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,
without pausing a moment, rushed forward and flung himself at Robin's
feet. Then he clasped his arms around the master's knees, and all his
body was shaken with great sobs; neither could Robin nor Allan a Dale
speak, but stood looking down at Little John, the tears rolling down
their cheeks.
While they thus stood, seven royal rangers rushed into the open glade
and raised a great shout of joy at the sight of Robin; and at their
head was Will Stutely. Then, after a while, came four more, panting with
their running, and two of these four were Will Scathelock and Midge, the
Miller; for all of these had heard the sound of Robin Hood's horn. All
these ran to Robin and kissed his hands and his clothing, with great
sound of weeping.
After a while Robin looked around him with tear-dimmed eyes and said,
in a husky voice, "Now, I swear that never again will I leave these dear
woodlands. I have been away from them and from you too long. Now do I
lay by the name of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, and take upon me once
again that nobler title, Robin Hood, the Yeoman." At this a great shout
went up, and all the yeomen shook one another's hands for joy.
The news that Robin Hood had come back again to dwell in Sherwood as
of old spread like wildfire all over the countryside, so that ere a
se'ennight had passed nearly all of his old yeomen had gathered about
him again. But when the news of all this reached the ears of King John,
he swore both loud and deep, and took a solemn vow that he would not
rest until he had Robin Hood in his power, dead or alive. Now there
was present at court a certain knight, Sir William Dale, as gallant a
soldier as ever donned harness. Sir William Dale was well acquainted
with Sherwood Forest, for he was head keeper over that part of it that
lay nigh to good Mansfield Town; so to him the King turned, and bade him
take an army of men and go straightway to seek Robin Hood. Likewise the
King gave Sir William his signet ring to show to the Sheriff, that he
might raise all his armed men to aid the others in their chase of Robin.
So Sir William and the Sheriff set forth to do the King's bidding and to
search for Robin Hood; and for seven days they hunted up and down, yet
found him not.
Now, had Robin Hood been as peaceful as of old, everything might have
ended in smoke, as other such ventures had always done before; but he
had fought for years under King Richard, and was changed from what he
used to be. It galled his pride to thus flee away before those sent
against him, as a chased fox flees from the hounds; so thus it came
about, at last, that Robin Hood and his yeomen met Sir William and the
Sheriff and their men in the forest, and a bloody fight followed. The
first man slain in that fight was the Sheriff of Nottingham, for he fell
from his horse with an arrow in his brain ere half a score of shafts had
been sped. Many a better man than the Sheriff kissed the sod that day,
but at last, Sir William Dale being wounded and most of his men slain,
he withdrew, beaten, and left the forest. But scores of good fellows
were left behind him, stretched out all stiff beneath the sweet green
boughs.
But though Robin Hood had beaten off his enemies in fair fight, all
this lay heavily upon his mind, so that he brooded over it until a fever
seized upon him. For three days it held him, and though he strove to
fight it off, he was forced to yield at last. Thus it came that, on the
morning of the fourth day, he called Little John to him, and told him
that he could not shake the fever from him, and that he would go to his
cousin, the prioress of the nunnery near Kirklees, in Yorkshire, who was
a skillful leech, and he would have her open a vein in his arm and take
a little blood from him, for the bettering of his health. Then he bade
Little John make ready to go also, for he might perchance need aid in
his journeying. So Little John and he took their leave of the others,
and Robin Hood bade Will Stutely be the captain of the band until they
should come back. Thus they came by easy stages and slow journeying
until they reached the Nunnery of Kirklees.
Now Robin had done much to aid this cousin of his; for it was through
King Richard's love of him that she had been made prioress of the place.
But there is nought in the world so easily forgot as gratitude; so,
when the Prioress of Kirklees had heard how her cousin, the Earl of
Huntingdon, had thrown away his earldom and gone back again to Sherwood,
she was vexed to the soul, and feared lest her cousinship with him
should bring the King's wrath upon her also. Thus it happened that when
Robin came to her and told her how he wished her services as leech, she
began plotting ill against him in her mind, thinking that by doing evil
to him she might find favor with his enemies. Nevertheless, she kept
this well to herself and received Robin with seeming kindness. She led
him up the winding stone stair to a room which was just beneath the
eaves of a high, round tower; but she would not let Little John come
with him.
So the poor yeoman turned his feet away from the door of the nunnery,
and left his master in the hands of the women. But, though he did not
come in, neither did he go far away; for he laid him down in a little
glade near by, where he could watch the place that Robin abided, like
some great, faithful dog turned away from the door where his master has
entered.
After the women had gotten Robin Hood to the room beneath the eaves, the
Prioress sent all of the others away; then, taking a little cord, she
tied it tightly about Robin's arm, as though she were about to bleed
him. And so she did bleed him, but the vein she opened was not one of
those that lie close and blue beneath the skin; deeper she cut than
that, for she opened one of those veins through which the bright red
blood runs leaping from the heart. Of this Robin knew not; for, though
he saw the blood flow, it did not come fast enough to make him think
that there was anything ill in it.
Having done this vile deed, the Prioress turned and left her cousin,
locking the door behind her. All that livelong day the blood ran from
Robin Hood's arm, nor could he check it, though he strove in every way
to do so. Again and again he called for help, but no help came, for his
cousin had betrayed him, and Little John was too far away to hear his
voice. So he bled and bled until he felt his strength slipping away from
him. Then he arose, tottering, and bearing himself up by the palms of
his hands against the wall, he reached his bugle horn at last. Thrice
he sounded it, but weakly and faintly, for his breath was fluttering
through sickness and loss of strength; nevertheless, Little John heard
it where he lay in the glade, and, with a heart all sick with dread, he
came running and leaping toward the nunnery. Loudly he knocked at the
door, and in a loud voice shouted for them to let him in, but the door
was of massive oak, strongly barred, and studded with spikes, so they
felt safe, and bade Little John begone.
Then Little John's heart was mad with grief and fear for his master's
life. Wildly he looked about him, and his sight fell upon a heavy stone
mortar, such as three men could not lift nowadays. Little John took
three steps forward, and, bending his back, heaved the stone mortar up
from where it stood deeply rooted. Staggering under its weight, he came
forward and hurled it crashing against the door. In burst the door, and
away fled the frightened nuns, shrieking, at his coming. Then Little
John strode in, and never a word said he, but up the winding stone steps
he ran till he reached the room wherein his master was. Here he found
the door locked also, but, putting his shoulder against it, he burst the
locks as though they were made of brittle ice.
There he saw his own dear master leaning against the gray stone wall,
his face all white and drawn, and his head swaying to and fro with
weakness. Then, with a great, wild cry of love and grief and pity,
Little John leaped forward and caught Robin Hood in his arms. Up he
lifted him as a mother lifts her child, and carrying him to the bed,
laid him tenderly thereon.
And now the Prioress came in hastily, for she was frightened at what she
had done, and dreaded the vengeance of Little John and the others of the
band; then she stanched the blood by cunning bandages, so that it flowed
no more. All the while Little John stood grimly by, and after she had
done he sternly bade her to begone, and she obeyed, pale and trembling.
Then, after she had departed, Little John spake cheering words, laughing
loudly, and saying that all this was a child's fright, and that no stout
yeoman would die at the loss of a few drops of blood. "Why," quoth he,
"give thee a se'ennight and thou wilt be roaming the woodlands as boldly
as ever."
But Robin shook his head and smiled faintly where he lay. "Mine own dear
Little John," whispered he, "Heaven bless thy kind, rough heart. But,
dear friend, we will never roam the woodlands together again."
"Ay, but we will!" quoth Little John loudly. "I say again, ay--out upon
it--who dares say that any more harm shall come upon thee? Am I not by?
Let me see who dares touch--" Here he stopped of a sudden, for his words
choked him. At last he said, in a deep, husky voice, "Now, if aught of
harm befalls thee because of this day's doings, I swear by Saint George
that the red cock shall crow over the rooftree of this house, for the
hot flames shall lick every crack and cranny thereof. As for these
women"--here he ground his teeth--"it will be an ill day for them!"
But Robin Hood took Little John's rough, brown fist in his white hands,
and chid him softly in his low, weak voice, asking him since what time
Little John had thought of doing harm to women, even in vengeance. Thus
he talked till, at last, the other promised, in a choking voice, that no
ill should fall upon the place, no matter what happened. Then a silence
fell, and Little John sat with Robin Hood's hand in his, gazing out of
the open window, ever and anon swallowing a great lump that came in his
throat. Meantime the sun dropped slowly to the west, till all the sky
was ablaze with a red glory. Then Robin Hood, in a weak, faltering
voice, bade Little John raise him that he might look out once more upon
the woodlands; so the yeoman lifted him in his arms, as he bade, and
Robin Hood's head lay on his friend's shoulder. Long he gazed, with a
wide, lingering look, while the other sat with bowed head, the hot tears
rolling one after another from his eyes, and dripping upon his bosom,
for he felt that the time of parting was near at hand. Then, presently,
Robin Hood bade him string his stout bow for him, and choose a smooth
fair arrow from his quiver. This Little John did, though without
disturbing his master or rising from where he sat. Robin Hood's fingers
wrapped lovingly around his good bow, and he smiled faintly when he felt
it in his grasp, then he nocked the arrow on that part of the string
that the tips of his fingers knew so well. "Little John," said he,
"Little John, mine own dear friend, and him I love better than all
others in the world, mark, I prythee, where this arrow lodges, and there
let my grave be digged. Lay me with my face toward the East, Little
John, and see that my resting place be kept green, and that my weary
bones be not disturbed."
As he finished speaking, he raised himself of a sudden and sat upright.
His old strength seemed to come back to him, and, drawing the bowstring
to his ear, he sped the arrow out of the open casement. As the shaft
flew, his hand sank slowly with the bow till it lay across his knees,
and his body likewise sank back again into Little John's loving arms;
but something had sped from that body, even as the winged arrow sped
from the bow.
For some minutes Little John sat motionless, but presently he laid that
which he held gently down, then, folding the hands upon the breast and
covering up the face, he turned upon his heel and left the room without
a word or a sound.
Upon the steep stairway he met the Prioress and some of the chief among
the sisters. To them he spoke in a deep, quivering voice, and said he,
"An ye go within a score of feet of yonder room, I will tear down
your rookery over your heads so that not one stone shall be left upon
another. Bear my words well in mind, for I mean them." So saying, he
turned and left them, and they presently saw him running rapidly across
the open, through the falling of the dusk, until he was swallowed up by
the forest.
The early gray of the coming morn was just beginning to lighten the
black sky toward the eastward when Little John and six more of the band
came rapidly across the open toward the nunnery. They saw no one, for
the sisters were all hidden away from sight, having been frightened by
Little John's words. Up the stone stair they ran, and a great sound of
weeping was presently heard. After a while this ceased, and then came
the scuffling and shuffling of men's feet as they carried a heavy weight
down the steep and winding stairs. So they went forth from the nunnery,
and, as they passed through the doors thereof, a great, loud sound of
wailing arose from the glade that lay all dark in the dawning, as though
many men, hidden in the shadows, had lifted up their voices in sorrow.
Thus died Robin Hood, at Kirklees Nunnery, in fair Yorkshire, with mercy
in his heart toward those that had been his undoing; for thus he showed
mercy for the erring and pity for the weak through all the time of his
living.
His yeomen were scattered henceforth, but no great ill befell them
thereafter, for a more merciful sheriff and one who knew them not so
well succeeding the one that had gone, and they being separated here and
there throughout the countryside, they abided in peace and quietness,
so that many lived to hand down these tales to their children and their
children's children.
A certain one sayeth that upon a stone at Kirklees is an old
inscription. This I give in the ancient English in which it was written,
and thus it runs:
HEAR UNDERNEAD DIS LAITL STEAN LAIS ROBERT EARL OF HUNTINGTUN NEA ARCIR
VER AS HIE SAE GEUD AN PIPL KAULD IM ROBIN HEUD SICK UTLAWS AS HI AN IS
MEN VIL ENGLAND NIDIR SI AGEN OBIIT 24 KAL. DEKEMBRIS 1247.
And now, dear friend, we also must part, for our merry journeyings have
ended, and here, at the grave of Robin Hood, we turn, each going his own
way.