THUS LITTLE JOHN entered into the Sheriff's service and found the life
he led there easy enough, for the Sheriff made him his right-hand man
and held him in great favor. He sat nigh the Sheriff at meat, and he ran
beside his horse when he went a-hunting; so that, what with hunting and
hawking a little, and eating rich dishes and drinking good sack, and
sleeping until late hours in the morning, he grew as fat as a stall-fed
ox. Thus things floated easily along with the tide, until one day when
the Sheriff went a-hunting, there happened that which broke the smooth
surface of things.
This morning the Sheriff and many of his men set forth to meet certain
lords, to go a-hunting. He looked all about him for his good man,
Reynold Greenleaf, but, not finding him, was vexed, for he wished to
show Little John's skill to his noble friends. As for Little John, he
lay abed, snoring lustily, till the sun was high in the heavens. At
last he opened his eyes and looked about him but did not move to arise.
Brightly shone the sun in at the window, and all the air was sweet with
the scent of woodbine that hung in sprays about the wall without, for
the cold winter was past and spring was come again, and Little John lay
still, thinking how sweet was everything on this fair morn. Just then he
heard, faint and far away, a distant bugle note sounding thin and clear.
The sound was small, but, like a little pebble dropped into a glassy
fountain, it broke all the smooth surface of his thoughts, until his
whole soul was filled with disturbance. His spirit seemed to awaken
from its sluggishness, and his memory brought back to him all the merry
greenwood life--how the birds were singing blithely there this bright
morning, and how his loved companions and friends were feasting and
making merry, or perhaps talking of him with sober speech; for when
he first entered the Sheriff's service he did so in jest; but the
hearthstone was warm during the winter, and the fare was full, and so
he had abided, putting off from day to day his going back to Sherwood,
until six long months had passed. But now he thought of his good master
and of Will Stutely, whom he loved better than anyone in all the world,
and of young David of Doncaster, whom he had trained so well in all
manly sports, till there came over his heart a great and bitter longing
for them all, so that his eyes filled with tears. Then he said aloud,
"Here I grow fat like a stall-fed ox and all my manliness departeth from
me while I become a sluggard and dolt. But I will arouse me and go back
to mine own dear friends once more, and never will I leave them again
till life doth leave my lips." So saying, he leaped from bed, for he
hated his sluggishness now.
When he came downstairs he saw the Steward standing near the pantry
door--a great, fat man, with a huge bundle of keys hanging to his
girdle. Then Little John said, "Ho, Master Steward, a hungry man am I,
for nought have I had for all this blessed morn. Therefore, give me to
eat."
Then the Steward looked grimly at him and rattled the keys in his
girdle, for he hated Little John because he had found favor with the
Sheriff. "So, Master Reynold Greenleaf, thou art anhungered, art thou?"
quoth he. "But, fair youth, if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find
that he who getteth overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty
stomach. For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? Is it not 'The
late fowl findeth but ill faring'?"
"Now, thou great purse of fat!" cried Little John, "I ask thee not for
fool's wisdom, but for bread and meat. Who art thou, that thou shouldst
deny me to eat? By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my
breakfast is, if thou wouldst save broken bones!"
"Thy breakfast, Master Fireblaze, is in the pantry," answered the
Steward.
"Then fetch it hither!" cried Little John, who waxed angry by this time.
"Go thou and fetch it thine own self," quoth the Steward. "Am I thy
slave, to fetch and carry for thee?"
"I say, go thou, bring it me!"
"I say, go thou, fetch it for thyself!"
"Ay, marry, that will I, right quickly!" quoth Little John in a rage.
And, so saying, he strode to the pantry and tried to open the door but
found it locked, whereat the Steward laughed and rattled his keys. Then
the wrath of Little John boiled over, and, lifting his clenched fist, he
smote the pantry door, bursting out three panels and making so large an
opening that he could easily stoop and walk through it.
When the Steward saw what was done, he waxed mad with rage; and, as
Little John stooped to look within the pantry, he seized him from behind
by the nape of the neck, pinching him sorely and smiting him over the
head with his keys till the yeoman's ears rang again. At this Little
John turned upon the Steward and smote him such a buffet that the fat
man fell to the floor and lay there as though he would never move again.
"There," quoth Little John, "think well of that stroke and never keep a
good breakfast from a hungry man again."
So saying, he crept into the pantry and looked about him to see if he
could find something to appease his hunger. He saw a great venison pasty
and two roasted capons, beside which was a platter of plover's eggs;
moreover, there was a flask of sack and one of canary--a sweet sight
to a hungry man. These he took down from the shelves and placed upon a
sideboard, and prepared to make himself merry.
Now the Cook, in the kitchen across the courtyard, heard the loud
talking between Little John and the Steward, and also the blow that
Little John struck the other, so he came running across the court and up
the stairway to where the Steward's pantry was, bearing in his hands the
spit with the roast still upon it. Meanwhile the Steward had gathered
his wits about him and risen to his feet, so that when the Cook came
to the Steward's pantry he saw him glowering through the broken door at
Little John, who was making ready for a good repast, as one dog glowers
at another that has a bone. When the Steward saw the Cook, he came to
him, and, putting one arm over his shoulder, "Alas, sweet friend!" quoth
he--for the Cook was a tall, stout man--"seest thou what that vile knave
Reynold Greenleaf hath done? He hath broken in upon our master's goods,
and hath smitten me a buffet upon the ear, so that I thought I was dead.
Good Cook, I love thee well, and thou shalt have a good pottle of our
master's best wine every day, for thou art an old and faithful servant.
Also, good Cook, I have ten shillings that I mean to give as a gift
to thee. But hatest thou not to see a vile upstart like this Reynold
Greenleaf taking it upon him so bravely?"
"Ay, marry, that do I," quoth the Cook boldly, for he liked the Steward
because of his talk of the wine and of the ten shillings. "Get thee gone
straightway to thy room, and I will bring out this knave by his ears."
So saying, he laid aside his spit and drew the sword that hung by his
side; whereupon the Steward left as quickly as he could, for he hated
the sight of naked steel.
Then the Cook walked straightway to the broken pantry door, through
which he saw Little John tucking a napkin beneath his chin and preparing
to make himself merry.
"Why, how now, Reynold Greenleaf?" said the Cook, "thou art no better
than a thief, I wot. Come thou straight forth, man, or I will carve thee
as I would carve a sucking pig."
"Nay, good Cook, bear thou thyself more seemingly, or else I will come
forth to thy dole. At most times I am as a yearling lamb, but when one
cometh between me and my meat, I am a raging lion, as it were."
"Lion or no lion," quoth the valorous Cook, "come thou straight forth,
else thou art a coward heart as well as a knavish thief."
"Ha!" cried Little John, "coward's name have I never had; so, look to
thyself, good Cook, for I come forth straight, the roaring lion I did
speak of but now."
Then he, too, drew his sword and came out of the pantry; then, putting
themselves into position, they came slowly together, with grim and angry
looks; but suddenly Little John lowered his point. "Hold, good Cook!"
said he. "Now, I bethink me it were ill of us to fight with good
victuals standing so nigh, and such a feast as would befit two stout
fellows such as we are. Marry, good friend, I think we should enjoy this
fair feast ere we fight. What sayest thou, jolly Cook?"
At this speech the Cook looked up and down, scratching his head in
doubt, for he loved good feasting. At last he drew a long breath and
said to Little John, "Well, good friend, I like thy plan right well; so,
pretty boy, say I, let us feast, with all my heart, for one of us may
sup in Paradise before nightfall."
So each thrust his sword back into the scabbard and entered the pantry.
Then, after they had seated themselves, Little John drew his dagger and
thrust it into the pie. "A hungry man must be fed," quoth he, "so,
sweet chuck, I help myself without leave." But the Cook did not lag far
behind, for straightway his hands also were deeply thrust within the
goodly pasty. After this, neither of them spoke further, but used their
teeth to better purpose. But though neither spoke, they looked at one
another, each thinking within himself that he had never seen a more
lusty fellow than the one across the board.
At last, after a long time had passed, the Cook drew a full, deep
breath, as though of much regret, and wiped his hands upon the napkin,
for he could eat no more. Little John, also, had enough, for he pushed
the pasty aside, as though he would say, "I want thee by me no more,
good friend." Then he took the pottle of sack, and said he, "Now,
good fellow, I swear by all that is bright, that thou art the stoutest
companion at eating that ever I had. Lo! I drink thy health." So saying,
he clapped the flask to his lips and cast his eyes aloft, while the good
wine flooded his throat. Then he passed the pottle to the Cook, who also
said, "Lo, I drink thy health, sweet fellow!" Nor was he behind Little
John in drinking any more than in eating.
"Now," quoth Little John, "thy voice is right round and sweet, jolly
lad. I doubt not thou canst sing a ballad most blithely; canst thou
not?"
"Truly, I have trolled one now and then," quoth the Cook, "yet I would
not sing alone."
"Nay, truly," said Little John, "that were but ill courtesy. Strike up
thy ditty, and I will afterward sing one to match it, if I can.
"So be it, pretty boy," quoth the Cook. "And hast thou e'er heard the
song of the Deserted Shepherdess?"
"Truly, I know not," answered Little John, "but sing thou and let me
hear."
Then the Cook took another draught from the pottle, and, clearing his
throat, sang right sweetly: