from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle
Robin Hood was a legendary English outlaw and expert archer who robbed
the rich and gave to the poor. He and his merry band of followers
lived in Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham. In the tale that follows,
the evil Sheriff of Nottingham thinks of a plan that he is sure will
enable him to capture Robin Hood.
The Shooting-Match at Nottingham Town
The Sheriff bade all his servants and retainers to make ready to go to
London Town, to see and speak with the King.
At this there was bustling at the Sheriff’s castle, and men ran hither
and thither upon this business and upon that, while the forge fires of
Nottingham glowed red far into the night like twinkling stars, for all
the smiths of the town were busy making or mending armor for the
Sheriff’s troop of escort. For two days this labor lasted, then, on the
third, all was ready for the journey. So forth they started in the
bright sunlight, from Nottingham Town to Fosse Way and thence to Watling
Street; and so they journeyed for two days, until they saw at last the
spires and towers of great London Town; and many folks stopped, as they
journeyed along, and gazed at the show they made riding along the
highways with their flashing armor, and gay plumes and trappings.
In London King Henry and his fair Queen Eleanor held their court, gay
with ladies in silks and satins and velvets and cloth of gold, and also
brave knights and gallant courtiers.
Thither came the Sheriff and was shown into the King’s presence.
“A boon, a boon,” quoth he, as he knelt upon the ground.
“Now what wouldst thou have?” said the King. “Let us hear what may be
thy desires.”
“0 good my Lord and Sovereign,” spake the Sheriff, “in Sherwood Forest
in our own good shire of Nottingham, liveth a bold outlaw whose name is
Robin Hood.”
“In good sooth,” said the King, “his doings have reached even our own
royal ears. He is a saucy, rebellious varlet, yet, I am fain to own, a
right merry soul withal.”
“But hearken, 0 my most gracious Sovereign,” said the Sheriff. “I sent a
warrant to him with thine own royal seal attached, by a right lusty
knave, but he beat the messenger and stole the warrant. And he killeth
thy deer and robbeth thine own liege subjects[^13] even upon the great
highways.”
“Why, how now,” quoth the King, wrathfully. “What wouldst thou have me
do? Comest thou not to me with
a great array of men-at-arms and retainers, and yet art not able to take
a single band of lusty knaves without armor on breast, in thine own
county! What wouldst thou have me do? Art thou not my Sheriff? Are not
my laws in force in Nottinghamshire? Canst thou not take thine own
course against those that break the laws or do any injury to thee or
thine? Go, get thee gone, and think well; devise some plan of thine own
but trouble me no further. But look well to it, master Sheriff, for I
will have my laws obeyed by all men within my kingdom, and if thou art
not able to enforce them thou art no sheriff for me. So look well to
thyself, I say, or ill may befall thee as well as all the thieving
knaves in Nottinghamshire. When the flood cometh it sweepeth away grain
as well as chaff.”
Then the Sheriff turned away with a sore and troubled heart, and sadly
he rued his fine show of retainers, for he saw that the King was angry
because he had so many men about him and yet could not enforce the laws.
So, as they all rode slowly back to Nottingham, the Sheriff was
thoughtful and full of care. Not a word did he speak to any one, and no
one of his men spoke to him, but all the time he was busy devising some
plan to take Robin Hood.
“Now,” thought the Sheriff, “could I but persuade Robin nigh to
Nottingham Town so that I could find him, I warrant I would lay hands
upon him so stoutly that he would never get away again.” Then of a
sudden it came to him like a flash that were he to proclaim a great
shooting-match and offer some grand prize, Robin Hood might be
over-persuaded by his spirit to come to the butts.
So, as soon as he had returned safely to Nottingham, he sent messengers
north and south, and east and west, to proclaim through town, hamlet,
and
countryside, this grand shooting-match, and every one was bidden that
could draw a long bow, and the prize was to be an arrow of pure beaten
gold.
When Robin Hood first heard the news of this he was in Lincoln Town, and
hastening back to Sherwood Forest he soon called all his merry men about
him and spoke to them thus:—
“Now hearken, my merry men all, to the news that I have brought from
Lincoln Town today. Our friend the Sheriff of Nottingham hath proclaimed
a shooting-match, and hath sent messengers to tell of it through all the
countryside, and the prize is to be a bright golden arrow. Now I fain
would have one of us win it, both because of the fairness of the prize
and because our sweet friend the Sheriff hath offered it. So we will
take our bows and shafts and go there to shoot, for I know right well
that merriment will be a-going. What say ye, lads?”
Then young David of Doncaster spoke up and said: “Now listen, I pray
thee, good master, unto what I say. I have come straight from our friend
Eadom o’ the Blue Boar, and there I heard the full news of this same
match. But, master, I know from him, and he got it
from the Sheriff’s man Ralph o’ the Scar, that this same knavish Sheriff
hath but laid a trap for thee in this shooting-match and wishes nothing
so much as to see thee there. So go not, good master, for I know right
well he doth seek to beguile thee, but stay within the greenwood lest we
all meet dole and woe.”
“Now,” quoth Robin, “thou art a wise lad and keepest thine ears open and
thy mouth shut, as becometh a wise and crafty woodsman. But shall we let
it be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham did cow bold Robin Hood and
sevenscore[^15] as fair archers as are in all merry England? Nay, good
David, what thou tellest me maketh me to desire the prize even more than
I else should do. But what sayeth our good gossip Swanthold? is it not
‘A hasty man burneth his mouth, and the fool that keepeth his eyes shut
falleth into the pit’? Thus he says, truly, therefore we must meet guile
with guile. Now some of you clothe yourselves as curtal friars,[^16]
[^17] and some as rustic peasants, and some as tinkers/’ or as beggars,
but see that each man taketh a good bow or broadsword, in case need
should arise. As for myself, I will shoot for this same golden arrow,
and should I win it, we will hang it to the branches of our good
greenwood tree for the joy of all the band. How like you the plan, my
merry men all?”
Then “good, good!” cried all the band right heartily.
A fair sight was Nottingham Town on the day of the shooting-match. All
along upon the green meadow beneath the town wall stretched a row of
benches, one above the other, which were for knight and lady, squire and
dame, and rich burghers[^18] and their wives; for none but those of rank
and quality were to sit
there. At the end of the range, near the target, was a raised seat
bedecked with ribbons and scarfs and garlands of flowers, for the
Sheriff of Nottingham and his dame. The range was twoscore paces
broad.\’ At one end stood the target, at the other a tent of striped
canvas, from the pole of which fluttered many-colored flags and
streamers. In this booth were casks of ale, free to be broached by any
of the archers who might wish to quench their thirst.
Across the range from where the seats for the better folk were raised
was a railing to keep the poorer people from crowding in front of the
target. Already,
- A pace is a step—a distance of about 2\’/2 feet (0.8 meter).
Twoscore paces would be forty steps, so the range was about 100 feet
(30.5 m) wide.
while it was early, the benches were beginning to fill with people of
quality, who kept constantly arriving in little carts, or upon
palfreys^8^ that curveted gayly to the merry tinkle of silver bells at
bridle reins; with these came also the poorer folk, who sat or lay upon
the green grass near the railing that kept them from off the range. In
the great tent the archers were gathering by twos and threes; some
talking loudly of the fair shots each man had made in his day; some
looking well to their bows, drawing a string betwixt the fingers to see
that there was no fray upon it, or
8. A palfrey is a gentle riding horse.
inspecting arrows, shutting one eye and peering down a shaft to see that
it was not warped, but straight and true, for neither bow nor shaft
should fail at such a time and for such a prize. And never were such a
company of yeomen[^19] as were gathered at Nottingham Town that day, for
the very best archers of merry England had come to this shooting-match.
There was Gill o’ the Red Cap, the Sheriff’s own head archer, and Diccon
Cruikshank of Lincoln Town, and Adam o’ the Dell, a man of Tamworth, of
threescore years and more, yet hale and lusty still, who in his time had
shot in the famous match at Woodstock, and had there beaten that
renowned archer, Clym o’ the Clough. And many more famous men of the
long bow were there, whose names have been handed down to us in goodly
ballads of the olden time.
But now all the benches were filled with guests, lord and lady, burgher
and dame, when at last the Sheriff himself came with his lady, he riding
with stately mien[^20] [^21] upon his milk-white horse and she upon her
brown filly. Upon his head he wore a purple velvet cap, and purple
velvet was his robe, all trimmed about with rich ermine; his jerkin^11^
and hose were of sea-green silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the
pointed toes fastened to his garters with golden chains. A golden chain
hung about his neck, and at his collar was a great carbuncle[^22] set in
red gold. His lady was dressed in blue velvet, all trimmed with swan’s
down. So they made a gallant sight as they rode along side by side, and
all the people shouted from where they crowded across the space from the
gentlefolk; so the Sheriff
and his lady came to their place, where men-at-arms, with hauberk[^23]
and spear, stood about, waiting for them.
Then when the Sheriff and his dame had sat down, he bade his herald
wind[^24] [^25] ^15^ upon his silver horn; who thereupon sounded three
blasts that came echoing cheerily back from the gray walls of
Nottingham. Then the archers stepped forth to their places, while all
the folks shouted with a mighty voice, each man calling upon his
favorite yeoman. “Red Cap!” cried some; “Cruikshank!” cried others; “Hey
for William o’ Leslie!” shouted others yet again; while ladies waved
silken scarfs to urge each yeoman to do his best.
Then the herald stood forth and loudly proclaimed the rules of the game
as follows:—
“Shoot each man from yon mark, which is sevenscore yards and ten^10^
from the target. One arrow shooteth each man first, and from all the
archers shall the ten that shooteth the fairest shafts be chosen for to
shoot
again. Two arrows shooteth each man of these ten, then shall the three
that shoot the fairest shafts be chosen for to shoot again. Three arrows
shooteth each man of those three, and to him that shooteth the fairest
shafts shall the prize be given.”
Then the Sheriff leaned forward, looking keenly among the press of
archers to find whether Robin Hood was amongst them; but no one was
there clad in Lincoln green, such as was worn by Robin and his band.
“Nevertheless,” said the Sheriff to himself, “he may still be there, and
I miss him among the crowd of other men. But let me see when but ten men
shoot, for I wot he will be among the ten, or I know him not.”
And now the archers shot, each man in turn, and the good folk never saw
such archery as was done that day. Six arrows were within the clout,
four within the black, and only two smote the outer ring[^26]; so that
when the last arrow sped and struck the target, all the people shouted
aloud, for it was noble shooting.
And now but ten men were left of all those that had shot before, and of
these ten, six were famous throughout the land, and most of the folk
gathered there knew them. These six men were Gilbert o’ the Red Cap,
Adam o’ the Dell, Diccon Cruikshank, William o’ Leslie, Hubert o’ Cloud,
and Swithin o’ Hertford. Two others were yeomen of merry Yorkshire,
another was a tall stranger in blue, who said he came from London Town,
and the last was a tattered stranger in scarlet, who wore a patch over
one eye.
“Now,” quoth the Sheriff to a man-at-arms who stood near him, “seest
thou Robin Hood amongst those ten?”
“Nay, that do I not, your worship,” answered the man. “Six of them I
know right well. Of those
Yorkshire yeomen, one is too tall and the other too short for that bold
knave. Robin’s beard is as yellow as gold, while yon tattered beggar in
scarlet hath a beard of brown, besides being blind of one eye. As for
the stranger in blue, Robin’s shoulders, I ween, are three inches
broader than his.”
“Then,” quoth the Sheriff, smiting his thigh angrily, “yon knave is a
coward as well as a rogue, and dares not show his face among good men
and true.”
Then after they had rested a short time, those ten stout men stepped
forth to shoot again. Each man shot two arrows, and as they shot, not a
word was spoken, but all the crowd watched with scarce a breath of
sound; but when the last had shot his arrow another great shout arose,
while many cast their caps aloft for joy of such marvellous shooting.
“Now by our gracious Lady fair,” quoth old Sir Amyas o’ the Dell, who,
bowed with fourscore years and more, sat near the Sheriff, “ne’er saw I
such archery in all my life before, yet have I seen the best hands at
the long bow for threescore years and more.”
And now but three men were left of all those that had shot before. One
was Gill o’ the Red Cap, one the tattered stranger in scarlet, and one
Adam o’ the Dell of Tamworth Town. Then all the people called aloud,
some crying, “Ho for Gilbert o’ the Red Cap!” and some, “Hey for stout
Adam o’ Tamworth!” but not a single man in the crowd called upon the
stranger in scarlet.
“Now, shoot thou well, Gilbert,” cried the Sheriff, “and if thine be the
best shaft, fivescore broad silver pennies will I give to thee beside
the prize.”
“Truly I will do my best,” quoth Gilbert, right sturdily. “A man cannot
do aught but his best, but that will I strive to do this day.” So
saying, he drew forth a fair smooth arrow with a broad feather and
fitted it deftly to the string, then drawing his bow with care he sped
the shaft. Straight flew the arrow and lit fairly in the clout, a finger
breadth from the centre. “A Gilbert, a Gilbert!” shouted all the crowd;
and, “Now, by my faith,” cried the Sheriff, smiting his hands together,
“that is a shrewd shot.”
Then the tattered stranger stepped forth, and all the people laughed as
they saw a yellow patch that showed beneath his arm when he raised his
elbow to shoot, and also to see him aim with but one eye. He drew the
good yew bow quickly, and quickly loosed a shaft; so short was the time
that no man could draw a breath betwixt the drawing and the shooting;
yet his arrow lodged nearer the centre than the other by twice the
length of a barleycorn.
“Now by all the saints in Paradise!” cried the Sheriff, “that is a
lovely shaft in very truth!”
Then Adam o’ the Dell shot, carefully and cautiously, and his arrow
lodged close beside the stranger’s. Then after a short space they all
three shot again, and once more each arrow lodged within the clout, but
this time Adam o’ the Dell’s was farthest from the centre, and again the
tattered stranger’s shot was the best. Then, after another time of rest,
they all shot for the third time. This time Gilbert took great heed to
his aim,
keenly measuring the distance and shooting with shrewdest care. Straight
flew the arrow, and all shouted till the very flags that waved in the
breeze shook with the sound, and the rooks and daws flew clamoring about
the roofs of the old gray tower, for the shaft had lodged close beside
the spot that marked the very centre.
“Well done, Gilbert!” cried the Sheriff, right joyously. “Fain am I to
believe the prize is thine, and right fairly won. Now, thou ragged
knave, let me see thee shoot a better shaft than that.”
Naught spake the stranger but took his place, while all was hushed, and
no one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so great was the silence for
wonder what he would do. Meanwhile, also, quite still stood the stranger
holding his bow in his hand, while one could count five; then he drew
his trusty yew, holding it drawn but a moment, then loosed the string.
Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it smote a gray goose feather
from off Gilbert’s shaft, which fell fluttering through the sunlit air
as the stranger’s arrow lodged close beside his of the Red Cap, and in
the very centre. No one spoke a word for a while and no one shouted, but
each man looked into his neighbor’s face amazedly.
“Nay,” quoth old Adam o’ the Dell presently, drawing a long breath and
shaking his head as he spoke; “twoscore years and more have I shot
shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for no
man can match with yon stranger, whosoe’er he may be.” Then he thrust
his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without
another word.
Then the Sheriff came down from his dais^1^\’ and drew near, in all his
silks and velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his
stout bow, whilst the good folk crowded around to see the man
17. A dais is a raised platform. who shot so wondrously well. “Here,
good fellow,” quoth the Sheriff, “take thou the prize, and well and
fairly hast thou won it, I trow. What may be thy name, and whence comest
thou?”
“Men do call me Jock o’ Teviotdale, and thence am I come,” said the
stranger.
“Then, by Our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e’er mine
eyes beheld, and if thou wilt join my service I will clothe thee with a
better coat than that thou hast upon thy back; thou shalt eat and drink
of the best, and at every Christmas-tide fourscore marks shall be thy
wage. I trow thou drawest better bow than that same coward knave, Robin
Hood, that dared not show his face here this day. Say, good fellow, wilt
thou join my service?”
“Nay, that will I not,” quoth the stranger, roughly. “I will be mine
own, and no man in all merry England shall be my master.”
“Then get thee gone, and a murrain[^27] seize thee!” cried the Sheriff,
and his voice trembled with anger. “And by my faith and troth[^28] I
have a good part of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!”
Then he turned upon his heel and strode away.
It was a right motley company that gathered about the noble greenwood
tree in Sherwood’s depths that same day. A score and more of barefoot
friars were there, and some that looked like tinkers, and some that
seemed to be sturdy beggars and rustic hinds[^29]; and seated upon a
mossy couch was one all clad in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one
eye; and in his hand he held the golden arrow that was the prize of the
great shooting-match. Then, amidst a noise of talking and laughter, he
took the patch from off his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags from
off his body and
showed himself all clothed in fair Lincoln green, and quoth he: “Easy
come these things away, but walnut stain cometh not so speedily from
yellow hair.” Then all laughed louder than before, for it was Robin Hood
himself that had won the prize from the Sheriff’s very hands.
Then all sat down to the woodland feast and talked amongst themselves of
the merry jest that had been played upon the Sheriff, and of the
adventures that had befallen each member of the band in his disguise.
But when the feast was done, Robin Hood took Little John apart and said,
“Truly am I vexed in my blood, for I heard the Sheriff say today, ‘Thou
shootest better than that coward knave, Robin Hood, that dared not show
his face here this day.’ I would fain let him know who it was who won
the golden arrow from out his hand, and also that I am no coward such as
he takes me to be.”
Then Little John said, “Good master, take thou me and Will Stutely and
we will send yon fat Sheriff news of all this by a messenger such as he
doth not expect.”
That day the Sheriff sat at meat in the great hall of his house at
Nottingham Town. Long tables stood down the hall, at which sat
men-at-arms and household servants and good stout villains,[^30] in all
fourscore and more. There they talked of the day’s shooting as they ate
their meat and quaffed their ale. The Sheriff sat at the head of the
table upon a raised seat under a canopy, and beside him sat his dame.
“By my troth,” said he, “I did reckon full roundly that that knave,
Robin Hood, would be at the game today. I did not think that he was such
a coward. But who could that saucy knave be who answered me to my beard
so bravely? I wonder that I did not have him beaten; but there was
something about him that spoke of other things than rags and tatters.”
Then, even as he finished speaking, something fell rattling among the
dishes on the table, while those that sat near started up wondering what
it might be. After a while one of the men-at-arms gathered courage
enough to pick it up and bring it to the Sheriff. Then every one saw
that it was a blunted gray goose shaft, with a fine scroll, about the
thickness of a goose quill, tied near to its head. The Sheriff opened
the scroll and glanced at it, while the veins upon his forehead swelled
and his cheeks grew ruddy with rage as he read, for this was what he
saw:—
“Now Heaven bless thy grace this day
Say all in sweet Sherwood,
For thou didst give the prize away To merry Robin Hood.”
You can follow Robin Hood’s many other adventures in the book from which
this tale is taken. You might also want to read another version, The
Chronicles of Robin Hood by Rosemary Sutcliff. Or, for a different view
of life in long-ago England, try The Boy’s King Arthur by Sidney
Lanier.
