Up to his twelfth year he enjoyed a merry, care-free life, saddened only by his father's long absences. Boy as he was, he practised with broadsword and quarter-staff, for in those days a man who had not learned to defend himself in his youth would have been in a sorry plight. But of all weapons he loved the long-bow best. He fashioned his own bows and arrows and used them constantly, so that ere long none had a steadier hand nor a truer eye. In knowledge of woodcraft he became the equal of the old foresters. He had a nimble wit, loved good company and manly sports. He was always present at the fairs and merrymaking in Locksley and the near-by villages when the sturdy yeomen wrestled or fought with quarter-staves for prizes- a ram, a bull, a real gold ring, or a pipe of wine. But he was never so happy as when treading the soft, loamy, flower-bedecked sward of Needwood Forest that stretched for miles and miles, thickly covered with beech, oak, and chestnut trees.

When Robert was twelve years old news came of his father's death. Earl William had joined the army with which King Henry was invading Ireland. Landing at Waterford, the King marched toward Dublin to fight a famous native prince named Strongbow, and at the storming of one of the enemies' castles Earl William was struck down headlong from his horse by a barbed and poisoned arrow which pierced his eye through a crevice in his helmet. Thus Robert became an orphan, for his mother had died the previous year.

It was at about this time that Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was foully murdered. King Henry had reached the age of forty, and had four sons living: Henry, in his eighteenth year; Richard, in his fifteenth; Geoffrey, in his fourteenth; and John, in his sixth. These were the sons of the good Queen Eleanor.

Robert wept grievously when he heard that his father was dead, and for many days he moped and felt bitterly toward the whole world. But at length he took courage, telling himself that from now on he must play the man. As time passed, his grief became less sharp; but there was a budding fear in his heart lest his uncle, now his guardian, might not prove true to his trust. This fear proved all too well advised, for his uncle was a reckless spendthrift, insomuch that by the time the boy was fifteen his castle and broad lands, his serfs and cattle, were all forfeited. So Robert's guardian, to escape the trouble in store for him, wended his way to the wars, leaving his poor young nephew to follow in the same path- or perchance to seek an asylum in the forests of his own and the neighboring counties of Nottingham, Derby, and York.

II

WHY ROBERT FITZOOTH CHANGED HIS NAME -

There are twelve months in all the year,

As I hear many say;

But the merriest month in all the year

Is the merry month of May. -

ON a bright May morn in the year of our Lord 1175 a youth strode with a rapid gait along the woodland path on the very edge of Needwood Forest. Though it was yet early in the day, the sun was high and warm; the throstle and blackbird sang; the cuckoo from a high tree-top called the double note to his mate, and all the woods seemed glad. The bright yellow-green buds were just bursting forth, and the forest sward as far as eye could reach was a huge carpet of bright azure bluebells that gave a rich odor to the fresh morning air. The tall, comely lad, straight as a young birch, was scarce fifteen winters old, yet it needed but a glance to see that he was a proper youth, stout and bold. He had the keen bright eyes of a falcon, full, rounded lips, and a complexion deeply tanned. His auburn curls hung down from beneath a jaunty cap of buckskin dyed old-gold, on the side of which, pointing upward, was buckled the middle tail-feather of a cock pheasant. He wore a deep olive-green jerkin, or coat, and the hose on his well-formed limbs fitted like a glove. His tough yew long-bow hung from his shoulder in such a manner as to be instantly ready when needed. His beautifully embroidered quiver, chock-full of cloth-yard arrows, was slung from his shoulder-belt on the left side. From the red girdle drawn tightly round his waist hung a sheathed dagger or hunting-knife, and below it, fastened by straps, was a leathern pouch containing all his worldly possessions- his mother's rosary and gold ring, as well as food for the day, some sliced brawn and wheaten cakes. He had already gone many miles from Locksley, for he had been up and on his way before the break of dawn- and now he was nearing Tutbury town, where he would rest awhile at the old Dog and Partridge Inn for a bite and a sup with the host, one of his father's old retainers. Thus far he had not met a living soul. Following the river Dove, which joins the Trent below Tutbury, he would strike the Trent valley, due east for Nottingham town.

Presently he marched up High Street and stepped in through the little tap-room door of the white-and-black oak-timbered inn.

"Hulloa, whither goest thou, Master Robert, dressed all so gay and fine?" cried mine host of the Dog and Partridge.

"Knowest not, good Giles," quoth Robert, "of the shooting-match to be held on the morrow at Nottingham town? I go to shoot, with other stout yeomen, for the prize- a silver bugle."

"Saist thou so?" quoth Giles. "Marry, and it may be thou shalt win, for thou canst speed an arrow with the best; I know it well."

Then the worthy Giles called to his good dame for a hearty meal of the very best- nothing was too good for their master's gallant son. So they brought a leveret pasty, some fried trout, fresh from the river- a can of ale was too mean and coarse, it must be a flagon of wine, and that of the finest quality. So young Robert set to and made a hole in that pie that pleased the good dame mightily.

"Now, my brave young master," quoth Giles, "if thou thinkest to reach Nottingham town by nightfall thou must e'en away. The path is easy enow to Repton, but poor and boggy at Sawley; from thence, see to it thou leavest the Trent valley and dost follow the upper woodlands. Then strike through the King's forest for the town."