The Adventures of Robin Hood Part 17

Next he told how her father had discovered what was a-doing, and had taken her away from him so that he never saw her again, and his heart was sometimes like to break; how this morn, only one short month and a half from the time that he had seen her last, he had heard and knew it to be so, that she was to marry old Sir Stephen of Trent, two days hence, for Ellen's father thought it would be a grand thing to have his daughter marry so high, albeit she wished it not; nor was it wonder that a knight should wish to marry his own sweet love, who was the most beautiful maiden in all the world.

To all this the yeomen listened in silence, the clatter of many voices, jesting and laughing, sounding around them, and the red light of the fire s.h.i.+ning on their faces and in their eyes. So simple were the poor boy's words, and so deep his sorrow, that even Little John felt a certain knotty lump rise in his throat.

"I wonder not," said Robin, after a moment's silence, "that thy true love loved thee, for thou hast surely a silver cross beneath thy tongue, even like good Saint Francis, that could charm the birds of the air by his speech."

"By the breath of my body," burst forth Little John, seeking to cover his feelings with angry words, "I have a great part of a mind to go straightway and cudgel the nasty life out of the body of that same vile Sir Stephen. Marry, come up, say I--what a plague--does an old weazen think that tender la.s.ses are to be bought like pullets o' a market day?

Out upon him!--I--but no matter, only let him look to himself."

Then up spoke Will Scarlet. "Methinks it seemeth but ill done of the la.s.s that she should so quickly change at others' bidding, more especially when it cometh to the marrying of a man as old as this same Sir Stephen. I like it not in her, Allan."

"Nay," said Allan hotly, "thou dost wrong her. She is as soft and gentle as a stockdove. I know her better than anyone in all the world. She may do her father's bidding, but if she marries Sir Stephen, her heart will break and she will die. My own sweet dear, I--" He stopped and shook his head, for he could say nothing further.

While the others were speaking, Robin Hood had been sunk in thought.

"Methinks I have a plan might fit thy case, Allan," said he. "But tell me first, thinkest thou, lad, that thy true love hath spirit enough to marry thee were ye together in church, the banns published, and the priest found, even were her father to say her nay?"

"Ay, marry would she," cried Allan eagerly.

"Then, if her father be the man that I take him to be, I will undertake that he shall give you both his blessing as wedded man and wife, in the place of old Sir Stephen, and upon his wedding morn. But stay, now I bethink me, there is one thing reckoned not upon--the priest. Truly, those of the cloth do not love me overmuch, and when it comes to doing as I desire in such a matter, they are as like as not to prove stiff-necked. As to the lesser clergy, they fear to do me a favor because of abbot or bishop.

"Nay," quoth Will Scarlet, laughing, "so far as that goeth, I know of a certain friar that, couldst thou but get on the soft side of him, would do thy business even though Pope Joan herself stood forth to ban him. He is known as the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey, and dwelleth in Fountain Dale."

"But," quoth Robin, "Fountain Abbey is a good hundred miles from here.

An we would help this lad, we have no time to go thither and back before his true love will be married. Nought is to be gained there, coz."

"Yea," quoth Will Scarlet, laughing again, "but this Fountain Abbey is not so far away as the one of which thou speakest, uncle. The Fountain Abbey of which I speak is no such rich and proud place as the other, but a simple little cell; yet, withal, as cosy a spot as ever stout anchorite dwelled within. I know the place well, and can guide thee thither, for, though it is a goodly distance, yet methinks a stout pair of legs could carry a man there and back in one day."

"Then give me thy hand, Allan," cried Robin, "and let me tell thee, I swear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that this time two days hence Ellen a Dale shall be thy wife. I will seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey tomorrow day, and I warrant I will get upon the soft side of him, even if I have to drub one soft."

At this Will Scarlet laughed again. "Be not too sure of that, good uncle," quoth he, "nevertheless, from what I know of him, I think this Curtal Friar will gladly join two such fair lovers, more especially if there be good eating and drinking afoot thereafter."

But now one of the band came to say that the feast was spread upon the gra.s.s; so, Robin leading the way, the others followed to where the goodly feast was spread. Merry was the meal. Jest and story pa.s.sed freely, and all laughed till the forest rang again. Allan laughed with the rest, for his cheeks were flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had given him.

At last the feast was done, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who sat beside him. "Now, Allan," quoth he, "so much has been said of thy singing that we would fain have a taste of thy skill ourselves. Canst thou not give us something?"

"Surely," answered Allan readily; for he was no third-rate songster that must be asked again and again, but said "yes" or "no" at the first bidding; so, taking up his harp, he ran his fingers lightly over the sweetly sounding strings, and all was hushed about the cloth. Then, backing his voice with sweet music on his harp, he sang:

MAY ELLEN'S WEDDING

(Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince, who took her to his own home.)

"_May Ellen sat beneath a thorn And in a shower around The blossoms fell at every breeze Like snow upon the ground, And in a lime tree near was heard The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.

"O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet, O lingering sweet the strain!

May Ellen's heart within her breast Stood still with blissful pain: And so, with listening, upturned face, She sat as dead in that fair place.

"'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!

Come down from out the tree, And on my heart I'll let thee lie, And love thee tenderly!'

Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low, From where the hawthorn shed its snow.

"Down dropped the bird on quivering wing, From out the blossoming tree, And nestled in her snowy breast.

'My love! my love!' cried she; Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower, She bare him to her own sweet bower.

"The day hath pa.s.sed to mellow night, The moon floats o'er the lea, And in its solemn, pallid light A youth stands silently: A youth of beauty strange and rare, Within May Ellen's bower there.

"He stood where o'er the pavement cold The glimmering moonbeams lay.

May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes, Nor could she turn away, For, as in mystic dreams we see A spirit, stood he silently.

"All in a low and breathless voice, 'Whence comest thou?' said she; 'Art thou the creature of a dream, Or a vision that I see?'

Then soft spake he, as night winds s.h.i.+ver Through straining reeds beside the river.

"'I came, a bird on feathered wing, From distant Faeryland Where murmuring waters softly sing Upon the golden strand, Where sweet trees are forever green; And there my mother is the queen.'

"No more May Ellen leaves her bower To grace the blossoms fair; But in the hushed and midnight hour They hear her talking there, Or, when the moon is s.h.i.+ning white, They hear her singing through the night.

"'Oh, don thy silks and jewels fine,'

May Ellen's mother said, 'For hither comes the Lord of Lyne And thou this lord must wed.'

May Ellen said, 'It may not be.

He ne'er shall find his wife in me.'

"Up spoke her brother, dark and grim: 'Now by the bright blue sky, E'er yet a day hath gone for him Thy wicked bird shall die!

For he hath wrought thee bitter harm, By some strange art or cunning charm.'

"Then, with a sad and mournful song, Away the bird did fly, And o'er the castle eaves, and through The gray and windy sky.

'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim, 'Why dost thou gaze so after him?'

"It is May Ellen's wedding day, The sky is blue and fair, And many a lord and lady gay In church are gathered there.

The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold, All clad in silk and cloth of gold.

"In came the bride in samite white With a white wreath on her head; Her eyes were fixed with a gla.s.sy look, Her face was as the dead, And when she stood among the throng, She sang a wild and wondrous song.

"Then came a strange and rus.h.i.+ng sound Like the coming wind doth bring, And in the open windows shot Nine swans on whistling wing, And high above the heads they flew, In gleaming fight the darkness through.

"Around May Ellen's head they flew In wide and windy fight, And three times round the circle drew.

The guests shrank in affright, And the priest beside the altar there, Did cross himself with muttered prayer.

"But the third time they flew around, Fair Ellen straight was gone, And in her place, upon the ground, There stood a snow-white swan.

Then, with a wild and lovely song, It joined the swift and winged throng.

"There's ancient men at weddings been, For sixty years and more, But such a wondrous wedding day, They never saw before.

But none could check and none could stay, The swans that bore the bride away_."

Not a sound broke the stillness when Allan a Dale had done, but all sat gazing at the handsome singer, for so sweet was his voice and the music that each man sat with bated breath, lest one drop more should come and he should lose it.

"By my faith and my troth," quoth Robin at last, drawing a deep breath, "lad, thou art--Thou must not leave our company, Allan! Wilt thou not stay with us here in the sweet green forest? Truly, I do feel my heart go out toward thee with great love."

Then Allan took Robin's hand and kissed it. "I will stay with thee always, dear master," said he, "for never have I known such kindness as thou hast shown me this day."