At these words the King tapped his fingertips upon the table beside him with vexation. “What wouldst thou have me do, Bishop?” quoth he. “Didst thou not hear me pledge my word to the Queen? Thy talk is as barren as the wind from the bellows upon dead coals.” “Far be it from me,” said […]

Then the Bishop spoke again, in his soft, smooth voice: “Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, and believe that I have nought but the good of England and Your Majesty’s desirings at heart; but what would it boot though my gracious lord did root up every tree of Sherwood? Are there not other places for Robin

SO ROBIN HOOD and the others left the archery range at Finsbury Fields, and, tarrying not, set forth straightway upon their homeward journey. It was well for them that they did so, for they had not gone more than three or four miles upon their way when six of the yeomen of the King’s guard

At this all shouted aloud, for it pleased them to hear Robin speak so of them. Then up spake Little John. “Good friend Tepus,” said he, “I want not those harts of Dallen Lea that yon stout judge spoke of but now, for in truth we have enow and more than enow in our own

After a while the three judges that had the giving away of the prizes came forward, and the chief of them all spake to Robin and said, “According to agreement, the first prize belongeth rightly to thee; so here I give thee the silver bugle, here the quiver of ten golden arrows, and here a

So Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a sudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the center ring, but by not more than the breadth of a barley straw. “Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert,” quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway he loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white

And now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before had London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it after Robin Hood’s day had gone. All saw that the King’s archers were fairly beaten, and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin’s, owning that he could

Then the King muttered in his beard, “Now, blessed Saint Hubert, if thou wilt but jog that rogue’s elbow so as to make him smite even the second ring, I will give eightscore waxen candles three fingers’-breadth in thickness to thy chapel nigh Matching.” But it may be Saint Hubert’s ears were stuffed with tow,

And now Tepus took his place to shoot. He, also, took overheed to what he was about, and so he fell into Will Scarlet’s error. The first arrow he struck into the center ring, but the second missed its mark, and smote the black; the last arrow was tipped with luck, for it smote the

Hubert took his place, planted his foot firmly, and fitted a fair, smooth arrow; then, breathing upon his fingertips, he drew the string slowly and carefully. The arrow sped true, and lodged in the white; again he shot, and again he hit the clout; a third shaft he sped, but this time failed of the

Then the three archers of the King turned and went back to their booths, and Robin and his men went to their places at the mark from which they were to shoot. Then they strung their bows and made themselves ready, looking over their quivers of arrows, and picking out the roundest and the best

The Bishop of Hereford did not laugh, neither did the King, but he turned to the Queen, and quoth he, “Who are these men that thou hast brought before us?” Then up spoke the Bishop hastily, for he could hold his peace no longer: “Your Majesty,” quoth he, “yon fellow in blue is a certain

When Partington and the others came before the spot where the King and Queen sat, the four yeomen bent their knees and doffed their caps unto her. King Henry leaned far forward and stared at them closely, but the Bishop of Hereford, when he saw their faces, started as though stung by a wasp. He

And now the ten archers of the King’s guard took their stand again, and all the great crowd was hushed to the stillness of death. Slowly and carefully each man shot his shafts, and so deep was the silence that you could hear every arrow rap against the target as it struck it. Then, when

  “Methinks the thought of thy gold weigheth more heavily with thee than the wrong to thy cloth,” said the Queen, smiling, and at this a ripple of laughter went around, for everyone knew how fond the Bishop was of his money. Then the Queen turned to a knight who stood near, whose name was

At this, the King laughed loud and long. “Truly,” said he, “thou art taking up with strange matters for a queen. If thou wilt bring those three fellows that thou speakest of, I will promise faithfully to give them free pardon for forty days, to come or to go wheresoever they please, nor will I

And now, amid the roaring of the crowd, those ten stout fellows that were left went back to their tents to rest for a while and change their bowstrings, for nought must fail at this next round, and no hand must tremble or eye grow dim because of weariness. Then while the deep buzz and

And now the shooting began, the captains first taking stand and speeding their shafts and then making room for the men who shot, each in turn, after them. Two hundred and eighty score shafts were shot in all, and so deftly were they sped that when the shooting was done each target looked like the

When all was quiet a bugle sounded, and straightway the archers came marching in order from their tents. Fortyscore they were in all, as stalwart a band of yeomen as could be found in all the wide world. So they came in orderly fashion and stood in front of the dais where King Henry and

At last a great blast of bugles sounded, and into the meadow came riding six trumpeters with silver trumpets, from which hung velvet banners heavy with rich workings of silver and gold thread. Behind these came stout King Henry upon a dapple-gray stallion, with his Queen beside him upon a milk-white palfrey. On either side

A gay sight were famous Finsbury Fields on that bright and sunny morning of lusty summertime. Along the end of the meadow stood the booths for the different bands of archers, for the King’s yeomen were divided into companies of fourscore men, and each company had a captain over it; so on the bright greensward

But good Queen Eleanor smiled pleasantly upon him, bidding him to arise. Then she made them all be seated to rest themselves after their long journey. Rich food was brought them and noble wines, and she had her own pages to wait upon the wants of the yeomen. At last, after they had eaten all

Queen Eleanor sat in her royal bower, through the open casements of which poured the sweet yellow sunshine in great floods of golden light. All about her stood her ladies-in-waiting chatting in low voices, while she herself sat dreamily where the mild air came softly drifting into the room laden with the fresh perfumes of

  Then Little John and Will Scarlet and Allan a Dale ran leaping, full of joy, to make themselves ready, while Robin also prepared himself for the journey. After a while they all four came forth, and a right fair sight they made, for Robin was clad in blue from head to foot, and Little

Then Robin Hood bowed his head and taking the ring, kissed it right loyally, and then slipped it upon his little finger. Quoth he, “Sooner would I lose my life than this ring; and ere it departs from me, my hand shall be cold in death or stricken off at the wrist. Fair Sir Page,

Under the greenwood tree, in the cool shade that spread all around upon the sward, with flickering lights here and there, Robin Hood and many of his band lay upon the soft green grass, while Allan a Dale sang and played upon his sweetly sounding harp. All listened in silence, for young Allan’s singing was

Then up spake the other yeoman, who was a handsome fellow with sunburned face and nut-brown, curling hair, “Thou hast an honest look, Sir Page, and our Queen is kind and true to all stout yeomen. Methinks I and my friend here might safely guide thee to Robin Hood, for we know where he may

The landlord came and brought a pottle of wine and a long narrow glass upon a salver, which he held up to the Page as he sat upon his horse. Young Partington poured forth the bright yellow wine and holding the glass aloft, cried, “Here is to the health and long happiness of my royal

THE HIGHROAD stretched white and dusty in the hot summer afternoon sun, and the trees stood motionless along the roadside. All across the meadow lands the hot air danced and quivered, and in the limpid waters of the lowland brook, spanned by a little stone bridge, the fish hung motionless above the yellow gravel, and

That night in sweet Sherwood the red fires glowed brightly in wavering light on tree and bush, and all around sat or lay the stout fellows of the band to hear Robin Hood and Little John tell their adventures. All listened closely, and again and again the woods rang with shouts of laughter. When all

At these words the corn factor grew pale as a linen napkin. “Who art thou that talkest so?” said he. Then merry Robin laughed again, and quoth he, “Men hereabouts call me Robin Hood; so, sweet friend, thou hadst best do my bidding and give me thy shoes, wherefore hasten, I prythee, or else thou

“Peace, friend,” said the Corn Engrosser, “for this is no matter for jesting. The soles of these clogs are not what they seem to be, for each one is a sweet little box; and by twisting the second nail from the toe, the upper of the shoe and part of the sole lifts up like

“Why, as thou art an honest fellow and a rich fellow,” said the Corn Engrosser, “I mind not thy company; but, in sooth, I have no great fondness for beggars.” “Then forward,” quoth Robin, “for the day wanes and it will be dark ere we reach Newark.” So off they went, the lean horse hobbling

“Doss thou prate so to me, sirrah?” cried the Corn Engrosser in a rage. “Now I will have thee soundly whipped if ever I catch thee in any town where the law can lay hold of thee! As for giving thee a penny, I swear to thee that I have not so much as a

But although Robin laughed at the droll sight, he knew the wayfarer to be a certain rich corn engrosser of Worksop, who more than once had bought all the grain in the countryside and held it till it reached even famine prices, thus making much money from the needs of poor people, and for this

But when the two stout beggars that had been rapped upon the head roused themselves and sat up, and when the others had gotten over their fright and come back, they were as sad and woebegone as four frogs in dry weather, for two of them had cracked crowns, their Malmsey was all gone, and

To this speech the beggars answered never a word, but they looked at Robin as great Blunderbore looked upon stout Jack the slayer of giants, as though they would fain eat him, body and bones; nevertheless, they did not care to come nigher to him and his terrible staff. Then, seeing them so hesitate, Robin

But all the four beggars leaped to their feet when Robin had done speaking, and the Blind man snatched up a heavy knotted cudgel that lay beside him on the grass, as did the others likewise. Then Robin, seeing that things were like to go ill with him, albeit he knew not what all the

  “Is it even so?” said the Deaf man. “I would not for all the money we four are carrying to Lincoln Town sleep one night in Sherwood. If Robin Hood caught one of our trade in his woodlands he would, methinks, clip his ears.” “Methinks he would, too,” quoth Robin, laughing. “But what money

The deaf man was the first to hear Robin, for he said, “Hark, brothers, I hear someone coming.” And the blind man was the first to see him, for he said, “He is an honest man, brothers, and one of like craft to ourselves.” Then the dumb man called to him in a great voice

So Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling merrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs. At last he came to where a little grass-grown path left the road and, passing through a stile and down a hill, led into a little dell and on across a rill

“Marry,” quoth Robin, laughing, “thou art a sly fellow, and I tell thee truly, had I known thou hadst so much money by thee maybe thou mightst not have carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by it.” Then each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other,

Then Robin, seeing that he had somewhat gathered the wits that had just been rapped out of his head, said, “Now, good fellow, wilt thou change clothes with me, or shall I have to tap thee again? Here are two golden angels if thou wilt give me freely all thy rags and bags and thy

  “Now, fellow,” said Robin, “it would ill suit me to spoil thy pretty head for thee, but I tell thee plainly, that but for this feast I would do that to thee would stop thy traveling the country for many a day to come. Keep thy lips shut, lad, or thy luck will tumble

“I tell thee, fellow,” said the Beggar, “if thou wert clad as sweetly as good Saint Wynten, the patron of our craft, thou wouldst never make a beggar. Marry, the first jolly traveler that thou wouldst meet would beat thee to a pudding for thrusting thy nose into a craft that belongeth not to thee.”

At last, after a long time had passed thus, Robin pushed the food from him and heaved a great sigh of deep content, for he felt as though he had been made all over anew. “And now, good friend,” quoth he, leaning upon one elbow, “I would have at thee about that other matter of

So Robin straightway left the Beggar, who, upon his part, went to a budding lime bush back of the hedge, and there spread his feast upon the grass and roasted his eggs upon a little fagot fire, with a deftness gained by long labor in that line. After a while back came Robin bearing a

At this Robin laughed aloud. “Marry,” quoth he, “they did ill toward thee for thy kindness. But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy pouches?” “Why,” quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, “I find here a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy.

At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue of a magpie. Quoth he, “I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into, good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words to spare at any time.” “Nay,” quoth jolly Robin, “what I would say first

So, talking to himself, he came to where the dusty road turned sharply around the hedge, all tender with the green of the coming leaf, and there he saw before him a stout fellow sitting upon a stile, swinging his legs in idleness. All about this lusty rogue dangled divers pouches and bags of different

Then, after a while, he began to grow hungry, whereupon his mind turned from thoughts of springtime and flowers and birds and dwelled upon boiled capons, Malmsey, white bread, and the like, with great tenderness. Quoth he to himself, “I would I had Willie Wynkin’s wishing coat; I know right well what I should wish

AFTER JOLLY ROBIN had left Little John at the forking of the roads, he walked merrily onward in the mellow sunshine that shone about him. Ever and anon he would skip and leap or sing a snatch of song, for pure joyousness of the day; for, because of the sweetness of the springtide, his heart

Then once again each friar slowly thrust his hand into his pouch, and once again brought it out with nothing in it. “Have ye nothing?” quoth Little John. “Nay, I warrant there is somewhat that hath crept into the seams of your pouches, and so ye ha’ missed it. Let me look.” So he went

“What sayest thou, thou limb of evil!” cried the lean Friar, fairly gnashing his teeth with rage. “Doss thou bid me, the high cellarer of Fountain Abbey, to get down from my horse and kneel in the dirty road to pray to some beggarly Saxon saint?” “Now,” quoth Little John, “I ha’ a great part

At this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were like to fall from his saddle for shame; the other brother said nothing, but he looked before him with a grim and stony look. Just ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around a high hedge, and some twoscore

To this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared straight before him, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now they traveled forward more quietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to himself, and the two friars in the footpath on either side saying never a word. Then

The two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself betwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so that the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the footpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker,

“Truly, I am grateful to thee for the thought of me,” quoth Little John, “but have no fear, brother; my limbs are stout, and I could run like a hare from here to Gainsborough.” At these words a sound of laughing came from the bench, whereat the lean Brother’s wrath boiled over, like water into

“Marry, come up!” quoth Little John. “Disgrace, sayest thou? Methinks it is more disgrace for one of our garb to wring hard-earned farthings out of the gripe of poor lean peasants. It is not so, brother?” At this the Tinker and the Peddler and the Beggar nudged one another, and all grinned, and the friars

At this a great shout of laughter went up. “Truly, it is a wondrous thing,” quoth the Beggar, “I would have made my vow, to see the masterly manner in which thou didst tuck away yon pot of ale, that thou hadst not tasted clear water for a brace of months. Has not this same

“Give thee good den, holy father,” quoth the merry Beggar with a grin. “But look thee, thy gown is too short. Thou hadst best cut a piece off the top and tack it to the bottom, so that it may be long enough. But come, sit beside us here and take a taste of ale,

After he had trudged along for a time he began to wax thirsty again in the warmth of the day. He shook his leathern pottle beside his ear, but not a sound came therefrom. Then he placed it to his lips and tilted it high aloft, but not a drop was there. “Little John! Little

So they stepped along toward Tuxford, chatting and laughing, until they came nigh to the town. Here Little John stopped and set down the baskets, for he did not care to go into the town lest he should, perchance, meet some of the Sheriff’s men. “Alas! sweet chucks,” quoth he, “here I must leave you.

Then they huddled together and nudged one another, and one presently spake up and said, “We are going to the Tuxford market, holy friar, to sell our eggs.” “Now out upon it!” quoth Little John, looking upon them with his head on one side. “Surely, it is a pity that such fair lasses should be

Quoth jolly Robin, “Take thou the road to Gainsborough, and I will take that to Blyth. So, fare thee well, holy father, and mayst thou not ha’ cause to count thy beads in earnest ere we meet again.” “Good den, good beggar that is to be,” quoth Little John, “and mayst thou have no cause

Thereupon Little John and Friar Tuck went to the storehouse of the band, and there chose for the yeoman the robe of a Gray Friar. Then they came forth again, and a mighty roar of laughter went up, for not only had the band never seen Little John in such guise before, but the robe

“In very sooth,” quoth Little John, “it is a goodly song, and, were I not a yeoman of Sherwood Forest, I had rather be a strolling friar than aught else in the world.” “Yea, it is a goodly song,” said Robin Hood, “but methought those two burly beggars told the merrier tales and led the

  “Yea,” quoth merry Robin, laughing, “that was the night that Will Stutely must needs snatch a kiss from the stout hostess, and got a canakin of ale emptied over his head for his pains.” “Truly, it was the same,” said Little John, laughing also. “Methinks that was a goodly song that the strolling friar

COLD WINTER had passed and spring had come. No leafy thickness had yet clad the woodlands, but the budding leaves hung like a tender mist about the trees. In the open country the meadow lands lay a sheeny green, the cornfields a dark velvety color, for they were thick and soft with the growing blades.

Sir Richard gave to each yeoman a bow and a quiver of arrows, but to Robin he gave a stout bow inlaid with the cunningest workmanship in gold, while each arrow in his quiver was innocked with gold. Then all shouted again for joy of the fair gift, and all swore among themselves that they

“Sir Richard,” quoth Robin, “thou wilt pleasure us all if thou wilt keep that money as a gift from us of Sherwood. Is it not so, my lads?” Then all shouted “Ay” with a mighty voice. “I thank you all deeply,” said the Knight earnestly, “but think it not ill of me if I cannot

Then straightway the Knight told all about his stay at Denby and of the happening at the fair, and how it was like to go hard with young David; so he told his tale, and quoth he, “It was this, good Robin, that kept me so late on the way, otherwise I would have been

“Why, how now,” said Robin, after a time, holding Sir Richard off and looking at him from top to toe, “methinks thou art a gayer bird than when I saw thee last.” “Yes, thanks to thee, Robin,” said the Knight, laying his hand upon the yeoman’s shoulder. “But for thee I would have been wandering

Then Sir Richard called aloud, “Friends, this is David of Doncaster; so think it no shame that your Denby man was cast by such a wrestler. He beareth you no ill will for what hath passed, but let it be a warning to you how ye treat strangers henceforth. Had ye slain him it would

Now it might have gone ill with the youth, even to the losing of his young life, had not Sir Richard come to this fair; for of a sudden, shouts were heard, and steel flashed in the air, and blows were given with the flat of swords, while through the midst of the crowd Sir

Meanwhile the young stranger had made his way through the crowd, but, as he passed, he heard all around him such words muttered as “Look at the cockerel!” “Behold how he plumeth himself!” “I dare swear he cast good William unfairly!” “Yea, truly, saw ye not birdlime upon his hands?” “It would be well to

At this, the youth, who had donned his clothes and taken up his staff again, bowed without a word, then, taking the gloves and the ring, and thrusting the one into his girdle and slipping the other upon his thumb, he turned and, leaping lightly over the ropes again, made his way through the crowd,

But now no shout went up for the stranger, but an angry murmur was heard among the crowd, so easily had he won the match. Then one of the judges, a kinsman to William of the Scar, rose with trembling lip and baleful look. Quoth he, “If thou hath slain that man it will go

At this all laughed; but above all the laughter a loud voice was heard to cry out, “Sin’ thou talkest so big, here cometh one from Nottinghamshire to try a fall with thee, fellow”; and straightway a tall youth with a tough quarterstaff in his hand came pushing his way through the crowd and at

Now when the judges of the wrestling saw Sir Richard coming and knew who he was, the chief of them came down from the bench where he and the others sat, and went to the Knight and took him by the hand, beseeching him to come and sit with them and judge the sport. So

“Please Your Worship,” answered the man-at-arms, “a merry fair is held there today, and a great wrestling match, to which many folk have come, for a prize hath been offered of a pipe of red wine, a fair golden ring, and a pair of gloves, all of which go to the best wrestler.” “Now, by

Bright shone the sun on battlement and tower, and in the blue air overhead a Hock of clattering jackdaws flew around the gilded weather vane and spire. Then, in the brightness of the morning, the drawbridge fell across the moat with a rattle and clank of chains, the gate of the castle swung slowly open,

All this time the Sheriff had been staring with wide-open eyes and mouth agape at the tall man-at-arms, who stood as though carved out of stone. At last he gasped out, “Reynold Greenleaf!” At this, the tall man-at-arms, who was no other than Little John, turned, grinning, to the Sheriff. “I give thee good den,

“Hadst thou offered me a thousand pounds, false prior,” said the Knight, “thou wouldst not have got an inch of my land.” Then turning to where his men-at-arms stood near the door, he called, “Come hither,” and beckoned with his finger; whereupon the tallest of them all came forward and handed him a long leathern

“Thou knowest, Sir Prior, that it is as easy for me to pay four hundred pounds as three hundred,” said Sir Richard. “But wilt thou not give me another twelvemonth to pay my debt?” “Not another day,” said the Prior sternly. “And is this all thou wilt do for me?” asked the Knight. “Now, out

At these words, a slow red mounted into the Knight’s cheeks; but still he knelt. “I would crave thy mercy,” said he. “As thou hopest for Heaven’s mercy, show mercy to me. Strip me not of my lands and so reduce a true knight to poverty.” “Thy day is broken and thy lands forfeit,” said

“Thou needst not fear,” said the Prior, looking down at the little man beside him. “This knight is gentle and would as soon think of harming an old woman as thee.” As the Prior finished, a door at the lower end of the refectory swung open, and in came Sir Richard, with folded hands and

Then up spake the high cellarer, “Methinks it is a shame to so drive a misfortunate knight to the ditch. I think it sorrow that the noblest estate in Derbyshire should so pass away from him for a paltry five hundred pounds. Truly, I—” “How now,” broke in the Prior in a quivering voice, his

Jest and laughter passed around, and all was as merry as merry could be. The wizened face of the man of law was twisted into a wrinkled smile, for in his pouch were fourscore golden angels that the Prior had paid him in fee for the case betwixt him and Sir Richard of the Lea.

“Nay,” quoth Sir Richard, “the stables of this place are not for me, so make way, I prythee.” So saying, he pushed forward, and, the gates being opened, he entered the stony courtyard of the Priory, his men behind him. In they came with rattle of steel and clashing of swords, and ring of horses’

THE LONG HIGHWAY stretched straight on, gray and dusty in the sun. On either side were dikes full of water bordered by osiers, and far away in the distance stood the towers of Emmet Priory with tall poplar trees around. Along the causeway rode a knight with a score of stout men-at-arms behind him. The

Then up spake the Bishop of Hereford in a mournful voice, “I, too, must be jogging, good fellow, for the night waxes late.” But Robin laid his hand upon the Bishop’s arm and stayed him. “Be not so hasty, Lord Bishop,” said he. “Three days hence Sir Richard must pay his debts to Emmet; until

Then Sir Richard of the Lea looked all around and strove to speak, but could scarcely do so for the feelings that choked him; at last he said in a husky, trembling voice, “Ye shall all see, good friends, that Sir Richard o’ the Lea will ever remember your kindness this day. And if ye

Then Sir Richard arose. “I cannot stay later, good friends,” said he, “for my lady will wax anxious if I come not home; so I crave leave to depart.” Then Robin Hood and all his merry men arose, and Robin said, “We cannot let thee go hence unattended, Sir Richard.” Then up spake Little John,

Then Robin turned to Sir Richard of the Lea, and quoth he, “Now, Sir Richard, the church seemed like to despoil thee, therefore some of the overplus of church gains may well be used in aiding thee. Thou shalt take that five hundred pounds laid aside for people more in need than the Bishop is,

Quoth Robin, “Thou, Will Scarlet, thou, Allan a Dale, and thou, Little John, count it over.” A long time it took to count all the money, and when it had been duly scored up, Will Scarlet called out that there were fifteen hundred golden pounds in all. But in among the gold they found a

“That belongeth fairly to the chapel,” quoth Robin, “so lay it to one side. Far be it from us to take from the blessed Saint Thomas that which belongeth to him.” So this, also, was done according to Robin’s bidding, and the candles were laid to one side, along with honest Quentin’s unopened bales of

Then up spake the smallest of all, in a trembling voice—an old man he was, with a gentle, wrinkled face. “That have I; but, I pray thee, harm me not.” “Nay,” quoth Robin, “I have never harmed harmless man yet; but give it to me, good father.” So the old man did as he was

“I have a story to tell you all, so listen to what I have to say,” quoth he; whereupon, without more ado, he told them all about Sir Richard, and how his lands were in pawn. But, as he went on, the Bishop’s face, that had erst been smiling and ruddy with merriment, waxed serious,