CHAPTER XXIII

“Stand up again,” then said the King,“I’ll thee thy pardon give;Stand up, my friend, who can contend,When I give leave to live?”Then Robin Hood began a healthTo Marian, his only dear,And his yeomen all, both comely and tall,Did quickly bring up the rear.

“Your pardon, sire!” exclaimed Robin Hood. “Pardon, from your royal bounty, for these my men who stand ready to serve you all your days!”

Richard of the Lion Heart looked grimly about over the kneeling band.

“Is it as your leader says?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord King!” burst from sevenscore throats at once.

“We be not outlaws from choice alone,” continued Robin; “but have been driven to outlawry through oppression. Grant us grace and royal protection, and we will forsake the greenwood and follow the King.”

Richard’s eyes sparkled as he looked from one to another of this stalwart band, and he thought within himself that here, indeed, was a royal bodyguard worth the while.

“Swear!” he said in his full rich voice; “swear that you, Robin Hood, and all your men from this day henceforth will serve the King!”

“We swear!” came once more the answering shout from the yeomen.

“Arise, then,” said King Richard. “I give you all free pardon, and will speedily put your service to the test. For I love such archers as you have shown yourselves to be, and it were a sad pity to decree such men to death. England could not produce the like again, for many a day. But, in sooth, I cannot allow you to roam in the forest and shoot my deer; nor to take the law of the land into your own hands. Therefore, I now appoint you to be Royal Archers and mine own especial body-guard. There be one or two civil matters to settle with certain Norman noblemen, in which I crave your aid. Thereafter, the half of your number, as may later be determined, shall come back to these woodlands as Royal Foresters. Mayhap you will show as much zeal in protecting my preserves as you have formerly shown in hunting them. Where, now, is that outlaw known as Little John? Stand forth!”

“Here, sire,” quoth the giant, doffing his cap.

“Good master Little John,” said the King, looking him over approvingly. “Could your weak sinews stand the strain of an office in the shire? If so, you are this day Sheriff of Nottingham; and I trust you will make a better official than the man you relieve.”

“I shall do my best, sire,” said Little John, great astonishment and gladness in his heart.

“Master Scarlet, stand forth,” said the King; and then addressing him: “I have heard somewhat of your tale,” quoth he, “and that your father was the friend of my father. Now, therefore, accept the royal pardon and resume the care of your family estates; for your father must be growing old. And come you to London next Court day and we shall see if there be a knighthood vacant.”

Likewise the King called for Will Stutely and made him Chief of the Royal Archers. Then he summoned Friar Tuck to draw near.

“I crave my King’s pardon,” said the priest, humbly enough; “for who am I to lift my hand against the Lord’s anointed?”

“Nay, the Lord sent the smiter to thee without delay,” returned Richard smiling; “and ‘tis not for me to continue a quarrel between church and state. So what can I do for you in payment of last night’s hospitality? Can I find some fat living where there are no wicked to chastise, and where the work is easy and comfortable?”

“Not so, my lord,” replied Tuck. “I wish only for peace in this life. Mine is a simple nature and I care not for the fripperies and follies of court life. Give me a good meal and a cup of right brew, health, and enough for the day, and I ask no more.”

Richard sighed. “You ask the greatest thing in the world, brother—contentment. It is not mine to give or to deny. But ask your God for it, an if belike he grant it, then ask it also in behalf of your King.” He glanced around once more at the foresters. “Which one of you is Allan-a-Dale?” he asked; and Allan came forward. “So,” said the King with sober face, “you are that errant minstrel who stole a bride at Plympton, despite her would-be groom and attending Bishop. I heard something of this in former days. Now what excuse have you to make?”

“Only that I loved her, sire, and she loved me,” said Allan, simply; “and the Norman lord would have married her perforce, because of her lands.”

“Which have since been forfeited by the Bishop of Hereford,” added Richard. “But my lord Bishop must disgorge them; and from tomorrow you and Mistress Dale are to return to them and live in peace and loyalty. And if ever I need your harp at Court, stand ready to attend me, and bring also the lady. Speaking of ladies,” he continued, turning to Robin Hood, who had stood silent, wondering if a special punishment was being reserved for him, “did you not have a sweetheart who was once at Court—one, Mistress Marian? What has become of her, that you should have forgotten her?”

“Nay, Your Majesty,” said the black-eyed page coming forward blushingly; “Robin has not forgotten me!”

“So!” said the King, bending to kiss her small hand in all gallantry. “Verily, as I have already thought within myself, this Master Hood is better served than the King in his palace! But are you not the only child of the late Earl of Huntingdon?”

“I am, sire, though there be some who say that Robin Hood’s father was formerly the rightful Earl of Huntingdon. Nathless, neither he is advantaged nor I, for the estates are confiscate.”

“Then they shall be restored forthwith!” cried the King; “and lest you two should revive the ancient quarrel over them, I bestow them upon you jointly. Come forward, Robin Hood.”

Robin came and knelt before his king. Richard drew his sword and touched him upon the shoulder.

“Rise, Robin Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon!” he exclaimed, while a mighty cheer arose from the band and rent the air of the forest. “The first command I give you, my lord Earl,” continued the King when quiet was restored, “is to marry Mistress Marian without delay.”

“May I obey all Your Majesty’s commands as willingly!” cried the new Earl of Huntingdon, drawing the old Earl’s daughter close to him. “The ceremony shall take place to-morrow, an this maid is willing.”

“She makes little protest,” said the King; “so I shall e’en give away the bride myself!”

Then the King chatted with others of the foresters, and made himself as one of them for the evening, rejoicing that he could have this careless freedom of the woods. And Much, the miller’s son, and Arthur-a-Bland, and Middle, and Stutely and Scarlet and Little John and others played at the quarter-staff, giving and getting many lusty blows. Then as the shades of night drew on, the whole company—knights and foresters—supped and drank around a blazing fire, while Allen sang sweetly to the thrumming of the harp, and the others joined in the chorus.

‘Twas a happy, care-free night—this last one together under the greenwood tree. Robin could not help feeling an undertone of sadness that it was to be the last; for the charm of the woodland was still upon him. But he knew ‘twas better so, and that the new life with Marian and in the service of his King would bring its own joys.

Then the night deepened, the fire sank, but was replenished and the company lay down to rest. The King, at his own request, spent the night in the open. Thus they slept—King and subject alike—out under the stars, cared for lovingly by Nature, kind mother of us all.

In the morning the company was early astir and on their way to Nottingham. It was a goodly cavalcade. First rode King Richard of the Lion Heart, with his tall figure set forth by the black armor and waving plume in his helm. Then came Sir Richard of the Lea with fourscore knights and men-at-arms. And after them came Robin Hood and Maid Marian riding upon milk-white steeds. Allan-a-Dale also escorted Mistress Dale on horseback, for she was to be matron-of-honor at the wedding. These were followed by sevenscore archers clad in their bravest Lincoln green, and with their new bows unstrung in token of peace.

Outside the gates of Nottingham town they were halted.

“Who comes here?” asked the warder’s surly voice.

“Open to the King of England!” came back the clear answer, and the gates were opened and the bridge let down without delay.

Almost before the company had crossed the moat the news spread through the town like wildfire.

“The King is here! The King is here, and hath taken Robin Hood!”

From every corner flocked the people to see the company pass; and wildly did they cheer for the King, who rode smilingly with bared head down through the market-place.

At the far end of it, he was met by the Sheriff who came up puffing in his haste to do the King honor. He fairly turned green with rage when he saw Sir Richard of the Lea and Robin Hood in the royal company, but made low obeisance to his master.

“Sir Sheriff,” quoth the King, “I have come to rid the shire of outlaws, according to my promise. There be none left, for all have now taken service with their King. And lest there should be further outbreak, I have determined to place in charge of this shire a man who fears no other man in it. Master Little John is hereby created Sheriff of Nottingham, and you will turn over the keys to him forthwith.”

The Sheriff bowed, but dared utter no word. Then the King turned to the Bishop of Hereford, who had also come up to pay his respects.

“Harkee, my lord Bishop,” quoth he, “the stench of your evil actions had reached our nostrils. We shall demand strict accounting for certain seizures of the lands and certain acts of oppression which ill become a churchman. But of this later. This afternoon you must officiate at the wedding of two of our company, in Nottingham Church. So make you ready.”

The Bishop also bowed and departed, glad to escape a severer censure for the time.

The company then rode on to the Mansion House, where the King held high levee through all the noon hours, and the whole town made a holiday.

In the afternoon the way from the Mansion House to Nottingham Church was lined with cheering people, as the wedding party passed by. The famous bowmen were gazed at as curiously as though they had been wild animals, but were cheered none the less. Robin who had long been held in secret liking was now doubly popular since he had the King’s favor.

Along the way ahead of the King and the smiling bride and groom to be ran little maids strewing flowers; while streamers floated in greeting from the windows. I ween, the only hearts that were not glad this day were those of the old Sheriff, and of his proud daughter, who peered between the shutters of her window and was like to eat out her heart from envy and hatred.

At last the party reached the church, where the King dismounted lightly from his horse and helped the bride to alight; while Will Scarlet, the best man, assisted Mistress Dale. Within the church they found the Bishop robed in state, and by his side Friar Tuck who had been especially deputed to assist.

The service was said in Latin, while the organ pealed forth softly. The King gave away the bride, as he had said, and afterwards claimed first kiss for his pains. Then the happy party dispersed, and Robin and Marian passed out again through the portal, man and wife.

Out through the cheering streets they fared, while the greenwood men ran ahead and flung gold pennies right and left in their joy, and bade the people drink the health of the young couple and the King. Then the whole party took horse at Will Scarlet’s earnest wish, and went down to Gamewell Lodge, where the old Squire George wept for joy at seeing his son and the King and the wedding—party. That night they spent there, and feasted, and the next day, Sir Richard of the Lea claimed them.

And thus, amid feasting and rejoicing and kingly favor, Robin Hood, the new Earl of Huntingdon, and his bride began their wedded life.

“Give me my bent bow in my hand,And a broad arrow I’ll let flee;And where this arrow is taken up,There shall my grave digg’d be.”

Now by good rights this story should end with the wedding of Robin Hood and Maid Marian; for do not many pleasant tales end with a wedding and the saying, “and they lived happy ever after.”

But this is a true account—in so far as we can find the quaint old ballads which tell of it—and so we must follow one more of these songs and learn how Robin, after living many years longer, at last came to seek his grave. And the story of it runs in this wise.

Robin Hood and his men, now the Royal Archers, went with King Richard of the Lion Heart through England settling certain private disputes which had arisen among the Norman barons while the King was gone to the Holy Land. Then the King proceeded amid great pomp and rejoicing to the palace at London, and Robin, the new Earl of Huntingdon, brought his Countess thither, where she became one of the finest ladies of the Court.

The Royal Archers were now divided into two bands, and one-half of them were retained in London, while the other half returned to Sherwood and Barnesdale, there to guard the King’s preserves.

Several months passed by, and Robin began to chafe under the restraint of city life. He longed for the fresh pure air of the greenwood, and the rollicking society of his yeomen. One day, upon seeing some lads at archery practice upon a green, he could not help but lament, saying, “Woe is me! I fear my hand is fast losing its old time cunning at the bow-string!”

Finally he became so distraught that he asked leave to travel in foreign lands, and this was granted him. He took Maid Marian with him, and together they went through many strange countries. Finally in an Eastern land a great grief came upon Robin. Marian sickened of a plague and died. They had been married but five years, and Robin felt as though all the light had gone out of his life.

He wandered about the world for a few months longer, trying to forget his grief, then came back to the court, at London, and sought some commission in active service. But unluckily, Richard was gone again upon his adventures, and Prince John, who acted as Regent, had never been fond of Robin. He received him with a sarcastic smile.

“Go forth into the greenwood,” said he, coldly, “and kill some more of the King’s deer. Belike, then, the King will make you Prime Minister, at the very least, upon his return.”

The taunt fired Robin’s blood. He had been in a morose mood, ever since his dear wife’s death. He answered Prince John hotly, and the Prince bade his guards seize him and cast him into the Tower.

After lying there for a few weeks, he was released by the faithful Stutely and the remnant of the Royal Archers, and all together they fled the city and made their way to the greenwood. There Robin blew the old familiar call, which all had known and loved so well. Up came running the remainder of the band, who had been Royal Foresters, and when they saw their old master they embraced his knees and kissed his hands, and fairly cried for joy that he had come again to them. And one and all forswore fealty to Prince John, and lived quietly with Robin in the greenwood, doing harm to none and only awaiting the time when King Richard should come again.

But King Richard came not again, and would never need his Royal Guard more. Tidings presently reached them, of how he had met his death in a foreign land, and how John reigned as King in his stead. The proof of these events followed soon after, when there came striding through the glade the big, familiar form of Little John.

“Art come to arrest us?” called out Robin, as he ran forward and embraced his old comrade.

“Nay, I am not come as the Sheriff of Nottingham, thanks be,” answered Little John. “The new King has deposed me, and ‘tis greatly to my liking, for I have long desired to join you here again in the greenwood.”

Then were the rest of the band right glad at this news, and toasted Little John royally.

The new King waged fierce war upon the outlaws, soon after this, and sent so many scouting parties into Sherwood and Barnesdale that Robin and his men left these woods for a time and went into Derbyshire, near Haddon Hall. A curious pile of stone is shown to this day as the ruins of Robin’s Castle, where the bold outlaw is believed to have defied his enemies for a year or more. At any rate King John found so many troubles of his own, after a time, that he ceased troubling the outlaws.

But in one of the last sorties Robin was wounded. The cut did not seem serious, and healed over the top; but it left a lurking fever. Daily his strength ebbed away from him, until he was in sore distress.

One day as he rode along on horseback, near Kirklees Abbey, he was seized with so violent a rush of blood to the head that he reeled and came near falling from his saddle. He dismounted weakly and knocked at the Abbey gate. A woman shrouded in black peered forth.

“Who are you that knock here? For we allow no man within these walls,” she said.

“Open, for the love of Heaven!” he begged. “I am Robin Hood, ill of a fever and in sore straits.”

At the name of Robin Hood the woman started back, and then, as though bethinking herself, unbarred the door and admitted him. Assisting his fainting frame up a flight of stairs and into a front room, she loosed his collar and bathed his face until he was revived. Then she spoke hurriedly in a low voice:

“Your fever will sink, if you are bled. See, I have provided a lancet and will open your veins, while you lie quiet.”

So she bled him, and he fell into a stupor which lasted nearly all that day, so that he awoke weak and exhausted from loss of blood.

Now there is a dispute as to this abbess who bled him. Some say that she did it in all kindness of heart; while others aver that she was none other than the former Sheriff’s daughter, and found her revenge at last in this cruel deed.

Be that as it may, Robin’s eyes swam from very weakness when he awoke.

He called wearily for help, but there was no response. He looked longingly through the window at the green of the forest; but he was too weak to make the leap that would be needed to reach the ground.

He then bethought him of his horn,Which hung down at his knee;He set his horn unto his mouth,And blew out weak blasts three.

Little John was out in the forest near by, or the blasts would never have been heard. At their sound he sprang to his feet.

“Woe! woe!” he cried, “I fear my master is near dead, he blows so wearily!”

So he made haste and came running up to the door of the abbey, and knocked loudly for admittance. Failing to get reply, he burst in the door with frenzied blows of his mighty fist, and soon came running up to the room where Robin lay, white and faint. “Alas, dear master!” cried Little John in great distress; “I fear you have met with treachery! If that be so, grant me one last boon, I pray.”

“What is it?” asked Robin.

“Let me burn Kirklees-Hall with fire, and all its nunnery.”

“Nay, good comrade,” answered Robin Hood gently, “I cannot grant such a boon. The dear Christ bade us forgive all our enemies. Moreover, you know I never hurt woman in all my life; nor man when in woman’s company.”

He closed his eyes and fell back, so that his friend thought him dying. The great tears fell from the giant’s eyes and wet his master’s hand. Robin slowly rallied and seized his comrade’s outstretched arm.

“Lift me up, good Little John,” he said brokenly, “I want to smell the air from the good greenwood once again. Give me my good yew bow—here—here-and fix a broad arrow upon the string. Out yonder—among the oaks—where this arrow shall fall—let them dig my grave.”

And with one last mighty effort he sped his shaft out of the open window, straight and true, as in the days of old, till it struck the largest oak of them all and dropped in the shadow of the trees. Then he fell back upon the sobbing breast of his devoted friend.

“‘Tis the last!” he murmured, “tell the brave hearts to lay me there with the green sod under my head and feet. And—let them lay—my bent bow at my side, for it has made sweet music in mine ears.”

He rested a moment, and Little John scarce knew that he was alive. But on a sudden Robin’s eye brightened, and he seemed to think himself back once more with the band in the open forest glade. He struggled to rise.

“Ha! ‘tis a fine stag, Will! And Allan, thou never didst thrum the harp more sweetly. How the light blazes! And Marian!—‘tis my Marian—come at last!”

So died the body of Robin Hood; but his spirit lives on through the centuries in the deathless ballads which are sung of him, and in the hearts of men who love freedom and chivalry.

They buried him where his last arrow had fallen, and they set a stone to mark the spot. And on the stone were graven these words:

“Here underneath his little stoneLies Robert, Earl of Huntingdon;Never archer as he so good,And people called him Robin Hood.Such outlaws as he and his menWill England never see again.”

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