Come, gentlemen all, and listen awhile,
And a story I’ll to you unfold;
I’ll tell you how Robin Hood served the bishop
When he robbed him of his gold.
BALLAD: Robin Hood and the Bishop
The Bishop of Peterborough was not a man who would easily forgive Robin Hood for outwitting him in the affair of Allin-a-Dale, and he sought for revenge most eagerly.
He went first to the Sheriff of Nottingham.
‘Master Sheriff,’ he said, ‘I demand a company of men at arms and archers to punish this villain Robin Hood!’
‘My Lord Bishop,’ answered the Sheriff, ‘I would willingly do anything I might to scatter these bold outlaws and hang Robin Hood. I myself have many reasons for wishing to be revenged on him. But I cannot gather a large enough company: all men hereabouts seem to be in league with him.’
‘Then I will visit the knights and the barons of this shire,’ stormed the Bishop. ‘They will not be in league with this traitor!’
‘You will get little help from them,’ answered the Sheriff sadly. ‘The lesser knights will scarcely dare to attack him, lest he should burn down their steads and drive away their flocks and herds.’
‘But the barons?’ persisted the Bishop. ‘A few wild ruffians in the forest will scarcely burn down a well-fortified castle!’
‘Robin Hood’s band is said to exceed three hundred men in number,’ answered the Sheriff. ‘As for the barons, assuredly they will assist you – and call out all their liegemen and tenants and serfs: but, however big an army they collect, you will never find Robin Hood by their aid. Oh, you’ll never be able to accuse a single man of them of treachery – but Robin Hood will have had due warning, and he and his whole gang will be settled quietly in Barnsdale or Plompton or Delamere or Pendle before ever your expedition sets out.’
‘Then what can I do?’ fumed the Bishop.
‘Take him by surprise,’ answered the Sheriff. ‘Go with a small company of my men. Sir Guy of Gisborne would help you, only he is away fighting for Prince John, so I will lend you my seneschal Worman. He was Robin Hood’s steward, and hates his former master. Take him and twenty or thirty men. Doubtless the wily Worman will hatch a scheme for you…’
Robin wandered in the forest to shoot a deer, when he met with a palmer – a silly old man dressed in ragged clothes and hung about with bags like a beggar.
‘Ah, sir!’ cried the palmer in a high, cracked voice; ‘you look like a forest man: can you tell me where I may find Robin Hood? Oh, he’s a kind man, a noble man, is bold Robin!’
‘How now, you silly fellow,’ said Robin, ‘what’s the news? What is it that you want to tell Robin Hood so badly?’
‘A fearful thing! Such a to-do!’ cackled the palmer. ‘Master Sheriff’s seneschal, Master Worman, is dealing out the Forest Laws with four men to help him. Oh, such a shame, such a crying shame! Three proper young men – and two will hang, and the third grope his way blind till God releases him from life.’
‘Where?’ asked Robin briskly.
‘Not a furlong hence,’ answered the palmer. You know the cottage by the brook? Well over the slope beyond… One of the lads is the old woman’s son.’
‘How near to the hanging are they?’ asked Robin.
‘Oh, they wait awhile, for the hangman has not come.’
‘Good,’ said Robin. ‘Now make haste, old man, and lend me your gown. Here are forty shillings in payment for it.’
‘Ah, my gown is in rags,’ piped the old palmer. ‘You do but jest!… Oh, sir, you will not rob an old man?’
‘Content,’ exclaimed Robin curtly. ‘Here is the money. Strip off that gown quickly. And know that I myself am Robin Hood.’
‘Oh then indeed, noble sir, I know that you will deal justly with me,’ cried the palmer, and he stripped off his gown with great alacrity.
Robin put it on – a strange garment, patched with black, blue, and red, on which hung the various bags like pockets turned inside out, in which the palmer put the food which was given to him. Then he put on the palmer’s dirty, frayed old hat, and set off through the forest as fast as he could go.
Past the old woman’s cottage he went, over the stream by the stepping stones, and over the brow of the slope beyond. There, sure enough, were several Forest guards or Verderers standing round a newly lighted fire. By them stood Worman holding the reins of his horse, and from a tree nearby a man was hanging, his limbs yet jerking though he was already dead.
‘Too easy a death,’ Worman was saying, with a harsh laugh. ‘The jerk as I led the horse away from under him broke his neck and he died in a moment. Now if we had but a proper hangman to pull the other rogue up gently and throttle the life out of him slowly as he struggles at the rope’s end…’
‘God save you, master forester!’ cackled Robin, hobbling up at this moment, dressed as the old palmer. ‘Did I hear your highness say that you were in need of a hangman this day?’
‘You did, old man,’ said Worman shortly.
‘What will you give me as a hangman’s fee if I do the job for you?’
‘A new suit of clothes – which you sorely need,’ said Worman. ‘And a piece of gold if you will blind this other miserable law-breaker for us.’
‘Give me but iron and rope!’ cried Robin, ‘and I’ll show you how clever I am at the job!’
‘Give them to him,’ ordered Worman.
As soon as Robin had the halter and the blinding-iron in his hand, he leapt swiftly onto a fallen stump nearby, and climbed into a spreading oak-tree.
‘By my head, you’re a nimble old man!’ remarked Worman, with a grin. ‘Make haste and fasten the rope, for I know of a traitor who has lived too long!’
‘I was never a hangman in my life,’ said Robin, still in the palmer’s voice, ‘nor do I intend to be now. Cursed be all who consent to be of such a trade!’
‘How now, what mean you?’ asked Worman anxiously.
‘Ha-ha!’ cried Robin, and he sang:
I’ve a bag for meal and a bag for malt,
And a bag for barley and corn;
A bag for bread, and a bag for beef –
And a bag for my little small horn!
So saying, he pulled out his horn, and blew a piercingly shrill note on it.
‘Wind away!’ laughed Worman. ‘You silly old palmer, I know you well. Blow till your eyes drop out – it will but deprive me of the pleasure of burning them!’
Even as he said this, Robin was aware of armed men wearing the Sheriff’s livery who were closing in round the tree, and of the Bishop of Peterborough with his followers riding through the forest towards where he was.
‘A trap!’ thought Robin, and in a moment he had dropped out of the tree and was running his hardest down the hill while Worman shouted:
‘After him, men! It is Robin Hood! This time he cannot escape!’
Robin bounded across the stepping stones and flung himself against the cottage door, which flew open at a touch.
‘God-a-mercy!’ screamed the old woman. ‘Who ever are you!’
‘Peace, good mother!’ gasped Robin. ‘You know me well – I am Robin Hood. And yonder is the Bishop of Peterborough and the Sheriff’s men: I cannot get away, and if they take me, I’ll hang before your door!’
‘That shall never be!’ cried the old woman. ‘I mind me of how you saved my boy once from losing his arrow fingers – and the many a time you have brought me food when I was starving… But I knew you not in that strange guise…’
‘I’ve no time to tell you of it,’ began Robin.
‘Quick,’ interrupted the old woman. ‘Change clothes with me – your Lincoln green as well as that gown. By God’s grace he’ll not want to hang you here, but to take you off to Nottingham…’
Swiftly the exchange was made, and when the first soldier reached the door and burst it open, Robin was busily cooking over the fire – a perfect old woman in the dim light of the cottage.
‘Where is that traitor Robin Hood?’ cried the leader of the men, who was none other than Worman.
‘Robin Hood?’ screeched the old woman who was really Robin. ‘What do I know of him?’
‘Search the place,’ commanded Worman briefly, and it did not take many minutes to find the old woman dressed as Robin Hood, and drag her out into the open.
‘Ah-ha, you false traitor!’ cried Worman exultantly. ‘We have you fast at length. I’ve long lived in fear of you, and today that fear is ended. But you shall have an hour or two in which to fear me – while I am heating the irons to burn out your eyes, which I shall do with my own hand. But that of course will come after I have cut off those fingers, with which you pull a bowstring and break the Forest Laws… And maybe even a bowstring for the halter which hangs you would be but justice…’
‘Is that the proud traitor Robin Hood?’ asked the Bishop, riding up at that moment.
‘Here he is, safe enough, my lord,’ answered Worman. ‘Our little trap worked splendidly as you see. Ah, I knew how to snare this rascal.’
‘A rich reward shall be yours, Master Worman,’ said the Bishop. ‘Set the villain on a horse, tie him with his face towards the tail, and let us hasten away to Nottingham.’
When this was done they rode gently up the slope again, the Bishop laughing and joking in his delight at capturing Robin Hood, until they came to the tree where Worman’s first victim was hanging.
‘Faugh!’ said the Bishop. ‘This tree bears strange fruit! But tell me, master seneschal, was this all a blind to catch Robin Hood?’
‘Not so,’ answered Worman. ‘That carrion had killed three of King John’s deer –’
‘King John?’ queried the Bishop, but with a sly smile.
‘King John!’ declared Worman. ‘For surely Richard is dead… And that reminds me, we have two other criminals, one to hang and one to lose his eyes. We’d better hang them both quickly, as it is not good to delay here with so dangerous a prisoner as Robin Hood… You, master verderer, send one of your men up the tree to fix a couple of ropes. Tie the villains’ hands and set them on my horse’s saddle in turn… If I whistle my horse will come to me – and there we have a hangman where no hangman is!’
So the ropes were fixed, and the first man made to stand on Worman’s horse with the noose round his neck and his hands bound.
‘And now,’ said Worman, deliberately enjoying his victim’s fear, ‘I am about to whistle for my horse. He will obey me… sooner or later.’
But as he ended there came a whistle of another kind, and an arrow sped over their heads and severed the rope clean through. Then the young man who had so narrowly been saved from hanging dropped astride the horse, kicked it fiercely with his heels, and galloped away, his hands still bound behind him.
‘Who shot yonder arrow?’ began the Bishop, and then he turned pale and his jaw fell. For out of the forest on every side came archers in Lincoln green, running company by company, the arrows ready on their bows.
‘Marry!’ cried the old woman with a shrill scream of laughter, ‘I think it must be a man they call Robin Hood! Yes, there he comes at the head of his merry men.’
‘Robin Hood!’ gasped the Bishop, while Worman turned a sickly green and trembled so that he nearly fell. ‘Then in the devil’s name, who and what are you?’
‘Why, you wicked Bishop, I am but a poor old woman – as plain you may see if you strip off these garments, which Robin Hood gave me of his charity!’
‘Then woe is me,’ said the Bishop, ‘that ever I saw this day!’
But Worman turned to his men. ‘Fire a volley of arrows!’ he shouted. ‘Then draw your swords and fight like men! Fight, curse you!’
But the Sheriff’s men flung down their bows and fled for dear life, the ranks of the outlaws opening to let them pass, and closing again when they were gone.
Then Robin strode up to where Worman and the Bishop sat their horses, pale and trembling, with only two of the Bishop’s followers who, as priests, hoped that they did not need to fly for their lives.
‘Come,’ said the Bishop hastily. ‘Let us away. He will not dare to risk the curse of Holy Church!’
‘Hold, Bishop!’ cried Robin sternly. ‘I mean you no harm, and you must dine with me before you go… But I have justice to perform first. John, Scarlet, Arthur, seize Worman and bind his hands.’
Then Worman flung himself on the ground, weeping and praying for mercy.
‘Spare me, noble Huntingdon!’ he howled. ‘I served you long and faithfully –’
‘Until it served your turn better to betray me,’ interrupted Robin coldly. ‘Yes, deny it not… That I forgave you, and sought for no vengeance. But you yourself have shown no mercy, though mercy has been shown to you, and you swore to me once as Scarlet did also, to do all in your power to save whom you could from the cruel Forest Laws which bring God’s curse upon this poor land… No, no words… Here, one of you, fling a rope over that branch… Good, now the noose over his head… Friar Tuck, the last rites of the Church – then six of you run away with the end of the rope and make it fast…’
When Worman had met the fate he so richly deserved Robin Hood turned to the Bishop.
‘Now come you to dinner, my lord,’ he said courteously.
‘I would rather die,’ shouted the Bishop.
‘Why then,’ said Robin, ‘you may ride away – after you have paid toll.’
So saying he spread his cloak on the ground, and a search of the Bishop’s pockets and saddle bags soon supplied it with a shining pile of gold and silver.
Meanwhile the Bishop, cursing him in English and Latin, was tied to a tree.
‘Let him go now,’ commanded Robin, pouring the money into several bags.
‘Not yet,’ said Little John. ‘It is rarely that we have so high a dignitary of the Church as a guest. Let him sing Mass for us before he goes.’
‘I would rather die, repeated the Bishop sulkily.
‘Then you may do so,’ said Robin, ‘for there you stay, tied to that tree, until you fulfil your duty as a priest.’
Then the Bishop sang Mass, assisted by his two trembling followers, while all the outlaws doffed their hoods and knelt reverently round about him.
‘I thank you, my lord Bishop,’ said Robin gravely when the service was ended. ‘Now go in peace.’
So he cut the Bishop’s bonds, set him on his horse, and guided him carefully back to the main road which led to Nottingham.