“Make good cheer,” said Robin Hood.
“Sheriff! for charity!
And for the love of Little John
Thy life is granted thee!”
The cook gasped in amazement. This Robin Hood! and under the Sheriff’s very roof!
“Now by my troth you are a brave fellow,” he said. “I have heard great tales of your prowess, and the half has not been told. But who might this tall slasher be?”
“Men do call me Little John, good fellow.”
“Then Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, I like you well, on my honor as Much the miller’s son; and you too, bold Robin Hood. An you take me, I will enter your service right gladly.”
“Spoken like a stout man!” said Robin, seizing him by the hand. “But I must back to my own bed, lest some sleepy warden stumble upon me, and I be forced to run him through. Lucky for you twain that wine flowed so freely in the house to-day; else the noise of your combat would have brought other onlookers besides Robin Hood. Now if ye would flee the house to-night, I will join you in the good greenwood to-morrow.”
“But, good master,” said the cook, “you would not stay here over night! Verily, it is running your head into a noose. Come with us. The Sheriff has set strict watch on all the gates, since ‘tis Fair week, but I know the warden at the west gate and could bring us through safely. To-morrow you will be stayed.” “Nay, that will I not,” laughed Robin, “for I shall go through with no less escort than the Sheriff himself. Now do you, Little John, and do you, Much the miller’s son, go right speedily. In the borders of the wood you will find my merry men. Tell them to kill two fine harts against to-morrow eve, for we shall have great company and lordly sport.”
And Robin left them as suddenly as he had come.
“Comrade,” then said Little John, “we may as well bid the Sheriff’s roof farewell. But ere we go, it would seem a true pity to fail to take such of the Sheriff’s silver plate as will cause us to remember him, and also grace our special feasts.”
“‘Tis well said indeed,” quoth the cook.
Thereupon they got a great sack and filled it with silver plate from the shelves where it would not at once be missed, and they swung the sack between them, and away they went, out of the house, out of the town, and into the friendly shelter of Sherwood Forest.
The next morning the servants were late astir in the Sheriff’s house. The steward awoke from a heavy sleep, but his cracked head was still in such a whirl that he could not have sworn whether the Sheriff had ever owned so much as one silver dish. So the theft went undiscovered for the nonce.
Robin Hood met the Sheriff at breakfast, when his host soon spoke of what was uppermost in his heart—the purchase of the fine herd of cattle near Gamewell. ‘Twas clear that a vision of them, purchased for twenty paltry gold pieces, had been with him all through the night, in his dreams. And Robin again appeared such a silly fellow that the Sheriff saw no need of dissembling, but said that he was ready to start at once to look at the herd.
Accordingly they set forth, Robin in his little butcher’s cart, behind the lean mare, and the Sheriff mounted on a horse. Out of Nottingham town, through gates open wide, they proceeded, and took the hill road leading through Sherwood Forest. And as they went on and plunged deeper among the trees, Robin whistled blithely and sang snatches of tunes.
“Why are you so gay, fellow?” said the Sheriff, for, sooth to say, the silence of the woods was making him uneasy.
“I am whistling to keep my courage up,” replied Robin.
“What is there to fear, when you have the Sheriff of Nottingham beside you?” quoth the other pompously.
Robin scratched his head.
“They do say that Robin Hood and his men care little for the Sheriff,” he said.
“Pooh!” said the Sheriff. “I would not give that for their lives, if I could once lay hands upon them.” And he snapped his fingers angrily. “But Robin Hood himself was on this very road the last time I came to town,” said the other.
The Sheriff started at the crackling of a twig under his horse’s feet, and looked around.
“Did you see him?” he asked.
“Aye, that did I! He wanted the use of this mare and cart to drive to Nottingham. He said he would fain turn butcher. But see!”
As he spoke he came to a turn in the road, and there before them stood a herd of the King’s deer, feeding. Robin pointed to them and continued:
“There is my herd of cattle, good Master Sheriff! How do you like them? Are they not fat and fair to see?”
The Sheriff drew rein quickly. “Now fellow,” quoth he, “I would I were well out of this forest, for I care not to see such herds as these, or such faces as yours. Choose your own way, therefore, whoever you be, and let me go mine.”
“Nay,” laughed Robin, seizing the Sheriff’s bridle, “I have been at too much pains to cultivate your company to forego it now so easily. Besides I wish you to meet some of my friends and dine with me, since you have so lately entertained me at your board.”
So saying he clapped a horn on his lips and winded three merry notes. The deer bounded away; and before the last of them was seen, there came a running and a rustling, and out from behind covert and tree came full twoscore of men, clad in Lincoln green, and bearing good yew bows in their hands and short swords at their sides. Up they ran to Robin Hood and doffed their caps to him respectfully, while the Sheriff sat still from very amazement.
“Welcome to the greenwood!” said one of the leaders, bending the knee with mock reverence before the Sheriff.
The Sheriff glared. It was Little John.
“Woe the worth, Reynold Greenleaf,” he said, “you have betrayed me!”
“I make my vow,” said Little John, “that you are to blame, master. I was misserved of my dinner, when I was at your house. But we shall set you down to a feast we hope you will enjoy.”
“Well spoken, Little John,” said Robin Hood. “Take you his bridle and let us do honor to the guest who has come to feast with us.”
Then turning abruptly the whole company plunged into the heart of the forest.
After twisting and turning till the Sheriff’s bewildered head sat dizzily upon his shoulders, the greenwood men passed through a narrow alley amid the trees which led to a goodly open space flanked by wide-spreading oaks. Under the largest of these a pleasant fire was crackling, and near it two fine harts lay ready for cooking. Around the blaze were gathered another company of yeomen quite as large as that which came with Robin Hood. Up sprang they as the latter advanced and saluted their leader with deference, but with hearty gladness to see him back again.
That merry wag Will Stutely was in command; and when he saw the palefaced Sheriff being led in like any culprit, he took his cloak and laid it humbly upon the ground and besought the Sheriff to alight upon it, as the ground of Sherwood was unused to such dignitaries.
“Bestir yourselves, good fellows!” cried Robin Hood; “and while our new cook, whom I see with us, is preparing a feast worthy of our high guest, let us have a few games to do him honor!”
Then while the whole glade was filled with the savory smell of roasting venison and fat capons, and brown pasties warmed beside the blaze, and mulled wine sent forth a cordial fragrance, Robin Hood placed the Sheriff upon a knoll beneath the largest oak and sat himself down by him.
First stepped forward several pairs of men armed with the quarter-staff, the widow’s sons among them, and so skilfully did they thrust and parry and beat down guards, that the Sheriff, who loved a good game as well as any man, clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and shouted, “Well struck! well struck! Never have I seen such blows at all the Fairs of Nottingham!”
Then the best archers of the band set up a small wand at eightscore paces distant, and thereon they affixed a wreath of green. And the archers began to shoot; and he who shot not through the garland without disturbing its leaves and tendrils was fain to submit to a good sound buffet from Little John. But right cunning was the shooting, for the men had spent a certain time in daily practice, and many were the shafts which sped daintily through the circle. Nathless now and again some luckless fellow would shoot awry and would be sent winding from a long arm blow from the tall lieutenant while the glade roared with laughter. And none more hearty a guffaw was given than came from the Sheriff’s own throat, for the spirit of the greenwood was upon him.
But presently his high mood was dashed. The company sat down to meat, and the guest was treated to two more disturbing surprise. The cook came forward to serve the food, when the Sheriff beheld in him his own former servant, and one whom he supposed was at the moment in the scullery at Nottingham.
Much the miller’s son grinned by way of answer to the Sheriff’s amazement, and served the plates, and placed them before the party. Then did the Sheriff gasp and fairly choke with rage. The service was his own silverware from the Mansion House!
“You rascals! you rogues!” he spluttered. “Was it not enough to defraud me out of three of my servants, that you must also rob me of my best silver service? Nay, by my life, but I will not touch your food!”
But Robin Hood bade him pause.
“Gramercy!” quoth he, “servants come and go, in merry England, and so does service. The platters are but used to do your worship honor. And as for your life, it is forfeit to your eagerness to buy my herd of cattle so cheaply. Now sit you down again and make good cheer, Sheriff, for charity! And for the love of Little John your life is granted you!”
So the Sheriff sat him down again, with the best face he could assume, and soon the cook’s viands were disappearing down his gullet as rapidly as the next man’s. And they feasted royally and clinked each other’s cups until the sun had ceased to print the pattern of the leaves upon the forest carpet.
Then the Sheriff arose and said: “I thank you, Robin Hood, one-time butcher, and you, Little John, one-time beggar, and you, Much, one-time cook, and all you good men who have entertained me in Sherwood so well. Promises I make not as to how I shall requite you when next you come to Nottingham, for I am in the King’s service. So for the present the score rests with you. But the shadows grow long and I must away, if you will be pleased to pilot me to the road.”
Then Robin Hood and all his men arose and drank the Sheriff’s health, and Robin said: “If you must needs go at once we will not detain you—except that you have forgotten two things.”
“What may they be?” asked the Sheriff, while his heart sank within him.
“You forget that you came with me to-day to buy a herd of horned beasts; likewise that he who dines at the Greenwood Inn must pay the landlord.”
The Sheriff fidgeted like a small boy who has forgotten his lesson.
“Nay, I have but a small sum with me,” he began apologetically.
“What is that sum, gossip?” questioned Little John, “for my own wage should also come out of it!”
“And mine!” said Much.
“And mine!” smiled Robin.
The Sheriff caught his breath. “By my troth, are all these silver dishes worth anything?”
The outlaws roared heartily at this.
“I’ll tell you what it is, worship,” said Robin, “we three rascally servants will compound our back wages for those plates. And we will keep the herd of cattle free for our own use—and the King’s. But this little tavern bill should be settled! Now, what sum have you about you?”
“I have only those twenty pieces of gold, and twenty others,” said the Sheriff: and well it was that he told the truth for once, for Robin said:
“Count it, Little John.”
Little John turned the Sheriff’s wallet inside out. “‘Tis true enough,” he said.
“Then you shall pay no more than twenty pieces for your entertainment, excellence,” decreed Robin. “Speak I soothly, men of greenwood?”
“Good!” echoed the others.
“The Sheriff should swear by his patron saint that he will not molest us,” said Will Stutely; and his addition was carried unanimously.
“So be it, then,” cried Little John, approaching the sheriff. “Now swear by your life and your patron saint—”
“I will swear it by St. George, who is patron of us all,” said the Sheriff vigorously, “that I will never disturb or distress the outlaws in Sherwood.”
“But let me catch any of you out of Sherwood!” thought he to himself.
Then the twenty pieces of gold were paid over, and the Sheriff once more prepared to depart.
“Never had we so worshipful a guest before,” said Robin; “and as the new moon is beginning to silver the leaves, I shall bear you company myself for part of the way. ‘Twas I who brought you into the wood.”
“Nay, I protest against your going needlessly far,” said Sheriff.
“But I protest that I am loath to lose your company,” replied Robin. “The next time I may not be so pleased.”
And he took the Sheriff’s horse by the bridle rein, and led him through the lane and by many a thicket till the main road was reached.
“Now fare you well, good Sheriff,” he said, “and when next you think to despoil a poor prodigal, remember the herd you would have bought over against Gamewell. And when next you employ a servant, make certain that he is not employing you.”
So saying he smote the nag’s haunch, and off went the Sheriff upon the road to Nottingham.
And that is how—you will find from many ballads that came to be sung at the Sheriff’s expense, and which are known even to the present day—that, I say, is how the Sheriff lost three good servants and found them again.
The youngster was clothed in scarlet red
In scarlet fine and gay;
And he did frisk it o’er the plain,
And chanted a roundelay.
One fine morning, soon after the proud Sheriff had been brought to grief, Robin Hood and Little John went strolling down a path through the wood. It was not far from the foot—bridge where they had fought their memorable battle; and by common impulse they directed their steps to the brook to quench their thirst and rest them in the cool bushes. The morning gave promise of a hot day. The road even by the brook was dusty. So the cooling stream was very pleasing and grateful to their senses.
On each side of them, beyond the dusty highway, stretched out broad fields of tender young corn. On the yon side of the fields uprose the sturdy oaks and beeches and ashes of the forest; while at their feet modest violets peeped out shyly and greeted the loiterers with an odor which made the heart glad. Over on the far side of the brook in a tiny bay floated three lily-pads; and from amid some clover blossoms on the bank an industrious bee rose with the hum of busy contentment. It was a day so brimful of quiet joy that the two friends lay flat on their backs gazing up at the scurrying clouds, and neither caring to break the silence.
Presently they heard some one coming up the road whistling gaily, as though he owned the whole world and ‘twas but made to whistle in. Anon he chanted a roundelay with a merry note.
“By my troth, a gay bird!” quoth Robin, raising up on his elbow. “Let us lie still, and trust that his purse is not as light as his heart.”
So they lay still, and in a minute more up came a smart stranger dressed in scarlet and silk and wearing a jaunty hat with a curling cock feather in it. His whole costume was of scarlet, from the feather to the silk hosen on his legs. A goodly sword hung at his side, its scabbard all embossed with tilting knights and weeping ladies. His hair was long and yellow and hung clustering about his shoulders, for all the world like a schoolgirl’s; and he bore himself with as mincing a gait as the pertest of them.
Little John clucked his teeth drolly at this sight. “By my troth, a gay bird!” he said echoing the other’s words—then added, “But not so bad a build for all his prettiness. Look you, those calves and thighs are well rounded and straight. The arms, for all that gold-wrought cloak, hang stoutly from full shoulders. I warrant you the fop can use his dainty sword right well on occasion.”
“Nay,” retorted Robin, “he is naught but a ladies’ man from court. My long-bow ‘gainst a plugged shilling that he would run and bellow lustily at sight of a quarter-staff. Stay you behind this bush and I will soon get some rare sport out of him. Belike his silk purse may contain more pennies than the law allows to one man in Sherwood or Barnesdale.”
So saying Robin Hood stepped forth briskly from the covert and planted himself in the way of the scarlet stranger. The latter had walked so slowly that he was scarce come to their resting-place; and now on beholding Robin he neither slackened nor quickened his pace but sauntered idly straight ahead, looking to the right and to the left, with the finest air in the world, but never once at Robin.
“Hold!” quoth the outlaw. “What mean ye by running thus over a wayfarer, rough shod?”
“Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?” said the stranger in a smooth voice, and looking at Robin for the first time.
“Because I bid you to,” replied Robin.
“And who may you be?” asked the other as coolly as you please.
“What my name is matters not,” said Robin; “but know that I am a public tax-gatherer and equalizer of shillings. If your purse have more than a just number of shillings or pence, I must e’en lighten it somewhat; for there are many worthy people round about these borders who have less than the just amount. Wherefore, sweet gentleman, I pray you hand over your purse without more ado, that I may judge of its weight in proper fashion.”
The other smiled as sweetly as though a lady were paying him a compliment.
“You are a droll fellow,” he said calmly. “Your speech amuses me mightily. Pray continue, if you have not done, for I am in no hurry this morning.”
“I have said all with my tongue that is needful,” retorted Robin, beginning to grow red under the collar. “Nathless, I have other arguments which may not be so pleasing to your dainty skin. Prithee, stand and deliver. I promise to deal fairly with the purse.”
“Alack-a-day!” said the stranger with a little shrug of his shoulders; “I am deeply sorrowful that I cannot show my purse to every rough lout that asks to see it. But I really could not, as I have further need of it myself and every farthing it contains. Wherefore, pray stand aside.”
“Nay that will I not! and ‘twill go the harder with you if you do not yield at once.”
“Good fellow,” said the other gently, “have I not heard all your speech with patience? Now that is all I promised to do. My conscience is salved and I must go on my way. To-rol-o-rol-e-loo!” he caroled, making as though to depart.
“Hold, I say!” quoth Robin hotly; for he knew how Little John must be chuckling at this from behind the bushes. “Hold I say, else I shall have to bloody those fair locks of yours!” And he swung his quarter-staff threateningly.
“Alas!” moaned the stranger shaking his head. “The pity of it all! Now I shall have to run this fellow through with my sword! And I hoped to be a peaceable man henceforth!” And sighing deeply he drew his shining blade and stood on guard.
“Put by your weapon,” said Robin. “It is too pretty a piece of steel to get cracked with common oak cudgel; and that is what would happen on the first pass I made at you. Get you a stick like mine out of yon undergrowth, and we will fight fairly, man to man.”
The stranger thought a moment with his usual slowness, and eyed Robin from head to foot. Then he unbuckled his scabbard, laid it and the sword aside, and walked deliberately over to the oak thicket. Choosing from among the shoots and saplings he found a stout little tree to his liking, when he laid hold of it, without stopping to cut it, and gave a tug. Up it came root and all, as though it were a stalk of corn, and the stranger walked back trimming it as quietly as though pulling up trees were the easiest thing in the world.
Little John from his hiding-place saw the feat, and could hardly restrain a long whistle. “By our Lady!” he muttered to himself, “I would not be in Master Robin’s boots!”
Whatever Robin thought upon seeing the stranger’s strength, he uttered not a word and budged not an inch. He only put his oak staff at parry as the other took his stand.
There was a threefold surprise that day, by the brookside. The stranger and Robin and Little John in the bushes all found a combat that upset all reckoning. The stranger for all his easy strength and cool nerve found an antagonist who met his blows with the skill of a woodman. Robin found the stranger as hard to hit as though fenced in by an oak hedge. While Little John rolled over and over in silent joy.
Back and forth swayed the fighters, their cudgels pounding this way and that, knocking off splinters and bark, and threatening direst damage to bone and muscle and skin. Back and forth they pranced kicking up a cloud of dust and gasping for fresh air. From a little way off you would have vowed that these two men were trying to put out a fire, so thickly hung the cloud of battle over them. Thrice did Robin smite the scarlet man—with such blows that a less stout fellow must have bowled over. Only twice did the scarlet man smite Robin, but the second blow was like to finish him. The first had been delivered over the knuckles, and though ‘twas a glancing stroke it well nigh broke Robin’s fingers, so that he could not easily raise his staff again. And while he was dancing about in pain and muttering a dust-covered oath, the other’s staff came swinging through the cloud at one side—zip!—and struck him under the arm. Down went Robin as though he were a nine-pin—flat down into the dust of the road. But despite the pain he was bounding up again like an India rubber man to renew the attack, when Little John interfered.
“Hold!” said he, bursting out of the bushes and seizing the stranger’s weapon. “Hold, I say!”
“Nay,” retorted the stranger quietly, “I was not offering to smite him while he was down. But if there be a whole nest of you hatching here by the waterside, cluck out the other chicks and I’ll make shift to fight them all.”
“Not for all the deer in Sherwood!” cried Robin. “You are a good fellow and a gentleman. I’ll fight no more with you, for verily I feel sore in wrist and body. Nor shall any of mine molest you henceforth.”
Sooth to say, Robin did not look in good fighting trim. His clothes were coated with dirt, one of his hosen had slipped halfway down from his knee, the sleeve of his jerkin was split, and his face was streaked with sweat and dirt. Little John eyed him drolly.
“How now, good master,” quoth he, “the sport you were to kick up has left you in sorry plight. Let me dust your coat for you.”
“Marry, it has been dusted enough already,” replied Robin; “and I now believe the Scripture saying that all men are but dust, for it has sifted me through and through and lined my gullet an inch deep. By your leave”—and he went to the brookside and drank deep and laved his face and hands.
All this while the stranger had been eyeing Robin attentively and listening to his voice as though striving to recall it.
“If I mistake not,” he said slowly at last, “you are that famous outlaw, Robin Hood of Barnesdale.”
“You say right,” replied Robin; “but my fame has been tumbling sadly about in the dust to-day.”
“Now why did I not know you at once?” continued the stranger. “This battle need not have happened, for I came abroad to find you to-day, and thought to have remembered your face and speech. Know you not me, Rob, my lad? Hast ever been to Gamewell Lodge?”
“Ha! Will Gamewell! my dear old chum, Will Gamewell!” shouted Robin, throwing his arms about the other in sheer affection. “What an ass I was not to recognize you! But it has been years since we parted, and your gentle schooling has polished you off mightily.”
Will embraced his cousin no less heartily.
“We are quits on not knowing kinsmen,” he said, “for you have changed and strengthened much from the stripling with whom I used to run foot races in old Sherwood.”
“But why seek you me?” asked Robin. “You know I am an outlaw and dangerous company. And how left you mine uncle? and have you heard aught of late of—of Maid Marian?”
“Your last question first,” answered Will, laughing, “for I perceive that it lies nearest your heart. I saw Maid Marian not many weeks after the great shooting at Nottingham, when you won her the golden arrow. She prizes the bauble among her dearest possessions, though it has made her an enemy in the Sheriff’s proud daughter. Maid Marian bade me tell you, if I ever saw you, that she must return to Queen Eleanor’s court, but she could never forget the happy days in the greenwood. As for the old Squire, he is still hale and hearty, though rheumatic withal. He speaks of you as a sad young dog, but for all that is secretly proud of your skill at the bow and of the way you are pestering the Sheriff, whom he likes not. ‘Twas for my father’s sake that I am now in the open, an outlaw like yourself. He has had a steward, a surly fellow enough, who, while I was away at school, boot-licked his way to favor until he lorded it over the whole house. Then he grew right saucy and impudent, but my father minded it not, deeming the fellow indispensable in managing the estate. But when I came back it irked me sorely to see the fellow strut about as though he owned the place. He was sly enough with me at first, and would brow-beat the Squire only while I was out of earshot. It chanced one day, however, that I heard loud voices through an open window and paused to hearken. That vile servant called my father ‘a meddling old fool,’ ‘Fool and meddler art thou thyself, varlet,’ I shouted, springing through the window, ‘that for thy impudence!’ and in my heat I smote him a blow mightier than I intended, for I have some strength in mine arm. The fellow rolled over and never breathed afterwards, I think I broke his neck or something the like. Then I knew that the Sheriff would use this as a pretext to hound my father, if I tarried. So I bade the Squire farewell and told him I would seek you in Sherwood.”
“Now by my halidom!” said Robin Hood; “for a man escaping the law, you took it about as coolly as one could wish. To see you come tripping along decked out in all your gay plumage and trolling forth a roundelay, one would think you had not a care in all the world. Indeed I remarked to Little John here that I hoped your purse was not as light as your heart.”
“Belike you meant head,” laughed Will; “and is this Little John the Great? Shake hands with me, an you will, and promise me to cross a staff with me in friendly bout some day in the forest!”
“That will I!” quoth Little John heartily. “Here’s my hand on it. What is your last name again, say you?”
“‘Tis to be changed,” interposed Robin; “then shall the men armed with warrants go hang for all of us. Let me bethink myself. Ah!—I have it! In scarlet he came to us, and that shall be his name henceforth. Welcome to the greenwood, Will Scarlet!”
“Aye, welcome, Will Scarlet!” said Little John; and they all clasped hands again and swore to be true each to the other and to Robin Hood’s men in Sherwood Forest.
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