The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood Page 5

  “Now, shoot thou well, Gilbert,” cried the Sheriff, “and if thine be the best shaft, fivescore broad silver pennies will I give to thee beside the prize.”

  “Truly I will do my best,” quoth Gilbert, right sturdily. “A man cannot do aught but his best, but that will I strive to do this day.” So saying, he drew forth a fair smooth arrow with a broad feather and fitted it deftly to the string, then drawing his bow with care he sped the shaft. Straight flew the arrow and lit fairly in the clout, a finger breadth from the centre. “A Gilbert, a Gilbert!” shouted all the crowd; and, “Now, by my faith,” cried the Sheriff, smiting his hands together, “that is a shrewd shot.”

  Then the tattered stranger stepped forth, and all the people laughed as they saw a yellow patch that showed beneath his arm when he raised his elbow to shoot, and also to see him aim with but one eye. He drew the good yew bow quickly, and quickly loosed a shaft; so short was the time that no man could draw a breath betwixt the drawing and the shooting; yet his arrow lodged nearer the centre than the other by twice the length of a barleycorn.

  He of the tattered garb beateth Gill o’ the Red Cap.

  “Now by all the saints in Paradise!” cried the Sheriff, “that is a lovely shaft in very truth!”

  Then Adam o’ the Dell shot, carefully and cautiously, and his arrow lodged close beside the stranger’s. Then after a short space they all three shot again, and once more each arrow lodged within the clout, but this time Adam o’ the Dell’s was farthest from the centre, and again the tattered stranger’s shot was the best. Then, after another time of rest, they all shot for the third time. This time Gilbert took great heed to his aim, keenly measuring the distance and shooting with shrewdest care. Straight flew the arrow, and all shouted till the very flags that waved in the breeze shook with the sound and the rooks and daws flew clamoring about the roofs of the old gray tower, for the shaft had lodged close beside the spot that marked the very centre.

  “Well done, Gilbert!” cried the Sheriff, right joyously. “Fain am I to believe the prize is thine, and right fairly won. Now, thou ragged knave, let me see thee shoot a better shaft than that.”

  Naught spake the stranger but took his place, while all was hushed, and no one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so great was the silence for wonder what he would do. Meanwhile, also, quite still stood the stranger holding his bow in his hand, while one could count five; then he drew his trusty yew, holding it drawn but a moment, then loosed the string. Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it smote a gray goose feather from off Gilbert’s shaft, which fell fluttering through the sunlit air as the stranger’s arrow lodged close beside his of the red cap, and in the very centre. No one spoke a word for a while and no one shouted, but each man looked into his neighbor’s face amazedly.

  The stranger in scarlet winneth the prize.

  “Nay,” quoth old Adam o’ the Dell presently, drawing a long breath and shaking his head as he spoke; “twoscore years and more have I shot shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for no man can match with yon stranger, whosoe’er he may be.” Then he thrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without another word.

  Then the Sheriff came down from his dais and drew near, in all his silks and velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his stout bow, whilst the good folk crowded around to see the man who shot so wondrously well. “Here, good fellow,” quoth the Sheriff, “take thou the prize, and well and fairly hast thou won it, I trow. What may be thy name, and whence comest thou?”

  “Men do call me Jock o’ Teviotdale, and thence am I come,” said the stranger.

  “Then, by our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e’er mine eyes beheld, and if thou wilt join my service I will clothe thee with a better coat than that thou hast upon thy back; thou shat eat and drink of the best, and at every Christmas-tide fourscore marks shall be thy wage. I trow thou drawest better bow than that same coward knave, Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day. Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my service?”

  “Nay, that will I not,” quoth the stranger, roughly. “I will be mine own, and no man in all merry England shall be my master.”

  “Then get thee gone, and murrain seize thee!” cried the Sheriff, and his voice trembled with anger. “And by my faith and troth I have a good part of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!” Then he turned upon his heel and strode away.

  It was a right motley company that gathered about the noble greenwood tree in Sherwood’s depths that same day. A score and more of barefoot friars were there, and some that looked like tinkers, and some that seemed to be sturdy beggars and rustic hinds; and seated upon a mossy couch was one all clad in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one eye; and in his hand he held the golden arrow that was the prize of the great shooting-match. Then, amidst a noise of talking and laughter, he took the patch from off his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags from off his body and showed himself all clothed in fair Lincoln green, and quoth he: “Easy come these things away, but walnut stain cometh not so speedily from yellow hair.” Then all laughed louder than before, for it was Robin Hood himself that had won the prize from the Sheriffs very hands.

  Robin and his band come again to Sherwood.

  Then all sat down to the woodland feast and talked amongst themselves of the merry jest that had been played upon the Sheriff, and of the adventures that had befallen each member of the band in his disguise. But when the feast was done, Robin Hood took Little John apart and said, “Truly am I vexed in my blood, for I heard the Sheriff say to-day, ‘Thou shootest better than that coward knave, Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day.’ I would fain let him know who it was who won the golden arrow from out his hand, and also that I am no coward such as he takes me to be.”

  Then Little John said, “Good master, take thou me and Will Stutely and we will send yon fat Sheriff news of all this by a messenger such as he doth not expect.”

  That day the Sheriff sat at meat in the great hall of his house at Nottingham Town. Long tables stood down the hall, at which sat men-at-arms and household servants and good stout villains,3 in all fourscore and more. There they talked of the day’s shooting as they ate their meat and quaffed their ale. The Sheriff sat at the head of the table upon a raised seat under a canopy, and beside him sat his dame.

  Robin Hood sendeth a message to the Sheriff.

  “By my troth,” said he, “I did reckon full roundly that that knave, Robin Hood, would be at the game to-day. I did not think that he was such a coward. But who could that saucy knave be who answered me to my beard so bravely? I wonder that I did not have him beaten; but there was something about him that spoke of other things than rags and tatters.”

  Then, even as he finished speaking, something fell rattling among the dishes on the table, while those that sat near started up wondering what it might be. After a while one of the men-at-arms gathered courage enough to pick it up and bring it to the Sheriff. Then every one saw that it was a blunted gray goose shaft, with a fine scroll, about the thickness of a goose quill, tied near to its head. The Sheriff opened the scroll and glanced at it, while the veins upon his forehead swelled and his cheeks grew ruddy with rage as he read, for this was what he saw:—

  “Now Heaven bless thy grace this day, Say all in sweet Sherwood, For thou didst give the prize away To merry Robin Hood.”

  “Whence came this?” cried the Sheriff in a mighty voice.

  “Even through the window, your worship,” quoth the man who had handed the shaft to him.

  III.

  Will Stutely rescued by his Good Companions.

  NOW when the Sheriff found that neither law nor guile could overcome Robin Hood, he was much perplexed, and said to himself, “Fool that I am! Had I not told our King of Robin Hood, I would not have gotten myself into such a coil; but now I must either take him captive or have wrath visited upon my head from his most gracious Majesty. I have tried law, and I
have tried guile, and I have failed in both; so I will try what may be done with might.”

  The Sheriff tryeth force against Robin and his band.

  Thus communing within himself, he called his constables together and told them what was in his mind. “Now take ye each four men, all armed in proof,” said he, “and get ye gone to the forest, at different points, and lay in wait for this same Robin Hood. But if any constable finds too many men against him, let him sound a horn, and then let each band within hearing come with all speed and join the party that calls them. Thus, I think, shall we take this green-clad knave. Furthermore, to him that first meeteth with Robin Hood shall one hundred pounds of silver money be given, if he be brought to me, dead or alive; and to him that meeteth with any of his band shall twoscore pounds be given, if such be brought to me dead or alive. So, be ye bold and be ye crafty.”

  So thus they went in threescore companies of five to Sherwood Forest, to take Robin Hood, each constable wishing that he might be the one to find the bold outlaw, or at least one of his band. For seven days and nights they hunted through the forest glades, but never saw so much as a single man in Lincoln green; for tidings of all this had been brought to Robin Hood by trusty Eadom o’ the Blue Boar.

  When he first heard the news, Robin said, “If the Sheriff dare send force to meet force, woe will it be for him and many a better man beside, for blood will flow, and there will be great trouble for all. But fain would I shun blood and battle, and fain would I not deal sorrow to women folk and wives because good stout yeomen lose their lives. Once I slew a man, and never do I wish to slay a man again, for it is bitter for the soul to think thereon. So now we will abide silently in Sherwood Forest, so that it may be well for all; but should we be forced to defend ourselves, or any of our band, then let each man draw bow and brand with might and main.”

  At this speech many of the band shook their heads, and said to themselves, “Now the Sheriff will think that we are cowards, and folk will scoff throughout the countryside, saying that we fear to meet these men.” But they said nothing aloud, swallowing their words, and doing as Robin bade them.

  Robin and his band abide within Sherwood depths, where they hide themselves.

  Thus they hid in the depths of Sherwood Forest for seven days and seven nights, and never showed their faces abroad in all that time; but early in the morning of the eighth day Robin Hood called the band together and said, “Now who will go and find what the Sheriffs men are at by this time? for I know right well they will not bide forever within Sherwood shades.”

  At this a great shout arose, and each man waved his bow aloft and cried that he might be the one to go. Then Robin Hood’s heart was proud when he looked around on his stout, brave fellows, and he said, “Brave and true are ye all, my merry men, and a right stout band of good fellows are ye; but ye cannot all go, so I will choose one from amongst you, and it shall be good Will Stutely, for he is as sly as e’er an old dog fox in Sherwood Forest.”

  Then Will Stutely leaped high aloft and laughed loudly, clapping his hands, for pure joy that he should have been chosen from amongst them all. “Now thanks, good master,” quoth he, “and if I bring not news of those knaves to thee, call me no more thy sly Will Stutely.”

  Then he clad himself in a friar’s gown, and underneath the robe he hung a good broadsword in such a place that he could easily lay hands upon it. Thus clad, he set forth upon his quest, until he came to the verge of the forest, and so to the highway. He saw two bands of the Sheriffs men, yet he turned neither to the right nor the left, but only drew his cowl the closer over his face, folding his hands as if in meditation. So at last he came to the Sign of the Blue Boar. “For,” quoth he to himself, “our good friend Eadom will tell me all the news.”

  Will Stutely goeth to seek news of the Sheriffs doings.

  At the Sign of the Blue Boar he found a band of the Sheriffs men drinking right lustily; so, without speaking to any one, he sat down upon a distant bench, his staff in his hand, and his head bowed forward as though he were meditating. Thus he sat waiting until he might see the landlord apart, and Eadom did not know him, but thought him to be some poor tired friar, so he let him sit without saying a word to him or molesting him, though he liked not the cloth; “for,” said he to himself, “it is a hard heart that kicks the lame dog from off the sill.”

  He cometh unto the good Sign of the Blue Boar.

  As Stutely sat thus, there came a great house cat and rubbed against his knee, raising his robe a palm’s breadth high. Stutely pushed his robe quickly down again, but the constable who commanded the Sheriffs men saw what had passed, and saw also fair Lincoln green beneath the friar’s robe. He said nothing at the time, but communed within himself in this wise: “Yon is no friar of orders gray, and also, I wot, no honest yeoman goeth about in priest’s garb, nor doth a thief go so for naught. Now I think in good sooth that is one of Robin Hood’s own men.” So, presently, he said aloud:—

  The constable suspicioneth him.

  “O holy father, wilt thou not take a good pot of March beer to slake thy thirsty soul withal?” But. Stutely shook his head silently, for he said to himself, “Maybe there be those here who know my voice.”

  Then the constable said again, “Whither goest thou, holy friar, upon this hot summer’s day?”

  “I go a pilgrim to Canterbury Town,” answered Will Stutely, speaking gruffly, so that none might know his voice.

  Then the constable said, for the third time, “Now tell me, holy father, do pilgrims to Canterbury wear good Lincoln green beneath their robes? Ha! by my faith, I take thee to be some lusty thief, and perhaps one of Robin Hood’s own band! Now, by Our Lady’s grace, if thou movest hand or foot, I will run thee through the body with my sword!”

  They fight, and Will Stutely is taken.

  Then he flashed forth his bright sword and leaped upon Will Stutely, thinking he would take him unaware; but Stutely had his own sword tightly held in his hand, beneath his robe, so he drew it forth before the constable came upon him. Then the stout constable struck a mighty blow; but he struck no more in all that fight, for Stutely, parrying the blow right deftly, smote the constable back again with all his might. Then he would have escaped, but could not, for the other, all dizzy with the wound and with the flowing blood, seized him by the knees with his arms even as he reeled and fell. Then the others rushed upon him, and Stutely struck again at another of the Sheriffs men, but the steel cap glanced the blow, and though the blade bit deep, it did not kill. Meanwhile, the constable, fainting as he was, drew Stutely downward, and the others, seeing the yeoman hampered so, rushed upon him again, and one smote him a blow upon the crown so that the blood ran down his face and blinded him. Then, staggering, he fell, and all sprang upon him, though he struggled so manfully that they could hardly hold him fast. Then they bound him with stout hempen cords so that he could not move either hand or foot, and thus they overcame him. But it was a doleful day’s doings for two of that band; for the constable was sorely wounded, and the other, that Stutely smote upon the crown, lay sick for many a day ere he was the stout man that he had been before this famous fight.

  Robin Hood stood under the greenwood tree, thinking of Will Stutely and how he might be faring, when suddenly he saw two of his stout yeomen come running down the forest path, and betwixt them ran buxom Maken of the Blue Boar. Then Robin’s heart fell, for he knew they were the bearers of ill tidings.

  The news is brought to Robin Hood.

  “Will Stutely hath been taken,” cried they, when they had come to where he stood.

  “And is it thou that hast brought such doleful news?” said Robin to the lass.

  “Ay, marry, for I saw it all,” cried she, panting as the hare pants when it has escaped the hounds; “and I fear he is wounded sore, for one smote him main shrewdly i’ the crown. They have bound him and taken him to Nottingham Town, and ere I left the Blue Boar I heard that he should be hanged to-morrow day.”

  “He shall not be hanged
to-morrow day,” cried Robin; “or, if he be, full many a one shall gnaw the sod, and many shall have cause to cry Alack-a-day!”

  Then he clapped his horn to his lips and blew three blasts right loudly, and presently his good yeomen came running through the greenwood until sevenscore bold blades were gathered around him.

  Robin Hood calleth his merry men about him.

  “Now hark you all!” cried Robin. “Our dear companion, Will Stutely, hath been taken by that vile Sheriffs men, therefore doth it behoove us to take bow and brand in hand to bring him off again; for I wot that we ought to risk life and limb for him, as he hath risked life and limb for us. Is it not so, my merry men all?” Then all cried, “Ay!” with a great voice.

  “Now,” quoth Robin again, “if there be any here that care not to risk life and limb, let them bide within Sherwood shades, for I constrain no man to my will; but to-morrow I will bring Will Stutely back or I will die with him.”

  Then up spake stout Little John. “Thinkest thou, good master,” he said, “that there be one among us all that would not risk life and limb for fellow in trouble? If such there be, then do not I know every man in this company of stout yeomen. And, moreover, if there be such, I wot he should be stripped and beaten from out our merry woodlands. Is it not so, good friends?”

  Then all cried, “Ay!” again, for there was not one man amongst them all that would not venture everything for a friend in need.

  So the next day they all wended their way from Sherwood Forest, but by different paths, for it behooved them to be very crafty; so the band separated into parties of twos and threes, which were all to meet again in a tangled dell that lay near to Nottingham Town. Then, when they had all gathered together at the place of meeting, Robin spoke to them thus:—