SO ROBIN HOOD and the others left the archery range at Finsbury Fields,
and, tarrying not, set forth straightway upon their homeward journey. It
was well for them that they did so, for they had not gone more than
three or four miles upon their way when six of the yeomen of the King's
guard came bustling among the crowd that still lingered, seeking for
Robin and his men, to seize upon them and make them prisoners. Truly, it
was an ill-done thing in the King to break his promise, but it all came
about through the Bishop of Hereford's doing, for thus it happened:
After the King left the archery ground, he went straightway to his
cabinet, and with him went the Bishop of Hereford and Sir Robert Lee;
but the King said never a word to these two, but sat gnawing his nether
lip, for his heart was galled within him by what had happened. At last
the Bishop of Hereford spoke, in a low, sorrowful voice: "It is a sad
thing, Your Majesty, that this knavish outlaw should be let to escape in
this wise; for, let him but get back to Sherwood Forest safe and sound,
and he may snap his fingers at king and king's men."
At these words the King raised his eyes and looked grimly upon the
Bishop. "Sayst thou so?" quoth he. "Now, I will show thee, in good
time, how much thou dost err, for, when the forty days are past and
gone, I will seize upon this thieving outlaw, if I have to tear down all
of Sherwood to find him. Thinkest thou that the laws of the King of
England are to be so evaded by one poor knave without friends or money?"
Then the Bishop spoke again, in his soft, smooth voice:
"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, and believe that I have nought but
the good of England and Your Majesty's desirings at heart; but what
would it boot though my gracious lord did root up every tree of
Sherwood? Are there not other places for Robin Hood's hiding? Cannock
Chase is not far from Sherwood, and the great Forest of Arden is not far
from Cannock Chase. Beside these are many other woodlands in Nottingham
and Derby, Lincoln and York, amid any of which Your Majesty might as
well think to seize upon Robin Hood as to lay finger upon a rat among
the dust and broken things of a garret. Nay, my gracious lord, if he
doth once plant foot in the woodland, he is lost to the law forever."
At these words the King tapped his fingertips upon the table beside him
with vexation. "What wouldst thou have me do, Bishop?" quoth he. "Didst
thou not hear me pledge my word to the Queen? Thy talk is as barren as
the wind from the bellows upon dead coals."
"Far be it from me," said the cunning Bishop, "to point the way to one
so clear-sighted as Your Majesty; but, were I the King of England, I
should look upon the matter in this wise: I have promised my Queen, let
us say, that for forty days the cunningest rogue in all England shall
have freedom to come and go; but, lo! I find this outlaw in my grasp;
shall I, then, foolishly cling to a promise so hastily given? Suppose
that I had promised to do Her Majesty's bidding, whereupon she bade me
to slay myself; should I, then, shut mine eyes and run blindly upon my
sword? Thus would I argue within myself. Moreover, I would say unto
myself, a woman knoweth nought of the great things appertaining to state
government; and, likewise, I know a woman is ever prone to take up a
fancy, even as she would pluck a daisy from the roadside, and then throw
it away when the savor is gone; therefore, though she hath taken a fancy
to this outlaw, it will soon wane away and be forgotten. As for me, I
have the greatest villain in all England in my grasp; shall I, then,
open my hand and let him slip betwixt my fingers? Thus, Your Majesty,
would I say to myself, were I the King of England." So the Bishop
talked, and the King lent his ear to his evil counsel, until, after a
while, he turned to Sir Robert Lee and bade him send six of the yeomen
of the guard to take Robin Hood and his three men prisoners.
Now Sir Robert Lee was a gentle and noble knight, and he felt grieved to
the heart to see the King so break his promise; nevertheless, he said
nothing, for he saw how bitterly the King was set against Robin Hood;
but he did not send the yeomen of the guard at once, but went first to
the Queen, and told her all that had passed, and bade her send word to
Robin of his danger. This he did not for the well-being of Robin Hood,
but because he would save his lord's honor if he could. Thus it came
about that when, after a while, the yeomen of the guard went to the
archery field, they found not Robin and the others, and so got no cakes
at that fair.
The afternoon was already well-nigh gone when Robin Hood, Little John,
Will, and Allan set forth upon their homeward way, trudging along
merrily through the yellow slanting light, which speedily changed to
rosy red as the sun sank low in the heavens. The shadows grew long, and
finally merged into the grayness of the mellow twilight. The dusty
highway lay all white betwixt the dark hedgerows, and along it walked
four fellows like four shadows, the pat of their feet sounding loud, and
their voices, as they talked, ringing clear upon the silence of the air.
The great round moon was floating breathlessly up in the eastern sky
when they saw before them the twinkling lights of Barnet Town, some ten
or twelve miles from London. Down they walked through the stony streets
and past the cosy houses with overhanging gables, before the doors of
which sat the burghers and craftsmen in the mellow moonlight, with their
families about them, and so came at last, on the other side of the
hamlet, to a little inn, all shaded with roses and woodbines. Before
this inn Robin Hood stopped, for the spot pleased him well. Quoth he,
"Here will we take up our inn and rest for the night, for we are well
away from London Town and our King's wrath. Moreover, if I mistake not,
we will find sweet faring within. What say ye, lads?"
"In sooth, good master," quoth Little John, "thy bidding and my doing
ever fit together like cakes and ale. Let us in, I say also."
Then up spake Will Scarlet: "I am ever ready to do what thou sayest,
uncle, yet I could wish that we were farther upon our way ere we rest
for the night. Nevertheless, if thou thinkest best, let us in for the
night, say I also."
So in they went and called for the best that the place afforded. Then a
right good feast was set before them, with two stout bottles of old sack
to wash it down withal. These things were served by as plump and buxom
a lass as you could find in all the land, so that Little John, who
always had an eye for a fair lass, even when meat and drink were by,
stuck his arms akimbo and fixed his eyes upon her, winking sweetly
whenever he saw her looking toward him. Then you should have seen how
the lass twittered with laughter, and how she looked at Little John out
of the corners of her eyes, a dimple coming in either cheek; for the
fellow had always a taking way with the womenfolk.
So the feast passed merrily, and never had that inn seen such lusty
feeders as these four stout fellows; but at last they were done their
eating, though it seemed as though they never would have ended, and sat
loitering over the sack. As they so sat, the landlord came in of a
sudden, and said that there was one at the door, a certain young
esquire, Richard Partington, of the Queen's household, who wished to see
the lad in blue, and speak with him, without loss of time. So Robin
arose quickly, and, bidding the landlord not to follow him, left the
others gazing at one another, and wondering what was about to happen.
When Robin came out of the inn, he found young Richard Partington
sitting upon his horse in the white moonlight, awaiting his coming.
"What news bearest thou, Sir Page?" said Robin. "I trust that it is not
of an ill nature."
"Why," said young Partington, "for the matter of that, it is ill enow.
The King hath been bitterly stirred up against thee by that vile Bishop
of Hereford. He sent to arrest thee at the archery butts at Finsbury
Fields, but not finding thee there, he hath gathered together his armed
men, fiftyscore and more, and is sending them in haste along this very
road to Sherwood, either to take thee on the way or to prevent thy
getting back to the woodlands again. He hath given the Bishop of
Hereford command over all these men, and thou knowest what thou hast to
expect of the Bishop of Hereford--short shrift and a long rope. Two
bands of horsemen are already upon the road, not far behind me, so thou
hadst best get thee gone from this place straightway, for, if thou
tarriest longer, thou art like to sleep this night in a cold dungeon.
This word the Queen hath bidden me bring to thee."
"Now, Richard Partington," quoth Robin, "this is the second time that
thou hast saved my life, and if the proper time ever cometh I will show
thee that Robin Hood never forgets these things. As for that Bishop of
Hereford, if I ever catch him nigh to Sherwood again, things will be
like to go ill with him. Thou mayst tell the good Queen that I will
leave this place without delay, and will let the landlord think that we
are going to Saint Albans; but when we are upon the highroad again, I
will go one way through the country and will send my men the other, so
that if one falleth into the King's hands the others may haply escape.
We will go by devious ways, and so, I hope, will reach Sherwood in
safety. And now, Sir Page, I wish thee farewell."
"Farewell, thou bold yeoman," said young Partington, "and mayst thou
reach thy hiding in safety." So each shook the other's hand, and the
lad, turning his horse's head, rode back toward London, while Robin
entered the inn once more.
There he found his yeomen sitting in silence, waiting his coming;
likewise the landlord was there, for he was curious to know what Master
Partington had to do with the fellow in blue. "Up, my merry men!" quoth
Robin, "this is no place for us, for those are after us with whom we
will stand but an ill chance an we fall into their hands. So we will go
forward once more, nor will we stop this night till we reach Saint
Albans." Hereupon, taking out his purse, he paid the landlord his
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
will be kind to thee, for I will feast straightway upon the good things
thou hast with thee, and thou shalt be bidden to the eating." At these
words he began slipping off his doublet, and the Cobbler, seeing him so
in earnest, began pulling off his clothes also, for Robin Hood's garb
tickled his eye. So each put on the other fellow's clothes, and Robin
gave the honest Cobbler ten bright new shillings. Quoth merry Robin, "I
ha' been a many things in my life before, but never have I been an
honest cobbler. Come, friend, let us fall to and eat, for something
within me cackles aloud for that good fat capon." So both sat down and
began to feast right lustily, so that when they were done the bones of
the capon were picked as bare as charity.
Then Robin stretched his legs out with a sweet feeling of comfort within
him. Quoth he, "By the turn of thy voice, good Quince, I know that thou
hast a fair song or two running loose in thy head like colts in a
meadow. I prythee, turn one of them out for me."
"A song or two I ha'," quoth the Cobbler, "poor things, poor things, but
such as they are thou art welcome to one of them." So, moistening his
throat with a swallow of beer, he sang:
"_Of all the joys, the best I love,
Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,
And that which most my soul doth move,
It is the clinking can, O.
"All other bliss I'd throw away,
Sing hey my frisking Nan, O,
But this_--"
The stout Cobbler got no further in his song, for of a sudden six
horsemen burst upon them where they sat, and seized roughly upon the
honest craftsman, hauling him to his feet, and nearly plucking the
clothes from him as they did so. "Ha!" roared the leader of the band in
a great big voice of joy, "have we then caught thee at last, thou blue-
clad knave? Now, blessed be the name of Saint Hubert, for we are
fourscore pounds richer this minute than we were before, for the good
Bishop of Hereford hath promised that much to the band that shall bring
thee to him. Oho! thou cunning rascal! thou wouldst look so innocent,
forsooth! We know thee, thou old fox. But off thou goest with us to
have thy brush clipped forthwith." At these words the poor Cobbler gazed
all around him with his great blue eyes as round as those of a dead
fish, while his mouth gaped as though he had swallowed all his words and
so lost his speech.
Robin also gaped and stared in a wondering way, just as the Cobbler
would have done in his place. "Alack-a-daisy, me," quoth he. "I know
not whether I be sitting here or in No-man's-land! What meaneth all this
stir i' th' pot, dear good gentlemen? Surely this is a sweet, honest
fellow."
"'Honest fellow,' sayst thou, clown?" quoth one of the men "Why, I tell
thee that this is that same rogue that men call Robin Hood."
At this speech the Cobbler stared and gaped more than ever, for there
was such a threshing of thoughts going on within his poor head that his
wits were all befogged with the dust and chaff thereof. Moreover, as he
looked at Robin Hood, and saw the yeoman look so like what he knew
himself to be, he began to doubt and to think that mayhap he was the
great outlaw in real sooth. Said he in a slow, wondering voice, "Am I in
very truth that fellow?--Now I had thought--but nay, Quince, thou art
mistook--yet--am I?--Nay, I must indeed be Robin Hood! Yet, truly, I
had never thought to pass from an honest craftsman to such a great
yeoman."
"Alas!" quoth Robin Hood, "look ye there, now! See how your ill-
treatment hath curdled the wits of this poor lad and turned them all
sour! I, myself, am Quince, the Cobbler of Derby Town."
"Is it so?" said Quince. "Then, indeed, I am somebody else, and can be
none other than Robin Hood. Take me, fellows; but let me tell you that
ye ha' laid hand upon the stoutest yeoman that ever trod the woodlands."
"Thou wilt play madman, wilt thou?" said the leader of the band. "Here,
Giles, fetch a cord and bind this knave's hands behind him. I warrant we
will bring his wits back to him again when we get him safe before our
good Bishop at Tutbury Town." Thereupon they tied the Cobbler's hands
behind him, and led him off with a rope, as the farmer leads off the
calf he hath brought from the fair. Robin stood looking after them, and
when they were gone he laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks;
for he knew that no harm would befall the honest fellow, and he pictured
to himself the Bishop's face when good Quince was brought before him as
Robin Hood. Then, turning his steps once more to the eastward, he
stepped out right foot foremost toward Nottinghamshire and Sherwood
Forest.
But Robin Hood had gone through more than he wotted of. His journey from
London had been hard and long, and in a se'ennight he had traveled
sevenscore and more of miles. He thought now to travel on without
stopping until he had come to Sherwood, but ere he had gone a half a
score of miles he felt his strength giving way beneath him like a river
bank which the waters have undermined. He sat him down and rested, but
he knew within himself that he could go no farther that day, for his
feet felt like lumps of lead, so heavy were they with weariness. Once
more he arose and went forward, but after traveling a couple of miles he
was fain to give the matter up, so, coming to an inn just then, he
entered and calling the landlord, bade him show him to a room, although
the sun was only then just sinking in the western sky. There were but
three bedrooms in the place, and to the meanest of these the landlord
showed Robin Hood, but little Robin cared for the looks of the place,
for he could have slept that night upon a bed of broken stones. So,
stripping off his clothes without more ado, he rolled into the bed and
was asleep almost ere his head touched the pillow.
Not long after Robin had so gone to his rest a great cloud peeped
blackly over the hills to the westward. Higher and higher it arose
until it piled up into the night like a mountain of darkness. All around
beneath it came ever and anon a dull red flash, and presently a short
grim mutter of the coming thunder was heard. Then up rode four stout
burghers of Nottingham Town, for this was the only inn within five
miles' distance, and they did not care to be caught in such a
thunderstorm as this that was coming upon them. Leaving their nags to
the stableman, they entered the best room of the inn, where fresh green
rushes lay all spread upon the floor, and there called for the goodliest
fare that the place afforded. After having eaten heartily they bade the
landlord show them to their rooms, for they were aweary, having ridden
all the way from Dronfield that day. So off they went, grumbling at
having to sleep two in a bed, but their troubles on this score, as well
as all others, were soon lost in the quietness of sleep.
And now came the first gust of wind, rushing past the place, clapping
and banging the doors and shutters, smelling of the coming rain, and all
wrapped in a cloud of dust and leaves. As though the wind had brought a
guest along with it, the door opened of a sudden and in came a friar of
Emmet Priory, and one in high degree, as was shown by the softness and
sleekness of his robes and the richness of his rosary. He called to the
landlord, and bade him first have his mule well fed and bedded in the
stable, and then to bring him the very best there was in the house. So
presently a savory stew of tripe and onions, with sweet little fat
dumplings, was set before him, likewise a good stout pottle of Malmsey,
and straightway the holy friar fell to with great courage and
heartiness, so that in a short time nought was left but a little pool of
gravy in the center of the platter, not large enow to keep the life in a
starving mouse.
In the meantime the storm broke. Another gust of wind went rushing by,
and with it fell a few heavy drops of rain, which presently came
rattling down in showers, beating against the casements like a hundred
little hands. Bright flashes of lightning lit up every raindrop, and
with them came cracks of thunder that went away rumbling and bumping as
though Saint Swithin were busy rolling great casks of water across rough
ground overhead. The womenfolks screamed, and the merry wags in the
taproom put their arms around their waists to soothe them into
quietness.
At last the holy friar bade the landlord show him to his room; but when
he heard that he was to bed with a cobbler, he was as ill contented a
fellow as you could find in all England, nevertheless there was nothing
for it, and he must sleep there or nowhere; so, taking up his candle, he
went off, grumbling like the now distant thunder. When he came to the
room where he was to sleep he held the light over Robin and looked at
him from top to toe; then he felt better pleased, for, instead, of a
rough, dirty-bearded fellow, he beheld as fresh and clean a lad as one
could find in a week of Sundays; so, slipping off his clothes, he also
huddled into the bed, where Robin, grunting and grumbling in his sleep,
made room for him. Robin was more sound asleep, I wot, than he had been
for many a day, else he would never have rested so quietly with one of
the friar's sort so close beside him. As for the friar, had he known
who Robin Hood was, you may well believe he would almost as soon have
slept with an adder as with the man he had for a bedfellow.
So the night passed comfortably enough, but at the first dawn of day
Robin opened his eyes and turned his head upon the pillow. Then how he
gaped and how he stared, for there beside him lay one all shaven and
shorn, so that he knew that it must be a fellow in holy orders. He
pinched himself sharply, but, finding he was awake, sat up in bed, while
the other slumbered as peacefully as though he were safe and sound at
home in Emmet Priory. "Now," quoth Robin to himself, "I wonder how this
thing hath dropped into my bed during the night." So saying, he arose
softly, so as not to waken the other, and looking about the room he
espied the friar's clothes lying upon a bench near the wall. First he
looked at the clothes, with his head on one side, and then he looked at
the friar and slowly winked one eye. Quoth he, "Good Brother What-e'er-
thy-name-may-be, as thou hast borrowed my bed so freely I'll e'en borrow
thy clothes in return." So saying, he straightway donned the holy man's
garb, but kindly left the cobbler's clothes in the place of it. Then he
went forth into the freshness of the morning, and the stableman that was
up and about the stables opened his eyes as though he saw a green mouse
before him, for such men as the friars of Emmet were not wont to be
early risers; but the man bottled his thoughts, and only asked Robin
whether he wanted his mule brought from the stable.
"Yea, my son," quoth Robin--albeit he knew nought of the mule--"and
bring it forth quickly, I prythee, for I am late and must be jogging."
So presently the stableman brought forth the mule, and Robin mounted it
and went on his way rejoicing.
As for the holy friar, when he arose he was in as pretty a stew as any
man in all the world, for his rich, soft robes were gone, likewise his
purse with ten golden pounds in it, and nought was left but patched
clothes and a leathern apron. He raged and swore like any layman, but
as his swearing mended nothing and the landlord could not aid him, and
as, moreover, he was forced to be at Emmet Priory that very morning upon
matters of business, he was fain either to don the cobbler's clothes or
travel the road in nakedness. So he put on the clothes, and, still
raging and swearing vengeance against all the cobblers in Derbyshire, he
set forth upon his way afoot; but his ills had not yet done with him,
for he had not gone far ere he fell into the hands of the King's men,
who marched him off, willy-nilly, to Tutbury Town and the Bishop of
Hereford. In vain he swore he was a holy man, and showed his shaven
crown; off he must go, for nothing would do but that he was Robin Hood.
Meanwhile merry Robin rode along contentedly, passing safely by two
bands of the King's men, until his heart began to dance within him
because of the nearness of Sherwood; so he traveled ever on to the
eastward, till, of a sudden, he met a noble knight in a shady lane. Then
Robin checked his mule quickly and leaped from off its back. "Now, well
met, Sir Richard of the Lea," cried he, "for rather than any other man
in England would I see thy good face this day!" Then he told Sir Richard
all the happenings that had befallen him, and that now at last he felt
himself safe, being so nigh to Sherwood again. But when Robin had done,
Sir Richard shook his head sadly. "Thou art in greater danger now,
Robin, than thou hast yet been," said he, "for before thee lie bands of
the Sheriff's men blocking every road and letting none pass through the
lines without examining them closely. I myself know this, having passed
them but now. Before thee lie the Sheriffs men and behind thee the
King's men, and thou canst not hope to pass either way, for by this time
they will know of thy disguise and will be in waiting to seize upon
thee. My castle and everything within it are thine, but nought could be
gained there, for I could not hope to hold it against such a force as is
now in Nottingham of the King's and the Sheriffs men." Having so spoken,
Sir Richard bent his head in thought, and Robin felt his heart sink
within him like that of the fox that hears the hounds at his heels and
finds his den blocked with earth so that there is no hiding for him.
But presently Sir Richard spoke again, saying, "One thing thou canst do,
Robin, and one only. Go back to London and throw thyself upon the mercy
of our good Queen Eleanor. Come with me straightway to my castle. Doff
these clothes and put on such as my retainers wear. Then I will hie me
to London Town with a troop of men behind me, and thou shalt mingle with
them, and thus will I bring thee to where thou mayst see and speak with
the Queen. Thy only hope is to get to Sherwood, for there none can
reach thee, and thou wilt never get to Sherwood but in this way."
So Robin went with Sir Richard of the Lea, and did as he said, for he
saw the wisdom of that which the knight advised, and that this was his
only chance of safety.
Queen Eleanor walked in her royal garden, amid the roses that bloomed
sweetly, and with her walked six of her ladies-in-waiting, chattering
blithely together. Of a sudden a man leaped up to the top of the wall
from the other side, and then, hanging for a moment, dropped lightly
upon the grass within. All the ladies-in-waiting shrieked at the
suddenness of his coming, but the man ran to the Queen and kneeled at
her feet, and she saw that it was Robin Hood.
"Why, how now, Robin!" cried she, "dost thou dare to come into the very
jaws of the raging lion? Alas, poor fellow! Thou art lost indeed if the
King finds thee here. Dost thou not know that he is seeking thee through
all the land?"
"Yea," quoth Robin, "I do know right well that the King seeks me, and
therefore I have come; for, surely, no ill can befall me when he hath
pledged his royal word to Your Majesty for my safety. Moreover, I know
Your Majesty's kindness and gentleness of heart, and so I lay my life
freely in your gracious hands."
"I take thy meaning, Robin Hood," said the Queen, "and that thou dost
convey reproach to me, as well thou mayst, for I know that I have not
done by thee as I ought to have done. I know right well that thou must
have been hard pressed by peril to leap so boldly into one danger to
escape another. Once more I promise thee mine aid, and will do all I can
to send thee back in safety to Sherwood Forest. Bide thou here till I
return." So saying, she left Robin in the garden of roses, and was gone
a long time.
When she came back Sir Robert Lee was with her, and the Queen's cheeks
were hot and the Queen's eyes were bright, as though she had been
talking with high words. Then Sir Robert came straight forward to where
Robin Hood stood, and he spoke to the yeoman in a cold, stern voice.
Quoth he, "Our gracious Sovereign the King hath mitigated his wrath
toward thee, fellow, and hath once more promised that thou shalt depart
in peace and safety. Not only hath he promised this, but in three days
he will send one of his pages to go with thee and see that none arrest
thy journey back again. Thou mayst thank thy patron saint that thou
hast such a good friend in our noble Queen, for, but for her persuasion
and arguments, thou hadst been a dead man, I can tell thee. Let this
peril that thou hast passed through teach thee two lessons. First, be
more honest. Second, be not so bold in thy comings and goings. A man
that walketh in the darkness as thou dost may escape for a time, but in
the end he will surely fall into the pit. Thou hast put thy head in the
angry lion's mouth, and yet thou hast escaped by a miracle. Try it not
again." So saying, he turned and left Robin and was gone.
For three days Robin abided in London in the Queen's household, and at
the end of that time the King's head Page, Edward Cunningham, came, and
taking Robin with him, departed northward upon his way to Sherwood. Now
and then they passed bands of the King's men coming back again to
London, but none of those bands stopped them, and so, at last, they
reached the sweet, leafy woodlands.