Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race Part 38

The Outlaws' Rules

"You know that already," said their master. "You are to do no harm to women, nor to any company in which a woman is travelling; this is in honour of our dear Lady. You are to be kind and gentle to husbandmen and toilers of all degrees, to worthy knights and yeomen, to gallant squires, and to all children and helpless people; but sheriffs (especially him of Nottingham), bishops, and prelates of all kinds, and usurers in Church and State, you may regard as your enemies, and may rob, beat, and despoil in any way. Meet me with your guest at our great trysting oak in the forest, and be speedy, for dinner must wait until the visitor has arrived." "Now may G.o.d send us a suitable traveller soon," said Little John, "for I am hungry for dinner now."

"So am I," said each of the others, and Robin laughed again. "Go ye all three, with bows and arrows in hand, and I will stay alone at the trysting tree and await your coming. As no man pa.s.ses this way, you can walk up to the willow plantation and take your stand on Watling Street; there you will soon meet with likely travellers, and I will accept the first who appears. I will find means to have dinner ready against your return, and we will hope that our visitor's generosity will compensate us for the trouble of cooking his dinner."

Robin Hood's Guest

The three yeomen, taking their longbows in hand and arrows in their belts, walked up through the willow plantation to a place on Watling Street where another road crossed it; but there was no one in sight.

As they stood with bows in hand, looking towards the forest of Barnesdale, they saw in the distance a knight riding in their direction. As he drew nearer they were struck by his appearance, for he rode as a man who had lost all interest in life; his clothes were disordered, he looked neither to right nor left, but drooped his head sadly, while one foot hung in the stirrup and the other dangled slackly in the air. The yeomen had never seen so doleful a rider; but, sad as he was, this was a visitor and must be taken to Robin; accordingly Little John stepped forward and caught the horse by the bridle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Little John caught the horse by the bridle"]

Little John Escorts the Knight

The knight raised his head and looked blankly at the outlaw, who at once doffed his cap, saying, "Welcome, Sir Knight! I give you, on my master's behalf, a hearty welcome to the greenwood. Gentle knight, come now to my master, who hath waited three hours, fasting, for your approach before he would dine. Dinner is prepared, and only tarries your courteous appearance." The stranger knight seemed to consider this address carefully, for he sighed deeply, and then said: "I cry thee mercy, good fellow, for the delay, though I wot not how I am the cause thereof. But who is thy master?" Little John replied: "My master's name is Robin Hood, and I am sent to guide you to him." The knight said: "So Robin Hood is thy leader? I have heard of him, and know him to be a good yeoman; therefore I am ready to accompany thee, though, in good sooth, I had intended to eat my midday meal at Blythe or Doncaster to-day. But it matters little where a broken man dines!"

Robin Hood's Feast

The three yeomen conducted the knight along the forest ways to the trysting oak where Robin awaited them. As they went they observed that the knight was weeping silently for some great distress, but their courtesy forbade them to make any show of noticing his grief.

When the appointed spot was reached, Robin stepped forward and courteously greeted his guest, with head uncovered and bended knee, and welcomed him gladly to the wild greenwood. "Welcome, Sir Knight, to our greenwood feast! I have waited three hours for a guest, and now Our Lady has sent you to me we can dine, after we have heard Ma.s.s."

The knight said nothing but, "G.o.d save you, good Robin, and all your merry men"; and then very devoutly they heard the three Ma.s.ses, sung by Friar Tuck. By this time others of the outlaw band had appeared, having returned from various errands, and a gay company sat down to a banquet as good as any the knight had ever eaten.

Robin Converses with the Knight

There was abundance of good things--venison and game of all kinds, swans and river-fowl and fish, with bread and good wine. Every one seemed joyous, and merry jests went round that jovial company, till even the careworn guest began to smile, and then to laugh outright. At this Robin was well pleased, for he saw that his visitor was a good man, and was glad to have lifted the burden of his care, even if only for a few minutes; so he smiled cheerfully at the knight and said: "Be merry, Sir Knight, I pray, and eat heartily of our food, for it is with great goodwill that we offer it to you." "Thanks, good Robin,"

replied the knight. "I have enjoyed my dinner to-day greatly; for three weeks I have not had so good a meal. If I ever pa.s.s by this way again I will do my best to repay you in kind; as good a dinner will I try to provide as you have given me."

Robin Demands Payment

The outlaw chief seemed to be affronted by this suggestion, and replied, with a touch of pride in his manner: "Thanks for your proffer, Sir Knight, but, by Heaven! no man has ever yet deemed me a glutton. While I eat one dinner I am not accustomed to look eagerly for another--one is enough for me. But as for you, my guest, I think it only fitting that you should pay before you go; a yeoman was never meant to pay for a knight's banquet." The knight blushed, and looked confused for a moment, and then said: "True, Robin, and gladly would I reward you for my entertainment, but I have no money worth offering; even all I have would not be worthy of your acceptance, and I should be shamed in your eyes, and those of your men."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I have no money worth offering"]

The Knight's Poverty

"Is that the truth?" asked Robin, making a sign to Little John, who arose, and, going to the knight's steed, unstrapped a small coffer, which he brought back and placed before his master. "Search it, Little John," said he, and "You, sir, tell me the very truth, by your honour as a belted knight." "It is truth, on my honour, that I have but ten s.h.i.+llings," replied the knight, "and if Little John searches he will find no more." "Open the coffer," said Robin, and Little John took it away to the other side of the trysting oak, where he emptied its contents on his outspread cloak, and found exactly ten s.h.i.+llings.

Returning to his master, who sat at his ease, drinking and gaily conversing with his anxious guest, Little John whispered: "The knight has told the truth," and thereupon Robin exclaimed aloud: "Sir Knight, I will not take one penny from you; you may rather borrow of me if you have need of more money, for ten s.h.i.+llings is but a miserable sum for a knight. But tell me now, if it be your pleasure, how you come to be in such distress." As he looked inquiringly at the stranger, whose blush had faded once, only to be renewed as he found his word of honour doubted, he noticed how thin and threadbare were his clothes and how worn his russet leather shoes; and he was grieved to see so n.o.ble-seeming a man in such a plight.

The Knight's Story

Yet Robin meant to fathom the cause of the knight's trouble, for then, perhaps, he would be able to help him, so he continued pitilessly: "Tell me just one word, which I will keep secret from all other men: were you driven by compulsion to take up knighthood, or urged to beg it by reason of the owners.h.i.+p of some small estate; or have you wasted your old inheritance with fines for brawling and strife, or in gambling and riotousness, or in borrowing at usury? All of these are fatal to a good estate."

The knight replied: "Alas! good Robin, none of these hath been my undoing. My ancestors have all been knights for over a hundred years, and I have not lived wastefully, but soberly and sparely. As short a time ago as last year I had over four hundred pounds saved, which I could spend freely among my neighbours, and my income was four hundred pounds a year, from my land; but now my only possessions are my wife and children. This is the work of G.o.d's hand, and to Him I commit me to amend my estate in His own good time."

How the Money was Lost

"But how have you so soon lost this great wealth?" asked Robin incredulously; and the knight replied sadly: "Ah, Robin, you have no son, or you would know that a father will give up all to save his first-born. I have one gallant son, and when I went on the Crusade with our n.o.ble Prince Edward I left him at home to guard my lands, for he was twenty years old, and was a brave and comely youth. When I returned, after two years' absence, it was to find him in great danger, for in a public tournament he had slain in open fight a knight of Lancas.h.i.+re and a bold young squire. He would have died a shameful death had I not spent all my ready money and other property to save him from prison, for his enemies were mighty and unjust; and even that was not enough, for I was forced to mortgage my estates for more money. All my land lies in pledge to the abbot of St. Mary's Abbey, in York, and I have no hope to redeem it. I was riding to York when your men found me."

The Sum Required

"For what sum is your land pledged?" asked the master-outlaw; and the knight replied: "The Abbot lent me four hundred pounds, though the value of the land is far beyond that." "What will you do if you fail to redeem your land?" asked Robin. "I shall leave England at once, and journey once more to Jerusalem, and tread again the sacred Hill of Calvary, and never more return to my native land. That will be my fate, for I see no likelihood of repaying the loan, and I will not stay to see strangers holding my father's land. Farewell, my friend Robin, farewell to you all! Keep the ten s.h.i.+llings; I would have paid more if I could, but that is the best I can give you." "Have you no friends at home?" asked Robin; and the knight said: "Many friends I thought I had, sir. They were very kind and helpful in my days of prosperity, when I did not need them; now they will not know me, so much has my poverty seemed to alter my face and appearance."

Robin Offers a Loan

This pitiful story touched the hearts of the simple and kindly outlaws; they wept for pity, and cared not to hide their tears from each other, until Robin made them all pledge their guest in b.u.mpers of good red wine. Then their chief asked, as if continuing his own train of thought: "Have you any friends who will act as sureties for the repayment of the loan?" "None at all," replied the knight hopelessly, "but G.o.d Himself, who suffered on the Tree for us." This last reply angered Robin, who thought it savoured too much of companions.h.i.+p with the fat and hypocritical monks whom he hated, and he retorted sharply: "No such tricks for me! Do you think I will take such a surety, or even one of the saints, in return for good solid gold? Get some more substantial surety, or no gold shall you have from me. I cannot afford to waste my money."

The Knight Offers Surety

The knight replied, sighing heavily: "If you will not take these I have no earthly surety to offer; and in Heaven there is only our dear Lady. I have served her truly, and she has never failed me till now, when her servant, the abbot, is playing me so cruel a trick." "Do you give Our Lady as your surety?" said Robin Hood. "I would take her bond for any sum, for throughout all England you could find no better surety than our dear Lady, who has always been gracious to me. She is enough security. Go, Little John, to my treasury and bring me four hundred pounds, well counted, with no false or clipped coin therein."

Robin Hood's Gifts

Little John, accompanied by Much, the careful treasurer of the band, went quickly to the secret place where the master-outlaw kept his gold. Very carefully they counted out the coins, testing each, to see that it was of full weight and value. Then, on the suggestion of Little John, they provided the knight with new clothing, even to boots and spurs, and finally supplied him with two splendid horses, one for riding and one to carry his baggage and the coffer of gold.

The guest watched all these preparations with bewildered eyes, and turned to Robin, crying, "Why have you done all this for me, a perfect stranger?" "You are no stranger, but Our Lady's messenger. She sent you to me, and Heaven grant you may prove true."

The Bond of Repayment

"G.o.d grant it," echoed the knight. "But, Robin, when shall I repay this loan, and where? Set me a day, and I will keep it." "Here,"

replied the outlaw, "under this greenwood tree, and in a twelvemonth's time; so will you have time to regain your friends and gather your rents from your redeemed lands. Now farewell, Sir Knight; and since it is not meet for a worthy knight to journey unattended, I will lend you also my comrade, Little John, to be your squire, and to do you yeoman service, if need be." The knight bade farewell to Robin and his generous followers, and was turning to ride away, when he suddenly stopped and addressed the master-outlaw: "In faith, good Robin, I had forgotten one thing. You know not my name. I am Sir Richard of the Lea, and my land lies in Uterysdale." "As for that," said Robin Hood, "I trouble not myself. You are Our Lady's messenger; that is enough for me." So Sir Richard rode gladly away, blessing the generous outlaw who lent him money to redeem his land, and a stout yeoman to defend the loan.

Sir Richard's Journey

As the knight and his new servant rode on, Sir Richard called to his man, saying, "I must by all means be in York to-morrow, to pay the abbot of St. Mary's four hundred pounds; if I fail of my day I shall lose my land and lords.h.i.+p for ever"; and Little John answered: "Fear not, master; we will surely be there in time enough." Then they rode on, and reached York early on the last day of the appointed time.

The Abbot and Prior of St. Mary's

In the meantime the abbot of St. Mary's was counting that Sir Richard's lands were safely his; he had no pity for the poor unlucky knight, but rather exulted in the legal cruelty which he could inflict. Very joyfully he called aloud, early that morn: "A twelvemonth ago to-day we lent four hundred pounds to a needy knight, Sir Richard of the Lea, and unless he comes by noon to-day to repay the money he will lose all his land and be disinherited, and our abbey will be the richer by a fat estate, worth four hundred pounds a year.

Our Lady grant that he keep not his day." "Shame on you!" cried the prior. "This poor knight may be ill, or beyond the sea; he may be in hunger and cold as well as poverty, and it will be a foul wrong if you declare his land forfeit."

"This is the set day," replied the abbot, "and he is not here." "You dare not escheat his estates yet," replied the prior stubbornly. "It is too early in the day; until noon the lands are still Sir Richard's, and no man shall take them ere the clock strikes. Shame on your conscience and your greed, to do a good knight such foul wrong! I would willingly pay a hundred pounds myself to prevent it."

"Beshrew your meddlesome temper!" cried the abbot. "You are always crossing me! But I have with me the Lord Chief Justice, and he will declare my legal right." Just at that moment the high cellarer of the abbey entered to congratulate the abbot on Sir Richard's absence. "He is dead or ill, and we shall have the spending of four hundred pounds a year," quoth he.