“And thus having end of this merry wedding,The bride lookt like a queen;And so they returned to the merry greenwoodAmongst the leaves so green.”
Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone,With a link a down and a down,And there he met with the proud Sheriff,Was walking along the town.
The wedding-party was a merry one that left Plympton Church, I ween; but not so merry were the ones left behind. My lord Bishop of Hereford was stuck up in the organ-loft and left, gownless and fuming. The ten liveried archers were variously disposed about the church to keep him company; two of them being locked in a tiny crypt, three in the belfry, “to ring us a wedding peal,” as Robin said; and the others under quire seats or in the vestry. The bride’s brother at her entreaty was released, but bidden not to return to the church that day or interfere with his sister again on pain of death. While the rusty old knight was forced to climb a high tree, where he sat insecurely perched among the branches, feebly cursing the party as it departed.
It was then approaching sundown, but none of the retainers or villagers dared rescue the imprisoned ones that night, for fear of Robin Hood’s men. So it was not until sunup the next day, that they were released. The Bishop and the old knight, stiff as they were, did not delay longer than for breakfast, but so great was their rage and shame—made straight to Nottingham and levied the Sheriff’s forces. The Sheriff himself was not anxious to try conclusions again with Robin in the open. Perhaps he had some slight scruples regarding his oath. But the others swore that they would go straight to the King, if he did not help them, so he was fain to consent.
A force of an hundred picked men from the Royal Foresters and swordsmen of the shire was gathered together and marched straightway into the greenwood. There, as fortune would have it, they surprised some score of outlaws hunting, and instantly gave chase. But they could not surround the outlaws, who kept well in the lead, ever and anon dropping behind a log or boulder to speed back a shaft which meant mischief to the pursuers. One shaft indeed carried off the Sheriff’s hat and caused that worthy man to fall forward upon his horse’s neck from sheer terror; while five other arrows landed in the fleshy parts of Foresters’ arms.
But the attacking party was not wholly unsuccessful. One outlaw in his flight stumbled and fell; when two others instantly stopped and helped to put him on his feet again. They were the widow’s three sons, Stout Will, and Lester, and John. The pause was an unlucky one for them, as a party of Sheriff’s men got above them and cut them off from their fellows. Swordsmen came up in the rear, and they were soon hemmed in on every side. But they gave good account of themselves, and before they had been overborne by force of numbers they had killed two and disabled three more.
The infuriated attackers were almost on the point of hewing the stout outlaws to pieces, when the Sheriff cried:
“Hold! Bind the villains! We will follow the law in this and take them to the town jail. But I promise ye the biggest public hanging that has been seen in this shire for many changes of the moon!”
So they bound the widow’s three sons and carried them back speedily to Nottingham.
Now Robin Hood had not chanced to be near the scene of the fight, or with his men; so for a time he heard nothing of the happening.
But that evening while returning to the camp he was met by the widow herself, who came weeping along the way.
“What news, what news, good woman?” said Robin hastily but courteously; for he liked her well.
“God save ye, Master Robin!” said the dame wildly. “God keep ye from the fate that has met my three sons! The Sheriff has laid hands on them and they are condemned to die.”
“Now, by our Lady! That cuts me to the heart! Stout Will, and Lester, and merry John! The earliest friends I had in the band, and still among the bravest! It must not be! When is this hanging set?”
“Middle the tinker tells me that it is for tomorrow noon,” replied the dame.
“By the truth o’ my body,” quoth Robin, “you could not tell me in better time. The memory of the old days when you freely bade me sup and dine would spur me on, even if three of the bravest lads in all the shire were not imperiled. Trust to me, good woman!”
The old widow threw herself on the ground and embraced his knees.
“‘Tis dire danger I am asking ye to face,” she said weeping; “and yet I knew your brave true heart would answer me. Heaven help ye, good Master Robin, to answer a poor widow’s prayers!”
Then Robin Hood sped straightway to the forest-camp, where he heard the details of the skirmish—how that his men had been out-numbered five to one, but got off safely, as they thought, until a count of their members had shown the loss of the widow’s three sons.
“We must rescue them, my men!” quoth Robin, “even from out the shadow of the rope itself!”
Whereupon the band set to work to devise ways and means.
Robin walked apart a little way with his head leaned thoughtfully upon his breast—for he was sore troubled—when whom should he meet but an old begging palmer, one of a devout order which made pilgrimages and wandered from place to place, supported by charity.
This old fellow walked boldly up to Robin and asked alms of him; since Robin had been wont to aid members of his order.
“What news, what news, thou foolish old man?” said Robin, “what news, I do thee pray?”
“Three squires in Nottingham town,” quoth the palmer, “are condemned to die. Belike that is greater news than the shire has had in some Sundays.”
Then Robin’s long-sought idea came to him like a flash.
“Come, change thine apparel with me, old man,” he said, “and I’ll give thee forty shillings in good silver to spend in beer or wine.”
“O, thine apparel is good,” the palmer protested, “and mine is ragged and torn. The holy church teaches that thou should’st ne’er laugh an old man to scorn.”
“I am in simple earnest, I say. Come, change thine apparel with mine. Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold to feast they brethren right royally.”
So the palmer was persuaded; and Robin put on the old man’s hat, which stood full high in the crown; and his cloak, patched with black and blue and red, like Joseph’s coat of many colors in its old age; and his breeches, which had been sewed over with so many patterns that the original was scarce discernible; and his tattered hose; and his shoes, cobbled above and below. And while as he made the change in dress he made so many whimsical comments also about a man’s pride and the dress that makes a man, that the palmer was like to choke with cackling laughter.
I warrant you, the two were comical sights when they parted company that day. Nathless, Robin’s own mother would not have known him, had she been living.
The next morning the whole town of Nottingham was early astir, and as soon as the gates were open country-folk began to pour in; for a triple hanging was not held there every day in the week, and the bustle almost equated a Fair day.
Robin Hood in his palmer’s disguise was one of the first ones to enter the gates, and he strolled up and down and around the town as though he had never been there before in all his life. Presently he came to the market-place, and beheld thereon three gallows erected.
“Who are these builded for, my son?” asked he of a rough soldier standing by.
“For three of Robin Hood’s men,” answered the other. “And it were Robin himself, ‘twould be thrice as high I warrant ye. But Robin is too smart to get within the Sheriff’s clutches again.”
The palmer crossed himself.
“They say that he is a bold fellow,” he whined.
“Ha!” said the soldier, “he may be bold enough out behind stumps i’ the forest, but the open market-place is another matter.”
“Who is to hang these three poor wretches?” asked the palmer.
“That hath the Sheriff not decided. But here he comes now to answer his own questions.” And the soldier came to stiff attention as the Sheriff and his body-guard stalked pompously up to inspect the gallows.
“O, Heaven save you, worshipful Sheriff!” said the palmer. “Heaven protect you! What will you give a silly old man to-day to be your hangman?”
“Who are you, fellow?” asked the Sheriff sharply.
“Naught save a poor old palmer. But I can shrive their souls and hang their bodies most devoutly.”
“Very good,” replied the other. “The fee to-day is thirteen pence; and I will add thereunto some suits of clothing for that ragged back of yours.”
“God bless ye!” said the palmer. And he went with the soldier to the jail to prepare his three men for execution.
Just before the stroke of noon the doors of the prison opened and the procession of the condemned came forth. Down through the long lines of packed people they walked to the market-place, the palmer in the lead, and the widow’s three sons marching firmly erect between soldiers.
At the gallows foot they halted. The palmer whispered to them, as though offering last words of consolation; and the three men, with arms bound tightly behind their backs, ascended the scaffold, followed by their confessor.
Then Robin stepped to the edge of the scaffold, while the people grew still as death; for they desired to hear the last words uttered to the victims. But Robin’s voice did not quaver forth weakly, as formerly, and his figure had stiffened bolt upright beneath the black robe that covered his rags.
“Hark ye, proud Sheriff!” he cried. “I was ne’er a hangman in all my life, nor do I now intend to begin that trade. Accurst be he who first set the fashion of hanging! I have but three more words to say. Listen to them!”
And forth from the robe he drew his horn and blew three loud blasts thereon. Then his keen hunting-knife flew forth and in a trice, Stout Will, Lester, and merry John were free men and had sprung forward and seized the halberds from the nearest soldiers guarding the gallows.
“Seize them! ‘Tis Robin Hood!” screamed the Sheriff, “an hundred pounds if ye hold them, dead or alive!”
“I make it two hundred!” roared the fat Bishop.
But their voices were drowned in the uproar that ensued immediately after Robin blew his horn. He himself had drawn his sword and leaped down the stairs from the scaffold, followed by his three men. The guard had closed around them in vain effort to disarm them, when “A rescuer” shouted Will Stutely’s clear voice on one side of them, and “A rescue!” bellowed Little John’s on the other; and down through the terror-stricken crowd rushed fourscore men in Lincoln green, their force seeming twice that number in the confusion. With swords drawn they fell upon the guard from every side at once. There was a brief clash of hot weapons, then the guard scattered wildly, and Robin Hood’s men formed in a compact mass around their leader and forced their way slowly down the market-place.
“Seize them! In the King’s name!” shrieked the Sheriff. “Close the gates!”
In truth, the peril would have been even greater, had this last order been carried out. But Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale had foreseen that event, and had already overpowered the two warders.
So the gates stood wide open, and toward them the band of outlaws headed.
The soldiers rallied a force of twice their number and tried resolutely to pierce their center. But the retreating force turned thrice and sent such volleys of keen arrows from their good yew bows, that they kept a distance between the two forces.
And thus the gate was reached, and the long road leading up the hill, and at last the protecting greenwood itself. The soldiers dared come no farther. And the widow’s three sons, I warrant you, supped more heartily that night than ever before in their whole lives.
Good Robin accost him in his way,To see what he might be;If any beggar had money,He thought some part had he.
One bright morning, soon after the stirring events told in the last chapter, Robin wandered forth alone down the road to Barnesdale, to see if aught had come of the Sheriff’s pursuit. But all was still and serene and peaceful. No one was in sight save a solitary beggar who came sturdily along his way in Robin’s direction. The beggar caught sight of Robin, at the same moment, as he emerged from the trees, but gave no sign of having seen him. He neither slackened nor quickened his pace, but jogged forward merrily, whistling as he came, and beating time by punching holes in the dusty road with the stout pike-staff in his hand.
The curious look of the fellow arrested Robin’s attention, and he decided to stop and talk with him. The fellow was bare-legged and bare-armed, and wore a long shift of a shirt, fastened with a belt. About his neck hung a stout, bulging bag, which was buckled by a good piece of leather thong.
He had three hats upon his head,Together sticked fast,He cared neither for the wind nor wet,In lands where’er he past.
The fellow looked so fat and hearty, and the wallet on his shoulder seemed so well filled, that Robin thought within himself,
“Ha! this is a lucky beggar for me! If any of them have money, this is the chap, and, marry, he should share it with us poorer bodies.”
So he flourished his own stick and planted himself in the traveler’s path.
“Sirrah, fellow!” quoth he; “whither away so fast? Tarry, for I would have speech with ye!”
The beggar made as though he heard him not, and kept straight on with his faring.
“Tarry, I say, fellow!” said Robin again; “for there’s a way to make folks obey!”
“Nay, ‘tis not so,” answered the beggar, speaking for the first time; “I obey no man in all England, not even the King himself. So let me pass on my way, for ‘tis growing late, and I have still far to go before I can care for my stomach’s good.”
“Now, by my troth,” said Robin, once more getting in front of the other, “I see well by your fat countenance, that you lack not for good food, while I go hungry. Therefore you must lend me of your means till we meet again, so that I may hie to the nearest tavern.”
“I have no money to lend,” said the beggar crossly. “Methinks you are as young a man as I, and as well able to earn a supper. So go your way, and I’ll go mine. If you fast till you get aught out of me, you’ll go hungry for the next twelvemonth.”
“Not while I have a stout stick to thwack your saucy bones!” cried Robin. “Stand and deliver, I say, or I’ll dust your shirt for you; and if that will not teach you manners, then we’ll see what a broad arrow can do with a beggar’s skin!”
The beggar smiled, and answered boast with boast. “Come on with your staff, fellow! I care no more for it than for a pudding stick. And as for your pretty bow—thatfor it!”
And with amazing quickness, he swung his pike-staff around and knocked Robin’s bow clean out of his hand, so that his fingers smarted with pain. Robin danced and tried to bring his own staff into action; but the beggar never gave him a chance. Biff! whack! came the pike-staff, smiting him soundly and beating down his guard.
There were but two things to do; either stand there and take a sound drubbing, or beat a hasty retreat. Robin chose the latter—as you or I would probably have done—and scurried back into the wood, blowing his horn as he went.
“Fie, for shame, man!” jeered the bold beggar after him. “What is your haste? We had but just begun. Stay and take your money, else you will never be able to pay your reckoning at the tavern!”
But Robin answered him never a word. He fled up hill and down dale till he met three of his men who were running up in answer to his summons.
“What is wrong?” they asked.
“‘Tis a saucy beggar,” said Robin, catching his breath. “He is back there on the highroad with the hardest stick I’ve met in a good many days. He gave me no chance to reason with him, the dirty scamp!”
The men—Much and two of the widow’s sons—could scarce conceal their mirth at the thought of Robin Hood running from a beggar. Nathless, they kept grave faces, and asked their leader if he was hurt.
“Nay,” he replied, “but I shall speedily feel better if you will fetch me that same beggar and let me have a fair chance at him.”
So the three yeomen made haste and came out upon the highroad and followed after the beggar, who was going smoothly along his way again, as though he were at peace with all the world.
“The easiest way to settle this beggar,” said Much, “is to surprise him. Let us cut through yon neck of woods and come upon him before he is aware.”
The others agreed to this, and the three were soon close upon their prey.
“Now!” quoth Much; and the other two sprang quickly upon the beggar’s back and wrested his pike-staff from his hand. At the same moment Much drew his dagger and flashed it before the fellow’s breast.
“Yield you, my man!” cried he; “for a friend of ours awaits you in the wood, to teach you how to fight properly.”
“Give me a fair chance,” said the beggar valiantly, “and I’ll fight you all at once.”
But they would not listen to him. Instead, they turned him about and began to march him toward the forest. Seeing that it was useless to struggle, the beggar began to parley.
“Good my masters,” quoth he, “why use this violence? I will go with ye safe and quietly, if ye insist, but if ye will set me free I’ll make it worth your while. I’ve a hundred pounds in my bag here. Let me go my way, and ye shall have all that’s in the bag.”
The three outlaws took council together at this.
“What say you?” asked Much of the others. “Our master will be more glad to see this beggar’s wallet than his sorry face.”
The other two agreed, and the little party came to a halt and loosed hold of the beggar.
“Count out your gold speedily, friend,” said Much. There was a brisk wind blowing, and the beggar turned about to face it, directly they had unhanded him.
“It shall be done, gossips,” said he. “One of you lend me your cloak and we will spread it upon the ground and put the wealth upon it.”
The cloak was handed him, and he placed his wallet upon it as though it were very heavy indeed. Then he crouched down and fumbled with the leather fastenings. The outlaws also bent over and watched the proceeding closely, lest he should hide some of the money on his person. Presently he got the bag unfastened and plunged his hands into it. Forth from it he drew—not shining gold—but handfuls of fine meal which he dashed into the eager faces of the men around him. The wind aided him in this, and soon there arose a blinding cloud which filled the eyes, noses, and mouths of the three outlaws till they could scarcely see or breathe.
While they gasped and choked and sputtered and felt around wildly for that rogue of a beggar, he finished the job by picking up the cloak by its corners and shaking it vigorously in the faces of his suffering victims. Then he seized a stick which lay conveniently near, and began to rain blows down upon their heads, shoulders, and sides, all the time dancing first on one leg, then on the other, and crying,
“Villains! rascals! here are the hundred pounds I promised. How do you like them? I’ faith, you’ll get all that’s in the bag.”
Whack! whack! whack! whack! went the stick, emphasizing each word. Howls of pain might have gone up from the sufferers, but they had too much meal in their throats for that. Their one thought was to flee, and they stumbled off blindly down the road, the beggar following them a little way to give them a few parting love-taps.
“Fare ye well, my masters,” he said finally turning the other way; “and when next I come along the Barnesdale road, I hope you will be able to tell gold from meal dust!”
With this he departed, an easy victor, and again went whistling on his way, while the three outlaws rubbed the meal out of their eyes and began to catch their breath again.
As soon as they could look around them clearly, they beheld Robin Hood leaning against a tree trunk and surveying them smilingly. He had recovered his own spirits in full measure, on seeing their plight.
“God save ye, gossips!” he said, “ye must, in sooth, have gone the wrong way and been to the mill, from the looks of your clothes.”
Then when they looked shamefaced and answered never a word, he went on, in a soft voice,
“Did ye see aught of that bold beggar I sent you for, lately?”
“In sooth, master,” responded Much the miller’s son, “we heard more of him than we saw him. He filled us so full of meal that I shall sweat meal for a week. I was born in a mill, and had the smell of meal in my nostrils from my very birth, you might say, and yet never before did I see such a quantity of the stuff in so small space.”
And he sneezed violently.
“How was that?” asked Robin demurely.
“Why we laid hold of the beggar, as you did order, when he offered to pay for his release out of the bag he carried upon his back.”
“The same I coveted,” quoth Robin as if to himself.
“So we agreed to this,” went on Much, “and spread a cloak down, and he opened his bag and shook it thereon. Instantly a great cloud of meal filled the air, whereby we could neither see nor breathe; and in the midst of this cloud he vanished like a wizard.”
“But not before he left certain black and blue spots, to be remembered by, I see,” commented Robin.
“He was in league with the evil one,” said one of the widow’s sons, rubbing himself ruefully.
Then Robin laughed outright, and sat him down upon the gnarled root of a tree, to finish his merriment.
“Four bold outlaws, put to rout by a sorry beggar!” cried he. “I can laugh at ye, my men, for I am in the same boat with ye. But ‘twould never do to have this tale get abroad—even in the greenwood—how that we could not hold our own with the odds in our favor. So let us have this little laugh all to ourselves, and no one else need be the wiser!”
The others saw the point of this, and felt better directly, despite their itching desire to get hold of the beggar again. And none of the four ever told of the adventure.
But the beggar must have boasted of it at the next tavern; or a little bird perched among the branches of a neighboring oak must have sung of it. For it got abroad, as such tales will, and was put into a right droll ballad which, I warrant you, the four outlaws did not like to hear.
“I dwell by dale and down,” quoth he,“And Robin to take I’m sworn;And when I am called by my right name,I am Guy of good Gisborne.”
Some weeks passed after the rescue of the widow’s three sons; weeks spent by the Sheriff in the vain effort to entrap Robin Hood and his men. For Robin’s name and deeds had come to the King’s ears, in London town, and he sent word to the Sheriff to capture the outlaw, under penalty of losing his office. So the Sheriff tried every manner of means to surprise Robin Hood in the forest, but always without success. And he increased the price put upon Robin’s head, in the hope that the best men of the kingdom could be induced to try their skill at a capture.
Now there was a certain Guy of Gisborne, a hireling knight of the King’s army, who heard of Robin and of the price upon his head. Sir Guy was one of the best men at the bow and the sword in all the King’s service. But his heart was black and treacherous. He obtained the King’s leave forthwith to seek out the forester; and armed with the King’s scroll he came before the Sheriff at Nottingham.
“I have come to capture Robin Hood,” quoth he, “and mean to have him, dead or alive.”
“Right gladly would I aid you,” answered the Sheriff, “even if the King’s seal were not sufficient warrant. How many men need you?”
“None,” replied Sir Guy, “for I am convinced that forces of men can never come at the bold robber. I must needs go alone. But do you hold your men in readiness at Barnesdale, and when you hear a blast from this silver bugle, come quickly, for I shall have the sly Robin within my clutches.”
“Very good,” said the Sheriff. “Marry, it shall be done.” And he set about giving orders, while Guy of Gisborne sallied forth disguised.
Now as luck would have it, Will Scarlet and Little John had gone to Barnesdale that very day to buy suits of Lincoln green for certain of the yeomen who had come out at the knees and elbows. But not deeming it best for both of them to run their necks into a noose, together, they parted just outside the town, and Will went within the gates, while John tarried and watched at the brow of the hill on the outside.
Presently whom should he see but this same Will flying madly forth from the gates again, closely pursued by the Sheriff and threescore men. Over the moat Will sprang, through the bushes and briars, across the swamp, over stocks and stones, up the woodland roads in long leaps like a scared jack rabbit. And after him puffed the Sheriff and his men, their force scattering out in the flight as one man would tumble head-first into a ditch, another mire up in the swamp, another trip over a rolling stone, and still others sit down on the roadside and gasp for wind like fish out of water.
Little John could not forbear laughing heartily at the scene, though he knew that ‘twould be anything but a laughing matter if Will should stumble. And in truth one man was like to come upon him. It was William-a-Trent, the best runner among the Sheriff’s men. He had come within twenty feet of Scarlet and was leaping upon him with long bounds like a greyhound, when John rose up quickly, drew his bow and let fly one of his fatal shafts. It would have been better for William-a-Trent to have been abed with sorrow—says the ballad—than to be that day in the greenwood slade to meet with Little John’s arrow. He had run his last race.
The others halted a moment in consternation, when the shaft came hurtling down from the hill; but looking up they beheld none save Little John, and with a cry of fierce joy they turned upon him. Meanwhile Will Scarlet had reached the brow of the hill and sped down the other side.
“I’ll just send one more little message of regret to the Sheriff,” said Little John, “before I join Will.”
But this foolhardy deed was his undoing, for just as the arrow left the string, the good yew bow that had never before failed him snapped in twain.
“Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, that ere thou grew on a tree!” cursed Little John, and planted his feet resolutely in the earth resolved to sell the path dearly; for the soldiers were now so close upon him that he dared not turn.
And a right good account of himself he gave that day, dealing with each man as he came up according to his merit. And so winded were the pursuers when they reached the top of the hill that he laid out the first ten of them right and left with huge blows of his brawny fist.
But if five men can do more than three, a score can overcome one.
A body of archers stood off at a prudent distance and covered Little John with their arrows.
“Now yield you!” panted the Sheriff. “Yield you, Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, or whatever else name you carry this day! Yield you, or some few of these shafts will reach your heart!”
“Marry, my heart has been touched by your words ere now,” said Little John; “and I yield me.”
So the Sheriff’s men laid hold of Little John and bound him fast with many cords, so fearful were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he should avenge his stolen plate, and determined to make a good day’s work of it.
“By the Saints!” he said, “you shall be drawn by dale and down, and hanged high on a hill in Barnesdale this very day.”
“Hang and be hanged!” retorted the prisoner. “You may fail of your purpose if it be Heaven’s will.”
Back down the hill and across the moor went the company speedily, for they feared a rescue. And as they went the stragglers joined them. Here a man got up feebly out of the ditch and rubbed his pate and fell in like a chicken with the pip going for its dinner. Yonder came hobbling a man with a lame ankle, or another with his shins torn by the briars or another with his jacket all muddy from the marsh. So in truth it was a tatterdemalion crew that limped and straggled and wandered back into Barnesdale that day. Yet all were merry, for the Sheriff had promised them flagons of wine, and moreover they were to hang speedily the boldest outlaw in England, next to Robin Hood himself.
The gallows was quickly put up and a new rope provided.
“Now up with you!” commanded the Sheriff, “and let us see if your greenwood tricks will avail you to-morrow.”
“I would that I had bold Robin’s horn,” muttered poor John; “methinks ‘tis all up with me even as the Sheriff hath spoken.”
In good sooth the time was dire and pressing. The rope was placed around the prisoner’s neck and the men prepared to haul away.
“Are you ready?” called the Sheriff. “One—two—”
But before the “three” left his lips the faint sound of a silver bugle came floating over the hill.
“By my troth, that is Sir Guy of Gisborne’s horn,” quoth the Sheriff; “and he bade me not to delay answering its summons. He has caught Robin Hood.”
“Pardon, Excellency,” said one of his men; “but if he has caught Robin Hood, this is a merry day indeed. And let us save this fellow and build another gallows and hang them both together.”
“That’s a brave thought!” said the Sheriff slapping his knee. “Take the rascal down and bind him fast to the gallows-tree against our return.”
So Little John was made fast to the gallows-tree, while the Sheriff and all his men who could march or hobble went out to get Robin Hood and bring him in for the double hanging.
Let us leave talking of Little John and the Sheriff, and see what has become of Robin Hood.
In the first place, he and Little John had come near having a quarrel that self-same morning because both had seen a curious looking yeoman, and each wanted to challenge him singly. But Robin would not give way to his lieutenant, and that is why John, in a huff, had gone with Will to Barnesdale.
Meanwhile Robin approached the curious looking stranger. He seemed to be a three-legged creature at first sight, but on coming nearer you would have seen that ‘twas really naught but a poorly clad man, who for a freak had covered up his rags with a capul-hide, nothing more nor less than the sun-dried skin of a horse, complete with head, tail, and mane. The skin of the head made a helmet; while the tail gave the curious three-legged appearance.
“Good-morrow, good fellow,” said Robin cheerily, “methinks by the bow you bear in your hand that you should be a good archer.”
“Indifferent good,” said the other returning his greeting; “but ‘tis not of archery that I am thinking this morning, for I have lost my way and would fain find it again.”
“By my faith, I could have believed ‘twas your wits you’d lost!” thought Robin smiling. Then aloud: “I’ll lead you through the wood,” quoth he, “an you will tell me your business. For belike your speech is much gentler than your attire.”
“Who are you to ask me my business?” asked the other roughly.
“I am one of the King’s Rangers,” replied Robin, “set here to guard his deer against curious looking strollers.”
“Curious looking I may be,” returned the other, “but no stroller. Hark ye, since you are a Ranger, I must e’en demand your service. I am on the King’s business and seek an outlaw. Men call him Robin Hood. Are you one of his men?”—eyeing him keenly.
“Nay, God forbid!” said Robin; “but what want you with him?”
“That is another tale. But I’d rather meet with that proud outlaw than forty good pounds of the King’s money.”
Robin now saw how the land lay.
“Come with me, good yeoman,” said he, “and belike, a little later in the day, I can show you Robin’s haunts when he is at home. Meanwhile let us have some pastime under the greenwood tree. Let us first try the mastery at shooting arrows.”
The other agreed, and they cut down two willow wands of a summer’s growth that grew beneath a brier, and set them up at a distance of threescore yards.
“Lead on, good fellow,” quoth Robin. “The first shot to you.”
“Nay, by my faith,” said the other, “I will follow your lead.”
So Robin stepped forth and bent his bow carelessly and sent his shaft whizzing toward the wand, missing it by a scant inch. He of the horse-hide followed with more care yet was a good three-fingers’ breadth away. On the second round, the stranger led off and landed cleverly within the small garland at the top of the wand; but Robin shot far better and clave the wand itself, clean at the middle.
“A blessing on your heart!” shouted Capul-Hide; “never saw I such shooting as that! Belike you are better than Robin Hood himself. But you have not yet told me your name.”
“Nay, by my faith,” quoth Robin, “I must keep it secret till you have told me your own.”
“I do not disdain to tell it,” said the other. “I dwell by dale and down, and to take bold Robin am I sworn. This would I tell him to his face, were he not so great a craven. When I am called by my right name, I am Guy of Gisborne.”
This he said with a great show of pride, and he strutted back and forth, forgetful that he had just been beaten at archery.
Robin eyed him quietly. “Methinks I have heard of you elsewhere. Do you not bring men to the gallows for a living?”
“Aye, but only outlaws such as Robin Hood.”
“But pray what harm has Robin Hood done you?”
“He is a highway robber,” said Sir Guy, evading the question.
“Has he ever taken from the rich that he did not give again to the poor? Does he not protect the women and children and side with weak and helpless? Is not his greatest crime the shooting of a few King’s deer?”
“Have done with your sophistry,” said Sir Guy impatiently. “I am more than ever of opinion that you are one of Robin’s men yourself.”
“I have told you I am not,” quoth Robin briefly. “But if I am to help you catch him, what is your plan?”
“Do you see this silver bugle?” said the other. “A long blast upon it will summon the Sheriff and all his men, when once I have Robin within my grasp. And if you show him to me, I’ll give you the half of my forty pounds reward.”
“I would not help hang a man for ten times forty pounds,” said the outlaw. “Yet will I point out Robin to you for the reward I find at my sword’s point. I myself am Robin Hood of Sherwood and Barnesdale.”
“Then have at you!” cried the other springing swiftly into action. His sword leaped forth from beneath the horse’s hide with the speed born of long practice, and before Robin had come to guard, the other had smitten at him full and foul. Robin eluded the lunge and drew his own weapon.
“A scurvy trick!” quoth he grimly, “to strike at a man unprepared.”
Then neither spoke more, but fell sternly to work—lunge and thrust and ward and parry—for two full hours the weapons smote together sullenly, and neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy would yield an inch. I promise you that if you could have looked forth on the fight from behind the trunk of some friendly tree, you would have seen deadly sport such as few men beheld in Sherwood Forest. For the fighters glared sullenly at each other, the fires of hatred burning in their eyes. One was fighting for his life; the other for a reward and the King’s favor.
Still circled the bright blades swiftly in the air—now gleaming in the peaceful sunlight—again hissing like maddened serpents. Neither had yet touched the other, until Robin, in an unlucky moment, stumbled over the projecting root of a tree; when Sir Guy, instead of giving him the chance to recover himself, as any courteous knight would have done, struck quickly at the falling man and wounded him in the left side.
“Ah, dear Lady in Heaven,” gasped Robin uttering his favorite prayer, “shield me now! ‘Twas never a man’s destiny to die before his day.”
And adroitly he sprang up again, and came straight at the other with an awkward but unexpected stroke. The knight had raised his weapon high to give a final blow, when Robin reached beneath and across his guard. One swift lunge, and Sir Guy of Gisborne staggered backward with a deep groan, Robin’s sword through his throat.
Robin looked at the slain man regretfully.
“You did bring it upon yourself,” said he; “and traitor and hireling though you were, I would not willingly have killed you.”
He looked to his own wound. It was not serious, and he soon staunched the blood and bound up the cut. Then he dragged the dead body into the bushes, and took off the horse’s hide and put it upon himself. He placed his own cloak upon Sir Guy, and marked his face so none might tell who had been slain. Robin’s own figure and face were not unlike the other’s.
Pulling the capul-hide well over himself, so that the helmet hid most of his face, Robin seized the silver bugle and blew a long blast. It was the blast that saved the life of Little John, over in Barnesdale, for you and I have already seen how it caused the fond Sheriff to prick up his ears and stay the hanging, and go scurrying up over the hill and into the wood with his men in search of another victim.
In five-and-twenty minutes up came running a score of the Sheriff’s best archers.
“Did you signal us, lording?” they asked, approaching Robin.
“Aye,” said he, going to meet the puffing Sheriff.
“What news, what news, Sir Guy?” said that officer.
“Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne had a fight; and he that wears Robin’s cloak lies under the covert yonder.”
“The best news I have heard in all my life!” exclaimed the Sheriff rubbing his hands. “I would that we could have saved him for the hanging—though I cannot now complain.”
“The hanging?” repeated Robin.
“Yes. This is our lucky day on the calendar. After you left me we narrowly missed running one of the fellows—I believe ‘twas Will Scarlet—to earth; and another who came to his relief we were just about to hang, when your horn blew.”
“Who was the other?” asked the disguised outlaw.
“Whom do you suppose?” laughed the Sheriff. “The best man in the greenwood, next to Robin Hood himself—Little John, Reynold Greenleaf!” For the Sheriff could not forget the name Little John had borne under his own roof at Nottingham.
“Little John!” thought Robin with a start. Verily that was a lucky blast of the bugle! “But I see you have not escaped without a scratch,” continued the Sheriff, becoming talkative through pure glee. “Here, one of you men! Give Sir Guy of Gisborne your horse; while others of you bury that dog of an outlaw where he lies. And let us hasten back to Barnesdale and finish hanging the other.”
So they put spurs to their horses, and as they rode Robin forced himself to talk merrily, while all the time he was planning the best way to succor Little John.
“A boon, Sheriff,” he said as they reached the gates of the town.
“What is it, worthy sir? You have but to speak.”
“I do not want any of your gold, for I have had a brave fight. But now that I have slain the master, let me put an end to the man; so it shall be said that Guy of Gisborne despatched the two greatest outlaws of England in one day.”
“Have it as you will,” said the Sheriff, “but you should have asked a knight’s fee and double your reward, and it would have been yours. It isn’t every man that can take Robin Hood.” “No, Excellency,” answered Robin. “I say it without boasting, that no man took Robin Hood yesterday and none shall take him to-morrow.”
Then he approached Little John, who was still tied to the gallows-tree; and he said to the Sheriff’s men, “Now stand you back here till I see if the prisoner has been shrived.” And he stooped swiftly, and cut Little John’s bonds, and thrust into his hands Sir Guy’s bow and arrows, which he had been careful to take.
“‘Tis I, Robin!” he whispered. But in truth, Little John knew it already, and had decided there was to be no hanging that day.
Then Robin blew three loud blasts upon his own horn, and drew forth his own bow; and before the astonished Sheriff and his men could come to arms the arrows were whistling in their midst in no uncertain fashion.
And look! Through the gates and over the walls came pouring another flight of arrows! Will Scarlet and Will Stutely had watched and planned a rescue ever since the Sheriff and Robin rode back down the hill. Now in good time they came; and the Sheriff’s demoralized force turned tail and ran, while Robin and Little John stood under the harmless gallows, and sped swift arrows after them, and laughed to see them go.
Then they joined their comrades and hasted back to the good greenwood, and there rested. They had got enough sport for one day.