“I tell thee, fellow,” said the Beggar, “if thou wert clad as sweetly as good Saint Wynten, the patron of our craft, thou wouldst never make a beggar. Marry, the first jolly traveller that thou wouldst meet would beat thee to a pudding for thrusting thy nose into a craft that belongeth not to thee.”
“Nevertheless,” quoth Robin, “I would have a try at it; and methinks I shall change clothes with thee, for thy garb seemeth to be pretty, not to say gay. So not only will I change clothes, but I will give thee two golden angels to boot. I have brought my stout staff with me, thinking that I might have to rap some one of the brethren of thy cloth over the head by way of argument in this matter, but I love thee so much for the feast thou hast given me that I would not lift even my little finger against thee, so thou needst not have a crumb of fear.”
Robin Hood proposeth to change clothes with the Beggar.
To this the Beggar listened with his knuckles resting against his hips, and when Robin had ended he cocked his head on one side and thrust his tongue into his cheek.
“Marry come up,” quoth he at last. “Lift thy finger against me, forsooth! Art thou out of thy wits, man? My name is Riccon Hazel, and I come from Holywell, in Flintshire, over by the River Dee. I tell thee, knave, I have cracked the head of many a better man than thou art, and even now I would scald thy crown for thee but for the ale thou hast given me. Now thou shalt not have so much as one tag-rag of my coat, even could it save thee from hanging.”
“Now, fellow,” said Robin, “it would ill suit me to spoil thy pretty head for thee, but I tell thee plainly, that but for this feast I would do that to thee would stop thy travelling the country for many a day to come. Keep thy lips shut, lad, or thy luck will tumble out of thy mouth with thy speech!”
“Now out, and alas for thee, man, for thou hast bred thyself ill this day!” cried the Beggar, rising and taking up his staff. “Take up thy club and defend thyself, fellow, for I will not only beat thee but I will take from thee thy money and leave thee not so much as a clipped groat to buy thyself a lump of goose-grease to rub thy cracked crown withal. So defend thyself, I say.”
Then up leaped merry Robin and snatched up his staff also. “Take my money, if thou canst,” quoth he. “I promise freely to give thee every farthing if thou dost touch me.” And he twirled his staff in his fingers till it whistled again.
Then the Beggar swung his staff also, and struck a mighty blow at Robin, which the yeoman turned. Three blows the Beggar struck, yet never one touched so much as a hair of Robin’s head. Then stout Robin saw his chance, and, ere you could count three, Riccon’s staff was over the hedge, and Riccon himself lay upon the green grass with no more motion than you could find in an empty pudding-bag.
Robin Hood fighteth with the Beggar.
“How now!” quoth merry Robin, laughing. “Wilt thou have my hide or my money, sweet chuck?” But to this the other answered never a word. Then Robin, seeing his plight, and that he was stunned with the blow, ran, still laughing, and brought the skin of ale and poured some of it on the Beggar’s head and some down his throat, so that presently he opened his eyes and looked around as though wondering why he lay upon his back.
Robin Hood overcometh the Beggar.
Then Robin, seeing that he had somewhat gathered the wits that had just been rapped out of his head, said: “Now, good fellow, wilt thou change clothes with me, or shall I have to tap thee again? Here are two golden angles if thou wilt give me freely all thy rags and bags and thy cap and things. If thou givest them not freely I much fear me I shall have to—” and he looked up and down his staff.
Then Riccon sat up and rubbed the bump on his crown. “Now, out upon it!” quoth he. “I did think to drub thee sweetly, fellow. I know not how it is, but I seem, as it were, to have bought more beer than I can drink. If I must give up my clothes, I must, but first promise me, by thy word as a true yeoman, that thou wilt take nought from me but my clothes.”
“I promise on the word of a true yeoman,” quoth Robin, thinking that the fellow had a few pennies that he would save.
Thereupon the Beggar drew a little knife that hung at his side, and, ripping up the lining of his coat, drew thence ten bright golden pounds, which he laid upon the ground beside him with a cunning wink at Robin. “Now thou mayst have my clothes and welcome,” said he, “and thou mightest have had them in exchange for thine without the cost of a single farthing, far less two golden angels.”
The Beggar outwits Robin Hood.
“Marry,” quoth Robin, laughing, “thou art a sly fellow, and I tell thee truly, had I known thou hadst so much money by thee maybe thou mightst not have carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by it.”
Then each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other, and as lusty a beggar was Robin Hood Robin Hood as e’er you could find of a changes clothes summer’s day. But stout Riccon of Holywell with the Beggar. skipped and leaped and danced for joy of the fair suit of Lincoln green that he had so gotten. Quoth he, “I am a gay feathered bird now. Truly, my dear Moll Peascod would never know me in this dress. Thou mayst keep the cold pieces of the feast, friend, for I mean to live well and lustily while my money lasts and my clothes are gay.”
So he turned and left Robin and, crossing the stile, was gone, but Robin heard him singing from beyond the hedge as he strode away:—
“For Polly is smiling and Molly is glad
When the beggar comes in at the door,
And Jack and Dick call him a fine lusty lad,
And the hostess runs up a great score.
Then hey, Willy Waddykin,
Stay, Billy Waddykin,
And let the brown ale flow free, flow free,
The beggar’s the man for me.”
Robin listened till the song ended in the distance, then he also crossed the stile into the road, but turned his toes away from where the Beggar had gone. The road led up a gentle hill and up the hill Robin walked, a half score or more of bags dangling about his legs. Onward he strolled for a long time, but other adventure he found not. The road was bare of all else but himself, as he went kicking up little clouds of dust at each footstep; for it was noontide, the most peaceful time of all the day, next to twilight. All the earth was silent in the restfulness of eating-time; the plough-horses stood in the furrow munching, with great bags over their noses holding sweet food, the ploughman sat under the hedge and the plough-boy also, and they, too, were munching, each one holding a great piece of bread in one fist and a great piece of cheese in the other.
Robin Hood sets forth as a beggar.
So Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling merrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs. At last he came to where a little grass-grown path left the road and, passing through a stile and down a hill, led into a little dell and on across a rill in the valley and up the hill on the other side, till it reached a windmill that stood on the cap of the rise where the wind bent the trees in swaying motion. Robin looked at the spot and liked it, and, for no reason but that his fancy led him, he took the little path and walked down the grassy sunny slope of the open meadow, and so came to the little dingle and, ere he knew it, upon four lusty fellows that sat with legs outstretched around a goodly feast spread upon the ground.
Four merry beggars were they, and each had slung about his neck a little board that rested upon his breast. One board had written upon it, “I am blind,” another, “I am deaf,” another, “I am dumb,” and the fourth, “Pity the lame one.” But although all these troubles written upon the boards seemed so grievous, the four stout fellows sat around feasting as merrily as though Cain’s wife had never opened the pottle that held misfortunes, and let them forth like a cloud of flies to pester us.
Robin Hood cometh upon four lusty beggars in a dingle.
The deaf man was the first to hear Robin, for he said, “Hark, brothers, I hear some one coming.” And the blind man was the first to see him, for he said, “He is an hone
st man, brothers, and one of like craft to ourselves.” Then the dumb man called to him in a great voice and said, “Welcome, brother; come and sit whilst there is still some of the feast left and a little Malmsey in the pottle.” At this the lame man, who had taken off his wooden leg and unstrapped his own leg, and was sitting with it stretched out upon the grass so as to rest it, made room for Robin among them. “We are glad to see thee, brother,” said he, holding out the flask of Malmsey.
“Marry,” quoth Robin, laughing, and weighing the flask in his hands ere he drank, “methinks it is no more than seemly of you all to be glad to see me, seeing that I bring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, and such a lusty leg to a lame man. I drink to your happiness, brothers, as I may not drink to your health, seeing ye are already hale, wind and limb.”
Robin Hood drinketh with them.
At this all grinned, and the Blind beggar, who was the chief man among them, and was the broadest shouldered and most lusty rascal of all, smote Robin upon the shoulder swearing he was a right merry wag.
“Whence comest thou, lad?” asked the Dumb man.
“Why,” quoth Robin, “I came this morning from sleeping overnight in Sherwood.”
“Is it even so?” said the Deaf man. “I would not for all the money we four are carrying to Lincoln Town sleep one night in Sherwood. If Robin Hood caught one of our trade in his woodlands he would, methinks, clip his ears.”
“Methinks he would, too,” quoth Robin, laughing. “But what money is this that ye speak of?”
Then up spake the Lame man: “Our king, Peter of York,” said he, “hath sent us to Lincoln with those moneys that—”
“Stay, brother Hodge,” quoth the Blind man, breaking into the talk; “I would not doubt our brother here, but bear in mind we know him not. What art thou, brother? Upright-man, Jurkman, Clapper-dudgeon, Dommerer, or Abram-man?”
At these words Robin looked from one man to the other with mouth agape. “Truly,” quoth he, “I trust I am an upright man, at least, I strive to be; but I know not what thou meanest by such jargon, brother. It were much more seemly, methinks, if yon Dumb man, who hath a sweet voice, would give us a song.”
At these words a silence fell on all, and after a while the Blind man spoke again. Quoth he, “Thou dost surely jest when thou sayest that thou dost not understand such words. Answer me this: Hast thou ever fibbed a chouse quarrons in the Rome pad for the loure in his bung?”6
“Now out upon it,” quoth Robin Hood, testily; “an ye make sport of me by pattering such gibberish, it will be ill for you all, I tell you. I have the best part of a mind to crack the heads of all four of you, and would do so, too, but for the sweet Malmsey ye have given me. Brother, pass the pottle lest it grow cold.”
But all the four beggars leaped to their feet when Robin had done speaking, and the Blind man snatched up a heavy knotted cudgel that lay beside him on the grass, as did the others likewise. Then Robin, seeing that things were like to go ill with him, albeit he knew not what all the coil was about, leaped to his feet also, and, catching up his trusty staff, clapped his back against the tree and stood upon his guard against them. “How, now!” cried he, twirling his staff betwixt his fingers, “would you four stout fellows set upon one man? Stand back, ye rascals, or I will score your pates till they have as many marks upon them as a pot-house door! Are ye mad? I have done you no harm.”
The beggars find that Robin Hood is only a cheat.
“Thou liest!” quoth the one who pretended to be blind, and who, being the lustiest villain, was the leader of the others; “thou liest! for thou hast come amongst us as a vile spy. But thine ears have heard too much for thy body’s good, and thou goest not forth from this place unless thou goest feet foremost, for this day thou shalt die! Come, brothers, all together! Down with him!” Then, whirling up his cudgel, he rushed upon Robin as an angry bull rushes upon a red rag. But Robin was ready for any happening. “Crick! Crack!” he struck two blows as quick as wink, and down went the Blind man, rolling over and over upon the grass.
The Blind man falleth upon Robin, but getteth the worst of the game.
At this the others bore back and stood at a little distance scowling upon Robin. “Come on, ye scum!” cried he, merrily. “Here be cakes and ale for all. Now, who will be next served?”
To this speech the beggars answered never a word, but they looked at Robin as great Blunder-bore looked upon stout Jack, the slayer of giants, as though they would fain eat him, body and bones; nevertheless, they did not care to come nigher to him and his terrible staff. Then, seeing them so hesitate, Robin of a sudden leaped upon them, striking even as he leaped. Down went the Dumb man, and away flew his cudgel from his hand as he fell. At this the others ducked to avoid another blow, then, taking to their heels, scampered, the one one way and the other the other, as though they had the west wind’s boots upon their feet. Robin looked after them, laughing, and thought that never had he seen so fleet a runner as the Lame man; but neither of the beggars stopped nor turned around, for each felt in his mind the wind of Robin’s cudgel about his ears.
Robin Hood smiteth down the Dumb man and the others take to their heels.
Then Robin turned to the two stout knaves lying upon the ground. Quoth he, “These fellows spake somewhat about certain moneys they were taking to Lincoln; methinks I may find it upon this stout blind fellow, who hath as keen sight as e’er a trained woodsman in Nottingham or Yorkshire. It were a pity to let sound money stay in the pockets of such thieving knaves.” So saying he stooped over the burly rascal and searched among his rags and tatters, till presently his fingers felt a leathern pouch slung around his body beneath his patched and tattered coat. This he stripped away, and, weighing it in his hands, bethought himself that it was mightily heavy. “It were a sweet thing,” said he to himself, “if this were filled with gold instead of copper pence.” Then, sitting down upon the grass, he opened the pocket and looked into it. There he found four round rolls wrapped up in dressed sheepskin; one of these rolls he opened; then his mouth gaped and his eyes stared, I wot, as though they would never close again, for what did he see but fifty pounds of bright golden money! He opened the other pockets and found in each one the same, fifty bright new-stamped golden pounds. Quoth Robin, “I have oft heard that the Beggars’ Guild was over rich, but never did I think that they sent such sums as this to their treasury. I shall take it with me; for it will be better used for charity and the good of my merry band than in the enriching of such knaves as these.” So saying he rolled up the money in the sheepskin again, and putting it back in the purse, he thrust the pouch into his own bosom. Then taking up the flask of Malmsey he held it toward the two fellows lying on the grass, and quoth he, “Sweet friends, I drink your health and thank you dearly for what ye have so kindly given me this day, and so I wish you good den.” Then, taking up his staff, he left the spot and went merrily upon his way.
Robin Hood drinketh with them.
But when the two stout beggars that had been rapped upon the head roused themselves and sat up, and when the others had gotten over their fright and come back, they were as sad and woebegone as four frogs in dry weather, for two of them had cracked crowns, their Malmsey was all gone, and they had not so much as a farthing to cross their palms withal. As for the treasury of the Beggars’ Guild at the Inn of the Beggar’s Bush, near Lincoln Town, it was two hundred pounds poorer than it would have been had bold Robin not met the blind man, the deaf man, the dumb man, and the lame man nigh to the highroad that led to Blyth.
Robin Hood leaveth the beggars and goeth upon his way.
But after Robin left the little dell he strode along merrily, singing as he went; and so blithe was he and such a stout beggar, and, withal, so fresh and clean, that every merry lass he met had a sweet word for him and felt no fear, whilst the very dogs, that most times hate the sight of a beggar, snuffed at his legs in friendly wise and wagged their tails pleasantly; for dogs know an honest man by his smell, and
an honest man Robin was—in his own way.
Thus he went along till at last he had come to the wayside cross nigh Ollerton, and, being somewhat tired, he sat him down to rest upon the grassy bank in front of it. “It groweth nigh time,” quoth he to himself, “that I were getting back again to Sherwood; yet it would please me well to have one more merry adventure ere I go back again to my jolly band.”
Robin Hood rests at the cross nigh Ollerton.
So he looked up the road and down the road to see who might come, until at last he saw some one drawing near, riding upon a horse. When the traveller came nigh enough for him to see him well, Robin laughed, for a strange enough figure he cut. He was a thin, weazened man, and, to look upon him, you could not tell whether he was thirty years old or sixty, so dried up was he even to skin and bone. As for the nag, it was as thin as the rider, and both looked as though they had been baked in Mother Huddle’s Oven, where folk are dried up so that they live forever. The poor nag’s neck bent down instead of up, as most horses’ do, and his mane was as ragged as though the mice had made nests in it; his backbone stood up sharp and jagged, like a new-turned furrow when the plough first passes, and his ribs showed beneath his skin like the hoops on a barrel of five-year-old ale. Thus the horse came hobbling along, and at every step the rider popped up and down in his saddle, so that his head bobbed and wagged upon his lean neck all in time to the motion of the nag. At this sight merry Robin laughed till the tears stood on his cheeks, for, as though to make the sight still more droll, the rider wore great clogs upon his feet instead of shoon, the soles whereof were made of wood half a palm’s breadth in thickness, and studded all over with great nails.