The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood - Howard Pyle (free reads TXT) 📗

“Marry, come up!” quoth Little John. “Disgrace, sayest thou? Methinks it is more disgrace for one of our garb to wring hard-earned farthings out of the gripe of poor lean peasants. It is not so, brother?”

At this the Tinker and the Peddler and the Beggar nudged one another, and all grinned, and the friars scowled blackly at Little John; but they could think of nothing further to say, so they turned to their horses. Then Little John arose of a sudden from the bench where he sat, and ran to where the brothers of Fountain Abbey were mounting. Quoth he, “Let me hold your horses’ bridles for you. Truly, your words have smitten my sinful heart, so that I will abide no longer in this den of evil, but will go forward with you. No vile temptation, I wot, will fall upon me in such holy company.”

“Nay, fellow,” said the lean Brother harshly, for he saw that Little John made sport of them, “we want none of thy company, so get thee gone.”

“Alas,” quoth Little John, “I am truly sorry that ye like me not nor my company, but as for leaving you, it may not be, for my heart is so moved, that, willy-nilly, I must go with you for the sake of your holy company.”

Now, at this talk all the good fellows on the bench grinned till their teeth glistened, and even the landlord could not forbear to smile. As for the friars, they looked at one another with a puzzled look, and knew not what to do in the matter. They were so proud that it made them feel sick with shame to think of riding along the highroad with a strolling friar, in robes all too short for him, running beside them, but yet they could not make Little John stay against his will, for they knew he could crack the bones of both of them in a twinkling were he so minded. Then up spake the fat Brother more mildly than he had done before. “Nay, good brother,” said he, “we will ride fast, and thou wilt tire to death at the pace.”

“Truly, I am grateful to thee for the thought of me,” quoth Little John, “but have no fear, brother; my limbs are stout, and I could run like a hare from here to Gainsborough.”

At these words a sound of laughing came from the bench, whereat the lean Brother’s wrath boiled over, like water into the fire, with great fuss and noise. “Now, out upon thee, thou naughty fellow!” he cried. “Art thou not ashamed to bring disgrace so upon our cloth? Bide thee here, thou sot, with these porkers. Thou art no fit company for us.”

“La, ye there now!” quoth Little John. “Thou hearest, landlord; thou art not fit company for these holy men; go back to thine alehouse. Nay, if these most holy brothers of mine do but give me the word, I’ll beat thy head with this stout staff till it is as soft as whipped eggs.”

At these words a great shout of laughter went up from those on the bench, and the landlord’s face grew red as a cherry from smothering his laugh in his stomach; but he kept his merriment down, for he wished not to bring the ill-will of the brothers of Fountain Abbey upon him by unseemly mirth. So the two brethren, as they could do nought else, having mounted their nags, turned their noses toward Lincoln and rode away.

“I cannot stay longer, sweet friends,” quoth Little John, as he pushed in betwixt the two cobs, “therefore I wish you good den. Off we go, we three.” So saying, he swung his stout staff over his shoulder and trudged off, measuring his pace with that of the two nags.

The two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself betwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so that the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the footpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker, the Peddler, and the Beggar ran skipping out into the middle of the highway, each with a pot in his hand, and looked after them laughing.

While they were in sight of those at the inn, the brothers walked their horses soberly, not caring to make ill matters worse by seeming to run away from Little John, for they could not but think how it would sound in folks’ ears when they heard how the brethren of Fountain Abbey scampered away from a strolling friar, like the Ugly One, when the blessed Saint Dunstan loosed his nose from the red-hot tongs where he had held it fast; but when they had crossed the crest of the hill and the inn was lost to sight, quoth the fat Brother to the thin Brother, “Brother Ambrose, had we not better mend our pace?”

“Why truly, gossip,” spoke up Little John, “methinks it would be well to boil our pot a little faster, for the day is passing on. So it will not jolt thy fat too much, onward, say I.”

At this the two friars said nothing, but they glared again on Little John with baleful looks; then, without another word, they clucked to their horses, and both broke into a canter. So they galloped for a mile and more, and Little John ran betwixt them as lightly as a stag and never turned a hair with the running. At last the fat Brother drew his horse’s rein with a groan, for he could stand the shaking no longer. “Alas,” said Little John, with not so much as a catch in his breath, “I did sadly fear that the roughness of this pace would shake thy poor old fat paunch.”

To this the fat Friar said never a word, but he stared straight before him, and he gnawed his nether lip. And now they traveled forward more quietly, Little John in the middle of the road whistling merrily to himself, and the two friars in the footpath on either side saying never a word.

Then presently they met three merry minstrels, all clad in red, who stared amain to see a Gray Friar with such short robes walking in the middle of the road, and two brothers. with heads bowed with shame, riding upon richly caparisoned cobs on the footpaths. When they had come near to the minstrels, Little John waved his staff like an usher clearing the way. “Make way!” he cried in a loud voice. “Make way! make way! For here we go, we three!” Then how the minstrels stared, and how they laughed! But the fat Friar shook as with an ague, and the lean Friar bowed his head over his horse’s neck.

Then next they met two noble knights in rich array, with hawk on wrist, and likewise two fair ladies clad in silks and velvets, all a-riding on noble steeds. These all made room, staring, as Little John and the two friars came along the road. To them Little John bowed humbly. “Give you greetings, lords and ladies,” said he. “But here we go, we three.”

Then all laughed, and one of the fair ladies cried out, “What three meanest thou, merry friend?”

Little John looked over his shoulder, for they had now passed each other, and he called back, “Big Jack, lean Jack and fat Jack-pudding.”

At this the fat Friar gave a groan and seemed as if he were like to fall from his saddle for shame; the other brother said nothing, but he looked before him with a grim and stony look.

Just ahead of them the road took a sudden turn around a high hedge, and some twoscore paces beyond the bend another road crossed the one they were riding upon. When they had come to the crossroad and were well away from those they had left, the lean Friar drew rein suddenly. “Look ye, fellow,” quoth he in a voice quivering with rage, “we have had enough of thy vile company, and care no longer to be made sport of. Go thy way, and let us go ours in peace.”

“La there, now!” quoth Little John. “Methought we were such a merry company, and here thou dost blaze up like fat in the pan. But truly, I ha’ had enow of you today, though I can ill spare your company. I know ye will miss me, but gin ye want me again, whisper to Goodman Wind, and he will bring news thereof to me. But ye see I am a poor man and ye are rich. I pray you give me a penny or two to buy me bread and cheese at the next inn.”

“We have no money, fellow,” said the lean Friar harshly. “Come, Brother Thomas, let us forward.”

But Little John caught the horses by the bridle reins, one in either hand. “Ha’ ye in truth no money about you whatsoever?” said he. “Now, I pray you, brothers, for charity’s sake, give me somewhat to buy a crust of bread, e’en though it be only a penny.”

“I tell thee, fellow, we have no money,” thundered the fat little Friar with the great voice.

“Ha’ ye, in holy truth, no money?” asked Little John.

“Not a farthing,” said the lean Friar sourly.

“Not a groat,” said the fat Friar loudly.

“Nay,” quoth Little John, “this must not be. Far be it from me to see such holy men as ye are depart from me with no money. Get both of you down straightway from off your horses, and we will kneel here in the middle of the crossroads and pray the blessed Saint Dunstan to send us some money to carry us on our journey.”

“What sayest thou, thou limb of evil!” cried the lean Friar, fairly gnashing his teeth with rage. “Doss thou bid me, the high cellarer of Fountain Abbey, to get down from my horse and kneel in the dirty road to pray to some beggarly Saxon saint?”

“Now,” quoth Little John, “I ha’ a great part of a mind to crack thy head for thee for speaking thus of the good Saint Dunstan! But get down straightway, for my patience will not last much longer, and I may forget that ye are both in holy orders.” So saying, he twirled his stout staff till it whistled again.

At this speech both friars grew as pale as dough. Down slipped the fat Brother from off his horse on one side, and down slipped the lean Brother on the other.

“Now, brothers, down on your knees and pray,” said Little John; thereupon, putting his heavy hands upon the shoulder of each, he forced them to their knees, he kneeling also. Then Little John began to beseech Saint Dunstan for money, which he did in a great loud voice. After he had so besought the Saint for a time, he bade the friars feel in their pouches and see if the Saint had sent them anything; so each put his hand slowly in the pouch that hung beside him, but brought nothing thence.

“Ha!” quoth Little John, “have your prayers so little virtue? Then let us at it again.” Then straightway he began calling on Saint Dunstan again, somewhat in this wise: “O gracious Saint Dunstan! Send some money straightway to these poor folk, lest the fat one waste away and grow as lean as the lean one, and the lean one waste away to nothing at all, ere they get to Lincoln Town; but send them only ten shillings apiece, lest they grow puffed up with pride, Any more than that that thou sendest, send to me.

“Now,” quoth he, rising, “let us see what each man hath.” Then he thrust his hand into his pouch and drew thence four