When he recovered himself Robin found them binding his shoulder. He smiled up at Warrenton to show that the hurt was little. "Are we too late for the joustings, Will?" he murmured, spying out Stuteley's face of concern.
"We are to bring back the golden arrow with us which the Sheriff has offered as prize to the best marksman," answered Warrenton, before the other could speak. "Now, you are to remember all that I have shown you, and shoot in confidence. Now come: the gates of Nottingham are opened, and your wound is neatly bandaged. Here is the arrow plucked from it: keep it for a trophy."
"Is it a pretty shaft, Warrenton?" asked Robin, carelessly, as the old servant thrust it into his quiver.
"It is one of Will's own, and that suffices."
After Master Ford had briefly bidden them farewell, they left their beasts in charge of a fellow inside the gate, bidding him give the little grey jennet all care and attention.
Here, also, Robin got himself washed and made tidy for the Fair, and had some meat and drink to restore him. He found that it was to the long Norman cape he wore that he owed his life. The outlaw's arrow had been diverted by the flapping garment, and had only pricked him in the fleshy part of his shoulder. The cape was so ripped, however, as to become ridiculous in its rags, so Robin asked for the loan of a pair of shears, and with them trimmed the cape so ruthlessly in his haste as to make it become more like an old woman's hood.
"You have turned Saxon out of Norman very suddenly, master," laughed young Stuteley.
It was a full three hours past noon ere they came to the Fair. A great ring had been made in the centre of it, and huge wooden stands had been built about this circle. They were covered finely with cloth of red and gold; and many flags and banners were flying above the tops and about the stands.
The blare and discord of trumpets rang out over the noise of the people. A great clamor of voices betokened the arrival of some great man at the front of the chief stand.
"The Sheriff has arrived," cried Stuteley, who knew the ways at these affairs. "Hear how the people do cheer him! For sure he must be a man well liked----"
"These fellows will applaud anyone who has power and office," said Warrenton, scornfully. "Master Monceux is not beloved of them, for all that. But hasten, or we shall be shut out. Already they are closing the gates."
The clouds were heavy and grey, and a few large drops of rain began to patter down.
"Look to our bows, Warrenton," cried Robin, in alarm.
"Be easy, lording--your bow shall not be at fault if the prize does not fall to your hand. Follow me."
They were now at the wicket, and Warrenton produced his authority. Gamewell's name was enough. They were ushered into a small box near by the Sheriff's own, and there awaited events.
First came bouts of single-stick and quarter-staff, and Master Will was keen to take part in these contests. Warrenton counselled him to remain in the background, however.
"The folk are sure to recognize you, malapert," said he, giving Stuteley his favorite name for him, "and there will be an outcry. Let be, then, and attend to your master."
"It would be better, Will, I do think," said Robin. "I have to find out cousin Geoffrey, and warn him against two villains waiting for him without the town." And Robin gave them briefly the history of his adventure.
Ere he had ended the story, the Sheriff held up his baton as a sign that the jousting would begin. Two knights rode into the ring through the hastily opened gates, heralded by their esquires--amid the noise of a shrill blast of defiance. They were clad in chain-mail, bound on and about with white riband, and their armor was burnished in a manner most beautiful to behold. Their esquires threw down their gauntlets before the box of Master Monceux, and challenged the world to a trial of strength in these the lists-magnificent of Nottingham town.
Two black knights had ridden into the lists in answer to the challenge; and now all clamor was hushed. The Sheriff's daughter, a pale, hard-faced girl, with straw-colored hair and mincing ways, announced in inaudible voice the terms of the contest. The heralds repeated them afterwards in stentorian tones; and the rivals wheeled about, the white knights couching their lances from under the Sheriff's box. The others prepared themselves at the wicket-gate and waited for the signal.
