The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
winked his right eye. "Nay, good youth," said he gently, "I doubt not
that thou art in haste with thine affairs, yet thou dost think nothing
of mine. Thine are of a carnal nature; mine are of a spiritual nature,
a holy work, so to speak; moreover, mine affairs do lie upon the other
side of this stream. I see by thy quest of this same holy recluse that
thou art a good young man and most reverent to the cloth. I did get wet
coming hither, and am sadly afraid that should I wade the water again I
might get certain cricks and pains i' the joints that would mar my
devotions for many a day to come. I know that since I have so humbly
done thy bidding thou wilt carry me back again. Thou seest how Saint
Godrick, that holy hermit whose natal day this is, hath placed in my
hands two swords and in thine never a one. Therefore be persuaded, good
youth, and carry me back again."
Robin Hood looked up and he looked down, biting his nether lip. Quoth
he, "Thou cunning Friar, thou hast me fair and fast enow. Let me tell
thee that not one of thy cloth hath so hoodwinked me in all my life
before. I might have known from thy looks that thou wert no such holy
man as thou didst pretend to be."
"Nay," interrupted the Friar, "I bid thee speak not so scurrilously
neither, lest thou mayst perchance feel the prick of an inch or so of
blue steel."
"Tut, tut," said Robin, "speak not so, Friar; the loser hath ever the
right to use his tongue as he doth list. Give me my sword; I do promise
to carry thee back straightway. Nay, I will not lift the weapon against
thee."
"Marry, come up," quoth the Friar, "I fear thee not, fellow. Here is thy
skewer; and get thyself presently ready, for I would hasten back."
So Robin took his sword again and buckled it at his side; then he bent
his stout back and took the Friar upon it.
Now I wot Robin Hood had a heavier load to carry in the Friar than the
Friar had in him. Moreover he did not know the ford, so he went
stumbling among the stones, now stepping into a deep hole, and now
nearly tripping over a boulder, while the sweat ran down his face in
beads from the hardness of his journey and the heaviness of his load.
Meantime, the Friar kept digging his heels into Robin's sides and
bidding him hasten, calling him many ill names the while. To all this
Robin answered never a word, but, having softly felt around till he
found the buckle of the belt that held the Friar's sword, he worked
slyly at the fastenings, seeking to loosen them. Thus it came about
that, by the time he had reached the other bank with his load, the
Friar's sword belt was loose albeit he knew it not; so when Robin stood
on dry land and the Friar leaped from his back, the yeoman gripped hold
of the sword so that blade, sheath, and strap came away from the holy
man, leaving him without a weapon.
"Now then," quoth merry Robin, panting as he spake and wiping the sweat
from his brow, "I have thee, fellow. This time that same saint of whom
thou didst speak but now hath delivered two swords into my hand and hath
stripped thine away from thee. Now if thou dost not carry me back, and
that speedily, I swear I will prick thy skin till it is as full of holes
as a slashed doublet."
The good Friar said not a word for a while, but he looked at Robin with
a grim look. "Now," said he at last, "I did think that thy wits were of
the heavy sort and knew not that thou wert so cunning. Truly, thou hast
me upon the hip. Give me my sword, and I promise not to draw it against
thee save in self-defense; also, I promise to do thy bidding and take
thee upon my back and carry thee."
So jolly Robin gave him his sword again, which the Friar buckled to his
side, and this time looked to it that it was more secure in its
fastenings; then tucking up his robes once more, he took Robin Hood upon
his back and without a word stepped into the water, and so waded on in
silence while Robin sat laughing upon his back. At last he reached the
middle of the ford where the water was deepest. Here he stopped for a
moment, and then, with a sudden lift of his hand and heave of his
shoulders, fairly shot Robin over his head as though he were a sack of
grain.
Down went Robin into the water with a mighty splash. "There," quoth the
holy man, calmly turning back again to the shore, "let that cool thy hot
spirit, if it may."
Meantime, after much splashing, Robin had gotten to his feet and stood
gazing about him all bewildered, the water running from him in pretty
little rills. At last he shot the water out of his ears and spat some
out of his mouth, and, gathering his scattered wits together, saw the
stout Friar standing on the bank and laughing. Then, I wot, was Robin
Hood a mad man. "Stay, thou villain!" roared he, "I am after thee
straight, and if I do not carve thy brawn for thee this day, may I never
lift finger again!" So saying, he dashed, splashing, to the bank.
"Thou needst not hasten thyself unduly," quoth the stout Friar. "Fear
not; I will abide here, and if thou dost not cry 'Alack-a-day' ere long
time is gone, may I never more peep through the brake at a fallow deer."
And now Robin, having reached the bank, began, without more ado, to roll
up his sleeves above his wrists. The Friar, also, tucked his robes more
about him, showing a great, stout arm on which the muscles stood out
like humps of an aged tree. Then Robin saw, what he had not wotted of
before, that the Friar had also a coat of chain mail beneath his gown.
"Look to thyself," cried Robin, drawing his good sword.
"Ay, marry," quoth the Friar, who held his already in his hand. So,
without more ado, they came together, and thereupon began a fierce and
mighty battle. Right and left, and up and down and back and forth they
fought. The swords flashed in the sun and then met with a clash that
sounded far and near. I wot this was no playful bout at quarterstaff,
but a grim and serious fight of real earnest. Thus they strove for an
hour or more, pausing every now and then to rest, at which times each
looked at the other with wonder, and thought that never had he seen so
stout a fellow; then once again they would go at it more fiercely than
ever. Yet in all this time neither had harmed the other nor caused his
blood to flow. At last merry Robin cried, "Hold thy hand, good friend!"
whereupon both lowered their swords.
"Now I crave a boon ere we begin again," quoth Robin, wiping the sweat
from his brow; for they had striven so long that he began to think that
it would be an ill-done thing either to be smitten himself or to smite
so stout and brave a fellow.
"What wouldst thou have of me?" asked the Friar.
"Only this," quoth Robin; "that thou wilt let me blow thrice upon my
bugle horn."
The Friar bent his brows and looked shrewdly at Robin Hood. "Now I do
verily think that thou hast some cunning trick in this," quoth he.
"Ne'ertheless, I fear thee not, and will let thee have thy wish,
providing thou wilt also let me blow thrice upon this little whistle."
"With all my heart," quoth Robin, "so, here goes for one." So saying, he
raised his silver horn to his lips and blew thrice upon it, clear and
high.
Meantime, the Friar stood watching keenly for what might come to pass,
holding in his fingers the while a pretty silver whistle, such as
knights use for calling their hawks back to their wrists, which whistle
always hung at his girdle along with his rosary.
Scarcely had the echo of the last note of Robin's bugle come winding
back from across the river, when four tall men in Lincoln green came
running around the bend of the road, each with a bow in his hand and an
arrow ready nocked upon the string.
"Ha! Is it thus, thou traitor knave!" cried the Friar. "Then, marry,
look to thyself!" So saying, he straightway clapped the hawk's whistle
to his lips and blew a blast that was both loud and shrill. And now
there came a crackling of the bushes that lined the other side of the
road, and presently forth from the covert burst four great, shaggy
hounds. "At 'em, Sweet Lips! At 'em, Bell Throat! At 'em, Beauty! At
'em, Fangs!" cried the Friar, pointing at Robin.
And now it was well for that yeoman that a tree stood nigh him beside
the road, else had he had an ill chance of it. Ere one could say "Gaffer
Downthedale" the hounds were upon him, and he had only time to drop his
sword and leap lightly into the tree, around which the hounds gathered,
looking up at him as though he were a cat on the eaves. But the Friar
quickly called off his dogs. "At 'em!" cried he, pointing down the road
to where the yeomen were standing stock still with wonder of what they
saw. As the hawk darts down upon its quarry, so sped the four dogs at
the yeomen; but when the four men saw the hounds so coming, all with one
accord, saving only Will Scarlet, drew each man his goose feather to his
ear and let fly his shaft.
And now the old ballad telleth of a wondrous thing that happened, for
thus it says, that each dog so shot at leaped lightly aside, and as the
arrow passed him whistling, caught it in his mouth and bit it in twain.
Now it would have been an ill day for these four good fellows had not
Will Scarlet stepped before the others and met the hounds as they came
rushing. "Why, how now, Fangs!" cried he sternly. "Down, Beauty! Down,
sirrah! What means this?"
At the sound of his voice each dog shrank back quickly and then
straightway came to him and licked his hands and fawned upon him, as is
the wont of dogs that meet one they know. Then the four yeomen came
forward, the hounds leaping around Will Scarlet joyously. "Why, how
now!" cried the stout Friar, "what means this? Art thou wizard to turn
those wolves into lambs? Ha!" cried he, when they had come still
nearer, "can I trust mine eyes? What means it that I see young Master
William Gamwell in such company?"
"Nay, Tuck," said the young man, as the four came forward to where Robin
was now clambering down from the tree in which he had been roosting, he
having seen that all danger was over for the time; "nay, Tuck, my name
is no longer Will Gamwell, but Will Scarlet; and this is my good uncle,
Robin Hood, with whom I am abiding just now."
"Truly, good master," said the Friar, looking somewhat abashed and
reaching out his great palm to Robin, "I ha' oft heard thy name both
sung and spoken of, but I never thought to meet thee in battle. I crave
thy forgiveness, and do wonder not that I found so stout a man against
me."
"Truly, most holy father," said Little John, "I am more thankful than
e'er I was in all my life before that our good friend Scarlet knew thee
and thy dogs. I tell thee seriously that I felt my heart crumble away
from me when I saw my shaft so miss its aim, and those great beasts of
thine coming straight at me."
"Thou mayst indeed be thankful, friend," said the Friar gravely. "But,
Master Will, how cometh it that thou dost now abide in Sherwood?"
"Why, Tuck, dost thou not know of my ill happening with my father's
steward?" answered Scarlet.
"Yea, truly, yet I knew not that thou wert in hiding because of it.
Marry, the times are all awry when a gentleman must lie hidden for so
small a thing."
"But we are losing time," quoth Robin, "and I have yet to find that same
Curtal Friar."
"Why, uncle, thou hast not far to go," said Will Scarlet, pointing to
the Friar, "for there he stands beside thee."
"How?" quoth Robin, "art thou the man that I have been at such pains to
seek all day, and have got such a ducking for?"
"Why, truly," said the Friar demurely, "some do call me the Curtal Friar
of Fountain Dale; others again call me in jest the Abbot of Fountain
Abbey; others still again call me simple Friar Tuck."
"I like the last name best," quoth Robin, "for it doth slip more glibly