“Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,”
said Wamba, in a whisper to Gurth, “get them
out how we can.”
“Hush—–be silent,” said
Gurth. “Offend him not by thy folly, and
I trust sincerely that all will go well.”
When autumn nights were long and drear,
And forest walks were dark and dim,
How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn
Devotion borrows Music’s tone,
And Music took Devotion’s wing;
And, like the bird that hails the sun,
They soar to heaven, and soaring sing.
The Hermit of St Clement’s Well
It was after three hours’ good walking that
the servants of Cedric, with their mysterious guide,
arrived at a small opening in the forest, in the centre
of which grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude, throwing
its twisted branches in every direction. Beneath
this tree four or five yeomen lay stretched on the
ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro
in the moonlight shade.
Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch
instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly
started up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed
on the string were pointed towards the quarter from
which the travellers approached, when their guide,
being recognised, was welcomed with every token of
respect and attachment, and all signs and fears of
a rough reception at once subsided.
“Where is the Miller?” was his first question.
“On the road towards Rotherham.”
“With how many?” demanded the leader,
for such he seemed to be.
“With six men, and good hope of booty, if it
please St Nicholas.”
“Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley; “and
where is Allan-a-Dale?”
“Walked up towards the Watling-street, to watch
for the Prior of Jorvaulx.”
“That is well thought on also,” replied
the Captain;—–“and where is
the Friar?”
“In his cell.”
“Thither will I go,” said Locksley.
“Disperse and seek your companions. Collect
what force you can, for there’s game afoot that
must be hunted hard, and will turn to bay. Meet
me here by daybreak.—–And stay,”
he added, “I have forgotten what is most necessary
of the whole—–Two of you take the
road quickly towards Torquilstone, the Castle of Front-de-Boeuf.
A set of gallants, who have been masquerading in such
guise as our own, are carrying a band of prisoners
thither—–Watch them closely, for even
if they reach the castle before we collect our force,
our honour is concerned to punish them, and we will
find means to do so. Keep a close watch on them
therefore; and dispatch one of your comrades, the
lightest of foot, to bring the news of the yeomen
thereabout.”
They promised implicit obedience, and departed with
alacrity on their different errands. In the meanwhile,
their leader and his two companions, who now looked
upon him with great respect, as well as some fear,
pursued their way to the Chapel of Copmanhurst.
