<SPAN name="2H_4_0016"></SPAN>
<h2> How Sir Richard of the Lea Paid His Debts </h2>
<p>THE LONG HIGHWAY stretched straight on, gray and dusty in the sun. On
either side were dikes full of water bordered by osiers, and far away
in the distance stood the towers of Emmet Priory with tall poplar trees
around.</p>
<p>Along the causeway rode a knight with a score of stout men-at-arms
behind him. The Knight was clad in a plain, long robe of gray serge,
gathered in at the waist with a broad leathern belt, from which hung
a long dagger and a stout sword. But though he was so plainly dressed
himself, the horse he rode was a noble barb, and its trappings were rich
with silk and silver bells.</p>
<p>So thus the band journeyed along the causeway between the dikes, till
at last they reached the great gate of Emmet Priory. There the Knight
called to one of his men and bade him knock at the porter's lodge with
the heft of his sword.</p>
<p>The porter was drowsing on his bench within the lodge, but at the knock
he roused himself and, opening the wicket, came hobbling forth and
greeted the Knight, while a tame starling that hung in a wicker cage
within piped out, "<i>In coelo quies! In coelo quies!</i>" such being the
words that the poor old lame porter had taught him to speak.</p>
<p>"Where is thy prior?" asked the Knight of the old porter.</p>
<p>"He is at meat, good knight, and he looketh for thy coming," quoth the
porter, "for, if I mistake not, thou art Sir Richard of the Lea."</p>
<p>"I am Sir Richard of the Lea; then I will go seek him forthwith," said
the Knight.</p>
<p>"But shall I not send thy horse to stable?" said the porter. "By Our
Lady, it is the noblest nag, and the best harnessed, that e'er I saw in
all my life before." And he stroked the horse's flank with his palm.</p>
<p>"Nay," quoth Sir Richard, "the stables of this place are not for me, so
make way, I prythee." So saying, he pushed forward, and, the gates being
opened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind
him. In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and
ring of horses' feet on cobblestones, whereat a flock of pigeons that
strutted in the sun flew with flapping wings to the high eaves of the
round towers.</p>
<p>While the Knight was riding along the causeway to Emmet, a merry feast
was toward in the refectory there. The afternoon sun streamed in through
the great arched windows and lay in broad squares of light upon the
stone floor and across the board covered with a snowy linen cloth,
whereon was spread a princely feast. At the head of the table sat Prior
Vincent of Emmet all clad in soft robes of fine cloth and silk; on his
head was a black velvet cap picked out with gold, and around his neck
hung a heavy chain of gold, with a great locket pendant therefrom.
Beside him, on the arm of his great chair, roosted his favorite falcon,
for the Prior was fond of the gentle craft of hawking. On his right hand
sat the Sheriff of Nottingham in rich robes of purple all trimmed about
with fur, and on his left a famous doctor of law in dark and sober garb.
Below these sat the high cellarer of Emmet, and others chief among the
brethren.</p>
<p>Jest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be.
The wizened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile,
for in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid
him in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea. The
learned doctor had been paid beforehand, for he had not overmuch trust
in the holy Vincent of Emmet.</p>
<p>Quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, "But art thou sure, Sir Prior, that
thou hast the lands so safe?"</p>
<p>"Ay, marry," said Prior Vincent, smacking his lips after a deep draught
of wine, "I have kept a close watch upon him, albeit he was unawares of
the same, and I know right well that he hath no money to pay me withal."</p>
<p>"Ay, true," said the man of law in a dry, husky voice, "his land is
surely forfeit if he cometh not to pay; but, Sir Prior, thou must get a
release beneath his sign manual, or else thou canst not hope to hold the
land without trouble from him."</p>
<p>"Yea," said the Prior, "so thou hast told me ere now, but I know that
this knight is so poor that he will gladly sign away his lands for two
hundred pounds of hard money."</p>
<p>Then up spake the high cellarer, "Methinks it is a shame to so drive
a misfortunate knight to the ditch. I think it sorrow that the noblest
estate in Derbyshire should so pass away from him for a paltry five
hundred pounds. Truly, I—"</p>
<p>"How now," broke in the Prior in a quivering voice, his eyes glistening
and his cheeks red with anger, "dost thou prate to my very beard,
sirrah? By Saint Hubert, thou hadst best save thy breath to cool thy
pottage, else it may scald thy mouth."</p>
<p>"Nay," said the man of law smoothly, "I dare swear this same knight
will never come to settlement this day, but will prove recreant.
Nevertheless, we will seek some means to gain his lands from him, so
never fear."</p>
<p>But even as the doctor spoke, there came a sudden clatter of horses'
hoofs and a jingle of iron mail in the courtyard below. Then up spake
the Prior and called upon one of the brethren that sat below the salt,
and bade him look out of the window and see who was below, albeit he
knew right well it could be none but Sir Richard.</p>
<p>So the brother arose and went and looked, and he said, "I see below a
score of stout men-at-arms and a knight just dismounting from his
horse. He is dressed in long robes of gray which, methinks, are of poor
seeming; but the horse he rideth upon hath the richest coursing that
ever I saw. The Knight dismounts and they come this way, and are even
now below in the great hall."</p>
<p>"Lo, see ye there now," quoth Prior Vincent. "Here ye have a knight with
so lean a purse as scarce to buy him a crust of bread to munch, yet he
keeps a band of retainers and puts rich trappings upon his horse's hide,
while his own back goeth bare. Is it not well that such men should be
brought low?"</p>
<p>"But art thou sure," said the little doctor tremulously, "that this
knight will do us no harm? Such as he are fierce when crossed, and he
hath a band of naughty men at his heels. Mayhap thou hadst better give
an extension of his debt." Thus he spake, for he was afraid Sir Richard
might do him a harm.</p>
<p>"Thou needst not fear," said the Prior, looking down at the little man
beside him. "This knight is gentle and would as soon think of harming an
old woman as thee."</p>
<p>As the Prior finished, a door at the lower end of the refectory swung
open, and in came Sir Richard, with folded hands and head bowed upon his
breast. Thus humbly he walked slowly up the hall, while his men-at-arms
stood about the door. When he had come to where the Prior sat, he knelt
upon one knee. "Save and keep thee, Sir Prior," said he, "I am come to
keep my day."</p>
<p>Then the first word that the Prior said to him was "Hast thou brought my
money?"</p>
<p>"Alas! I have not so much as one penny upon my body," said the Knight;
whereat the Prior's eyes sparkled.</p>
<p>"Now, thou art a shrewd debtor, I wot," said he. Then, "Sir Sheriff, I
drink to thee."</p>
<p>But still the Knight kneeled upon the hard stones, so the Prior turned
to him again. "What wouldst thou have?" quoth he sharply.</p>
<p>At these words, a slow red mounted into the Knight's cheeks; but still
he knelt. "I would crave thy mercy," said he. "As thou hopest for
Heaven's mercy, show mercy to me. Strip me not of my lands and so reduce
a true knight to poverty."</p>
<p>"Thy day is broken and thy lands forfeit," said the man of law, plucking
up his spirits at the Knight's humble speech.</p>
<p>Quoth Sir Richard, "Thou man of law, wilt thou not befriend me in mine
hour of need?"</p>
<p>"Nay," said the other, "I hold with this holy Prior, who hath paid me my
fees in hard gold, so that I am bounder to him."</p>
<p>"Wilt thou not be my friend, Sir Sheriff?" said Sir Richard.</p>
<p>"Nay, 'fore Heaven," quoth the Sheriff of Nottingham, "this is no
business of mine, yet I will do what I may," and he nudged the Prior
beneath the cloth with his knee. "Wilt thou not ease him of some of his
debts, Sir Prior?"</p>
<p>At this the Prior smiled grimly. "Pay me three hundred pounds, Sir
Richard," said he, "and I will give thee quittance of thy debt."</p>
<p>"Thou knowest, Sir Prior, that it is as easy for me to pay four hundred
pounds as three hundred," said Sir Richard. "But wilt thou not give me
another twelvemonth to pay my debt?"</p>
<p>"Not another day," said the Prior sternly.</p>
<p>"And is this all thou wilt do for me?" asked the Knight.</p>
<p>"Now, out upon thee, false knight!" cried the Prior, bursting forth in
anger. "Either pay thy debt as I have said, or release thy land and get
thee gone from out my hall."</p>
<p>Then Sir Richard arose to his feet. "Thou false, lying priest!" said
he in so stern a voice that the man of law shrunk affrighted, "I am no
false knight, as thou knowest full well, but have even held my place
in the press and the tourney. Hast thou so little courtesy that thou
wouldst see a true knight kneel for all this time, or see him come into
thy hall and never offer him meat or drink?"</p>
<p>Then quoth the man of law in a trembling voice, "This is surely an
ill way to talk of matters appertaining to business; let us be mild in
speech. What wilt thou pay this knight, Sir Prior, to give thee release
of his land?"</p>
<p>"I would have given him two hundred pounds," quoth the Prior, "but since
he hath spoken so vilely to my teeth, not one groat over one hundred
pounds will he get."</p>
<p>"Hadst thou offered me a thousand pounds, false prior," said the Knight,
"thou wouldst not have got an inch of my land." Then turning to where
his men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, "Come hither," and
beckoned with his finger; whereupon the tallest of them all came forward
and handed him a long leathern bag. Sir Richard took the bag and shot
from it upon the table a glittering stream of golden money. "Bear in
mind, Sir Prior," said he, "that thou hast promised me quittance for
three hundred pounds. Not one farthing above that shalt thou get." So
saying, he counted out three hundred pounds and pushed it toward the
Prior.</p>
<p>But now the Prior's hands dropped at his sides and the Prior's head hung
upon his shoulder, for not only had he lost all hopes of the land,
but he had forgiven the Knight one hundred pounds of his debt and had
needlessly paid the man of law fourscore angels. To him he turned, and
quoth he, "Give me back my money that thou hast."</p>
<p>"Nay," cried the other shrilly, "it is but my fee that thou didst pay
me, and thou gettest it not back again." And he hugged his gown about
him.</p>
<p>"Now, Sir Prior," quoth Sir Richard, "I have held my day and paid all
the dues demanded of me; so, as there is no more betwixt us, I leave
this vile place straightway." So saying, he turned upon his heel and
strode away.</p>
<p>All this time the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and mouth
agape at the tall man-at-arms, who stood as though carved out of stone.
At last he gasped out, "Reynold Greenleaf!"</p>
<p>At this, the tall man-at-arms, who was no other than Little John,
turned, grinning, to the Sheriff. "I give thee good den, fair gossip,"
quoth he. "I would say, sweet Sheriff, that I have heard all thy pretty
talk this day, and it shall be duly told unto Robin Hood. So, farewell
for the nonce, till we meet again in Sherwood Forest." Then he, also,
turned and followed Sir Richard down the hall, leaving the Sheriff, all
pale and amazed, shrunk together upon his chair.</p>
<p>A merry feast it was to which Sir Richard came, but a sorry lot he left
behind him, and little hunger had they for the princely food spread
before them. Only the learned doctor was happy, for he had his fee.</p>
<p>Now a twelvemonth and a day passed since Prior Vincent of Emmet sat at
feast, and once more the mellow fall of another year had come. But the
year had brought great change, I wot, to the lands of Sir Richard of the
Lea; for, where before shaggy wild grasses grew upon the meadow lands,
now all stretch away in golden stubble, betokening that a rich and
plentiful crop had been gathered therefrom. A year had made a great
change in the castle, also, for, where were empty moats and the
crumbling of neglect, all was now orderly and well kept.</p>
<p>Bright shone the sun on battlement and tower, and in the blue air
overhead a Hock of clattering jackdaws flew around the gilded weather
vane and spire. Then, in the brightness of the morning, the drawbridge
fell across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the gate of the
castle swung slowly open, and a goodly array of steel-clad men-at-arms,
with a knight all clothed in chain mail, as white as frost on brier and
thorn of a winter morning, came flashing out from the castle courtyard.
In his hand the Knight held a great spear, from the point of which
fluttered a blood-red pennant as broad as the palm of one's hand. So
this troop came forth from the castle, and in the midst of them walked
three pack horses laden with parcels of divers shapes and kinds.</p>
<p>Thus rode forth good Sir Richard of the Lea to pay his debt to Robin
Hood this bright and merry morn. Along the highway they wended their
way, with measured tramp of feet and rattle and jingle of sword and
harness. Onward they marched till they came nigh to Denby, where, from
the top of a hill, they saw, over beyond the town, many gay flags and
streamers floating in the bright air. Then Sir Richard turned to the
man-at-arms nearest to him. "What is toward yonder at Denby today?"
quoth he.</p>
<p>"Please Your Worship," answered the man-at-arms, "a merry fair is held
there today, and a great wrestling match, to which many folk have come,
for a prize hath been offered of a pipe of red wine, a fair golden ring,
and a pair of gloves, all of which go to the best wrestler."</p>
<p>"Now, by my faith," quoth Sir Richard, who loved good manly sports right
well, "this will be a goodly thing to see. Methinks we have to stay a
little while on our journey, and see this merry sport." So he turned his
horse's head aside toward Denby and the fair, and thither he and his men
made their way.</p>
<p>There they found a great hubbub of merriment. Flags and streamers were
floating, tumblers were tumbling on the green, bagpipes were playing,
and lads and lasses were dancing to the music. But the crowd were
gathered most of all around a ring where the wrestling was going
forward, and thither Sir Richard and his men turned their steps.</p>
<p>Now when the judges of the wrestling saw Sir Richard coming and knew
who he was, the chief of them came down from the bench where he and the
others sat, and went to the Knight and took him by the hand, beseeching
him to come and sit with them and judge the sport. So Sir Richard got
down from his horse and went with the others to the bench raised beside
the ring.</p>
<p>Now there had been great doings that morning, for a certain yeoman named
Egbert, who came from Stoke over in Staffordshire, had thrown with ease
all those that came against him; but a man of Denby, well known through
all the countryside as William of the Scar, had been biding his time
with the Stoke man; so, when Egbert had thrown everyone else, stout
William leaped into the ring. Then a tough bout followed, and at last he
threw Egbert heavily, whereat there was a great shouting and shaking of
hands, for all the Denby men were proud of their wrestler.</p>
<p>When Sir Richard came, he found stout William, puffed up by the shouts
of his friends, walking up and down the ring, daring anyone to come and
try a throw with him. "Come one, come all!" quoth he. "Here stand I,
William of the Scar, against any man. If there is none in Derbyshire to
come against me, come all who will, from Nottingham, Stafford, or York,
and if I do not make them one and all root the ground with their noses
like swine in the forests, call me no more brave William the wrestler."</p>
<p>At this all laughed; but above all the laughter a loud voice was
heard to cry out, "Sin' thou talkest so big, here cometh one from
Nottinghamshire to try a fall with thee, fellow;" and straightway a tall
youth with a tough quarterstaff in his hand came pushing his way through
the crowd and at last leaped lightly over the rope into the ring. He
was not as heavy as stout William, but he was taller and broader in the
shoulders, and all his joints were well knit. Sir Richard looked upon
him keenly, then, turning to one of the judges, he said, "Knowest thou
who this youth is? Methinks I have seen him before."</p>
<p>"Nay," said the judge, "he is a stranger to me."</p>
<p>Meantime, without a word, the young man, laying aside his quarterstaff,
began to take off his jerkin and body clothing until he presently stood
with naked arms and body; and a comely sight he was when so bared to
the view, for his muscles were cut round and smooth and sharp like
swift-running water.</p>
<p>And now each man spat upon his hands and, clapping them upon his knees,
squatted down, watching the other keenly, so as to take the vantage of
him in the grip. Then like a flash they leaped together, and a great
shout went up, for William had gotten the better hold of the two. For
a short time they strained and struggled and writhed, and then stout
William gave his most cunning trip and throw, but the stranger met it
with greater skill than his, and so the trip came to nought. Then, of a
sudden, with a twist and a wrench, the stranger loosed himself, and he
of the scar found himself locked in a pair of arms that fairly made
his ribs crack. So, with heavy, hot breathing, they stood for a while
straining, their bodies all glistening with sweat, and great drops of
sweat trickling down their faces. But the stranger's hug was so close
that at last stout William's muscles softened under his grip, and he
gave a sob. Then the youth put forth all his strength and gave a sudden
trip with his heel and a cast over his right hip, and down stout William
went, with a sickening thud, and lay as though he would never move hand
nor foot again.</p>
<p>But now no shout went up for the stranger, but an angry murmur was heard
among the crowd, so easily had he won the match. Then one of the judges,
a kinsman to William of the Scar, rose with trembling lip and baleful
look. Quoth he, "If thou hath slain that man it will go ill with thee,
let me tell thee, fellow." But the stranger answered boldly, "He took
his chance with me as I took mine with him. No law can touch me to harm
me, even if I slew him, so that it was fairly done in the wrestling
ring."</p>
<p>"That we shall see," said the judge, scowling upon the youth, while once
more an angry murmur ran around the crowd; for, as I have said, the men
of Denby were proud of stout William of the Scar.</p>
<p>Then up spoke Sir Richard gently. "Nay," said he, "the youth is right;
if the other dieth, he dieth in the wrestling ring, where he took his
chance, and was cast fairly enow."</p>
<p>But in the meantime three men had come forward and lifted stout William
from the ground and found that he was not dead, though badly shaken
by his heavy fall. Then the chief judge rose and said, "Young man, the
prize is duly thine. Here is the red-gold ring, and here the gloves, and
yonder stands the pipe of wine to do with whatsoever thou dost list."</p>
<p>At this, the youth, who had donned his clothes and taken up his staff
again, bowed without a word, then, taking the gloves and the ring, and
thrusting the one into his girdle and slipping the other upon his
thumb, he turned and, leaping lightly over the ropes again, made his way
through the crowd, and was gone.</p>
<p>"Now, I wonder who yon youth may be," said the judge, turning to Sir
Richard, "he seemeth like a stout Saxon from his red cheeks and fair
hair. This William of ours is a stout man, too, and never have I seen
him cast in the ring before, albeit he hath not yet striven with such
great wrestlers as Thomas of Cornwall, Diccon of York, and young David
of Doncaster. Hath he not a firm foot in the ring, thinkest thou, Sir
Richard?"</p>
<p>"Ay, truly, and yet this youth threw him fairly, and with wondrous ease.
I much wonder who he can be." Thus said Sir Richard in a thoughtful
voice.</p>
<p>For a time the Knight stood talking to those about him, but at last
he arose and made ready to depart, so he called his men about him and,
tightening the girths of his saddle, he mounted his horse once more.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the young stranger had made his way through the crowd, but, as
he passed, he heard all around him such words muttered as "Look at the
cockerel!" "Behold how he plumeth himself!" "I dare swear he cast good
William unfairly!" "Yea, truly, saw ye not birdlime upon his hands?" "It
would be well to cut his cock's comb!" To all this the stranger paid no
heed, but strode proudly about as though he heard it not. So he walked
slowly across the green to where the booth stood wherein was dancing,
and standing at the door he looked in on the sport. As he stood thus, a
stone struck his arm of a sudden with a sharp jar, and, turning, he saw
that an angry crowd of men had followed him from the wrestling ring.
Then, when they saw him turn so, a great hooting and yelling arose from
all, so that the folk came running out from the dancing booth to see
what was to do. At last a tall, broad-shouldered, burly blacksmith
strode forward from the crowd swinging a mighty blackthorn club in his
hand.</p>
<p>"Wouldst thou come here to our fair town of Denby, thou Jack in the Box,
to overcome a good honest lad with vile, juggling tricks?" growled he in
a deep voice like the bellow of an angry bull. "Take that, then!" And of
a sudden he struck a blow at the youth that might have felled an ox.
But the other turned the blow deftly aside, and gave back another so
terrible that the Denby man went down with a groan, as though he had
been smitten by lightning. When they saw their leader fall, the crowd
gave another angry shout; but the stranger placed his back against the
tent near which he stood, swinging his terrible staff, and so fell had
been the blow that he struck the stout smith that none dared to come
within the measure of his cudgel, so the press crowded back, like a pack
of dogs from a bear at bay. But now some coward hand from behind threw
a sharp jagged stone that smote the stranger on the crown, so that he
staggered back, and the red blood gushed from the cut and ran down his
face and over his jerkin. Then, seeing him dazed with this vile blow,
the crowd rushed upon him, so that they overbore him and he fell beneath
their feet.</p>
<p>Now it might have gone ill with the youth, even to the losing of his
young life, had not Sir Richard come to this fair; for of a sudden,
shouts were heard, and steel flashed in the air, and blows were given
with the flat of swords, while through the midst of the crowd Sir
Richard of the Lea came spurring on his white horse. Then the crowd,
seeing the steel-clad knight and the armed men, melted away like snow
on the warm hearth, leaving the young man all bloody and dusty upon the
ground.</p>
<p>Finding himself free, the youth arose and, wiping the blood from his
face, looked up. Quoth he, "Sir Richard of the Lea, mayhap thou hast
saved my life this day."</p>
<p>"Who art thou that knowest Sir Richard of the Lea so well?" quoth the
Knight. "Methinks I have seen thy face before, young man."</p>
<p>"Yea, thou hast," said the youth, "for men call me David of Doncaster."</p>
<p>"Ha!" said Sir Richard, "I wonder that I knew thee not, David; but thy
beard hath grown longer, and thou thyself art more set in manhood since
this day twelvemonth. Come hither into the tent, David, and wash the
blood from thy face. And thou, Ralph, bring him straightway a clean
jerkin. Now I am sorry for thee, yet I am right glad that I have had
a chance to pay a part of my debt of kindness to thy good master Robin
Hood, for it might have gone ill with thee had I not come, young man."</p>
<p>So saying, the Knight led David into the tent, and there the youth
washed the blood from his face and put on the clean jerkin.</p>
<p>In the meantime a whisper had gone around from those that stood nearest
that this was none other than the great David of Doncaster, the best
wrestler in all the mid-country, who only last spring had cast stout
Adam o' Lincoln in the ring at Selby, in Yorkshire, and now held the
mid-country champion belt, Thus it happened that when young David came
forth from the tent along with Sir Richard, the blood all washed from
his face, and his soiled jerkin changed for a clean one, no sounds of
anger were heard, but all pressed forward to see the young man, feeling
proud that one of the great wrestlers of England should have entered the
ring at Denby fair. For thus fickle is a mass of men.</p>
<p>Then Sir Richard called aloud, "Friends, this is David of Doncaster; so
think it no shame that your Denby man was cast by such a wrestler. He
beareth you no ill will for what hath passed, but let it be a warning
to you how ye treat strangers henceforth. Had ye slain him it would have
been an ill day for you, for Robin Hood would have harried your town as
the kestrel harries the dovecote. I have bought the pipe of wine from
him, and now I give it freely to you to drink as ye list. But never
hereafterward fall upon a man for being a stout yeoman."</p>
<p>At this all shouted amain; but in truth they thought more of the wine
than of the Knight's words. Then Sir Richard, with David beside him and
his men-at-arms around, turned about and left the fair.</p>
<p>But in after days, when the men that saw that wrestling bout were bent
with age, they would shake their heads when they heard of any stalwart
game, and say, "Ay, ay; but thou shouldst have seen the great David of
Doncaster cast stout William of the Scar at Denby fair."</p>
<p>Robin Hood stood in the merry greenwood with Little John and most of his
stout yeomen around him, awaiting Sir Richard's coming. At last a glint
of steel was seen through the brown forest leaves, and forth from the
covert into the open rode Sir Richard at the head of his men. He came
straight forward to Robin Hood and leaping from off his horse, clasped
the yeoman in his arms.</p>
<p>"Why, how now," said Robin, after a time, holding Sir Richard off and
looking at him from top to toe, "methinks thou art a gayer bird than
when I saw thee last."</p>
<p>"Yes, thanks to thee, Robin," said the Knight, laying his hand upon the
yeoman's shoulder. "But for thee I would have been wandering in misery
in a far country by this time. But I have kept my word, Robin, and have
brought back the money that thou didst lend me, and which I have doubled
four times over again, and so become rich once more. Along with this
money I have brought a little gift to thee and thy brave men from my
dear lady and myself." Then, turning to his men, he called aloud, "Bring
forth the pack horses."</p>
<p>But Robin stopped him. "Nay, Sir Richard," said he, "think it not bold
of me to cross thy bidding, but we of Sherwood do no business till after
we have eaten and drunk." Whereupon, taking Sir Richard by the hand,
he led him to the seat beneath the greenwood tree, while others of the
chief men of the band came and seated themselves around. Then quoth
Robin, "How cometh it that I saw young David of Doncaster with thee and
thy men, Sir Knight?"</p>
<p>Then straightway the Knight told all about his stay at Denby and of the
happening at the fair, and how it was like to go hard with young David;
so he told his tale, and quoth he, "It was this, good Robin, that kept
me so late on the way, otherwise I would have been here an hour agone."</p>
<p>Then, when he had done speaking, Robin stretched out his hand and
grasped the Knight's palm. Quoth he in a trembling voice, "I owe thee
a debt I can never hope to repay, Sir Richard, for let me tell thee, I
would rather lose my right hand than have such ill befall young David of
Doncaster as seemed like to come upon him at Denby."</p>
<p>So they talked until after a while one came forward to say that the
feast was spread; whereupon all arose and went thereto. When at last
it was done, the Knight called upon his men to bring the pack horses
forward, which they did according to his bidding. Then one of the men
brought the Knight a strongbox, which he opened and took from it a bag
and counted out five hundred pounds, the sum he had gotten from Robin.</p>
<p>"Sir Richard," quoth Robin, "thou wilt pleasure us all if thou wilt keep
that money as a gift from us of Sherwood. Is it not so, my lads?"</p>
<p>Then all shouted "Ay" with a mighty voice.</p>
<p>"I thank you all deeply," said the Knight earnestly, "but think it not
ill of me if I cannot take it. Gladly have I borrowed it from you, but
it may not be that I can take it as a gift."</p>
<p>Then Robin Hood said no more but gave the money to Little John to put
away in the treasury, for he had shrewdness enough to know that nought
breeds ill will and heart bitterness like gifts forced upon one that
cannot choose but take them.</p>
<p>Then Sir Richard had the packs laid upon the ground and opened,
whereupon a great shout went up that made the forest ring again, for lo,
there were tenscore bows of finest Spanish yew, all burnished till they
shone again, and each bow inlaid with fanciful figures in silver, yet
not inlaid so as to mar their strength. Beside these were tenscore
quivers of leather embroidered with golden thread, and in each quiver
were a score of shafts with burnished heads that shone like silver; each
shaft was feathered with peacock's plumes, innocked with silver.</p>
<p>Sir Richard gave to each yeoman a bow and a quiver of arrows, but to
Robin he gave a stout bow inlaid with the cunningest workmanship in
gold, while each arrow in his quiver was innocked with gold.</p>
<p>Then all shouted again for joy of the fair gift, and all swore among
themselves that they would die if need be for Sir Richard and his lady.</p>
<p>At last the time came when Sir Richard must go, whereupon Robin Hood
called his band around him, and each man of the yeomen took a torch in
his hand to light the way through the woodlands. So they came to the
edge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin upon the cheeks and
left him and was gone.</p>
<p>Thus Robin Hood helped a noble knight out of his dire misfortunes, that
else would have smothered the happiness from his life.</p>
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