by Howard Pyle
“Halloa, my sweet bird,” said he, laughing merrily, “how likest thou thine ale? Wilt not sing to me another song?”
The Tinker said nothing at first, but stood looking at Robin with a grim face. “Now,” quoth he at last, “I am right glad I have met thee, and if I do not rattle thy bones within thy hide this day, I give thee leave to put thy foot upon my neck.”
“With all my heart,” cried merry Robin; “rattle my bones, an thou canst.” So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his guard. Then the Tinker spat upon his hands, and, grasping his staff, came straight at the other. He struck two or three blows, but soon found that he had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them, and, before the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in return. At this Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry than ever, and smote again with all his might and main. Again Robin warded two of the strokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the mighty blows of the Tinker. “Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff,” cried Robin, as it fell from his hands; “a foul stick art thou to serve me thus in mine hour of need.”
“Now yield thee,” quoth the Tinker, “for thou art my captive; and if thou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding.”
To this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips, he blew three blasts, loud and clear.
“Ay,” quoth the Tinker, “blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to Nottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there. Now wilt thou yield thee, or shall I have to break thy pretty head?”
“An I must drink sour ale, I must,” quoth Robin; “but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now. Ho, my merry men! come quickly!”
Then from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in Lincoln green.
“How now, good master,” cried Little John, “what need hast thou that thou dost wind thy horn so loudly?”
“There stands a tinker,” quoth Robin, “that would fain take me to Nottingham, there to hang upon the gallows tree.”
“Then shall he himself hang forthwith,” cried Little John; and he and the others made at the Tinker, to seize him.
“Nay, touch him not,” said Robin, “for a right stout man is he. A metal man he is by trade, and a mettled man by nature; moreover, he doth sing a lovely ballad. Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my merry men all? Three suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have a year, beside twenty marks in fee; thou shalt share all with us and lead a right merry life in the greenwood; for cares have we not and misfortune cometh not upon us within the sweet shades of Sherwood, where we shoot the dun deer, and feed upon venison and sweet oaten cakes, and curds and honey. Wilt thou come with me?”
“Ay, marry, will I join with you all,” quoth the Tinker, “for I love a merry life, and I love thee, good master, though thou didst thwack my ribs and cheat me into the bargain. Fain am I to own thou art both a stouter and a slyer man than I; so I will obey thee and be thine own true servant.”
The Tinker joineth the band.
So all turned their steps to the forest depths, where the Tinker was to live henceforth. For many a day he sang ballads to the band, until the famous Allan a Dale joined them, before whose sweet voice all others seemed as harsh as a raven’s; but of him we will learn hereafter.
II.
The Shooting-Match at Nottingham Town.
THEN the Sheriff was very wroth because of this failure to take jolly Robin, for it came to his ears, as ill news always does, that the people laughed at him and made a jest of his thinking to serve a warrant upon such a one as the bold outlaw; and a man hates nothing so much as being made a jest of; so he said: “Our gracious Lord and Sovereign King himself shall know of this, and how his laws are perverted and despised by this band of rebel outlaws. As for yon traitor Tinker, him will I hang, if I catch him, upon the very highest gallows tree in all Nottinghamshire.”
The Sheriff is wroth.
Then he bade all his servants and retainers to make ready to go to London Town, to see and speak with the King.
At this there was bustling at the Sheriffs castle and men ran hither and thither upon this business and upon that, while the forge fires of Nottingham glowed red far into the night like twinkling stars, for all the smiths of the town were busy making or mending armor for the Sheriffs troop of escort. For two days this labor lasted, then, on the third, all was ready for the journey. So forth they started in the bright sunlight, from Nottingham Town to Fosse Way and thence to Watling Street; and so they journeyed for two days, until they saw at last the spires and towers of great London Town; and many folks stopped, as they journeyed along, and gazed at the show they made riding along the highways with their flashing armor and gay plumes and trappings.
He maketh him ready to go to the King.
In London King Henry and his fair Queen Elinor held their court, gay with ladies in silks and satins and velvets and cloth of gold, and also brave knights and gallant courtiers. Thither came the Sheriff and was shown into the King’s presence.
“A boon, a boon,” quoth he, as he knelt upon the ground.
“Now what wouldst thou have?” said the King. “Let us hear what may be thy desires.”
The Sheriff seeth the King.
“O good my Lord and Sovereign,” spake the Sheriff, “in Sherwood Forest, in our own good shire of Nottingham, liveth a bold outlaw whose name is Robin Hood.”
“In good sooth,” said the King, “his doings have reached even our own royal ears. He is a saucy, rebellious varlet, yet, I am fain to own, a right merry soul withal.”
“But hearken, O my most gracious Sovereign,” said the Sheriff. “I sent a warrant to him with thine own royal seal attached, by a right lusty knave, but he beat the messenger and stole the warrant. And he killeth thy deer and robbeth thine own liege subjects even upon the great highways.”
“Why, how now,” quoth the King, wrathfully. “What wouldst thou have me do? Comest thou not to me with a great array of men-at-arms and retainers, and yet art not able to take a single band of lusty knaves without armor on breast, in thine own country! What wouldst thou have me do? Art thou not my Sheriff? Are not my laws in force in Nottinghamshire? Canst thou not take thine own course against those that break the laws or do an injury to thee or thine? Go, get thee gone, and think well; devise some plan of thine own but trouble me no further. But look well to it, master Sheriff, for I will have my laws obeyed by all men within my kingdom, and if thou art not able to enforce them thou art no sheriff for me. So look well to thyself, I say, or ill may befall thee as well as the thieving knaves in Nottinghamshire. When the flood cometh it sweepeth away grain as well as chaff.”
The King is wroth.
Then the Sheriff turned away with a sore and troubled heart, and sadly he rued his fine show of retainers, for he saw that the King was angry because he had so many men about him and yet could not enforce the laws. So, as they all rode slowly back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was thoughtful and full of care. Not a word did he speak to any one, and no one of his men spoke to him, but all the time he was busy devising some plan to take Robin Hood.
The Sheriff getteth him home.
“Aha!” cried he suddenly, smiting his hand upon his thigh, “I have it now! Ride on, my merry men all, and let us get back to Nottingham Town as speedily as we may. And mark well my words: before a fortnight is passed, that evil knave, Robin Hood, will be safely clapped into Nottingham gaol.”
But what was the Sheriffs plan?
As a Jew takes each one of a bag of silver angels, feeling each coin to find whether it be clipped or not, so the Sheriff, as all rode slowly and sadly back toward Nottingham, took up thought after thought in turn, feeling around the edges of each but finding in every one some flaw. At last he thought of the daring soul of jolly Robin and how, as he the Sheriff knew, he often came even within the walls of Nottingham.
“Now,” thought the Sheriff, “could
I but persuade Robin nigh to Nottingham Town so that I could find him, I warrant I would lay hands upon him so stoutly that he would never get away again.” Then of a sudden it came to him like a flash that were he to proclaim a great shooting-match and offer some grand prize, Robin Hood might be over-persuaded by his spirit to come to the butts; and it was this thought which caused him to cry “Aha!” and smite his palm upon his thigh.
So, as soon as he had returned safely to Nottingham, he sent messengers north and south, and east and west, to proclaim through town, hamlet, and countryside, this grand shooting-match, and every one was bidden that could draw a long bow, and the prize was to be an arrow of pure beaten gold.
The Sheriff proclaimeth a shooting match at Nottingham
Town.
When Robin Hood first heard the news of this he was in Lincoln Town, and hastening back to Sherwood Forest he soon called all his merry men about him and spoke to them thus:—
“Now hearken, my merry men all, to the news that I have brought from Lincoln Town to-day. Our friend the Sheriff of Nottingham hath proclaimed a shooting-match, and hath sent messengers to tell of it through all the country side, and the prize is to be a bright golden arrow. Now I fain would have one of us win it, both because of the fairness of the prize and because our sweet friend the Sheriff hath offered it. So we will take our bows and shafts and go there to shoot, for I know right well that merriment will be a-going. What say ye, lads?”
Robin heareth of the shooting-match and fixeth to go thereunto.
Then young David of Doncaster spoke up and said: “Now listen, I pray thee, good master, unto what I say. I have come straight from our friend Eadom o’ the Blue Boar, and there I heard the full news of this same match. But, master, I know from him, and he got it from the Sheriffs man Ralph o’ the Scar, that this same knavish Sheriff hath but laid a trap for thee in this shooting-match and wishes nothing so much as to see thee there. So go not, good master, for I know right well he doth seek to beguile thee, but stay within the greeenwood lest we all meet dole and woe.”
“Now,” quoth Robin, “thou art a wise lad and keepest thine ears open and thy mouth shut, as becometh a wise and crafty woodsman. But shall we let it be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham did cow bold Robin Hood and sevenscore as fair archers as are in all merry England? Nay, good David, what thou tellest me maketh me to desire the prize even more than I else should do. But what sayeth our good gossip Swanthold? is it not ‘A hasty man burneth his mouth, and the fool that keepth his eyes shut falleth into the pit?’ Thus he says, truly, therefore we must meet guile with guile. Now some of you clothe yourselves as curtal friars, and some as rustic peasants, and some as tinkers, or as beggars, but see that each man taketh a good bow or broadsword, in case need should arise. As for myself, I will shoot for this same golden arrow, and should I win it, we will hang it to the branches of our good greenwood tree for the joy of all the band. 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 two score 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.
The merry match at Nottingham Town.
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 gayly to the merry tinkle of silver bells at bridle-reins; with these came also the poorer folk, who sat or lay upon the green grass near the railing that kept them from off the range. In the great tent the archers were gathering by twos and threes; some talking loudly of the fair shots each man had made in his day; some looking well to their bows, drawing a string betwixt the fingers to see that there was no fray upon it, or inspecting arrows, shutting one eye and peering down a shaft to see that it was not warped, but straight and true, for neither bow nor shaft should fail at such a time and for such a prize. And never were such a company of yeomen as were gathered at Nottingham Town that day, for the very best archers of merry England had come to this shooting-match. There was Gill o’ the Red Cap, the Sheriffs own head archer, and Diccon Cruikshank of Lincoln Town, and Adam o’ the Dell, a man of Tamworth, of threescore years and more, yet hale and lusty still, who in his time had shot in the famous match at Woodstock, and had there beaten that renowned archer, Clym o’ the Clough. And many more famous men of the long bow were there, whose names have been handed down to us in goodly ballads of the olden time.
But now all the benches were filled with guests, lord and lady, burgher and dame, when at last the Sheriff himself came with his lady, he riding with stately mien upon his milk-white horse and she upon her brown filly. Upon his head he wore a purple velvet cap, and purple velvet was his robe, all trimmed about with rich ermine; his jerkin and hose were of sea-green silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the pointed toes fastened to his garters with golden chains. A golden chain hung about his neck, and at his collar was a great carbuncle set in red gold. His lady was dressed in blue velvet, all trimmed with swan’s down. So they made a gallant sight as they rode along side by side, and all the people shouted from where they crowded across the space from the gentlefolk; so the Sheriff and his lady came to their place, where men-at-arms, with hauberk and spear, stood about, waiting for them.
Then when the Sheriff and his dame had sat down, he bade his herald wind upon his silver horn; who thereupon sounded three blasts that came echoing cheerily back from the gray walls of Nottingham. Then the archers stepped forth to their places, while all the folks shouted with a mighty voice, each man calling upon his favorite yeoman. “Red Cap!” cried some; “Cruikshank!” cried others; “Hey for William o’ Leslie!” shouted others yet again; while ladies wavèd silken scarfs to urge each yeoman to do his best.
Then the herald stood forth and loudly proclaimed the rules of the game as follows:—
“Shoot each man from yon mark, which is sevenscore yards and ten from the target. One arrow shooteth each man first, and from all the archers shall the ten that shooteth the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Two arrows shooteth each man of these ten, then shall the three that shoot the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Three arrows shooteth each man of those three, and to him that shooteth the fairest shafts shall the prize be given.”
Then the Sheriff leaned forward, looking keenly among the press of archers to find whether Robin Hood was amongst them; but no one was there clad in Lincoln green, such as was worn by Robin and his band. “Nevertheless,” said the Sheriff to himself, “he may still be there, and I miss him among the crowd of other men. But let me see when but ten men shoot, for I wot he will be among the ten, or I know him not.”
And now the archers shot, each man in turn, and the good folk never saw such archery as was done that day. Six arrows were within the clout, four within the black, and only two smote the outer ring; so that when the last arrow sped and struck the target, all the people shouted aloud, for it was noble shooting.
The archers shoot.
And now but ten men were left of all those that had shot before, and of these ten, six were famous throughout the land, and most of the folk gathered there knew them. These six men were Gilbert o’ the Red Cap, Adam o’ the Dell, Diccon Cruikshank, William o’ Leslie, Hubert o’ Cloud, and Swithin o’
Hertford. Two others were yeomen of merry Yorkshire, another was a tall stranger in blue, who said he came from London Town, and the last was a tattered stranger in scarlet, who wore a patch over one eye.
“Now,” quoth the Sheriff to a man-at-arms who stood near him, “seest thou Robin Hood amongst these ten?”
“Nay, that do I not, your worship,” answered the man. “Six of them I know right well. Of those Yorkshire yeomen, one is too tall and the other too short for that bold knave. Robin’s beard is as yellow as gold, while yon tattered beggar in scarlet hath a beard of brown, besides being blind of one eye. As for the stranger in blue, Robin’s shoulders, I ween, are three inches broader than his.”
“Then,” quoth the Sheriff, smiting his thigh angrily, “yon knave is a coward as well as a rogue, and dares not show his face among good men and true.”
Then, after they had rested a short time, those ten stout men stepped forth to shoot again. Each man shot two arrows, and as they shot, not a word was spoken, but all the crowd watched with scarce a breath of sound; but when the last had shot his arrow another great shout arose, while many cast their caps aloft for joy of such marvellous shooting.
“Now by our gracious Lady fair,” quoth old Sir Amyas o’ the Dell, who, bowed with fourscore year and more, sat near the Sheriff, “ne’er saw I such archery in all my life before, yet have I seen the best hands at the long bow for threescore years and more.”
And now but three men were left of all those that had shot before. One was Gill o’ the Red Cap, one the tattered stranger in scarlet, and one Adam o’ the Dell of Tamworth Town. Then all the people called aloud, some crying, “Ho for Gilbert o’ the Red Cap!” and some, “Hey for stout Adam o’ Tamworth!” but not a single man in the crowd called upon the stranger in scarlet.
