Robin Hood. Chapter 1

Robin Hood. Chapter 1

It was the year of grace of 1162, under the reign of Henry II; two travellers, their clothes dirty from a long walk and their eyes exhausted with fatigue, were one night traversing the narrow paths of Sherwood Forest in the county of Nottingham. 

The air was cold; The trees, where the faint greenery of March was already beginning to dawn, shuddered with the breath of the last winter wind, and a gloomy mist spread over the country as the purple clouds of the horizon faded the rays of the setting sun. Soon the sky turned dark, and gusts of wind over the forest foreshadowed a stormy night. 

"Ritson," said the older traveller, wrapping himself in his cloak, "the wind is redoubling its violence; Are you not afraid that the storm will overtake us before it arrives? Are we on the right track? 

Ritson replied: 

"We are going straight to our destination, my lord, and, if my memory serves, within an hour we shall knock at the gamekeeper's door. 

The two strangers walked in silence for three-quarters of an hour, and the traveller to whom his companion bestowed the style of my lord cried out impatiently: 

"Will we get there soon?" 

"In ten minutes, my lord. 

"Well; but is that gamekeeper, this man you call Head, worthy of my confidence? 

"Perfectly worthy, my lord; my brother-in-law Head is a rough, frank and honest man; he will listen with respect to the admirable story invented by his Lordship, and he will believe it; He does not know what a lie is, he does not even know distrust. "Look, my lord," cried Ritson cheerfully, interrupting his praise of the gamekeeper, "look there: that light that colours the trees with its reflection, well, it comes from Gilbert Head's house. 

How many times in my youth have I greeted her full of happiness! 

"Is the child asleep?" The gentleman asked suddenly. 

"Yes, my lord," replied Ritson, "he is a sound sleeper, and I do not understand why your Lordship is so anxious to preserve the life of a little creature which is so injurious to his interests. If you want to get rid of this child forever, why don't you sink two inches of steel into his heart? I am at your service, speak. Promise me as a reward to write my name in your will, and this sleepy little man will never wake up again. 

"Shut up!" The gentleman replied sharply. I do not wish the death of this innocent creature. I may fear being discovered in the future, but I prefer the anguish of fear to the remorse of a crime. Besides, I have reason to hope and even believe that the mystery surrounding the birth of this child will never be revealed. If it were not so, it could only be your doing, Ritson, and I swear to you that I will spend every moment of my life in keeping a strict watch on your actions and your gestures. Educated as a peasant, this child will not suffer the mediocrity of his condition; here happiness will be created in accordance with his tastes and customs, and he will never regret the name and fortune that he loses today without knowing them. 

"Thy will be done, my lord!" Ritson replied coldly; but, really, the life of such a small child is not worth the fatigues of a journey from Huntingdonshire to Nottinghamshire. 

At last the travellers stepped ashore in front of a beautiful hut hidden like a bird's nest in a forest clump. 

"Hey! Head shouted Ritson in a cheerful, sonorous voice. Hey! Open quickly; It's raining heavily, and from here I see the fire in your fireplace. Open up, good man, it is a relative who asks you for hospitality. 

The dogs roared inside the house, and the prudent guard answered first: 

"Who's calling?" 

"A friend." 

"What friend?" 

"Roland Ritson, your brother. Open up, good Gilbert. 

"Roland Ritson, from Mansfield?" 

"Yes, yes, the same, Margaret's brother. Come on, are you going to open? Ritson added impatiently. We will chat while we eat something. 

The door opened at last and the travelers entered. 

Gilbert Head cordially shook hands with his brother-in-law, and politely greeting the gentleman said: 

"Messer Caballero, be welcome, and do not accuse me of having broken the laws of hospitality by keeping the door shut between you and my home." The isolation of this house and the wandering of the "outlaws" (bandits) through the forest demand prudence; It is not enough to be brave and strong to escape danger. Accept my excuses, noble stranger, and take my house for yours. Sit by the fire to dry your clothes; Now they will take care of your mounts. Hey! Lincoln! Gilbert cried, opening the door of an adjoining room, "take these gentlemen's horses to the shed, for our stable is too small." 

Presently a stout peasant dressed as a gamekeeper appeared, crossed the room, and came out without even a blow 

curious glance at newcomers; then a pretty woman, barely thirty years old, came to offer her two hands and forehead to Ritson's kisses. 

"Dear Margaret! Dear sister! he shouted, caressing her as he looked at her with a candid mixture of admiration and surprise. You have not changed, your forehead is as pure, your eyes as bright, your cheeks and lips as rosy as in the days when our good Gilbert courted you. 

"It's just that I'm happy," replied Margaret, directing a tender glance at her husband. 

"You may say, we are happy, Maggie," added the honest gamekeeper. Thanks to your cheerful character there has been no anger or quarrel in our house yet. But we have already talked enough about it; let's take care of our guests... Well! dear brother-in-law, take off your cloak; and you, Messer Caballero, get rid of that rain that impregnates your clothes, like the morning dew on the leaves. We'll have dinner right away. Maggie, hurry, put a bundle or two of wood on the fireplace, place on the table the best dishes and on the beds the whitest sheets you have; quickly. 

While the diligent young woman obeyed her husband, Ritson shed her cloak and discovered a beautiful child wrapped in a blue cashmere cloak. The round, fresh and red face of that child of barely fifteen months, announced perfect health and a robust constitution. 

When she had carefully arranged the folds of that baby's headdress, Ritson placed her pretty little head under a beam of light that brought forth all her beauty, and called sweetly to her sister. 

Margarita came. 

"Maggie," he said, "I have a present for you, that you may not accuse me of coming to see you empty-handed after eight years' absence—here, look what I bring you." 

"Holy Mary!" cried the young woman, clasping her hands. Holy Mary, a child! Ronald, is this wonderful little angel yours? Gilbert, Gilbert, come and see what a lovely boy! 

"A child!" A child in Ritson's arms! And far from being enthusiastic like his wife, Gilbert cast a stern glance at his relative, "What does it all mean?" Why did you come here? What is that story of the baby? Come on, speak, be sincere, I want to know everything. 

"This child does not belong to me, good Gilbert; he is an orphan, and this knight is his protector only of his own free will. 

Margaret took hold of the little boy, who was still asleep, took him to her room, laid him on her bed, covered his hands and neck with kisses, wrapped him warmly in her beautiful festive tablecloth, and rejoined her guests. 

Supper passed merrily, and at the end of the meal the knight said to the guard: 

"Your lovely wife's interest in this child has determined me to make you a proposal concerning his future welfare. But first let me inform you of certain peculiarities concerning the family, birth and present situation of this poor orphan of whom I am the only protector. His father, a former comrade-in-arms in my youth, spent on the battlefields, was my best and most intimate friend. At the beginning of the reign of our glorious sovereign Henry II, we lived together in France, either in Normandy, in Aquitaine, or in Poitou and, after a separation of some years, we met again in Wales. Before leaving France, my friend had fallen madly in love with a young woman, married her, and brought her to England, with his family. Unfortunately, that family, a proud and haughty branch of a princely house full of idiotic prejudices, refused to admit into their bosom the young woman, who was poor and had no other nobility than that of her feelings. That injury wounded her in such a way that, eight days later, she died after having brought into the world the child whom we wish to entrust to your good care; he no longer has a father, because my poor friend was mortally wounded in a battle in Normandy, ten months ago. If God grants life and health to this child, he will be the companion of my old days; I will tell him the sad and glorious story of the author of his days, and I will teach him to walk steadily in the same paths that his brave father and I walked, in the meantime you will bring up the child as if he were your own, and I swear to you that you will not do it gratuitously. Answer, Master Gilbert, do you accept my proposal? 

The gentleman waited anxiously for the answer of the gamekeeper who, before committing himself, questioned his wife with his eyes; but pretty Margaret turned her head and tilted it to the door of the next room, smiling and trying to hear the imperceptible murmur of the child's breathing. 

Ritson, who was furtively scanning out of the corner of his eye the expression of the physiognomy of the two spouses, understood that his sister was ready to take charge of the child in spite of Gilbert's hesitations, and said in a very persuasive voice: 

"The laughter of that angel will be the joy of your home, my sweet Maggie, and I swear to you by St. Peter that you will hear another sound no less cheerful; the sound of guineas that His Lordship will put in your hand every year. 

"Do you hesitate, Master Gilbert?" said the gentleman, frowning. 

Do you dislike my proposal? 

"Excuse me, my lord, your proposal is very agreeable to me, and we will take care of the child if my dear Maggie has no objection. Come, woman, say what you think; Your will will be mine. 

"Well, I'll be his mother. Then, turning to the knight, he added, "And if you ever wish to recover your adopted son, we will return him to you with a heavy heart, but we will console ourselves for his loss by thinking that henceforth he will be happier with you than under the humble roof of a poor gamekeeper. 

"My wife's words are a commitment," replied Gilbert, "and I swear to watch over this child and to serve as his father. I give you my word, Messer Caballero. 

And taking one of his gauntlets from his girdle, he threw it on the table. 

"One word for another, and one glove for another," replied the gentleman, also throwing a gauntlet on the table. Now we have to agree on the price of the baby's pension. Have this, good man; every year you will receive as much. 

And taking from his doublet a little leather bag full of gold coins, he tried to put it into the hands of the gamekeeper. 

But he refused. 

"Keep your gold, my lord; Margarita's caresses and bread are not sold. 

For a while the little leather bag went from Gilbert's hands to the gentleman's. Finally, and at Margaret's suggestion, they agreed that the money received each year in payment of the child's alimony should be kept in a safe place, to be delivered to the orphan when he reached the age of majority. 

Once the matter had been arranged to everyone's liking, they separated to go to sleep. The next day Gilbert arose at dawn and looked enviously at the horses of his guests; Lincoln was already taking care of its cleaning. 

Then he realized that the travelers had taken his poor horses, two ugly ponies, and had gone away, leaving him their excellent mounts. However, he was upset that Ritson had not said goodbye. His wife defended her brother: 

"Don't you know that Ritson avoids coming to this region since the death of your poor sister, Anita, his fiancée?" The air of happiness in our house must have awakened their sorrows. 

"You're right, woman," Gilbert replied with a great sigh. Poor Anita! 

"The worst thing about it," replied Margaret, "is that we know neither the name nor the address of the child's protector. How will we tell you if you fall ill? And what shall we call the child? 

"Choose the name, Margarita. 

"Choose it yourself, Gilbert; He's a boy, and it's up to you.

"Well; if you wish, we will give him the name of the brother I loved so much; I cannot think of Anita without remembering the unfortunate Robin. 

"Well, he is already baptized, our gentle Robin!" Margarita exclaimed, covering with kisses the face of the child who was already smiling at her as if sweet Margarita had been his mother. 

Thus, the orphan was given the name Robin Head. Later, and without known cause, the word Head was changed to Hood, and the little stranger became very famous throughout the county of Nottingham under the name of Robin Hood.