by Roger Green
Then the fifteen verderers turned and shot at Robin as he stood on the hillside above them. But so great was their fear that not one of their arrows struck him. Then they threw down their bows and ran for their lives.
Robin drew fifteen arrows from his quiver and set them in the grass before him. Then he set the first to his bow, drew, and loosed it at the last of the verderers who was already many hundred yards away from him.
‘One!’ he shouted as the arrow sped and the man pitched forward on the road.
‘Two!’ and the next man lay dead also.
And so he drew and loosed arrow after arrow, and so great was his grief and his rage at the death of Will Scarlet that each of those fifteen arrows was the death of a man – though the last man to fall was within a hundred yards of the gate of Nottingham. Yes, though the distance between them was nearly a mile, the last arrow came humming down wind and took the man in the back of the neck – the longest shot that ever a man fired with a long-bow.
Afterwards the people of Nottingham, who had seen Robin’s feat of archery, came out in fear and trembling and took up the fifteen bodies. They buried them side by side in the yard of St Michael’s church at Fox Lane by Nottingham; and there, less than two hundred years ago, the skeletons of six of them were found lying side by side, and buried again, to bear witness to Robin Hood’s amazing bowmanship.
20
The Silver Bugle and the Black Knight
High deeds achieved of knightly fame,
From Palestine the champion came;
The cross upon his shoulders borne,
Battle and blast had dimmed and torn.
Each dint upon his battered shield
Was token of a foughten field.
SIR WALTER SCOTT: Ivanhoe (1802)
The news of a shooting-match would draw Robin Hood out of Sherwood, however great the danger, and not many days after the death of Will Scarlet and the rout of the Sheriff and his men, Robin set forth for Ashby-de-la-Zouche in Leicestershire.
A great tournament was being held there by Prince John – but the danger to Robin was not so great as when he had won the Silver Arrow at Delamere. For Prince John, though his power had increased greatly, was by no means accepted as King of England. There were rumours that Richard was free again from his Austrian captivity – rumours even that he was in England. John believed none of these, but his policy was to please as many of his future subjects as possible: the tournament was for Saxons as well as Normans, and Robin knew that whatever might happen in secret, John would never attempt to take him in the midst of a crowd such as was gathered at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.
The main features of the Tournament were of course for the knights. On the first day there was jousting with lances, the knights riding together at full tilt, in complete armour, striving to knock each other from their horses. The winner in this was an unknown knight, and on the next day he headed one side in the ‘mock battle’ – which was apt to become very real indeed. The other side was headed by Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert who had come second in the jousting, and on his side were several other Norman barons well known for their cruelty and oppression – and sworn followers of Prince John.
All that morning the battle raged, and it would have gone ill with the unknown knight had not his party been joined by the same Black Knight who had come so mysteriously to Robin’s aid in Sherwood not many days before. The Black Knight took little part in the combat until his party showed signs of suffering defeat: then his sudden fury in fight and the mighty strength of his blows won the day for the unknown knight – who turned out to be a certain Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, one of King Richard’s most faithful friends, but of Saxon descent. Sir Wilfred was wounded in the combat, and fainted just as the crown of victory was being placed on his head by the Lady Rowena whom he had chosen Queen of the Lists after his triumph on the previous day.
When he had been carried away to be tended, Prince John declared that the time had come for the archery contest.
More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves, but when they recognized Robin Hood among those who were contesting for the prize, nearly three-quarters of them withdrew.
‘Who is that fellow?’ asked Prince John, who was sitting high up on the stand among the lords and ladies who were there to watch the Tournament.
‘They call him Locksley,’ answered the Provost of the Lists.
‘Locksley!’ John started at the name, and leaning down scanned the archer more closely. ‘I thought so!’ he said between his teeth.
At this moment Robin looked up and their eyes met. Prince John made a movement as if to order Robin’s arrest, but one of his councillors restrained him quickly.
‘Hark ye, Locksley – or whatever you choose to call yourself,’ said Prince John, when he had recovered his temper a little.
Robin turned and bowed respectfully to Prince John. ‘What would your Highness with me?’ he asked.
‘I know you, Robert Fitzooth –’ began the Prince, spitting between his teeth with suppressed rage.
‘Locksley is my name, if it please your Highness,’ interrupted Robin politely.
‘It does not please me!’ spluttered Prince John. ‘But nevertheless you are safe here – as doubtless you realized before you trusted yourself in my presence.’
Robin returned no answer to this, and the shooting began. One by one the archers stepped forward, and each discharged two arrows of which some failed even to hit the distant target, and only two landed in the gold. Both of these were shot by a certain Hubert, head verderer in the royal forest of Needwood.
‘Now, Locksley,’ said Prince John, ‘will you match your skill against Hubert, or yield up to him the prize of the silver bugle-horn?’
‘The target is scarcely worth the shooting at,’ replied Robin, ‘but I will try my fortune – on condition that when I have shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at whatever mark I may propose.’
‘That is but fair,’ answered Prince John, ‘and it shall be so. Harken, Hubert, if you but beat this braggart, I will fill the bugle-horn with silver pennies for you!’
‘A man can but do his best,’ said Hubert stolidly, ‘but my grandfather drew a good long-bow at Hastings, and I trust not to dishonour his memory.’
‘Many a good bow was drawn on Senlac Field,’ answered Robin, giving the battle its Saxon name. ‘But only one side shot their arrows at random into the air: and it was such an arrow that struck King Harold in the eye.’
Prince John flushed angrily at the taunt. ‘Impudent braggart!’ he exclaimed. ‘If you do not justify your boast by mastering Hubert here, you shall be stripped of your Lincoln green and scourged out of the lists with bowstrings as a boaster and a liar!’
‘This is no fair match you propose,’ said Robin. ‘Nevertheless I will risk my skin in it… Do you shoot first, friend Hubert.’
Thus urged, Hubert waited only until a fresh target was set up to discharge his arrow, which landed in the gold but a little to one side.
‘You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,’ said Robin, ‘or that had been a better shot!’ As he spoke he himself loosed an arrow, and although he seemed scarcely to have taken the trouble even to look at the target, his arrow was found to have struck the gold an inch nearer to the white dot in the centre than Hubert’s.
‘By Heaven!’ exclaimed Prince John angrily, ‘if you let this runagate knave overcome you, you are worthy of the gallows!’
‘Even if your Highness were to hang me,’ answered Hubert doggedly, ‘I can do no more than my best. Nevertheless, my grandfather drew a good bow –’
‘The fiend take your grandfather!’ interrupted Prince John. ‘Shoot, man, and shoot your best, or it shall be the worse for you!’
Thus encouraged Hubert set another arrow to his string, and taking the light breeze into account this time aimed so well that his shaft struck the target exactly in the centre.
‘A Hubert! A Hubert!’ shouted the onlookers,
overjoyed to see a local man fare so well. ‘In the dot it is! Hubert wins!’
‘You cannot do better than that – Locksley!’ sneered Prince John insultingly.
‘I will notch his shaft for him, however,’ replied Robin, and letting his arrow fly, this time with a little more care, it struck right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.
‘And now, your Highness,’ said Robin quietly, while the crowd gasped at the shot, and Prince John gnawed his moustache with silent rage, ‘I crave permission to plant such a mark as we use in Sherwood!’
With that Robin walked to the nearest thicket and returned with a willow wand about six feet long, perfectly straight, and not much thicker than a man’s thumb. This he peeled, remarking as he did that it was an insult to ask such a fine archer as Hubert to shoot at a target which might just as well be a haystack in a farmer’s field.
‘But,’ he concluded as he went and stuck the willow wand in the ground and returned to Prince John, ‘he that hits yonder rod at a hundred yards, I call him an archer fit to bear bow and quiver before any king – even before our good Richard of the Lion Heart himself.’
‘My grandfather,’ exclaimed Hubert indignantly, ‘drew a good bow at the battle of Hastings, but never was he asked to shoot at such a mark in his life, and neither will I. There is no man living who can hit such a target – and if this fellow does so, I’ll say he’s the devil in person, and willingly yield the prize to him.’
‘Cowardly dog!’ fumed Prince John. ‘Well, Locksley, you split that wand – or by Heaven you smart for it!’
‘I will do my best,’ answered Robin. ‘As Hubert says, no man can do more.’
So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion looked with care to his weapon, and changed the string, which he thought was no longer truly round, having been a little frayed by his two former shots. He then took his aim very slowly and deliberately, and loosed while the waiting multitude held their breath. The arrow split the willow wand, and a great roar of applause rose from everyone present – and even Prince John could not forbear to say:
‘Well, Locksley, you have made true your boast. Here is the silver bugle-horn, and I dare be sworn that no other archer in England could do what you have done. Go in peace now – but remember that I have sworn a certain vengeance, and it shall fall heavily upon the man it concerns, in whatever name he may dress himself.’
Robin bowed in silence, and taking the bugle-horn slipped it into his pouch and mingled quickly with the crowd.
Prince John, already repenting of his generosity, turned to Sir Brian of Bois-Guilbert who sat behind him, and said:
‘Know you that yonder braggart archer was none other than Robin Hood, the famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest?’
‘I suspected as much,’ answered Sir Brian. ‘Is it your royal will that I go after him and make him my prisoner?’
‘I do not forbid you to do so,’ answered Prince John carefully, ‘and certainly I would rather the price set on the head of Robin Hood came to you than to any other man I know…’
Sir Brian waited for no more, but leaving the royal stand he gathered his followers together and rode quietly off into the forest.
But it was not to capture Robin Hood that Sir Brian stole away from Ashby-de-la-Zouche so swiftly. It is told in another place how Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe came to be his prisoner in Torquilstone Castle and the Lady Rowena also; how Cedric the Saxon escaped from it, changing clothes with Wamba the jester, and how it happened that Robin Hood came to their rescue with all his men, and the mysterious Black Knight rode out of the wood once more to their assistance.
After the castle had fallen the Black Knight rode back a little of the way towards the secret glade with Robin, and in departing left with him a promise to return again.
‘And if any danger threatens you, noble sir,’ added Robin, ‘so long as you are in Sherwood, know that I or any of my men will come at once to your aid if you do but blow our call upon your bugle. Wind three mots thus “Wa-sa-hoa”. See now if you can blow them!’
When the Black Knight had blown the call, he thanked Robin Hood and rode away into the forest. Nor was it long before he had need of Robin’s help.
For Prince John, suspecting who he was, had sent his most trusted follower the Baron Fitzurse after him from Ashby-de-la-Zouche with six men to waylay him in Sherwood and kill him there.
As the Knight rode on among the trees, with only Wamba the jester as his companion, the traitors closed in quietly from either side.
It was Wamba who noticed them first.
‘We are keeping dangerous company,’ he said.
‘How so?’ asked the Black Knight.
‘I have seen the light flash on armour behind the bushes,’ answered Wamba. ‘If our attendants were honest men they would have followed the path and not us by stealth.’
‘By my faith,’ said the Knight, ‘I think you speak wisely,’ and he closed his visor as he spoke.
Hardly had he done so when three arrows flew at the same instant from the suspected spot in the thicket, one of which glanced off his helmet and two more pattered harmlessly against his shield.
Without a moment’s hesitation the Black Knight set spurs to his horse and charged in the direction from which the arrows had come. He was met by six or seven men at arms who ran against him with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck against him and splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire even through the small slits in his visor. ‘What means this?’ he cried.
But the men charged him again on every side shouting, ‘Die, tyrant!’
‘Ha, by St George!’ roared the Knight, ‘have we traitors here?’ and he charged them in his turn, hewing down a man at every stroke.
As those left standing drew back, a knight in full armour charged down on him suddenly from among the trees, and laid his horse dead on the ground.
At the same moment Wamba raised his horn to his lips and blew the call which Robin Hood had taught the Black Knight in his presence.
The traitor knight charged again striving to pin the Black Knight to a tree with his lance, but a lucky stroke from Wamba’s sword brought him and his horse to the ground. The unequal battle raged for long, but the Black Knight was beginning to grow weary defending himself from attacks from several sides at once. Then suddenly an arrow flashed in the sunlight and one of his assailants fell dead to the ground. A moment later a band of the outlaws came into sight, headed by Robin Hood and Friar Tuck, and disposed speedily of the remaining attackers who soon lay dead or mortally wounded.
‘I thank you, good Robin of Locksley,’ said the Black Knight gravely. ‘Now I pray you stand back a little way while I speak with this knight who has headed so treacherous an attack against me.’
He bent over Baron Fitzurse and spoke with him in a low voice for some time; then, as he was unwounded, he bade him rise and depart.
‘Come with us, good sir knight,’ begged Robin when the Black Knight had thanked him again for his timely aid. ‘We would entertain you well.’
‘Not this time, good friend,’ said the Black Knight. ‘But be sure I will seek you out ere long.’
Then he mounted upon Wamba’s horse and rode slowly away, the jester walking at his side.
Robin looked after him, deep in thought.
‘By our Lady,’ he said at last to Friar Tuck, ‘it would not surprise me greatly if yonder knight be none other than Richard Cœur de Lion himself!’
21
Robin Hood and the Tall Palmer
Ah, when the King comes home!
That’s music – all the birds of April sing
In those four words for me – the King comes home.
ALFRED NOYES: Robin Hood (1926)
There were rumours everywhere of King Richard’s return, and Prince John full of fury, vexation, and disappointment retired to Nottingham and laid desperate plans with his frie
nd and ally the Sheriff.
There various of his supporters came to visit him, and amongst them was the Bishop of Hereford. John entertained him graciously, supplied him with a certain amount of money, and sent him home to raise a rebellion against King Richard there.
‘My lord,’ said the Bishop, ‘I have but a small company, and the road through Sherwood Forest is beset with outlaws: does not Robin Hood dwell there of whose fame as a robber so much is said and sung up and down the country? My lord, I must claim the protection of an armed troop to see me on my way.’
‘Not so,’ replied John thoughtfully. ‘This Robin Hood grows bolder and bolder it is true – and therefore a small company would slip through unobserved where a great one would certainly be attacked. If he does waylay you, tell him you carry money to help King Richard’s cause, and as like as not he’ll double what you have and send you on your way. He is in open rebellion against me now.’
So, very fearfully, the Bishop with his company of less than a dozen men, set out along the high road from Nottingham.
The moment he had gone Prince John called for his horse and with a picked band of his most faithful followers set out by more secret paths into Sherwood Forest, guided on his way by a forester, one of the few who had not fallen when Robin Hood shot the fifteen verderers after the death of Will Scarlet.
On the hillside between Nottingham and the edge of the forest a tall palmer sat on his horse as still as a statue watching all who went in and came out of the town. Under his palmer’s robe he wore a shirt and leggings of chain mail; on his head under the palmer’s hood was a skull-cap of steel, and a great sword hung at his side.
Presently a man, running swiftly, came across the fields and spoke to him for a short time. The palmer listened, and his face grew very grim. Then he spoke a few words to the messenger, who saluted and sped back the way he came.
Soon the Bishop of Hereford with his small cavalcade came slowly up the hill, and the palmer rode forward and saluted him humbly.
