by Roger Green
Robin returned sadly to his lodgings, and here the way of escape was waiting for him.
‘Good fisherman Simon,’ said the widow as she set his supper before him. ‘You tell me that you have but two pieces of gold in the world, and that you seek for employment? Will you not then be my man, and I’ll promise you a good wage? For I have a ship of my own as good as any that sails the sea. Tomorrow at the first light it sails from the quay yonder, and there lacks from the crew yet one fisherman.’
‘Right willingly will I serve you,’ said Robin thankfully, and by the next morning he had stepped aboard the ship and was sailing out into the North Sea.
They sailed on for several days, and then cast anchor on a sandbank while the fishermen prepared their nets, and lines, and cast them into the sea. But Robin, who knew nothing of sea-fishing, cast in his lines unbaited, and caught no fish.
Then the captain jeered at him. ‘It will be long indeed before this great lubber does well at sea!’ he cried. ‘Well, I can promise him that he shall have no share in our gains when this voyage is ended – for he has not earned so much as a penny piece!’
‘Now woe is me!’ exlaimed Robin. ‘If I were but in Plompton Park I could bring in the red deer fast enough. Here every clown laughs me to scorn because I cannot catch fish: but if I had them in the forest, they would do little enough good there, I’ll warrant!’
They sailed on for many days after this, and at length one day, Robin espied a ship of war bearing down upon them.
‘Now woe is me!’ cried the captain in his turn. ‘Here comes a French pirate craft to take all our fish from us, and may be sell us into slavery as well, or cast us into the sea. They will not spare one man of us; but what can we do to escape them? Nothing, nothing! Alas and woe the day!’
‘Do not despair!’ cried Robin. ‘Good captain, all will yet be well. Give me but my long-bow and a good quiver of arrows, and I will not spare one of these sea robbers!’
‘Hold your peace, you land lubber Simon!’ snapped the captain. ‘You are nought but brags and boasts. If I should cast you overboard, you would be no great loss!’
Nevertheless, as neither the captian nor the rest of the crew showed any signs of trying to defend themselves, Robin seized his bow, and having tied himself to the mast so as to be steady on his feet, set an arrow on the string, loosed, and laid the pirate captain dead on his own quarter-deck. Then, as the two ships drew closer and closer together, Robin loosed arrow after arrow and at each shot a man fell from the rigging or crumpled up on the deck.
Presently the two ships were alongside one another.
‘Now, captain!’ cried Robin, loosing himself from the mast. ‘Follow me, and follow men, one and all. The ship is ours, there is nothing to fear!’
So saying, he boarded the pirate craft, followed by all the seamen, and easily overpowered the few pirates who had escaped his arrows.
When the brief battle was ended and the prisoners securely tied, Robin and the captain searched their prize, and found more than twelve thousand pounds’ worth of gold, besides many other treasures.
‘By the Rood, good Simon,’ said the captain. ‘I misjudged you grossly. Truly men do ill to jeer at any who cannot do what they can do themselves – for ever it seems that there is something which they can do better. Were it not for you and your skill with the bow, we would all have been prisoners, or dead men, by now. And therefore I say that all this treasure belongs to you.’
‘Why then,’ said Robin, ‘half of it all belongs by right to the good widow whose ship we sail in, and to her orphaned children. As for the other half, let us share that amongst ourselves.’
But the captain still insisted that it was his.
‘Good Simon Lee,’ he said, ‘the widow will reward us well, that I am certain. Therefore take the rest which is most assuredly yours.’
Then Robin filled his pouch with gold, and handed the rest to the captain saying:
‘Good sir, I need only what I can carry with me. Let us now hasten back to England with our prize. And do you take the rest of my share to Scarborough and there build almshouses for the poor. But first of all set me ashore in some quiet bay on the coast of Yorkshire, for I have enemies that may await me in Scarborough.’
So they sailed back to England, and one night dropped anchor in the cove which has ever since been known as Robin Hood’s Bay.
‘Fare well, brave Simon Lee,’ said the captain as Robin stepped ashore with his bow and quiver on his back, and a stout staff in his hands.
‘Fare well, captain,’ was the answer, ‘and if any ask who was the fisherman who could not fish, yet brought to land a richer haul than any of you, say that his name was not Simon Lee, but Robert of Huntingdon, whom men call Robin Hood!’
So saying Robin turned and limped away into the darkness while the captain and the seamen gazed after him with open mouths.
24
The Last Arrow
Weep, weep, ye woodmen, wail,
Your hands with sorrow wring;
Your master Robin Hood lies dead,
Therefore sigh as you sing.
Here lie his primer and his beads,
His bent bow and his arrows keen,
His good sword and his holy cross:
Now cast on flowers fresh and green.
ANTHONY MUNDAY: The Death of Robert Earl of Huntingdon (1601)
At Kirkleys Nunnery the Prioress welcomed Marian and led her at once to sanctuary, while Little John turned hastily away and lay waiting in the woods.
Several days later King John’s men came to the Nunnery demanding that Marian should be given up to them.
But the Prioress refused. ‘The Lady Marian has taken sanctuary,’ she said, ‘and not the King himself can touch her now. I have no love for Robin Hood, but were it he and not his wife who knelt with hand on the altar, he were yet inviolate.’
And so she answered all messengers who came, whether they threatened or pleaded or sought to bribe her.
But when they had gone she spoke with Marian many times.
‘Good daughter,’ she said, ‘I have certain news that Robin Hood is dead. Moreover, though I will withstand him to the last, King John may yet take you hence by force. But if you once vow yourself to God, take the veil and become one of our sisterhood, then you are safe indeed. Were John twenty times a king, all England would rise and put him from the throne did he violate a nunnery and tear a nun from the altar.’
So the Prioress persuaded Marian until Marian believed indeed that Robin was dead. And if this were so, she asked nothing better than to take the veil and pass the rest of her days in prayer to God and in tending upon the sick.
But the Prioress had other reasons besides those she had given for urging Marian to become a nun. For she knew that Marian was the heir to all the Locksley estates, and, Robin, being dead, if Marian became a member of Kirkleys, all that she owned became the property of the Nunnery also.
At long last the Prioress had her way, and Marian became a nun: but only after King John had himself come to the Nunnery and demanded her in person. Then Marian hesitated no longer, and John turned away in baffled fury, for as the Prioress had said even he dared not tear a nun from a nunnery – and he was not yet prepared to defy the Pope and his Interdict.
‘Look you, mother Prioress,’ he said before he went away. ‘This proscribed traitor and thief, Robin Hood, may still be alive: no one has seen him for many months, but I cannot again believe him dead until I, or trustworthy witnesses, have seen his body laid in the grave. If he lives, he who is an enemy to the Church may come here and take Marian away from you: and mark me well, if Marian leaves you to go to Robin Hood, then I will burn your Nunnery to the ground and turn you and your nuns out into the world to starve.’
Then he laughed savagely and rode away. But the Prioress set guards round the Nunnery and throughout her lands and estates, for the last thing she wished was for Robin Hood’s return. But she did not know that one of the lay brothers who served
without the Nunnery gates was Little John.
At long last Robin Hood came. He came leaning on a stick, an old, sick man, though he was not much more than forty, for he had never recovered from the fall when the rope broke as he climbed down out of King John’s prison cell. He had limped his way painfully across country to Kirkleys, growing rapidly iller and weaker as he went, and now he knocked at the door and begged the Prioress’s aid.
‘Come in, good sir,’ said the Prioress gently, and she led him to the guest chamber, a room on the ground floor that looked out towards Sherwood. Then she put Robin to bed, and opened a vein in his arm to let blood, which was considered at that time to be one of the most certain cures for all illnesses.
Presently Robin recovered a little and sat up.
‘Good Mother Prioress,’ he said. ‘I may speak to you under the seal of confessional, may I not, knowing that nothing I tell you will be heard outside these walls?’
‘Speak on, son,’ answered the Prioress, ‘and besides myself God alone shall hear what you tell me.’
‘Then know,’ said Robin, ‘that I am Robert Fitzooth, formerly Earl of Huntingdon, who am known as Robin Hood.’
The Prioress stirred suddenly, but said nothing, and Robin went on:
‘Good mother Prioress, many months ago my wife Marian and I fled from Nottingham, pursued by King John and his men. When I knew that we could not escape together, I sent Marian to take sanctuary here while I led our pursuers on towards Scarborough. Mother Prioress, what news have you for me of my wife?’
‘She came here,’ answered the Prioress, very pale, but speaking quietly. ‘And here she stayed for a little while. Then she rode away again, I think to your hall at Locksley, there to await you.’
‘Then there I must seek her!’ cried Robin, trying to rise from the bed.
‘When you are better,’ said the Prioress. ‘Sleep now, and tomorrow may be you can travel. Then I will lend you a horse, and two of my serving men shall ride with you.’
Then Robin lay back on the bed and slept, for he was very weak. But as soon as she was certain he was sleeping, the Prioress loosened the bandage from his arm so that the blood flowed once more. Then she stole quietly away and left him.
All day Robin lay there bleeding slowly to death, and when the shadows were lengthening he awoke and looked about him. He was so weak now that he could scarcely move, but he saw that the bandage had been unfastened purposely, and he guessed that the Prioress had done it.
Robin staggered to his feet and flung open the windows. It was but a short drop to the ground, and beyond the garden he saw the forest, his forest, beckoning to him. But he could not so much as raise his leg to climb over the window sill.
Then he thought of his bugle-horn. With trembling fingers he drew it from his pouch, raised it to his lips and blew the old call Wa-sa-hoa for the last time.
Out in the forest Little John heard it.
‘That was Robin’s horn!’ he exclaimed. ‘But I fear my master is near to death, he blows so wearily!’
Then he hastened to the Nunnery, with several of the lay brothers following him. And when they would not let him in, he seized a great hammer and broke the locks on every door that stood in his way.
But another had heard the bugle call. Marian the nun knelt in the chapel praying for the soul of her dead husband when the notes came to her ears from nearby.
Then she sprang to her feet, hope and fear in her eyes, and followed the echoes of that call until she came to the guest chamber and found Robin lying back exhausted on the bed.
‘Oh, Robin, my lord, my love!’ she cried, and Robin’s arms sought to hold her and draw her to him, but could not.
‘Marian,’ he whispered. ‘They told me you were far away at Locksley!’
Then very shortly Marian told him what had happened, and he told her of his adventures.
‘Here have I come to die,’ he said, ‘and where else could I ask to die but in your arms.’
By this time Little John had broken into the room, and now he knelt weeping at Robin’s side.
‘Oh, my master, my master,’ he sobbed. ‘Grant me one last boon! This evil Prioress has slain you – and cheated your Lady Marian. Let me burn Kirkleys Nunnery and slay this wicked woman!’
‘Not so,’ answered Robin. ‘That is a boon I will not grant you. Never in my life did I hurt a woman nor raise my hand against a maid, nor shall it be done at my death. Do not blame the lady Prioress, for my death was upon me, as I have known for long. But give me my bent bow and set a broad arrow on the string, and where the arrow falls, there bury me. Lay a green sod under my head and another at my feet, and lay my bent bow at my side which was sweet music while I lived. Then cover me with the green turf of the forest and set a stone at my head so that all men may know where Robin Hood of Sherwood lies buried.’
Then, weeping bitterly, Little John placed the bow in Robin’s hand and guided his fingers to the notched arrow. For the last time Robin Hood drew his good yew bow, and as he drew strength seemed to come to him so that he drew the arrow to the very head and loosed it so strongly that it flew well beyond the Nunnery walls and fell in a deep green glade of the forest.
Then Robin Hood fell back into Little John’s arms, and Marian closed his eyes and wept over her dead lord.
But next morning Little John sought out the arrow, and where it fell he dug Robin’s grave with his own hands, and laid him to rest under the greenwood tree. And at his head he set a stone, and on it, when the first inscription had worn away, these lines were cut:
Underneath this little stone
Lies Robert Earl of Huntingdon;
No other archer was so good –
And people called him Robin Hood.
Such outlaws as he and his men
Will England never see again.
Epilogue
King Henry and the Hermits
And yet I think these oaks at dawn and even
Will whisper ever more of Robin Hood…
…You, good Friar,
You Much, you Scarlet, you dear Little John,
Your names will cling like ivy to the wood.
And here perhaps a hundred years away
Some hunter in day-dreams or half asleep
Will hear our arrows whizzing overhead,
And catch the winding of a phantom horn.
TENNYSON: The Foresters (1881)
After Robin Hood’s death, Marian dwelt on in Kirkleys Nunnery where she soon became Prioress under the name of Matilda. And of the goodness of the Prioress Matilda and of how she was ever ready to help the sick and the afflicted many tales were told. At the last she died in the room where Robin had died, and was buried beside him under the greenwood tree.
Little John, however, did not stay at Kirkleys after he had laid his beloved friend and master in the grave. For some years he dwelt in Ireland, where his feats of archery are still remembered then he returned to England and was no more heard of, though his grave is still shown at Hathersage in Derbyshire.
There is a story, however, that long after King John’s death his son King Henry III hunted the deer in Sherwood Forest. And there he started the finest stag that ever a man hunted, and pursued it so fast and so far that as night came on he found himself separated from his followers and lost in the wildest parts of the forest.
Wandering in search of a night’s lodging he came at length to a well-worn path, and following it found himself at a little chapel by which stood a hermit’s cell. There was a light in the chapel and entering the King found two hermits at their prayers, two very old men, one tall beyond the ordinary and the other broad and fat even in age.
The two hermits seemed very loath to entertain the wanderer, and when at last they let him enter their cell, gave him a truss of straw to lie upon and regretted that they had no supper to offer him but bread and cheese and to drink only the water from a nearby spring.
‘Surely,’ said the King, ‘with the forest all about you, you could fare better
than this? Come now, do you never draw a bow when the verderers are asleep?’
‘Alas, we are poor men,’ said the tall hermit, ‘I fear that you seek to entrap us by forcing a confession that we have broken the forest laws.’
‘Never would I betray the man who gave me a good square meal tonight,’ said the King, ‘for never have I needed it more!’
Presently the King bethought him of the flask of strong old wine that hung at his saddle, and after a little persuasion the fat hermit consented to drink of it with him and speedily grew merry.
Then one thing led to another and the two hermits brought out wine and ale of their own, and presently the board was heaped with venison pasties and delicacies of all sorts.
‘Can you draw a good bow, sir huntsman?’ asked the tall hermit presently, and upon the King saying that he could the three of them went out into the twilight and tried their skill at a willow wand set up at thirty yards’ distance. But only the tall hermit could split it.
Later as they sat drinking the King exclaimed:
‘Never have I seen such archery nor been so well entertained in the forest. I could almost believe that we were back in the days of King Richard of the Lion Heart when bold Robin Hood ruled in the Forest of Sherwood of whom so many songs are sung and so many tales are told – know you any tales of that king of outlaws, that noble prince of thieves?’
Then the two old hermits seemed to grow young again, and the morning came while they were still telling their guest of all that had chanced in Sherwood so long ago – adventures which they themselves had seen, in which they themselves had played a part.
With the first light the King mounted on his horse once more (albeit unsteadily, for he had drunk deep throughout the night) and rode away in search of his followers. But before he went he turned to his two hosts and said:
‘Reverent hermits, if I have not dreamt it, I supped last night in Sherwood Forest with Little John and Friar Tuck!’
