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.
Robin Hood and the Tinker
Now it was told before how two hundred pounds were set upon
Robin Hood's head, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that
he himself would seize Robin, both because he would fain have the two
hundred pounds and because the slain man was a kinsman of his own.
Now the Sheriff did not yet know what a force Robin had about him
in Sherwood, but thought that he might serve a
warrant for his
arrest as he could upon any other man that had broken the laws;
therefore he offered
fourscore golden angels to anyone who would
serve this
warrant. But men of Nottingham Town knew more of
Robin Hood and his
doings than the Sheriff did, and many laughed
to think of serving a
warrant upon the bold
outlaw,
knowing well
that all they would get for such service would be
cracked crowns;
so that no one came forward to take the matter in hand.
Thus a
fortnight passed, in which time none came forward to do
the Sheriff's business. Then said he, "A right good
reward have
I offered to whosoever would serve my
warrant upon Robin Hood,
and I
marvel that no one has come to
undertake the task."
Then one of his men who was near him said, "Good master,
thou wottest not the force that Robin Hood has about him
and how little he cares for
warrant of king or
sheriff.
Truly, no one likes to go on this service, for fear of
crackedcrowns and broken bones."
"Then I hold all Nottingham men to be cowards," said the Sheriff. "And let
me see the man in all Nottinghamshire that dare
disobey the
warrant of our
sovereign lord King Harry, for, by the
shrine of Saint Edmund, I will hang him
forty cubits high! But if no man in Nottingham dare win
fourscore angels,
I will send
elsewhere, for there should be men of mettle somewhere
in this land."
Then he called up a
messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade
him
saddle his horse and make ready to go to Lincoln Town to see whether
he could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the
reward.
So that same morning the
messenger started forth upon his errand.
Bright shone the sun upon the dusty
highway that led from Nottingham
to Lincoln, stretching away all white over hill and dale.
Dusty was the
highway and dusty the
throat of the
messenger,
so that his heart was glad when he saw before him the Sign of the
Blue Boar Inn, when somewhat more than half his journey was done.
The inn looked fair to his eyes, and the shade of the oak trees
that stood around it seemed cool and pleasant, so he alighted
from his horse to rest himself for a time,
calling for a pot
of ale to
refresh his thirsty
throat.
There he saw a party of right jovial fellows seated beneath
the spreading oak that shaded the greensward in front of the door.
There was a
tinker, two
barefoot friars, and a party of six of the King's
foresters all clad in Lincoln green, and all of them were quaffing
humming ale and singing merry ballads of the good old times.
Loud laughed the
foresters, as jests were bandied about between
the singing, and louder laughed the friars, for they were lusty men
with beards that curled like the wool of black rams; but loudest of all
laughed the Tinker, and he sang more
sweetly than any of the rest.
His bag and his
hammer hung upon a twig of the oak tree, and near
by leaned his good stout
cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted
at the end.
"Come," cried one of the
foresters to the tired
messenger,
"come join us for this shot. Ho, landlord! Bring a fresh pot
of ale for each man.
The
messenger was glad enough to sit down along with the others
who were there, for his limbs were weary and the ale was good.
"Now what news bearest thou so fast?" quoth one, "and whither
ridest thou today?"
The
messenger was a chatty soul and loved a bit of
gossip
dearly; besides, the pot of ale warmed his heart;
so that, settling himself in an easy corner of the inn bench,
while the host leaned upon the
doorway and the
hostess stood
with her hands beneath her apron, he unfolded his budget
of news with great comfort. He told all from the very first:
how Robin Hood had slain the
forester, and how he had hidden
in the
greenwood to escape the law; how that he lived therein,
all against the law, God wot, slaying His Majesty's deer and
levying toll on fat abbot,
knight, and
esquire, so that none dare
travel even on broad Watling Street or the Fosse Way for fear
of him; how that the Sheriff had a mind to serve the King's
warrantupon this same rogue, though little would he mind
warrant of either
king or
sheriff, for he was far from being a law-abiding man.
Then he told how none could be found in all Nottingham Town
to serve this
warrant, for fear of
cracked pates and broken bones,
and how that he, the
messenger, was now upon his way to Lincoln Town
to find of what mettle the Lincoln men might be.
"Now come I, forsooth, from good Banbury Town," said the jolly Tinker,
"and no one nigh Nottingham--nor Sherwood either, an that be the mark--
can hold
cudgel with my grip. Why, lads, did I not meet that mad wag
Simon of Ely, even at the famous fair at Hertford Town, and beat him
in the ring at that place before Sir Robert of Leslie and his lady?
This same Robin Hood, of whom, I wot, I never heard before,
is a right merry blade, but gin he be strong, am not I stronger?
And gin he be sly, am not I slyer? Now by the bright eyes of Nan o'
the Mill, and by mine own name and that's Wat o' the Crabstaff,
and by mine own mother's son, and that's myself, will I, even I, Wat o'
the Crabstaff, meet this same
sturdy rogue, and gin he mind not
the seal of our
glorioussovereign King Harry, and the
warrantof the good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, I will so
bruise, beat,
and bemaul his pate that he shall never move finger or toe again!
Hear ye that, bully boys?"
"Now art thou the man for my farthing," cried the
messenger.
"And back thou goest with me to Nottingham Town."
"Nay," quoth the Tinker, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
"Go I with no man gin it be not with mine own free will."
"Nay, nay," said the
messenger, "no man is there in Nottinghamshire
could make thee go against thy will, thou brave fellow."
"Ay, that be I brave," said the Tinker.
"Ay, marry," said the
messenger, "thou art a brave lad;
but our good Sheriff hath offered
fourscore angels of bright
gold to whosoever shall serve the
warrant upon Robin Hood;
though little good will it do."
"Then I will go with thee, lad. Do but wait till I get my bag and
hammer,
and my
cudgel. Ay, let' me but meet this same Robin Hood, and let me
see whether he will not mind the King's
warrant." So, after having paid
their score, the
messenger, with the Tinker striding beside his nag,
started back to Nottingham again.
One bright morning soon after this time, Robin Hood started
off to Nottingham Town to find what was a-doing there,
walking
merrily along the
roadside where the grass was sweet
with daisies, his eyes wandering and his thoughts also.
His bugle horn hung at his hip and his bow and arrows at
his back, while in his hand he bore a good stout oaken staff,
which he twirled with his fingers as he strolled along.
As thus he walked down a shady lane he saw a
tinker coming, trolling a
merry song as he drew nigh. On his back hung his bag and his
hammer,
and in his hand he carried a right stout crabstaff full six feet long,
and thus sang he:
"_In peascod time, when hound to horn
Gives ear till buck be killed,
And little lads with pipes of corn
Sit keeping beasts afield_--"
"Halloa, good friend!" cried Robin.
"I WENT TO GATHER STRAWBERRIES--"
"Halloa!" cried Robin again.
"BY WOODS AND GROVES FULL FAIR--"
"Halloa! Art thou deaf, man? Good friend, say I!"
"And who art thou dost so
boldly check a fair song?" quoth the Tinker,
stopping in his singing. "Halloa, shine own self, whether thou
be good friend or no. But let me tell thee, thou stout fellow,
gin thou be a good friend it were well for us both; but gin thou
be no good friend it were ill for thee."
"And
whence comest thou, my lusty blade?" quoth Robin.
"I come from Banbury," answered the Tinker.
"Alas!" quoth Robin, "I hear there is sad news this merry morn."
"Ha! Is it indeed so?" cried the Tinker eagerly.
"Prythee tell it
speedily, for I am a
tinker by trade,
as thou seest, and as I am in my trade I am
greedy for news,
even as a
priest is
greedy for farthings."
"Well then," quoth Robin, "list thou and I will tell, but bear