Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  “Now,” quoth Arthur a Bland to himself, when he had come to that part of the road that cut through a corner of the forest, “no doubt at this time of year the dun deer are coming from the forest depths nigher to the open meadow lands. Mayhap I may chance to catch a sight of the dainty brown darlings thus early in the morn.” For there was nothing he loved better than to look upon a tripping herd of deer, even when he could not tickle their ribs with a clothyard shaft. Accordingly, quitting the path, he went peeping this way and that through the underbrush, spying now here and now there, with all the wiles of a master of woodcraft, and of one who had more than once donned a doublet of Lincoln green.

  Now as Little John stepped blithely along, thinking of nothing but of such things as the sweetness of the hawthorn buds that bedecked the hedgerows, or gazing upward at the lark, that, springing from the dewy grass, hung aloft on quivering wings in the yellow sunlight, pouring forth its song that fell like a falling star from the sky, his luck led him away from the highway, not far from the spot where Arthur a Bland was peeping this way and that through the leaves of the thickets. Hearing a rustling of the branches, Little John stopped and presently caught sight of the brown cowhide cap of the Tanner moving among the bushes.

  “I do much wonder,” quoth Little John to himself, “what yon knave is after, that he should go thus peeping and peering about I verily believe that yon scurvy varlet is no better than a thief, and cometh here after our own and the good King’s dun deer.” For by much roving in the forest, Little John had come to look upon all the deer in Sherwood as belonging to Robin Hood and his band as much as to good King Harry. “Nay,” quoth he again, after a time, “this matter must e’en be looked into.” So, quitting the highroad, he also entered the thickets, and began spying around after stout Arthur a Bland.

  So for a long time they both of them went hunting about, Little John after the Tanner, and the Tanner after the deer. At last Little John trod upon a stick, which snapped under his foot, whereupon, hearing the noise, the Tanner turned quickly and caught sight of the yeoman. Seeing that the Tanner had spied him out, Little John put a bold face upon the matter.

  “Hilloa,” quoth he, “what art thou doing here, thou naughty fellow? Who art thou that comest ranging Sherwood’s paths? In very sooth thou hast an evil cast of countenance, and I do think, truly, that thou art no better than a thief, and comest after our good King’s deer.”

  “Nay,” quoth the Tanner boldly — for, though taken by surprise, he was not a man to be frightened by big words— “thou liest in thy teeth. I am no thief, but an honest craftsman. As for my countenance, it is what it is; and, for the matter of that, thine own is none too pretty, thou saucy fellow.”

  “Ha!” quoth Little John in a great loud voice, “wouldst thou give me backtalk? Now I have a great part of a mind to crack thy pate for thee. I would have thee know, fellow, that I am, as it were, one of the King’s foresters. Leastwise,” muttered he to himself, “I and my friends do take good care of our good sovereign’s deer.”

  “I care not who thou art,” answered the bold Tanner, “and unless thou hast many more of thy kind by thee, thou canst never make Arthur a Bland cry ‘A mercy.’”

  “Is it so?” cried Little John in a rage. “Now, by my faith, thou saucy rogue, thy tongue hath led thee into a pit thou wilt have a sorry time getting out of; for I will give thee such a drubbing as ne’er hast thou had in all thy life before. Take thy staff in thy hand, fellow, for I will not smite an unarmed man.

  “Marry come up with a murrain!” cried the Tanner, for he, too, had talked himself into a fume. “Big words ne’er killed so much as a mouse. Who art thou that talkest so freely of cracking the head of Arthur a Bland? If I do not tan thy hide this day as ne’er I tanned a calf’s hide in all my life before, split my staff into skewers for lamb’s flesh and call me no more brave man! Now look to thyself, fellow!”

  “Stay!” said Little John. “Let us first measure our cudgels. I do reckon my staff longer than thine, and I would not take vantage of thee by even so much as an inch.”

  “Nay, I pass not for length,” answered the Tanner. “My staff is long enough to knock down a calf; so look to thyself, fellow, I say again.”

  So, without more ado, each gripped his staff in the middle, and, with fell and angry looks, they came slowly together.

  Now news had been brought to Robin Hood how that Little John, instead of doing his bidding, had passed by duty for pleasure, and so had stopped overnight with merry company at the Blue Boar Inn, instead of going straight to Ancaster. So, being vexed to his heart by this, he set forth at dawn of day to seek Little John at the Blue Boar, or at least to meet the yeoman on the way, and ease his heart of what he thought of the matter. As thus he strode along in anger, putting together the words he would use to chide Little John, he heard, of a sudden, loud and angry voices, as of men in a rage, passing fell words back and forth from one to the other. At this, Robin Hood stopped and listened. “Surely,” quoth he to himself, “that is Little John’s voice, and he is talking in anger also. Methinks the other is strange to my ears. Now Heaven forfend that my good trusty Little John should have fallen into the hands of the King’s rangers. I must see to this matter, and that quickly.”

  Thus spoke Robin Hood to himself, all his anger passing away like a breath from the windowpane, at the thought that perhaps his trusty right-hand man was in some danger of his life. So cautiously he made his way through the thickets whence the voices came, and, pushing aside the leaves, peeped into the little open space where the two men, staff in hand, were coming slowly together.

  “Ha!” quoth Robin to himself, “here is merry sport afoot. Now I would give three golden angels from my own pocket if yon stout fellow would give Little John a right sound drubbing! It would please me to see him well thumped for having failed in my bidding. I fear me, though, there is but poor chance of my seeing such a pleasant sight.” So saying, he stretched himself at length upon the ground, that he might not only see the sport the better, but that he might enjoy the merry sight at his ease.

  As you may have seen two dogs that think to fight, walking slowly round and round each other, neither cur wishing to begin the combat, so those two stout yeomen moved slowly around, each watching for a chance to take the other unaware, and so get in the first blow. At last Little John struck like a flash, and— “rap!” — the Tanner met the blow and turned it aside, and then smote back at Little John, who also turned the blow; and so this mighty battle began. Then up and down and back and forth they trod, the blows falling so thick and fast that, at a distance, one would have thought that half a score of men were fighting. Thus they fought for nigh a half an hour, until the ground was all plowed up with the digging of their heels, and their breathing grew labored like the ox in the furrow. But Little John suffered the most, for he had become unused to such stiff labor, and his joints were not as supple as they had been before he went to dwell with the Sheriff.

  All this time Robin Hood lay beneath the bush, rejoicing at such a comely bout of quarterstaff. “By my faith!” quoth he to himself, “never had I thought to see Little John so evenly matched in all my life. Belike, though, he would have overcome yon fellow before this had he been in his former trim.”

  At last Little John saw his chance, and, throwing all the strength he felt going from him into one blow that might have felled an ox, he struck at the Tanner with might and main. And now did the Tanner’s cowhide cap stand him in good stead, and but for it he might never have held staff in hand again. As it was, the blow he caught beside the head was so shrewd that it sent him staggering across the little glade, so that, if Little John had had the strength to follow up his vantage, it would have been ill for stout Arthur. But he regained himself quickly and, at arm’s length, struck back a blow at Little John, and this time the stroke reached its mark, and down went Little John at full length, his cudgel flying from his hand as he fell. Then, raising his staff, stout Arthur dealt him another blow upon the ribs.r />
  “Hold!” roared Little John. “Wouldst thou strike a man when he is down?”

  “Ay, marry would I,” quoth the Tanner, giving him another thwack with his staff.

  “Stop!” roared Little John. “Help! Hold, I say! I yield me! I yield me, I say, good fellow!”

  “Hast thou had enough?” asked the Tanner grimly, holding his staff aloft.

  “Ay, marry, and more than enough.”

  “And thou dost own that I am the better man of the two?”

  “Yea, truly, and a murrain seize thee!” said Little John, the first aloud and the last to his beard.

  “Then thou mayst go thy ways; and thank thy patron saint that I am a merciful man,” said the Tanner.

  “A plague o’ such mercy as thine!” said Little John, sitting up and feeling his ribs where the Tanner had cudgeled him. “I make my vow, my ribs feel as though every one of them were broken in twain. I tell thee, good fellow, I did think there was never a man in all Nottinghamshire could do to me what thou hast done this day.”

  “And so thought I, also,” cried Robin Hood, bursting out of the thicket and shouting with laughter till the tears ran down his cheeks. “O man, man!” said he, as well as he could for his mirth, “‘a didst go over like a bottle knocked from a wall. I did see the whole merry bout, and never did I think to see thee yield thyself so, hand and foot, to any man in all merry England. I was seeking thee, to chide thee for leaving my bidding undone; but thou hast been paid all I owed thee, full measure, pressed down and overflowing, by this good fellow. Marry, ‘a did reach out his arm full length while thou stood gaping at him, and, with a pretty rap, tumbled thee over as never have I seen one tumbled before.” So spoke bold Robin, and all the time Little John sat upon the ground, looking as though he had sour curds in his mouth. “What may be thy name, good fellow?” said Robin, next, turning to the Tanner.

  “Men do call me Arthur a Bland,” spoke up the Tanner boldly, “and now what may be thy name?”

  “Ha, Arthur a Bland!” quoth Robin, “I have heard thy name before, good fellow. Thou didst break the crown of a friend of mine at the fair at Ely last October. The folk there call him Jock o’ Nottingham; we call him Will Scathelock. This poor fellow whom thou hast so belabored is counted the best hand at the quarterstaff in all merry England. His name is Little John, and mine Robin Hood.”

  “How!” cried the Tanner, “art thou indeed the great Robin Hood, and is this the famous Little John? Marry, had I known who thou art, I would never have been so bold as to lift my hand against thee. Let me help thee to thy feet, good Master Little John, and let me brush the dust from off thy coat.”

  “Nay,” quoth Little John testily, at the same time rising carefully, as though his bones had been made of glass, “I can help myself, good fellow, without thy aid; and let me tell thee, had it not been for that vile cowskin cap of thine, it would have been ill for thee this day.”

  At this Robin laughed again, and, turning to the Tanner, he said, “Wilt thou join my band, good Arthur? For I make my vow thou art one of the stoutest men that ever mine eyes beheld.”

  “Will I join thy band?” cried the Tanner joyfully. “Ay, marry, will I! Hey for a merry life!” cried he, leaping aloft and snapping his fingers, “and hey for the life I love! Away with tanbark and filthy vats and foul cowhides! I will follow thee to the ends of the earth, good master, and not a herd of dun deer in all the forest but shall know the sound of the twang of my bowstring.”

  “As for thee, Little John,” said Robin, turning to him and laughing, “thou wilt start once more for Ancaster, and we will go part way with thee, for I will not have thee turn again to either the right hand or the left till thou hast fairly gotten away from Sherwood. There are other inns that thou knowest yet, hereabouts.” Thereupon, leaving the thickets, they took once more to the highway and departed upon their business.

  Robin Hood and Will Scarlet

  THUS THEY TRAVELED along the sunny road, three stout fellows such as you could hardly match anywhere else in all merry England. Many stopped to gaze after them as they strode along, so broad were their shoulders and so sturdy their gait.

  Quoth Robin Hood to Little John, “Why didst thou not go straight to Ancaster, yesterday, as I told thee? Thou hadst not gotten thyself into such a coil hadst thou done as I ordered.”

  “I feared the rain that threatened,” said Little John in a sullen tone, for he was vexed at being so chaffed by Robin with what had happened to him.

  “The rain!” cried Robin, stopping of a sudden in the middle of the road, and looking at Little John in wonder. “Why, thou great oaf! not a drop of rain has fallen these three days, neither has any threatened, nor hath there been a sign of foul weather in earth or sky or water.”

  “Nevertheless,” growled Little John, “the holy Saint Swithin holdeth the waters of the heavens in his pewter pot, and he could have poured them out, had he chosen, even from a clear sky; and wouldst thou have had me wet to the skin?”

  At this Robin Hood burst into a roar of laughter. “O Little John!” said he, “what butter wits hast thou in that head of thine! Who could hold anger against such a one as thou art?”

  So saying, they all stepped out once more, with the right foot foremost, as the saying is.

  After they had traveled some distance, the day being warm and the road dusty, Robin Hood waxed thirsty; so, there being a fountain of water as cold as ice, just behind the hedgerow, they crossed the stile and came to where the water bubbled up from beneath a mossy stone. Here, kneeling and making cups of the palms of their hands, they drank their fill, and then, the spot being cool and shady, they stretched their limbs and rested them for a space.

  In front of them, over beyond the hedge, the dusty road stretched away across the plain; behind them the meadow lands and bright green fields of tender young corn lay broadly in the sun, and overhead spread the shade of the cool, rustling leaves of the beechen tree. Pleasantly to their nostrils came the tender fragrance of the purple violets and wild thyme that grew within the dewy moisture of the edge of the little fountain, and pleasantly came the soft gurgle of the water. All was so pleasant and so full of the gentle joy of the bright Maytime, that for a long time no one of the three cared to speak, but each lay on his back, gazing up through the trembling leaves of the trees to the bright sky overhead. At last, Robin, whose thoughts were not quite so busy wool- gathering as those of the others, and who had been gazing around him now and then, broke the silence.

  “Heyday!” quoth he, “yon is a gaily feathered bird, I take my vow.”

  The others looked and saw a young man walking slowly down the highway. Gay was he, indeed, as Robin had said, and a fine figure he cut, for his doublet was of scarlet silk and his stockings also; a handsome sword hung by his side, the embossed leathern scabbard being picked out with fine threads of gold; his cap was of scarlet velvet, and a broad feather hung down behind and back of one ear. His hair was long and yellow and curled upon his shoulders, and in his hand he bore an early rose, which he smelled at daintily now and then.

  “By my life!” quoth Robin Hood, laughing, “saw ye e’er such a pretty, mincing fellow?”

  “Truly, his clothes have overmuch prettiness for my taste,” quoth Arthur a Bland, “but, ne’ertheless, his shoulders are broad and his loins are narrow, and seest thou, good master, how that his arms hang from his body? They dangle not down like spindles, but hang stiff and bend at the elbow. I take my vow, there be no bread and milk limbs in those fine clothes, but stiff joints and tough thews.”

  “Methinks thou art right, friend Arthur,” said Little John. “I do verily think that yon is no such roseleaf and whipped-cream gallant as he would have one take him to be.”

  “Pah!” quoth Robin Hood, “the sight of such a fellow doth put a nasty taste into my mouth! Look how he doth hold that fair flower betwixt his thumb and finger, as he would say, ‘Good rose, I like thee not so ill but I can bear thy odor for a little while.’ I take it ye are both wro
ng, and verily believe that were a furious mouse to run across his path, he would cry, ‘La!’ or ‘Alack-a-day!’ and fall straightway into a swoon. I wonder who he may be.”

  “Some great baron’s son, I doubt not,” answered Little John, “with good and true men’s money lining his purse.”

  “Ay, marry, that is true, I make no doubt,” quoth Robin. “What a pity that such men as he, that have no thought but to go abroad in gay clothes, should have good fellows, whose shoes they are not fit to tie, dancing at their bidding. By Saint Dunstan, Saint Alfred, Saint Withold, and all the good men in the Saxon calendar, it doth make me mad to see such gay lordlings from over the sea go stepping on the necks of good Saxons who owned this land before ever their great-grandsires chewed rind of brawn! By the bright bow of Heaven, I will have their ill-gotten gains from them, even though I hang for it as high as e’er a forest tree in Sherwood!”

  “Why, how now, master,” quoth Little John, “what heat is this? Thou dost set thy pot a-boiling, and mayhap no bacon to cook! Methinks yon fellow’s hair is overlight for Norman locks. He may be a good man and true for aught thou knowest.”

  “Nay,” said Robin, “my head against a leaden farthing, he is what I say. So, lie ye both here, I say, till I show you how I drub this fellow.” So saying, Robin Hood stepped forth from the shade of the beech tree, crossed the stile, and stood in the middle of the road, with his hands on his hips, in the stranger’s path.