North Yorkshire Folk Tales (23 page)

The abbot stood up majestically and sneered at the humble, kneeling figure. ‘You ungrateful wretch! I extended my generosity to you and you have failed me! I needed that money for holy works! This all comes of your indulgence to your feckless son. Now, I shall be forced to burden myself with your worthless lands. This worthy justice is here to witness your failure.’ He turned to the justice. ‘Have you got the documents?’

Sir Richard sprang to his feet and threw off his patched cloak. The abbot backed away in alarm, tripped and fell into his chair. The knight pulled out a bulging bag from under his belt.

‘Cruel man, as greedy as you are unfeeling! You insult your holy vows!’ shouted the knight. ‘See!’ he pulled a small round table towards him and upended the large pouch onto it. Gold poured out and spilled clinking onto the floor.

‘You call yourself the servant of God but I say you are a servant of the Devil! If you had been merciful I would have paid you even more interest, but Robin Hood is my banker now!’ He turned on his heel and marched from the hall, followed by the grinning Little John. The abbot and the justice stared after him like idiots. Only the prior, smiling to himself, felt like continuing the meal.

A year later, Little John, Much the Miller’s Son and Will Scarlett were once again leaning against trees beside Watling Street.

‘Do you think he’ll turn up?’ Much asked the others.

‘Well, he’s a knight, isn’t he?’ said Will. ‘It’s a matter of honour for him.’

‘Just as well we’re not knights, eh?’ said Little John and they all laughed. Suddenly Will signalled for them to hide themselves. Someone was coming from the direction of York, so the outlaws knew immediately that it could not be Sir Richard. The sound was of many hooves trotting. As the travellers came into view, the outlaws set arrow to bowstring. First came a fat monk riding on a sturdy mule and leading another, well laden. Behind him were four nervous-looking men-at-arms on ponies.

Little John stepped out into their path with his arrow pointed at the monk’s fat belly.

‘Hold, Sir Monk!’ he said politely.

The monk’s face became a furious red. ‘Stand aside, man. I am on important business for the Abbot of St Mary’s. Stand aside or my men will run you down!’

The men-at-arms looked even more nervous if possible. They began to mutter among themselves and to back their ponies. Little John lowered his bow. ‘But if I let you continue it will interfere with my own master’s business!’

The men-at-arms turned their ponies around. One of them shouted, ‘No offence meant – wouldn’t dream of interfering with Master Robin’s business. Just going!’ And before the astonished monk could say a word his escort had turned tail and cantered briskly away.

‘Cowards! Poltroons!’ he yelled after them.

Will now stepped forward and bowed. ‘Sir Monk, we would not dream of hurting a man of the cloth. All we want is for you to dine with our master today.’

What could he do? Little John already had his hand on the mule’s rein so the monk had to put on the best face he could as he was led into the forest.

‘I’ll stay and wait for Sir Richard,’ said Much. ‘Save me some dinner!’

The monk could not complain about his treatment. Robin Hood was as courteous as he could wish and when he saw the greenwood feast spread out he began to think that all might be well. Soon he was gobbling as happily as if he was in his own refectory.

His tongue was loosened by an excellent claret that Robin pressed on him. Before long he had revealed that he was the cellarer of St Mary’s and was on his way to London on the abbot’s business, buying wine.

‘So you work for Our Lady Mary?’ asked Robin.

‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose so. The abbey does technically belong to her.’

‘Excellent!’ Robin exclaimed. ‘What do you think, men, has this good monk been sent to pay Our Lady’s debt?’

‘Aye! Aye! Aye!’ shouted all the outlaws, banging on the tables with their knife handles.

The monk looked confused. ‘What debt? I don’t know anything about any debt!’

‘You see, master Monk, Our Lady Mary stood guarantor of a loan and as this is the day it must be redeemed and as the borrower isn’t here, it’s time for her to pay it back. She’s made you her holy instrument, you fortunate man!’

The blood drained from the monk’s face. ‘B-but I’ve only got twenty marks on me. Just enough to get me to London!’

‘Little John, go and see whether what he says is true. If it is then, of course, you may keep it!’

Needless to say Little John returned from the baggage mule with several small sacks that chinked satisfyingly. When they had counted all of the coins, they found that the monk had been carrying £800. The outlaws laughed and laughed at his discomfit.

‘What a woman that sweet Lady Mary is!’ said Robin Hood, running his fingers through the shining coins. ‘I’ve never known a better security! She’s paid her debt twice over!’

It was vain for the monk to argue and plead and even weep, swearing that it was the abbey’s money needed to buy food for the poor. They put him back on his mule and sent on his way with nothing but a good dinner inside him and a few mocking bows.

Now, at last, Much came back with Sir Richard. ‘He’s here!’ shouted Much. ‘He was delayed, but he’s here and he’s brought the money, just as he promised!’

Robin greeted him with pleasure. ‘I always knew that you would keep your word. But by God, it’s a miracle! Two debtors have repaid their debts voluntarily in one day!’

Sir Richard looked surprised. ‘Two?’

‘Aye. And it bodes well for you, my friend. We have made £800 today from the Abbot of St Mary’s. Keep your money; your debt is cancelled. And here is another £400 to gild your spurs with!’

Sir Richard was speechless at his good fortune – raising the £400 had been hard work and he and his family had had to go without during the last year.

‘Cheer up, Sir Richard!’ said Little John. ‘You’re a bit late for dinner but you’re just in time for an early supper. We don’t want your wife saying that we haven’t fed you properly!’ And so, surrounded by Robin Hood and his merry men, Sir Richard at the Lee, sat under the broad sunlit boughs of the forest oaks and ate the happiest meal of his life.

Thank you for your kind interest, gentlemen. If only we had time, I could make a fine tale of my life, but dawn being all too close your curiosities will have to be satisfied with this sorry brief digest!

I was born in the year 1705 at Thaxtead in the county of Essex where my father was a butcher who also kept a public house. We often saw the gentry passing through. How fine they seemed to me with their grand clothes and their noses in the air! From my earliest years my ambition was to become such a gentleman, with a carriage and servants. To that end, knowing that education was needed, I went to school more willingly than many boys. What dreams we have when we are children! How soon they are dashed! It was my misfortune that my father could afford nothing better than the local common school where I learnt to write a fair hand, but nothing more useful to the achievement of my ambition. Seeing this – for I was always of a keen intelligence – it was not long before the play of my schoolmates became more attractive to me than work. I fear we led our schoolmaster, a Mr Smith, many a sad dance.

My education ceased when my father decided I should be apprenticed to a butcher like himself. I liked the work well enough but the price the farmers asked for their beeves often left us with little profit.

Not long after I completed my apprenticeship I wedded Mary Palmer of East Ham. We had no money and our parents were not well pleased, but she said to me that we would make our fortunes one of these days so why wait?

The acquisition of money was our main topic of conversation. Soon we were in debt and almost starving, for the butcher I was working for turned me off for stealing. Well, thinks I, if I already have the name of a thief then I should at least profit by my new occupation. So, I stole a bullock from a fat local farmer and butchered it behind our cottage. Mary sold the meat in the market. It brought us enough blunt to live on for a while and so I did it again, and again, always being careful to pick different farmers so that none suffered too much. My Mary called me another Robin Hood.

All went well enough until two scrubs, servants to Mr Giles of Plaistow, peached on me to the magistrates. They had seen me driving off two of his oxen so I had to escape from my home sharpish, without my dear Mary. She proved true, however, sending me money to get me down to the coast.

I was somewhat disheartened by this failure of mine. From now on, I thought, I shall leave butchering and engage in a more gentlemanly trade. With this in mind it so chanced that I fell in with a party of men who told me of a new venture in fine wines and spirits. ‘We sell only to rich men and connoisseurs!’ they said, thinking me, as I supposed, no more than a rum cully, but I, not being as green as they thought, took to the smuggling trade (for that was in fact their venture) so well that they soon looked to me as a leader.

All went well until the Excise grew so hot upon us that we had to remove to Epping Forest where we lived very hand-to-mouth, stealing in a small way. Then one day one of my associates returned from attempting to rob a little farm. He brought us a new idea. He had been driven off with blows and insults and he now thought that if we went in a body we would meet little resistance. ‘That old tit would have sung another tune if you had all been there to help me!’

So it was that we hit upon our greatest plan: we would work all the lonely farms around the forest as a gang, and see what a little persuasion would squeeze out. Soon we became quite famous: the Essex Gang, we were called. It was easy work, especially on market day when the men of the farm were in town. The servants gave us little trouble and soon yellowboys and jewels flowed into our pockets. We were in clover!

You will hear people say that we were torturers, but that is a black lie. A few slaps, a twisted arm soon made the woman of the house – what shall we say – keen to accommodate us with the keys to her strongbox. It was only with those who attacked us that we were severe.

It was a sweet enough lay for a while. We had enough to live like kings in the taverns around the forest at all of which we were welcome. However, as our fame grew it came to the notice of the king himself. He offered £50 for the apprehension of me and my gang. No one in Essex dared attempt it though, we made sure of that.

The day my luck turned we had just done the sweetest job: old man called Francis, in Marylebone. We had tied up his servants and beaten his wife and daughter – for the old fool wouldn’t tell us where his valuables were. In the end he gave us a fine haul: gold, some of it; there was a watch, I remember, and some rings as well as other stuff. Unfortunately he was fly enough to get the Bow Street Runners onto us afterwards. I only just got away, but they got two of my boys, damn their eyes, and hanged them without mercy.

After that I went solo for a while. It’s amazing how far a polite address and a good suit of clothes will take you, for no one distrusts a gentleman – though in my experience, they are snakes, every one. My biggest need was more blunt – for some better duds to improve my appearance.