The House of Walderne | Page 7

plain, And merrily chanted a roundelay.
The ballad went on to tell how next day Robin saw this fine bird,
whose name was Allan-a-dale, with his feathers all moultered; because
his bonnie love had been snatched from him and was about to be wed
to a wizened old knight, at a neighbouring church, against her will. And
then how Robin Hood and Little John, and twenty-four of their merrie
men, stopped the ceremony, and Little John, assuming the Bishop's
robe, married the fair bride to Allan-a-dale, who thereupon became
their man and took to an outlaw's life with his bonny wife.
"Well sung, my lad, but when thou shalt marry, I wish thee a better
priest than Little John; here is a guerdon for thee, a rose noble; some
day thou wilt be a famous minstrel.
"And now, my Stephen, let us sleep, if our good hosts will permit."
"There is a hut hard by, such as we all use, which I have devoted to
your service; clean straw and thick coverlets of skins, warriors will
hardly ask more."
"It was but an hour since I thought the heath would have been our
couch, and a snowball our pillow; we shall be well content."
"It is wind proof, and thou mayst rest in safety till the horn summons
all to break their fast at dawn: thou mayst sleep meanwhile as securely
as in thine own castle."
And the outlaws rose with a courtesy one would hardly have expected
from these wild sons of the forest; while Kynewulf showed the guests
to their sleeping quarters, through the still fast-falling snow.
The hut was snug as Grimbeard (for such was the chieftain's

appropriate name) had boasted, and tolerably wind proof, although in
such a storm snow will always force its way through the tiniest crevices.
It was built of wattle work, cunningly daubed with clay, even as the
early Britons built their lodges.
And here slept the great earl, whose name was known through the
civilised world, the brother-in-law of the king, the mightiest warrior of
his time, and, amongst the laity, the most devout churchman known to
fame.
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In the dead hour of the night, when the darkness is deepest and sleep
the soundest, they were both awakened by the opening of the door, and
the cold blast of wind it produced. The earl and his squire started up
and sat upright on their couches.
A woman stood in the doorway, who held a boy by the hand; the eyes
of both were red with weeping.
"Lady, thou lookest sad; hath aught grieved thee or any one injured
thee? the vow of knighthood compels my aid to the distressed."
It was the woman they had noted at the fireside.
"Thou art Simon de Montfort," she said.
"I am; how dost thou know me?"
"I have met thee before, under other guise. Is liberty dear to thee?"
"Without it life is worthless--but who or what threatens it?"
"The outlaws, amongst whom thou hast fallen."
"They will not harm me. I have eaten of their salt."
"Nay, but they will hold thee to ransom, and detain thee till it is brought:

I heard them amerce thee at a thousand marks."
"In that case, as I do not wish to winter here, I had better up and away;
but who will be my guide?"
"My son; but thou must do me a service in return--thou must charge
thyself with his welfare, for after guiding thee he can return here no
more."
"But canst thou part with thine own son?"
"I would save him from a life of penury and even crime, and I can trust
him to thee."
"Oh, mother!" said the boy, weeping silently.
"Nay, Martin, we have often talked of this and longed for such a chance,
now it is come--for thine own sake, my darling, the apple of mine eye;
this good earl can be trusted."
"Earl Simon," she said, 'I know thee both great and a man who fears
God; yes, I know thee, I have long watched for such an opportunity;
take this boy, and in saving him save yourself from captivity."
"Tell me his name."
"Martin will suffice."
"But ere I undertake charge of him I would fain learn more, that I may
bring him up according to his degree."
"He is of noble birth, on both sides; how fallen from such high estate
this packet--entrusted in full confidence--will tell thee. Simon de
Montfort, I give thee my life, nay, my all; let me hear from time to time
how he fareth, through the good monks of Michelham--thou leavest a
bleeding heart behind."
"Poor woman! yet it is well for the boy; he shall be one of my pages, if
he prove worthy."

"It is all I ask: now depart