by Roger Green
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘permit me, I beg, to ride with you through the forst. I hear that there are outlaws about, and I would be safer with a reverent company such as yours than going on alone.’
‘You are welcome to ride with us, holy palmer,’ answered the Bishop. ‘But I fear greatly that my men will afford you small protection should Robin Hood attack us.’
Through the leafy avenues of the forest they went, and about noon came to a long, grassy ride with but few trees scattered about it. Under one of these, not far from the road, half a dozen men, dressed in the rough coats of shepherds, were busy skinning and cutting up a newly-slain deer.
The Bishop rode up to them, full of righteous indignation.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, ‘and how dare you kill the King’s venison, contrary to the forest laws?’
‘We are shepherds,’ answered the leader, ‘and usually we are with our sheep on the Belvoir pastures. But today we have decided to make merry, and so we have killed this fine fat deer for our dinner!’
‘Impudent fellow!’ gasped the Bishop. ‘You shall smart for this under the King’s law! Therefore make haste and come along with me, and you shall go before Prince John – who usually hangs deer-slayers for a first offence!’
‘Oh mercy, oh mercy!’ cried the shepherd. ‘Oh, pardon us I pray! It ill becomes a man of your reverent and merciful profession to take away so many lives.’
‘No mercy, no mercy!’ replied the Bishop, imitating him. ‘No mercy for such as you. Therefore make haste – and I hope that Prince John hangs the lot of you!’
Then the shepherd suddenly drew a horn from under his coat and blew three mots upon it.
And while the Bishop sat gaping in surprise and growing fear, the forest all round gave up stalwart bowmen in Lincoln green who came running to the shepherds, who threw off their coats and showed that they also were dressed as foresters.
‘What is your will, good master?’ said Little John, bending a little before the leading shepherd.
‘Here is the Bishop of Hereford,’ replied Robin Hood, throwing off the last of his disguise. ‘He proposes to hang us all, and will grant us no mercy.’
‘Cut off his head, master,’ said Little John, ‘and bury him under this tree!’
‘Oh mercy, mercy!’ cried the Bishop tumbling off his horse and kneeling to Robin. ‘Oh, have mercy on me! Had I but known that it was Robin Hood, I’d have gone some other way!’
‘No mercy, no mercy!’ answered Robin, imitating the Bishop in his turn. ‘Therefore make haste and come with me to my dwelling place. Little John, bind his eyes, and some of you do the like for his followers. And take up the deer.’
The tall palmer who had sat watching this scene spoke now for the first time. ‘Good Robin Hood,’ he said. ‘I am not of this man’s party, but rode along with him for company. Nevertheless I cannot sit by and see a bishop done to death without raising hand to help him. I have fought in the Holy Land with King Richard, and the Crusade was against infidel Saracens and for the defence of Holy Church.’
‘Good palmer,’ answered Robin courteously. ‘With you I have no quarrel. But come with us now, taste of our hospitality – and be sure that only justice shall be done. But first will you swear by the Holy Sepulchre for which you have fought that, if we do not blindfold you, you will never betray the secret path to my dwelling place.’
‘I swear,’ answered the palmer solemnly, and they set forth, Robin leading the Bishop’s horse on one side and Little John on the other, ‘lest his reverence should chance to stumble among thieves!’
Meanwhile Maid Marian had been left alone in the secret glade with only Bettris the wife of George-a-Greene to keep her company.
They sat before the cave talking and lashing the grey goose feathers onto arrow-shafts while the morning stole on to noon.
‘Robin will soon be back,’ said Marian. ‘He had news that the Bishop of Hereford would pass through the forest this morning, so we may expect guests for dinner!’
‘I hope they will pay well!’ laughed Bettris. ‘I hope –’
She stopped suddenly and gazed fixedly at the bracken.
‘What is it, Bettris?’ asked Marian.
‘I thought I saw a face there in the ferns!’ answered Bettris. ‘Yonder! Yes, they are shaking still!’
Even as she spoke the bracken parted and Prince John strode into the glade followed by a small band of armed men.
Swiftly Marian whispered something to Bettris, who went hastily into the cave, and then she turned fearlessly to confront Prince John.
‘So here’s the tigress in her den!’ he cried. ‘At last, Marian, after all these years, we meet again – and not to part so speedily as last time… Come, there is no escape. Our horses wait beyond the rocks with my good forester who tracked you down at last. Robin Hood is too busy with the good Bishop of Hereford: I made sure of that before I came for you!’
Marian stepped backwards quickly, took a horn from her belt and blew the Wa-sa-hoa call on it. Then she snatched up the sword which Bettris had brought her, and stood on the defensive.
‘Back, you wild beast!’ she exclaimed to Prince John. ‘Prince or no prince, this sword is between us, and I can use it as well as any man – to defend myself until Robin comes.’
‘Quickly!’ cried Prince John to his men. ‘Catch hold of her, and then away! Curse you for your slowness! If you had caught her quicker she could not have sounded that horn. Now every moment we delay we are in danger.’
Two of the men closed in upon Marian, who disarmed one with a quick turn of her wrist, and then after a few moments of desperate swordplay laid the other dead on the ground, while Bettris with a blow of a cudgel almost worthy of George-a-Greene himself, felled the first assailant.
Expert fighter though she was, Marian could not stand long against five armed men, and although she wounded one of them seriously, and knocked another’s sword from his hand, she was overpowered at last.
‘Now we have her!’ said Prince John exultantly. ‘Come quickly, my pretty, or we’ll have that loose hound of Huntingdon come barking round our heels for his bitch!’
Her eyes flashing scorn and loathing, Marian struck John across the face.
With an angry oath he raised his hand to strike back, when an arrow whizzed between his thumb and first finger, cutting him to the bone. Had Robin not just run nearly half a mile almost as fleetly as one of the Sherwood deer the arrow would have transfixed his hand – and he might have had to sign Magna Carta by proxy.
John spun round, cursing, to find Robin already halfway across the glade, his sword drawn in his hand.
‘Prince John,’ shouted Robin, ‘you must be tired of fighting with women, turn and fight with me instead!’
‘At him, you four!’ snarled John. ‘It is Robin Hood, the outlaw; a great reward to the man who kills him. Quick, you curs, he’s only one!’
The men charged at Robin, who set his back to an oak tree and fought like one possessed.
‘Get round behind!’ shouted John. ‘I can’t leave the girl – she’s dangerous!’
‘A princely speech indeed!’ sneered Robin, and striking one man to the ground he spun round, jumping back as he did so and engaged the other three.
Prince John flung Marian forcibly to the ground, drew his own sword, and drew stealthily nearer to Robin, waiting for a chance to stab him in the back. But his eyes were fixed so intently on his intended victim that he failed to see several figures in Lincoln green drop quietly from the rocks behind the cave. A moment later and he was seized from behind and held firmly, while the three surviving men at arms, seeing Robin’s men, turned suddenly and ran for their lives. But not far; several arrows sped from among the trees on either side laid them dead long before they reached the secret path out of the glade.
‘Slay him not, but bind him and place him in the cave,’ said Robin to the men who held Prince John. Then he turned anxiously to Marian, but she was already on her feet, shaken but
unhurt, while Bettris emerged from the cave armed with bows and arrows – too late to be of any help.
‘Now,’ said Robin, when order was restored and the Bishop of Hereford with his followers had been brought into the glade and set down on the grass. ‘Now we have earned our dinner! Come sit down at my table, my lord Bishop, and you, good palmer, and let us see what appetites you have.’
‘You live well here, friend Robin Hood,’ said the palmer as he watched the preparations for dinner.
‘But we earn our keep!’ smiled Robin.
‘Yet you kill the King’s deer,’ remarked the palmer.
‘In that,’ answered Robin, ‘I hold that we break no just law. For look you, we are outlaws, and so without the law! But I hold that we were not outlawed lawfully: it was John’s doing, and that of his minion the Sheriff of Nottingham. We dwell here to set right the wrong: never yet did we hurt any man knowingly who was honest and true, but only those who – with or without the law on their side – robbed innocent men or oppressed them, or did ought against the honour of a woman. They call me the poor man’s friend – for I take from the rich to give to the poor: but never have I taken from true knight or worthy priest who held their vows sacred and strove to live according to Our Lord’s teaching. I never harmed husbandmen who tilled the ground, nor shepherd minding his flocks, nor any who got their living by honest labour or by honest skill; but I have indeed made prey of those among the clergy, be they simple priests or bishops in their mitres, who oppress their flock, who cheat and rob and lie and follow the pleasures of this world contrary to their holy calling.
‘Come now, good master palmer – we are at least thieves of honour, and you do no dishonour to your own noble calling by dining freely with us. That is, unless you shrink from eating the King’s deer?’
‘Shrink?’ the palmer laughed heartily. ‘why, I count it as my own! Fall to in faith, I am as hungry as if I had walked all the way home from Jerusalem – and as thirsty too!’
When the meal was ended, Robin turned to the Bishop.
‘My lord,’ he said gravely, ‘you have dined with me this day. Come, drink with us to King Richard and his speedy return – and then pay us, and begone.’
‘So you charge for your meals?’ said the palmer. ‘And you drink to the King’s return, outlaws though you be!’
‘We owe it to the King!’ said Robin, answering only the last part of the question. ‘For after all, our meal is borrowed from him!… But never have we forgotten, nor could forget, while our horns ring through merry Sherwood, our loyal toast to our most royal master… Outlaws, the King!’
‘The King – and his return from the Crusade!’ cried everyone present, leaping to their feet, cups in hand.
‘Now, Bishop,’ said Robin curtly. ‘Have you money with you?’
‘But little,’ answered the Bishop nervously. ‘Not two hundred pieces. And they are not mine: I carry them to those who fight in the King’s quarrel against usurpers and tyrants.’
‘Search him, his followers and his baggage,’ commanded Robin, and then turning to the palmer with a half smile he said:
‘Good sir, have you money with you? All that we collect in this way goes – now that the King’s ransom is paid off – to those who are in want, the poor, the oppressed, the widow and the orphan.’
‘I know not what I have,’ said the palmer. ‘Sometimes it is much, sometimes little, sometimes none at all. But search me, and take all you find – and for the sake of your kind heart and open hand, be it what it may, I shall wish it were more.’
‘Then, since you say so,’ cried Robin, ‘not a penny will I touch. But you shall play our game of buffets since you are so mighty and stalwart a man. But first the Bishop shall dance a jig for us, for I see that his money is very much more than he remembered, and will take long to count!’
‘I cannot dance!’ protested the Bishop, trying to look scandalized, but looking only very much afraid.
‘Some of you,’ ordered Robin, ‘prick him gently in the legs with your arrows. He says he cannot dance, but I think he means he will not!’
‘I cannot and will not!’ shouted the Bishop. ‘Oh, take care! I have a swollen vein in my right leg, and if you prick me there, I shall die!’
‘Prick him in the other leg,’ said Robin calmly. ‘Come, dance!’
And the Bishop was forced to pull up his skirts and dance a jig, whether he would or not, while all the outlaws roared with laughter at his comical fat figure and red angry face – and even the tall palmer joined in their mirth.
‘Enough, enough,’ panted Robin at last. ‘We have had sport enough of this kind. But now for our game of buffets!’
‘How is it played?’ asked the palmer, smiling.
‘Quite simple,’ said Robin. ‘You stand up, and receive one buffet from one of us. And if he fails to knock you down, you may strike him a buffet in return.’
‘A fine sport, truly,’ said the palmer, and forthwith he bared a forearm that any smith might have been proud of, and stood forward.
‘Come, Little John,’ said Robin, ‘and show this good champion that all the men of mettle are not away crusading.’
Little John rolled up his sleeve, drew back his arm, and dealt a mighty buffet. The palmer seemed scarcely to notice it; instead, he raised his arm and sent Little John sprawling on the turf.
‘By the Rood!’ cried Friar Tuck, drawing up his sleeve and revealing an arm like a baron of beef. ‘Sinew has failed, but let us see what brawn can do!’
With that he delivered a buffet that might have felled an ox. The palmer swayed a little on his feet.
‘Well smitten, Friar!’ he said with a smile, and putting more power into his blow this time, he laid the fat friar on his back, where he lay gasping and shouting to be hauled onto his feet again.
‘So much for the Church militant!’ said the palmer, blowing on his knuckles. ‘Have I now paid for my dinner, good Robin?’
‘The last blow pays all,’ answered Robin, stepping forward himself. ‘I have bowled over the friar before now – and stood up to his buffet, too. But I am mortally afraid of you, you mighty man!’
Then the palmer braced himself for the blow, and Robin smote with all his might. The palmer rocked perilously on his feet, but neither fell nor gave ground.
‘Now my turn, good king of the Forest!’ said the palmer, and he smote Robin Hood to the ground as if he had been a nine pin.
‘You have the best of us!’ laughed Robin when he had found his feet again. ‘By Our Lady, you are the strongest man that ever I met… Say now, good palmer, will you not doff your habit and come dwell with us here in the greenwood?’
‘It cannot be,’ said the palmer, a note of regret in his voice. ‘For I go about the King’s business.’
‘We do his business here, as I have tried to show you,’ answered Robin, but the palmer only shook his head and smiled.
‘Here is one who goes about the devil’s business!’ exclaimed Little John at this point, and he handed Robin a letter which he had just ripped from the lining of the Bishop’s gown.
Robin read it, and his brow grew dark.
‘By the Mass!’ he exclaimed, ‘I am minded to hang you from the nearest tree, master Bishop!’
‘Spare me!’ shrieked the Bishop, flinging himself on the ground. ‘I had no choice! See you not by whom that letter is signed.’
‘I see,’ answered Robin, ‘and that reminds me, we have a prisoner – one who assaults women when no man is by to protect them. Bring him before us, Little John!’
So Prince John was led out of the cave, and set before Robin. But when the tall palmer saw him, he uttered an exclamation, and throwing back his hood he stepped forward and confronted the prisoner.
Prince John looked him in the face once, and then he turned a ghastly colour and fell grovelling on his knees.
‘Richard!’ he gasped. ‘King Richard, my brother – come back to punish me.’
‘Loose his bonds,’ commanded the Ki
ng. ‘Now, go – swiftly – and sin no more!’
Prince John staggered to his feet, reeling and ghastly pale. His horse was brought to him, he clambered upon it, and galloped wildly away.
When he was out of sight, King Richard turned back to Robin Hood, who knelt down before him – an example which was speedily followed by all the outlaws, so soon as the whisper had gone round of ‘It is the King.’
‘Pardon, my liege,’ said Robin.
‘Stand up again,’ said the King, raising Robin. ‘Stand up, my friend – I freely pardon you, and all here present… Except for his grace of Hereford. Robin, I have heard said – for you and your doings are spoken of throughout England – that the Lady Marian lives still a maid until I, the King, return to give her hand to you in marriage. Is this true?’
‘It is, my liege,’ answered Robin, and Marian came and stood beside him and slipped her hand into his.
‘Then here and now I give her to you,’ said the King. ‘My lord of Hereford shall join your hands in holy matrimony, with Friar Tuck to act as clerk for him. And that good deed shall wipe out what is past. Bishop, perform your office, and then back to your own place and meddle no more in treason.’
So Robin Hood and Maid Marian were wedded there in Sherwood Forest, with Richard Cœur de Lion to give the bride away. And after that they set forward for Nottingham in triumph, Richard riding at the head of them all, with Marian at his side and Robin beyond her.
‘My Lord of Huntingdon,’ said Richard as they rode, ‘your lands and titles are restored to you this day – but I will take from you all those of your late followers who will serve me faithfully. England has many foes, and strong arms and true hearts are needed before we have peace indeed.’
They came into Nottingham like a triumphal procession after a great victory: the ploughman left his plough in the field and ran to see the show, the smith let the iron grow cold upon his anvil, and the aged and infirm rose from their beds and hobbled to their doors to cheer for ‘King Richard! King Richard and Robin Hood!’
