Why, she is called Maid Marion, honest friend,
Because she lives a spotless maiden life;
And shall, till Robin’s outlaw life have end,
That he may lawfully take her to wife;
Which, if King Richard come, will not be long.
ANTHONY MUNDAY: The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntingdon (1601)
Gamwell Hall, seat of Robin Hood’s uncle Sir William Gamwell, was not far from Nottingham, and thither Sir Guy of Gisborne rode one day attended only by his squire.
Sir William welcomed Sir Guy, and after feasting him well, suggested that he should come with him next day to the great Gamwell festival held not far away in the forest.
Hoping to find out where Robin Hood was, Sir Guy agreed readily to this. But of course he said no word of his real reasons either to Sir William or to young Will Gamwell who rode with him.
It was a merry scene in the green glade of the forest: young men and girls dancing round the Maypole, barrels of ale broached for Sir William’s tenants, and many a game or contest for young and old alike.
Sir Guy sat quietly under a tree with old Sir William watching it all, and only once did he lean forward suddenly with an angry glint in his eyes, and that was when young Will Gamwell led out one of the maidens to dance whom he recognized suddenly as the Lady Marian Fitzwalter disguised as a peasant girl.
‘What maiden is she who dances with your son?’ asked Sir Guy.
‘That?’ answered Sir William vaguely. ‘Oh, she is known as the shepherdess Clorinda: she is often at these feasts, but really I can tell you little of her!’
‘You mean you won’t tell me!’ thought Sir Guy as his host hastily changed the conversation. ‘I am certainly on the right trail now!’
Later in the day came a band of foresters in Lincoln green and there was a great contest of archery in which ‘Clorinda’ took part as well and seemed as good an archer as any of them.
Sir Guy mounted his horse and rode casually down to the butts to watch the sport. As he drew near, Clorinda discharged her arrow, and a cheer went up from all who were watching since she had shot it into the very centre of the gold, which was the middle ring of the target.
‘I must needs shoot well indeed to equal that, fair Clorinda,’ said the chief of the foresters stepping forward and setting an arrow to his string. The arrow sped, and another cheer arose, for everyone could see that it too had struck within the ring of gold, so close to that of Clorinda that the points were in contact and the feathers were intermingled.
‘I claim your hand, fair Queen of the May,’ said the forester bowing low before Clorinda, and with a blush and a smile she held out her hand to him and he led her away into the dance.
But Sir Guy had recognized the forester, and now he turned to Will Gamwell who stood beside him.
‘What is that archer’s name?’ he asked.
‘Robin, I believe,’ said young Gamwell carelessly. ‘I think they call him Robin!’
‘Is that all you know of him?’
‘What more is there to know?’
‘Why, let me tell you,’ said Sir Guy sternly, ‘that he is none other than the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, called Earl of Huntingdon; and there is a large reward offered to any man who can bring him prisoner before the Sheriff of Nottingham.’
‘Is he really?’ said Will Gamwell, as if not in the least interested.
‘He would be a prize well worth taking.’
‘I expect so.’
‘Shall we not take him then?’
‘You may if you please.’
‘But are your tenants and followers not loyal?’
‘Loyal they are indeed!’
‘Then,’ exclaimed Sir Guy, growing more and more angry, ‘if I were to call upon them in the King’s name, would they not aid and assist?’
‘Assuredly they would,’ answered Gamwell, ‘on one side or the other!’
‘But I have Prince John’s warrant for the arrest of Fitzooth,’ said Sir Guy. ‘What would you then advise me to do?’
‘Why,’ answered Gamwell calmly, ‘I would advise you to turn round and ride your hardest for Nottingham – unless you want a volley of arrows, a shower of stones and a hailstorm of cudgel-blows to help you on your way!’
On hearing this, Sir Guy’s squire clapped spurs to his horse and went away at full gallop – which gave Sir Guy an excuse for galloping away after him shouting:
‘Stop, you rascal!’ until they were out of sight of the Gamwell gathering.
They did not draw rein then, however, but made all speed to Nottingham where Sir Guy roused the Sheriff with the news that Robin Hood was within a few miles with scarcely a dozen men.
Within half an hour he was off again, accompanied by the Sheriff and an armed band, hurrying along the road towards Gamwell.
The sun was sinking as they came to a bridge across the river and on the further side saw a small party of foresters and men at arms headed by the shepherdess Clorinda who still carried her bow, and by whose side now walked the gigantic form of Brother Michael Tuck, lately of Fountains Abbey.
‘Now who be these that come riding so fast this way?’ bellowed the Friar. ‘False traitors all, I’ll be bound – yes, there I perceive Sir Guy of Gisborne to whom the sacred dues of hospitality are unknown, and with him the Sheriff of Nottingham – loyal servant of whoever pays him the fattest fees!’
‘Out of the way, renegade Friar!’ shouted Sir Guy angrily, for the Friar and his party had reached the bridge first. ‘And you, Lady Marian, hasten away to Arlingford, for you are in truly doubtful and traitorous company.’
‘You mistake, false knight, you mistake!’ declared the Friar calmly. ‘The lady here is the fair Clorinda, well known throughout the forest of Sherwood as the Queen of the Shepherdesses. As for the doubtful and traitorous company – I see none of it on this side of the bridge!’
‘Out of the way!’ echoed the Sheriff angrily. ‘We seek Robert Fitzooth, known as Robin Hood, who but an hour since was consorting with you not far from this spot!’
‘By the Rood, you’ll not pass this way,’ bellowed the Friar, ‘until you have made full apology to the fair Clorinda and myself for all terms, taunts, and other words of slander uttered in the hearing of these good fellows!’
‘Force them aside!’ cried Sir Guy impatiently. ‘Robin Hood is escaping us even now! And catch that forward girl for me: Lord Fitzwalter will reward me well when I bring her back to him!’
Sir Guy raised his hand derisively as he spoke, and swift as thought Clorinda raised her bow, the string hummed, and Sir Guy’s hand was transfixed by an arrow.
‘Treachery! Cut them down!’ shouted the Sheriff. The bow-string hummed again, the Sheriff’s horse reared up as an arrow whizzed into the ground between its forefeet, and the Sheriff fell backwards out of the saddle and sat heavily down in a large pool of mud.
Thereupon arrows sped amongst the Sheriff’s men, who rushed up the steep bridge, only to be beaten back by the mighty staff in the hands of the great Friar. For, roaring lustily, he stood there alone, whirling his staff from side to side among the Sheriff’s men, knocking down one, breaking the ribs of another, dislocating the shoulder of a third, flattening the nose of a fourth, cracking the skull of a fifth, and pitching a sixth into the river, until the few who were lucky enough to escape with whole bones clapped spurs to their horses and fled for their lives – the outraged Sheriff leading the way, and the wounded Sir Guy of Gisborne bringing up the rear, amidst the laughter of the fair ‘Clorinda’ and her followers and the jeers and taunts of the Friar.
Next morning Lord Fitzwalter was disturbed over his breakfast by the loud blast of a trumpet and the sounds of a general alarm. Hastening to the castle gate, he saw a large body of armed men drawn up on the further side of the moat, with a herald blowing a trumpet and an officer bidding them ‘Lower the drawbridge, in the King’s name!’
‘What for, in the devil’s name?’ roared Lord Fitzwalter angrily.
‘Be it known to all just men!’ proclaimed the herald, ‘that the Sheriff of Nottingham lies in bed grievously bruised, many of his men are like to die of divers injuries and the good knight Sir Guy of Gisborne is sorely wounded by an arrow. And we charge Sir William Gamwell, the Lady Marian Fitzwalter and one Friar Michael lately of Fountains Abbey, as agents and accomplices in the said riot, and traitors for that they have aided and consorted with the outlaw Robin Hood, otherwise Robert Fitzooth sometime of Locksley Hall.’
‘Agents and accomplices!’ spluttered Lord Fitzwalter. ‘What do you mean by coming here with this nonsensical story of my daughter the Lady Marian bruising the Sheriff, injuring his men and shooting arrows into Sir Guy of Gisborne! Off you go, or I’ll bid my men shoot at you with their crossbows!’
‘You will hear more of this!’ shouted the officer in command of the troop. ‘Not so lightly may you flout the will of our liege lord Prince John!’
‘Then let him come in person,’ shouted Lord Fitzwalter, ‘or send someone whom I can trust. How know I that you are not some of these very Sherwood outlaws in disguise, trying to gain entrance to my castle under cover of the King’s name and a silly story about my girl bruising sheriffs and shooting men at arms!’
The troop of men, seeing that an archer with a crossbow stood ready at every loop-hole, that the drawbridge was up, and the moat both wide and deep, retreated with many threats in the direction of Nottingham.
Lord Fitzwalter at once summoned his daughter, and on demanding the truth, Marian confessed that she was known in the Forest as the shepherdess Clorinda, and told the story of Sir Guy’s defeat at Gamwell bridge.
‘You go no more forth from the castle!’ declared Lord Fitzwalter.
‘Then I get out if I can,’ answered Marian firmly, ‘and am under no obligation to return.’
‘Away with you to the topmost turret chamber!’ ordered her father. ‘No one will get you out of there!’
‘Prince John will do so,’ said Marian, with a shudder. ‘I hear that he is now at Nottingham – those were his men before the castle even now. He saw me on the eve of my wedding to Robin of Locksley, and it is said that he has sworn to take me – and perhaps not hand me over to Sir Guy as readily as he has promised.’
‘I’ll defy a wicked Prince as surely as a wicked knight,’ shouted Lord Fitzwalter.
‘You cannot withstand Prince John,’ said Marian. ‘Think of the power he can command. He’ll sack the castle, hang you from the nearest tree – and take me whether you will or no… But if you shut me up – and I escape from the castle, no blame can be attached to you, and you can welcome him here with every sign of regret for my absence and fury at my flight.’
‘Hum! Ha!’ Lord Fitzwalter opened his mouth to swear, but shut it again as he realized the truth of what Marian said.
‘Then if you – er – escape,’ he asked, ‘do you go to Sherwood Forest as half wife of this outlaw Robin Hood?’
‘I go to Robin Hood,’ answered Marian quietly, ‘but until King Richard returns from Palestine, pardons him and restores him to his rightful position, I dwell in Sherwood Forest as Maid Marian – promised but not united to Robin. And this he has sworn by God and Our Lady, and here and now I re-affirm the oath.’
Lord Fitzwalter thought for a few minutes.
‘Robin or Robert, he’s a true and honourable man,’ he said at last. ‘And you are my daughter, and would bring no dishonour upon our line… God bless you, Marian… Go to your room now – and do not let anyone see you leaving Arlingford Castle, or it will be the worse for us all!’
When, a few hours later, Prince John rode up at the head of a hundred men, Lord Fitzwalter met him at the gate with the most profuse expressions of loyalty, begged pardon for his behaviour to the herald in the morning, and placed the whole castle at his disposal.
‘I am honoured, deeply honoured, your Royal Highness,’ he said, still on his knees. ‘There is no guest more welcome than yourself – and your trusty followers. Had you but sent sure proof with your herald this morning, I had admitted him at once: but with this cursed outlaw Robin Hood so nearby, one must be careful. Why, he came in disguise into Nottingham itself and rescued one of his ruffians from the very foot of the gallows!’
Prince John was graciously pleased to accept Lord Fitzwalter’s apologies, and his hospitality at the same time. But when he asked to be presented to the Lady Marian, it was found that she was no longer in her room.
Then Lord Fitzwalter raged round the castle, cursing the carelessness of his followers and threatening dreadful things to the guards who had let her pass. But nothing could be learned of her whereabouts, though one guard volunteered the information that a young archer had been seen standing in the gatehouse an hour or so before Prince John’s arrival – and that youth was missing also.
Prince John graciously lent half his followers to Lord Fitzwalter, and they scoured the neighbourhood for several days. But the Lady Marian Fitzwalter had vanished.
Hearing that Prince John was at Nottingham with a whole troop of his followers, Robin Hood walked near the edge of Sherwood disguised as a Forest Ranger. He hoped to meet some traveller coming from Nottingham, fall into conversation with him, and learn of Prince John’s movements or intentions.
Presently, as he strolled along the road, he met a young man dressed in forest attire who held a bow in his hand, carried a good quiver of arrows on his back and wore a stout broadsword at his side.
‘How now, good fellow!’ cried Robin in a harsh voice. ‘Whither away so fast? What news is there today in the good city of Nottingham?’
‘I go about my own business,’ replied the young man, ‘and the news is that Prince John has come to Nottingham to put down the outlaws in the forest.’
‘About time, too,’ said Robin, remembering that he was posing as a Ranger, or keeper of the Royal Deer. ‘And what do you, my fine lad, with that long bow and those goodly arrows?’
‘I mind my own business,’ answered the youth, ‘which I would that other wanderers in Sherwood did likewise!’
‘My business is with such as you,’ said Robin sternly. ‘Tell me your name and business, or my sword must enforce it.’
‘Two can play at that game,’ cried the youth, and flinging down his bow and quiver, he drew his sword and stood on the defence. Robin did likewise, and a minute later the blades clashed together.
Very soon Robin found that his antagonist was at least his match in all the skill and practice of swordsmanship, though weaker in the wrist than he, and not so heavy in the sheer weight of blows.
They fought for some time without either gaining much vantage, though the blood was running down Robin’s face, and his antagonist was wounded in the arm.
‘Hold your hand, good fellow – let us fight no more,’ said Robin at last, stepping back and leaning on his sword, quite forgetful of his pretended role as Forest Ranger. ‘You fight too well to be wasted like this: come, throw in your lot with Robin Hood and be one of his merry men.’
‘Are you Robin Hood?’ gasped the youth.
‘Robin Hood I am, and no other!’ was the reply.
‘Oh, Robin, Robin! Do you not know me?’ cried his late antagonist with a sudden change of voice.
‘Marian!’ gasped Robin. ‘And I wounded you, and knew you not!’ In another moment his arms were around her.
‘Welcome to Sherwood,’ he said at length, when she had poured out all her tale to him. ‘Come away with me now to our secret glen, and let Scarlet and Much, Little John, and the rest, welcome their queen – as I do; and swear, as I do, to be true and faithful servants now and henceforward to you, Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest.’
There was feasting and rejoicing that night in the secret glade where Robin and his merry men did honour to their lovely queen. There was no lack of good roasted venison, great flagons of wine were set on the board, bowls of brown ale, and many another delicacy.
When the feast was ended, Robin rose with a great flagon in his hand.
‘My friends!’ he cried. ‘Let us drink first, now as ever, to King Richard – King Richard and his speedy return from the Crusade!’
When the pledge was drunk, Robin rose again.
‘And now!’ he cried, ‘drink to our Maiden Queen! To the Lady Marian! Let us pledge ourselves once more to the true service of God and His Holy Mother, as true Christian men should. But let us also even as true knights to their lady, pledge ourselves that all our actions shall be so pure and so far from all evil that we do nothing we should think shame of were it done in the presence of our queen, our Maid Marian!’
‘Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest!’ cried every man there, springing to their feet. ‘To our King and Queen of the Forest – to Robin Hood and Maid Marian!’