How Pertinax fell out with Robin and with Friar, Yet, in that very hour,
came by his heart's desire.
The sinking sun had set the West aflame, When our three riders to the
wild-wood came, Where a small wind 'mid sun-kissed branches played, And
deep'ning shadows a soft twilight made; Where, save for leafy stirrings,
all was still, Lulled by the murmur of a bubbling rill That flowed
o'ershadowed by a mighty oak, Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning
stroke. Here Robin checked his steed. “Good friends,” quoth he,
My daughter Gillian suggesteth:
Gill: That's rather good,
But, still, I should
In prose prefer the rest;
For if this fytte
Has love in it,
Prose is for love the best.
All ord'nary lovers, as every one knows,
Make love to each other much better in prose.
If, at last, our Sir Pertinax means to propose,
Why then--just to please me,
Father, prose let it be.
Myself: Very well, I agree!
Then said Robin, quoth he:
“Good friends, here are we safe!” And, checking his steed within this
pleasant shade, he dismounted.
“Safe, quotha?” said Sir Pertinax, scowling back over shoulder. “Not so!
Surely we are close pursued--hark! Yonder be horsemen riding at speed--ha,
we are beset!”
“Content you, sir!” answered Robin. “Think you I would leave behind good
booty? Yonder come ten noble coursers laden with ten goodly armours the
same won a-jousting to-day by this right wondrous Fool, my good gossip--”
“Thy gossip, forsooth!” snorted Sir Pertinax. “But tell me, presumptuous
fellow, how shall these ten steeds come a-galloping hither!”
“Marry, on this wise, Sir Simple Innocence--these steeds do gallop for
sufficient reason, namely--they are to gallop bidden being ridden,
bestridden and chidden by whip and spur applied by certain trusty men o' my
company, which men go habited, decked, dressed, clad, guised and disguised
as smug, sleek citizens, Sir Innocent Simplicity--”
“Par Dex!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax, scowling. “And who 'rt thou, sirrah,
with men at thy beck and call?”
“Behold!” said Robin, unhelming. “Behold the king of all masterless rogues,
and thy fellow gallow's-bird, Sir High Mightiness!”
“Ha, is 't thou?” cried Sir Pertinax. “Now a plague on thy kingdom and thee
for an unhanged, thieving rogue--”
“E'en as thyself,” nodded Robin, “thou that flaunted thy unlovely carcass
in stolen armour.”
“Ha!” roared Sir Pertinax, clapping hand on sword. “A pest--a murrain! This
to me, thou dog's-meat? Malediction! Now will I crack thy numbskull for a
pestilent malapert--”
“Nay, Sir Grim-and-gory,” laughed Robin, “rather will I now use thee as
thou would'st ha' served me on a day but for this generous and kindly Fool,
my good comrade!” And speaking, Robin sprang nimbly to the great oak tree
and thrusting long arm within the jagged fissure that gaped therein drew
forth a hunting-horn and winded it loud and shrill. And presently was a
stir, a rustle amid the surrounding brushwood and all about them were
outlaws, wild men and fierce of aspect, and each and every grasped long-bow
with arrow on string and every arrow was aimed at scowling Sir Pertinax.
“Per Dex!” quoth he, “and is this death, then?”
“Verily!” nodded Robin, “an I do speak the word.”
“So be it--speak!” growled Sir Pertinax. “Come, Death--I fear thee not!”
And out flashed his long sword; but even then it was twisted from his
grasp and Lobkyn Lollo, tossing the great blade aloft and, catching it
very neatly, laughed and spake:
“Five times, five times ten
Are we, all lusty men.
An hundred twice and fifty deaths are we,
So, an Rob speak, dead thou 'lt as often be.”
“Nay, hold a while, sweet lads!” laughed Robin, “the surly rogue shall sing
for his life and our good pleasaunce.”
“Sing?” roared Sir Pertinax. “I sing! I? Ha, dare ye bid me so, base dog?
Sing, forsooth? By Og and Gog! By the Seven Champions and all the fiends,
rather will I die!” And here, being defenceless, Sir Pertinax clenched
mighty fists and swore until he lacked for breath.
Then spake Jocelyn, gentle-voiced.
“Sing, Pertinax,” quoth he.
“Ha--never! Not for all the--”
“I do command thee, Pertinax. As Robin once sang for his life, now must
thou sing for thine. Song for song, 't is but just! Sing, Pertinax!”
“Nay,” groaned the proud knight, “I had rather drink water and chew grass
like a rabbit. Moreover I ha' no gift o' song--”
“Do thy best!” quoth Robin.
“I'm harsh o' voice--knave!”
“Then croak--rogue!” quoth Robin.
“No song have I--vermin!”
“Make one--carrion! But sing thou shalt though thy song be no better than
hog-song which is grunt. Howbeit sing thou must!”
Hereupon Sir Pertinax gnashed his teeth and glaring balefully on Robin
lifted hoarse voice and burst forth into fierce song:
“Thou base outlaw,
Vile clapper-claw,
Since I must sing a stave,
Then, here and now,
I do avow
Thou art a scurvy knave!
Thy hang-dog air
Doth plain declare
Thou 'rt very scurvy knave.
“Rogues breed apace
In each vile place,
But this I will avow,
Where e'er rogues be
No man may see
A viler rogue than thou,
Since it were vain
To meet again
A rogue more vile than thou.
“As rogue thou art,
In every part,
Then--”
“Hold there--hold!” cried Robin, stopping his ears. “Thy voice is unlovely
as thy look and thy song as ill as thy voice, so do we forgive thee the
rest. Ha' done thy bellowing and begone--”
“Ha--not so!” quoth Sir Pertinax. “For troth I do sing better than
methought possible, and my rhyming is none so ill! So will I rhyme thy
every knavish part and sing song till song and rhyme be ended. Have at thee
again, base fellow!
Since rogue thou art
In every part--part--
Ha, plague on't, hast put me out, rogue! I was about to hang thy every
roguish part in rhyme, but my rhymes halt by reason o' thee, rogue.”
“Forsooth!” laughed Robin. “Thus stickest thou, for thy part, at my every
part, the which is well since I am man of parts. Thus then rhyme thou
rhymes upon thyself therefore; thus, thyself rhyming rhymes of thee, thou
shalt thyself, rhyming of thyself, thyself pleasure thereby, thou thus
rhyming of thee, and thee, thou. Thus thy thee and thou shall be well
accorded. How think'st thou?”
But Sir Pertinax, astride his charger that cropped joyously at sweet,
cool grass, sat chin on fist, lost in the throes of composition, nothing
heeding, even when came the ten steeds with the ten suits of armour.
Now these ten horses bare eleven riders, tall, lusty fellows all, save one
shrouded in hood and cloak and whom Jocelyn viewed with quick, keen eyes.
And thus he presently whispered Robin who, laughing slyly, made signal to
his followers, whereupon, by ones and twos they stole silently away until
there none remained save only Sir Pertinax who, wrestling with his muse,
stared aloft under knitted brows, all unknowing, and presently brake out
singing on this wise:
“All men may see
A man in me,
A man who feareth no man,
Thus, fearless, I
No danger fly--”
“Except it be a woman!” sang a soft, sweet voice hard by, in pretty
mockery. Hereat Sir Pertinax started so violently that his mail clashed and
he stared about him eager-eyed but, finding himself quite alone, sighed and
fell to reverie.
“A woman?” said he aloud. “'Except it be a woman--'”
THE VOICE: Aye--a woman, O craven soldier!
SIR PERTINAX: Why here is strange echo methinks and speaketh--with her
voice!