“Now, out upon thee, young man,” cried the Palmer, “that thou shouldst speak so when a good stout man is to be hanged for nothing but guarding his own life!” And he struck his staff upon the ground in anger.  “Alas, say I, that this thing should be!  For even this day, toward evening, when the sun falleth low, he shall be hanged, fourscore rods from the great town gate of Nottingham, where three roads meet; for there the Sheriff sweareth he shall die as a warning to all outlaws in Nottinghamshire.  But yet, I say again, Alas!  For, though Robin Hood and his band may be outlaws, yet he taketh only from the rich and the strong and the dishonest man, while there is not a poor widow nor a peasant with many children, nigh to Sherwood, but has barley flour enough all the year long through him.  It grieves my heart to see one as gallant as this Stutely die, for I have been a good Saxon yeoman in my day, ere I turned palmer, and well I know a stout hand and one that smiteth shrewdly at a cruel Norman or a proud abbot with fat moneybags.  Had good Stutely’s master but known how his man was compassed about with perils, perchance he might send succor to bring him out of the hand of his enemies.

“Ay, marry, that is true,” cried the young man.  “If Robin and his men be nigh this place, I wot right well they will strive to bring him forth from his peril.  But fare thee well, thou good old man, and believe me, if Will Stutely die, he shall be right well avenged.”

Then he turned and strode rapidly away; but the Palmer looked after him, muttering, “I wot that youth is no country hind that hath come to see a good man die.  Well, well, perchance Robin Hood is not so far away but that there will be stout doings this day.”  So he went upon his way, muttering to himself.

When David of Doncaster told Robin Hood what the Palmer had said to him, Robin called the band around him and spoke to them thus: 

“Now let us get straightway into Nottingham Town and mix ourselves with the people there; but keep ye one another in sight, pressing as near the prisoner and his guards as ye can, when they come outside the walls.  Strike no man without need, for I would fain avoid bloodshed, but if ye do strike, strike hard, and see that there be no need to strike again.  Then keep all together until we come again to Sherwood, and let no man leave his fellows.”

The sun was low in the western sky when a bugle note sounded from the castle wall.  Then all was bustle in Nottingham Town and crowds filled the streets, for all knew that the famous Will Stutely was to be hanged that day.  Presently the castle gates opened wide and a great array of men-at-arms came forth with noise and clatter, the Sheriff, all clad in shining mail of linked chain, riding at their head.  In the midst of all the guard, in a cart, with a halter about his neck, rode Will Stutely.  His face was pale with his wound and with loss of blood, like the moon in broad daylight, and his fair hair was clotted in points upon his forehead, where the blood had hardened.  When he came forth from the castle he looked up and he looked down, but though he saw some faces that showed pity and some that showed friendliness, he saw none that he knew.  Then his heart sank within him like a plummet of lead, but nevertheless he spoke up boldly.