The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
Now truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell[1]
was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"
[1] Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William of Cloudesly were three
noted north-country bowmen whose names have been celebrated in many
ballads of the olden time.
"Then have I gained a right good man this day," quoth jolly Robin.
"What name goest thou by, good fellow?"
"Men call me John Little whence I came," answered the stranger.
Then Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up. "Nay, fair little
stranger," said he, "I like not thy name and fain would I have it
otherwise. Little art thou indeed, and small of bone and sinew,
therefore shalt thou be christened Little John, and I will be thy
godfather."
Then Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger began
to grow angry.
"An thou make a jest of me," quoth he to Will Stutely, "thou wilt have
sore bones and little pay, and that in short season."
"Nay, good friend," said Robin Hood, "bottle thine anger, for the name
fitteth thee well. Little John shall thou be called henceforth, and
Little John shall it be. So come, my merry men, we will prepare a
christening feast for this fair infant."
So turning their backs upon the stream, they plunged into the forest
once more, through which they traced their steps till they reached the
spot where they dwelled in the depths of the woodland. There had they
built huts of bark and branches of trees, and made couches of sweet
rushes spread over with skins of fallow deer. Here stood a great oak
tree with branches spreading broadly around, beneath which was a seat of
green moss where Robin Hood was wont to sit at feast and at merrymaking
with his stout men about him. Here they found the rest of the band, some
of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. Then they all built great
fires and after a time roasted the does and broached a barrel of humming
ale. Then when the feast was ready they all sat down, but Robin placed
Little John at his right hand, for he was henceforth to be the second in
the band.
Then when the feast was done Will Stutely spoke up. "It is now time, I
ween, to christen our bonny babe, is it not so, merry boys?" And "Aye!
Aye!" cried all, laughing till the woods echoed with their mirth.
"Then seven sponsors shall we have," quoth Will Stutely, and hunting
among all the band, he chose the seven stoutest men of them all.
"Now by Saint Dunstan," cried Little John, springing to his feet, "more
than one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me."
But without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his
legs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles, and
they bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport. Then one
came forward who had been chosen to play the priest because he had a
bald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale. "Now, who
bringeth this babe?" asked he right soberly.
"That do I," answered Will Stutely.
"And what name callest thou him?"
"Little John call I him."
"Now Little John," quoth the mock priest, "thou hast not lived
heretofore, but only got thee along through the world, but henceforth
thou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou wast called John
Little, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be
called, so christen I thee." And at these last words he emptied the pot
of ale upon Little John's head.
Then all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale stream
over Little John's beard and trickle from his nose and chin, while his
eyes blinked with the smart of it. At first he was of a mind to be angry
but found he could not, because the others were so merry; so he, too,
laughed with the rest. Then Robin took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed
him all anew from top to toe in Lincoln green, and gave him a good stout
bow, and so made him a member of the merry band.
And thus it was that Robin Hood became outlawed; thus a band of merry
companions gathered about him, and thus he gained his right-hand man,
Little John; and so the prologue ends. And now I will tell how the
Sheriff of Nottingham three times sought to take Robin Hood, and how he
failed each time.
PART FIRST
Telling how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he would deal dole to
Robing Hood. Also, how he made three trials thereat, but missed each
time by a good bow's length.
Robin Hood and the Tinker
NOW IT WAS TOLD BEFORE how two hundred pounds were set upon Robin Hood's
head, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would
seize Robin, both because he would fain have the two hundred pounds and
because the slain man was a kinsman of his own. Now the Sheriff did not
yet know what a force Robin had about him in Sherwood, but thought that
he might serve a warrant for his arrest as he could upon any other man
that had broken the laws; therefore he offered fourscore golden angels
to anyone who would serve this warrant. But men of Nottingham Town knew
more of Robin Hood and his doings than the Sheriff did, and many laughed
to think of serving a warrant upon the bold outlaw, knowing well that
all they would get for such service would be cracked crowns; so that no
one came forward to take the matter in hand. Thus a fortnight passed, in
which time none came forward to do the Sheriff's business. Then said
he, "A right good reward have I offered to whosoever would serve my
warrant upon Robin Hood, and I marvel that no one has come to undertake
the task."
Then one of his men who was near him said, "Good master, thou wottest
not the force that Robin Hood has about him and how little he cares for
warrant of king or sheriff. Truly, no one likes to go on this service,
for fear of cracked crowns and broken bones."
"Then I hold all Nottingham men to be cowards," said the Sheriff. "And
let me see the man in all Nottinghamshire that dare disobey the warrant
of our sovereign lord King Harry, for, by the shrine of Saint Edmund, I
will hang him forty cubits high! But if no man in Nottingham dare win
fourscore angels, I will send elsewhere, for there should be men of
mettle somewhere in this land."
Then he called up a messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade
him saddle his horse and make ready to go to Lincoln Town to see whether
he could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the reward.
So that same morning the messenger started forth upon his errand.
Bright shone the sun upon the dusty highway that led from Nottingham to
Lincoln, stretching away all white over hill and dale. Dusty was the
highway and dusty the throat of the messenger, so that his heart was
glad when he saw before him the Sign of the Blue Boar Inn, when somewhat
more than half his journey was done. The inn looked fair to his eyes,
and the shade of the oak trees that stood around it seemed cool and
pleasant, so he alighted from his horse to rest himself for a time,
calling for a pot of ale to refresh his thirsty throat.
There he saw a party of right jovial fellows seated beneath the
spreading oak that shaded the greensward in front of the door. There was
a tinker, two barefoot friars, and a party of six of the King's
foresters all clad in Lincoln green, and all of them were quaffing
humming ale and singing merry ballads of the good old times. Loud
laughed the foresters, as jests were bandied about between the singing,
and louder laughed the friars, for they were lusty men with beards that
curled like the wool of black rams; but loudest of all laughed the
Tinker, and he sang more sweetly than any of the rest. His bag and his
hammer hung upon a twig of the oak tree, and near by leaned his good
stout cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted at the end.
"Come," cried one of the foresters to the tired messenger, "come join us
for this shot. Ho, landlord! Bring a fresh pot of ale for each man."
The messenger was glad enough to sit down along with the others who were
there, for his limbs were weary and the ale was good.
"Now what news bearest thou so fast?" quoth one, "and whither ridest
thou today?"
The messenger was a chatty soul and loved a bit of gossip dearly;
besides, the pot of ale warmed his heart; so that, settling himself in
an easy corner of the inn bench, while the host leaned upon the doorway
and the hostess stood with her hands beneath her apron, he unfolded his
budget of news with great comfort. He told all from the very first: how
Robin Hood had slain the forester, and how he had hidden in the
greenwood to escape the law; how that he lived therein, all against the
law, God wot, slaying His Majesty's deer and levying toll on fat abbot,
knight, and esquire, so that none dare travel even on broad Watling
Street or the Fosse Way for fear of him; how that the Sheriff had a mind
to serve the King's warrant upon this same rogue, though little would he
mind warrant of either king or sheriff, for he was far from being a
law-abiding man. Then he told how none could be found in all Nottingham Town
to serve this warrant, for fear of cracked pates and broken bones, and
how that he, the messenger, was now upon his way to Lincoln Town to find
of what mettle the Lincoln men might be.
"Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town," said the jolly Tinker,
"and no one nigh Nottingham--nor Sherwood either, an that be the mark--
can hold cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad wag
Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him in
the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady? This
same Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before, is a right merry
blade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger? And gin he be sly, am
not I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o' the Mill, and by mine own
name and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff, and by mine own mother's son, and
that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o' the Crabstaff, meet this same
sturdy rogue, and gin he mind not the seal of our glorious sovereign
King Harry, and the warrant of the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I
will so bruise, beat, and bemaul his pate that he shall never move
finger or toe again! Hear ye that, bully boys?"
"Now art thou the man for my farthing," cried the messenger. "And back
thou goest with me to Nottingham Town."
"Nay," quoth the Tinker, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Go
I with no man gin it be not with mine own free will."
"Nay, nay," said the messenger, "no man is there in Nottinghamshire
could make thee go against thy will, thou brave fellow."
"Ay, that be I brave," said the Tinker.
"Ay, marry," said the messenger, "thou art a brave lad; but our good
Sheriff hath offered fourscore angels of bright gold to whosoever shall
serve the warrant upon Robin Hood; though little good will it do."
"Then I will go with thee, lad. Do but wait till I get my bag and
hammer, and my cudgel. Ay, let' me but meet this same Robin Hood, and
let me see whether he will not mind the King's warrant." So, after
having paid their score, the messenger, with the Tinker striding beside
his nag, started back to Nottingham again.
One bright morning soon after this time, Robin Hood started off to
Nottingham Town to find what was a-doing there, walking merrily along
the roadside where the grass was sweet with daisies, his eyes wandering
and his thoughts also. His bugle horn hung at his hip and his bow and
arrows at his back, while in his hand he bore a good stout oaken staff,
which he twirled with his fingers as he strolled along.
As thus he walked down a shady lane he saw a tinker coming, trolling a
merry song as he drew nigh. On his back hung his bag and his hammer,
and in his hand he carried a right stout crabstaff full six feet long,
and thus sang he:
"_In peascod time, when hound to horn