The Out-law

Robin Hood

The Life and Death of Robin Hood, the Renowned Out-law

This is a version of the Robin Hood story. It shares some similarities with other tales of Robin. There is taking from the rich and giving to the poor. The setting is partially the same — taking place in the reign of Richard I, he of the lion heart. And Robin’s own essential traits are the same: his gaiety, his skill with the bow, his aptness to make a joke of his circumstances.

But this pamphlet owes, too, a great debt to some of the writers of Shakespeare’s day. It was Anthony Munday’s play on the downfall and death of the Earl of Huntington that said Robin Hood was, in fact, noble Robert, the peer of that name. And it was Munday’s play, too, that gave some details otherwise left in realms of myth about Robin Hood’s latter life and death.

How does this chapbook treat it?

It says that Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, was a fine man. A wealthy man, but never so wealthy as he was generous. A humorous man, but never so humorous as he was surrounded by the humourless. A man of decency and goodwill — what little good that did him. And when the earl found that he was betrayed by others — who had it sent around that he was broke, a liar, and a breaker of oaths.

The Abbot, it is said, of St. Mary’s was owed a good deal of money by the jolly earl. And he engineered the disgrace and exile of the man who dropped his noble traces and became plain Robin Hood, retreating into the forests with some allies and bondsmen. There, of course, they had to make do. These men — hard men, men skilled with the bow and with the sword — became outlaws. They saw the passage of rich men through their forests as provocation and easy picking. When the wagons of cloth, or the transports of coins, passed through the forests, Robin Hood and his men — including Little John, a man of immensity — flew upon them, loosing arrows at and clashing swords with those who resisted while treating well those who had the good sense to surrender.

Those who gave up would be taken care of with great courtesy. They would be feasted and well treated and sent home with a message: all those who trespass the forests occupied by Robin Hood either hand over what they have with good grace, or they are apt to fare less well.

But of course, as the pamphlet-writer makes perfectly clear, Robin Hood and his band (the words Merry Men are not used) would naturally treat any woman they met with great gentlemanly grace; they would escort her to where she wanted to go, and not touch a hair on her head nor a spider’s thread at the lip of her purse. And any poor men who fell into Robin Hood’s hands would find themselves made richer for the experience. If they needed something paid for or done, it is possible good Robin would see to it.

But, as the author tells us, kindness to the poor and to ladies does not excuse the committing of crime. Those authorities on the spot paid up mercenaries and muscle to guard their lands from the rampagings of Robin. Any who tried to traverse the forests where he might be hired guards and armed their servants. And when his exploits grew too famous, the powers that be armed and armoured great detachments of men — with furniture, the pamphlet-writer says — and sent them into the forest to do battle with the men of Robin Hood.

Every expedition, every effort, was met and rebuffed. The numbers here are fanciful, the claims remarkable. That Robin Hood himself, and his best men, would not only send packing thousands at a time but would kill a good proportion of them. That of hundreds of attackers, only twelve might survive to be feasted by Robin and sent home with a friendly warning lest more be sent on their heels. (One story has the Abbot of St. Mary’s travelling through the forest with an armed band of great size. When the band was killed or seen off, the himself abbot was captured, tied backwards onto the saddle of his animal and sent off home in this humiliating posture.)

All of this is impossible to believe, even if the basic story of Robin Hood were true.

But this is why the legend of Robin Hood has lasted so well. It is absurd; it’s impossible. But many have wanted it to be true — for remarkable things to be done by an outlaw working, in his own way, for some measure of justice.

Each expedition fails, and Robin is at liberty for over thirteen years, the author says. Yet Robin Hood’s own notoriety only grows. Soon, the king, Richard himself, has come to hear about the outlaw.

It is vital, his advisers say, that this menace be stamped out, and Richard reluctantly agrees. The king sends an army north, holds out the vain hope that Robin Hood himself will come out of hiding and return once more to the fold as he once had.

Robin sent the message that he would come out of the forest with his men if the king agreed their reprieve. The king and his advisers debated the subject.

But all the while, Robin was in a worse position that he was earlier. At the advent of this new campaign, many of his men deserted him, fleeing further north, the writer tells us, seeking sanctuary and protection at the court of Scotland.

Robin Hood, with only the stragglers and the most loyal left, fled to a nunnery. He had a fever, and thought those in holy orders might treat him by bleeding; but there, we are told, a friar bled Robin Hood deliberately to death. It was over his coffin that the prioress had these words inscribed: ‘Decembris quarto Die 1198. Anno Regni Richardi, Primi IX.’

And the following:

Robert, Earl of Huntington,
Lies under this little stone; 
No archer was like him so good, 
His wildness nam’d him Robin Hood. 
Full thirteen years and something more, 
These northern parts he vexed sore, 
Such out-laws as he and his men, 
May England never know again.