The Chronicles of Robin Hood Read Online Free PDF
Author: Rosemary Sutcliff
Robin’s outlawry.
He had two-and-fifty men at his command now, for in the last few months the rule of St. Mary’s Benedictine monks had become harder even than of yore, and many a villein, swinking and sweating in the Manor Demesne while his own field strips went to rack and ruin, had bided his time until the chance came, and slipped away to join the men of the Greenwood; many an honest churl, burning under injustice, and freeman in danger of losing hisfreedom, followed suit. They were grim men, hot against the cruel overlords who had stripped them of all they held dear, and already the names of Robin Hood and his men had become household words from Clumber Forest northward to the very gates of York.
But not all Robin’s band had come to him as fugitives, for there was another way in which he sometimes gained recruits. Whenever he heard of a man who was a good fighter and honest of heart, he would seek him out, be he outlaw, freeman, or villein, and challenge him to fight, with sword or quarterstaff, or to a shooting match, and whether he won or whether he lost, Robin would offer him a place among his own men. In this way he had gained the loyal comradeship of George-a-Green, that valiant pound-keeper of Wakefield, who had vanquished him after a fight lasting two hours; and of Arthur-a-Bland, and William of Goldsborough; and in this way he was to gain many more in the years to come.
That autumn the outlaw band had moved far up through Barnesdale Forest and were encamped less than twenty miles from York. Soon they would go south again, across the Nottinghamshire border into Sherwood, to their winter quarters. But winter was as yet some way off, and the woods aflame with their October glory, and the York to Doncaster road was a good one, with much traffic of merchants and monks—and therefore yielded a rich harvest of gold and cloth, food and weapons, which would stand the outlaws in good stead through the lean months of winter when abbot and merchant alike kept to their own firesides.
One fine October morning Robin threaded his way along the maze of narrow deer-paths between Pomfretand Selby. He had no particular aim in view, for the larder was well filled and his pickets already posted among the chestnut trees beside the York road; but the frost in the air had set his blood a-dancing, as the rising sap does in the spring, and he had taken his bow and shot an arrow in the air, and, noting where it fell, had gone off in that direction to look for adventure, just as he had been wont to do when he was a boy.
The carpet of fallen leaves was frost-crisped underfoot, and the yet-unfallen leaves were golden overhead. The tangled bramble-domes were bowed down with clusters of blue-black fruit among leaves that were purple and gold and crimson; and the air smelled bitter with frost. Blithe and merry was Robin as he strode along the woodland ways, but he went silently as usual, head up, and scanning the forest ahead and on either side for sign of anything that might promise adventure.
Presently, on the verge of a clearing, he halted. Just ahead of him, where the path led out from the trees into a tawny sea of bracken, stood a man. His back was turned to the outlaw, but Robin saw that he was young, and clad very point-device in garments that were ill suited to the forest: his tunic was of fine black cloth, and his long hose and the velvet cap upon his head were as scarlet as the vivid wild-rose hips that decked the briar bush beside him; yet the six-foot bow in his hand was a serviceable-looking weapon, and four long deer-bolts were thrust through his girdle. Very still he stood, watching the group of fallow deer who were feeding on the farther side of the glade some forty yards off, and on the shadows of the forest verge Robin stood as still as he, waiting to see what would happen.
For a long moment nothing moved in the autumn forest; then he of the scarlet cap drew a deer-bolt from his girdle and nocked it to his bowstring.
He had two-and-fifty men at his command now, for in the last few months the rule of St. Mary’s Benedictine monks had become harder even than of yore, and many a villein, swinking and sweating in the Manor Demesne while his own field strips went to rack and ruin, had bided his time until the chance came, and slipped away to join the men of the Greenwood; many an honest churl, burning under injustice, and freeman in danger of losing hisfreedom, followed suit. They were grim men, hot against the cruel overlords who had stripped them of all they held dear, and already the names of Robin Hood and his men had become household words from Clumber Forest northward to the very gates of York.
But not all Robin’s band had come to him as fugitives, for there was another way in which he sometimes gained recruits. Whenever he heard of a man who was a good fighter and honest of heart, he would seek him out, be he outlaw, freeman, or villein, and challenge him to fight, with sword or quarterstaff, or to a shooting match, and whether he won or whether he lost, Robin would offer him a place among his own men. In this way he had gained the loyal comradeship of George-a-Green, that valiant pound-keeper of Wakefield, who had vanquished him after a fight lasting two hours; and of Arthur-a-Bland, and William of Goldsborough; and in this way he was to gain many more in the years to come.
That autumn the outlaw band had moved far up through Barnesdale Forest and were encamped less than twenty miles from York. Soon they would go south again, across the Nottinghamshire border into Sherwood, to their winter quarters. But winter was as yet some way off, and the woods aflame with their October glory, and the York to Doncaster road was a good one, with much traffic of merchants and monks—and therefore yielded a rich harvest of gold and cloth, food and weapons, which would stand the outlaws in good stead through the lean months of winter when abbot and merchant alike kept to their own firesides.
One fine October morning Robin threaded his way along the maze of narrow deer-paths between Pomfretand Selby. He had no particular aim in view, for the larder was well filled and his pickets already posted among the chestnut trees beside the York road; but the frost in the air had set his blood a-dancing, as the rising sap does in the spring, and he had taken his bow and shot an arrow in the air, and, noting where it fell, had gone off in that direction to look for adventure, just as he had been wont to do when he was a boy.
The carpet of fallen leaves was frost-crisped underfoot, and the yet-unfallen leaves were golden overhead. The tangled bramble-domes were bowed down with clusters of blue-black fruit among leaves that were purple and gold and crimson; and the air smelled bitter with frost. Blithe and merry was Robin as he strode along the woodland ways, but he went silently as usual, head up, and scanning the forest ahead and on either side for sign of anything that might promise adventure.
Presently, on the verge of a clearing, he halted. Just ahead of him, where the path led out from the trees into a tawny sea of bracken, stood a man. His back was turned to the outlaw, but Robin saw that he was young, and clad very point-device in garments that were ill suited to the forest: his tunic was of fine black cloth, and his long hose and the velvet cap upon his head were as scarlet as the vivid wild-rose hips that decked the briar bush beside him; yet the six-foot bow in his hand was a serviceable-looking weapon, and four long deer-bolts were thrust through his girdle. Very still he stood, watching the group of fallow deer who were feeding on the farther side of the glade some forty yards off, and on the shadows of the forest verge Robin stood as still as he, waiting to see what would happen.
For a long moment nothing moved in the autumn forest; then he of the scarlet cap drew a deer-bolt from his girdle and nocked it to his bowstring.