“Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sovereign?” said Robin Hood, pausing for an instant; “but, by St. Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it for his good.—Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy bugle, and without an instant’s delay on peril of your life.”

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five minutes the revellers were startled by the sound of his horn.

“It is the bugle of Malvoisin,” said the Miller, starting to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopped short in the midst of a jest, and betook himself to sword and target. All the others stood to their weapons.

Men of their precarious course of life change readily from the banquet to the battle; and, to Richard, the exchange seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called for his helmet and the most cumbrous parts of his armour, which he had laid aside; and while Gurth was putting them on, he laid his strict injunctions on Wilfred, under pain of his highest displeasure, not to engage in the skirmish which he supposed was approaching.

“Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred—and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see how Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman.”

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of his followers in different directions, as if to reconnoitre the enemy; and when he saw the company effectually broken up, he approached Richard, who was now completely armed, and, kneeling down on one knee, craved pardon of his Sovereign.

“For what, good yeoman?” said Richard, somewhat impatiently. “Have we not already granted thee a full pardon for all transgressions? Thinkest thou our word is a feather, to be blown backward and forward between us? Thou canst not have had time to commit any new offence since that time?”

“Ay, but I have though,” answered the yeoman, “if it be an offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. The bugle you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but blown by my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon hours of dearer import than to be thus dallied with.”

He then rose from his knee, folded his arm on his bosom, and in a manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited the answer of the King—like one who is conscious he may have given offence, yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive. The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of Richard; but it was the first transient emotion, and his sense of justice instantly subdued it.

“The King of Sherwood,” he said, “grudges his venison and his wine-flask to the King of England? It is well, bold Robin!—but when you come to see me in merry London, I trust to be a less niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow. Let us therefore to horse and away—Wilfred has been impatient this hour. Tell me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who, not content with advising, will needs direct thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume to act for thyself?”

“Such a one,” said Robin, “is my lieutenant, Little John, who is even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders of Scotland; and I will own to your Majesty, that I am sometimes displeased by the freedom of his councils—but, when I think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no motive for his anxiety save zeal for his master’s service.”

“Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard; “and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou thinkest my own good, I should have as little the freedom of mine own will as any king in Christendom or Heathenesse.—But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, and think no more on’t.”