That telleth to the patient reader nought,
Save how the Duke was to the wild-wood brought.
* * * * *
With sleepy eyes Duke Jocelyn watched afar,
In deep, blue void a solitary star,
That, like some bright and wakeful eye, did seem
To watch him where he lay 'twixt sleep and dream.
And, as he viewed it winking high above,
He needs must think of Yolande and his love,
And how, while he this twinkling star did view,
She, wakeful lying, might behold it too,
Whereas she lay a spotless maid and fair,
Clothed in the red-gold glory of her hair;
And, thinking thus, needs must he fondly sigh,
Then frowned to hear a lusty snore hard by--
--and looking whence came this sound, the Duke sat up and his wonder grew;
for by light of a fire that glowed in a blackened fissure of rock he beheld
himself couched on a bed of bracken within a roomy cave. Beside the fire
leaned a mighty, iron-shod club, and beyond this, curled up like a dog,
snored Lobkyn Lollo, the Dwarf. Hereupon Jocelyn reached out and shook Lob
to wakefulness, who grunted sleepily, rubbed his eyes drowsily and yawned
mightily:
Quoth JOCELYN: Good Dwarf, where am I?
Answered LOBKYN:
Safe, Fool, safe art thou, I trow,
Where none but Lob and friends do know.
JOCELYN: But how am I hither?
LOBKYN: Why, truly thou art hither, Fool,
Because thou art not thither, Fool!
In these two arms, thy life to save,
I bore thee to this goodly cave.
JOCELYN: How may one of thy inches bear man of mine so far?
LOBKYN: Why, Fool, though I of inches lack,
I'm mighty strong, both arm and back,
Thou that art longer man than me,
Yet I am stronger man than thee,
Though, lusty Fool, big fool you be,
I'd bear thee, Fool, if thou wert three.
And mark, Fool, if my grammar seemeth weak,
Pray license it since I in verse must speak.
JOCELYN: And pray why must thou speak in verse?
LOBKYN: Nature hath on me laid this curse,
And, though to speak plain prose I yearn,
My prose to verse doth ever turn.
Therefore I grieve, as well I might,
Because of my poetic plight--
Though bards and rhymers all I scorn,
Alack! I was a rhymer born.
JOCELYN: Alack! poor Dwarf, as thou must versify,
By way of courtesy, then, so will I.
LOBKYN: How, Fool, then canst thou rhyme?
JOCELYN: Aye, Dwarf, at any time!
In dark, in light,
By day, by night,
Standing, sitting,
As be fitting,
Verses witty,
Quaint or pretty,
Incontinent I'll find.
Verses glad, Dwarf,
Verses sad, Dwarf,
Every sort, Lob,
Long or short, Lob
Or verses ill,
Yet verses still
Which might be worse,
I can rehearse
When I'm for verse inclined.
So, Lob, first speak me what became
Of our old Witch, that potent dame.
LOBKYN: Why, Fool, in faith she wrought so well
With direful curse and blasting spell
That every howling soldier-knave,
Every rogue and base-born slave
That by chance I did not slay,
From my grand-dam ran away.
JOCELYN: A noble Witch! Now, Lobkyn, tell
What hap'd when in the fight I fell,
And how alive I chance to be.
LOBKYN: Fool, I was there to succour thee.
I smote those pike-men hip and thigh,
That they did mangled pike-men lie;
Their arms, their legs, their skulls I broke,
Two, three, and four at every stroke.
I drave them here, I smote them there,
I smote, I slew, I none did spare,
I laughed, I sang, I--
“Ha, Lob!” growled a sleepy voice. “Now, as I'm a tanner, here's a-many
I's! By Saint Crispin, meseemeth thou'rt all I's--for as thou fought I
fought, or thought I fought, forsooth!”
LOBKYN: True, Will, did'st fight in goodly manner,
Though fightedst, Will, like any tanner;
But I did fight, or I'm forsworn,
Like one unto the manner born.
I fought, forsooth, with such good will,
'Tis marvel I'm not fighting still.
And so I should be, by my fay,
An I had any left to slay;
But since I slew them all--
“Hold there!” cried the Tanner. “I slew one or two, Lob, and Robin
likewise. Thou'rt a lusty fighter, but what o' me and Robin--ha, what o'
we?”
LOBKYN: In faith, ye're proper men and tall,
And I'm squat man, my stature small,
Nath'less, though small and squat I be,
I am the best man of the three.
“Why, as to that,” quoth the Tanner, “'tis but you says so! As to me I
think what I will, and I do think--”
But here Lobkyn started up and seized the great club; quoth he:
“Hark and mark,
Heard ye nought there i' the dark?”
“Not I!” answered Will.
“Methought I heard an owl hoot,” said Jocelyn.
“Aye,” nodded Lobkyn:
“Aye, Fool, and yet this owl I 'll swear,
Hath ne'er a feather anywhere.
This owl hath ne'er a wing to fly,
But goes afoot like thou and I.
Now mark,
And hark!”
Hereupon the Dwarf laid finger to lip and uttered an owl-cry so dismal,
so tremulous and withal so true to nature that it was wonder to hear.
Instantly, from the dimness beyond the cavern-mouth, the cry was repeated,
and presently was heard a panting and 'plaining, a snuffling and a
shuffling, and into the light of the fire hobbled the old Witch. Beholding
Jocelyn sitting cross-legged on his couch of fern, she paused and, leaning
on her crooked stick, viewed him with her wise, old eyes.
“Aha, Motley!” she croaked. “Oho, thou flaunting jackanapes, didst peril
thy foolish flesh for me that am poor and old and feeble, and cursed by
all for witchcraft! So have I with my potions ministered to thee in thy
sickness, and behold thou'rt alive, hale and strong again. Give me thy
hand! Aha, here's cool, unfevered blood! Show me thy tongue. Oho! Aha! A
little sup o' my black decoction--roots gathered at full o' moon--a little
sup and shall be thyself by to-morrow's dawn. But--as for thee, thou
good-for-naught, thou wicked elf--aha! would'st dare leave thy poor old
grannam weak and 'fenceless? Give me thy rogue-ear!” Obediently, the mighty
Dwarf arose and sighfully suffered the old woman to grasp him by the ear
and to tweak and wring and twist it as she would.
“What dost thou here i' the wild-wood, thou imp, thou poppet o' plagues,
thou naughty wap-de-staldees?”
To which Lobkyn, writhing and watering at the eyes, answered thus:
“Stay, prithee grannam, loose thy hold!
I would but be an outlaw bold,
An outlaw fierce that men shall fear--
Beseech thee, grand-dam, loose mine ear!”
“An outlaw, naughty one!” screeched the Witch, tweaking ear the harder.
“Dare ye tell me so, elf?”
LOBKIN: Aye, grand-dam--cuff me an ye will,
Nath'less an outlaw I'll be still,
And many a wicked rogue I'll kill--
O grand-dam, loose mine ear!
And day and night I'll slay until
All rogues my name do fear.
For grand-dam, I'm a fighter--O,
Beseech thee, let my ear go!
And bones shall crack and blood shall flow,
If any dare resist me.
And all the world my name shall know,
Pray by the ear don't twist me!
All men before my club shall fly,
All on their knees shall “mercy” cry,
Or mangled in their gore shall lie--
Ah, grand-dam, pray don't clout me!
Don't beat me, grannam dear, but try
To do awhile without me--
“Without thee, thou piece o' naughtiness?” screamed the old woman. “Now
will I lay my stick about thee--hold still, Rogue!”
Saying which, she proceeded to belabour the poor Dwarf with her knotted
stick, clutching him fast by his ear the while. Thus she be-thwacked him
soundly until he roared for mercy.
“Why, how now--how now?” cried a merry voice, and Robin strode into the
firelight. “Gentle Witch, sweet dame,” quoth he, “what do ye with poor
Lob?”
“Thwack him shrewdly!”
“Which is, Witch, that which none but witch the like o' thee might do, for
lustier fighter and mightier dwarf never was. Thus, but for thy witch-like
witcheries, the which, Witch, witch do prove thee, but for this and the
power and potency of thy spells, now might he crack out thy life 'twixt
finger and thumb--”
“Ha, forest-rogue, 'tis a bad brat, a very naughty elf would run off into
the wild to be rogue like thee--an outlaw, forsooth!”
“Forsooth, Witch,” laughed Robin, “outlaw is he in very truth, in sooth and
by my troth! Outlaw is Lob, banned by Church and Council of Ten, and so
proclaimed i' the market square of Canalise this very morn by sound o'
trumpet and--”
“How? How?” cried the old woman, wringing her trembling hands. “My Lobkyn
outlawed? My babe, my lovely brat, my pretty bantling, woe and alas! My
dear ugly one an outlaw?”
“Aye, marry is he, Witch, outlaw proclaimed, acclaimed, announced,
pronounced and denounced; as such described, ascribed and proscribed by
Master Gregory Bax, the port-reeve, for the late slaying and maiming of
divers of the city guard. So outlaw is Lobkyn, his life henceforth forfeit
even as mine.”
“My Lobkyn an hairy outlaw i' the wild-wood! Out alas! And what of his poor
old grannam? What o' me--?”
“Content thee, sweet hag, since thou'rt outlawed along with him and, as
witch, doomed to die unpleasantly by fire and flame and faggot, if thou'rt
caught.”
“Alack! Wala-wa! Woe 's me!” groaned the Witch, cracking her finger-bones.
“And all this by reason o' the Fool yonder.”
“Why, the Fool is dubbed outlaw likewise, Witch,” quoth Robin. “Outlaw is
he along o' thee and Tanner Will.”
“And all by reason that this Fool must needs peril our lives for sake of
rogue-outlaw, of forest-robber, of knavish woodland-lurker--”
“Hight Robin!” laughed Robin, leaning on his long bow-stave. “Now, this
brave Fool having saved Robin his life, Witch, the which, Witch, was good
thing for Robin, our Fool next saved thee, Witch, which was nought to
Robin, in the which, Witch, Robin did not joy; for thou, old Witch, being
witch, art therefore full o' witcheries which be apt to be-devil a man and
fright his reason, for the which reason, being reasonable man, I reason,
for this reason, that, so reasoning, I love thee not. But thou art old,
Witch, which is good reason to reasonably reason thou art wise, Witch,
and, being wise, I on this wise would seek counsel of thy wisdom, Witch.
Imprimis, then--”
“Hold!” commanded the Witch; “here's a whirl o' windy wind! Hast more of
such-like, forester?”
“Some little, Witch, which I will now, Witch--”
“Nay, then, Robin-a-Green, suffer me to rest my old bones whiles thy mill
clacks.” Hereupon the old Witch seated herself beside the fire, with bony
knees up-drawn to bony chin. “Speak, outlaw Robin,” she croaked, blinking
her red eyes, “and speak ye plain.”
“Why, then, wise Witch, look 'ee: since we be outlaws each and every, with
all men's hands against us, with none to succour, and death watchful for
us, 'tis plain, and very plain, we, for our harbourage and defence, must in
the wild-wood bide--”
“Ho!” cried Lobkyn:
“It soundeth good,
The brave wild-wood,
Where flowers do spring
And birds do sing.
To slay the deer
And make good cheer,
With mead and beer,
The livelong year,
And--”
“Roar not, toad!” cried the Witch. “Say on--Rogue-Robin!”
“Why, mark me, good Witch, here's where buskin chafeth! Not long since I
ruled i' the wild-wood, a very king, with ten-score lusty outlaw-rogues
to do my will. To-day is there never an one, and for this reasonable
reason--to wit, I am hanged, and, being hanged, am dead, and, being dead,
am not, and thus Robin is nobody; and yet again, perceive me, Witch, being
Robin, I am therefore somebody; thus is nobody somebody, and yet somebody
that nobody will believe anybody. The which, Witch, is a parlous case,
methinks, for here am I, somebody, nobody and Robin altogether and at the
same time; therefore, Witch, o' thy witchful wisdom--who am I, what and
which, Witch?”
Here the Witch blinked and mowed, and cracked her finger-bones one after
another. Quoth she:
“For thy first, thou'rt thyself; for the second, a rogue; and for the
third, a wind-bag. I would thy second might tie up thy first in thy third.”
“So should Robin choke Robin with Robin. But hark 'ee again, good, patient
dame. It seemeth that Ranulph the executioner betaketh him at cock-crow to
hang poor me; but, finding me not, made great outcry, insomuch that the
city guard, such as mighty Lob and Will had left alive, sought counsel
together; and taking one of their slain fellows, Ranulph hanged him in my
stead, and there he hangeth now, above the city gate, his face so marred
that he might be me or any other.”
“Ha, Robin--well?”
“This day, at sunset, came I unto the trysting-oak, and by blast of horn
summoned me my outlaw company. They came apace and in great wonderment,
for, seeing me, they fell to great awe and dread, thinking me dead, since
many had seen my body a-dangle on the gallows; wherefore, seeing me
manifestly alive, they took me for ghoulish ghost 'stead o' good flesh and
blood, and fled from me amain. So, by reason of my dead body, that is no
body o' mine, yet that nobody will believe is no body o' mine, they believe
that this my body is yet no body, but a phantom; the which is out of
reason; yet thus unreasonably do the rogues reason by reason of the body
that hangeth in place of my body above the city gate. Wherefore I reason
there is yet reason in their unreason, seeing this body was somebody, yet
no body o' mine, but which nobody among them can swear to. Which, Witch,
is a matter which none but wise witch may counsel me in. How say'st thou,
Witch?”
But for a while the old Witch scowled on the fire, bony chin on bony knees,
and dreamily cracked her finger-joints.
“Oho!” she cried suddenly. “Aha--a body that nobody's is, yet body that
everybody knoweth for body o' thine--aha! So must nobody know that nobody's
body is not thy body. Dost see my meaning, Robin-a-Green?”
“No whit, Witch! Thou growest involved, thy talk diffuse, abstruse and
altogether beyond one so obtuse as simple Rob--”
“Then hark 'ee again, Addlepate! Everybodymust believe nobody's body thy
body, so by dead body will I make thy live body of so great account to
everybody that nobody henceforth shall doubt dead body made live body, by
my witchcraft, and thou be feared, therefore, of everybody. Dost follow me
now, numskull?”
“Aye, truly, mother! And truly 'tis a rare subtlety, a notable wile, and
thou a right cunning witch and wise. But how wilt achieve this wonder?”
“Since dead thou art, I to life will bring thee. Oho, I will summon thee
through fire and flame; aha, I will make thee more dreaded than heretofore;
thy fame shall fill the wild-wood and beyond. Know'st thou the Haunted
Wood, hard by Thraxby Waste?”
Now here Robin's merry smile languished, and he rubbed nose with dubious
finger.
“Aye, I do,” quoth he sombrely; “an ill place and--demon-rid, they say--”
“Come ye there to-morrow at midnight.”
“Alone?” says Robin, starting.
“Alone!”
“Nay, good Witch, most gentle, potent dame, I--though phantom accounted, I
love not phantoms, and Thraxby Waste--”
“Come ye there--at midnight!”
“Why, then, good Witch, an come I must, suffer that I bring the valiant
Fool and mighty Lob--prithee, now!”
At this the old Witch scowled and mumbled and crackled her finger-bones
louder than ever.
“Oho!” cried she at last, “thou great child, afraid-o'-the-dark, bring
these an ye will--but none other!”
“Good mother, I thank thee!”
“Tchak!” cried the Witch, and, struggling to her feet, hobbled to Jocelyn
and laid bony finger on wrist and brow, nodded, mumbled, and so, bent on
her staff, hobbled away; but, reaching the cave-mouth, she paused, and
smote stick to earth fiercely.
“To-morrow!” she croaked. “Midnight! Re--member!”