CHAPTER VII
HOW ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK
The friar took Robin Hood on his back,
Deep water he did bestride,
And spake neither good word nor bad,
Till he came at the other side.
In summer time when leaves grow green, and flowers are fresh and
gay, Robin Hood and his merry men were all disposed to play.
Thus runs a quaint old ballad which begins the next adventure.
Then some would leap and some would run and some try archery and
some ply the quarter-staff and some fall to with the good broad
sword. Some again would try a round at buffet and fisticuff; and
thus by every variety of sport and exercise they perfected
themselves in skill and made the band and its prowess well known
throughout all England.
It had been a custom of Robin Hood's to pick out the best men in
all the countryside. Whenever he heard of one more than usually
skilled in any feat of arms he would seek the man and test him in
personal encounter--which did not always end happily for Robin.
And when he had found a man to his liking he offered him service
with the bold fellows of Sherwood Forest.
Thus it came about that one day after a practice at shooting, in
which Little John struck down a hart at five hundred feet
distance, Robin Hood was fain to boast.
"God's blessing on your heart!" he cried, clapping the burly
fellow on the shoulder; "I would travel an hundred miles to find
one who could match you!"
At this Will Scarlet laughed full roundly.
"There lives a curtall friar in Fountain's Abbey--Tuck, by
name--who can beat both him and you," he said.
Robin pricked up his ears at this free speech.
"By our Lady," he said, "I'll neither eat nor drink till I see
this same friar."
And with his usual impetuosity he at once set about arming
himself for the adventure. On his head he placed a cap of steel.
Underneath his Lincoln green he wore a coat of chain metal. Then
with sword and buckler girded at his side he made a goodly show.
But he also took with him his stout yew bow and a sheaf of chosen
arrows.
So he set forth upon his way with blithe heart; for it was a day
when the whole face of the earth seemed glad and rejoicing in
pulsing life. Steadily he pressed forward by winding ways till
he came to a green broad pasture land at whose edge flowed a
stream dipping in and out among the willows and rushes on the
banks. A pleasant stream it was, but it flowed calmly as though
of some depth in the middle. Robin did not fancy getting his
feet wet, or his fine suit of mail rusted, so he paused on the
hither bank to rest and take his bearings.
As he sat down quietly under the shade of a drooping willow he
heard snatches of a jovial song floating to him from the farther
side; then came a sound of two men's voices arguing. One was
upholding the merits of hasty pudding and the other stood out
stoutly for meat pie, "especially--quoth this one--"when flavored
with young onions!"
"Gramercy!" muttered Robin to himself, "that is a tantalizing
speech to a hungry man! But, odds bodikins! did ever two men
talk more alike than those two fellows yonder!"
In truth Robin could well marvel at the speech, for the voices
were curiously alike.
Presently the willows parted on the other bank, and Robin could
hardly forebear laughing out right. His mystery was explained.
It was not two men who had done all this singing and talking, but
one--and that one a stout curtall friar who wore a long cloak
over his portly frame, tied with a cord in the middle. On his
head was a knight's helmet, and in his hand was a no more warlike
weapon than a huge pasty pie, with which he sat down by the
water's edge. His twofold argument was finished. The meat pie
had triumphed; and no wonder! for it was the present witness,
soon to give its own testimony.
But first the friar took off his helmet to cool his head, and a
droll picture he made. His head was as round as an apple, and
eke as smooth in spots. A fringe of close curling black hair
grew round the base of his skull, but his crown was bare and
shiny as an egg. His cheeks also were smooth and red and shiny;
and his little gray eyes danced about with the funniest air
imaginable. You would not have blamed Robin Hood for wanting to
laugh, had you heard this serious two-faced talk and then seen
this jovial one-faced man. Good humor and fat living stood out
all over him; yet for all that he looked stout enough and able to
take care of himself with any man. His short neck was thick like
that of a Berkshire bull; his shoulders were set far back, and
his arms sprouted therefrom like two oak limbs. As he sat him
down, the cloak fell apart disclosing a sword and buckler as
stout as Robin's own.
Nathless, Robin was not dismayed at sight of the weapons.
Instead, his heart fell within him when he saw the meat pie which
was now in fair way to be devoured before his very eyes; for the
friar lost no time in thrusting one hand deep into the pie, while
he crossed himself with the other.
Thereupon Robin seized his bow and fitted a shaft.
"Hey, friar!" he sang out, "carry me over the water, or else I
cannot answer for your safety."
The other started at the unexpected greeting, and laid his hand
upon his sword. Then he looked up and beheld Robin's arrow
pointing full upon him.
"Put down your bow, fellow," he shouted back, "and I will bring
you over the brook. 'Tis our duty in life to help each other,
and your keen shaft shows me that you are a man worthy of some
attention." So the friar knight got him up gravely, though his
eyes twinkled with a cunning light, and laid aside his beloved
pie and his cloak and his sword and his buckler, and waded across
the stream with waddling dignity. Then he took Robin Hood upon
his back and spoke neither good word nor bad till he came to the
other side.
Lightly leaped Robin off his back, and said, "I am much beholden
to you, good father."
"Beholden, say you!" rejoined the other drawing his sword; "then
by my faith you shall e'en repay your score. Now mine own
affairs, which are of a spiritual kind and much more important
than yours which are carnal, lie on the other side of this
stream. I see that you are a likely man and one, moreover, who
would not refuse to serve the church. I must therefore pray of
you that whatsoever I have done unto you, you will do also unto
me. In short, my son, you must e'en carry me back again."
Courteously enough was this said; but so suddenly had the friar
drawn his sword that Robin had no time to unsling his bow from
his back, whither he had placed it to avoid getting it wet, or to
unfasten his scabbard. So he was fain to temporize.
"Nay, good father, but I shall get my feet wet," he commenced.
"Are your feet any better than mine?" retorted the other. "I
fear me now that I have already wetted myself so sadly as to lay
in a store of rheumatic pains by way of penance."
"I am not so strong as you," continued Robin; "that helmet and
sword and buckler would be my undoing on the uncertain footing
amidstream, to say nothing of your holy flesh and bones."
"Then I will lighten up, somewhat," replied the other calmly.
"Promise to carry me across and I will lay aside my war gear."
"Agreed," said Robin; and the friar thereupon stripped himself;
and Robin bent his stout back and took him up even as he had
promised.
Now the stones at the bottom of the stream were round and
slippery, and the current swept along strongly, waist-deep, in
the middle. More-over Robin had a heavier load than the other
had borne, nor did he know the ford. So he went stumbling along
now stepping into a deep hole, now stumbling over a boulder in a
manner that threatened to unseat his rider or plunge them both
clear under current. But the fat friar hung on and dug his heels
into his steed's ribs in as gallant manner as if he were riding
in a tournament; while as for poor Robin the sweat ran down him
in torrents and he gasped like the winded horse he was. But at
last he managed to stagger out on the bank and deposit his
unwieldy load.
No sooner had he set the friar down than he seized his own sword.
"Now, holy friar," quoth he, panting and wiping the sweat from
his brow, "what say the Scriptures that you quote so glibly?--Be
not weary of well doing. You must carry me back again or I swear
that I will make a cheese-cloth out of your jacket!"
The friar's gray eyes once more twinkled with a cunning gleam
that boded no good to Robin; but his voice was as calm and
courteous as ever.
"Your wits are keen, my son," he said; "and I see that the waters
of the stream have not quenched your spirit. Once more will I
bend my back to the oppressor and carry the weight of the
haughty."
So Robin mounted again in high glee, and carried his sword in his
hand, and went prepared to tarry upon the other side. But while
he was bethinking himself what great words to use, when he should
arrive thither, he felt himself slipping from the friar's broad
back. He clutched frantically to save himself but had too round
a surface to grasp, besides being hampered by his weapon. So
down went he with a loud splash into the middle of the stream,
where the crafty friar had conveyed him.
"There!" quoth the holy man; "choose you, choose you, my fine
fellow, whether you will sink or swim!" And he gained his own
bank without more ado, while Robin thrashed and spluttered about
until he made shift to grasp a willow wand and thus haul himself
ashore on the other side.
Then Robin's rage waxed furious, despite his wetting, and he took
his bow and his arrows and let fly one shaft after another at the
worthy friar. But they rattled harmlessly off his steel buckler,
while he laughed and minded them no more than if they had been
hail-stones.
"Shoot on, shoot on, good fellow," he sang out; "shoot as you
have begun; if you shoot here a summer's day, your mark I will
not shun!"
So Robin shot, and passing well, till all his arrows were gone,
when from very rage he began to revile him.
"You bloody villain!" shouted he, "You psalm-singing hypocrite!
You reviler of good hasty pudding! Come but within reach of my
sword arm, and, friar or no friar, I'll shave your tonsure closer
than ever bald-pated monk was shaven before!"
"Soft you and fair!" said the friar unconcernedly; "hard words
are cheap, and you may need your wind presently. An you would
like a bout with swords, meet me halfway i' the stream."
And with this speech the friar waded into the brook, sword in
hand, where he was met halfway by the impetuous outlaw.
Thereupon began a fierce and mighty battle. Up and down, in and
out, back and forth they fought. The swords flashed in the rays
of the declining sun and then met with a clash that would have
shivered less sturdy weapons or disarmed less sturdy wielders.
Many a smart blow was landed, but each perceived that the other
wore an undercoat of linked mail which might not be pierced.
Nathless, their ribs ached at the force of the blows. Once and
again they paused by mutual consent and caught breath and looked
hard each at the other; for never had either met so stout a
fellow.
Finally in a furious onset of lunge and parry Robin's foot
stepped on a rolling stone, and he went down upon his knees. But
his antagonist would not take this advantage: he paused until
Robin should get upon his feet.
"Now by our Lady!" cried the outlaw, using his favorite oath,
"you are the fairest swordsman that I have met in many a long
day. I would beg a boon of you."
"What is it?" said the other.
"Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth and blow three blasts
thereon."
"That will I do," said the curtall friar, "blow till your breath
fails, an it please you."
Then, says the old ballad, Robin Hood set his horn to mouth and
blew mighty blasts; and half a hundred yeomen, bows bent, came
raking over the lee.
"Whose men are these," said the friar, "that come so hastily?"
"These men are mine," said Robin Hood, feeling that his time to
laugh was come at last.
Then said the friar in his turn, "A boon, a boon, the like I gave
to you. Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth and whistle
three blasts thereon."
"That will I do," said Robin, "or else I were lacking in
courtesy."
The friar set his fist to his mouth and put the horn to shame by
the piercing whistles he blew; whereupon half a hundred great
dogs came running and jumping so swiftly that they had reached
their bank as soon as Robin Hood's men had reached his side.
Then followed a rare foolish conflict. Stutely, Much, Little
John and the other outlaws began sending their arrows whizzing
toward the opposite bank; but the dogs, which were taught of the
friar, dodged the missiles cleverly and ran and fetched them back
again, just as the dogs of to-day catch sticks.
"I have never seen the like of this in my days!" cried Little
John, amazed.
"'Tis rank sorcery and witchcraft."
"Take off your dogs, Friar Tuck!" shouted Will Scarlet, who had
but then run up, and who now stood laughing heartily at the
scene.
"Friar Tuck!" exclaimed Robin, astounded. "Are you Friar Tuck?
Then am I your friend, for you are he I came to seek."
"I am but a poor anchorite, a curtall friar," said the other,
whistling to his pack, "by name Friar Tuck of Fountain's Dale.
For seven years have I tended the Abbey here, preached o'
Sundays, and married and christened and buried folk--and fought
too, if need were; and if it smacks not too much of boasting, I
have not yet met the knight or trooper or yeoman that I would
yield before. But yours is a stout blade. I would fain know
you."
"'Tis Robin Hood, the outlaw, who has been assisting you at this
christening," said Will Scarlet glancing roguishly at the two
opponents' dripping garments. And at this sally the whole bad
burst into a shout of laughter, in which Robin and Friar Tuck
joined.
"Robin Hood!" cried the good friar presently, holding his sides;
"are you indeed that famous yeoman? Then I like you well; and
had I known you earlier, would have both carried you across and
shared my pasty pie with you."
"To speak soothly," replied Robin gaily, "'twas that same pie
that led me to be rude. Now, therefore, bring it and your dogs
and repair with us to the greenwood. We have need of you--with
this message came I to-day to seek you. We will build you a
hermitage in Sherwood Forest, and you shall keep us from evil
ways. Will you not join our band?"
"Marry, that will I!" cried Friar Tuck jovially. "Once more will
I cross this much beforded stream, and go with you to the good
greenwood!"
