The Sheriff proclaimeth the Fair at Nottingham, and offereth a prize for the archery bout.
With October had come the time for holding the great Fair which was celebrated every five years at Nottingham Town, to which folk came from far and near throughout the country. At such times archery was always the main sport of the day, for the Nottinghamshire yeomen were the best hand at the longbow in all Merry England; but this year the Sheriff hesitated a long time before he issued proclamation of the Fair, fearing lest Robin Hood and his band might come to it. At first he had a great part of a mind not to proclaim the Fair, but second thought told him that men would laugh at him and say among themselves that he was afraid of Robin Hood, so he put that thought by. At last he fixed in his mind that he would offer such a prize as they would not care to shoot for. At such times it had been the custom to offer a half score of marks or a tun of ale, so this year he proclaimed that a prize of two fat steers should be given to the best bowman.
When Robin Hood heard what had been proclaimed he was vexed, and said, “Now beshrew this Sheriff that he should offer such a prize that none but shepherd hinds will care to shoot for it! I would have loved nothing better than to have had another bout at merry Nottingham Town, but if I should win this prize naught would it pleasure or profit me.”
Then up spoke Little John: “Nay, but hearken, good master,” said he, “only to-day Will Stutely, young David of Doncaster, and I were at the sign of the Blue Boar, and there we heard all the news of this merry Fair, and also that the Sheriff hath offered this prize that we of Sherwood might not care to come to the Fair; so, good master, if thou wilt, I would fain go and strive to win even this poor thing among the stout yeomen who will shoot at Nottingham Town.”
Little John will go to Nottingham to shoot for the prize.
“Nay, Little John,” quoth Robin, “thou art a sound stout fellow, yet thou lackest the cunning that good Stutely hath, and I would not have harm befall thee for all Nottinghamshire. Nevertheless if thou wilt go, take some disguise lest there be those there who may know thee.”
“So be it, good master,” quoth Little John; “yet all the disguise that I wish is a good suit of scarlet instead of this of Lincoln green. I will draw the cowl of my jacket about my head so that it will hide my brown hair and beard, and then, I trust, no one will know me.”
“It is much against my will,” said Robin Hood, “ne’ertheless, if thou dost wish it, get thee gone, but bear thyself seemingly, Little John, for thou art mine own right hand man and I could ill bear to have harm befall thee.”
So Little John clad himself all in scarlet, and started off to the Fair at Nottingham Town.
Right merry were these Fair days at Nottingham, when the green before the great town gate was dotted with booths standing in rows, with tents of many-colored canvas, hung about with streamers and garlands of flowers, and the folk came from all the countryside, both gentle and common. In some booths there was dancing to merry music, in others flowed ale and beer, and in others yet again sweet cakes and barley sugar were sold; and sport was going outside the booths also, where some minstrel sang ballads of the olden time, playing a second upon the harp, or where the wrestlers struggled with one another within the sawdust ring; but the people gathered most of all around a raised platform where stout fellows played at quarterstaff.
So Little John came to the Fair. All scarlet were his hose and jerkin, and scarlet was his cowled cap, with a scarlet feather stuck in the side of it. Over his shoulders was slung a stout bow of yew, and across his back hung a quiver of good round arrows. Many turned to look after such a stout, tall fellow, for his shoulders were broader by a palm’s breadth than any that were there, and he stood a head taller than all the other men. The lasses, also, looked at him askance, thinking they had never seen a lustier youth.
Little John cometh to the Fair.
First of all he went to the booth where stout ale was sold, and, standing aloft on a bench he called to all that were near to come and drink with him. “Hey, sweet lads!” cried he, “who will drink ale with a stout yeoman? Come, all! come, all! Let us be merry, for the day is sweet and the ale is tingling. Come hither, good yeoman, and thou, and thou; for not a farthing shall one of you pay. Nay, turn hither, thou lusty beggar, and thou jolly tinker, for all shall be merry with me.”
Thus he shouted, and all crowded around, laughing, while the brown ale flowed; and they called Little John a brave fellow, each swearing that he loved him as his own brother; for when one has entertainment with nothing to pay, one loves the man that gives it to one.
The next place Little John went to was the dancing booth, where three men made sweet music with bagpipes. Here he laid aside his bow and his quiver, and joined in the sport, dancing so long that none could stand against him. A score of lasses came, one after another, and strove to dance him down, but could not do so; for Little John leaped so high, snapping his fingers the while, and shouted so loud, that every lass vowed that she had never seen so sweet a lad in all her life before.
Then, after he had danced a long time, he strolled to the platform where they were at cudgel-play, for he loved a bout at quarterstaff, as he loved meat and drink; and here befell an adventure that was sung in ballads throughout the mid-country for many a day.
One fellow there was that cracked crowns of every one who threw cap into the ring. This was Eric o’ Lincoln, of great renown, whose name had been sung in ballads throughout the countryside. When Little John reached the stand he found none fighting, but only bold Eric walking up and down the platform, swinging his staff and shouting lustily: “Now, who will come and strike a stroke for the lass he loves the best, with a good Licolnshire yeoman? How now, lads? step up! step up! or else the lasses’ eyes are not bright hereabouts, or the blood of Nottingham youth is sluggish and cold. Lincoln against Nottingham, say I! for no one hath put foot upon the boards this day such as we of Lincoln call a cudgel-player.”
At this, one would nudge another with his elbow, saying, “Go thou, Ned!” or “Go thou, Thomas!” but no lad cared to gain a cracked crown for nothing.
Presently Eric saw where little John stood among the others, a head and shoulders above them all, and he called to him loudly, “Halloa, thou long-legged fellow in scarlet! Broad are thy shoulders and thick thy head; is not thy lass fair enough for thee to take cudgel in hand for her sake? In truth, I believe that Nottingham men do turn to bone and sinew, for neither heart nor courage have they! Now, thou great lout, wilt thou not twirl staff for Nottingham?”
Little John beateth Eric o’ Lincoln at cudgel-play at the Fair at Nottingham Town.
“Ay,” quoth Little John, “had I but mine own good staff here, it would pleasure me hugely to crack thy knave’s pate, thou saucy braggart! I wot it would be well for thee an thy cock’s comb were cut!” Thus he spoke, slowly at first, for he was slow to move; but his wrath gathered headway like a great stone rolling down a hill, so that at the end he was full of anger.
Then Eric o’ Lincoln laughed aloud. “Well spoken for one who fears to meet me fairly, man to man,” said he. “Saucy art thou thine own self, and, if thou puttest foot upon these boards, I will make thy saucy tongue rattle within thy teeth!”
“Now,” quoth Little John, “is there never a man here that will lend me a good stout staff till I try the mettle of yon fellow?” At this, half a score reached him their staves, and he took the stoutest and heaviest of them all. Then, looking up and down the cudgel, he said, “Now, I have in my hand but a splint of wood,—a barley-straw, an it were,—yet I trow it will have to serve me; so here goeth.” Thereupon he cast the cudgel upon the stand, and, leaping lightly after it, snatched it up in his hand again.
Then each man stood in his place and measured the other with fell looks until he that directed the sport cried, “Play!” At this they stepped forth, each grasping his staff tightly in the middle. Then those that stood around saw the stoutest game of quarterstaff that e’er Nottingham Town beheld. At first Eric o’ L
incoln thought that he would gain an easy advantage, so he came forth as if he would say, “Watch, good people, how that I carve you this cockerel right speedily”; but he presently found it to be no such speedy matter. Right deftly he struck, and with great skill of fence, but he had found his match in Little John. Once, twice, thrice he struck, and three times Little John turned the blows to the left hand and to the right. Then quickly and with a dainty backhanded blow he rapped Eric beneath his guard so shrewdly that it made his head ring again. Then Eric stepped back to gather his wits, while a great shout went up and all were glad that Nottingham had cracked Lincoln’s crown; and thus ended the first bout of the game.
Then presently the director of the sport cried, “Play!” and they came together again; but now Eric played warily, for he found his man was of right good mettle, and also he had no sweet memory of the blow that he had got; so this bout neither Little John nor the Lincoln man caught a stroke within his guard; then, after a while, they parted again, and this made the second bout.
Then for the third time they came together, and at first Eric strove to be wary, as he had been before; but, growing mad at finding himself so foiled, he lost his wits, and began to rain blows so fiercely and so fast that they rattled like hail on penthouse roof; but, in spite of all, he did not reach within Little John’s guard. Then at last Little John saw his chance and seized it right cleverly. Once more, with a quick blow, he rapped Eric beside the head, and ere he could regain himself, Little John slipped his right hand down to his left, and, with a swinging blow, smote the other so sorely upon the crown that down he fell as though he would never move again.
Then the people shouted so loud that folk came running from all about to see what was the ado; while Little John leaped down from the stand and gave the staff back to him that had lent it to him. And thus ended the famous bout between Little John and Eric o’ Lincoln of great renown.
But now the time had come when those who were to shoot with the long bow were to take their places, so the people began flocking to the butts where the shooting was to be. Near the target, in a good place, sat the Sheriff, upon a raised dais, with many gentlefolk around him. When the archers had taken their places, the herald came forward and proclaimed the rules of the game, and how each should shoot three shots, and to him that should shoot the best the prize of two fat steers was to belong. A score of brave shots were gathered there, and among them some of the keenest hands at the long bow in Lincoln and Nottinghamshire; and among them Little John stood taller than all the rest. “Who is yon stranger clad all in scarlet?” said some; and others answered, “It is he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric o’ Lincoln.” Thus the people talked among themselves, until at last it reached even the Sheriffs ears.
And now each man stepped forward and shot in turn; but though each shot well, Little John was the best of all, for three times he struck the clout, and once only the length of a barleycorn from the centre. “Hey for the tall archer!” shouted the crowd; and some among them shouted, “Hey for Reynold Greenleaf!” for this was the name that Little John had called himself that day.
Little John shooteth in the famous Fair at Nottingham Town, and winneth the prize.
Then the Sheriff stepped down from the raised seat and came to where the archers stood, while all doffed their caps that saw him coming. He looked keenly at Little John, but did not know him, though he said, after a while, “How now, good fellow, methinks there is that about thy face that I have seen erewhile.”
The Sheriff talketh to Little John, but knoweth him not.
“Mayhap it may be so,” quoth Little John, “for often have I seen your worship”; and, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriffs eyes, so that the latter did not suspect who he was.
“A brave blade art thou, good friend,” said the Sheriff, “and I hear that thou hast well upheld the skill of Nottinghamshire against that of Lincoln this day. What may be thy name, good fellow?”
“Men do call me Reynold Greenleaf, your worship,” said Little John; and the old ballad that tells of this, adds, “So in truth, he was a green leaf, but of what manner of tree the Sheriff wotted not.”
“Now, Reynold Greenleaf,” quoth the Sheriff, “thou art the fairest hand at the long bow that mine eyes ever beheld, next to that false knave, Robin Hood, from whose wiles Heaven forfend me! Wilt thou join my service, good fellow? Thou shalt be paid right well, for three suits of clothes shalt thou have a year, with good food and as much ale as thou canst drink; and, beside this, I will pay thee forty marks each Michaelmastide.”
“Then here stand I a free man, and right gladly will I enter thy household,” said Little John; for he thought he might find some merry jest, should he enter the Sheriffs service.
“Fairly hast thou won the fat steers,” said the Sheriff, “and thereunto I will add a butt of good March beer, for joy of having gotten such a man; for, I wot, thou shootest as fair a shaft as Robin Hood himself.”
Little John entereth the Sheriffs service.
“Then,” said Little John, “for joy of having gotten myself into thy service, I will give fat steers and brown ale to all these good folk, to make them merry withal.” At this arose a great shout, many casting their caps aloft, for joy of the gift.
Little John giveth the prize to the folk at the Fair.
Then some built great fires and roasted the steers, and others broached the butt of ale, with which all made themselves merry; then, when they had eaten and drunk as much as they could, and when the day faded and the great moon arose, all red and round, over the spires and towers of Nottingham Town, they joined hands and danced around the fires, to the music of bagpipes and harps. But long before this merrymaking had begun, the Sheriff and his new servant, Reynold Greenleaf, were in the Castle of Nottingham.
III.
How Little John lived at the Sheriffs House.
THUS Little John entered into the Sheriffs service, and found the life he led there easy enough, for the Sheriff made him his right-hand man, and held him in great favor. He sat nigh the Sheriff at meat, and he ran beside his horse when he went a-hunting; so that, what with hunting and hawking a little, and eating rich dishes and drinking good sack and sleeping until late hours in the morning, he grew as fat as a stall-fed ox. Thus things floated easily along with the tide, until one day when the Sheriff went a-hunting, there happened that which broke the smooth surface of things.
How that Little John lived in the Sheriffs service.
The Sheriff goeth a-hunting and leaveth Little John at home.
This morning the Sheriff and many of his men set forth to meet certain lords, to go a-hunting. He looked all about him for his good man, Reynold Greenleaf, but, not finding him, was vexed, for he wished to show Little John’s skill to his noble friends. As for Little John, he lay abed, snoring lustily, till the sun was high in the heavens. At last he opened his eyes and looked about him, but did not move to arise. Brightly shone the sun in at the window, and all the air was sweet with the scent of woodbine that hung in sprays about the wall without, for the cold winter was past and spring was come again, and Little John lay still, thinking how sweet was everything on this fair morn. Just then he heard, faint and far away, a distant bugle-note sounding thin and clear. The sound was small, but, like a little pebble dropped into a glassy fountain, it broke all the smooth surface of his thoughts, until his whole soul was filled with disturbance. His spirit seemed to awaken from its sluggishness, and his memory brought back to him all the merry greenwood life,—how the birds were singing blithely there this bright morning, and how his loved companions and friends were feasting and making merry, or perhaps talking of him with sober speech; for when he first entered the Sheriffs service he did so in jest; but the hearthstone was warm during the winter, and the fare was full, and so he had abided, putting off from day to day his going back to Sherwood, until six long months had passed. But now he thought of his good master, and of Will Stutely, whom he loved better than any one in all the
world, and of young David of Doncaster, whom he had trained so well in all manly sports, till there came over his heart a great and bitter longing for them all, so that his eyes filled with tears. Then he said aloud: “Here I grow fat like a stall-fed ox and all my manliness departeth from me while I become a sluggard and dolt. But I will arouse me and go back to mine own dear friends once more, and never will I leave them again till life doth leave my lips.” So saying, he leaped from bed, for he hated his sluggishness now.
When he came down-stairs he saw the Steward standing near the pantry door,—a great, fat man, with a huge bundle of keys hanging to his girdle. Then Little John said, “Ho, Master Steward, a hungry man am I, for nought have I had for all this blessed morn. Therefore, give me to eat.”
Little John seeketh his breakfast, but the Steward giveth it him not.
Then the Steward looked grimly at him and rattled the keys in his girdle, for he hated Little John because he had found favor with the Sheriff. “So, Master Reynold Greenleaf, thou art an hungered, art thou?” quoth he. “But, fair youth, if thou livest long enough, thou wilt find that he who getteth overmuch sleep for an idle head goeth with an empty stomach. For what sayeth the old saw, Master Greenleaf? is it not ‘The late fowl findeth but ill faring’?”
“Now, thou great purse of fat!” cried Little John, “I ask thee not for fool’s wisdom, but for bread and meat. Who art thou, that thou shouldst deny me to eat? By Saint Dunstan, thou hadst best tell me where my breakfast is, if thou wouldst save broken bones!”