A mile or more from Nottingham Town, and not far from the southern
borders of Sherwood Forest, stood the cosy inn bearing the sign of the
King's Head. Here was a great bustle and stir on this bright morning,
for the Sheriff and a score of his men had come to stop there and await
Guy of Gisbourne's return from the forest. Great hiss and fuss of
cooking was going on in the kitchen, and great rapping and tapping of
wine kegs and beer barrels was going on in the cellar. The Sheriff sat
within, feasting merrily of the best the place afforded, and the
Sheriff's men sat upon the bench before the door, quaffing ale, or lay
beneath the shade of the broad-spreading oak trees, talking and jesting
and laughing. All around stood the horses of the band, with a great
noise of stamping feet and a great switching of tails. To this inn came
the King's rangers, driving the widow's three sons before them. The
hands of the three youths were tied tightly behind their backs, and a
cord from neck to neck fastened them all together. So they were marched
to the room where the Sheriff sat at meat, and stood trembling before
him as he scowled sternly upon them.
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