by Howard Pyle
It seemed to many of the good folk of the place as if the day that should bring the King into the town would never come; but all the same it did come in its own season, and bright shone the sun down into the stony streets, which were all alive with a restless sea of people. On either side of the way great crowds of town and country folk stood packed as close together as dried herring in a box, so that the Sheriffs men, halberds in hands, could hardly press them back to leave space for the King’s riding.
“Take care whom thou pushest against!” cried a great, burly friar to one of these men. “Wouldst thou dig thine elbows into me, sirrah? By’r Lady of the Fountain, an thou dost not treat me with more deference I will crack thy knave’s pate for thee, even though thou be one of the mighty Sheriff’s men.”
At this a great shout of laughter arose from a number of tall yeomen in Lincoln green that were scattered through the crowd thereabouts; but one that seemed of more authority than the others nudged the holy man with his elbow. “Peace, Tuck,” said he, “didst thou not promise me, ere thou camest here, that thou wouldst put a check upon thy tongue?”
“Ay, marry,” grumbled the other, “but ‘a did not think to have a hard- footed knave trample all over my poor toes as though they were no more than so many acorns in the forest.”
But of a sudden all this bickering ceased, for a clear sound of many bugle horns came winding down the street. Then all the people craned their necks and gazed in the direction whence the sound came, and the crowding and the pushing and the swaying grew greater than ever. And now a gallant array of men came gleaming into sight, and the cheering of the people ran down the crowd as the fire runs in dry grass.
Eight and twenty heralds in velvet and cloth of gold came riding forward. Over their heads fluttered a cloud of snow-white feathers, and each herald bore in his hand a long silver trumpet, which he blew musically. From each trumpet hung a heavy banner of velvet and cloth of gold, with the royal arms of England emblazoned thereon. After these came riding fivescore noble knights, two by two, all fully armed, saving that their heads were uncovered. In their hands they bore tall lances, from the tops of which fluttered pennons of many colors and devices. By the side of each knight walked a page clad in rich clothes of silk and velvet, and each page bore in his hands his master’s helmet, from which waved long, floating plumes of feathers. Never had Nottingham seen a fairer sight than those fivescore noble knights, from whose armor the sun blazed in dazzling light as they came riding on their great war horses, with clashing of arms and jingling of chains. Behind the knights came the barons and the nobles of the mid-country, in robes of silk and cloth of gold, with golden chains about their necks and jewels at their girdles. Behind these again came a great array of men-at-arms, with spears and halberds in their hands, and, in the midst of these, two riders side by side. One of the horsemen was the Sheriff of Nottingham in his robes of office. The other, who was a head taller than the Sheriff, was clad in a rich but simple garb, with a broad, heavy chain about his neck. His hair and beard were like threads of gold, and his eyes were as blue as the summer sky. As he rode along he bowed to the right hand and the left, and a mighty roar of voices followed him as he passed; for this was King Richard.
Then, above all the tumult and the shouting a great voice was heard roaring, “Heaven, its saints bless thee, our gracious King Richard! and likewise Our Lady of the Fountain, bless thee!” Then King Richard, looking toward the spot whence the sound came, saw a tall, burly, strapping priest standing in front of all the crowd with his legs wide apart as he backed against those behind.
“By my soul, Sheriff,” said the King, laughing, “ye have the tallest priests in Nottinghamshire that e’er I saw in all my life. If Heaven never answered prayers because of deafness, methinks I would nevertheless have blessings bestowed upon me, for that man yonder would make the great stone image of Saint Peter rub its ears and hearken unto him. I would that I had an army of such as he.”
To this the Sheriff answered never a word, but all the blood left his cheeks, and he caught at the pommel of his saddle to keep himself from falling; for he also saw the fellow that so shouted, and knew him to be Friar Tuck; and, moreover, behind Friar Tuck he saw the faces of Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Will Stutely and Allan a Dale and others of the band.
“How now,” said the King hastily, “art thou ill, Sheriff, that thou growest so white?”
“Nay, Your Majesty,” said the Sheriff, “it was nought but a sudden pain that will soon pass by.” Thus he spake, for he was ashamed that the King should know that Robin Hood feared him so little that he thus dared to come within the very gates of Nottingham Town.
Thus rode the King into Nottingham Town on that bright afternoon in the early fall season; and none rejoiced more than Robin Hood and his merry men to see him come so royally unto his own.
Eventide had come; the great feast in the Guild Hall at Nottingham Town was done, and the wine passed freely. A thousand waxen lights gleamed along the board, at which sat lord and noble and knight and squire in goodly array. At the head of the table, upon a throne all hung with cloth of gold, sat King Richard with the Sheriff of Nottingham beside him.
Quoth the King to the Sheriff, laughing as he spoke, “I have heard much spoken concerning the doings of certain fellows hereabouts, one Robin Hood and his band, who are outlaws and abide in Sherwood Forest. Canst thou not tell me somewhat of them, Sir Sheriff? For I hear that thou hast had dealings with them more than once.”
At these words the Sheriff of Nottingham looked down gloomily, and the Bishop of Hereford, who was present, gnawed his nether lip. Quoth the Sheriff, “I can tell Your Majesty but little concerning the doings of those naughty fellows, saving that they are the boldest lawbreakers in all the land.”
Then up spake young Sir Henry of the Lea, a great favorite with the King, under whom he had fought in Palestine. “May it please Your Majesty,” said he, “when I was away in Palestine I heard ofttimes from my father, and in most cases I heard of this very fellow, Robin Hood. If Your Majesty would like I will tell you a certain adventure of this outlaw.”
Then the King laughingly bade him tell his tale, whereupon he told how Robin Hood had aided Sir Richard of the Lea with money that he had borrowed from the Bishop of Hereford. Again and again the King and those present roared with laughter, while the poor Bishop waxed cherry red in the face with vexation, for the matter was a sore thing with him. When Sir Henry of the Lea was done, others of those present, seeing how the King enjoyed this merry tale, told other tales concerning Robin and his merry men.
“By the hilt of my sword,” said stout King Richard, “this is as bold and merry a knave as ever I heard tell of. Marry, I must take this matter in hand and do what thou couldst not do, Sheriff, to wit, clear the forest of him and his band.”
That night the King sat in the place that was set apart for his lodging while in Nottingham Town. With him were young Sir Henry of the Lea and two other knights and three barons of Nottinghamshire; but the King’s mind still dwelled upon Robin Hood. “Now,” quoth he, “I would freely give a hundred pounds to meet this roguish fellow, Robin Hood, and to see somewhat of his doings in Sherwood Forest.”
Then up spake Sir Hubert of gingham, laughing: “If Your Majesty hath such a desire upon you it is not so hard to satisfy. If Your Majesty is willing to lose one hundred pounds, I will engage to cause you not only to meet this fellow, but to feast with him in Sherwood.”
“Marry, Sir Hubert,” quoth the King, “this pleaseth me well. But how wilt thou cause me to meet Robin Hood?”
“Why, thus,” said Sir Hubert, “let Your Majesty and us here present put on the robes of seven of the Order of Black Friars, and let Your Majesty hang a purse of one hundred pounds beneath your gown; then let us undertake to ride from here to Mansfield Town tomorrow, and, without I am much mistaken, we will both meet with Robin Hood and dine with him before the day be passed.”
“I like thy plan, Sir Hubert,” quoth
the King merrily, “and tomorrow we will try it and see whether there be virtue in it.”
So it happened that when early the next morning the Sheriff came to where his liege lord was abiding, to pay his duty to him, the King told him what they had talked of the night before, and what merry adventure they were set upon undertaking that morning. But when the Sheriff heard this he smote his forehead with his fist. “Alas!” said he, “what evil counsel is this that hath been given thee! O my gracious lord and King, you know not what you do! This villain that you thus go to seek hath no reverence either for king or king’s laws.”
“But did I not hear aright when I was told that this Robin Hood hath shed no blood since he was outlawed, saving only that of that vile Guy of Gisbourne, for whose death all honest men should thank him?”
“Yea, Your Majesty,” said the Sheriff, “you have heard aright. Nevertheless—”
“Then,” quoth the King, breaking in on the Sheriffs speech, “what have I to fear in meeting him, having done him no harm? Truly, there is no danger in this. But mayhap thou wilt go with us, Sir Sheriff.”
“Nay,” quoth the Sheriff hastily, “Heaven forbid!”
But now seven habits such as Black Friars wear were brought, and the King and those about him having clad themselves therein, and His Majesty having hung a purse with a hundred golden pounds in it beneath his robes, they all went forth and mounted the mules that had been brought to the door for them. Then the King bade the Sheriff be silent as to their doings, and so they set forth upon their way. Onward they traveled, laughing and jesting, until they passed through the open country; between bare harvest fields whence the harvest had been gathered home; through scattered glades that began to thicken as they went farther along, till they came within the heavy shade of the forest itself. They traveled in the forest for several miles without meeting anyone such as they sought, until they had come to that part of the road that lay nearest to Newstead Abbey.
“By the holy Saint Martin,” quoth the King, “I would that I had a better head for remembering things of great need. Here have we come away and brought never so much as a drop of anything to drink with us. Now I would give half a hundred pounds for somewhat to quench my thirst withal.”
No sooner had the King so spoken, than out from the covert at the roadside stepped a tall fellow with yellow beard and hair and a pair of merry blue eyes. “Truly, holy brother,” said he, laying his hand upon the King’s bridle rein, “it were an unchristian thing to not give fitting answer to so fair a bargain. We keep an inn hereabouts, and for fifty pounds we will not only give thee a good draught of wine, but will give thee as noble a feast as ever thou didst tickle thy gullet withal.” So saying, he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. Then straightway the bushes and branches on either side of the road swayed and crackled, and threescore broad-shouldered yeomen in Lincoln green burst out of the covert.
“How now, fellow,” quoth the King, “who art thou, thou naughty rogue? Hast thou no regard for such holy men as we are?”
“Not a whit,” quoth merry Robin Hood, for the fellow was he, “for in sooth all the holiness belonging to rich friars, such as ye are, one could drop into a thimble and the goodwife would never feel it with the tip of her finger. As for my name, it is Robin Hood, and thou mayst have heard it before.”
“Now out upon thee!” quoth King Richard. “Thou art a bold and naughty fellow and a lawless one withal, as I have often heard tell. Now, prythee, let me, and these brethren of mine, travel forward in peace and quietness.”
“It may not be,” said Robin, “for it would look but ill of us to let such holy men travel onward with empty stomachs. But I doubt not that thou hast a fat purse to pay thy score at our inn since thou offerest freely so much for a poor draught of wine. Show me thy purse, reverend brother, or I may perchance have to strip thy robes from thee to search for it myself.”
“Nay, use no force,” said the King sternly. “Here is my purse, but lay not thy lawless hands upon our person.”
“Hut, tut,” quoth merry Robin, “what proud words are these? Art thou the King of England, to talk so to me? Here, Will, take this purse and see what there is within.”
Will Scarlet took the purse and counted out the money. Then Robin bade him keep fifty pounds for themselves, and put fifty back into the purse. This he handed to the King. “Here, brother,” quoth he, “take this half of thy money, and thank Saint Martin, on whom thou didst call before, that thou hast fallen into the hands of such gentle rogues that they will not strip thee bare, as they might do. But wilt thou not put back thy cowl? For I would fain see thy face.”
“Nay,” said the King, drawing back, “I may not put back my cowl, for we seven have vowed that we will not show our faces for four and twenty hours.”
“Then keep them covered in peace,” said Robin, “and far be it from me to make you break your vows.”
So he called seven of his yeomen and bade them each one take a mule by the bridle; then, turning their faces toward the depths of the woodlands, they journeyed onward until they came to the open glade and the greenwood tree.
Little John, with threescore yeomen at his heels, had also gone forth that morning to wait along the roads and bring a rich guest to Sherwood glade, if such might be his luck, for many with fat purses must travel the roads at this time, when such great doings were going on in Nottinghamshire, but though Little John and so many others were gone, Friar Tuck and twoscore or more stout yeomen were seated or lying around beneath the great tree, and when Robin and the others came they leaped to their feet to meet him.
“By my soul,” quoth merry King Richard, when he had gotten down from his mule and stood looking about him, “thou hast in very truth a fine lot of young men about thee, Robin. Methinks King Richard himself would be glad of such a bodyguard.”
“These are not all of my fellows,” said Robin proudly, “for threescore more of them are away on business with my good right-hand man, Little John. But, as for King Richard, I tell thee, brother, there is not a man of us all but would pour out our blood like water for him. Ye churchmen cannot rightly understand our King; but we yeomen love him right loyally for the sake of his brave doings which are so like our own.”
But now Friar Tuck came bustling up. “Gi’ ye good den, brothers,” said he. “I am right glad to welcome some of my cloth in this naughty place. Truly, methinks these rogues of outlaws would stand but an ill chance were it not for the prayers of Holy Tuck, who laboreth so hard for their well-being.” Here he winked one eye slyly and stuck his tongue into his cheek.
“Who art thou, mad priest?” said the King in a serious voice, albeit he smiled beneath his cowl.
At this Friar Tuck looked all around with a slow gaze. “Look you now,” quoth he, “never let me hear you say again that I am no patient man. Here is a knave of a friar calleth me a mad priest, and yet I smite him not. My name is Friar Tuck, fellow — the holy Friar Tuck.”
“There, Tuck,” said Robin, “thou hast said enow. Prythee, cease thy talk and bring some wine. These reverend men are athirst, and sin’ they have paid so richly for their score they must e’en have the best.”
Friar Tuck bridled at being so checked in his speech, nevertheless he went straightway to do Robin’s bidding; so presently a great crock was brought, and wine was poured out for all the guests and for Robin Hood. Then Robin held his cup aloft. “Stay!” cried he. “Tarry in your drinking till I give you a pledge. Here is to good King Richard of great renown, and may all enemies to him be confounded.”
Then all drank the King’s health, even the King himself. “Methinks, good fellow,” said he, “thou hast drunk to thine own confusion.”
“Never a whit,” quoth merry Robin, “for I tell thee that we of Sherwood are more loyal to our lord the King than those of thine order. We would give up our lives for his benefiting, while ye are content to lie snug in your abbeys and priories let reign who will.”
At this the King laughed. Quoth he, “Per
haps King Richard’s welfare is more to me than thou wottest of, fellow. But enough of that matter. We have paid well for our fare, so canst thou not show us some merry entertainment? I have oft heard that ye are wondrous archers; wilt thou not show us somewhat of your skill?”
“With all my heart,” said Robin, “we are always pleased to show our guests all the sport that is to be seen. As Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, ’Tis a hard heart that will not give a caged starling of the best’; and caged starlings ye are with us. Ho, lads! Set up a garland at the end of the glade.”
Then, as the yeomen ran to do their master’s bidding, Tuck turned to one of the mock friars. “Hearest thou our master?” quoth he, with a sly wink. “Whenever he cometh across some poor piece of wit he straightway layeth it on the shoulders of this Gaffer Swanthold — whoever he may be — so that the poor goodman goeth traveling about with all the odds and ends and tags and rags of our master’s brain packed on his back.” Thus spake Friar Tuck, but in a low voice so that Robin could not hear him, for he felt somewhat nettled at Robin’s cutting his talk so short.
In the meantime the mark at which they were to shoot was set up at sixscore paces distance. It was a garland of leaves and flowers two spans in width, which same was hung upon a stake in front of a broad tree trunk. “There,” quoth Robin, “yon is a fair mark, lads. Each of you shoot three arrows thereat; and if any fellow misseth by so much as one arrow, he shall have a buffet of Will Scarlet’s fist.”
“Hearken to him!” quoth Friar Tuck. “Why, master, thou dost bestow buffets from thy strapping nephew as though they were love taps from some bouncing lass. I warrant thou art safe to hit the garland thyself, or thou wouldst not be so free of his cuffing.”
