How like you the plan, my merry men
all?"
Then "Good, good!" cried all the band right heartily.
A fair sight was Nottingham Town on the day of the shooting match. All
along upon the green meadow beneath the town wall stretched a row of
benches, one above the other, which were for knight and lady, squire and
dame, and rich burghers and their wives; for none but those of rank and
quality were to sit there. At the end of the range, near the target, was
a raised seat bedecked with ribbons and scarfs and garlands of flowers,
for the Sheriff of Nottingham and his dame. The range was twoscore
paces broad. At one end stood the target, at the other a tent of striped
canvas, from the pole of which fluttered many-colored flags and
streamers. In this booth were casks of ale, free to be broached by any
of the archers who might wish to quench their thirst.
Across the range from where the seats for the better folk were raised
was a railing to keep the poorer people from crowding in front of the
target. Already, while it was early, the benches were beginning to fill
with people of quality, who kept constantly arriving in little carts or
upon palfreys that curveted gaily to the merry tinkle of silver bells at
bridle reins.
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