01

How Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw



IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second

ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,

near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood.

No archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill

and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore

merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades.

Right merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest,

suffering neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games

of archery or bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison,

washed down with draughts of ale of October brewing.



Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart

from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about,

for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went

away again with an empty fist.



And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul

of the law.



When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold

of heart, the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting

match and offered a prize of a butt of ale to whosoever should

shoot the best shaft in Nottinghamshire. "Now," quoth Robin,

"will I go too, for fain would I draw a string for the bright

eyes of my lass and a butt of good October brewing."

So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score or more

of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town

through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.



It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when hedgerows are green

and flowers bedeck the meadows; daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds

and fair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom

and sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo;

when lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy

housewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass.

Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along its paths, and bright the green

and rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might and main:

and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking of Maid Marian

and her bright eyes, for at such times a youth's thoughts are wont to turn

pleasantly upon the lass that he loves the best.



As thus he walked along with a brisk step and a merry whistle,

he came suddenly upon some foresters seated beneath a great

oak tree. Fifteen there were in all, making themselves merry

with feasting and drinking as they sat around a huge pasty,

to which each man helped himself, thrusting his hands into the pie,

and washing down that which they ate with great horns of ale

which they drew all foaming from a barrel that stood nigh.

Each man was clad in Lincoln green, and a fine show they made,

seated upon the sward beneath that fair, spreading tree.

Then one of them, with his mouth full, called out

to Robin, "Hulloa, where goest thou, little lad, with thy

one-penny bow and thy farthing shafts?"



Then Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted

with his green years.



"Now," quoth he, "my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine;

and moreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town,

which same has been proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire;

there I will shoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been

offered of a fine butt of ale."



Then one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, "Ho! listen to the lad!

Why, boy, thy mother's milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and yet

thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts,

thou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow."



"I'll hold the best of you twenty marks," quoth bold Robin,

"that I hit the clout at threescore rods, by the good help

of Our Lady fair."



At this all laughed aloud, and one said, "Well boasted, thou fair infant,

well boasted! And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to make

good thy wager."



And another cried, "He will be taking ale with his milk next."



At this Robin grew right mad. "Hark ye," said he, "yonder, at the

glade's end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods distant.

I'll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause the best

hart among them to die."



"Now done!" cried he who had spoken first. "And here are twenty marks.

I wager that thou causest no beast to die, with or without the aid

of Our Lady."



Then Robin took his good yew bow in his hand, and placing the tip

at his instep, he strung it right deftly; then he nocked a broad

clothyard arrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather

to his ear; the next moment the bowstring rang and the arrow

sped down the glade as a sparrowhawk skims in a northern wind.

High leaped the noblest hart of all the herd, only to fall dead,

reddening the green path with his heart's blood.



"Ha!" cried Robin, "how likest thou that shot, good fellow?

I wot the wager were mine, an it were three hundred pounds."



Then all the foresters were filled with rage, and he who had spoken

the first and had lost the wager was more angry than all.



"Nay," cried he, "the wager is none of thine, and get

thee gone, straightway, or, by all the saints of heaven,

I'll baste thy sides until thou wilt ne'er be able to walk again."

"Knowest thou not," said another, "that thou hast killed the

King's deer, and, by the laws of our gracious lord and sovereign

King Harry, thine ears should be shaven close to thy head?"



"Catch him!" cried a third.



"Nay," said a fourth, "let him e'en go because of his tender years."



Never a word said Robin Hood, but he looked at the foresters with a grim face;

then, turning on his heel, strode away from them down the forest glade.

But his heart was bitterly angry, for his blood was hot and youthful

and prone to boil.



Now, well would it have been for him who had first spoken had he left

Robin Hood alone; but his anger was hot, both because the youth

had gotten the better of him and because of the deep draughts of ale

that he had been quaffing. So, of a sudden, without any warning,

he sprang to his feet, and seized upon his bow and fitted it to a shaft.

"Ay," cried he, "and I'll hurry thee anon." And he sent the arrow

whistling after Robin.



It was well for Robin Hood that that same forester's head was

spinning with ale, or else he would never have taken another step.

As it was, the arrow whistled within three inches of his head.

Then he turned around and quickly drew his own bow, and sent

an arrow back in return.



"Ye said I was no archer," cried he aloud, "but say so now again!"



The shaft flew straight; the archer fell forward with a cry,

and lay on his face upon the ground, his arrows rattling about

him from out of his quiver, the gray goose shaft wet with his;

heart's blood. Then, before the others could gather their wits

about them, Robin Hood was gone into the depths of the greenwood.

Some started after him, but not with much heart, for each feared

to suffer the death of his fellow; so presently they all came

and lifted the dead man up and bore him away to Nottingham Town.



Meanwhile Robin Hood ran through the greenwood. Gone was all the joy

and brightness from everything, for his heart was sick within him,

and it was borne in upon his soul that he had slain a man.



"Alas!" cried he, "thou hast found me an archer that will make

thy wife to wring! I would that thou hadst ne'er said one word

to me, or that I had never passed thy way, or e'en that my right

forefinger had been stricken off ere that this had happened!

In haste I smote, but grieve I sore at leisure!" And then,

even in his trouble, he remembered the old saw that "What is done

is done; and the egg cracked cannot be cured."



And so he came to dwell in the greenwood that was to be his home

for many a year to come, never again to see the happy days with

the lads and lasses of sweet Locksley Town; for he was outlawed,

not only because he had killed a man, but also because he had poached

upon the King's deer, and two hundred pounds were set upon his head,

as a reward for whoever would bring him to the court of the King.



Now the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would

bring this knave Robin Hood to justice, and for two reasons:

first, because he wanted the two hundred pounds, and next,

because the forester that Robin Hood had killed was of kin to him.



But Robin Hood lay hidden in Sherwood Forest for one year,

and in that time there gathered around him many others like himself,

cast out from other folk for this cause and for that.

Some had shot deer in hungry wintertime, when they could get

no other food, and had been seen in the act by the foresters,

but had escaped, thus saving their ears; some had been turned

out of their inheritance, that their farms might be added

to the King's lands in Sherwood Forest; some had been despoiled

by a great baron or a rich abbot or a powerful esquire--

all, for one cause or another, had come to Sherwood to escape

wrong and oppression.



So, in all that year, fivescore or more good stout yeomen gathered

about Robin Hood, and chose him to be their leader and chief.

Then they vowed that even as they themselves had been despoiled they

would despoil their oppressors, whether baron, abbot, knight, or squire,

and that from each they would take that which had been wrung from

the poor by unjust taxes, or land rents, or in wrongful fines.

But to the poor folk they would give a helping hand in need and trouble,

and would return to them that which had been unjustly taken from them.

Besides this, they swore never to harm a child nor to wrong a woman,

be she maid, wife, or widow; so that, after a while, when the people

began to find that no harm was meant to them, but that money or food

came in time of want to many a poor family, they came to praise Robin

and his merry men, and to tell many tales of him and of his doings

in Sherwood Forest, for they felt him to be one of themselves.



Up rose Robin Hood one merry morn when all the birds were singing blithely

among the leaves, and up rose all his merry men, each fellow washing his head

and hands in the cold brown brook that leaped laughing from stone to stone.

Then said Robin, "For fourteen days have we seen no sport, so now I

will go abroad to seek adventures forthwith. But tarry ye, my merry

men all, here in the greenwood; only see that ye mind well my call.

Three blasts upon the bugle horn I will blow in my hour of need;

then come quickly, for I shall want your aid."



So saying, he strode away through the leafy forest glades until he had

come to the verge of Sherwood. There he wandered for a long time,

through highway and byway, through dingly dell and forest skirts.

Now he met a fair buxom lass in a shady lane, and each gave the other

a merry word and passed their way; now he saw a fair lady upon an

ambling pad, to whom he doffed his cap, and who bowed sedately in return

to the fair youth; now he saw a fat monk on a pannier-laden ass;

now a gallant knight, with spear and shield and armor that flashed

brightly in the sunlight; now a page clad in crimson; and now a stout

burgher from good Nottingham Town, pacing along with serious footsteps;

all these sights he saw, but adventure found he none. At last he took

a road by the forest skirts, a bypath that dipped toward a broad,

pebbly stream spanned by a narrow bridge made of a log of wood. As he drew

nigh this bridge he saw a tall stranger coming from the other side.

Thereupon Robin quickened his pace, as did the stranger likewise,

each thinking to cross first.



"Now stand thou back," quoth Robin, "and let the better man cross first."



"Nay," answered the stranger, "then stand back shine own self,

for the better man, I wet, am I."



"That will we presently see," quoth Robin, "and meanwhile stand thou

where thou art, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I will show

thee right good Nottingham play with a clothyard shaft betwixt thy ribs."



"Now," quoth the stranger, "I will tan thy hide till it be as many colors

as a beggar's cloak, if thou darest so much as touch a string of that same bow

that thou holdest in thy hands."



"Thou pratest like an ass," said Robin, "for I could send this

shaft clean through thy proud heart before a curtal friar could

say grace over a roast goose at Michaelmastide."



"And thou pratest like a coward," answered the stranger,

"for thou standest there with a good yew bow to shoot at my heart,

while I have nought in my hand but a plain blackthorn staff

wherewith to meet thee."



"Now," quoth Robin, "by the faith of my heart, never have I had a coward's

name in all my life before. I will lay by my trusty bow and eke my arrows,

and if thou darest abide my coming, I will go and cut a cudgel to test

thy manhood withal."



"Ay, marry, that will I abide thy coming, and joyously, too,"

quoth the stranger; whereupon he leaned sturdily upon his staff

to await Robin.



Then Robin Hood stepped quickly to the coverside and cut a good

staff of ground oak, straight, without new, and six feet in length,

and came back trimming away the tender stems from it, while the stranger

waited for him, leaning upon his staff, and whistling as he gazed

round about. Robin observed him furtively as he trimmed his staff,

measuring him from top to toe from out the corner of his eye,

and thought that he had never seen a lustier or a stouter man.

Tall was Robin, but taller was the stranger by a head and a neck,

for he was seven feet in height. Broad was Robin across the shoulders,

but broader was the stranger by twice the breadth of a palm,

while he measured at least an ell around the waist.



"Nevertheless," said Robin to himself, "I will baste thy hide right merrily,

my good fellow"; then, aloud, "Lo, here is my good staff, lusty and tough.

Now wait my coming, an thou darest, and meet me an thou fearest not.

Then we will fight until one or the other of us tumble into the stream

by dint of blows."



"Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!" cried the stranger,

twirling his staff above his head, betwixt his fingers and thumb,

until it whistled again.



Never did the Knights of Arthur's Round Table meet in a stouter

fight than did these two. In a moment Robin stepped quickly

upon the bridge where the stranger stood; first he made a feint,

and then delivered a blow at the stranger's head that, had it

met its mark, would have tumbled him speedily into the water.

But the stranger turned the blow right deftly and in return gave

one as stout, which Robin also turned as the stranger had done.

So they stood, each in his place, neither moving a finger's-breadth back,

for one good hour, and many blows were given and received by each in

that time, till here and there were sore bones and bumps, yet neither

thought of crying "Enough," nor seemed likely to fall from off the bridge.

Now and then they stopped to rest, and each thought that he never

had seen in all his life before such a hand at quarterstaff.

At last Robin gave the stranger a blow upon the ribs that made his jacket

smoke like a damp straw thatch in the sun. So shrewd was the stroke

that the stranger came within a hair's-breadth of falling off the bridge,

but he regained himself right quickly and, by a dexterous blow,

gave Robin a crack on the crown that caused the blood to flow.

Then Robin grew mad with anger and smote with all his might at the other.

But the stranger warded the blow and once again thwacked Robin,

and this time so fairly that he fell heels over head into the water,

as the queen pin falls in a game of bowls.



"And where art thou now, my good lad?" shouted the stranger,

roaring with laughter.



"Oh, in the flood and floating adown with the tide," cried Robin,

nor could he forbear laughing himself at his sorry plight.

Then, gaining his feet, he waded to the bank, the little fish

speeding hither and thither, all frightened at his splashing.



"Give me thy hand," cried he, when he had reached the bank.

"I must needs own thou art a brave and a sturdy soul and, withal,

a good stout stroke with the cudgels. By this and by that,

my head hummeth like to a hive of bees on a hot June day."



Then he clapped his horn to his lips and winded a blast

that went echoing sweetly down the forest paths. "Ay, marry,"

quoth he again, "thou art a tall lad, and eke a brave one,

for ne'er, I bow, is there a man betwixt here and Canterbury Town

could do the like to me that thou hast done."



"And thou," quoth the stranger, laughing, "takest thy cudgeling

like a brave heart and a stout yeoman."



But now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the coming of men,

and suddenly a score or two of good stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green,

burst from out the covert, with merry Will Stutely at their head.



"Good master," cried Will, "how is this? Truly thou art all wet

from head to foot, and that to the very skin."



"Why, marry," answered jolly Robin, "yon stout fellow hath tumbled me

neck and crop into the water and hath given me a drubbing beside."



"Then shall he not go without a ducking and eke a drubbing himself!"

cried Will Stutely. "Have at him, lads!"



Then Will and a score of yeomen leaped upon the stranger,

but though they sprang quickly they found him ready and felt

him strike right and left with his stout staff, so that,

though he went down with press of numbers, some of them rubbed

cracked crowns before he was overcome.



"Nay, forbear!" cried Robin, laughing until his sore sides ached again.

"He is a right good man and true, and no harm shall befall him.

Now hark ye, good youth, wilt thou stay with me and be one of my band?

Three suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have each year, beside forty

marks in fee, and share with us whatsoever good shall befall us.

Thou shalt eat sweet venison and quaff the stoutest ale, and mine own

good right-hand man shalt thou be, for never did I see such a cudgel player

in all my life before. Speak! Wilt thou be one of my good merry men?"



"That know I not," quoth the stranger surlily, for he was angry at being

so tumbled about. "If ye handle yew bow and apple shaft no better than ye

do oaken cudgel, I wot ye are not fit to be called yeomen in my country;

but if there be any man here that can shoot a better shaft than I,

then will I bethink me of joining with you."



"Now by my faith," said Robin, "thou art a right saucy varlet, sirrah;

yet I will stoop to thee as I never stooped to man before.

Good Stutely, cut thou a fair white piece of bark four fingers

in breadth, and set it fourscore yards distant on yonder oak.

Now, stranger, hit that fairly with a gray goose shaft and call

thyself an archer."



"Ay, marry, that will I," answered he. "Give me a good stout bow

and a fair broad arrow, and if I hit it not, strip me and beat me

blue with bowstrings."



Then he chose the stoutest bow among them all, next to Robin's own,

and a straight gray goose shaft, well-feathered and smooth,

and stepping to the mark--while all the band, sitting or lying

upon the greensward, watched to see him shoot--he drew the arrow

to his cheek and loosed the shaft right deftly, sending it so

straight down the path that it clove the mark in the very center.

"Aha!" cried he, "mend thou that if thou canst"; while even

the yeomen clapped their hands at so fair a shot.



"That is a keen shot indeed," quoth Robin. "Mend it I cannot,

but mar it I may, perhaps."



Then taking up his own good stout bow and nocking an arrow with care,

he shot with his very greatest skill. Straight flew the arrow, and so true

that it lit fairly upon the stranger's shaft and split it into splinters.

Then all the yeomen leaped to their feet and shouted for joy that their

master had shot so well.



"Now by the lusty yew bow of good Saint Withold," cried the stranger,

"that is a shot indeed, and never saw I the like in all my life before!

Now truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell[1]

was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"





[1] Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William of Cloudesly

were three noted north-country bowmen whose names have been

celebrated in many ballads of the olden time.





"Then have I gained a right good man this day," quoth jolly Robin. "What name

goest thou by, good fellow?"



"Men call me John Little whence I came," answered the stranger.



Then Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up.

"Nay, fair little stranger," said he, "I like not thy name

and fain would I have it otherwise. Little art thou indeed,

and small of bone and sinew, therefore shalt thou be christened

Little John, and I will be thy godfather."



Then Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger

began to grow angry.



"An thou make a jest of me," quoth he to Will Stutely, "thou wilt

have sore bones and little pay, and that in short season."



"Nay, good friend," said Robin Hood, "bottle thine anger,

for the name fitteth thee well. Little John shall thou

be called henceforth, and Little John shall it be.

So come, my merry men, we will prepare a christening feast

for this fair infant."



So turning their backs upon the stream, they plunged into the forest

once more, through which they traced their steps till they reached

the spot where they dwelled in the depths of the woodland.

There had they built huts of bark and branches of trees, and made

couches of sweet rushes spread over with skins of fallow deer.

Here stood a great oak tree with branches spreading broadly around,

beneath which was a seat of green moss where Robin Hood was wont

to sit at feast and at merrymaking with his stout men about him.

Here they found the rest of the band, some of whom had come in with

a brace of fat does. Then they all built great fires and after

a time roasted the does and broached a barrel of humming ale.

Then when the feast was ready they all sat down, but Robin placed

Little John at his right hand, for he was henceforth to be the second

in the band.



Then when the feast was done Will Stutely spoke up. "It is now time,

I ween, to christen our bonny babe, is it not so, merry boys?"

And "Aye! Aye!" cried all, laughing till the woods echoed

with their mirth.



"Then seven sponsors shall we have," quoth Will Stutely,

and hunting among all the band, he chose the seven stoutest

men of them all.



"Now by Saint Dunstan," cried Little John, springing to his feet,

"more than one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me."



But without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his

legs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles,

and they bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport.

Then one came forward who had been chosen to play the priest because

he had a bald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale.

"Now, who bringeth this babe?" asked he right soberly.



"That do I," answered Will Stutely.



"And what name callest thou him?"



"Little John call I him."



"Now Little John," quoth the mock priest, "thou hast not lived heretofore, but

only got thee along through the world, but henceforth thou wilt live indeed.

When thou livedst not thou wast called John Little, but now that thou

dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be called, so christen I thee."

And at these last words he emptied the pot of ale upon Little John's head.



Then all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale

stream over Little John's beard and trickle from his nose

and chin, while his eyes blinked with the smart of it.

At first he was of a mind to be angry but found he could not,

because the others were so merry; so he, too, laughed with the rest.

Then Robin took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed him all anew

from top to toe in Lincoln green, and gave him a good stout bow,

and so made him a member of the merry band.



And thus it was that Robin Hood became outlawed; thus a band

of merry companions gathered about him, and thus he gained

his right-hand man, Little John; and so the prologue ends.

And now I will tell how the Sheriff of Nottingham three times

sought to take Robin Hood, and how he failed each time.

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