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Файл:The Merry Adventures Of Robin Hood Of Great Renown, In Nottinghamshire
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the stranger placed his back against the tent near which he
stood, swinging his terrible sta, and so fell had been the
blow that he struck the stout smith that none dared to come
within the measure of his cudgel, so the press crowde
d back,
like a pack of dogs from a bear at bay. But now some coward
hand from behind threw a sharp jagged stone that smote
the stranger on the crown, so that he staggered back, and
the red blood gushed from the cut and ran down his face
d over his jerkin. en, seeing him dazed with this vile
an
blow, the crowd rushed upon him, so that they overbore
him and he fell beneath their feet.
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 ashed
in the air, and blows were given with the at of swords,
while through the midst of the crowd Sir Richard of the
Lea came spurring on his white horse.
en the crowd, seeing the steel-clad knight and the armed men, melted away
like snow on the warm hearth, leaving the young man all
bloody and dusty upon the ground.
Finding himself free, the youth arose and, wiping the
blood from his face, looked up. Quoth he, ‘Sir Richard of
the Lea, mayhap thou hast saved my life this day.’
‘Who art thou that knowest Sir Richard of the Lea so
well?’ quoth the Knight. ‘Methinks I have seen thy face be-
fore, young man.’
‘Yea, thou hast,’ sai
d the youth, ‘for men call me David
of Doncaster.’
‘Ha!’ said Sir Richard, ‘I wonder that I knew thee not, Da-
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T M A R H
241
vid; but thy beard hath grown longer, and thou thyself art
more set in manhood since this day twelvemonth. Come
hither into the tent, David, and wash the blood from thy
face. And thou, Ralph, bring him straightway a clean jerkin. Now I am
sorry
for thee, yet I am right glad that I have had a
chance to pay a part of my debt of kindness to thy good
master Robin Hood, for it might have gone ill with thee had
I not come, young man.’
So saying, the Knight led David into the tent,
and there
the youth washed the blood from his face and put on the
clean jerkin.
In the meantime a whisper had gone around from those
that stood nearest that this was none other than the great
David of Doncaster, the best wrestler in all the mi
d-country,
who only last spring had cast stout Adam o’ Lincoln in the
ring at Selby, in Yorkshire, and now held the mid-country
champion belt, us it happened that when young David
came forth from the tent along with Sir Richard, the
blood
all washed from his face, and his soiled jerkin changed for
a clean one, no sounds of anger were heard, but all pressed
forward to see the young man, feeling proud that one of the
great wrestlers of England should have entere
d the ring at
Denby fair. For thus ckle is a mass of men.
en 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 have been
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD242
242
an ill day for you, for Robin Hood would have harried your
town as the kestrel harries the dovecote. I have bought the
pipe of wine from him, and now I give it freely to you to
drink as ye list. But never hereaerward fall upon a man for
being
a stout yeoman.’
At this all shouted amain; but in truth they thought more
of the wine than of the Knight’s words. en Sir Richard,
with David beside him and his men-at-arms around, turned
about and le the fair.
But in aer days, when the
men that saw that wrestling
bout were bent with age, they would shake their heads when
they heard of any stalwart game, and say, ‘Ay, ay; but thou
shouldst have seen the great David of Doncaster cast stout
William of the Scar at Denby fair.’
Hood stood in the merry greenwood with Little
Robin
John and most of his stout yeomen around him, awaiting Sir
Richard’s coming. At last a glint of steel was seen through
the brown forest leaves, and forth from the covert into the
open rode Sir Richard at
the head of his men. He came
straight forward to Robin Hood and leaping from o his
horse, clasped the yeoman in his arms.
‘Why, how now,’ said Robin, aer a time, holding Sir
Richard o 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 in misery in a far country by this time.
But I have kept my word, Robin, and have brought
back the
money that thou didst lend me, and which I have doubled
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T M A R H
243
four times over again, and so become rich once more. Along
with this money I have brought a little gi to thee and thy
brave men from my dear lady and myself.’ en, turning to
his men, he called aloud, ‘Bring forth the pack horses.’
But Robin stopped him. ‘Nay, Sir Richard,’ said he, ‘think
it not bold of me to cross thy bidding, but we of Sherwood
do no business till aer we have eaten and drunk.’ Whereupon, taking Sir Richard by the hand, he led him to the
seat
beneath the greenwood tree, while others of the chief men of
the band came and seated themselves around. en quoth
Robin, ‘How cometh it that I saw young David of Doncaster
with thee and thy men, Sir Knight?’
en 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 here an hour agone.’
en, when
he had done speaking, Robin stretched out
his hand and grasped the Knight’s palm. Quoth he in a
trembling voice, ‘I owe thee a debt I can never hope to repay,
Sir Richard, for let me tell thee, I would rather lose my right
hand than have such ill befall
young David of Doncaster as
seemed like to come upon him at Denby.’
So they talked until aer a while one came forward to
say that the feast was spread; whereupon all arose and went
thereto. When at last it was done, the Knight called upon
men to bring the pack horses forward, which they did
his
according to his bidding. en one of the men brought the
Knight a strongbox, which he opened and took from it a bag
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD244
244
and counted out ve hundred pounds, the sum he had gotten from Robin.
‘Sir Richard,’ quoth Robin, ‘thou wilt pleasure us all if
thou wilt keep that money as a gi from us of Sherwood. Is
it not so, my lads?’
all shouted ‘Ay’ with a mighty voice.
en
‘I thank you all deeply,’ said the Knight earnestly, ‘but
think it not ill of me if I cannot take it. Gladly have I borrowed it from you, but it may not be that I can take it as a
gi.’
Robin Hood said no more but gave the money to
en
Little John to put away in the treasury, for he had shrewd-
ness enough to know that nought breeds ill will and heart
bitterness like gis forced upon one that cannot choose but
take them.
en Sir Richard
had the packs laid upon the ground and
opened, whereupon a great shout went up that made the
forest ring again, for lo, there were tenscore bows of nest
Spanish yew, all burnished till they shone again, and each
bow inlaid with fanciful gures in silver, yet
not inlaid so as
to mar their strength. Beside these were tenscore quivers of
leather embroidered with golden thread, and in each quiver
were a score of shas with burnished heads that shone like
silver; each sha was feathered with peacock’s p
lumes, in-
nocked with silver.
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.
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T M A R H
245
en all shouted again for joy of the fair gi, and all
swore among themselves that they would die if need be for
Sir Richard and his lady.
At last the time came when Sir Richard must go, where-
upon Robin Hood called his band around him,
and each
man of the yeomen took a torch in his hand to light the way
through the woodlands. So they came to the edge of Sherwood, and there the Knight kissed Robin upon the cheeks
and le him and was gone.
us Robin Hood hel
ped a noble knight out of his dire
misfortunes, that else would have smothered the happiness
from his life.
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD246
246
Little John Turns
Barefoot Friar
OLD WINTER had passed and spring had come. No
C
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
corneld
with the growing blades. e plowboy shouted in the sun,
and in the purple new-turned furrows ocks of birds hunted for fat worms. All the broad moist earth smiled in
warm light, and each little green hill clapped its hand for
joy.
in front of the greenwood tree, sat Robin Hood basking in
the sun like an old dog fox. Leaning back with his
clasped about his knees, he lazily watched Little John rolling a stout bowstring from long strands of hempen thread,
wetting the palms of his hands ever and anon, and rolling
the cord upon his thigh. Near by sat A
new string to his harp.
forest in the gentle springtime than be King of all merry
England. What palace in the broad world is as fair as this
sweet woodland just
s a dark velvety color, for they were thick and so
the
On a deer’s hide, stretched on the ground in the open
hands
llan a Dale tting a
Quoth Robin at last, ‘Methinks I would rather roam this
now, and what king in all the world
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T M A R H
247
hath such appetite for plover’s eggs and lampreys as I for
juicy venison and sparkling ale? Gaer Swanthold speaks
truly when he saith, ‘Better a crust with content than honey
with a sour heart.’ ‘
‘Yea,’ quoth Little John, as he rubbed his new-made bow
string with yellow beeswax, ‘the life we lead is the life for
me. ou speakest of the springtime, but methinks even the
winter hath its own joys. ou and I, good master, have had
more than one merry day, this winter past, at the Blue Boar.
thou not remember that night thou and Will Stutely
Dost
and Friar Tuc k and I passed at that same hostelry with the
two beggars and the strolling friar?’
‘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.’
‘Tru ly, it was the same,’ said Little John, laughing also.
‘Methinks that was a goodly song that the strolling friar
sang. Friar Tuc k, thou hast a quick ear for
a tune, dost thou
not remember it?’
‘I did have the catch of it one time,’ said Tuc k . ‘Let me see,’
and he touched his forenger to his forehead in thought,
humming to himself, and stopping ever and anon to t
what he had got to what he searched for
in his mind. At last
he found it all and clearing his throat, sang merrily:
-
‘In the blossoming hedge the robin cock sings,
For the sun it is merry and bright,
And he joyfully hops and he utters his wings,
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF R OBIN H OOD248
248
For his heart is all full of delight.
For the May bloometh fair,
And there’s little of care,
And plenty to eat in the Maytime rare.
When the owers all die,
en o he will y,
To keep himself warm
In some jolly old barn
Where the snow and the wind neither chill him nor harm.
‘And such is the life of the strolling friar,
With aplenty to eat and to drink;
For the goodwife will keep him a seat by the re,
And the pretty girls smile at his wink.
en he lustily trolls
As he onward strolls,
A rollicking song for the saving of souls.
When the wind doth blow,
With the coming of snow,
ere’s a place by the re
For the fatherly friar,
And a crab in the bowl for his heart’s desire.’
us Friar Tuc k sang in a rich and mellow voice, roll-
ing his head from side to side in time with the music, and
when he had done, all clapped their hands and shouted with
laughter,
for the song tted him well.
‘In very sooth,’ quoth Little John, ‘it is a goodly song, and,
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T M A R H
249
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
merrier life. Dost
thou not remember what that great black-
bearded fellow told of his begging at the fair in York?’
‘Yea,’ said Little John, ‘but what told the friar of the harvest home in Kentshire? I hold that he led a merrier life than
the other two.’
y, for the honor of the cloth,’ quoth Friar Tu ck, ‘I
‘Tru l
hold with my good gossip, Little John.’
‘Now,’ quoth Robin, ‘I hold to mine own mind. But what
sayst thou, Little John, to a merry adventure this fair day?
Take thou a friar’s gown from our chest
of strange garments,
and don the same, and I will stop the rst beggar I meet and
change clothes with him. en let us wander the country
about, this sweet day, and see what befalls each of us.’
‘at tteth my mind,’ quoth Little John, ‘so let
us forth,
say I.’
ereupon Little John and Friar Tuck went to the storehouse of the band, and there chose for the yeoman the robe
of a Gray Friar. en 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 was too
short for him by a good palm’s-breadth. But Little John’s
hands were folded in his loose sleeves, and Little John’s eyes
were cast upon the ground, an
d at his girdle hung a great,
long string of beads.
And now Little John took up his stout sta, at the end of
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