Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
have a stranger guest, some abbot or bishop or baron, who would pay us
for our hospitality. I will not dine till a guest be found, and I
leave it to you three to find him." Robin turned away, laughing at the
crestfallen faces of his followers, who had not counted on such a
vague commission; but Little John, quickly recovering himself, called
to him: "Master, tell us, before we leave you, where we shall meet,
and what sort of people we are to capture and bring to you in the
greenwood."
The Outlaws' Rules
"You know that already," said their master. "You are to do no harm to
women, nor to any company in which a woman is travelling; this is in
honour of our dear Lady. You are to be kind and gentle to husbandmen
and toilers of all degrees, to worthy knights and yeomen, to gallant
squires, and to all children and helpless people; but sheriffs
(especially him of Nottingham), bishops, and prelates of all kinds,
and usurers in Church and State, you may regard as your enemies, and
may rob, beat, and despoil in any way. Meet me with your guest at our
great trysting oak in the forest, and be speedy, for dinner must wait
until the visitor has arrived." "Now may God send us a suitable
traveller soon," said Little John, "for I am hungry for dinner now."
"So am I," said each of the others, and Robin laughed again. "Go ye
all three, with bows and arrows in hand, and I will stay alone at the
trysting tree and await your coming. As no man passes this way, you
can walk up to the willow plantation and take your stand on Watling
Street; there you will soon meet with likely travellers, and I will
accept the first who appears. I will find means to have dinner ready
against your return, and we will hope that our visitor's generosity
will compensate us for the trouble of cooking his dinner."
Robin Hood's Guest
The three yeomen, taking their longbows in hand and arrows in their
belts, walked up through the willow plantation to a place on Watling
Street where another road crossed it; but there was no one in sight.
As they stood with bows in hand, looking towards the forest of
Barnesdale, they saw in the distance a knight riding in their
direction. As he drew nearer they were struck by his appearance, for
he rode as a man who had lost all interest in life; his clothes were
disordered, he looked neither to right nor left, but drooped his head
sadly, while one foot hung in the stirrup and the other dangled
slackly in the air. The yeomen had never seen so doleful a rider; but,
sad as he was, this was a visitor and must be taken to Robin;
accordingly Little John stepped forward and caught the horse by the
bridle.
Little John Escorts the Knight
The knight raised his head and looked blankly at the outlaw, who at
once doffed his cap, saying, "Welcome, Sir Knight! I give you, on my
master's behalf, a hearty welcome to the greenwood. Gentle knight,
come now to my master, who hath waited three hours, fasting, for your
approach before he would dine. Dinner is prepared, and only tarries
your courteous appearance." The stranger knight seemed to consider
this address carefully, for he sighed deeply, and then said: "I cry
thee mercy, good fellow, for the delay, though I wot not how I am the
cause thereof. But who is thy master?" Little John replied: "My
master's name is Robin Hood, and I am sent to guide you to him." The
knight said: "So Robin Hood is thy leader? I have heard of him, and
know him to be a good yeoman; therefore I am ready to accompany thee,
though, in good sooth, I had intended to eat my midday meal at Blythe
or Doncaster to-day. But it matters little where a broken man dines!"
Robin Hood's Feast
The three yeomen conducted the knight along the forest ways to the
trysting oak where Robin awaited them. As they went they observed
that the knight was weeping silently for some great distress, but
their courtesy forbade them to make any show of noticing his grief.
When the appointed spot was reached, Robin stepped forward and
courteously greeted his guest, with head uncovered and bended knee,
and welcomed him gladly to the wild greenwood. "Welcome, Sir Knight,
to our greenwood feast! I have waited three hours for a guest, and now
Our Lady has sent you to me we can dine, after we have heard Mass."
The knight said nothing but, "God save you, good Robin, and all your
merry men"; and then very devoutly they heard the three Masses, sung
by Friar Tuck. By this time others of the outlaw band had appeared,
having returned from various errands, and a gay company sat down to a
banquet as good as any the knight had ever eaten.
Robin Converses with the Knight
There was abundance of good things--venison and game of all kinds,
swans and river-fowl and fish, with bread and good wine. Every one
seemed joyous, and merry jests went round that jovial company, till
even the careworn guest began to smile, and then to laugh outright. At
this Robin was well pleased, for he saw that his visitor was a good
man, and was glad to have lifted the burden of his care, even if only
for a few minutes; so he smiled cheerfully at the knight and said: "Be
merry, Sir Knight, I pray, and eat heartily of our food, for it is
with great goodwill that we offer it to you." "Thanks, good Robin,"
replied the knight. "I have enjoyed my dinner to-day greatly; for
three weeks I have not had so good a meal. If I ever pass by this way
again I will do my best to repay you in kind; as good a dinner will I
try to provide as you have given me."
Robin Demands Payment
The outlaw chief seemed to be affronted by this suggestion, and
replied, with a touch of pride in his manner: "Thanks for your
proffer, Sir Knight, but, by Heaven! no man has ever yet deemed me a
glutton. While I eat one dinner I am not accustomed to look eagerly
for another--one is enough for me. But as for you, my guest, I think
it only fitting that you should pay before you go; a yeoman was never
meant to pay for a knight's banquet." The knight blushed, and looked
confused for a moment, and then said: "True, Robin, and gladly would I
reward you for my entertainment, but I have no money worth offering;
even all I have would not be worthy of your acceptance, and I should
be shamed in your eyes, and those of your men."
The Knight's Poverty
"Is that the truth?" asked Robin, making a sign to Little John, who
arose, and, going to the knight's steed, unstrapped a small coffer,
which he brought back and placed before his master. "Search it, Little
John," said he, and "You, sir, tell me the very truth, by your honour
as a belted knight." "It is truth, on my honour, that I have but ten
shillings," replied the knight, "and if Little John searches he will
find no more." "Open the coffer," said Robin, and Little John took it
away to the other side of the trysting oak, where he emptied its
contents on his outspread cloak, and found exactly ten shillings.
Returning to his master, who sat at his ease, drinking and gaily
conversing with his anxious guest, Little John whispered: "The knight
has told the truth," and thereupon Robin exclaimed aloud: "Sir Knight,
I will not take one penny from you; you may rather borrow of me if
you have need of more money, for ten shillings is but a miserable sum
for a knight. But tell me now, if it be your pleasure, how you come to
be in such distress." As he looked inquiringly at the stranger, whose
blush had faded once, only to be renewed as he found his word of
honour doubted, he noticed how thin and threadbare were his clothes
and how worn his russet leather shoes; and he was grieved to see so
noble-seeming a man in such a plight.
The Knight's Story
Yet Robin meant to fathom the cause of the knight's trouble, for then,
perhaps, he would be able to help him, so he continued pitilessly:
"Tell me just one word, which I will keep secret from all other men:
were you driven by compulsion to take up knighthood, or urged to beg
it by reason of the ownership of some small estate; or have you wasted
your old inheritance with fines for brawling and strife, or in
gambling and riotousness, or in borrowing at usury? All of these are
fatal to a good estate."
The knight replied: "Alas! good Robin, none of these hath been my
undoing. My ancestors have all been knights for over a hundred years,
and I have not lived wastefully, but soberly and sparely. As short a
time ago as last year I had over four hundred pounds saved, which I
could spend freely among my neighbours, and my income was four hundred
pounds a year, from my land; but now my only possessions are my wife
and children. This is the work of God's hand, and to Him I commit me
to amend my estate in His own good time."
How the Money was Lost
"But how have you so soon lost this great wealth?" asked Robin
incredulously; and the knight replied sadly: "Ah, Robin, you have no
son, or you would know that a father will give up all to save his
first-born. I have one gallant son, and when I went on the Crusade
with our noble Prince Edward I left him at home to guard my lands, for
he was twenty years old, and was a brave and comely youth. When I
returned, after two years' absence, it was to find him in great
danger, for in a public tournament he had slain in open fight a knight
of Lancashire and a bold young squire. He would have died a shameful
death had I not spent all my ready money and other property to save
him from prison, for his enemies were mighty and unjust; and even that
was not enough, for I was forced to mortgage my estates for more
money. All my land lies in pledge to the abbot of St. Mary's Abbey, in
York, and I have no hope to redeem it. I was riding to York when your
men found me."
The Sum Required
"For what sum is your land pledged?" asked the master-outlaw; and the
knight replied: "The Abbot lent me four hundred pounds, though the
value of the land is far beyond that." "What will you do if you fail
to redeem your land?" asked Robin. "I shall leave England at once, and
journey once more to Jerusalem, and tread again the sacred Hill of
Calvary, and never more return to my native land. That will be my
fate, for I see no likelihood of repaying the loan, and I will not
stay to see strangers holding my father's land. Farewell, my friend
Robin, farewell to you all! Keep the ten shillings; I would have paid
more if I could, but that is the best I can give you." "Have you no
friends at home?" asked Robin; and the knight said: "Many friends I
thought I had, sir. They were very kind and helpful in my days of
prosperity, when I did not need them; now they will not know me, so
much has my poverty seemed to alter my face and appearance."
Robin Offers a Loan
This pitiful story touched the hearts of the simple and kindly
outlaws; they wept for pity, and cared not to hide their tears from
each other, until Robin made them all pledge their guest in bumpers of
good red wine. Then their chief asked, as if continuing his own train
of thought: "Have you any friends who will act as sureties for the
repayment of the loan?" "None at all," replied the knight hopelessly,
"but God Himself, who suffered on the Tree for us." This last reply
angered Robin, who thought it savoured too much of companionship with
the fat and hypocritical monks whom he hated, and he retorted sharply:
"No such tricks for me! Do you think I will take such a surety, or
even one of the saints, in return for good solid gold? Get some more
substantial surety, or no gold shall you have from me. I cannot afford
to waste my money."
The Knight Offers Surety
The knight replied, sighing heavily: "If you will not take these I
have no earthly surety to offer; and in Heaven there is only our dear