Pierre Loti - "Madame Chrysantheme, v2"

Henry Kingsley - "The Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn"

James Elroy Flecker - "Hassan: The Story of Hassan of Baghdad and How He Came to"

W.W. Jacobs - "Many Cargoes"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Heroes Every Child Should Know

H >> Hamilton Wright Mabie >> Heroes Every Child Should Know




Now, while the Bishop Don Hieronymo and Gil Diaz led away the body
of the Cid, and Dona Ximena, and the baggage, Alvar Fanez Minaya
fell upon the Moors. First he attacked the tents of that Moorish
Queen, the Negress, who lay nearest to the city; and this onset was
so sudden, that they killed full a hundred and fifty Moors before
they had time to take arms or go to horse. But that Moorish Negress,
so skilful in drawing the Turkish bow, that they called her the Star
of the Archers, was the first that got on horseback, and with some
fifty that were with her, did some hurt to the company of the Cid;
but in fine they slew her, and her people fled to the camp. And
so great was the uproar and confusion, that few there were who took
arms, but instead thereof they turned their backs and fled toward
the sea. And when King Bucar and his Kings saw this they were
astonished. And it seemed to them that there came against them on
the part of the Christians full seventy thousand knights, all as
white as snow: and before them a knight of great stature upon a
white horse. And King Bucar and the other Kings were so greatly
dismayed that they never checked the reins till they had ridden into
the sea; and the company of the Cid rode after them, smiting and
slaying and giving them, no respite. And when the Moors came to the
sea, so great was the press among them to get to the ships, that
more than ten thousand died in the water. And King Bucar and they
who escaped with him hoisted sails and went their way, and never
more turned their heads.

Then Alvar Fanez and his people went after the Bishop Don Hieronymo
and Gil Diaz, who, with the body of the Cid, and Dona Ximena, and
the baggage, had gone on till they were clear of the host, and then
waited for those who were gone against the Moors. And so great was
the spoil, gold, and silver, and other precious things that the
poorest man among the Christians, horseman or on foot, became rich
with what he won that day. And when they were all met together, they
took the road toward Castille; and they halted that night in a
village which is called Siete Aguas, that is to say, the Seven
Waters, which is nine leagues from Valencia.

When the company of the Cid departed from the Siete Aguas, they held
their way by short journeys. And the Cid went alway upon his horse
Bavieca, as they had brought him out from Valencia, save only that
he wore no arms, but was clad in right noble garments, Great was the
concourse of people to see the Cid Ruydiez coming in that guise.
They came from all the country round about, and when they saw him
their wonder was the greater, and hardly could they be persuaded
that he was dead.

At this time King Don Alfonso abode in Toledo, and when the letters
came unto him saying how the Cid Campeador was departed, and after
what manner he had discomfited King Bucar, and how they brought him
in this goodly manner upon his horse Bavieca, he set out from
Toledo, taking long journeys till he came to San Pedro de Cardena to
do honour to the Cid at his funeral. And when the King Don Alfonso
saw so great a company and in such goodly array, and the Cid Ruydiez
so nobly clad and upon his horse Bavieca, he was greatly astonished.
And the King beheld his countenance, and seeing it so fresh and
comely, and his eyes so bright and fair, and so even and open that
he seemed alive, he marvelled greatly.

On the third day after the coming of King Don Alfonso, they would
have interred the body of the Cid, but when the King heard what Dona
Ximena had said, that while it was so fair and comely it should not
be laid in a coffin, he held that what she said was good. And he
sent for the ivory chair which had been carried to the Cortes of
Toledo, and gave order that it should be placed on the right of the
altar of St. Peter; and he laid a cloth of gold upon it, and he
ordered a graven tabernacle to be made over the chair, richly
wrought with azure and gold. And he himself, and the King of Navarre
and the Infante of Aragon, and the Bishop Don Hieronymo, to do
honour to the Cid, helped to take his body from between the two
boards, in which it had been fastened at Valencia. And when they had
taken it out, the body was so firm that it bent not on either side,
and the flesh so firm and comely, that it seemed as if he were yet
alive. And the King thought that what they purported to do and had
thus begun, might full well be effected. And they clad the body in
cloth of purple, which the Soldan of Persia had sent him, and put
him on hose of the same, and set him in his ivory chair; and in his
left hand they placed his sword Tizona in its scabbard, and the
strings of his mantle in his right. And in this fashion the body of
the Cid remained there ten years and more, till it was taken thence
and buried.

Gil Diaz took great delight in tending the horse Bavieca, so that
there were few days in which he did not lead him to water, and bring
him back with his own hand. And from the day in which the dead body
of the Cid was taken off his back, never man was suffered to
bestride that horse, but he was alway led when they took him to
water, and when they brought him back. And this good horse lived two
years and a half after the death of his master the Cid, and then he
died also, having lived full forty years. And Gil Diaz buried him
before the gate of the monastery, in the public place, on the right
hand; and he planted two elms upon the grave, the one at his head
and the other at his feet, and these elms grew and became great
trees, and are yet to be seen before the gate of the monastery.




CHAPTER XII

ROBIN HOOD


Because of the hardness towards the English people of William the
Conqueror, and of William's successors to several generations, many
an Englishman exiled himself from town and passed his life in the
greenwood. These men were called "outlaws." First they went forth
out of love for the ancient liberties of England. Then in their
living in the forest, they put themselves without the law by their
ways of gaining their livelihood. Of such men none were more
renowned than Robin Hood and his company.

We do not know anything about Robin Hood, who he was, or where he
lived, or what evil deed he had done. Any man might kill him and
never pay penalty for it. But, outlaw or not, the poor people loved
him and looked on him as their friend, and many a stout fellow came
to join him, and led a merry life in the greenwood, with moss and
fern for bed, and for meat the King's deer, which it was death to
slay. Tillers of the land, yeomen, and some say knights, went on
their ways freely, for of them Robin took no toll; but lordly
churchmen with money-bags well filled, or proud bishops with their
richly dressed followers, trembled as they drew near to Sherwood
Forest--who was to know whether behind every tree there did not lurk
Robin Hood or one of his men?

One day Robin was walking alone in the wood, and reached a river
spanned by a very narrow bridge, over which one man only could pass.
In the midst stood a stranger, and Robin bade him go back and let
him go over. "I am no man of yours," was all the answer Robin got,
and in anger he drew his bow and fitted an arrow to it, "Would you
shoot a man who has no arms but a staff?" asked the stranger in
scorn; and with shame Robin laid down his bow, and unbuckled an
oaken stick at his side. "We will fight till one of us falls into
the water," he said; and fight they did, till the stranger planted a
blow so well that Robin rolled over into the river. "You are a brave
soul," said he, when he had waded to land, and he blew a blast with
his horn which brought fifty good fellows, clad in green, to the
little bridge. "Have you fallen into the river that your clothes are
wet?" asked one; and Robin made answer, "No, but this stranger,
fighting on the bridge, got the better of me, and tumbled me into
the stream."

At this the foresters seized the stranger, and would have ducked him
had not their leader bade them stop, and begged the stranger to stay
with them and make one of themselves. "Here is my hand," replied the
stranger, "and my heart with it. My name, if you would know it, is
John Little."

"That must be altered," cried Will Scarlett; "we will call a feast,
and henceforth, because he is full seven feet tall and round the
waist at least an ell, he shall be called Little John." And thus it
was done; but at the feast Little John, who always liked to know
exactly what work he had to do, put some questions to Robin Hood.
"Before I join hands with you, tell me first what sort of life is
this you lead? How am I to know whose goods I shall take, and whose
I shall leave? Whom I shall beat, and whom I shall refrain from
beating?"

And Robin answered: "Look that you harm not any tiller of the
ground, nor any yeoman of the greenwood--no knight, no squire,
unless you have heard him ill spoken of. But if bishops or
archbishops come your way, see that you spoil them, and mark that
you always hold in your mind the High Sheriff of Nottingham."

This being settled, Robin Hood declared Little John to be second in
command to himself among the brotherhood of the forest, and the new
outlaw never forgot to "hold in his mind" the High Sheriff of
Nottingham, who was the bitterest enemy the foresters had.

THE BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD, THE BUTCHER AND THE SHERIFF.

Upon a time it chanced so,
Bold Robin in forest did spy
A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,
With his flesh to the market did hie.

"Good morrow, good fellow," said jolly Robin,
"What food hast thou? tell unto me;
Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,
For I like well thy company."

The butcher he answer'd jolly Robin,
"No matter where I dwell;
For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham
I am going, my flesh to sell."

"What's the price of thy flesh?" said jolly Robin,
"Come, tell it soon unto me;
And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,
For a butcher fain would I be."

"The price of my flesh," the butcher replied,
"I soon will tell unto thee;
With my bonny mare, and they are not dear,
Four marks thou must give unto me."

"Four marks I will give thee," said jolly Robin,
"Four marks shall be thy fee;
The money come count, and let me mount,
For a butcher I fain would be."

Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,
His butcher's trade to begin;
With good intent to the Sheriff he went,
And there he took up his inn.

When other butchers did open their meat,
Bold Robin got gold and fee,
For he sold more meat for one penny
Than others did sell for three.

Which made the butchers of Nottingham
To study as they did stand,
Saying, "Surely he is some prodigal
That has sold his father's land."

"This is a mad blade," the butchers still said;
Said the Sheriff, "He is some prodigal,
That some land has sold for silver and gold,
And now he doth mean to spend all.

"Hast thou any horn-beasts," the Sheriff asked,
"Good fellow, to sell to me?"
"Yes, that I have, good Master Sheriff,
I have hundreds, two or three.

"And a hundred acres of good free land,
If you please it to see:
And I'll make you as good assurance of it,
As ever my father made me."

The Sheriff he saddled his good palfrey,
And with three hundred pounds of gold,
Away he went with bold Robin Hood,
His horned beasts to behold.

Away then the Sheriff and Robin did ride,
To the forest of merry Sherwood;
Then the Sheriff did say, "God keep us this day
From a man they call Robin Hood."

But when a little farther they came,
Bold Robin he chanced to spy
A hundred head of good red deer,
Come tripping the Sheriff full nigh.

"How like you my horn-beasts, good Master Sheriff?
They be fat and fair to see";
"I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,
For I like not thy company."

Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,
And blew but blasts three;
Then quickly anon there came Little John,
And all his company.

"What is your will?" then said Little John,
"Good master, come tell unto me";
"I have brought hither the Sheriff of Nottingham
This day to dine with thee,"

Then Robin took his cloak from his back
And laid it upon the ground;
And out of the Sheriff's portmanteau
He took three hundred pound.

He then led the Sheriff through the wood,
And set him on his dapple grey;
"Commend Robin Hood to your wife at home,"
He said, and went laughing away.

Now Robin Hood had no liking for a company of idle men about him,
and sent off Little John and Will Scarlett to the great road known
as Watling Street, with orders to hide among the trees and wait till
some adventure might come to them; and if they took captive earl or
baron, abbot or knight, he was to be brought unharmed back to Robin
Hood.

But all along Watling Street the road was bare; white and hard it
lay in the sun, without the tiniest cloud of dust to show that a
rich company might be coming: east and west the land lay still.

At length, just where a side path turned into the broad highway,
there rode a knight, and a sorrier man than he never sat a horse on
summer day. One foot only was in the stirrup, the other hung
carelessly by his side; his head was bowed, the reins dropped loose,
and his horse went on as he would. At so sad a sight the hearts of
the outlaws were filled with pity, and Little John fell on his knees
and bade the knight welcome in the name of his master.

"Who is your master?" asked the knight.

"Robin Hood," answered Little John.

"I have heard much good of him," replied the knight, "and will go
with you gladly."

Then they all set off together, tears running down the knight's
cheeks as he rode, but he said nothing, neither was anything said to
him. And in this wise they came to Robin Hood.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," cried he, "and thrice welcome, for I waited
to break my fast till you or some other had come to me."

"God save you, good Robin," answered the knight, and after they had
washed themselves in the stream they sat down to dine off bread,
with flesh of the King's deer, and swans and pheasants. "Such a
dinner have I not had for three weeks and more," said the knight.
"And if I ever come again this way, good Robin, I will give you as
fine a dinner as you have given me."

"I thank you," replied Robin, "my dinner is always welcome; still, I
am none so greedy but I can wait for it. But before you go, pay me,
I pray you, for the food which you have had. It was never the custom
for a yeoman to pay for a knight."

"My bag is empty," said the knight, "save for ten shillings only."

"Go, Little John, and look in his wallet," said Robin, "and, Sir
Knight, if in truth you have no more, not one penny will I take;
nay, I will give you all that you shall need."

So Little John spread out the knight's mantle, and opened the bag,
and therein lay ten shillings and naught besides.

"What tidings, Little John?" cried his master.

"Sir, the knight speaks truly," said Little John.

"Then tell me, Sir Knight, whether it is your own ill doings which
have brought you to this sorry pass."

"For an hundred years my fathers have dwelt in the forest," answered
the knight, "and four hundred pounds might they spend yearly. But
within two years misfortune has befallen me, and my wife and
children also."

"How did this evil come to pass?" asked Robin.

"Through my own folly," answered the knight, "and because of my
great love I bore my son, who would never be guided of my counsel,
and slew, ere he was twenty years old, a knight of Lancaster and his
squire. For their deaths I had to pay a large sum, which I could not
raise without giving my lands in pledge to the rich Abbot of St.
Mary's. If I cannot bring him the money by a certain day they will
be lost to me for ever."

"What is the sum?" asked Robin. "Tell me truly."

"It is four hundred pounds," said the knight.

"And what will you do if you lose your lands?" asked Robin again.

"Hide myself over the sea," said the knight, "and bid farewell to my
friends and country. There is no better way open to me."

At this tears fell from his eyes, and he turned him to depart. "Good
day, my friend," he said to Robin, "I cannot pay you what I should--"
But Robin held him fast. "Where are your friends?" asked he.

"Sir, they have all forsaken me since I became poor, and they turn
away their heads if we meet upon the road, though when I was rich
they were ever in my castle."

When Little John and Will Scarlett and the rest heard this they wept
for very shame and fury.

"Little John," said Robin, "go to my treasure chest, and bring me
thence four hundred pounds. And be sure you count it truly."

So Little John went, and Will Scarlett, and they brought back the
money.

"Sir," said Little John, when Robin had counted it and found it no
more and no less, "look at his clothes, how thin they are! You have
stores of garments, green and scarlet, in your coffers-no merchant
in England can boast the like. I will measure some out with my bow."
And thus he did.

"Master," spoke Little John again, "there is still something else.
You must give him a horse, that he may go as beseems his quality to
the Abbey."

"Take the grey horse," said Robin, "and put a new saddle on it, and
take likewise a good palfrey and a pair of boots, with gilt spurs on
them. And as it were a shame for a knight to ride by himself on this
errand, I will lend you Little John as squire--perchance he may
stand you in yeoman's stead."

"When shall we meet again?" asked the knight.

"This day twelve months," said Robin, "under the greenwood tree."

Then the knight rode on his way, with Little John behind him, and as
he went he thought of Robin Hood and his men, and blessed them for
the goodness they had shown towards him.

"To-morrow," he said to Little John, "I must be at the Abbey of St.
Mary, which is in the city of York, for if I am but so much as a day
late my lands are lost for ever, and though I were to bring the
money I should not be suffered to redeem them."

Now the Abbot had been counting the days as well as the knight, and
the next morning he said to his monks: "This day year there came a
knight and borrowed of me four hundred pounds, giving his lands in
surety. And if he come not to pay his debt ere midnight tolls they
will be ours forever."

"It is full early yet," answered the Prior, "he may still be
coming."

"He is far beyond the sea," said the Abbot, "and suffers from hunger
and cold. How is he to get here?"

"It were a shame," said the Prior, "for you to take his lands. And
you do him much wrong if you drive such a hard bargain."

"He is dead or hanged," spake a fat-headed monk who was the
cellarer, "and we shall have his four hundred pounds to spend on our
gardens and our wines," and he went with the Abbot to attend the
court of justice wherein the knight's lands would he declared
forfeited by the High Justiciar.

"If he come not this day," cried the Abbot, rubbing his hands, "if
he come not this day, they will be ours."

"He will not come yet," said the Justiciar, but he knew not that the
knight was already at the outer gate, and Little John with him.

"Welcome, Sir Knight," said the porter. "The horse that you ride is
the noblest that ever I saw. Let me lead them both to the stable,
that they may have food and rest."

"They shall not pass these gates," answered the knight, sternly, and
he entered the hall alone, where the monks were sitting at meat, and
knelt down and bowed to them.

"I have come back, my lord," he said to the Abbot, who had just
returned from the court. "I have come back this day as I promised."

"Have you brought my money? What do you here without it?" cried the
Abbot in angry tones.

"I have come to pray you for a longer day," answered the knight,
meekly.

"The day was fixed and cannot be gainsaid," replied the Justiciar;
"I am with the Abbot."

"Good Sir Abbot, be my friend," prayed the knight again, "and give
me one chance more to get the money and free my lands. I will serve
you day and night till I have four hundred pounds to redeem them."

But the Abbot only swore a great oath, and vowed that the money must
be paid that day or the lands be forfeited.

The knight stood up straight and tall: "It is well," said he, "to
prove one's friends against the hour of need," and he looked the
Abbot full in the face, and the Abbot felt uneasy, he did not know
why, and hated the knight more than ever. "Out of my hall, false
knight!" cried he, pretending to a courage which he did not feel.
But the knight stayed where he was, and answered him, "You lie,
Abbot. Never was I false, and that I have shown in jousts and in
tourneys."

"Give him two hundred pounds more," said the Justiciar to the Abbot,
"and keep the lands yourself."

"No, by Heaven!" answered the knight, "not if you offered me a
thousand pounds would I do it! Neither Justiciar, abbot, nor monk
shall be heir of mine." Then he strode up to a table and emptied out
four hundred pounds. "Take your gold, Sir Abbot, which you lent to
me a year agone. Had you but received me civilly, I would have paid
you something more.

"Sir Abbot, and ye men of law,
Now have I kept my day!
Now shall I have my land again,
For aught that you may say."

So he passed out of the hall singing merrily, leaving the Abbot
staring silently after him, and rode back to his house in Verisdale,
where his wife met him at the gate.

"Welcome, my lord," said his lady,
"Sir, lost is all your good."
"Be merry, dame," said the knight,
"And pray for Robin Hood.

But for his kindness, we would have been beggars."

After this the knight dwelt at home, looking after his lands and
saving his money carefully till the four hundred pounds lay ready
for Robin Hood. Then he bought a hundred bows and a hundred arrows,
and every arrow was an ell long, and had a head of silver and
peacock's feathers. And clothing himself in white and red, and with
a hundred men in his train, he set off to Sherwood Forest.

On the way he passed an open space near a bridge where there was a
wrestling, and the knight stopped and looked, for he himself had
taken many a prize in that sport. Here the prizes were such as to
fill any man with envy; a fine horse, saddled and bridled, a great
white bull, a pair of gloves, and a ring of bright red gold. There
was not a yeoman present who did not hope to win one of them. But
when the wrestling was over, the yeoman who had beaten them all was
a man who kept apart from his fellows, and was said to think much of
himself. Therefore the men grudged him his skill, and set upon him
with blows, and would have killed him, had not the knight, for love
of Robin Hood, taken pity on him, while his followers fought with
the crowd, and would not suffer them to touch the prizes a better
man had won.

When the wrestling was finished the knight rode on, and there under
the greenwood tree, in the place appointed, he found Robin Hood and
his merry men waiting for him, according to the tryst that they had
fixed last year:

"God save thee, Robin Hood,
And all this company."
"Welcome be thou, gentle knight,
And right welcome to me."

"Hast thou thy land again?" said Robin,
"Truth then thou tell me."
"Yea, for God," said the knight,
"And that thank I God and thee."


"Have here four hundred pounds," said the knight,
"The which you lent to me;
And here are also twenty marks
For your courtesie."

But Robin would not take the money. Then he noticed the bows and
arrows which the knight had brought, and asked what they were. "A
poor present to you," answered the knight, and Robin, who would not
be outdone, sent Little John once more to his treasury, and bade him
bring forth four hundred pounds, which was given to the knight.
After that they parted, in much love, and Robin prayed the knight if
he were in any strait "to let him know at the greenwood tree, and
while there was any gold there he should have it."

Now the King had no mind that Robin Hood should do as he willed, and
called his knights to follow him to Nottingham, where they would lay
plans how best to take captive the felon. Here they heard sad tales
of Robin's misdoings, and how of the many herds of wild deer that
had been wont to roam the forest in some places scarce one remained.
This was the work of Robin Hood and his merry men, on whom the king
swore vengeance with a great oath.

"I would I had this Robin Hood in my hands," cried he, "and an end
should soon be put to his doings." So spake the King; but an old
knight, full of days and wisdom, answered him and warned him that
the task of taking Robin Hood would be a sore one, and best let
alone. The King, who had seen the vanity of his hot words the moment
that he had uttered them, listened to the old man, and resolved to
bide his time, if perchance some day Robin should fall into his
power.

All this time and for six weeks later that he dwelt in Nottingham
the King could hear nothing of Robin, who seemed to have vanished
into the earth with his merry men, though one by one the deer were
vanishing too!