by Howard Pyle
I.
Robin Hood aideth a Sorrowful Knight.
SO passed the gentle springtime away in budding beauty; its silver showers and sunshine, its green meadows and its flowers. So, likewise, passed the summer with its yellow sunlight, its quivering heat and deep, bosky foliage, its long twilights and its mellow nights, through which the frogs croaked and fairy folk were said to be out on the hillsides. All this had passed and the time of fall had come, bringing with it its own pleasures and joyousness; for now, when the harvest was gathered home, merry bands of gleaners roamed the country about, singing along the roads in the daytime, and sleeping beneath the hedgerows and the hay-ricks at night. Now the hips burned red in the tangled thickets and the haws waxed black in the hedgerows, the stubble lay all crisp and naked to the sky, and the green leaves were fast turning russet and brown. Also, at this merry season, good things of the year are gathered in in great store. Brown ale lies ripening in the cellar, hams and bacon hang in the smoke-shed, and crabs are stowed away in the straw for roasting in the winter time, when the north wind piles the snow in drifts around the gables and the fire crackles warm upon the hearth.
So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, whilst we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.
Quoth Robin Hood, snuffing the air, “Here is a fair day, Little John, and one that we can ill waste in idleness. Choose such men as thou dost need, and go thou east while I will wend to the west, and see that each of us bringeth back some goodly guest to dine this day beneath the greenwood tree.”
“Marry,” cried Little John, clapping his palms together for joy, “thy bidding fitteth my liking like haft to blade. I’ll bring thee back a guest this day, or come not back mine own self.”
Then they each chose such of the band as they wished, and so went forth by different paths from the forest.
Now, you and I cannot go two ways at the same time whilst we join in these merry doings; so we will e’en let Little John follow his own path while we tuck up our skirts and trudge after Robin Hood. And here is good company, too; Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, Will Scathelock, Midge, the Miller’s son, and others. A score or more of stout fellows had abided in the forest, with Friar Tuck, to make ready for the home-coming, but all the rest were gone either with Robin Hood or Little John.
Robin Hood and Little John, each with a company, set forth to seek guests to dine in Sherwood.
They travelled onward, Robin following his fancy and the others following Robin. Now they wended their way through an open dale with cottage and farm lying therein, and now again they entered woodlands once more. Passing by fair Mansfield Town, with its towers and battlements and spires all smiling in the sun, they came at last out of the forest lands. Onward they journeyed, through highway and byway, through villages where good wives and merry lasses peeped through the casements at the fine show of young men, until at last they came over beyond Alverton in Derbyshire. By this time high noontide had come, yet they had met no guest such as was worth their while to take back to Sherwood; so, coming at last to a certain spot where a shrine stood at the crossing of two roads, Robin called upon them to stop, for here on either side was shelter of high hedgerows, behind which was good hiding, whence they could watch the roads at their ease, whilst they ate their midday meal. Quoth merry Robin, “Here, methinks, is good lodging, where peaceful folk, such as we be, can eat in quietness; therefore we will rest here, and see what may, perchance, fall into our luck-pot.” So they crossed a stile and came behind a hedgerow where the mellow sunlight was bright and warm, and where the grass was soft, and there sat them down. Then each man drew from the pouch that hung beside him that which he had brought to eat, for a merry walk such as this had been sharpens the appetite till it is as keen as a March wind. So no more words were spoken, but each man saved his teeth for better use, —munching at brown crust and cold meat right lustily.
Robin and his band rest at the cross-roads to eat their midday meal.
In front of them, one of the high-roads crawled up the steep hill and then dipped suddenly over its crest, sharp-cut with hedgerow and shaggy grass against the sky. Over the top of the windy hill peeped the eaves of a few houses of the village that fell back into the valley behind; there, also, showed the top of a windmill, the sails slowly rising and dipping from behind the hill against the clear blue sky, as the light wind moved them with creaking and labored swing.
So the yeomen lay behind the hedge and finished their midday meal; but still the time slipped along, and no one came. At last, a man came slowly riding over the hill, and down the stony road toward the spot where Robin and his band lay hidden. He was a good stout knight, but sorrowful of face and downcast of mien. His clothes were plain and rich, but no chain of gold, such as folk of his stand in life wore at most times, hung around his neck, and no jewel was about him; yet no one could mistake him for aught but one of proud and noble blood. His head was bowed upon his breast and his hands drooped limp on either side; and so he came slowly riding, as though sunk in sad thoughts, whilst even his good horse, the reins loose upon his neck, walked with hanging head, as though he shared his master’s grief.
The yeomen see a sorrowful knight come riding down the hill.
Quoth Robin Hood, “Yon is verily a sorry-looking gallant, and doth seem to have donned ill-content with his jerkin this morning; nevertheless, I will out and talk with him, for there may be some pickings here for a hungry daw. Methinks his dress is rich, though he himself is so downcast. Bide ye here till I look into this matter.” So saying, he arose and left them, crossed the road to the shrine, and there stood, waiting for the sorrowful Knight to come near him. So, presently, when the Knight came riding slowly along, jolly Robin stepped forward and laid his hand upon the bridle rein. “Hold, Sir Knight,” quoth he. “I prythee tarry for a short time, for I have a few words to say to thee.”
“What art thou, friend, who dost stop a traveller in this manner upon his most gracious Majesty’s highway?” said the Knight.
Robin Hood stops the Knight.
“Marry,” quoth Robin, “that is a question hard to answer. One man calleth me kind, another calleth me cruel; this one calleth me good, honest fellow, and that one vile thief. Truly, the world hath as many eyes to look upon a man withal as there are spots on a toad; so, with what pair of eyes thou regardest me lieth entirely with thine own self. My name is Robin Hood.”
“Truly, good Robin,” said the Knight, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, “thou hast a quaint conceit. As for the pair of eyes with which I regard thee, I would say that they are as favorable as may be, for I hear much good of thee and little ill. What is thy will of me?”
“Now, I make my vow, Sir Knight,” quoth Robin, “thou hast surely learned thy wisdom of good Gaffer Swanthold, for he sayeth, ‘Fair words are as easy spoke as foul, and bring good will in the stead of blows.’ Now I will show thee the truth of this saying; for, if thou wilt go with me this day to Sherwood Forest, I will give thee as merry a feast as ever thou hadst in all thy life.”
Robin Hood asks the Knight to come and feast with them in Sherwood.
“Thou art indeed kind,” said the Knight, “but methinks thou wilt find me but an ill-seeming and sorrowful guest. Thou hadst best let me pass on my way in peace.”
“Nay,” quoth Robin, “thou mightst go thine own way but for one thing, and that I will tell thee. We keep an inn, as it were, in the very depths of Sherwood, but so far from high-roads and beaten paths that guests do not often come nigh us; so I and my friends set off merrily and seek them when we grow dull of ourselves. Thus the matter stands, Sir Knight; yet I will furthermore tell thee that we count upon our guests paying a reckoning.”
“I take thy meaning, friend,” said the Knight, gravely, “but I am not thy man, for I have no money by me.”
“Is it sooth?” said Robin, looking at the Knight keenly. “I can scarce choose but believe thee; yet, Sir
Knight, there be those of thy order whose word is not to be trusted as much as they would have others believe. Thou wilt think no ill if I look for myself in this matter.” Then, still holding the horse by the bridle rein, he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle, whereupon fourscore yeomen came leaping over the stile, and ran to where the Knight and Robin stood. “These,” said Robin, looking upon them proudly, “are some of my merry men. They share and share alike with me all joys and troubles, gains and losses. Sir Knight, I prythee tell me what money thou hast about thee.”
For a time the Knight said not a word, but a slow red arose into his cheeks; at last he looked Robin in the face and said: “I know not why I should be ashamed, for it should be no shame to me; but, friend, I tell thee the truth, when I say that in my purse are ten shillings, and that that is every groat that Sir Richard of the Lea hath in all the wide world.”
The Knight owneth to Robin that he hath naught but ten shillings.
When Sir Richard ended a silence fell, until at last Robin said: “And dost thou pledge me thy knightly word that this is all thou hast with thee?”
“Yea,” answered Sir Richard, “I do pledge thee my most solemn word, as a true knight, that it is all the money I have in the world. Nay, here is my purse, ye may find for yourselves the truth of what I say.” And he held his purse out to Robin.
“Put up thy purse, Sir Richard,” quoth Robin. “Far be it from me to doubt the word of so gentle a knight. The proud I strive to bring low, but those that walk in sorrow I would aid if I could. Come, Sir Richard, cheer up thy heart and go with us into the greenwood. Even I may perchance aid thee, for thou surely knowest how the good Athelstane was saved by the little blind mole that digged a trench over which he that sought the king’s life stumbled.”
Robin will not doubt the Knight’s word.
“Truly, friend,” said Sir Richard, “methinks thou meanest kindness in thine own way; nevertheless my troubles are such that it is not likely that thou canst cure them. But I will go with thee this day into Sherwood.” Hereupon he turned his horse’s head, and they all wended their way to the woodlands, Robin walking on one side of the Knight and Will Scarlet on the other, whilst the rest of the band trudged behind.
After they had travelled thus for a time Robin Hood spake. “Sir Knight,” said he, “I would not trouble thee with idle questions; but dost thou find it in thy heart to tell me thy sorrows?”
“Truly, Robin,” quoth the Knight, “I see no reason why I should not do so. Thus it is: My castle and my lands are in pawn for a debt that I owe. Three days hence the money must be paid or else all mine estate is lost forever, for then it falls into the hands of the Priory of Emmet, and what they swallow they never give forth again.”
The Knight telleth Robin Hood his story as they journey toward Sherwood.
Quoth Robin, “I understand not why those of thy kind live in such a manner that all their wealth passeth from them like snow beneath the springtide sun.”
“Thou wrongest me, Robin,” said the Knight, “for listen: I have a son but twenty winters old, nevertheless he has won his spurs as knight. Last year, on a certain evil day, the jousts were held at Chester, and thither my son went, as did I and my lady wife. I wot it was a proud time for us, for he unhorsed each knight that he tilted against. At last he ran a course with a certain great knight, Sir Walter of Lancaster, yet, though my son was so youthful, he kept his seat, albeit both spears were shivered to the haft; but it happened that a splinter of my boy’s lance ran through the visor of Sir Walter’s helmet, and pierced through his eye into his brain, so that he died ere his esquire could unlace his helm. Now, Robin, Sir Walter had great friends at court, therefore his kinsmen stirred up things against my son so that, to save him from prison, I had to pay a ransom of six hundred pounds in gold. All might have gone well even yet, only that, by ins and outs and crookedness of laws, I was shorn like a sheep that is clipped to the quick. So it came that I had to pawn my lands to the Priory of Emmet for more money, and a hard bargain they drove with me in my hour of need. Yet I would have thee understand I grieve so for my lands only because of my dear lady wife.”
“But where is thy son now?” asked Robin, who had listened closely to all the Knight had said.
“In Palestine,” said Sir Richard, “battling like a brave Christian soldier for the cross and the holy sepulchre. Truly, England was an ill place for him because of Sir Walter’s death, and the hate of the Lancastrian’s kinsmen.”
“Truly,” said Robin, much moved, “thine is a hard lot. But tell me, what is owing to Emmet for thine estates?”
“Only four hundred pounds,” said Sir Richard.
At this Robin smote his thigh in anger. “O the blood-suckers!” cried he. “A noble estate to be forfeit for four hundred pounds! But what will befall thee if thou dost lose thy lands, Sir Richard?”
“It is not mine own lot that doth trouble me in that case,” said the Knight, “but my dear lady’s; for should I lose my land she will have to betake herself to some kinsman and there abide in charity, which, methinks, would break her proud heart. As for me, I will over the salt sea, and so to Palestine to join my son in fight for the holy sepulchre.”
Then up spake Will Scarlet. “But hast thou no friend that will help thee in thy dire need?”
“Never a man,” said Sir Richard. “Whilst I was rich enow at home, and had friends, they blew great boasts of how they loved me. But when the oak falls in the forest the swine run from beneath it lest they should be smitten down also. So my friends have left me; for not only am I poor but I have great enemies.” .
Then Robin said, “Thou sayst thou hast no friends, Sir Richard. I make no boast, but many have found Robin Hood a friend in their troubles. Cheer up, Sir Knight, I may help thee yet.”
Robin biddeth the Knight to cheer up.
The Knight shook his head with a faint smile, but for all that Robin’s words made him more blithe of heart, for in truth hope, be it never so faint, bringeth a gleam into darkness, like a little rushlight that costeth but a groat.
The day was well-nigh gone when they came near to the greenwood tree. Even at a distance they saw by the number of men that Little John had come back with some guest, but when they came near enough, who should they find but the Lord Bishop of Hereford. The good Bishop was in a fine stew, I wot. Up and down he walked beneath the tree like a fox caught in a hencoop. Behind him were three black friars standing close together in a frightened group, like three black sheep in a tempest. Hitched to the branches of the trees close at hand were six horses, one of them a barb with gay trappings upon which the Bishop was wont to ride, and the others laden with packs of divers shapes and kinds, one of which made Robin’s eyes glisten, for it was a box not over large, but heavily bound with bands and ribs of iron.
Robin findeth guests in the forest awaiting him.
When the Bishop saw Robin and those with him come into the open he made as though he would have run toward the yeoman, but the fellow that guarded the Bishop and the three friars thrust his quarterstaff in front, so that his lordship was fain to stand back, though with frowning brow and angry speech.
“Stay, my Lord Bishop,” cried jolly Robin, in a loud voice, when he saw what had passed; “I will come to thee with all speed, for I would rather see thee than any man in merry England.” So saying, he quickened his steps, and soon came to where the Bishop stood fuming.
“How now,” quoth the Bishop in a loud and angry voice, when Robin had so come to him, “is this the way that thou and thy band treat one so high in the church as I am? I and these brethren were passing peacefully along the high-road with our packhorses, and a half score of men to guard them, when up comes a great strapping fellow full seven feet high, with fourscore or more men back of him, and calls upon me to stop—me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mark thou! Whereupon my armed guards—beshrew them for cowards!—straight ran away. But look ye; not only did this fellow stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin Hoo
d would strip me as bare as a winter hedge. Then, beside all this, he called me such vile names as ‘fat priest,’ ‘man-eating bishop,’ ‘money-gorging usurer,’ and what not, as though I were no more than a strolling beggar or tinker. Moreover, when I came here I found a great fat man, a mock priest, that slapped me upon the shoulder as though I, God wot, were a pot-house fellow.”
The Bishop of Hereford complaineth of Little John and of Friar Tuck.
“Marry, come up with a wanion!” cried Friar Tuck, bustling forward and thrusting himself in front of the Bishop; “Marry come up, I say!” and he snapped his fingers under the Bishop’s nose, whereat the other started back as though the snap were a clap of thunder. “Mock priest! thou callest me, forsooth! Look ye now, Bishop, I wot I am as holy a man as thou art, and might have been a bishop mine own self, had I not been born under a hedge. I am as learned, too, as thou art, albeit I could never master that vile Latin, my tongue being only shaped for good stout English; yet I tell thee, I can say my ‘Paters’ and ‘Aves’ with no more a slip o’ the tongue than thou, thou fat man!”
At this the Bishop glared upon the stout Friar like an angry cat, whilst even Sir Richard laughed; only Robin kept a grave face. “Stand back, Tuck,” said he, “thou shouldst not beard his lordship’s reverence in this wise. Alas! my lord, that thou hast been so ill-treated by my band! I tell thee truly that we greatly reverence thy cloth. Little John, stand forth straightway.”
At these words Little John came forward, twisting his face into a whimsical look, as though he would say, “Ha’ mercy upon me, good master.” Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said: “Was this the man who spake so boldly to your lordship?”