The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle (ebook reader online free txt) 📕

when they came near to the greenwood tree. Even at a distance they saw by the number of men that Little John had come back with some guest, but when they came near enough, whom should they find but the Lord Bishop of Hereford! The good Bishop was in a fine stew, I wot. Up and down he walked beneath the tree like a fox caught in a hencoop. Behind him were three Black Friars standing close together in a frightened group, like three black sheep in a tempest. Hitched to the branches of the trees close at hand were six horses, one of them a barb with gay trappings upon which the Bishop was wont to ride, and the others laden with packs of divers shapes and kinds, one of which made Robin’s eyes glisten, for it was a box not overlarge, but heavily bound with bands and ribs of iron.

When the Bishop saw Robin and those with him come into the open he made as though he would have run toward the yeoman, but the fellow that guarded the Bishop and the three friars thrust his quarterstaff in front, so that his lordship was fain to stand back, though with frowning brow and angry speech.

“Stay, my Lord Bishop,” cried jolly Robin in a loud voice, when he saw what had passed, “I will come to thee with all speed, for I would rather see thee than any man in merry England.” So saying, he quickened his steps and soon came to where the Bishop stood fuming.

“How now,” quoth the Bishop in a loud and angry voice, when Robin had so come to him, “is this the way that thou and thy band treat one so high in the church as I am? I and these brethren were passing peacefully along the highroad with our pack horses, and a half score of men to guard them, when up comes a great strapping fellow full seven feet high, with fourscore or more men back of him, and calls upon me to stop—me, the Lord Bishop of Hereford, mark thou! Whereupon my armed guards—beshrew them for cowards!—straight ran away. But look ye; not only did this fellow stop me, but he threatened me, saying that Robin Hood would strip me as bare as a winter hedge. Then, besides all this, he called me such vile names as `fat priest,’ `man-eating bishop,’ `money-gorging usurer,’ and what not, as though I were no more than a strolling beggar or tinker.”

At this, the Bishop glared like an angry cat, while even Sir Richard laughed; only Robin kept a grave face. “Alas! my lord,” said he, “that thou hast been so ill-treated by my band! I tell thee truly that we greatly reverence thy cloth. Little John, stand forth straightway.”

At these words Little John came forward, twisting his face into a whimsical look, as though he would say, “Ha’ mercy upon me, good master.” Then Robin turned to the Bishop of Hereford and said, “Was this the man who spake so boldly to Your Lordship?”

“Ay, truly it was the same,” said the Bishop, “a naughty fellow, I wot.

“And didst thou, Little John,” said Robin in a sad voice, “call his lordship a fat priest?”

“Ay,” said Little John sorrowfully.

“And a man-eating bishop?”

“Ay,” said Little John, more sorrowfully than before.

“And a money-gorging usurer?”

“Ay,” said Little John in so sorrowful a voice that it might have drawn tears from the Dragon of Wentley.

“Alas, that these things should be!” said jolly Robin, turning to the Bishop, “for I have ever found Little John a truthful man.”

At this, a roar of laughter went up, whereat the blood rushed into the Bishop’s face till it was cherry red from crown to chin; but he said nothing and only swallowed his words, though they well-nigh choked him.

“Nay, my Lord Bishop,” said Robin, “we are rough fellows, but I trust not such ill men as thou thinkest, after all. There is not a man here that would harm a hair of thy reverence’s head. I know thou art galled by our jesting, but we are all equal here in the greenwood, for there are no bishops nor barons nor earls among us, but only men, so thou must share our life with us while thou dost abide here. Come, busk ye, my merry men, and get the feast ready. Meantime, we will show our guests our woodland sports.”

So, while some went to kindle the fires for roasting meats, others ran leaping to get their cudgels and longbows. Then Robin brought forward Sir Richard of the Lea. “My Lord Bishop,” said he, “here is another guest that we have with us this day. I wish that thou mightest know him better, for I and all my men will strive to honor you both at this merrymaking.”

“Sir Richard,” said the Bishop in a reproachful tone, “methinks thou and I are companions and fellow sufferers in this den of—” He was about to say “thieves,” but he stopped suddenly and looked askance at Robin Hood.

“Speak out, Bishop,” quoth Robin, laughing. “We of Sherwood check not an easy flow of words. `Den of thieves’ thou west about to say.”

Quoth the Bishop, “Mayhap that was what I meant to say, Sir Richard; but this I will say, that I saw thee just now laugh at the scurrilous jests of these fellows. It would have been more becoming of thee, methinks, to have checked them with frowns instead of spurring them on by laughter.”

“I meant no harm to thee,” said Sir Richard, “but a merry jest is a merry jest, and I may truly say I would have laughed at it had it been against mine own self.”

But now Robin Hood called upon certain ones of his band who spread soft moss upon the ground and laid deerskins thereon. Then Robin bade his guests be seated, and so they all three sat down, some of the chief men, such as Little John, Will Scarlet, Allan a Dale, and others, stretching themselves upon the ground near by. Then a garland was set up at the far end of the glade, and thereat the bowmen shot, and such shooting was done that day as it would have made one’s heart leap to see. And all the while Robin talked so quaintly to the Bishop and the Knight that, the one forgetting his vexation and the other his troubles, they both laughed aloud again and again.

Then Allan a Dale came forth and tuned his harp, and all was hushed around, and he sang in his wondrous voice songs of love, of war, of glory, and of sadness, and all listened without a movement or a sound. So Allan sang till the great round silver moon gleamed with its clear white light amid the upper tangle of the mazy branches of the trees. At last two fellows came to say that the feast was ready spread, so Robin, leading his guests with either hand, brought them to where great smoking dishes that sent savory smells far and near stood along the white linen cloth spread on the grass. All around was a glare of torches that lit everything up with a red light. Then, straightway sitting down, all fell to with noise and hubbub, the rattling of platters blending with the sound of loud talking and laughter. A long time the feast lasted, but at last all was over, and the bright wine and humming ale passed briskly. Then Robin Hood called aloud for silence, and all was hushed till he spoke.

“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, and he put aside the horn of wine he held in his hand, for he knew the story of Sir Richard, and his heart sank within him with grim forebodings. Then, when Robin Hood had done, he turned to the Bishop of Hereford. “Now, my Lord Bishop,” said he, “dost thou not think this is ill done of anyone, much more of a churchman, who should live in humbleness and charity?”

To this the Bishop answered not a word but looked upon the ground with moody eyes.

Quoth Robin, “Now, thou art the richest bishop in all England; canst thou not help this needy brother?” But still the Bishop answered not a word.

Then Robin turned to Little John, and quoth he, “Go thou and Will Stutely and bring forth those five pack horses yonder.” Whereupon the two yeomen did as they were bidden, those about the cloth making room on the green, where the light was brightest, for the five horses which Little John and Will Stutely presently led forward.

“Who hath the score of the goods?” asked Robin Hood, looking at the Black Friars.

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 bidden, and handed Robin the tablet on which was marked down the account of the various packages upon the horses. This Robin handed to Will Scarlet, bidding him to read the same. So Will Scarlet, lifting his voice that all might hear, began:

“Three bales of silk to Quentin, the mercer at Ancaster.”

“That we touch not,” quoth Robin, “for this Quentin is an honest fellow, who hath risen by his own thrift.” So the bales of silk were laid aside unopened.

” One bale of silk velvet for the Abbey of Beaumont.”

“What do these priests want of silk velvet?” quoth Robin. “Nevertheless, though they need it not, I will not take all from them. Measure it off into three lots, one to be sold for charity, one for us, and one for the abbey.” So this, too, was done as Robin Hood bade.

“Twoscore of great wax candles for the Chapel of Saint Thomas.”

“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 silk. So the list was gone through with, and the goods adjudged according to what Robin thought most fit. Some things were laid aside untouched, and many were opened and divided into three equal parts, for charity, for themselves, and for the owners. And now all the ground in the torchlight was covered over with silks and velvets and cloths of gold and cases of rich wines, and so they came to the last line upon the tablet—” A box belonging to the Lord Bishop of Hereford.”

At these words the Bishop shook as with a chill, and the box was set upon the ground.

“My Lord Bishop, hast thou the key of this box?” asked Robin.

The Bishop shook his head.

“Go, Will Scarlet,” said Robin, “thou art the strongest man here— bring a sword straightway, and cut this box open, if thou canst.” Then up rose Will Scarlet and left them, coming back in a short time, bearing a great two-handed sword. Thrice he smote that strong, ironbound box, and at the third blow it burst open and a great heap of gold came rolling forth, gleaming red in the light of the torches. At this sight a murmur went all around among the band, like the sound of