Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  First David of Doncaster shot, and lodged all three of his arrows within the garland. “Well done, David!” cried Robin, “thou hast saved thine ears from a warming this day.” Next Midge, the Miller, shot, and he, also, lodged his arrows in the garland. Then followed Wat, the Tinker, but alas for him! For one of his shafts missed the mark by the breadth of two fingers.

  “Come hither, fellow,” said Will Scarlet, in his soft, gentle voice, “I owe thee somewhat that I would pay forthwith.” Then Wat, the Tinker, came forward and stood in front of Will Scarlet, screwing up his face and shutting his eyes tightly, as though he already felt his ears ringing with the buffet. Will Scarlet rolled up his sleeve, and, standing on tiptoe to give the greater swing to his arm, he struck with might and main. “WHOOF!” came his palm against the Tinker’s head, and down went stout Wat to the grass, heels over head, as the wooden image at the fair goes down when the skillful player throws a cudgel at it. Then, as the Tinker sat up upon the grass, rubbing his ear and winking and blinking at the bright stars that danced before his eyes, the yeomen roared with mirth till the forest rang. As for King Richard, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Thus the band shot, each in turn, some getting off scot free, and some winning a buffet that always sent them to the grass. And now, last of all, Robin took his place, and all was hushed as he shot. The first shaft he shot split a piece from the stake on which the garland was hung; the second lodged within an inch of the other. “By my halidom,” said King Richard to himself, “I would give a thousand pounds for this fellow to be one of my guard!” And now, for the third time Robin shot; but, alas for him! The arrow was ill- feathered, and, wavering to one side, it smote an inch outside the garland.

  At this a great roar went up, those of the yeomen who sat upon the grass rolling over and over and shouting with laughter, for never before had they seen their master so miss his mark; but Robin flung his bow upon the ground with vexation. “Now, out upon it!” cried he. “That shaft had an ill feather to it, for I felt it as it left my fingers. Give me a clean arrow, and I will engage to split the wand with it.”

  At these words the yeomen laughed louder than ever. “Nay, good uncle,” said Will Scarlet in his soft, sweet voice, “thou hast had thy fair chance and hast missed thine aim out and out. I swear the arrow was as good as any that hath been loosed this day. Come hither; I owe thee somewhat, and would fain pay it.”

  “Go, good master,” roared Friar Tuck, “and may my blessing go with thee. Thou hast bestowed these love taps of Will Scarlet’s with great freedom. It were pity an thou gottest not thine own share.”

  “It may not be,” said merry Robin. “I am king here, and no subject may raise hand against the king. But even our great King Richard may yield to the holy Pope without shame, and even take a tap from him by way of penance; therefore I will yield myself to this holy friar, who seemeth to be one in authority, and will take my punishment from him.” Thus saying, he turned to the King, “I prythee, brother, wilt thou take my punishing into thy holy hands?”

  “With all my heart,” quoth merry King Richard, rising from where he was sitting. “I owe thee somewhat for having lifted a heavy weight of fifty pounds from my purse. So make room for him on the green, lads.”

  “An thou makest me tumble,” quoth Robin, “I will freely give thee back thy fifty pounds; but I tell thee, brother, if thou makest me not feel grass all along my back, I will take every farthing thou hast for thy boastful speech.”

  “So be it,” said the King, “I am willing to venture it.” Thereupon he rolled up his sleeve and showed an arm that made the yeomen stare. But Robin, with his feet wide apart, stood firmly planted, waiting the other, smiling. Then the King swung back his arm, and, balancing himself a moment, he delivered a buffet at Robin that fell like a thunderbolt. Down went Robin headlong upon the grass, for the stroke would have felled a stone wall. Then how the yeomen shouted with laughter till their sides ached, for never had they seen such a buffet given in all their lives. As for Robin, he presently sat up and looked all around him, as though he had dropped from a cloud and had lit in a place he had never seen before. After a while, still gazing about him at his laughing yeomen, he put his fingertips softly to his ear and felt all around it tenderly. “Will Scarlet,” said he, “count this fellow out his fifty pounds; I want nothing more either of his money or of him. A murrain seize him and his buffeting! I would that I had taken my dues from thee, for I verily believe he hath deafened mine ear from ever hearing again.”

  Then, while gusts of laughter still broke from the band, Will Scarlet counted out the fifty pounds, and the King dropped it back into his purse again. “I give thee thanks, fellow,” said he, “and if ever thou shouldst wish for another box of the ear to match the one thou hast, come to me and I will fit thee with it for nought.”

  So spake the merry King; but, even as he ended, there came suddenly the sound of many voices, and out from the covert burst Little John and threescore men, with Sir Richard of the Lea in the midst. Across the glade they came running, and, as they came, Sir Richard shouted to Robin: “Make haste, dear friend, gather thy band together and come with me! King Richard left Nottingham Town this very morning, and cometh to seek thee in the woodlands. I know not how he cometh, for it was but a rumor of this that reached me; nevertheless, I know that it is the truth. Therefore hasten with all thy men, and come to Castle Lea, for there thou mayst lie hidden till thy present danger passeth. Who are these strangers that thou hast with thee?”

  “Why,” quoth merry Robin, rising from the grass, “these are certain gentle guests that came with us from the highroad over by Newstead Abbey. I know not their names, but I have become right well acquaint with this lusty rogue’s palm this morning. Marry, the pleasure of this acquaintance hath dost me a deaf ear and fifty pounds to boot!”

  Sir Richard looked keenly at the tall friar, who, drawing himself up to his full height, looked fixedly back at the knight. Then of a sudden Sir Richard’s cheeks grew pale, for he knew who it was that he looked upon. Quickly he leaped from off his horse’s back and flung himself upon his knees before the other. At this, the King, seeing that Sir Richard knew him, threw back his cowl, and all the yeomen saw his face and knew him also, for there was not one of them but had been in the crowd in the good town of Nottingham, and had seen him riding side by side with the Sheriff. Down they fell upon their knees, nor could they say a word. Then the King looked all around right grimly, and, last of all, his glance came back and rested again upon Sir Richard of the Lea.

  “How is this, Sir Richard?” said he sternly. “How darest thou step between me and these fellows? And how darest thou offer thy knightly Castle of the Lea for a refuge to them? Wilt thou make it a hiding place for the most renowned outlaws in England?”

  Then Sir Richard of the Lea raised his eyes to the King’s face. “Far be it from me,” said he, “to do aught that could bring Your Majesty’s anger upon me. Yet, sooner would I face Your Majesty’s wrath than suffer aught of harm that I could stay to fall upon Robin Hood and his band; for to them I owe life, honor, everything. Should I, then, desert him in his hour of need?”

  Ere the knight had done speaking, one of the mock friars that stood near the King came forward and knelt beside Sir Richard, and throwing back his cowl showed the face of young Sir Henry of the Lea. Then Sir Henry grasped his father’s hand and said, “Here kneels one who hath served thee well, King Richard, and, as thou knowest, hath stepped between thee and death in Palestine; yet do I abide by my dear father, and here I say also, that I would freely give shelter to this noble outlaw, Robin Hood, even though it brought thy wrath upon me, for my father’s honor and my father’s welfare are as dear to me as mine own.”

  King Richard looked from one to the other of the kneeling knights, and at last the frown faded from his brow and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Marry, Sir Richard,” quoth the King, “thou art a bold-spoken knight, and thy freedom of speech weigheth not heavily against thee with me.
This young son of thine taketh after his sire both in boldness of speech and of deed, for, as he sayeth, he stepped one time betwixt me and death; wherefore I would pardon thee for his sake even if thou hadst done more than thou hast. Rise all of you, for ye shall suffer no harm through me this day, for it were pity that a merry time should end in a manner as to mar its joyousness.”

  Then all arose and the King beckoned Robin Hood to come to him. “How now,” quoth he, “is thine ear still too deaf to hear me speak?”

  “Mine ears would be deafened in death ere they would cease to hear Your Majesty’s voice,” said Robin. “As for the blow that Your Majesty struck me, I would say that though my sins are haply many, methinks they have been paid up in full thereby.”

  “Thinkest thou so?” said the King with somewhat of sternness in his voice. “Now I tell thee that but for three things, to wit, my mercifulness, my love for a stout woodsman, and the loyalty thou hast avowed for me, thine ears, mayhap, might have been more tightly closed than ever a buffet from me could have shut them. Talk not lightly of thy sins, good Robin. But come, look up. Thy danger is past, for hereby I give thee and all thy band free pardon. But, in sooth, I cannot let you roam the forest as ye have done in the past; therefore I will take thee at thy word, when thou didst say thou wouldst give thy service to me, and thou shalt go back to London with me. We will take that bold knave Little John also, and likewise thy cousin, Will Scarlet, and thy minstrel, Allan a Dale. As for the rest of thy band, we will take their names and have them duly recorded as royal rangers; for methinks it were wiser to have them changed to law-abiding caretakers of our deer in Sherwood than to leave them to run at large as outlawed slayers thereof. But now get a feast ready; I would see how ye live in the woodlands.”

  So Robin bade his men make ready a grand feast. Straightway great fires were kindled and burned brightly, at which savory things roasted sweetly. While this was going forward, the King bade Robin call Allan a Dale, for he would hear him sing. So word was passed for Allan, and presently he came, bringing his harp.

  “Marry,” said King Richard, “if thy singing match thy looks it is fair enough. Prythee, strike up a ditty and let us have a taste of thy skill.”

  Then Allan touched his harp lightly, and all words were hushed while he sang thus:

  “‘Oh, where has thou been, my daughter?

  Oh, where hast thou been this day

  Daughter, my daughter?’

  ‘Oh, I have been to the river’s side,

  Where the waters lie all gray and wide,

  And the gray sky broods o’er the leaden tide,

  And the shrill wind sighs a straining.’

  “‘What sawest thou there, my daughter?

  What sawest thou there this day,

  Daughter, my daughter?’

  ‘Oh, I saw a boat come drifting nigh,

  Where the quivering rushes hiss and sigh,

  And the water soughs as it gurgles by,

  And the shrill wind sighs a straining.’

  “‘What sailed in the boat, my daughter?

  What sailed in the boat this day,

  Daughter, my daughter?’

  ‘Oh, there was one all clad in white,

  And about his face hung a pallid light,

  And his eyes gleamed sharp like the stars at night,

  And the shrill wind sighed a straining.’

  “‘And what said he, my daughter?

  What said he to thee this day,

  Daughter, my daughter?’

  ‘Oh, said he nought, but did he this:

  Thrice on my lips did he press a kiss,

  And my heartstrings shrunk with an awful bliss,

  And the shrill wind sighed a straining.’

  “‘Why growest thou so cold, my daughter?

  Why growest thou so cold and white,

  Daughter, my daughter?’

  Oh, never a word the daughter said,

  But she sat all straight with a drooping head,

  For her heart was stilled and her face was dead:

  And the shrill wind sighed a straining.”

  All listened in silence; and when Allan a Dale had done King Richard heaved a sigh. “By the breath of my body, Allan,” quoth he, “thou hast such a wondrous sweet voice that it strangely moves my heart. But what doleful ditty is this for the lips of a stout yeoman? I would rather hear thee sing a song of love and battle than a sad thing like that. Moreover, I understand it not; what meanest thou by the words?”

  “I know not, Your Majesty,” said Allan, shaking his head, “for ofttimes I sing that which I do not clearly understand mine own self.”

  “Well, well,” quoth the King, “let it pass; only I tell thee this, Allan, thou shouldst turn thy songs to such matters as I spoke of, to wit, love or war; for in sooth thou hast a sweeter voice than Blondell, and methought he was the best minstrel that ever I heard.”

  But now one came forward and said that the feast was ready; so Robin Hood brought King Richard and those with him to where it lay all spread out on fair white linen cloths which lay upon the soft green grass. Then King Richard sat him down and feasted and drank, and when he was done he swore roundly that he had never sat at such a lusty repast in all his life before.

  That night he lay in Sherwood Forest upon a bed of sweet green leaves, and early the next morning he set forth from the woodlands for Nottingham Town, Robin Hood and all of his band going with him. You may guess what a stir there was in the good town when all these famous outlaws came marching into the streets. As for the Sheriff, he knew not what to say nor where to look when he saw Robin Hood in such high favor with the King, while all his heart was filled with gall because of the vexation that lay upon him.

  The next day the King took leave of Nottingham Town; so Robin Hood and Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale shook hands with all the rest of the band, kissing the cheeks of each man, and swearing that they would often come to Sherwood and see them. Then each mounted his horse and rode away in the train of the King.

  Epilogue

  THUS END THE Merry Adventures of Robin Hood; for, in spite of his promise, it was many a year ere he saw Sherwood again.

  After a year or two at court Little John came back to Nottinghamshire, where he lived in an orderly way, though within sight of Sherwood, and where he achieved great fame as the champion of all England with the quarterstaff. Will Scarlet after a time came back to his own home, whence he had been driven by his unlucky killing of his father’s steward. The rest of the band did their duty as royal rangers right well. But Robin Hood and Allan a Dale did not come again to Sherwood so quickly, for thus it was:

  Robin, through his great fame as an archer, became a favorite with the King, so that he speedily rose in rank to be the chief of all the yeomen. At last the King, seeing how faithful and how loyal he was, created him Earl of Huntingdon; so Robin followed the King to the wars, and found his time so full that he had no chance to come back to Sherwood for even so much as a day. As for Allan a Dale and his wife, the fair Ellen, they followed Robin Hood and shared in all his ups and downs of life.

  And now, dear friend, you who have journeyed with me in all these merry doings, I will not bid you follow me further, but will drop your hand here with a “good den,” if you wish it; for that which cometh hereafter speaks of the breaking up of things, and shows how joys and pleasures that are dead and gone can never be set upon their feet to walk again. I will not dwell upon the matter overlong, but will tell as speedily as may be of how that stout fellow, Robin Hood, died as he had lived, not at court as Earl of Huntingdon, but with bow in hand, his heart in the greenwood, and he himself a right yeoman.

  King Richard died upon the battlefield, in such a way as properly became a lion-hearted king, as you yourself, no doubt, know; so, after a time, the Earl of Huntingdon — or Robin Hood, as we still call him as of old — finding nothing for his doing abroad, came back to merry England again. With him came Allan a Dale and his wife, the fair Ellen, for th
ese two had been chief of Robin’s household ever since he had left Sherwood Forest.

  It was in the springtime when they landed once more on the shores of England. The leaves were green and the small birds sang blithely, just as they used to do in fair Sherwood when Robin Hood roamed the woodland shades with a free heart and a light heel. All the sweetness of the time and the joyousness of everything brought back to Robin’s mind his forest life, so that a great longing came upon him to behold the woodlands once more. So he went straightway to King John and besought leave of him to visit Nottingham for a short season. The King gave him leave to come and to go, but bade him not stay longer than three days at Sherwood. So Robin Hood and Allan a Dale set forth without delay to Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest.

  The first night they took up their inn at Nottingham Town, yet they did not go to pay their duty to the Sheriff, for his worship bore many a bitter grudge against Robin Hood, which grudges had not been lessened by Robin’s rise in the world. The next day at an early hour they mounted their horses and set forth for the woodlands. As they passed along the road it seemed to Robin that he knew every stick and stone that his eyes looked upon. Yonder was a path that he had ofttimes trod of a mellow evening, with Little John beside him; here was one, now nigh choked with brambles, along which he and a little band had walked when they went forth to seek a certain curtal friar.

  Thus they rode slowly onward, talking about these old, familiar things; old and yet new, for they found more in them than they had ever thought of before. Thus at last they came to the open glade, and the broad, wide-spreading greenwood tree which was their home for so many years. Neither of the two spoke when they stood beneath that tree. Robin looked all about him at the well-known things, so like what they used to be and yet so different; for, where once was the bustle of many busy fellows was now the quietness of solitude; and, as he looked, the woodlands, the greensward, and the sky all blurred together in his sight through salt tears, for such a great yearning came upon him as he looked on these things (as well known to him as the fingers of his right hand) that he could not keep back the water from his eyes.