by Roger Green
Within half an hour he was off again, accompanied by the Sheriff and an armed band, hurrying along the road towards Gamwell.
The sun was sinking as they came to a bridge across the river and on the further side saw a small party of foresters and men at arms headed by the shepherdess Clorinda who still carried her bow, and by whose side now walked the gigantic form of Brother Michael Tuck, lately of Fountains Abbey.
‘Now who be these that come riding so fast this way?’ bellowed the Friar. ‘False traitors all, I’ll be bound – yes, there I perceive Sir Guy of Gisborne to whom the sacred dues of hospitality are unknown, and with him the Sheriff of Nottingham – loyal servant of whoever pays him the fattest fees!’
‘Out of the way, renegade Friar!’ shouted Sir Guy angrily, for the Friar and his party had reached the bridge first. ‘And you, Lady Marian, hasten away to Arlingford, for you are in truly doubtful and traitorous company.’
‘You mistake, false knight, you mistake!’ declared the Friar calmly. ‘The lady here is the fair Clorinda, well known throughout the forest of Sherwood as the Queen of the Shepherdesses. As for the doubtful and traitorous company – I see none of it on this side of the bridge!’
‘Out of the way!’ echoed the Sheriff angrily. ‘We seek Robert Fitzooth, known as Robin Hood, who but an hour since was consorting with you not far from this spot!’
‘By the Rood, you’ll not pass this way,’ bellowed the Friar, ‘until you have made full apology to the fair Clorinda and myself for all terms, taunts, and other words of slander uttered in the hearing of these good fellows!’
‘Force them aside!’ cried Sir Guy impatiently. ‘Robin Hood is escaping us even now! And catch that forward girl for me: Lord Fitzwalter will reward me well when I bring her back to him!’
Sir Guy raised his hand derisively as he spoke, and swift as thought Clorinda raised her bow, the string hummed, and Sir Guy’s hand was transfixed by an arrow.
‘Treachery! Cut them down!’ shouted the Sheriff. The bow-string hummed again, the Sheriff’s horse reared up as an arrow whizzed into the ground between its forefeet, and the Sheriff fell backwards out of the saddle and sat heavily down in a large pool of mud.
Thereupon arrows sped amongst the Sheriff’s men, who rushed up the steep bridge, only to be beaten back by the mighty staff in the hands of the great Friar. For, roaring lustily, he stood there alone, whirling his staff from side to side among the Sheriff’s men, knocking down one, breaking the ribs of another, dislocating the shoulder of a third, flattening the nose of a fourth, cracking the skull of a fifth, and pitching a sixth into the river, until the few who were lucky enough to escape with whole bones clapped spurs to their horses and fled for their lives – the outraged Sheriff leading the way, and the wounded Sir Guy of Gisborne bringing up the rear, amidst the laughter of the fair ‘Clorinda’ and her followers and the jeers and taunts of the Friar.
Next morning Lord Fitzwalter was disturbed over his breakfast by the loud blast of a trumpet and the sounds of a general alarm. Hastening to the castle gate, he saw a large body of armed men drawn up on the further side of the moat, with a herald blowing a trumpet and an officer bidding them ‘Lower the drawbridge, in the King’s name!’
‘What for, in the devil’s name?’ roared Lord Fitzwalter angrily.
‘Be it known to all just men!’ proclaimed the herald, ‘that the Sheriff of Nottingham lies in bed grievously bruised, many of his men are like to die of divers injuries and the good knight Sir Guy of Gisborne is sorely wounded by an arrow. And we charge Sir William Gamwell, the Lady Marian Fitzwalter and one Friar Michael lately of Fountains Abbey, as agents and accomplices in the said riot, and traitors for that they have aided and consorted with the outlaw Robin Hood, otherwise Robert Fitzooth sometime of Locksley Hall.’
‘Agents and accomplices!’ spluttered Lord Fitzwalter. ‘What do you mean by coming here with this nonsensical story of my daughter the Lady Marian bruising the Sheriff, injuring his men and shooting arrows into Sir Guy of Gisborne! Off you go, or I’ll bid my men shoot at you with their crossbows!’
‘You will hear more of this!’ shouted the officer in command of the troop. ‘Not so lightly may you flout the will of our liege lord Prince John!’
‘Then let him come in person,’ shouted Lord Fitzwalter, ‘or send someone whom I can trust. How know I that you are not some of these very Sherwood outlaws in disguise, trying to gain entrance to my castle under cover of the King’s name and a silly story about my girl bruising sheriffs and shooting men at arms!’
The troop of men, seeing that an archer with a crossbow stood ready at every loop-hole, that the drawbridge was up, and the moat both wide and deep, retreated with many threats in the direction of Nottingham.
Lord Fitzwalter at once summoned his daughter, and on demanding the truth, Marian confessed that she was known in the Forest as the shepherdess Clorinda, and told the story of Sir Guy’s defeat at Gamwell bridge.
‘You go no more forth from the castle!’ declared Lord Fitzwalter.
‘Then I get out if I can,’ answered Marian firmly, ‘and am under no obligation to return.’
‘Away with you to the topmost turret chamber!’ ordered her father. ‘No one will get you out of there!’
‘Prince John will do so,’ said Marian, with a shudder. ‘I hear that he is now at Nottingham – those were his men before the castle even now. He saw me on the eve of my wedding to Robin of Locksley, and it is said that he has sworn to take me – and perhaps not hand me over to Sir Guy as readily as he has promised.’
‘I’ll defy a wicked Prince as surely as a wicked knight,’ shouted Lord Fitzwalter.
‘You cannot withstand Prince John,’ said Marian. ‘Think of the power he can command. He’ll sack the castle, hang you from the nearest tree – and take me whether you will or no… But if you shut me up – and I escape from the castle, no blame can be attached to you, and you can welcome him here with every sign of regret for my absence and fury at my flight.’
‘Hum! Ha!’ Lord Fitzwalter opened his mouth to swear, but shut it again as he realized the truth of what Marian said.
‘Then if you – er – escape,’ he asked, ‘do you go to Sherwood Forest as half wife of this outlaw Robin Hood?’
‘I go to Robin Hood,’ answered Marian quietly, ‘but until King Richard returns from Palestine, pardons him and restores him to his rightful position, I dwell in Sherwood Forest as Maid Marian – promised but not united to Robin. And this he has sworn by God and Our Lady, and here and now I re-affirm the oath.’
Lord Fitzwalter thought for a few minutes.
‘Robin or Robert, he’s a true and honourable man,’ he said at last. ‘And you are my daughter, and would bring no dishonour upon our line… God bless you, Marian… Go to your room now – and do not let anyone see you leaving Arlingford Castle, or it will be the worse for us all!’
When, a few hours later, Prince John rode up at the head of a hundred men, Lord Fitzwalter met him at the gate with the most profuse expressions of loyalty, begged pardon for his behaviour to the herald in the morning, and placed the whole castle at his disposal.
‘I am honoured, deeply honoured, your Royal Highness,’ he said, still on his knees. ‘There is no guest more welcome than yourself – and your trusty followers. Had you but sent sure proof with your herald this morning, I had admitted him at once: but with this cursed outlaw Robin Hood so nearby, one must be careful. Why, he came in disguise into Nottingham itself and rescued one of his ruffians from the very foot of the gallows!’
Prince John was graciously pleased to accept Lord Fitzwalter’s apologies, and his hospitality at the same time. But when he asked to be presented to the Lady Marian, it was found that she was no longer in her room.
Then Lord Fitzwalter raged round the castle, cursing the carelessness of his followers and threatening dreadful things to the guards who had let her pass. But nothing could be learned of her whereabouts, though one guard volunteered the informa
tion that a young archer had been seen standing in the gatehouse an hour or so before Prince John’s arrival – and that youth was missing also.
Prince John graciously lent half his followers to Lord Fitzwalter, and they scoured the neighbourhood for several days. But the Lady Marian Fitzwalter had vanished.
Hearing that Prince John was at Nottingham with a whole troop of his followers, Robin Hood walked near the edge of Sherwood disguised as a Forest Ranger. He hoped to meet some traveller coming from Nottingham, fall into conversation with him, and learn of Prince John’s movements or intentions.
Presently, as he strolled along the road, he met a young man dressed in forest attire who held a bow in his hand, carried a good quiver of arrows on his back and wore a stout broadsword at his side.
‘How now, good fellow!’ cried Robin in a harsh voice. ‘Whither away so fast? What news is there today in the good city of Nottingham?’
‘I go about my own business,’ replied the young man, ‘and the news is that Prince John has come to Nottingham to put down the outlaws in the forest.’
‘About time, too,’ said Robin, remembering that he was posing as a Ranger, or keeper of the Royal Deer. ‘And what do you, my fine lad, with that long bow and those goodly arrows?’
‘I mind my own business,’ answered the youth, ‘which I would that other wanderers in Sherwood did likewise!’
‘My business is with such as you,’ said Robin sternly. ‘Tell me your name and business, or my sword must enforce it.’
‘Two can play at that game,’ cried the youth, and flinging down his bow and quiver, he drew his sword and stood on the defence. Robin did likewise, and a minute later the blades clashed together.
Very soon Robin found that his antagonist was at least his match in all the skill and practice of swordsmanship, though weaker in the wrist than he, and not so heavy in the sheer weight of blows.
They fought for some time without either gaining much vantage, though the blood was running down Robin’s face, and his antagonist was wounded in the arm.
‘Hold your hand, good fellow – let us fight no more,’ said Robin at last, stepping back and leaning on his sword, quite forgetful of his pretended role as Forest Ranger. ‘You fight too well to be wasted like this: come, throw in your lot with Robin Hood and be one of his merry men.’
‘Are you Robin Hood?’ gasped the youth.
‘Robin Hood I am, and no other!’ was the reply.
‘Oh, Robin, Robin! Do you not know me?’ cried his late antagonist with a sudden change of voice.
‘Marian!’ gasped Robin. ‘And I wounded you, and knew you not!’ In another moment his arms were around her.
‘Welcome to Sherwood,’ he said at length, when she had poured out all her tale to him. ‘Come away with me now to our secret glen, and let Scarlet and Much, Little John, and the rest, welcome their queen – as I do; and swear, as I do, to be true and faithful servants now and henceforward to you, Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest.’
There was feasting and rejoicing that night in the secret glade where Robin and his merry men did honour to their lovely queen. There was no lack of good roasted venison, great flagons of wine were set on the board, bowls of brown ale, and many another delicacy.
When the feast was ended, Robin rose with a great flagon in his hand.
‘My friends!’ he cried. ‘Let us drink first, now as ever, to King Richard – King Richard and his speedy return from the Crusade!’
When the pledge was drunk, Robin rose again.
‘And now!’ he cried, ‘drink to our Maiden Queen! To the Lady Marian! Let us pledge ourselves once more to the true service of God and His Holy Mother, as true Christian men should. But let us also even as true knights to their lady, pledge ourselves that all our actions shall be so pure and so far from all evil that we do nothing we should think shame of were it done in the presence of our queen, our Maid Marian!’
‘Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest!’ cried every man there, springing to their feet. ‘To our King and Queen of the Forest – to Robin Hood and Maid Marian!’
8
The Coming of Friar Tuck
And here’s a grey friar, good as heart can desire,
To absolve all our sins as the case may require:
Who with courage so stout lays his oak plant about,
And puts to the rout all the foes of his choir:
For we are his choristers, we merry foresters,
Chorusing thus with our militant friar.
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK: Maid Marian (1822)
Summer had come and gone, and the leaves were turning brown in Sherwood, when on a day as Little John and Scarlet and the pick of Robin’s men practised archery and quarter-staff in the secret glade, Marian said suddenly:
‘Robin, it grieves and surprises me that we have heard nothing of good Brother Michael.’
Robin nodded thoughtfully. ‘He surely knows that you dwell now in the forest,’ he said, ‘for he did you good service on the day of the Gamwell feast when Guy of Gisborne and the Sheriff tried to take me.’
‘That was indeed a strange encounter,’ Marian remarked. ‘He came suddenly along the river bank waving his mighty staff – and disappeared as suddenly after the fray, without speaking a word to me.’
‘Your father forbade him to visit you at Arlingford?’ queried Robin.
Marian nodded. ‘And the Abbot of Fountains Abbey cast him out also,’ she added. ‘He said he would live a hermit in some cell by the river, as plain Friar Tuck.’
Robin thought for a little while, and then with an exclamation he called Will Scarlet to him:
‘Scarlet, what was it you were saying not many days since of a hermit living in the cell at Copmanhurst?’
‘He’s a mighty man,’ said Scarlet, ‘who looks far too well fed – and well drunk also – to be a hermit. But he dwells there all alone by the river, and for a penance he carries any traveller across the river at the ford there – though I doubt not but that he asks a good fee for his ferrying. It is said also that he will fight, on a challenge, with the quarter-staff, and crack the crown of any man who dares stand against him.’
‘Now!’ cried Robin, ‘I swear by the Virgin that I will go tomorrow and seek out this hermit. If he prove to be Michael Tuck, so much the better, and if not we will at least have a round at crown-cracking. If he be a good fellow, and a virtuous priest as well, we would be the gainers by his presence amongst us here in the forest.’
Next morning accordingly Robin disguised himself as a wandering minstrel, though without forsaking either bow or sword, and set out through the forest in the direction of Gamwell.
He turned aside when he came to the river and followed it for some time until he came to the ford of Copmanhurst. And there sure enough was a boat moored to the further side, while a wisp of smoke rising among the rocks showed that the hermitage built against the cliff edge was inhabited.
‘Ho-la! good ferryman! Ho, there!’ shouted Robin.
‘Who calls?’ answered a deep voice, and a gigantic friar strode out upon the river bank. He was dressed in a brown robe such as all friars wore, but it was well girdled about with a curtal of cord at which hung a huge broad-sword. On his head, in place of a hood, the friar wore a round steel head-piece, while the sleeves rolled back showed great muscular arms far better suited to a warrior than a priest.
‘Now then, my fine fellow!’ shouted Robin, ‘come and ferry me over the river!’
‘All in good time, my son, all in good time!’ boomed the friar, and seizing a mighty staff he stepped into the boat and poled it across to where Robin stood.
‘A mere minstrel!’ he grumbled as Robin stepped aboard. ‘He could have swum it – and the wetting would have done him good. Alas for my vow!’
When they reached the other side the friar sprang quickly on shore and turned to his passenger.
‘Now then,’ he cried, ‘let me see how your purse is lined!’
‘Surely, good hermit,’ said Robin mildly,
‘you would not turn robber?’
‘Not so,’ answered the friar, ‘I do but ask for alms – as is the Church’s due!’
‘No man is compelled to give alms,’ Robin reminded him, ‘save only by his conscience.’
‘A good doctrine,’ agreed the friar, ‘but the office of a priest is to awake the conscience – which I will now proceed to do with my good staff across your shoulders – unless your conscience should be awake already!’
‘Come then and search my purse,’ said Robin, pretending to cringe in fear. The friar dropped his staff and advanced unsuspectingly, and Robin suddenly whipped out his sword and held it to the friar’s throat.
‘For that, base hermit,’ he cried, ‘you shall carry me across the river once more – and this time it shall be upon your back! And no fee shall you receive for so doing, save a cracked sconce, if you again demand any.’
‘A bargain,’ said the friar calmly, ‘for the water is low, the labour is light – and the fee such a one as I relish!’
The friar bent down and Robin, still with the drawn sword in his hand, mounted on his back. Walking as if he took no note of his burden, the friar strode down into the water and made his way across by the ford until he had brought Robin safe and dry to the other bank.
Here, however, he pitched him to the ground so suddenly that he was forced to drop his sword to save himself from falling.
‘Now then, my fine fellow,’ said the friar, setting his foot on Robin’s blade and drawing his own as he spoke, ‘you must carry me back across the river – and I’ll crack your sconce in payment when we get to the other side.’
‘Turn and turn about!’ cried Robin cheerfully, and he bent his back and took up the enormous weight of the friar. It was hard labour indeed, even for so strong a man as Robin, for the friar must have weighed nearly twenty stone; but he carried him down to the river and waded slowly and carefully into the middle of the stream.
‘A good mount, truly!’ crowed the fat friar, chuckling to himself at Robin’s exertions. ‘This puts me in mind of a fable writ by the learned Aesop of the two simpletons who carried their ass home from the market town!’
