Robin Hood. Chapter 5
This stormy afternoon was succeeded by a quiet and silent night. The young monk and Lincoln had returned from their expedition into the woods to bury the bandit's corpse; Mariana and Margarita no longer heard the noise of battle except in their dreams; Allan, Robin, Lincoln, and the two monks repaired their strength by sleeping soundly; only Gilbert Head was still watching.
When the sun flooded the room with light, Ritson, as if awakened from the sleep of death, shuddered, gave a groan of regret, and, seizing Gilbert's hand, raised it to his lips and stammered these words:
"Do you forgive me?"
"Speak first," replied Gilbert, hastening to receive some light on the death of his sister Anita and the birth of Robin; I'll forgive later.
"That way I'll die more peacefully."
Ritson was about to begin his revelations when cheerful voices were heard on the ground floor.
"Father, are you sleeping?" Robin asked from the bottom of the stairs.
"It's time to leave for Nottingham if we want to come back this afternoon," added Allan Clare.
"If it pleases you, gentlemen," said the Herculean monk, "I will be your travelling companion, for a good deed calls me to Nottingham Castle."
"Come, father, come down so that we can say goodbye." Much to his regret, Gilbert descended.
He immediately dismissed Robin, Allan, and the monk; Mariana and Margarita were to accompany them to some distance from the house to cheer themselves up with a morning walk; Lincoln was sent to Mansfeldwoohaus on some pretext, and Father Eldred took the opportunity to visit the town; At the end of the day they would all meet again.
"We're alone now, speak, I'll hear you," Gilbert said, sitting down at Ritson's bedside.
"I will not tell you, brother, all the crimes, all the monstrous deeds of which I am guilty. You know that I left Mansfeldwoohaus twenty-three years ago to enter the service of Philip Fitzooth, Baron of Beasant. This title had been bestowed upon my lord by King Henry in payment for services rendered during the war with France. Philip Fitzooth was the younger son of the old Earl of Huntingdon, who died long before my entry into this house, leaving his estate and title to his eldest son, Robert.
"Some time after this inheritance, Robert lost his wife in childbirth, and he concentrated all his affection on the heir she left him; a weak and sickly child whose life was only carried out with meticulous and constant care. Earl Robert, already heartbroken by the death of his wife and despairing for the future of his son, allowed himself to be overcome by grief and died, entrusting to his brother Philip the mission of watching over the only offspring of his race.
"From that moment on, Baron de Beasant had an imperious duty to fulfill. But ambition, the desire to acquire new titles of nobility and to inherit a colossal fortune, made him forget his brother's recommendations, and, after a few days of hesitation, he decided to get rid of the child; soon he had to give up his project, young Robert lived among numerous servants, the footmen, guards and inhabitants of the county were devoted to him and would not have ceased to protest and even to rebel if Philip Fitzooth had dared to openly strip him of his rights.
"So he temporized by exploiting the weak constitution of the heir, who, according to the opinion of the doctors, would soon succumb if disorder and violent exercises were allowed to him.
"To this end Philip Fitzooth took me into his service. Earl Robert was now sixteen years old, and, according to his uncle's infamous calculations, I must bring him to his doom by every means in my power, falls, accidents, diseases; I had to try everything to get him to die quickly, everything except murder. I was a worthy and jealous henchman of the Baron de Beasant.
"But Robert, as he grew older, had grown strong. Fatigue was already unknown to him.
"My task was getting harder and harder. At last I thought I observed some changes in the physiognomy and appearance of the young count; These changes, almost imperceptible at first, gradually became visible, real, important; he lost his vivacity and his joy; he would remain sad and pensive for long hours; he remained motionless or walked alone while the dogs harassed the game; He no longer ate, drank, slept, shunned women, and barely spoke to me once or twice a day.
"I spied on him and soon discovered him walking with a young woman.
"Wow, wow! Here is something that Monsieur Baron de Beasant does not expect! Robert is in love; This explains his insomnia, his sadness, his lack of appetite and, above all, his solitary walks.
"I listened attentively to the words of the two lovers, hoping to surprise some secret, but I heard only the usual language under such circumstances.
—The interviews of Robert and his beloved lasted a long time. To make them easier, Robert confessed it to me, and I did not relate the matter to the Baron de Beasant until I had been well informed of the young lady's position. Miss Laura belonged to a family less exalted in the noble hierarchy than Robert's, but whose alliance would nevertheless be honorable.
"The Baron ordered me to prevent Robert's marriage to that Miss Laura at all costs, and even ordered me to sacrifice the young lady.
"This order seemed cruel to me, very dangerous, and, above all, very difficult to execute.
"I did not know what side to take, or what devil to ask for advice, when, trusting and indiscreet like every happy man, Robert told me that, wanting to be loved for himself, he had concealed his position from Miss Laura.
"Miss Laura believed him to be the son of the gamekeeper, and in spite of this low extraction, she consented to give him her hand.
"Robert had rented a little cottage in the little town of Loockeys, in Nottinghamshire; there he was to join his young wife, and so that nothing would be suspected, he would announce on leaving Huntingdon Castle that he was going to Normandy to spend some months with his uncle the Baron de Beasant.
"The plan turned out wonderfully; a priest secretly united the two lovers; I was the only witness to the wedding, and we went to live in Loockeys' house.
—After a year of happiness that was not tarnished by anything, Laura gave birth to a boy whose birth cost her his life.
"And that child," Gilbert asked anxiously, "that child is—"
"Yes, he is the child we entrusted to you fifteen years ago.
"Is Robin then the heir to the title of Earl of Huntingdon?"
"Yes, Robin is an earl, Robin...
Ritson gathered his remaining strength and continued:
"Robert, mad with grief, refused consolation, lost his courage, and fell seriously ill.
"The Baron de Beasant, dissatisfied with my vigilance, had announced his imminent return to me; I thought I was acting on her wishes by having Countess Laura buried in a nearby convent without revealing her status as Earl Robert's wife, and I placed the child in the hands of a farmer whom I knew. In the meantime the Baron de Beasant returned to England, and, thinking it well with his plans not to deny Robert's pretended journey to France, he had him taken to the castle, announcing that he had fallen ill on the journey.
"Luck favored the Baron de Beasant, he was about to achieve his purposes, he already saw himself heir to the titles and fortune of the Earl of Huntingdon; Robert was going to die... A few moments before he breathed his last, the unfortunate young man called the baron to his bedside, told him of his marriage to Laura, and made him swear on the Gospel that he would watch over the orphan. The uncle swore... but the corpse of the unfortunate Robert was still warm when the Baron called me into the mortuary chamber and, in turn, made me swear on the Gospel that I would never reveal, as long as he lived, Robert's marriage, the birth of his son, or the circumstances of his death.
"My soul was saddened; I wept remembering my master, or rather my pupil, my companion, so sweet, so good, so generous to me and to everyone; but Baron de Beasant had to be obeyed.
"So I swore and we took the disinherited child.
"And where is the Baron de Beasant, usurper of the title of Earl of Huntingdon?" Gilbert asked.
"He died in a shipwreck off the coast of France, and it was I who accompanied him as when we came here; I brought the news of his death to England.
"And who has succeeded you?"
—The wealthy abbot of Ramsay, William Fitzooth.
"What! does an abbot despoil my son Robin for his benefit?
"Yes, this abbot took me into his service, and a few days later he threw me out unjustly after a quarrel I had with one of his servants. I left his house with a heart full of rage and swearing revenge... And though death will render me powerless, I avenge myself, for I do not know Gilbert Head if he will allow Robin to remain long deprived of his inheritance.
"No, it won't be long," replied Gilbert, "or I'll die of grief."
Who are your relatives on your mother's side? They are interested in Robin being recognized as Earl of England.
"Sir Guy de Gamwell-Hall is the father of Countess Laura.
"What! Old Sir Guy of Gamwell-Hall, the same one who lives on the other side of the forest with his seven children, the great hunters of Sherwood?
"Yes, brother.
"Well! with your help I will drive out of Huntingdon Castle the Lord Abbot, though they call him the rich, the mighty Abbot of Ramsay, Baron of Broughton.
"Brother, shall I die avenged?" Ritson asked, barely opening his mouth.
"I give you my word, I swear to you.
Ritson's agony dragged on, and from time to time he gathered strength to make a new confession. Still
he had not said everything; Was it shame or was it that the proximity of death obscured his memory?
"Ah! —he continued after a long rattle— he forgot an important thing... very important...
"What is it?"
"I wanted to kill them. Yesterday... Baron Fitz-Alwine paid me for it, and fearing that I should not find them, he sent after them those people, my accomplices, whom you have beaten this afternoon. I don't know why the Baron wants the lives of those two people... but warn them on my part to be very careful not to approach Nottingham Castle.
Gilbert shuddered at the thought that Allan and Robin had left for Nottingham, but it was too late to warn them of the danger.
Then Ritson added, writhing in despair:
"Ah! You don't know all my crimes! I have to confess everything... Gilbert Head, you had a sister! Do you remember?
"Oh! Gilbert exclaimed, turning pale and convulsively clasping his hands, "I remember! What have you to tell me about my poor sister, lost in the woods, kidnapped by an outlaw, or devoured by wolves? Anita, my sweet Anita!
Ritson shuddered with the cold of death, and said in an almost inaudible voice:
"I was the one who killed her. I resisted it. I killed it and buried it between the oak and beech trees at the angle of the Mansfeldwoohaus fork. The next day, when the alarm spread about her disappearance, I did not confess my crime, I even helped you in your searches, and I made you believe that she had been taken by an "outlaw" or that she had been devoured by animals...
Gilbert no longer listened to Ritson; he let his tears flow leaning against the edge of the window. When he returned to bedside, Ritson had expired.
During Roland Ritson's long agony, our three travellers to Nottingham, Allan, Robin, and the monk with a voracious appetite, a strong heart and vigorous limbs, were walking swiftly through the immense Sherwood Forest. They talked, laughed and sang.
"Mr. Allan," Robin said suddenly, "the sun is already pointing to noon, and my stomach no longer remembers breakfast this morning. If you like, we will gain the bank of a stream that runs a few steps from here; I carry groceries in my backpack and we will eat resting.
"What you propose is full of judgment, my son," replied the monk, "and I adhere with all my heart; I meant with all my teeth.
"I do not object, my dear Robin," said Allan, "but let me point out to you that I want to get to Nottingham Castle before the sun goes down by any means, and that if what you propose is going to prevent us, I prefer to go on my way without stopping."
"As you wish, sir," replied Robin, "wherever you go, we will go."
"To the stream!" To the stream! cried the monk. We are only three miles from Nottingham, and we have time to get there ten times before night comes; An hour of rest and a good meal will not prevent us from doing so.
Reassured by the monk's words, Allan consented to stop, and they went to sit in the shade of a great oak tree at the bottom of a delightful valley, through which flowed a small stream of clear, clear waters, on the bed of which lay white and pink pebbles, and whose banks were bordered by flowering grasses.
Sitting on the grass by the bank of the stream, the three companions ate well thanks to the foresight of the good Margaret, and a huge canteen of French wine passed so often from hand to hand, that the joy of each one was remarkably manifested, and the time devoted to this halt was prolonged indefinitely without their being aware of it. Robin sang, without rest. Allan, transported to seventh heaven, pompously described Lady Christabel's charms and qualities. The monk chattered foolishly, and proclaimed to the four winds that his name was Gilles de Sherbowne, that he belonged to a good family of peasants, that he preferred the active and independent life of the forester to conventual life, and that he had bought at a good price from the superior of his order the right to act as he pleased and to handle the cane.
"I have been called Brother Tuck," he added, "because of my talent for the cane and my habit of pulling up my habit to my knees. I am good to the good and bad to the bad, I shake hands with my friends and a stick to my enemies, I sing joyful ballads and songs of wine who like to laugh and who likes to drink, I pray with the devotees, I sing the "Oremus" with the sanctimonious, and I know funny stories for those who detest homilies. This is Brother Tuck! And you, Mr. Allan? Tell us who you are.
"With pleasure, if you will let me speak," Allan replied.
The monk grimaced in spite and lay down on the grass as if he were going to sleep instead of listening to Allan Clare's story.
"I am of Saxon origin," said the latter; my father was a close friend of Henry II's prime minister, Thomas Becket, and this friendship was the cause of all our ills, for he was exiled after the death of that minister.
Robin was going to imitate the monk, for he was not interested in hearing the ostentatious praise of the knight of his family and his ancestors; but he ceased his indifference as soon as the name of Mariana was pronounced, and, with his heart set on his ears, he listened. Every time Allan stopped talking about the beautiful Mariana, Robin found a way to
redirect the conversation about it; he had, however, to allow the knight to speak of his loves, and to be enraptured at length by the charms of the noble Christabel, the daughter of the Baron of Nottingham. The gentleman, who had become very communicative under the influence of French wine, then spoke of his hatred of the baron.
"When the favours of the court rained down on my family," he said, "the Baron of Nottingham looked favourably upon our love, and called me my son; as soon as fortune was adverse to us, he closed his door to me and swore that Christabel would never be my wife; For my part, I swore to change his will and marry his daughter, and since then I have fought tirelessly to achieve my goal, and I believe I have succeeded... This afternoon, yes, this afternoon, he will grant me Christabel's hand or his bragging will be punished. By chance I discovered a secret which, if revealed, would be the cause of his ruin and death, and I will tell him to his face: Baron of Nottingham, I propose a change: my silence in exchange for your daughter.
Allan would have gone on for a long time, and Robin, in whose spirit comparisons were drawn between Mariana and Christabel, would not have interrupted him, had it not been for the sun descending on the horizon.
"On the move," Allan said.
"On the move, Brother Tuck," Robin added.
But Brother Tuck slept lying on his side. Robin left the knight to take care of waking the monk.
He heard an infernal noise produced by shouts, oaths, and laughter; the knight and the monk fought, or rather, the monk turned his terrible staff over Allan's head and Allan parried the blows with his lance and laughed at the top of his lungs while the Benedictine shouted curses.
"Hello! Gentlemen, what fly has bitten you? Robin exclaimed.
"If your spear hard, my staff hits hard, arrogant knight," said the monk, inflamed with anger.
Allan laughed as he guarded himself from the monk's onslaught; However, seeing a few drops of blood falling under the monk's habit and reddening the grass, he understood that his adversary's anger was more than justified, and he immediately asked for mercy. The monk then interrupted his pinwheels, grunting deafly, and manifesting all the symptoms of a keen pain; Holding his hand behind him, to the lower part of his robe, he answered the young archer, who asked the causes of the dispute:
"The causes are here, and it is a shame, a crime, to disturb the devotions of a holy man like me by plunging a spearhead into a place where no bone is found.
Allan had awakened the monk by pricking him under the kidneys with the tip of his spear; of course, he had wanted to laugh and not hurt poor Tuck until he bled; so he asked for forgiveness, and, peace concluded, the party resumed the Nottingham road. In less than an hour they reached the city and climbed the hill on the top of which stood the feudal castle.
"They will open the castle door to me as soon as I ask to speak to the Baron," said Allan, "but what excuse will you give for following me, my friends?"
"Do not be anxious about that, sir," replied the monk. There is a young woman in the castle of whom I am confessor, the spiritual father; this young woman makes them go up the bridge whenever she wants, and, thanks to her authority, I can enter the castle both night and day; be careful, sir.
"I will be both respectful and firm.
"May God enlighten you, but we have already arrived, be careful!" And in a stentorian voice the monk cried out, "May the blessing of my venerable patron, the great St. Benedict, bring all the fortunes of fortune to you and yours, Master Hubert Lindsay, keeper of the gates of Nottingham Castle!" Let us in; I accompany two friends: one wants to talk with your Lord about very important things; the other needs to recover, to rest, and I, if you will allow it, will give your daughter the spiritual advice that the state of her soul demands.
"How are you, merry and honest Tuck, the pearl of the monks of Linton Abbey?" They replied cordially from within. Welcome to you and your friends, my dear gentleman.
Immediately the drawbridge was lowered and the travelers entered the castle.
"The Baron has retired to his chambers," replied Master Hubert Lindsay, the keeper of the keys, to Allan, who wanted to be led to the Baron without delay, "and if what you have to say to my lord is not peaceful, I would advise you to delay this interview until to-morrow, for the Baron is this afternoon in a violent rage.
"Is he sick?" asked the monk.
"He has his drop on one shoulder and suffers like a condemned man.
"Your furies do not trouble me," said Allan, "I want to see you at once.
"As you wish, sir. Hey! "Tristan," cried the guard to a servant who was crossing the courtyard, "tell me how your Lordship's mood goes."
"It's still the same: it screams and roars like a tiger."
Tristan went on his way followed by Allan, while the old porter said laughing:
"Poor Tristan climbs the stairs of the Baron's room with the same joy as if it were a scaffold. For Holy Mass! Your heart must touch retreat. But I am wasting my time here, friends, and I must review the sentries on the walls. Brother Tuck, you'll find my daughter in the office, go there, and, God willing, I'll join you in an hour.
"Thank you very much," said the monk.
And, followed by Robin, he went into a labyrinth of corridors, galleries and stairs in which Robin would have lost his way a thousand times. Brother Tuck, on the contrary, knew the places in detail: Linton Abbey was no more familiar to him than Nottingham Castle, and with the sufficiency and poise of a man satisfied with himself and proud of certain rights he had long since acquired, he knocked at the door of the office.
"Come in," said a youthful, fresh voice.
They entered, and, seeing the imposing monk, a beautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen, instead of being frightened, came forward keenly towards them and welcomed them with a sympathetic and friendly smile.
"Why, well, — thought Robin, "so this is the naïve penitent of the holy monk. By my faith! This beautiful girl with her eyes sparkling with joy and her lips red and smiling, is the most beautiful Christian I have ever seen!"
Maude treated Brother Tuck much more as a lover than as a spiritual director. Let us also confess that the attitudes of the brother were quite uncanonical.
Robin noticed this, and as they honored the refreshments and provisions with which Maude had filled the table, he insinuated with a candid air that the monk was not the closest thing to a feared and respected confessor.
"A little affection and intimacy between relatives is not reproachable," said the monk.
"Ah! Are you related? I didn't know it.
"To a very close degree, a young friend, very close and not very forbidden, that is to say, my father was the son of one of the nephews of the cousin of Maude's great-aunt.
"Oh! a perfectly established kinship.
Maude blushed during this dialogue and seemed to implore Robin's mercy. The bottles were emptied, the room rumbled with the clinking of glasses, with the noise of laughter and with the murmur of some kisses stolen from Maude.
At the moment when the evening was at its liveliest, the door of the office opened abruptly and a sergeant, accompanied by ten soldiers, appeared on the threshold.
The sergeant greeted the girl courteously, and, casting a stern glance at the guests, said:
"Are you the companions of the stranger who has come to visit our lord, Lord Fitz-Alwine, Baron of Nottingham?"
"Yes," Robin replied nonchalantly.
"What else?" Brother Tuck asked boldly.
"Follow me both to my lord's chambers."
"What for?" Tuck asked again.
"I don't know; I have orders, obey.
Robin and Tuck obeyed, leaving the beautiful Maude alone and sad in the "office" much to their regret.
After passing through endless galleries and a weapons room, the soldier came before a large oak door that was solidly closed and knocked three times on it.
"Come in," they shouted sharply.
"Follow me closely," said the sergeant to Robin and Tuck.
"Come in at once, scoundrels, bandits, gallows meat; come in," repeated the old baron in a voice of thunder. Come in, Simon.
The sergeant finally opened the door.
"Ah! Here you are, rascals! What have you been wasting your time on since I sent you in search of him? said the Baron, casting withering glances at the leader of the little troop.
"If it pleases your Lordship, I—"
"You're lying, dog!" How dare you excuse yourself after having kept me waiting for three hours?
"Three hours?" My lord is confused, it is only five minutes since he gave me the order to lead these people here.
"Insolent slave! He dares to deny me. Hush, rascal! I've heard enough. Get out of here!
The sergeant ordered his men to turn back.
"Wait!"
The sergeant ordered a halt.
"No, go, go!"
The sergeant again indicated the march.
"And where are you going like this, you wretches?"
The sergeant ordered a halt for the second time.
"I tell you to get out at once, you leaden dogs, militia of snails, come out
This time the patrol came out of the door, and the old baron was still roaring as they reached their post.
Robin had attentively followed the various phases of this interesting conversation between Fitz-Alwine and the sergeant; he was stunned, and looked at the fiery and strange lord of Nottingham Castle with eyes more astonished than frightened.
About fifty years old, average height, small and lively eyes, aquiline nose, long moustaches and thick eyebrows, energetic features, red and bloodshot face, and a strange expression of savagery in all its manners, this is his portrait; he wore chipped armor and a wide white cloth overcoat on which the red cross of the Paladins of the Holy Land stood out. In this eminently flammable nature, vitriolic as it were, the slightest setback provoked terrible explosions; A look, a word, a gesture that he disliked, made him an implacable enemy who thought of nothing but revenge, revenge to the death.
The tone of the interrogation that our two friends were going to undergo announced new storms. Sardonically and with cruel irony, the Baron exclaimed:
"Go ahead, young wolf of Sherwood, and you too, wandering monk, convent worm, come here!" You will tell me, I hope, without deception, why you have dared to enter my castle, and what plan of brigands has caused you to leave the wood one and the other the candlestick. Speak frankly, otherwise I know a wonderful procedure for tearing the words from the throats of the mute, and, by St. John of Acre, I will employ this procedure in your blasphemer skin.
Robin cast a look of contempt at the Baron, and did not deign to answer him: the monk kept the same silence, and convulsively clasped in his hands the brave staff, the noble dogwood branch which you are already familiar with, and on which he always leaned, both when walking and when standing, to assume a certain venerable appearance.
"Ah! you do not answer; Do you sulk, gentlemen, and I cannot know to what reason I owe the honour of your visit? Know, gentlemen, that you complete yourselves perfectly: an outlaw bastard and a filthy beggar!
"You lie, Baron," replied Robin, "I am not the bastard of an outlaw, and the monk is not a filthy beggar; You lie!
"Wow! "The dog of the woods dares to challenge me, to insult me," cried the Baron, bursting with rage. Hello! Since his ears are so long, they will nail him to the main door of the castle and give him a hundred lashes!
Robin, pale with indignation, but cold-blooded, remained mute and stared at the terrible Fitz-Alwine as he took an arrow from his quiver. The Baron shuddered, but did not seem to understand the young man's intention. After a moment of silence, he continued in a less violent tone.
"Youth moves my mercy, and, in spite of your impertinence, I will not immediately throw you into a dungeon, but you must answer my questions, and in answering you must remember that if I let you live it is out of goodness of soul.
"I am not in your power as absolutely as you think, noble lord," replied Robin, with contemptuous cold-bloodedness, "and the proof of this is that I will not answer your questions.
Accustomed to passive and absolute obedience on the part of his servants and those weaker than himself, the baron, stupefied, was left with his mouth open; then the tumultuous thoughts that stirred in his brain were transformed into incoherent words and invectives.
"Oh, oh! He said with a shrill laugh, "oh! Aren't you in my power, badly licked bear cub? Do you want to keep silent, mongrel of a monkey, son of a witch? With a gesture, with a look, with a sign, I can send you to hell. Wait, wait, I'm going to strangle you with my belt.
Robin, always impassive, had drawn his bow and had an arrow ready for the Baron, but Tuck intervened in a suggestive voice:
"Your Lordship will not carry out your threats, I hope?"
The monk's words brought about a change; Fitz-Alwine turned to him like a rabid wolf to new prey.
Robin laughed.
The baron, exasperated, took a missal and threw it at the monk's head with such force that poor Tuck, violently beaten, hesitated in a daze; but he immediately recovered, and, as he was not a man to receive such gifts without promptly testifying his gratitude, he brandished his terrible stick and struck a violent blow on Fitz-Alwine's gout-affected shoulder.
The noble lord jumped, roared, mooed like a circus bull that has just received its first wound, and reached out to take his huge crusader's sword off the wall, but Tuck did not give him time; Retaining the initiative, he administered a vigorous correction to the very high, very noble, and very powerful Lord of Nottingham, who, in spite of his armour and his gouty weaknesses, ran like a fallow deer through the room to escape the blows of the terrible staff.
The Baron had been crying for help for several minutes when the sergeant who had arrested Tuck and Robin half-opened the door and, with his head between the two leaves, asked phlegmatically if he was needed.
As agile as at twenty, the Baron sprang from the corner of the bedroom to which Tuck's staff had taken him to the threshold of the door which the sergeant dared not cross without being ordered, not even to help his master.
Poor sergeant; He deserved to be welcomed as a savior, as a guardian angel, and the anger of the Lord, powerless against the monk, took its toll on him in the form of kicks and punches.
At last, tired of striking this harmless being who dared not move, for at this time every noble person was wholesomely inviolable to a vassal, the baron caught his breath and ordered the sergeant to arrest Robin and the monk and throw him into a dungeon.
The sergeant, freed from his master's clutches, departed like lightning, shouting: "To arms! To arms!" And he returned quickly, accompanied by a dozen soldiers.
At the sight of these reinforcements, the monk took an ivory crucifix from the table, placed himself before Robin, who wanted to shoot arrows, and shouted:
"In the name of the Blessed Virgin, in the name of her Son, who died for you, I command you to let me pass." Woe and excommunication to those who dare to prevent it.
These words, spoken in a voice of thunder, petrified the soldiers, and the monk left the room without the slightest opposition. Robin was about to follow his friend when, at a signal from the baron, the soldiers rushed upon the young man, snatched his bow and arrows, and pushed him into the room.
Exhausted and battered by the blows, the Baron had slumped into an armchair.
"Let's see now," he said, when, after much effort, he was able to speak again, "let's see. Did you accompany Allan Clare? He asked with quiet irony. Can you tell me why it has appeared at my house?
"I accompanied Mr. Allan Clare here, but I do not know why he came.
"You're lying!"
Robin smiled with infinite contempt, and the lord's affected tranquillity gave way to a violent explosion of anger; but the more his anger was unleashed, the more Robin smiled.
Fitz-Alwine, exasperated, but concentrating his fury, left his chair and took up his huge sword. A murder was about to be committed when the door opened to make way for two men. They were bloodied and could barely walk.
Their clothes were torn and full of mud; They seemed to come out of a fight in which they had not achieved victory. At the sight of Robin they uttered a cry of surprise in unison, and Robin, no less astonished, recognized the survivors of the band of robbers who had attacked Gilbert Head's house the night before. The Baron's anger reached its paroxysm when they told of the misfortunes of that night, and pointed to Robin as one of the most terrible adversaries; He did not wait to hear the end of the story to shout angrily:
"Take this wretch and throw him into a dungeon!" You will leave him there until he confesses what he knows about Allan Clare and asks us for forgiveness on his knees for his insolence... and until then, neither bread nor water, let him die of hunger.
"Good-bye, Baron Fitz-Alwine," replied Robin. If I'm not going to get out of my cell until I meet those two conditions, we won't see each other again. See you never, then.
The soldiers pushed him to hasten his way out of the room; He began to sing at the top of his lungs, and his fresh, Argentinian voice was still echoing under the gloomy galleries of the castle as the prison door closed behind him.
