The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
score, and so they left the inn.
When they had come to the highroad without the town, Robin stopped and
told them all that had passed between young Partington and himself, and
how that the King's men were after them with hot heels. Then he told
them that here they should part company; they three going to the
eastward and he to the westward, and so, skirting the main highroads,
would come by devious paths to Sherwood. "So, be ye wily," said Robin
Hood, "and keep well away from the northward roads till ye have gotten
well to the eastward. And thou, Will Scarlet, take the lead of the
others, for thou hast a cunning turn to thy wits." Then Robin kissed the
three upon the cheeks, and they kissed him, and so they parted company.
Not long after this, a score or more of the King's men came clattering
up to the door of the inn at Barnet Town. Here they leaped from their
horses and quickly surrounded the place, the leader of the band and four
others entering the room where the yeomen had been. But they found that
their birds had flown again, and that the King had been balked a second
time.
"Methought that they were naughty fellows," said the host, when he heard
whom the men-at-arms sought. "But I heard that blue-clad knave say that
they would go straight forward to Saint Albans; so, an ye hurry forward,
ye may, perchance, catch them on the highroad betwixt here and there."
For this news the leader of the band thanked mine host right heartily,
and, calling his men together, mounted and set forth again, galloping
forward to Saint Albans upon a wild goose chase.
After Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale had left the highway
near garnet, they traveled toward the eastward, without stopping, as
long as their legs could carry them, until they came to Chelmsford, in
Essex. Thence they turned northward, and came through Cambridge and
Lincolnshire, to the good town of Gainsborough. Then, striking to the
westward and the south, they came at last to the northern borders of
Sherwood Forest, without in all that time having met so much as a single
band of the King's men. Eight days they journeyed thus ere they reached
the woodlands in safety, but when they got to the greenwood glade, they
found that Robin had not yet returned.
For Robin was not as lucky in getting back as his men had been, as you
shall presently hear.
After having left the great northern road, he turned his face to the
westward, and so came past Aylesbury, to fair Woodstock, in Oxfordshire.
Thence he turned his footsteps northward, traveling for a great distance
by way of Warwick Town, till he came to Dudley, in Staffordshire. Seven
days it took him to journey thus far, and then he thought he had gotten
far enough to the north, so, turning toward the eastward, shunning the
main roads, and choosing byways and grassy lanes, he went, by way of
Litchfield and Ashby de la Zouch, toward Sherwood, until he came to a
place called Stanton. And now Robin's heart began to laugh aloud, for
he thought that his danger had gone by, and that his nostrils would soon
snuff the spicy air of the woodlands once again. But there is many a
slip betwixt the cup and the lip, and this Robin was to find. For thus
it was:
When the King's men found themselves foiled at Saint Albans, and that
Robin and his men were not to be found high nor low, they knew not what
to do. Presently another band of horsemen came, and another, until all
the moonlit streets were full of armed men. Betwixt midnight and dawn
another band came to the town, and with them came the Bishop of
Hereford. When he heard that Robin Hood had once more slipped out of
the trap, he stayed not a minute, but, gathering his bands together, he
pushed forward to the northward with speed, leaving orders for all the
troops that came to Saint Albans to follow after him without tarrying.
On the evening of the fourth day he reached Nottingham Town, and there
straightway divided his men into bands of six or seven, and sent them
all through the countryside, blocking every highway and byway to the
eastward and the southward and the westward of Sherwood. The Sheriff of
Nottingham called forth all his men likewise, and joined with the
Bishop, for he saw that this was the best chance that had ever befallen
of paying back his score in full to Robin Hood. Will Scarlet and Little
John and Allan a Dale had just missed the King's men to the eastward,
for the very next day after they had passed the line and entered
Sherwood the roads through which they had traveled were blocked, so
that, had they tarried in their journeying, they would surely have
fallen into the Bishop's hands.
But of all this Robin knew not a whit; so he whistled merrily as he
trudged along the road beyond Stanton, with his heart as free from care
as the yolk of an egg is from cobwebs. At last he came to where a
little stream spread across the road in a shallow sheet, tinkling and
sparkling as it fretted over its bed of golden gravel. Here Robin
stopped, being athirst, and, kneeling down, he made a cup of the palms
of his hands, and began to drink. On either side of the road, for a long
distance, stood tangled thickets of bushes and young trees, and it
pleased Robin's heart to hear the little birds singing therein, for it
made him think of Sherwood, and it seemed as though it had been a
lifetime since he had breathed the air of the woodlands. But of a
sudden, as he thus stooped, drinking, something hissed past his ear, and
struck with a splash into the gravel and water beside him. Quick as a
wink Robin sprang to his feet, and, at one bound, crossed the stream and
the roadside, and plunged headlong into the thicket, without looking
around, for he knew right well that that which had hissed so venomously
beside his ear was a gray goose shaft, and that to tarry so much as a
moment meant death. Even as he leaped into the thicket six more arrows
rattled among the branches after him, one of which pierced his doublet,
and would have struck deeply into his side but for the tough coat of
steel that he wore. Then up the road came riding some of the King's men
at headlong speed. They leaped from their horses and plunged
straightway into the thicket after Robin. But Robin knew the ground
better than they did, so crawling here, stooping there, and, anon,
running across some little open, he soon left them far behind, coming
out, at last, upon another road about eight hundred paces distant from
the one he had left. Here he stood for a moment, listening to the
distant shouts of the seven men as they beat up and down in the thickets
like hounds that had lost the scent of the quarry. Then, buckling his
belt more tightly around his waist, he ran fleetly down the road toward
the eastward and Sherwood.
But Robin had not gone more than three furlongs in that direction when
he came suddenly to the brow of a hill, and saw beneath him another band
of the King's men seated in the shade along the roadside in the valley
beneath. Then he paused not a moment, but, seeing that they had not
caught sight of him, he turned and ran back whence he had come, knowing
that it was better to run the chance of escaping those fellows that were
yet in the thickets than to rush into the arms of those in the valley.
So back he ran with all speed, and had gotten safely past the thickets,
when the seven men came forth into the open road. They raised a great
shout when they saw him, such as the hunter gives when the deer breaks
cover, but Robin was then a quarter of a mile and more away from them,
coursing over the ground like a greyhound. He never slackened his pace,
but ran along, mile after mile, till he had come nigh to Mackworth, over
beyond the Derwent River, nigh to Derby Town. Here, seeing that he was
out of present danger, he slackened in his running, and at last sat him
down beneath a hedge where the grass was the longest and the shade the
coolest, there to rest and catch his wind. "By my soul, Robin," quoth
he to himself, "that was the narrowest miss that e'er thou hadst in all
thy life. I do say most solemnly that the feather of that wicked shaft
tickled mine ear as it whizzed past. This same running hath given me a
most craving appetite for victuals and drink. Now I pray Saint Dunstan
that he send me speedily some meat and beer."
It seemed as though Saint Dunstan was like to answer his prayer, for
along the road came plodding a certain cobbler, one Quince, of Derby,
who had been to take a pair of shoes to a farmer nigh Kirk Langly, and
was now coming back home again, with a fair boiled capon in his pouch
and a stout pottle of beer by his side, which same the farmer had given
him for joy of such a stout pair of shoon. Good Quince was an honest
fellow, but his wits were somewhat of the heavy sort, like unbaked
dough, so that the only thing that was in his mind was, "Three shillings
sixpence ha'penny for thy shoon, good Quince--three shillings sixpence
ha'penny for thy shoon," and this traveled round and round inside of his
head, without another thought getting into his noddle, as a pea rolls
round and round inside an empty quart pot.
"Halloa, good friend," quoth Robin, from beneath the hedge, when the
other had gotten nigh enough, "whither away so merrily this bright day?"
Hearing himself so called upon, the Cobbler stopped, and, seeing a
well-clad stranger in blue, he spoke to him in seemly wise. "Give ye good
den, fair sir, and I would say that I come from Kirk Langly, where I ha'
sold my shoon and got three shillings sixpence ha'penny for them in as
sweet money as ever thou sawest, and honestly earned too, I would ha'
thee know. But an I may be so bold, thou pretty fellow, what dost thou
there beneath the hedge?"
"Marry," quoth merry Robin, "I sit beneath the hedge here to drop salt
on the tails of golden birds; but in sooth thou art the first chick of
any worth I ha' seen this blessed day."
At these words the Cobbler's eyes opened big and wide, and his mouth
grew round with wonder, like a knothole in a board fence. "Slack-a-day,"
quoth he, "look ye, now! I ha' never seen those same golden birds. And
dost thou in sooth find them in these hedges, good fellow? Prythee,
tell me, are there many of them? I would fain find them mine own self."
"Ay, truly," quoth Robin, "they are as thick here as fresh herring in
Cannock Chase."
"Look ye, now!" said the Cobbler, all drowned in wonder. "And dost thou
in sooth catch them by dropping salt on their pretty tails?"
"Yea," quoth Robin, "but this salt is of an odd kind, let me tell thee,
for it can only be gotten by boiling down a quart of moonbeams in a
wooden platter, and then one hath but a pinch. But tell me, now, thou
witty man, what hast thou gotten there in that pouch by thy side and in
that pottle?"
At these words the Cobbler looked down at those things of which merry
Robin spoke, for the thoughts of the golden bird had driven them from
his mind, and it took him some time to scrape the memory of them back
again. "Why," said he at last, "in the one is good March beer, and in
the other is a fat capon. Truly, Quince the Cobbler will ha' a fine
feast this day an I mistake not."
"But tell me, good Quince," said Robin, "hast thou a mind to sell those
things to me? For the hearing of them sounds sweet in mine ears. I
will give thee these gay clothes of blue that I have upon my body and
ten shillings to boot for thy clothes and thy leather apron and thy beer
and thy capon. What sayst thou, bully boy?"
"Nay, thou dost jest with me," said the Cobbler, "for my clothes are
coarse and patched, and thine are of fine stuff and very pretty."
"Never a jest do I speak," quoth Robin. "Come, strip thy jacket off and
I will show thee, for I tell thee I like thy clothes well. Moreover, I