The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

by Howard Pyle

  Allan a Dale telleth his story.

  Next he told how her father had discovered what was a-doing, and had taken her away from him so that he never saw her again, and his heart was sometimes like to break; how this morn, only one short month and a half from the time that he had seen her last, he had heard and knew it to be so, that she was to marry old Sir Stephen of Trent, two days hence, for Ellen’s father thought it would be a grand thing to have his daughter marry so high, albeit she wished it not; nor was it wonder that a knight should wish to marry his own sweet love, who was the most beautiful maiden in all the world.

  To all this the yeomen listened in silence, the clatter of many voices, jesting and laughing, sounding around them, and the red light of the fire shining on their faces and in their eyes. So simple were the poor boy’s words, and so deep his sorrow, that even Little John felt a certain knotty lump rise in his throat.

  “I wonder not,” said Robin, after a moment’s silence, “that thy true love loved thee, for thou hast surely a silver cross beneath thy tongue, even like good Saint Francis, that could charm the birds of the air by his speech.”

  “By the breath of my body,” burst forth Little John, seeking to cover his feelings with angry words, “I have a great part of a mind to go straightway and cudgel the nasty life out of the body of that same vile Sir Stephen. Marry, come up, say I—what a plague—does an old weazen think that tender lasses are to be bought like pullets o’ a market day? Out upon him!—I—but no matter, only let him look to himself.”

  Then up spoke Will Scarlet. “Methinks it seemeth but ill done of the lass that she should so quickly change at others’ bidding, more especially when it cometh to the marrying of a man as old as this same Sir Stephen. I like it not in her, Allan.”

  “Nay,” said Allan, hotly, “thou dost wrong her. She is as soft and gentle as a stockdove. I know her better than any one in all the world. She may do her father’s bidding, but if she marries Sir Stephen, her heart will break and she will die. My own sweet dear, I—” He stopped and shook his head, for he could say nothing further.

  Whilst the others were speaking, Robin Hood had been sunk in thought. “Methinks I have a Robin Hood plan might fit thy case, Allan,” said he. deviseth a scheme “But tell me first, thinkest thou, lad, that to aid Allan in thy true love hath spirit enough to marry his troubles. thee were ye together in church, the banns published, and the priest found, even were her father to say her nay?”

  “Ay, marry would she,” cried Allan, eagerly.

  “Then, if her father be the man that I take him to be, I will undertake that he shall give you both his blessing as wedded man and wife, in the place of old Sir Stephen, and upon his wedding morn. But stay, now I bethink me, there is one thing reckoned not upon—the priest. Truly, those of the cloth do not love me overmuch, and when it comes to doing as I desire in such a matter, they are as like as not to prove stiff-necked. As to the lesser clergy, they fear to do me a favor because of abbot or bishop.”

  “Nay,” quoth Will Scarlet, laughing, “so far as that goeth, I know of a certain friar that, couldst thou but get on the soft side of him, would do thy business even though Pope Joan herself stood forth to ban him. He is known as the Curtal Friar of Fountain Abbey, and dwelleth in Fountain Dale.”

  Will Scarlet telleth Robin of the holy Friar of the Fountain.

  “But,” quoth Robin, “Fountain Abbey is a good hundred miles from here. An we would help this lad, we have no time to go thither and back before his true love will be married. Naught is to be gained there, coz.”

  “Yea,” quoth Will Scarlet, laughing again, “but this Fountain Abbey is not so far away as the one of which thou speakest, uncle. The Fountain Abbey of which I speak is no such rich and proud place as the other, but a simple little cell; yet, withal, as cosy a spot as ever stout anchorite dwelt within. I know the place well, and can guide thee thither, for, though it is a goodly distance, yet methinks a stout pair of legs could carry a man there and back in one day.”

  “Then give me thy hand, Allan,” cried Robin, “and let me tell thee, I swear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that this time two days hence Ellen a Dale shall be thy wife. I will seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey to-morrow day, and I warrant I will get upon the soft side of him, even if I have to drub one soft.”

  Robin Hood promiseth to aid Allan.

  At this Will Scarlet laughed again. “Be not too sure of that, good uncle,” quoth he; “nevertheless, from what I know of him, I think this curtal friar will gladly join two such fair lovers, more especially if there be good eating and drinking afoot thereafter.”

  But now one of the band came to say that the feast was spread upon the grass; so, Robin leading the way, the others followed to where the goodly feast was spread. Merry was the meal. Jest and story passed freely, and all laughed till the forest rang again. Allan laughed with the rest, for his cheeks were flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had given him.

  At last the feast was done, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who sat beside him. “Now, Allan,” quoth he, “so much has been said of thy singing that we would fain have a taste of thy skill ourselves. Canst thou not give us something?”

  Allan a Dale singeth the song of May Ellen’s wedding.

  “Surely,” answered Allan, readily; for he was no third-rate songster that must be asked again and again, but said “yes” or “no” at the first bidding; so, taking up his harp, he ran his fingers lightly over the sweetly- sounding strings, and all was hushed about the cloth. Then, backing his voice with sweet music on his harp, he sang

  MAY ELLEN’S WEDDING.

  (Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince, who took her to his own home.)

  I.

  “May Ellen sat beneath a thorn,

  And in a shower around

  The blossoms fell at every breeze

  Like snow upon the ground,

  And in a lime-tree near was heard

  The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.

  2.

  “O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,

  O lingering sweet the strain!

  May Ellen’s heart within her breast

  Stood still with blissful pain:

  And so, with listening, upturned face,

  She sat as dead in that fair place.

  3.

  “‘Come down from out the blossoms, bird!

  Come down from out the tree,

  And on my heart I’ll let thee lie,

  And love thee tenderly!’

  Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,

  From where the hawthorn shed its snow.

  4.

  “Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,

  From out the blossoming tree,

  And nestled in her snowy breast.

  ‘My love! my love!’ cried she;

  Then straightway home, ’mid sun and flower,

  She bare him to her own sweet bower.

  5.

  “The day hath passed to mellow night,

  The moon floats o’er the lea,

  And in its solemn, pallid light

  A youth stands silently:

  A youth of beauty strange and rare,

  Within May Ellen’s bower there.

  6.

  “He stood where o’er the pavement cold

  The glimmering moonbeams lay.

  May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,

  Nor could she turn away,

  For, as in mystic dreams we see

  A spirit, stood he silently.

  7.

  “All in a low and breathless voice,

  ‘Whence comest thou?’ said she;

  ‘Art thou the creature of a dream,

  Or a vision that I see?’

  Then soft spake he, as night winds shiver

  Through straining reeds beside the river.

  8.

  “‘I came, a bird on feathered wing,

  From distant Faery land

  Where
murmuring waters softly sing

  Upon the golden strand,

  Where sweet trees are forever green;

  And there my mother is the queen.’

  9.

  “No more May Ellen leaves her bower

  To grace the blossoms fair;

  But in the hushed and midnight hour

  They hear her talking there,

  Or, when the moon is shining white,

  They hear her singing through the night.

  10.

  “‘Oh don thy silks and jewels fine,’

  May Ellen’s mother said,

  ‘For hither comes the Lord of Lyne

  And thou this lord must wed.’

  May Ellen said, ‘It may not be.

  He ne’er shall find his wife in me.’

  11.

  “Up spoke her brother, dark and grim:

  ‘Now by the bright blue sky:

  E’er yet a day hath gone for him

  Thy wicked bird shall die!

  For he hath wrought thee bitter harm,

  By some strange art or cunning charm.’

  12.

  “Then, with a sad and mournful song,

  Away the bird did fly,

  And o‘er the castle eaves, and through

  The gray and windy sky.

  ‘Come forth!’ then cried the brother grim,

  ‘Why dost thou gaze so after him?’

  13.

  “It is May Ellen’s wedding day,

  The sky is blue and fair,

  And many a lord and lady gay

  In church are gathered there.

  The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,

  All clad in silk and cloth of gold.

  14.

  “In came the Bride in samite white,

  With a white wreath on her head;

  Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,

  Her face was as the dead,

  And when she stood among the throng,

  She sang a wild and wondrous song.

  15.

  “Then came a strange and rushing sound

  Like the coming wind doth bring,

  And in the open windows shot

  Nine swans on whistling wing,

  And high above the heads they flew,

  In gleaming flight the darkness through.

  16.

  “Around May Ellen’s head they flew

  In wide and windy flight,

  And three times round the circle drew.

  The guests shrank in affright,

  And the Priest beside the altar there,

  Did cross himself with muttered prayer.

  17.

  “But the third time they flew around,

  Fair Ellen straight was gone,

  And in her place, upon the ground,

  There stood a snow-white swan.

  Then, with a wild and lovely song,

  It joined the swift and wingèd throng.

  18.

  “There’s ancient men at weddings been,

  For sixty years and more,

  But such a wondrous wedding day,

  They never saw before.

  But none could check and none could stay,

  The swans that bore the Bride away.”

  Not a sound broke the stillness when Allan a Dale had done, but all sat gazing at the handsome singer, for so sweet was his voice and so sweet the music that each man sat with bated breath, lest one drop more should come and he should lose it.

  “By my faith and my troth,” quoth Robin at last, drawing a deep breath, “lad, thou art—Thou must not leave our company, Allan! Wilt thou not stay with us here in the sweet green forest? Truly, I do feel my heart go out toward thee with great love.”

  Allan a Dale joineth the band as the minstrel to Robin Hood.

  Then Allan took Robin’s hand and kissed it. “I will stay with thee always, dear master,” said he, “for never have I known such kindness as thou hast shown me this day.”

  Then Will Scarlet stretched forth his hand and shook Allan’s in token of fellowship, as did Little John likewise. And thus the famous Allan a Dale became one of Robin Hood’s band.

  II.

  Robin seeketh the Curtal Friar of the Fountain.

  THE stout yeomen of Sherwood Forest were ever early risers of a morn, more especially when the summer time had come, for then in the freshness of the dawn the dew was always the brightest, and the song of the small birds the sweetest.

  Quoth Robin, “Now will I go to seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey of whom we spake yesternight, and I will take with me four of my good men, and these four shall be Little John, Will Scarlet, David of Doncaster, and Arthur a Bland. Bide the rest of you here, and Will Stutely shall be your chief whilst I am gone.”

  Then straightway Robin Hood donned a fine steel coat of chain mail, over which he put on a light jacket of Lincoln green. Upon his head he clapped a steel cap, and this he covered by one of soft white leather, in which stood a nodding cock’s plume. By his side he hung a good broadsword of tempered steel, the bluish blade marked all over with strange figures of dragons, winged women, and what not. A gallant sight was Robin so arrayed, I wot, the glint of steel showing here and there as the sunlight caught brightly the links of polished mail that showed beneath his green coat.

  So, having arrayed himself, he and the four yeomen set forth upon their way. Will Scarlet taking the lead, for he knew better than the others whither to go. Thus, mile after mile, they strode along, now across a brawling stream, now along a sunlit road, now adown some sweet forest path, over which the trees met in green and rustling canopy, and at the end of which a herd of startled deer dashed away, with rattle of leaves and crackle of branches. Onward they walked with song and jest and laughter till high noontide was passed, when at last they came to the banks of a wide, glassy, and lily-padded stream. Here a broad beaten path stretched along beside the banks, on which path labored the horses that tugged at the slow moving barges, laden with barley-meal or what not, from the countryside to the many-towered town. But now, in the hot silence of the midday, no horse was seen nor any man beside themselves. Behind them and before them stretched the river, its placid bosom ruffled here and there by the purple dusk of a small breeze. Sweet green osiers bordered the banks, and far away the red-tiled eaves of some tall tower glimmered in the sun, the weather-vane a spark against the blue sky. And now they travelled more easily, for the road was level and hard. Around them and over the surface of the water skimmed and dipped the swallows, gray dragon-flies darted hither and thither glistening in the sun, and now and then a solitary heron rose splashing and with startled cry from its hiding place among the reeds and sedges that grew in the shallow margin of the stream.

  Robin Hood and four of his yeomen set forth to Fountain Dale to seek the Friar of that ilk.

  “Now, good uncle,” quoth Will Scarlet at last, when they had walked for a long time beside this sweet bright river, “just beyond yon bend ahead of us is a shallow ford which in no place is deeper than thy mid-thigh, and upon the other side of the stream is a certain little hermitage hidden amidst the bosky tangle of the thickets wherein dwelleth the Friar of Fountain Dale. Thither will I lead thee, for I know the way; albeit it is not overhard to find.”

  “Nay,” quoth jolly Robin, stopping suddenly, “had I thought that I should have had to wade water, even were it so crystal a stream as this, I had donned other clothes than I have upon me. But no matter now, for after all a wetting will not wash the skin away, and what must be must. But bide ye here, lads, for I would enjoy this merry adventure alone. Nevertheless, listen well, and if ye hear me sound upon my bugle-horn, come quickly.”

  “’Tis ever thus,” said Little John, half muttering; “thou dost alway seek these ventures alone, whilst we, whose lives are but of small worth beside thine, and who would be but too glad to enter upon them, must sit, as it were, twiddling our thumbs in idleness.”

  “Nay, Little John,” quoth jolly Robin, “this venture, I wo
t, is without danger to me. I know thou art overready to peril thyself; nevertheless, bide thou here this time as I bid thee.” So saying he turned and left them, striding onward alone.

  Robin Hood leaveth his men behind him and goeth forward alone to seek the Curtal Friar.

  Robin had walked no farther than where the bend of the road hid his good men from his view, when he stopped suddenly, for he thought that he heard voices. He stood still and listened, and presently heard words passed back and forth betwixt what seemed to be two men, and yet the two voices were wondrously alike. The sound came from over behind the bank, that here was steep and high, dropping from the edge of the road a half a score of feet to the sedgy verge of the river.