The Adventures of Robin Hood

by Roger Green

  ‘And still under-nourished!’ interrupted John Little, sniffing hungrily in the direction of the steaming venison.

  ‘Seeing all this!’ continued Scarlet serenely, ‘we’ll turn him back to front – and name him Little John now and for ever. Long live Little John!’

  With that he made as if to pour the ale over his godchild’s head, but Little John twisted the mug out of his hand, and shouting aloud: ‘Thus Little John pledges Robin Hood and all who follow him in the merry greenwood!’ he set the great tankard to his lips and drained it at a draught.

  After that, they feasted and rejoiced far into the evening. But thence forward Little John became one of Robin’s most faithful followers and truest friends, and in time, as Will Scarlet grew too old for such active service, he became his second in command.

  But though he grew no shorter, and certainly no narrower round the waist, the name of Little John stuck to him, nor was he ever known by any other.

  6

  How Sir Richard of Legh Paid the Abbot

  My londes beth set to wedde, Robyn,

  Untyll a certayne daye,

  To a ryche abbot here besyde,

  Of Saynt Mac abbay.

  ANON.: A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode (1489)

  One day, soon after he came to the greenwood, Little John was wandering with Robin Hood deep in the wilds of Barnsdale. With them were Scarlet and Much, besides a small party of picked bowmen, and they were in search of a hidden site in which to make a camp to which the whole band could retire if Sherwood should prove too dangerous at any time.

  When a place was found and the camp was being made, Little John said to Robin:

  ‘Good master, let us shoot a fat deer for our dinner: we should be all the better for a feast!’

  ‘I have no great desire to dine just yet,’ said Robin, ‘and there is still time to find us a guest for dinner. Do you and Scarlet and Much take bow in hand and go through the woods to the Great North Road which runs not far from here. Wait there in hiding until some uninvited guest passes that way – and bring him to dinner whether he will or no.’

  ‘What kind of guest would you have?’ asked Little John who was still unused to Robin’s ways.

  ‘Well,’ laughed Robin, ‘some bold baron, bishop or abbot will pay best for his dinner, or even a proud knight or squire. But look you hinder no honest yeoman nor labouring man, nor set upon any company if there be a woman in it of good and virtuous mien.’

  Away went Little John with his two companions and were soon in hiding beside the road. At first there was no sign of any likely man, but at length a knight came riding slowly from the direction of York, his hood hanging over his eyes, and his chin sunk sorrowfully on his chest.

  Then Little John stepped out into the road and bowed low before him, catching his horse’s bridle in one hand as he did so.

  ‘Welcome, gentle knight,’ he said. ‘To me you are very welcome. I come with an invitation for you from my master, who waits fasting – as I and my two companions wait also – until you are set at dinner with us.’

  ‘What master is yours?’ asked the knight.

  ‘Robin Hood!’ answered Little John.

  ‘A noble and a gentle master,’ said the knight. ‘I have heard tell of him, and right gladly will I be his guest.’

  So away they went into the greenwood, and at the camp in Barnsdale, Robin greeted the knight full courteously.

  ‘Welcome, sir knight,’ he cried, ‘welcome you are indeed. I have fasted three hours in the hope of your company!’

  ‘God save you, good Robin Hood,’ murmured the knight, ‘and all your merry men too. I will indeed eat my dinner with you – though little appetite have I this day.’

  Then, having washed in fair water, and uncovered while Robin said grace, they sat down to a fine meal of vension, with swan and pheasant as side dishes, and many another delicacy with which skilful shooting had provided them.

  ‘I thank you,’ said the knight when the meal was ended. ‘I have not dined so well these past three weeks. If I come this way again, mayhap I can ask you to dine with me – but there is poor chance of it now.’ And the knight sighed sadly.

  ‘Many thanks, kind sir,’ answered Robin. ‘But now, before you go, I must ask you to pay something towards what you have eaten: the tithe of the forest, we call it. I am but a poor yeoman now, and it has never been good manners to let a yeoman pay for a knight’s dinner.’

  ‘Alas,’ said his guest, sighing even more deeply, ‘my coffers are empty; there is nought that I can proffer without shame.’

  ‘Search his saddle bags, Little John,’ commanded Robin. ‘You must not blame us, sir,’ he added to the knight, ‘it is our custom. But tell me truly how much you have.’

  ‘No more than ten shillings,’ was the answer.

  ‘If you have indeed no more,’ said Robin, ‘I will not touch a single penny of it – and if you have need of more, why more will I lend to you.’

  ‘Here,’ called out Little John, who had spread a mantle on the ground and emptied the knight’s bags on to it, ‘here I find but half a pound and no more.’

  ‘The knight is a true man, then,’ said Robin. ‘Fill him now a cup of good wine, and he may be gone if he will, or stay and tell us his story. For indeed I wonder to see how thin and old his clothes are, and how sad and weary he looks. Sir knight, tell me how this comes about: have you spent all or gambled all away? Did you lose money in usury, or spend it upon women – or has it been stolen from you?’

  ‘By God that made me,’ said the knight, ‘my wealth was lost by no evil of my doing. My ancestors have been knights this hundred years and more; we held fair lands in Cheshire – four hundred pounds had I to spend in every year, and no name was held in greater honour than that of Sir Richard of Legh. But now I have no goods, save my wife and young children – and they are like to starve.’

  ‘In what manner, noble Sir Richard, have you lost all this?’ asked Robin.

  ‘By the cruel craft and usury of the Abbot of St Mary’s hard by here,’ answered Sir Richard. ‘My son set out with King Richard to the Holy Land – and news came but lately that he lay a prisoner, and I must raise a thousand pounds for his ransom, and that right speedily. Six hundred was all that I could come by, till the Abbot lent to me four hundred on the surety of my house and lands: tomorrow is the day that my bond to him falls due. If I do not pay him the four hundred pounds by noon, both house and lands are his. And I have but ten shillings, for I can beg or borrow no more – and what I had raised Prince John’s tax gatherers came three weeks ago and took from me. May be they did so at the prompting of the Abbot who, as I know well, longs to take all my lands.’

  ‘What sum do you owe?’ asked Robin. ‘Tell me as exactly as you can.’

  ‘Just four hundred pounds,’ answered Sir Richard.

  ‘And if you do not pay it tomorrow?’

  ‘Why then, I lose my lands, and there is nought for me to do but to go overseas and serve the King in Palestine. It would be a sight to have seen, ere I die, where Our Lord lived and died as a Man, and to have stricken a blow towards freeing His Holy Sepulchre from the unbelieving Saracens; but woe is me for my wife and small children, and for the land which was my father’s before me and which I had hoped would be my son’s and his heirs’ for ever.’

  ‘Have you no friends who can lend you the money?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Never a one will own me now, though they were kind enough when I was rich and prosperous,’ sighed Sir Richard. ‘But now the only surety I can offer for a loan is my word as a knight, and my faith by Our Lady the Holy Mother of Christ.’

  ‘And no better faith could a man have,’ exclaimed Robin, crossing himself devoutly.

  ‘Go now to our treasury, Little John, and see if you can there find four hundred pounds. And see also what we can do for clothes such as a knight should wear. And this day twelve-month doubtless he will seek us out in the greenwood and tell us how he fares and what he can give to us in return.�
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  ‘Now may God bless you, kind Robin Hood,’ said Sir Richard. ‘And be sure that this day twelve-month will find me once again in your company.’

  The time was drawing towards noon next day, and the Abbot of St Mary’s sat in great state in his abbey, with his monks about him, receiving payments of rents from the many tenants who held lands and houses from him.

  Most of the rents or debts were paid early in the morning: in a few cases the tenant or the borrower was unable to pay – and then the Abbot rubbed his hands and smiled a fat, contented smile, while his Prior entered a new possession among the Abbey’s holdings.

  ‘My lord, there is still the debt of Sir Richard of Legh,’ said the Prior when all else had been paid or settled. ‘Four hundred pounds did we lend to him, and he vowed to pay it, even to the last penny, by noon today – or else forfeit his fair lands at Legh in Cheshire.’

  The Abbot rubbed his hands. ‘Many a rich acre!’ he chuckled. ‘And the fine house of Legh Hall! All ours, all ours!’

  ‘My lord, it wants still half an hour of noon,’ the Prior reminded him.

  ‘Tush, tush!’ gurgled the Abbot. ‘Sir Richard cannot pay! Prince John sent the tax gatherers to him but last month – oh, I have it on sure authority that Sir Richard cannot pay – my good friend Sir Guy of Gisborne saw to that, ha! ha!’

  ‘Yet we must wait until noon,’ said the Prior.

  ‘Ah well,’ murmured the Abbot, ‘but a little while – and then all is ours.’ At that moment a monk came swiftly to them.

  ‘Sir Richard is here!’ he whispered to the Abbot, ‘but in poor array: you need not fear that he can pay his debt!’

  Sure enough, Sir Richard came slowly up the hall to where the Abbot sat, and he looked sad enough, and poor enough too in the old and tattered cloak which was wrapped about him. He came before the table at which sat the Abbot with his Prior and his Justice, and knelt down humbly.

  ‘God’s blessing, my lord Abbot,’ he said. ‘I am here upon my hour.’

  ‘Have you brought the money you owe me?’ was all that the Abbot could gasp out.

  ‘Not one penny,’ sighed Sir Richard, and hung his head.

  ‘Indeed, you are a sorry debtor!’ cried the Abbot with a great sigh of relief, and then turning to the Justice, he exclaimed: ‘Drink to me, my friend! Wish me luck, good sirs!

  ‘But what do you here?’ he added, turning quickly back to Sir Richard. ‘If you have not brought my money back, why have you come at all?’

  ‘To beg for longer grace,’ answered Sir Richard humbly. ‘Bethink you, my lord Abbot – my son is prisoner to the wicked Saracens: he was taken fighting at good King Richard’s side, and for the benefit of Holy Church. Surely Holy Church will grant me but six months more to clear the debt – which I can do in that time.’

  ‘No, no,’ broke in the Justice. ‘Your time is up. You must pay or forfeit!’

  ‘Now, good Father Prior,’ begged Sir Richard, ‘stand you my friend and beg grace of the Abbot!’

  ‘Nay, not I!’ cried the Prior.

  ‘Then, my lord Abbot,’ pleaded Sir Richard, ‘at least hold my land in trust until I have found the money, and I will be your true servant and serve you faithfully.’

  ‘No, by God!’ shouted the Abbot. ‘You get no further help from me, false, perjured knight that would cheat Holy Church of four hundred pounds. Get you gone out of my Abbey, ere I bid my serving men whip you from the door like a stray cur!’

  ‘You lie, Abbot!’ cried Sir Richard, drawing himself up suddenly. ‘I am no false knight! But for you, a servant of God, to suffer a knight to kneel before you and beg your charity – you are shamed for ever!’

  ‘Get hence!’ shouted the Abbot, purple with rage. ‘Your lands and houses are mine! Hark – the clock strikes twelve!’

  ‘The clock strikes twelve,’ said Sir Richard quietly, ‘and I have paid my debt!’

  As he spoke, he flung back his cloak, showing that he was well and richly clad beneath it. Then he laid four leather bags on the table in front of the Abbot, and stood silent.

  The Abbot’s jaw dropped and the colour fled from his face.

  ‘Count the money,’ he said in a shaking voice. The Prior did so, and found it exact.

  ‘Now,’ said Sir Richard, ‘the land is mine again, and all the cruel Abbots in England cannot prove otherwise!’

  With that he strode from the Abbey, while the Abbot stood and cursed him, threatening vengeance when the time should come.

  But Sir Richard rode full speed to Legh Hall where his wife was waiting anxiously for him.

  ‘Be merry, good lady!’ he cried. ‘All is saved – I am free from the Abbot. We have but to dwell quietly at home for a year, and I can save enough to pay back kind Robin Hood who lent me the money.’

  ‘And I will pray for Robin Hood,’ said the Lady of Legh.

  7

  Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest

  Why, she is called Maid Marion, honest friend,

  Because she lives a spotless maiden life;

  And shall, till Robin’s outlaw life have end,

  That he may lawfully take her to wife;

  Which, if King Richard come, will not be long.

  ANTHONY MUNDAY: The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntingdon (1601)

  Gamwell Hall, seat of Robin Hood’s uncle Sir William Gamwell, was not far from Nottingham, and thither Sir Guy of Gisborne rode one day attended only by his squire.

  Sir William welcomed Sir Guy, and after feasting him well, suggested that he should come with him next day to the great Gamwell festival held not far away in the forest.

  Hoping to find out where Robin Hood was, Sir Guy agreed readily to this. But of course he said no word of his real reasons either to Sir William or to young Will Gamwell who rode with him.

  It was a merry scene in the green glade of the forest: young men and girls dancing round the Maypole, barrels of ale broached for Sir William’s tenants, and many a game or contest for young and old alike.

  Sir Guy sat quietly under a tree with old Sir William watching it all, and only once did he lean forward suddenly with an angry glint in his eyes, and that was when young Will Gamwell led out one of the maidens to dance whom he recognized suddenly as the Lady Marian Fitzwalter disguised as a peasant girl.

  ‘What maiden is she who dances with your son?’ asked Sir Guy.

  ‘That?’ answered Sir William vaguely. ‘Oh, she is known as the shepherdess Clorinda: she is often at these feasts, but really I can tell you little of her!’

  ‘You mean you won’t tell me!’ thought Sir Guy as his host hastily changed the conversation. ‘I am certainly on the right trail now!’

  Later in the day came a band of foresters in Lincoln green and there was a great contest of archery in which ‘Clorinda’ took part as well and seemed as good an archer as any of them.

  Sir Guy mounted his horse and rode casually down to the butts to watch the sport. As he drew near, Clorinda discharged her arrow, and a cheer went up from all who were watching since she had shot it into the very centre of the gold, which was the middle ring of the target.

  ‘I must needs shoot well indeed to equal that, fair Clorinda,’ said the chief of the foresters stepping forward and setting an arrow to his string. The arrow sped, and another cheer arose, for everyone could see that it too had struck within the ring of gold, so close to that of Clorinda that the points were in contact and the feathers were intermingled.

  ‘I claim your hand, fair Queen of the May,’ said the forester bowing low before Clorinda, and with a blush and a smile she held out her hand to him and he led her away into the dance.

  But Sir Guy had recognized the forester, and now he turned to Will Gamwell who stood beside him.

  ‘What is that archer’s name?’ he asked.

  ‘Robin, I believe,’ said young Gamwell carelessly. ‘I think they call him Robin!’

  ‘Is that all you know of him?’

  ‘What more is there to know?’


  ‘Why, let me tell you,’ said Sir Guy sternly, ‘that he is none other than the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, called Earl of Huntingdon; and there is a large reward offered to any man who can bring him prisoner before the Sheriff of Nottingham.’

  ‘Is he really?’ said Will Gamwell, as if not in the least interested.

  ‘He would be a prize well worth taking.’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Shall we not take him then?’

  ‘You may if you please.’

  ‘But are your tenants and followers not loyal?’

  ‘Loyal they are indeed!’

  ‘Then,’ exclaimed Sir Guy, growing more and more angry, ‘if I were to call upon them in the King’s name, would they not aid and assist?’

  ‘Assuredly they would,’ answered Gamwell, ‘on one side or the other!’

  ‘But I have Prince John’s warrant for the arrest of Fitzooth,’ said Sir Guy. ‘What would you then advise me to do?’

  ‘Why,’ answered Gamwell calmly, ‘I would advise you to turn round and ride your hardest for Nottingham – unless you want a volley of arrows, a shower of stones and a hailstorm of cudgel-blows to help you on your way!’

  On hearing this, Sir Guy’s squire clapped spurs to his horse and went away at full gallop – which gave Sir Guy an excuse for galloping away after him shouting:

  ‘Stop, you rascal!’ until they were out of sight of the Gamwell gathering.

  They did not draw rein then, however, but made all speed to Nottingham where Sir Guy roused the Sheriff with the news that Robin Hood was within a few miles with scarcely a dozen men.