The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
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 these 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.
That morning he had slung his good old bugle horn over his shoulder, and
now, with the yearning, came a great longing to sound his bugle once
more. He raised it to his lips; he blew a blast. "Tirila, lirila," the
sweet, clear notes went winding down the forest paths, coming back again
from the more distant bosky shades in faint echoes of sound, "Tirila,
lirila, tirila, lirila," until it faded away and was lost.
Now it chanced that on that very morn Little John was walking through a
spur of the forest upon certain matters of business, and as he paced
along, sunk in meditation, the faint, clear notes of a distant bugle
horn came to his ear. As leaps the stag when it feels the arrow at its
heart, so leaped Little John when that distant sound met his ear. All
the blood in his body seemed to rush like a flame into his cheeks as he
bent his head and listened. Again came the bugle note, thin and clear,
and yet again it sounded. Then Little John gave a great, wild cry of
yearning, of joy, and yet of grief, and, putting down his head, he
dashed into the thicket. Onward he plunged, crackling and rending, as
the wild boar rushes through the underbrush. Little recked he of thorns
and briers that scratched his flesh and tore his clothing, for all he
thought of was to get, by the shortest way, to the greenwood glade
whence he knew the sound of the bugle horn came. Out he burst from the
covert, at last, a shower of little broken twigs falling about him, and,