and kings at nought and defiance, and you will
never want the means of doing a kind act to those who serve you. I
ought not, perhaps, to boast, but Robin Hood, the king of Sherwood, has
not less power within his own domain than the Third Harry on the throne
of England--but, by my faith, I hoped the blessed Virgin has holpen
Scathelock and the Miller with their band to get out of the gates, for
they are long a coming, and there will be fine hunting in every hole of
Nottingham to-morrow morning--I came over the wall with Hardy and
Pell."
"They are safe enough--they are safe enough, reckless Robin," cried
Tangel, "I heard the Miller's long tongue, bandying words with surly
old Matthew Pole, as if ever one bell stopped another. But hark! there
are their steps, and we had better get on, for I have a call to sleep
just now."
"Well, thou shalt sleep as long as thou wilt to-morrow," said Robin,
"for thy good service to-night; but by your leave, my lord, you and I
must ride far, for it were as well to leave no trace of you in the
neighbourhood of Nottingham. Here are strong horses nigh at hand, and
if you follow my counsel, you will be five-and-twenty miles from the
place where they expect to find you by daybreak. It will be better for
us all to disperse, and to quit this part of the county; my men have
their orders, and I am ready."
The counsel was one that Hugh de Monthermer was very willing to follow,
and ere many minutes more had passed, he and Robin Hood were riding
through the dark shady roads of Sherwood, as fast as the obscurity of
the night would permit.
CHAPTER XXXI.
It was in the small wooden house in the lower part of the town, to
which we have seen Sir William Geary lead his worthy companion Guy de
Margan, that unhappy Kate Greenly sat in the recess of a window which
looked over the meadows, and through which a faint gleam of the
autumnal sun was streaming in upon her. She was as beautiful as ever,
perhaps more so, for her face was paler and more refined, and though
she had lost the glow of rustic health, her countenance had gained a
peculiar depth of expression which was fine, though sad to see.
Her eyes were fixed intently upon those autumnal fields, with a
straining gaze, and a knitted brow; but it was not of them she
thought--no, nor of any of the many things which they might recal to
her mind. It was not of the happy days of innocence; it was not of the
companions of her childhood; it was not of the sports of her youth; it
was not of her father's house; it was not of the honest lover whose
pure affection she had despised, whose generous heart she had well-nigh
broken. No, no, it was of none of these things! It was of him who had
wronged and betrayed her, it was of him who had trampled and despised,
it was of him whom she now hated with a fierce and angry hate--ay,
hated and feared, and yet loved--strange as it may seem to say so,--of
him whom she had resolved to punish and destroy, and for whom she yet
felt a yearning tenderness which made every act she did against him
seem like plunging a knife into her own heart.
Oh! had Richard de Ashby then, even then, suffered his hard and cruel
spirit to be softened towards the girl whom he had wronged, if he had
soothed and tranquillized, and calmed her, if he had used but one
tender word, one of all the arts which he had employed to seduce her,
Kate Greenly would have poured forth her blood to serve him, and would
have died ere she had followed out the stern course which she purposed
to pursue. But he was all selfishness, and that selfishness was his
destruction.
Hark, it is his step upon the stairs! But she no longer flies to meet
him with the look of love and total devotion which marked her greeting
in former days. The glance of fear and doubt crosses her countenance;
she dare not let him see that she has been thoughtful; she snatches up
the distaff and the wheel; she bends her head over the thread, and with
a sickening heart she hears the coming of the foot, the tread of which
was once music to her ear.
He entered the room, with a red spot upon his brow, with his teeth hard
set, with his lip drawn down. There was excited and angry passion in
every line of his face, there was a fierceness in his very step which
made her grieve she had not avoided him. It was too late, however; for
though he scarcely seemed to see her, she could not quit the room
without passing by him. He advanced as if coming direct towards her,
but ere he had much passed the middle of the chamber, he stopped and
stamped his foot, exclaiming--"Curses upon it!" Then turning to the
Unhappy girl, he cried--"Get thee to thy chamber! What dost thou idling
here, minion? Prepare in a few days to go back to thy father--or, if
thou likest it better," he added, with a contemptuous smile,--"to thy
franklin lover; he may have thee cheaper now, and find thee a rare
leman."
Kate stood and gazed at him for a moment; but for once passion did not
master her, and she answered, well knowing that whatever seemed her
wish would be rejected--"I am ready to go back to my father. I have
made up my mind to it,--Thou treatest me ill, Richard de Ashby, I will
live with thee no longer. I will go at once."
"No, by the Lord, thou shalt not!" he cried, resolved not to lose the
object of his tyranny. "Get thee to thy chamber, I say; I will send
thee back when I think fit--away! I expect others here!" And Kate
Greenly, without reply, moved towards the door.
As she passed, he felt a strong desire to strike her, for the angry
passion that was in his heart at that moment, called loudly for some
object on which to vent itself. She spoke not, however; she did not
even look at him; so there was no pretext; and biting his lip and
knitting his brow, he remained gazing at her as she moved along, with a
vague impression of her beauty and grace sinking into his dark mind,
and mingling one foul passion with another.
When she was gone and the door was closed, Richard de Ashby clasped his
hands together, and walked up and down the room, murmuring, "That idiot
Mortimer!--When he had him in his hand--to leave him in his chamber
which any child could scale!--Out upon the fool! With dungeons as deep
as a well close by!--But he cares nought, so that he get the land. How
is this step to be overleaped? Ha! here they come!"
In a moment or two after, the door of the room again opened, and four
men came in; two dressed as noblemen of the Court, and two as inferior
persons. Those, however, whose apparel taught one to expect that high
and courteous demeanour for which the Norman nobleman was remarkable,
when not moved by the coarse passions to which the habits of the time
gave full sway, were far from possessing anything like easy grace, or
manly dignity. There was a saucy swaggering air, indeed, an affected
indifference, mingled with a quick and anxious turn of the eye, a
restless furtive glance, which bespoke the low bred and licentious man
of crime and debauchery, uncertain of his position, doubtful of his
safety, and though bold and fearless in moments of personal danger, yet
ever watchful against the individual enmity or public vengeance which
the acts of his life had well deserved.
"Well, Dickon," cried the first who entered, "we have thought of the
matter well.--But what makes thee look so dull? Has the Prior of St.
Peter's made love to thy paramour? Or the king won thy money at cross
and pile, or----"
"Pshaw! no nonsense, Ellerby," exclaimed Richard de Ashby; "I am in a
mood that will bear no jesting. What is the matter with me? By my
faith, not a little matter. Here, my bitterest enemy--you know Hugh of
Monthermer.--He was in Mortimer's hands, doomed to death, his head was
to be struck off this morning at daybreak. Mortimer and Pembroke were
to divide his lands; and I and Guy de Margan to have revenge for our
share----"
"I would have had a slice of the lands too," interrupted Ellerby, "or a
purse or two of the gold, had I been in your place.--Well?"
"Well! Ill I say," replied Richard de Ashby. "What would you? the fool
Mortimer, instead of plunging him into a dungeon where no escape was
possible, leaves him in his chamber, thinking he cannot get out,
because the window is some twenty or thirty feet from the top of the
wall, with a sentry pacing underneath. Of course the man who knows his
life is gone if he stays, may well risk it to fly, and when the door is
opened this morning, the prisoner is gone; while on the wall of the
room, written with charcoal, one reads--'My Lord the Prince,--Taking
advantage of the permission you gave, in case the base falsehood of my
enemies should prevail against me, and having been condemned to death
unheard, ere you could return to defend me, I have escaped from this
chamber, but am ever ready to prove my innocence in a lawful manner,
either by trial in court, or by wager of battle against any of my
accusers. Let any one efface this ere the Prince sees it, if he
dare.'--With this brag he ended; and now Guy de Margan raves--but
Mortimer and Pembroke laugh, believing that they shall still share the
lands! I threw some salt into their mead, however, telling them that as
they had left him with his head on, he had a tongue in it that would
soon clear him at the Prince's return, and as he had saved his life
would save his lands, also.--Is it not enough to drive one mad, to see
such fools mar such well-laid schemes?"
"No, no," replied the man who had followed Ellerby, "nothing should