CHAPTER XXIV
HOW ROBIN HOOD MET HIS DEATH
"Give me my bent bow in my hand,
And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
And where this arrow is taken up,
There shall my grave digg'd be."
Now by good rights this story should end with the wedding of
Robin Hood and Maid Marian; for do not many pleasant tales end
with a wedding and the saying, "and they lived happy ever after"?
But this is a true account--in so far as we can find the quaint
old ballads which tell of it--and so we must follow one more of
these songs and learn how Robin, after living many years longer,
at last came to seek his grave. And the story of it runs in this
wise.
Robin Hood and his men, now the Royal Archers, went with King
Richard of the Lion Heart through England settling certain
private disputes which had arisen among the Norman barons while
the King was gone to the Holy Land. Then the King proceeded amid
great pomp and rejoicing to the palace at London, and Robin, the
new Earl of Huntingdon, brought his Countess thither, where she
became one of the finest ladies of the Court.
The Royal Archers were now divided into two bands, and one-half
of them were retained in London, while the other half returned to
Sherwood and Barnesdale, there to guard the King's preserves.
Several months passed by, and Robin began to chafe under the
restraint of city life. He longed for the fresh pure air of the
greenwood, and the rollicking society of his yeomen. One day,
upon seeing some lads at archery practice upon a green, he could
not help but lament, saying, "Woe is me! I fear my hand is fast
losing its old time cunning at the bow-string!"
Finally he became so distraught that he asked leave to travel in
foreign lands, and this was granted him. He took Maid Marian
with him, and together they went through many strange countries.
Finally in an Eastern land a great grief came upon Robin. Marian
sickened of a plague and died. They had been married but five
years, and Robin felt as though all the light had gone out of his
life.
He wandered about the world for a few months longer, trying to
forget his grief, then came back to the court, at London, and
sought some commission in active service. But unluckily, Richard
was gone again upon his adventures, and Prince John, who acted as
Regent, had never been fond of Robin. He received him with a
sarcastic smile.
"Go forth into the greenwood," said he, coldly, "and kill some
more of the King's deer. Belike, then, the King will make you
Prime Minister, at the very least, upon his return."
The taunt fired Robin's blood. He had been in a morose mood,
ever since his dear wife's death. He answered Prince John hotly,
and the Prince bade his guards seize him and cast him into the
Tower.
After lying there for a few weeks, he was released by the
faithful Stutely and the remnant of the Royal Archers, and all
together they fled the city and made their way to the greenwood.
There Robin blew the old familiar call, which all had known and
loved so well. Up came running the remainder of the band, who
had been Royal Foresters, and when they saw their old master they
embraced his knees and kissed his hands, and fairly cried for joy
that he had come again to them. And one and all forswore fealty
to Prince John, and lived quietly with Robin in the greenwood,
doing harm to none and only awaiting the time when King Richard
should come again.
But King Richard came not again, and would never need his Royal
Guard more. Tidings presently reached them, of how he had met
his death in a foreign land, and how John reigned as King in his
stead. The proof of these events followed soon after, when there
came striding through the glade the big, familiar form of Little
John.
"Art come to arrest us?" called out Robin, as he ran forward and
embraced his old comrade.
"Nay, I am not come as the Sheriff of Nottingham, thanks be,"
answered Little John. "The new King has deposed me, and 'tis
greatly to my liking, for I have long desired to join you here
again in the greenwood."
Then were the rest of the band right glad at this news, and
toasted Little John royally.
The new King waged fierce war upon the outlaws, soon after this,
and sent so many scouting parties into Sherwood and Barnesdale
that Robin and his men left these woods for a time and went into
Derbyshire, near Haddon Hall. A curious pile of stone is shown
to this day as the ruins of Robin's Castle, where the bold outlaw
is believed to have defied his enemies for a year or more. At
any rate King John found so many troubles of his own, after a
time, that he ceased troubling the outlaws.
But in one of the last sorties Robin was wounded. The cut did
not seem serious, and healed over the top; but it left a lurking
fever. Daily his strength ebbed away from him, until he was in
sore distress.
One day as he rode along on horseback, near Kirklees Abbey, he
was seized with so violent a rush of blood to the head that he
reeled and came near falling from his saddle. He dismounted
weakly and knocked at the Abbey gate. A woman shrouded in black
peered forth.
"Who are you that knock here? For we allow no man within these
walls," she said.
"Open, for the love of Heaven!" he begged. "I am Robin Hood, ill
of a fever and in sore straits."
At the name of Robin Hood the woman started back, and then, as
though bethinking herself, unbarred the door and admitted him.
Assisting his fainting frame up a flight of stairs and into a
front room, she loosed his collar and bathed his face until he
was revived. Then she spoke hurriedly in a low voice:
"Your fever will sink, if you are bled. See, I have provided a
lancet and will open your veins, while you lie quiet."
So she bled him, and he fell into a stupor which lasted nearly
all that day, so that he awoke weak and exhausted from loss of
blood.
Now there is a dispute as to this abbess who bled him. Some say
that she did it in all kindness of heart; while others aver that
she was none other than the former Sheriff's daughter, and found
her revenge at last in this cruel deed.
Be that as it may, Robin's eyes swam from very weakness when he
awoke.
He called wearily for help, but there was no response. He looked
longingly through the window at the green of the forest; but he
was too weak to make the leap that would be needed to reach the
ground.
He then bethought him of his horn,
Which hung down at his knee;
He set his horn unto his mouth,
And blew out weak blasts three.
Little John was out in the forest near by, or the blasts would
never have been heard. At their sound he sprang to his feet.
"Woe! woe!" he cried, "I fear my master is near dead, he blows so
wearily!"
So he made haste and came running up to the door of the abbey,
and knocked loudly for admittance. Failing to get reply, he
burst in the door with frenzied blows of his mighty fist, and
soon came running up to the room where Robin lay, white and
faint. "Alas, dear master!" cried Little John in great distress;
"I fear you have met with treachery! If that be so, grant me one
last boon, I pray."
"What is it?" asked Robin.
"Let me burn Kirklees-Hall with fire, and all its nunnery."
"Nay, good comrade," answered Robin Hood gently, "I cannot grant
such a boon. The dear Christ bade us forgive all our enemies.
Moreover, you know I never hurt woman in all my life; nor man
when in woman's company."
He closed his eyes and fell back, so that his friend thought him
dying. The great tears fell from the giant's eyes and wet his
master's hand. Robin slowly rallied and seized his comrade's
outstretched arm.
"Lift me up, good Little John," he said brokenly, "I want to
smell the air from the good greenwood once again. Give me my
good yew bow--here--here-and fix a broad arrow upon the string.
Out yonder--among the oaks--where this arrow shall fall--let
them dig my grave."
And with one last mighty effort he sped his shaft out of the open
window, straight and true, as in the days of old, till it struck
the largest oak of them all and dropped in the shadow of the
trees. Then he fell back upon the sobbing breast of his devoted
friend.
"'Tis the last!" he murmured, "tell the brave hearts to lay me
there with the green sod under my head and feet. And--let them
lay--my bent bow at my side, for it has made sweet music in mine
ears."
He rested a moment, and Little John scarce knew that he was
alive. But on a sudden Robin's eye brightened, and he seemed to
think himself back once more with the band in the open forest
glade. He struggled to rise.
"Ha! 'tis a fine stag, Will! And Allan, thou never didst thrum
the harp more sweetly. How the light blazes! And Marian!--'tis
my Marian--come at last!"
So died the body of Robin Hood; but his spirit lives on through
the centuries in the deathless ballads which are sung of him, and
in the hearts of men who love freedom and chivalry.
They buried him where his last arrow had fallen, and they set a
stone to mark the spot. And on the stone were graven these
words:
"Here underneath his little stone
Lies Robert, Earl of Huntingdon;
Never archer as he so good,
And people called him Robin Hood.
Such outlaws as he and his men
Will England never see again."
