And while the tinker fell asleep,Robin made haste away,And left the tinker in the lurch,For the great shot to pay.
King Henry was as good as his word. Robin Hood and his party were suffered to depart from London—the parting bringing keen sorrow to Marian—and for forty days no hand was raised against them. But at the end of that time, the royal word was sent to the worthy Sheriff at Nottingham that he must lay hold upon the outlaws without further delay, as he valued his office.
Indeed, the exploits of Robin and his band, ending with the great tourney in Finsbury Field, had made a mighty stir through all England, and many there were to laugh boldly at the Nottingham official for his failures to capture the outlaws.
The Sheriff thereupon planned three new expeditions into the greenwood, and was even brave enough to lead them, since he had fifteen-score men at his beck and call each time. But never the shadow of an outlaw did he see, for Robin’s men lay close, and the Sheriff’s men knew not how to come at their chief hiding-place in the cove before the cavern.
Now the Sheriff’s daughter had hated Robin Hood bitterly in her heart ever since the day he refused to bestow upon her the golden arrow, and shamed her before all the company. His tricks, also, upon her father were not calculated to lessen her hatred, and so she sought about for means to aid the Sheriff in catching the enemy.
“There is no need to go against this man with force of arms,” she said. “We must meet his tricks with other tricks of our own.”
“Would that we could!” groaned the Sheriff. “The fellow is becoming a nightmare unto me.”
“Let me plan a while,” she replied. “Belike I can cook up some scheme for his undoing.”
“Agreed,” said the Sheriff, “and if anything comes of your planning, I will e’en give you an hundred silver pennies for a new gown, and a double reward to the man who catches the outlaws.”
Now upon that same day, while the Sheriff’s daughter was racking her brains for a scheme, there came to the Mansion House a strolling tinker named Middle, a great gossip and braggart. And as he pounded away upon some pots and pans in the scullery, he talked loudly about whathewould do, if he once came within reach of that rascal Robin Hood.
“It might be that this simple fellow could do something through his very simplicity,” mused the Sheriff’s daughter, overhearing his prattle. “Odds bodikins! ‘twill do no harm to try his service, while I bethink myself of some better plan.”
And she called him to her, and looked him over—a big brawny fellow enough, with an honest look about the eye, and a countenance so open that when he smiled his mouth seemed the only country on the map.
“I am minded to try your skill at outlaw catching,” she said, “and will add goodly measure to the stated reward if you succeed. Do you wish to make good your boasted prowess?”
The tinker grinned broadly.
“Yes, your ladyship,” he said.
“Then here is a warrant made out this morning by the Sheriff himself. See that you keep it safely and use it to good advantage.”
And she dismissed him.
Middle departed from the house mightily pleased with himself, and proud of his commission. He swung his crab-tree-staff recklessly in his glee—so recklessly that he imperiled the shins of more than one angry passer-by—and vowed he’d crack the ribs of Robin Hood with it, though he was surrounded by every outlaw in the whole greenwood.
Spurred on by the thoughts of his own coming bravery, he left the town and proceeded toward Barnesdale. The day was hot and dusty, and at noontime he paused at a wayside inn to refresh himself. He began by eating and drinking and dozing, in turn, then sought to do all at once.
Mine host of the “Seven Does” stood by, discussing the eternal Robin with a drover.
“Folk do say that my lord Sheriff has sent into Lincoln for more men-at-arms and horses, and that when he has these behind him, he’ll soon rid the forest of these fellows.”
“Of whom speak you?” asked the tinker sitting up.
“Of Robin Hood and his men,” said the host; “but go to sleep again. You will never get the reward!”
“And why not?” asked the tinker, rising with great show of dignity.
“Where our Sheriff has failed, and the stout Guy of Gisborne, and many more beside, it behoves not a mere tinker to succeed.”
The tinker laid a heavy hand upon the innkeeper’s fat shoulder, and tried to look impressive.
“There is your reckoning, host, upon the table. I must e’en go upon my way, because I have more important business than to stand here gossiping with you. But be not surprised, if, the next time you see me, I shall have with me no less person than Robin Hood himself!”
And he strode loftily out the door and walked up the hot white road toward Barnesdale.
He had not gone above a quarter of a mile when he met a young man with curling brown hair and merry eyes. The young man carried his light cloak over his arm, because of the heat, and was unarmed save for a light sword at his side. The newcomer eyed the perspiring tinker in a friendly way, and seeing he was a stout fellow accosted him.
“Good-day to you!” said he.
“Good-day to you!” said the tinker; “and a morrow less heating.”
“Aye,” laughed the other. “Whence come you? And know you the news?”
“What is the news?” said the gossipy tinker, pricking up his ear; “I am a tinker by trade, Middle by name, and come from over against Banbury.”
“Why as for the news,” laughed the stranger, “I hear that two tinkers were set i’ the stocks for drinking too much ale and beer.”
“If that be all your news,” retorted Middle, “I can beat you clear to the end of the lane.”
“What news have you? Seeing that you go from town to town, I ween you can outdo a poor country yokel at tidings.”
“All I have to tell,” said the other, “is that I am especially commissioned”—he felt mightily proud of these big words—“especially commissioned to seek a bold outlaw which they call Robin Hood.”
“So?” said the other arching his brows. “How ‘especially commissioned’?”
“I have a warrant from the Sheriff, sealed with the King’s own seal, to take him where I can; and if you can tell me where he is, I will e’en make a man of you.”
“Let me see the warrant,” said the other, “to satisfy myself if it be right; and I will do the best I can to bring him to you.”
“That will I not,” replied the tinker; “I will trust none with it. And if you’ll not help me to come at him I must forsooth catch him by myself.”
And he made his crab-tree-staff whistle shrill circles in the air.
The other smiled at the tinker’s simplicity, and said:
“The middle of the road on a hot July day is not a good place to talk things over. Now if you’re the man for me and I’m the man for you, let’s go back to the inn, just beyond the bend of road, and quench our thirst and cool our heads for thinking.”
“Marry come up!” quoth the tinker. “That will I! For though I’ve just come from there, my thirst rises mightily at the sound of your voice.”
So back he turned with the stranger and proceeded to the “Seven Does.”
The landlord arched his eyebrows silently when he saw the two come in, but served them willingly.
The tinker asked for wine, and Robin for ale. The wine was not the most cooling drink in the cellar, nor the clearest headed. Nathless, the tinker asked for it, since it was expensive and the other man had invited him to drink. They lingered long over their cups, Master Middle emptying one after another while the stranger expounded at great length on the best plans for coming at and capturing Robin Hood.
In the end the tinker fell sound asleep while in the act of trying to get a tankard to his lips. Then the stranger deftly opened the snoring man’s pouch, took out the warrant, read it, and put it in his own wallet. Calling mine host to him, he winked at him with a half smile and told him that the tinker would pay the whole score when he awoke. Thus was Master Middle left in the lurch “for the great shot to pay.”
Nathless, the stranger seemed in no great hurry. He had the whim to stay awhile and see what the droll tinker might do when he awoke. So he hid behind a window shutter, on the outside, and awaited events.
Presently the tinker came to himself with a prodigious yawn, and reached at once for another drink.
“What were you saying, friend, about the best plan (ya-a-a-ah!) for catching this fellow?—Hello!—where’s the man gone?”
He had looked around and saw no one with him at the table.
“Host! host!” he shouted, “where is that fellow who was to pay my reckoning?”
“I know not,” answered the landlord sharply. “Mayhap he left the money in your purse.”
“No he didn’t!” roared Middle, looking therein. “Help! Help! I’ve been robbed! Look you, host, you are liable to arrest for high treason! I am here upon the King’s business, as I told you earlier in the day. And yet while I did rest under your roof, thinking you were an honest man (hic!) and one loving of the King, my pouch has been opened and many matters of state taken from it.”
“Cease your bellowing!” said the landlord. “What did you lose?”
“Oh, many weighty matters, I do assure you. I had with me, item, a warrant, granted under the hand of my lord High Sheriff of Nottingham, and sealed with the Kings’s own seal, for the capture (hic!)—and arrest—and overcoming of a notorious rascal, one Robin Hood of Barnesdale. Item, one crust of bread. Item, one lump (hic!) of solder. Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single keys (hic!), useful withal. Item, twelve silver pennies, the which I earned this week (hic!) in fair labor. Item—”
“Have done with your items!” said the host. “And I marvel greatly to hear you speak in such fashion of your friend, Robin Hood of Barnesdale. For was he not with you in all good-fellowship?”
“Wh-a-at?ThatRobin Hood?” gasped Middle with staring eyes. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Faith,Isaw no need o’ telling you! Did you not tell me the first time you were here to-day, that I need not be surprised if you came back with no less person than Robin Hood himself?”
“Jesu give me pardon!” moaned the tinker. “I see it all now. He got me to drinking, and then took my warrant, and my pennies, and my crust—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted the host. “I know all about that. But pay me the score for both of you.”
“But I have no money, gossip. Let me go after that vile bag-o’-bones, and I’ll soon get it out of him.”
“Not so,” replied the other. “If I waited for you to collect from Robin Hood, I would soon close up shop.”
“What is the account?” asked Middle.
“Ten shillings, just.”
“Then take here my working-bag and my good hammer too; and if I light upon that knave I will soon come back after them.”
“Give me your leathern coat as well,” said mine host; “the hammer and bag of tools are as naught to me.”
“Gramercy!” cried Master Middle, losing what was left of his temper. “It seems that I have escaped one thief only to fall into the hands of another. If you will but walk with me out into the middle of the road, I’ll give you such a crack as shall drive some honesty into your thick skull.”
“You are wasting your breath and my time,” retorted the landlord.
“Give me your things, and get you gone after your man, speedily.”
Middle thought this to be good advice; so he strode forth from the “Seven Does” in a black mood.
Ere he had gone half a mile, he saw Robin Hood walking demurely among the trees a little in front of him.
“Ho there, you villain!” roared the tinker. “Stay your steps! I am desperately in need of you this day!”
Robin turned about with a surprised face.
“What knave is this?” he asked gently, “who comes shouting after me?”
“No knave! no knave at all!” panted the other, rushing up. “But an honest—man—who would have—that warrant—and the money for drink!”
“Why, as I live, it is our honest tinker who was seeking Robin Hood! Did you find him, gossip?”
“Marry, that did I! and I’m now going to pay him my respects!”
And he plunged at him, making a sweeping stroke with his crab-tree-cudgel.
Robin tried to draw his sword, but could not do it for a moment through dodging the other’s furious blows. When he did get it in hand, the tinker had reached him thrice with resounding thwacks. Then the tables were turned, for he dashed in right manfully with his shining blade and made the tinker give back again.
The greenwood rang with the noise of the fray. ‘Twas steel against wood, and they made a terrible clattering when they came together. Robin thought at first that he could hack the cudgel to pieces, for his blade was one of Toledo—finely tempered steel which the Queen had given him. But the crab-tree-staff had been fired and hardened and seasoned by the tinker’s arts until it was like a bar of iron—no pleasant neighbor for one’s ribs.
Robin presently found this out to his sorrow. The long reach and long stick got to him when ‘twas impossible for him to touch his antagonist. So his sides began to ache sorely.
“Hold your hand, tinker,” he said at length. “I cry a boon of you.”
“Before I do it,” said the tinker, “I’d hang you on this tree.”
But even as he spoke, Robin found the moment’s grace for which he longed; and immediately grasped his horn and blew the three well-known blasts of the greenwood.
“A murrain seize you!” roared the tinker commencing afresh. “Up to your old tricks again, are you? Well, I’ll have time to finish my job, if I hurry.”
But Robin was quite able to hold his own at a pinch, and they had not exchanged many lunges and passes when up came Little John and Will Scarlet and a score of yeomen at their heels. Middle was seized without ceremony, while Robin sat himself down to breathe. “What is the matter?” quoth Little John, “that you should sit so weariedly upon the highway side?”
“Faith, that rascally tinker yonder has paid his score well upon my hide,” answered Robin ruefully.
“That tinker, then,” said Little John, “must be itching for more work. Fain would I try if he can do as much for me.”
“Or me,” said Will Scarlet, who like Little John was always willing to swing a cudgel.
“Nay,” laughed Robin. “Belike I could have done better, an he had given me time to pull a young tree up by the roots. But I hated to spoil the Queen’s blade upon his tough stick or no less tough hide. He had a warrant for my arrest which I stole from him.”
“Also, item, twelve silver pennies,” interposed the tinker, unsubdued; “item, one crust of bread, ‘gainst my supper. Item, one lump of solder. Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single keys. Item—”
“Yes, I know,” quoth the merry Robin; “I stood outside the landlord’s window and heard you count over your losses. Here they are again; and the silver pennies are turned by magic into gold. Here also, if you will, is my hand.”
“I take it heartily, with the pence!” cried Middle. “By my leathern coat and tools, which I shall presently have out of that sly host, I swear that I never yet met a man I liked as well as you! An you and your men here will take me, I swear I’ll serve you honestly. Do you want a tinker? Nay, but verily you must! Who else can mend and grind your swords and patch your pannikins—and fight, too, when occasion serve? Mend your pots! mend your pa-a-ans!”
And he ended his speech with the sonorous cry of his craft.
By this time the whole band was laughing uproariously at the tinker’s talk.
“What say you, fellows?” asked Robin. “Would not this tinker be a good recruit?”
“That he would!” answered Will Scarlet, clapping the new man on the back. “He will keep Friar Tuck and Much the miller’s son from having the blues.”
So amid great merriment and right good fellowship the outlaws shook Middle by the hand, and he took oath of fealty, and thought no more of the Sheriff’s daughter.
In Nottingham there lived a jolly tanner,With a hey down, down, a down down!His name was Arthur-a-Bland,There was ne’er a squire in NottinghamshireDare bid bold Arthur stand.And as he went forth, in a summer’s morning,With a hey down, down, a down down!To the forest of merrie Sherwood,To view the red deer, that range here and there,There met he with bold Robin Hood.
The Sheriff’s daughter bided for several days in the faint hope that she might hear tidings of the prattling tinker. But never a word heard she, and she was forced to the conclusion that her messenger had not so much as laid eyes upon the outlaw. Little recked she that he was, even then, grinding sword-points and sharpening arrows out in the good greenwood, while whistling blithely or chatting merrily with the good Friar Tuck.
Then she bethought herself of another good man, one Arthur-a-Bland, a tanner who dwelt in Nottingham town and was far-famed in the tourneys round about. He had done some pretty tricks at archery, but was strongest at wrestling and the quarter-staff. For three years he had cast all comers to the earth in wrestling until the famous Eric o’ Lincoln broke a rib for him in a mighty tussle. Howsoever, at quarter-staff he had never yet met his match; so that there was never a squire in Nottinghamshire dare bid bold Arthur stand.
With a long pike-staff on his shoulder,So well he could clear his wayThat by two and three he made men fleeAnd none of them could stay.
Thus at least runs the old song which tells of his might.
“This is just the man for me!” thought the Sheriff’s daughter to herself; and she forthwith summoned him to the Mansion House and commissioned him to seek out Robin Hood.
The warrant was quite to Arthur’s liking, for he was happiest when out in the forest taking a sly peep at the King’s deer; and now he reckoned that he could look at them boldly, instead of by the rays of the moon. He could say to any King’s Forester who made bold to stop him: “I am here on the King’s business!”
“Gramercy! No more oak-bark and ditch-water and the smell of half-tanned hides to-day!” quoth he, gaily. “I shall e’en see what the free air of heaven tastes like, when it sweeps through the open wood.”
So the tanner departed joyfully upon his errand, but much more interested in the dun deer of the forest than in any two-legged rovers therein. This interest had, in fact, caused the Foresters to keep a shrewd eye upon him in the past, for his tannery was apt to have plenty of meat in it that was more like venison than the law allowed. As for the outlaws, Arthur bore them no ill-will; indeed he had felt a secret envy in his heart at their free life; but he was not afraid to meet any two men who might come against him. Nathless, the Sheriff’s daughter did not choose a very good messenger, as you shall presently see.
Away sped the tanner, a piece of bread and some wine in his wallet, a good longbow and arrows slung across his shoulder, his stout quarter-staff in his hand, and on his head a cap of trebled raw-hide so tough that it would turn the edge of a broadsword. He lost no time in getting out of the hot sun and into the welcome shade of the forest, where he stalked cautiously about seeking some sign of the dun deer.
Now it so chanced that upon that very morning Robin Hood had sent Little John to a neighboring village to buy some cloth of Lincoln green for new suits for all the band. Some of the money recently won of the King was being spent in this fashion, ‘gainst the approach of winter. Will Scarlet had been sent on a similar errand to Barnesdale some time before, if you remember, only to be chased up the hill without his purchase. So to-day Little John was chosen, and for sweet company’s sake Robin went with him a part of the way until they came to the “Seven Does,” the inn where Robin had recently played his prank upon Middle the tinker. Here they drank a glass of ale to refresh themselves withal, and for good luck; and Robin tarried a bit while Little John went on his errand.
Presently Robin entered the edge of the wood, when whom should he see but Arthur-a-Bland, busily creeping after a graceful deer that browsed alone down the glade. “Now by Saint George and the Dragon!” quoth Robin to himself. “I much fear that yon same fellow is a rascally poacher come after our own and the King’s meat!”
For you must know, by a curious process of reasoning, Robin and his men had hunted in the royal preserves so long that they had come to consider themselves joint owners to every animal which roamed therein.
“Nay!” he added, “this must be looked into! That cow-skin cap in sooth must hide a scurvy varlet!”
And forthwith he crept behind a tree, and thence to another, stalking our friend Arthur as busily as Arthur was stalking the deer.
This went on for quite a space, until the tanner began to come upon the deer and to draw his bow in order to tickle the victim’s ribs with a cloth-yard shaft. But just at this moment Robin unluckily trod upon a twig which snapped and caused the tanner to turn suddenly.
Robin saw that he was discovered, so he determined to put a bold face on the matter, and went forward with some smart show of authority.
“Hold!” he cried: “stay your hand! Why, who are you, bold fellow, to range so boldly here? In sooth, to be brief, ye look like a thief that has come to steal the King’s deer.”
“Marry, it is scant concern of yours, what I look like!” retorted Arthur-a-Bland. “Who are you, who speak so bravely?”
“You shall soon find out who I am!” quoth Robin, determining to find some sport in the matter. “I am a keeper of this forest. The King knows that I am looking after his deer for him; and therefore we must stay you.”
“Have you any assistants, friend?” asked the tanner calmly. “For it is not one man alone who can stop me.”
“Nay truly, gossip,” replied Robin. “I have a good yew bow, also a right sharp blade at my side. Nathless I need no better assistant than a good oak-graff like unto yours. Give me a baker’s dozen of minutes with it and it shall pleasure me to crack that pate of yours for your sauciness!”
“Softly, my man! Fair and softly! Big words never killed so much as a mouse—least of all yon deer which has got away while you were filling all the woods with your noisy breath. So choose your own playthings. For your sword and your bow I care not a straw; nor for all your arrows to boot. If I get but a knock at you, ‘twill be as much as you’ll need.”
“Now by our Lady! Will you listen to the braggart?” cried Robin in a fine rage. “Marry, but I’ll teach ye to be more mannerly!”
So saying he unbuckled his belt; and, flinging his bow upon the ground he seized hold of a young sapling that was growing near by. His hunting knife soon had it severed and lopped into shape.
“Now come, fellow!” said Arthur-a-Bland, seeing that he was ready. “And if I do not tan your hide for you in better shape than ever calf-skin was turned into top-boots, may a murrain seize me!”
“Stay,” said Robin, “methinks my cudgel is half a foot longer than yours. I would have them of even length before you begin your tanning.”
“I pass not for length,” bold Arthur replied; “my staff is long enough, as you will shortly find out. Eight foot and a half, and ‘twill knock down a calf”—here he made it whistle in the air—“and I hope it will knock down you.”
Forthwith the two men spat on their hands, laid firm hold upon their cudgels and began slowly circling round each other, looking for an opening.
Now it so chanced that Little John had fared expeditiously with his errand. He had met the merchant, from whom he was wont to buy Lincoln green, coming along the road; and had made known his wants in few words. The merchant readily undertook to deliver the suits by a certain day in the following month. So Little John, glad to get back to the cool shelter of the greenwood, hasted along the road lately taken by Robin.
Presently he heard the sound of angry voices, one of which he recognized as his captain’s.
“Now, Heaven forfend,” quoth he, “that Robin Hood has fallen into the clutches of a King’s man! I must take a peep at this fray.”
So he cautiously made his way from tree to tree, as Robin had done, till he came to the little open space where Robin and Arthur were circling about each other with angry looks, like two dogs at bay.
“Ha! this looks interesting!” muttered Little John to himself, for he loved a good quarter-staff bout above anything else in the world, and was the best man at it in all the greenwood. And he crawled quietly underneath a friendly bush—much as he had done when Robin undertook to teach Will Scarlet a lesson—and chuckled softly to himself and slapped his thigh and prepared to watch the fight at his ease.
Indeed it was both exciting and laughable. You would have chuckled one moment and caught your breath the next, to see those two stout fellows swinging their sticks—each half as long again as the men were, and thick as their arm—and edging along sidewise, neither wishing to strike the first blow.
At last Robin could no longer forbear, and his good right arm swung round like a flash. Ping! went the stick on the back of the other’s head, raising such a welt that the blood came. But the tanner did not seem to mind it at all, for bing! went his own staff in return, giving Robin as good as he had sent. Then the battle was on, and furiously it waged. Fast fell the blows, but few save the first ones landed, being met in mid-air by a counter-blow till the thwacking sticks sounded like the steady roll of a kettle-drum and the oak—bark flew as fine as it had ever done in Arthur-a-Bland’s tannery.
Round and round they fought, digging their heels into the ground to keep from slipping, so that you would have vowed there had been a yoke of oxen ploughing a potato-patch. Round and round, up and down, in and out, their arms working like threshing-machines, went the yeoman and the tanner, for a full hour, each becoming more astonished every minute that the other was such a good fellow. While Little John from underneath his bushy covert had much ado to keep from roaring aloud in pure joy.
Finally Robin saw his chance and brought a full arm blow straight down upon the other’s head with a force that would have felled a bullock. But Arthur’s trebled cow-skin cap here stood him in good stead: the blow glanced off without doing more than stunning him. Nathless, he reeled and had much ado to keep from falling; seeing which Robin stayed his hand—to his own sorrow, for the tanner recovered his wits in a marvelous quick space and sent back a sidelong blow which fairly lifted Robin off his feet and sent him tumbling on to the grass.
“Hold your hand! hold your hand!” roared Robin with what little breath he had left. “Hold, I say, and I will give you the freedom of the greenwood.”
“Why, God-a-mercy,” said Arthur; “I may thank my staff for that—notyou.”
“Well, well, gossip’ let be as it may. But prithee tell me your name and trade. I like to know fellows who can hit a blow like that same last.”
“I am a tanner,” replied Arthur-a-Bland. “In Nottingham long have I wrought. And if you’ll come to me I swear I’ll tan your hides for naught.”
“Odds bodikins!” quoth Robin ruefully. “Mine own hide is tanned enough for the present. Howsoever, there be others in this wood I would fain see you tackle. Harkee, if you will leave your tan-pots and come with me, as sure as my name is Robin Hood, you shan’t want gold or fee.”
“By the breath o’ my body!” said Arthur, “that will I do!” and he gripped him gladly by the hand. “But I am minded that I clean forgot the errand that brought me to Sherwood. I was commissioned by some, under the Sheriff’s roof, to capture you.”
“So was a certain tinker, now in our service,” said Robin smilingly.
“Verily ‘tis a new way to recruit forces!” said the tanner laughing loudly. “But tell me, good Robin Hood, where is Little John? I fain would see him, for he is a kinsman on my mother’s side.”
“Here am I, good Arthur-a-Bland!” said a voice; and Little John literally rolled out from under the bush to the sward. His eyes were full of tears from much laughter which had well-nigh left him powerless to get on his feet.
As soon as the astonished tanner saw who it was, he gave Little John a mighty hug around the neck, and lifted him up on his feet, and the two pounded each other on the back soundly, so glad were they to meet again.
“O, man, man!” said Little John as soon as he had got his breath. “Never saw I so fine a sight in all my born days. You did knock him over like as he were a ninepin!”
“And you do joy to see me thwacked about on the ribs?” asked Robin with some choler.
“Nay, not that, master!” said Little John. “But ‘tis the second time I have had special tickets to a show from beneath the bushes, and I cannot forbear my delight. Howsoever, take no shame unto yourself, for this same Arthur-a-Bland is the best man at the quarter-staff in all Nottinghamshire. It commonly takes two or three men to hold him.”
“Unless it be Eric o’ Lincoln,” said Arthur modestly; “and I well know how you paid him out at the Fair.”
“Say no more!” said Robin springing to his feet; “for well I know that I have done good business this day, and a few bruises are easy payment for the stout cudgel I am getting into the band. Your hand again, good Arthur-a-Bland! Come! let us after the deer of which I spoiled your stalking.”
“Righty gladly!” quoth Arthur. “Come, Cousin Little John! Away with vats and tan-bark and vile-smelling cowhides! I’ll follow you two in the sweet open air to the very ends of earth!”
Then answered him the gentle knightWith words both fair and thee:“God save thee, my good Robin,And all thy company!”
Now you must know that some months passed by. The winter dragged its weary length through Sherwood Forest, and Robin Hood and his merry men found what cheer they could in the big crackling fires before their woodland cave. Friar Tuck had built him a little hermitage not far away, where he lived comfortably with his numerous dogs.
The winter, I say, reached an end at last, and the blessed spring came and went. Another summer passed on apace, and still neither King nor Sheriff nor Bishop could catch the outlaws, who, meanwhile, thrived and prospered mightily in their outlawry. The band had been increased from time to time by picked men such as Arthur-a-Bland and David of Doncaster—he who was the jolliest cobbler for miles around—until it now numbered a full sevenscore of men; seven companies each with its stout lieutenant serving under Robin Hood. And still they relieved the purses of the rich, and aided the poor, and feasted upon King’s deer until the lank Sheriff of Nottingham was well-nigh distracted.
Indeed, that official would probable have lost his office entirely, had it not been for the fact of the King’s death. Henry passed away, as all Kings will, in common with ordinary men, and Richard of the Lion Heart was proclaimed as his successor.
Then Robin and his men, after earnest debate, resolved to throw themselves upon the mercy of the new King, swear allegiance, and ask to be organized into Royal Foresters. So Will Scarlet and Will Stutely and Little John were sent to London with this message, which they were first to entrust privately to Maid Marian. But they soon returned with bad tidings. The new King had formerly set forth upon a crusade to the Holy Land, and Prince John, his brother, was impossible to deal with—being crafty, cruel and treacherous. He was laying his hands upon all the property which could easily be seized; among other estates, that of the Earl of Huntingdon, Robin’s old enemy and Marian’s father, who had lately died.
Marian herself was in sore straits. Not only had her estates been taken away, and the maid been deprived of the former protection of the Queen, but the evil Prince John had persecuted her with his attentions. He thought that since the maid was defenseless he could carry her away to one of his castles and none could gainsay him.
No word of this peril reached Robin’s ears, although his men brought him word of the seizure of the Huntingdon lands. Nathless he was greatly alarmed for the safety of Maid Marian, and his heart cried out for her strongly. She had been continually in his thoughts ever since the memorable shooting at London town.
One morning in early autumn when the leaves were beginning to turn gold at the edges, the chestnut-pods to swell with promise of fatness, and the whole wide woodland was redolent with the ripe fragrance of fruit and flower, Robin was walking along the edge of a small open glade busy with his thoughts. The peace of the woods was upon him, despite his broodings of Marian and he paid little heed to a group of does quietly feeding among the trees at the far edge of the glade.
But presently this sylvan picture was rudely disturbed for him. A stag, wild and furious, dashed suddenly forth from among the trees, scattering the does in swift alarm. The vicious beast eyed the green-and-gold tunic of Robin, and, lowering it head, charged at him impetuously. So sudden was its attack that Robin had no time to bend his bow. He sprang behind a tree while he seized his weapon.
A moment later the wild stag crashed blindly into the tree-trunk with a shock which sent the beast reeling backward, while the dislodged leaves from the shivering tree fell in a small shower over Robin’s head.
“By my halidom, I am glad it was not me you struck, my gentle friend!” quoth Robin, fixing an arrow upon the string. “Sorry indeed would be any one’s plight who should encounter you in this black humor.”
Scarcely had he spoken when he saw the stag veer about and fix its glances rigidly on the bushes to the left side of the glade. These were parted by a delicate hand, and through the opening appeared the slight figure of a page. It was Maid Marian, come back again to the greenwood!
She advanced, unconscious alike of Robin’s horrified gaze and the evil fury of the stag.
She was directly in line with the animal, so Robin dared not launch an arrow. Her own bow was slung across her shoulder, and her small sword would be useless against the beast’s charge. But now as she caught sight of the stag she pursed her lips as though she would whistle to it.
“For the love of God, dear lady!” cried Robin; and then the words died in his throat.
With a savage snort of rage, the beast rushed at this new and inviting target—rushed so swiftly and from so short a distance that she could not defend herself. She sprang to one side as it charged down upon her, but a side blow from its antlers stretched her upon the ground. The stag stopped, turned, and lowered its head preparing to gore her to death.
Already its cruel horns were coming straight for her, while she, white of face and bewildered by the sudden attack, was struggling to rise and draw her sword. A moment more and the end would come. But the sharp voice of Robin and already spoken.
“Down, Marian!” he cried, and the girl instinctively obeyed, just as the shaft from Robin’s bow went whizzing close above her head and struck with terrific force full in the center of the stag’s forehead.
The beast stumbled in its charge and fell dead, across the body of the fainting maid.
Robin was quickly by her side, and dragged the beast from off the girl.
Picking her up in his strong arms, he bore her swiftly to the side of one of the many brooks which watered the vale.
He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly almost, in his agony of fear that the she was already dead, and he could have shed tears of joy to see those poor, closed eyelids tremble. He redoubled his efforts; and presently she gave a little gasp.
“Where am I? What is’t?”
“You are in Sherwood, dear maid, tho’, i’ faith, we gave you a rude reception!”
She opened her eyes and sat up. “Methinks you have rescued me from sudden danger, sir,” she said.
Then she recognized Robin for the first time, and a radiant smile came over her face, together with the rare blush of returned vitality, and her head sank upon his shoulder with a little tremble and sigh of relief.
“Oh, Robin, it is you!” she murmured.
“Aye, ‘tis I. Thank heaven, I was at hand to do you service!” Robin’s tones were deep and full of feeling. “I swear, dear Marian, that I will not let you from my care henceforth.”
Not another word was spoken for some moments, while her head still rested confidingly upon his breast. Then recollecting, he suddenly cried:
“Gramercy, I make but a poor nurse! I have not even asked if any of your bones were broken.”
“No, not any,” she answered springing lightly to her feet to show him.
“That foolish dizziness o’ercame me for the nonce, but we can now proceed on our way.”
“Nay, I meant not that,” he protested; “why should we haste? First tell me of the news in London town, and of yourself.”
So she told him how that the Prince had seized upon her father’s lands, and had promised to restore them to her if she would listen to his suit; and how that she knew he meant her no good, for he was even then suing for a Princess’s hand.
“That is all, Robin,” she ended simply; “and that is why I donned again my page’s costume and came to you in the greenwood.”
Robin’s brow had grown fiercely black at the recital of her wrong; and he had laid stern hand upon the hilt of his sword. “By this sword which Queen Eleanor gave me!” he said impetuously; “and which was devoted to the service of all womankind, I take oath that Prince John and all his armies shall not harm you!”
So that is how Maid Marian came to take up her abode in the greenwood, where the whole band of yeomen welcomed her gladly and swore fealty; and where the sweet lady of Allan-a-Dale made her fully at home.
But this was a day of deeds in Sherwood Forest, and we ‘gan to tell you another happening which led to later events.
While Robin and Marian were having their encounter with the stag, Little John, Much the miller’s son, and Will Scarlet had sallied forth to watch the highroad leading to Barnesdale, if perchance they might find some haughty knight or fat priest whose wallet needed lightening.
They had scarcely watched the great road known as Watling Street which runs from Dover in Kent to Chester town—for many minutes, when they espied a knight riding by in a very forlorn and careless manner.