Squire George of Gamewell rested at his ease in the comfort of his own
domain during the next day; and, though he would have Robin go into
Nottingham, with his new esquire and Warrenton--Montfichet's own
man--young Fitzooth was more than content to stay near to his patron's
side.
There had been no difficulty in the matter of Master Stuteley's
detachment from the other strollers. The old tumbler was shrewd enough
to see that his son would considerably better his fortunes by joining
them with those of Robin of Locksley. Will was delighted, and wished to
commence his duty in Robin's service by instructing his young master at
once in the arts of wrestling, single-stick, and quarter-staff.
The Squire laughed at their enthusiasm.
"Do you leave me, Robin, to the care of your mother: I warrant me I'll
come to no harm!" he said. "There are matters on which I would talk with
her, and we must be at peace."
Montfichet dismissed them. He was quite restored by this time, and
settled himself to a serious conversation with his sister.
There were subjects which he touched upon only to her--being a secret
man in some things, and very cautious.
"Having now no son, and being a lonely man," he had written in his
letter, and Dame Fitzooth had known from this that unhappy relations
still existed between George of Gamewell and Geoffrey Montfichet, his
only son.
The two men had been for a long time on unfriendly terms, though the
Squire latterly had sought honestly to undo that which had been years
a-doing. He could not own to himself that the fault was his altogether:
but Geoffrey, exiled to London, had been brought back to Gamewell at his
father's entreaty. For a time things had gone on in a better
direction--then had come Prince John's rebellion.
Geoffrey Montfichet was found to have been implicated in it, and had
been condemned to death. Only by the Squire's most strenuous endeavors
had this sentence been commuted by the King to life punishment. Geoffrey
fled to Scotland, whilst the Squire had been exercising himself on his
erring son's behalf. It was the last straw, and George Montfichet
disinherited his son. The hard-won Manor of Gamewell must pass from the
line.
Squire George had suddenly perceived a chance to prevent that
catastrophe. He had taken greatly to the lad Robin Fitzooth: and this
boy was of the true Montfichet blood--why should he not adopt the
Montfichet name and become the Montfichet heir?
This notion had been simmering in the Squire's mind. It had been born at
that moment when Robin had so cared for him and fought for him in
Nottingham Fair. "Here, at last," said the Squire, "have I found a son,
indeed."
Mistress Fitzooth had to listen to her brother's arguments submissively.
The dame saw stormy days for her ahead, for well she guessed that Hugh
Fitzooth would never agree to what the other in his impetuous way was
proposing. She listened and said "yea" and "nay" as the occasion
offered: once she mentioned Geoffrey's name, and saw Gamewell's face
cloud instantly with anger.
"He is no son of mine," said Montfichet, in a hard voice. "Do not speak
of him here, sister Nell--nor think me an unforgiving man," he hastened
to add, "for God knows that I did humble myself to the ground that I
might save his head from the axe of the King's executioner! And he
disgraced me by running away to Scotland on the very night that I had
gained Henry's pardon for him. Nay; I have no kin with cowards!"
"Geoffrey may have some reasonable excuse, brother mine," began the
dame, anxious to make peace.
Gamewell cut her short. "There can be no excuse for him," he said,
harshly.
His voice softened when he talked of Robin, for he was concerned to gain
his point.
"Fitzooth will be difficult in the matter, I do fear me," murmured the
dame, perplexed and ill at ease. "He is a Saxon, George, and thinks much
of his descent and name. He looks to Robin winning fame for it, as in
olden days. I do misdoubt me sorely."
"Well, let the lad be known as Robin Fitzooth Montfichet--'tis but
tacking on another name to him," said the Squire. "If he lives here, as
I shall devise in my will, right soon will he be known as Gamewell, and
that only! That fate has befallen me, and one might believe me now as
Saxon as your Hugh, Nell."
"You are none the worse for't, George," answered the dame, proudly.
"Either race is a kingly one."
"Saxon or Norman--shall Robin become Montfichet?" asked the Squire,
commencing his arguments again.
Fate had in store for young Robin, however, very different plans from
those tormenting Fitzooth the Ranger and old Squire George of Gamewell
Hall.
* * * * *
The two lads strolled arm-in-arm about the wide court of Gamewell,
following Warrenton, in dutiful mood. The old henchman was very proud of
the place, and had all the legends of it at his fingers' ends. He told
young Robin of hidden treasure and secret passage-ways, and waxed
eloquent concerning the tapestries and carvings.
The hours went pleasantly enough, for, after the building had been duly
shown them, Warrenton took Robin about the gardens and orchards. There
was a pleasance, and a "Lady's Bower," wherein, Warrenton affirmed,
walked a beautiful lady once in every twelve months, at Hallow-e'en, on
the stroke of midnight. The old man then left them.
Very shocked was the old retainer to find these merry lads engaged
together, later, at wrestling and the quarter-staff, as if they had been
equals in birth. When Stuteley had thrown Robin thrice at "touch and
hold," within sight of the hall--it was indeed upon the soft grass of
the pleasance--Warrenton looked to see old Gamewell thundering forth.
When the Squire came not, and Robin nerved himself for yet another
tussle, the retainer shrugged his shoulders and even took an interest in
the matter.
[Illustration: ROBIN WRESTLES WILL STUTELEY AT GAMEWELL
_"Catch him by the middle," he shouted. "Now you have him, lording,
fairly. Throw him prettily!" And sure enough Stuteley came down._]
"Catch him by the middle," he shouted. "Now you have him, lording,
fairly. Throw him prettily!" And sure enough Stuteley came down.
"Does Master Gamewell play at archery here, Warrenton?" Robin asked,
presently, when he and Will were tired of wrestling. "Are they not
targets that I see yonder?"
The old man's eye lit up with pride. "Squire's as pretty a marksman as
any in Nottingham, lording, for all his years!" cried he. "And old
Warrenton it was who taught him. Yon target is a fair mark for any shaft
from where we stand. Yet I dare swear that Gamewell's lord would never
miss the bull in fifty shots at it!"
"Have you bow and quiver here?" inquired Robin, eagerly. "Mine I have
left in my room."
"Cross bow, longbow, or what you will, most noble. All that Gamewell has
I am to give you. Such were my master's commands. An your esquire will
run to the little hut near by, within the trees, he will find all that
we need."
"Go, Will. Haste you, and bring me a proper bow," cried Robin, with
sparkling eyes. "Now I'll bend the yew and see if I cannot do better
than in Sherwood."
Master Stuteley, having journeyed to the hut, peeped in and started back
with a cry of affright.
"The Yellow Woman, Robin!" called he, scampering back to them. "She is
in there, and did snatch at me! Let us run, quickly!"
"Beshrew me, master, but this is an adventure, for sure! The Yellow One,
was it? Then your days are numbered, and we had better be seeking a new
esquire," said Warrenton.
"Are you afraid, Warrenton?" said Robin, moving involuntarily nearer to
him. He glanced from one to the other, undecided whether to believe Will
or stand and laugh at his fears.
"I have had the distemper, master, and cannot again be hurt. But here
she comes, by the Lord! Keep near to me, lording, and shut your eyes
tight."
Robin was too dazed to heed the old man's advice. He glared in a
fascinated way at the figure emerging from the hut.
"It is a man," cried Robin, at last, "and listen--he is calling you,
Warrenton."
The retainer uttered a little sound of astonishment and ran forward.
"Sir--sir," he cried, as if in entreaty, to the man approaching: and he
made a gesture as though to warn him.
The "Yellow Lady" appeared to be in doubt both of Robin and young
Stuteley.
"Who are these, Warrenton?" called out a low, hushed voice.
Warrenton answered not, save with his half-warning, half-commanding
sign. But as the stranger drew near, apparently come to a decision, the
Squire's man spoke.
"It is your cousin, Master Geoffrey, and his esquire. They are here from
Locksley."
"So, 'tis my kinsman, Robin, who has tried to startle me?" said the
stranger, as Robin drew near to him. "Greetings, cousin; here's my hand
to you for all that you come to supplant me. Nay! I bear no ill-will.
Gamewell has no charms in my eyes compared with those of a life of
freedom."
"Is it Geoffrey, indeed?" asked young Fitzooth, gazing with both eyes
wide. He had looked to see his cousin young as himself, and here was a
man before him, bearded and bronzed, of nigh thirty summers. He was clad
in sombre clothes, and wore upon his shoulders a great scarlet cape, cut
extravagantly in the Norman fashion. Suddenly Robin laughed, heartily
and frankly.
"Yellow, Will, _yellow_, forsooth? Are you color-blind, friend? Cousin
Geoffrey, we had believed you none other than the yellow-clad damsel who
walks here at Hallow-e'en. Forgive us the discourtesy, I pray you. Here
is my hand and good fellowship in it. I am to relinquish all right to
Gamewell ground at the end of a year an I like--such were your father's
terms. I do doubt whether I may stay so long as that."
He spoke fearlessly. The two cousins embraced each other, and for an
instant Geoffrey gave play to his better self; then, next moment,
suspicion returned upon him.
"I am but come to see you, Warrenton, on a small matter. I must have a
horse and armor and a lance, that I may ride at Nottingham in the
joustings. I shall be disguised, and will wear my visor down: a hungry
wolf prowling unrecognized about his lord's domain."
His speech was bitter and his voice harsh. "Kinsman," added he, to
Robin, "do you keep still tongue in the business, and tell your squire
to be as discreet. I am outlawed in England and have no right in it----"
"That is not so, Geoffrey; surely your father will forgive----"
"It is in the King's hands, cousin. My father has no voice in it, nor
would desire to speak again for me, I trow. I have heard all that he
hath already done in my behoof, Warrenton--the item was brought to me
circuitously. Now I will keep you no longer: this hut has been and will
be my shelter until the horse and arms are brought here to me."
"I'll saddle him myself for you, coz: and choose you as stout a lance as
Gamewell can provide. Let me help you in this, and be to you always a
true friend."
"You speak soothly, young Robin, and it may be with sincerity. I'll
trust you then." Geoffrey drew him on one side. "See that the trappings
and armor be of good steel and furbished with red leather: let the note
of them be steel and scarlet. No device upon the shield, if you should
think to bring me one; and stay, I would like the sword-hilt and the
lance to be bound in red. Thus may you know me, if so be you are at the
jousts; but be secret, and trust no other man than Warrenton. I'll wait
you here at midnight--have no fear of the yellow ghost, kinsman!"
"You'll be as red as she is yellow, cousin," whispered back Robin, with
smiling face. "I'll do your behest, and attend you in this pleasance
to-night at twelve o' th' clock. My squire can be trusted, I well
believe."
"Believe in no man until you have tried him, coz," answered Geoffrey. He
paused. "Does Master Montfichet keep well in health, kinsman?" he asked.
"He is well, now, but has been indisposed.... Yesterday at
Nottingham----"
"Ay, I heard of the doings there--no matter how," muttered the other,
hastily. "Tell me that he is restored again; and that you will keep him
from harm always as valiantly as you did then. Does your father still
guard the forest at Locksley? 'Tis many years since I have seen Master
Fitzooth, but thy mother hath always been kindly disposed to me.
Farewell."
He nodded to Warrenton, and slipped back to the little hut, and they
heard him push the bolts after him. Robin turned to Stuteley.
"Will, speak not of this meeting with anyone save Warrenton. I have
promised for you."
"Right, master; the matter has already passed from my mind. Shall we try
our skill at archery? Warrenton can find me a bow, and I'll fetch yours
from the hall. Here comes a priest; surely he were good mark for us had
we our arrows here! And with him behold a forester of the
King--green-clad and carrying a royal longbow. Do you beg it of him,
master mine, whilst I seek yours. I go."
Young Stuteley hurried across the green, whilst Robin advanced to meet
the Clerk of Copmanhurst and the captain of the King's Foresters. They
were in earnest converse, and clearly had not spied the gay cloak of
Geoffrey Montfichet.
Warrenton, with significant gesture to Robin, began a lecture on the
making and choosing of arrows, as he walked beside his master's guest.
"Are you talking of arrow-making, friend?" asked the forester,
overhearing them. "Now I will tell you the true shape and make of such
shafts as our Will o' th' Green uses," he struck in. "One bare yard are
they in length, and are sealed with red silk, and winged with the
feathers of an eagle."
"Peacock," corrected the clerk, interposing. "You're wrong, Master Ford,
as I will prove. Here is the head of one of Will's bolts, dropped in the
greenwood on the day you rescued us from him. I have kept it in my
pouch, for 'tis a pretty thing." He laughed all over his jolly face.
"Here, Robin, keep it, and learn therefrom how _not_ to make arrows, for
vanity is a sin to be avoided and put on one side. The plainer the barb
the straighter does it fly, as all true bowmen must admit."
He took Robin's hand, soon as the lad had fastened the trophy in his
belt. "I have been bidden to you by the Master of Gamewell. He would
speak with you, Robin; and I do counsel you to give all heed and weight
to his words, and be both prudent and obedient in your answerings to
him."
They moved together towards the hall, whilst Warrenton and the forester
argued still on the matter of winging arrows.