favors such as this and they let him be for his service. ’Tis a wretched way for a man to live.” Here Clym shook his head, clutching his red cap to his breast. “But as I say, I’ve been released by Queen Eleanor, and I’ve naught to fear now from the king’s guards.”
“And, Clym, will you promise me that while you’re under my employment you will commit no crimes to reawaken their interest? ’Twould be no favor to me if you were caught up for stealing or poaching or shouting too loud after a round of drinking.”
“Nay, sweet lady, I shan’t shame ye. Ole Clym knows what way his money is comin’ from and he won’t forget it. I’ll stay in the court and listen for ye, and when I hear a word of interest, I’ll fetch a page and send him to ye, so you may know what I know.”
I was pleased with this funny man, and I sent him forth to do his best. I did not know how it might go, for I knew little of the art of spying and less of disguise and life in costume. But I paid him handsomely so that he might not want or let his hand wander and land himself in some great trouble.
W ITH C LYM DISPATCHED, Annie and I settled ourselves for a long winter of quiet companionship. This year there would be no Christmas court, no minstrel’s music nor ginger candies. During these days more than ever I valued Annie’s affection for me, which proved to be as constant as the seasons. She entertained me with songs of battles, impossible riddles, and tales of Saint Mildred, Saint Aelfgith, and their overwhelming devotion to God. But our favorite were the tales of Robin Hood and his merry men, the outlaws of Sherwood Forest, for these were the most daring men of our time.
Over and over she told me the tale of Robin Hood’s battle with Little John upon a log bridge over a stream, and how they fought with blackthorn cudgels until Little John knocked Robin flat and doused him in the chilly water. Then she told how good-natured Robin praised Little John and brought him for feasting to the outlaws’ camp, where he invited his victor to join the band. From that day forward Little John became his only right-hand man, beloved and honored by Will Stutley, David of Doncaster, Adam Bell, and all the other men of Sherwood.
Robin Hood, the rumors told, earned his coin by seizing gently upon rich friars, bishops, and nobles who passed through the Sherwood roads. If he deemed their purses full beyond what he meted to be right, he forced them to his forest lair to feast with him and his merry band. After the meal, the drink, the talk, the outlaws performed deeds of arms for the entertainment of the guests. And when that finished, Robin came forth to claim the excesses of their purse, leaving a third with his guest, taking a third for his own coffers, and setting one third aside for the poor.
These poor he sprinkled with coins and pennies, relieving their hunger and bringing fuel to their hearths. If the funds came from the bishop of Retford, he spread that money in Retford’s towns, easing the burden of the bishop’s taxation. The folks of the shire worshiped this outlaw as if he were a true Saxon saint, and the village ladies remembered his name in their daily prayers. By the men of the shire he was also remembered, for even if they had no cause to love him for his generosity, they knew him for his feats of arms, for none was more accurate with a yew longbow than Robin Hood.
Annie and I were caught by the romance of these tales, for to those in seclusion with nothing more than embroidery and spinning to employ them, the notion of one who does as he pleases is enchanting. Robin Hood had no master and feared no man. Even the sheriff of Nottingham, whose charge it was to catch this poacher, was impotent against him and had himself been forced into the wood for a night of feasting and purse-lightening.
In this way the winter passed, slowly, as all trying things do, but steadily. Time, I thought, could be a great ally when something
“And, Clym, will you promise me that while you’re under my employment you will commit no crimes to reawaken their interest? ’Twould be no favor to me if you were caught up for stealing or poaching or shouting too loud after a round of drinking.”
“Nay, sweet lady, I shan’t shame ye. Ole Clym knows what way his money is comin’ from and he won’t forget it. I’ll stay in the court and listen for ye, and when I hear a word of interest, I’ll fetch a page and send him to ye, so you may know what I know.”
I was pleased with this funny man, and I sent him forth to do his best. I did not know how it might go, for I knew little of the art of spying and less of disguise and life in costume. But I paid him handsomely so that he might not want or let his hand wander and land himself in some great trouble.
W ITH C LYM DISPATCHED, Annie and I settled ourselves for a long winter of quiet companionship. This year there would be no Christmas court, no minstrel’s music nor ginger candies. During these days more than ever I valued Annie’s affection for me, which proved to be as constant as the seasons. She entertained me with songs of battles, impossible riddles, and tales of Saint Mildred, Saint Aelfgith, and their overwhelming devotion to God. But our favorite were the tales of Robin Hood and his merry men, the outlaws of Sherwood Forest, for these were the most daring men of our time.
Over and over she told me the tale of Robin Hood’s battle with Little John upon a log bridge over a stream, and how they fought with blackthorn cudgels until Little John knocked Robin flat and doused him in the chilly water. Then she told how good-natured Robin praised Little John and brought him for feasting to the outlaws’ camp, where he invited his victor to join the band. From that day forward Little John became his only right-hand man, beloved and honored by Will Stutley, David of Doncaster, Adam Bell, and all the other men of Sherwood.
Robin Hood, the rumors told, earned his coin by seizing gently upon rich friars, bishops, and nobles who passed through the Sherwood roads. If he deemed their purses full beyond what he meted to be right, he forced them to his forest lair to feast with him and his merry band. After the meal, the drink, the talk, the outlaws performed deeds of arms for the entertainment of the guests. And when that finished, Robin came forth to claim the excesses of their purse, leaving a third with his guest, taking a third for his own coffers, and setting one third aside for the poor.
These poor he sprinkled with coins and pennies, relieving their hunger and bringing fuel to their hearths. If the funds came from the bishop of Retford, he spread that money in Retford’s towns, easing the burden of the bishop’s taxation. The folks of the shire worshiped this outlaw as if he were a true Saxon saint, and the village ladies remembered his name in their daily prayers. By the men of the shire he was also remembered, for even if they had no cause to love him for his generosity, they knew him for his feats of arms, for none was more accurate with a yew longbow than Robin Hood.
Annie and I were caught by the romance of these tales, for to those in seclusion with nothing more than embroidery and spinning to employ them, the notion of one who does as he pleases is enchanting. Robin Hood had no master and feared no man. Even the sheriff of Nottingham, whose charge it was to catch this poacher, was impotent against him and had himself been forced into the wood for a night of feasting and purse-lightening.
In this way the winter passed, slowly, as all trying things do, but steadily. Time, I thought, could be a great ally when something
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