by Howard Pyle
The King and those about him set forth for Sherwood Forest to meet Robin Hood.
But now seven habits such as black friars wear were brought, and the King and those about him having clad themselves therein, and his majesty having hung a purse with a hundred golden pounds in it beneath his robes, they all went forth and mounted the mules that had been brought to the door for them. Then the King bade the Sheriff be silent as to their doings, and so they set forth upon their way.
Onward they travelled, laughing and jesting, until they passed through the open country; between bare harvest fields whence the harvest had been gathered home; through scattered glades that began to thicken as they went farther along, till they came within the heavy shade of the forest itself. They travelled in the forest for several miles without meeting any one such as they sought, until they had come to that part of the road that lay nearest to Newstead Abbey.
“By the holy Saint Martin,” quoth the King, “I would that I had a better head for remembering things of great need. Here have we come away and brought never so much as a drop of anything to drink with us. Now I would give half a hundred pounds for somewhat to quench my thirst withal.”
A tall yeoman stops the King and the others near Newstead Abbey.
No sooner had the King so spoken, than out from the covert at the roadside stepped a tall fellow with yellow beard and hair and a pair of merry blue eyes. “Truly, holy brother,” said he, laying his hand upon the King’s bridle rein, “it were an unchristian thing to not give fitting answer to so fair a bargain. We keep an inn hereabouts, and for fifty pounds we will not only give thee a good draught of wine, but will give thee as noble a feast as ever thou didst tickle thy gullet withal.” So saying he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. Then straightway the bushes and branches on either side of the road swayed and crackled, and threescore broad-shouldered yeomen in Lincoln green burst out of the covert.
“How now, fellow,” quoth the King, “who art thou, thou naughty rogue? Hast thou no regard for such holy men as we are?”
“Not a whit,” quoth merry Robin Hood, for the fellow was he; “for in sooth all the holiness belonging to rich friars, such as ye are, one could drop into a thimble and the good wife would never feel it with the tip of her finger. As for my name, it is Robin Hood, and thou mayst have heard it before.”
“Now out upon thee!” quoth King Richard. “Thou art a bold and naughty fellow and a lawless one withal, as I have often heard tell. Now, prythee, let me, and these brethren of mine, travel forward in peace and quietness.”
“It may not be,” said Robin, “for it would look but ill of us to let such holy men travel onward with empty stomachs. But I doubt not that thou hast a fat purse to pay thy score at our inn since thou offerest freely so much for a poor draught of wine. Show me thy purse, reverend brother, or I may perchance have to strip thy robes from thee to search for it myself.”
“Nay, use no force,” said the King sternly. “Here is my purse, but lay not thy lawless hands upon our person.”
The King giveth up his purse to Robin Hood.
“Hut, tut,” quoth merry Robin, “what proud words are these? Art thou the King of England, to talk so to me? Here, Will, take this purse and see what there is within.”
Will Scarlet took the purse and counted out the money. Then Robin bade him keep fifty pounds for themselves, and put fifty back into the purse. This he handed to the King. “Here, brother,” quoth he, “take this half of thy money, and thank Saint Martin, on whom thou didst call before, that thou hast fallen into the hands of such gentle rogues that they will not strip thee bare, as they might do. But wilt thou not put back thy cowl? for I would fain see thy face.”
“Nay,” said the King, drawing back, “I may not put back my cowl, for we seven have vowed that we will not show our faces for four and twenty hours.”
“Then keep them covered in peace,” said Robin, “and far be it from me to make you break your vows.”
Robin Hood bringeth the seven mock friars to the greenwood tree.
So he called seven of his yeomen and bade them each one take a mule by the bridle; then, turning their faces toward the depths of the woodlands, they journeyed onward until they came to the open glade and the greenwood tree.
Little John, with threescore yeomen at his heels, had also gone forth that morning to wait along the roads and bring a rich guest to Sherwood glade, if such might be his luck, for many with fat purses must travel the roads at this time, when such great doings were going on in Nottinghamshire; but though Little John and so many others were gone, Friar Tuck and twoscore or more stout yeomen were seated or lying around beneath the great tree, and when Robin and the others came they leaped to their feet to meet him.
“By my soul,” quoth merry King Richard, when he had gotten down from his mule and stood looking about him, “thou hast in very truth a fine lot of young men about thee, Robin. Methinks King Richard himself would be glad of such a body guard.”
“These are not all of my fellows,” said Robin, proudly, “for threescore more of them are away on business with my good right-hand man, Little John. But, as for King Richard, I tell thee, brother, there is not a man of us all but would pour out our blood like water for him. Ye churchmen cannot rightly understand our King; but we yeomen love him right loyally for the sake of his brave doings which are so like our own.”
But now Friar Tuck came bustling up. “Gi’ ye good den, brothers,” said he. “I am right glad to welcome some of my cloth in this naughty place. Truly, methinks these rogues of outlaws would stand but an ill chance were it not for the prayers of Holy Tuck, who laboreth so hard for their well being.” Here he winked one eye slyly and stuck his tongue into his cheek.
“Who art thou, mad priest?” said the King in a serious voice, albeit he smiled beneath his cowl.
At this Friar Tuck looked all around with a slow gaze. “Look you now,” quoth he, “never let me hear you say again that I am no patient man. Here is a knave of a frair calleth me a mad priest, and yet I smite him not. My name is Friar Tuck, fellow,—the holy Friar Tuck.”
“There, Tuck,” said Robin, “thou hast said enow. Prythee, cease thy talk and bring some wine. These reverend men are athirst, and sin’ they have paid so richly for their score they must e’en have the best.”
Friar Tuck bridled at being so checked in his speech, nevertheless he went straightway to do Robin’s bidding; so presently a great crock was brought, and wine was poured out for all the guests and for Robin Hood. Then Robin held his cup aloft. “Stay!” cried he. “Tarry in your drinking till I give you a pledge. Here is to good King Richard of great renown, and may all enemies to him be confounded.”
Then all drank the King’s health, even the King himself. “Methinks, good fellow,” said he, “thou hast drunk to thine own confusion.”
Robin Hood drinketh to the King’s health.
“Never a whit,” quoth merry Robin, “for I tell thee that we of Sherwood are more loyal to our lord the King than those of thine order. We would give up our very lives for his benefiting, whilst ye are content to lie snug in your abbeys and priories, let reign who will.”
At this the King laughed. Quoth he, “Perhaps King Richard’s welfare is more to me than thou wottest of, fellow. But enough of that matter. We have paid well for our fare, so canst thou not show us some merry entertainment? I have oft heard that ye are wondrous archers; wilt thou not show us somewhat of your skill?”
“With all my heart,” said Robin; “we are always pleased to show our guests all the sport that is to be seen. As Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, ’T is a hard heart that will not give a caged starling of the best’; and caged starlings ye are with us. Ho, lads! set up a garland at the end of the glade.”
Then, as the yeomen ran to do their master’s bidding, Tuck turned to one of the mock friars. “Hearest thou our master?” quoth he, with a sly wink. “Whenever he cometh across some poor piece of wit he straightway layeth it on the shoulders of this
Gaffer Swanthold,—whoever he may be,—so that the poor goodman goeth travelling about with all the odds and ends and tags and rags of our master’s brain packed on his back.” Thus spake Friar Tuck, but in a low voice so that Robin could not hear him, for he felt somewhat nettled at Robin’s cutting his talk so short.
In the mean time the mark at which they were to shoot was set up at sixscore paces distance. It was a garland of leaves and flowers two spans in width, which same was hung upon a stake in front of a broad tree-trunk. “There,” quoth Robin, “yon is a fair mark, lads. Each of you shoot three arrows thereat; and if any fellow misseth by so much as one arrow, he shall have a buffet of Will Scarlet’s fist.”
“Hearken to him!” quoth Friar Tuck. “Why, master, thou dost bestow buffets from thy strapping nephew as though they were love taps from some bouncing lass. I warrant thou art safe to hit the garland thyself, or thou wouldst not be so free of his cuffing.”
The band shoot before merry King Richard.
First David of Doncaster shot, and lodged all three of his arrows within the garland. “Well done, David!” cried Robin, “thou hast saved thine ears from a warming this day.” Next Midge, the Miller, shot, and he, also, lodged his arrows in the garland. Then followed Wat, the Tinker, but alas for him! for one of his shafts missed the mark by the breadth of two fingers.
The Tinker gets a buffet.
“Come hither, fellow,” said Will Scarlet, in his soft, gentle voice; “I owe thee somewhat that I would pay forthwith.” Then Wat, the Tinker , came forward and stood in front of Will Scarlet, screwing up his face and shutting his eyes tightly, as though he already felt his ears ringing with the buffet. Will Scarlet rolled up his sleeve, and, standing on tiptoe to give the greater swing to his arm, he struck with might and main. “Whoof!” came his palm against the Tinker’s head, and down went stout Wat to the grass, heels over head, as the wooden image at the fair goes down when the skillful player throws a cudgel at it. Then, as the Tinker sat up upon the grass, rubbing his ear and winking and blinking at the bright stars that danced before his eyes, the yeomen roared with mirth till the forest rang. As for King Richard, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Thus the band shot, each in turn, some getting off scot free, and some winning a buffet that always sent them to the grass. And now, last of all, Robin took his place, and all was hushed as he shot. The first shaft he shot split a piece from the stake on which the garland was hung; the second shaft lodged within an inch of the other. “By my halidom,” said King Richard to himself, “I would give a thousand pounds for this fellow to be one of my guard!” And now, for the third time Robin shot; but, alas for him! the arrow was ill-feathered, and, wavering to one side, it smote an inch outside the garland.
At this a great roar went up, those of the yeomen who sat upon the grass rolling over and over and shouting with laughter, for never before had they seen their master so miss his mark; but Robin flung his bow upon the ground with vexation. “Now, out upon it!” cried he. “That shaft had an ill feather to it, for I felt it as it left my fingers. Give me a clean arrow, and I will engage to split the wand with it.”
Robin Hood faileth of his mark.
At these words the yeomen laughed louder than ever. “Nay, good uncle,” said Will Scarlet, in his soft, sweet voice, “thou hast had thy fair chance and hast missed thine aim out and out. I swear the arrow was as good as any that hath been loosed this day. Come hither; I owe thee somewhat, and would fain pay it.”
“Go, good master,” roared Friar Tuck, “and may my blessing go with thee. Thou hast bestowed these love-taps of Will Scarlet’s with great freedom. It were pity an thou gottest not thine own share.”
Robin Hood yieldeth himself to the King.
“It may not be,” said merry Robin. “I am king here, and no subject may raise hand against the king. But even our great King Richard may yield to the holy Pope without shame, and even take a tap from him by way of penance; therefore I will yield myself to this holy friar, who seemeth to be one in authority, and will take my punishment from him.” Thus saying, he turned to the King, ”I prythee, brother, wilt thou take my punishment into thy holy hands?”
“With all my heart,” quoth merry King Richard, rising from where he was sitting. “I owe thee somewhat for having lifted a heavy weight of fifty pounds from my purse. So make room for him on the green, lads.”
“An thou makest me tumble,” quoth Robin, “I will freely give thee back thy fifty pounds; but I tell thee, brother, if thou makest me not feel grass all along my back, I will take away every farthing thou hast for thy boastful speech.”
The King giveth Robin Hood a mighty buffet.
“So be it,” said the King, “I am willing to venture it.” Thereupon he rolled up his sleeve and showed an arm that made the yeoman stare. But Robin, with his feet wide apart, stood firmly planted, waiting the other, smiling. Then the King swung back his arm, and, balancing himself a moment, he delivered a buffet at Robin that fell like a thunderbolt. Down went Robin headlong upon the grass, for the stroke would have felled a stone wall. Then how the yeomen shouted with laughter till their sides ached, for never had they seen such a buffet given in all their lives. As for Robin, he presently sat up and looked all around him, as though he had dropped from a cloud and had lit in a place he had never seen before. After a while, still gazing about him at his laughing yeomen, he put his finger-tips softly to his ear and felt all around it tenderly. “Will Scarlet,” said he, “count this fellow out his fifty pounds; I want nothing more either of his money or of him. A murrain seize him and his buffeting ! I would that I had taken my dues from thee, for I verily believe he hath deafened mine ear from ever hearing again.”
Then, while gusts of laughter still broke from the band, Will Scarlet counted out the fifty pounds, and the King dropped it back into his purse again. “I give thee thanks, fellow,” said he, “and if ever thou shouldst wish for another box of the ear to match the one thou hast, come to me and I will fit thee with it for nought.”
Little John cometh to the greenwood tree with Sir Richard of the Lea, who warns Robin Hood of danger.
So spake the merry King; but, even as he ended, there came suddenly the sound of many voices, and out from the covert burst Little John and threescore men, with Sir Richard of the Lea in the midst. Across the glade they came running, and, as they came, Sir Richard shouted to Robin: “Make haste, dear friend, gather thy band together and come with me! King Richard left Nottingham Town this very morning, and cometh to seek thee in the woodlands. I know not how he cometh, for it was but a rumor of this that reached me; nevertheless, I know that it is the truth. Therefore hasten with all thy men, and come to Castle Lea, for there thou mayst lie hidden till thy present danger passeth. Who are these strangers that thou hast with thee?”
“Why,” quoth merry Robin, rising from the grass, “these are certain gentle guests that came with us from the high-road over by Newstead Abbey. I know not their names, but I have become right well acquaint with this lusty rogue’s palm this morning. Marry, the pleasure of this acquaintance hath cost me a deaf ear and fifty pounds to boot!”
Sir Richard of the Lea knoweth the King.
Sir Richard looked keenly at the tall friar, who, drawing himself up to his full height, looked fixedly back at the knight. Then of a sudden Sir Richard’s cheeks grew pale, for he knew who it was that he looked upon. Quickly he leaped from off his horse’s back and flung himself upon his knees before the other. At this, the King, seeing that Sir Richard knew him, threw back his cowl, and all the yeomen saw his face and knew him also, for there was not one of them but had been in the crowd in the good town of Nottingham, and had seen him riding side by side with the Sheriff. Down they fell upon their knees, nor could they say a word. Then the King looked all around right grimly, and, last of all, his glance came back and rested again upon Sir Richard of the Lea.
“How is this, Sir Richard?” said he, sternly. “How darest thou step between me and these fellows? and how darest
thou offer thy knightly Castle of the Lea for a refuge to them? Wilt thou make it a hiding-place for the most renowned outlaws in England?”
Then Sir Richard of the Lea raised his eyes to the King’s face. “Far be it from me,” said he, “to do aught that could bring your majesty’s anger upon me. Yet, sooner would I face your majesty’s wrath than suffer aught of harm that I could stay to fall upon Robin Hood and his band; for to them I owe life, honor, everything. Should I, then, desert him in his hour of need?”
Ere the Knight had done speaking, one of the mock friars that stood near the King came forward and knelt beside Sir Richard, and throwing back his cowl showed the face of young Sir Henry of the Lea. Then Sir Henry grasped his father’s hand and said, “Here kneels one who hath served thee well, King Richard, and, as thou knowest, hath stepped between thee and death in Palestine; yet do I abide by my dear father, and here I say also, that I would freely give shelter to this noble outlaw, Robin Hood, even though it brought thy wrath upon me, for my father’s honor and my father’s welfare are as dear to me as mine own.”
The King forgives Sir Richard of the Lea because of his stout son.
King Richard looked from one to the other of the kneeling knights, and at last the frown faded from his brow and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Marry, Sir Richard,” quoth the King, “thou art a bold-spoken knight, and thy freedom of speech weigheth not heavily against thee with me. This young son of thine taketh after his sire both in boldness of speech and of deed, for, as he sayeth, he stepped one time betwixt me and death; wherefore I would pardon thee for his sake even if thou hadst done more than thou hast. Rise all of you, for ye shall suffer no harm through me this day, for it were pity that a merry time should end in such a manner as to mar its joyousness.”
