THE BLACK ARROW
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
CHAPTER IV--A GREENWOOD COMPANY
Matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by
what Dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood,
crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground
of Tunstall Forest. The trees grew more and more in groves, with
heathy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews.
The ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks.
And with every step of the ascent the wind still blew the shriller,
and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods.
They had just entered one of the clearings, when Dick suddenly
clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl
slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in
great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight,
still imitated his companion's course; and it was not until they
had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him
For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger.
At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the
neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear
against the sky. For about fifty feet above the ground the trunk
grew straight and solid like a column. At that level, it split
into two massive boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed
seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide.
The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes
to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from side to
side, with the regularity of a machine.
The lads exchanged glances.
"Let us try to the left," said Dick. "We had near fallen foully,
Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path.
"Here is a piece of forest that I know not," Dick remarked. "Where
goeth me this track?"
"Let us even try," said Matcham.
A few yards further, the path came to the top of a ridge and began
to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. At the foot, out of
a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables,
blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins
of a house.
"What may this be?" whispered Matcham.
"Nay, by the mass, I know not," answered Dick. "I am all at sea.
Let us go warily."
With beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. Here
and there, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and
pot herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the
grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden.
Yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the
It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. A dry ditch was dug
deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a
fallen rafter. The two farther walls still stood, the sun shining
through their empty windows; but the remainder of the building had
collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire.
Already in the interior a few plants were springing green among the
"Now I bethink me," whispered Dick, "this must be Grimstone. It
was a hold of one Simon Malmesbury; Sir Daniel was his bane! 'Twas
Bennet Hatch that burned it, now five years agone. In sooth, 'twas
pity, for it was a fair house."
Down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still;
and Matcham, laying one hand upon Dick's arm, held up a warning
"Hist!" he said.
Then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. It was twice
repeated ere they recognised its nature. It was the sound of a big
man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice
broke into singing.
"Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws:
'What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?'
And Gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown:
'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!'"
The singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then
The two lads stood looking at each other. Whoever he might be,
their invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin. And suddenly
the colour came into Matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed
the fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of
lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house. Dick would
have withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to
Right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise,
and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. Into
this the lads silently lowered themselves. There they were
perfectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole commanded a view
upon the farther side.
Peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their
predicament. To retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to
breathe. Upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from
where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a
glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though
he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a
tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon
in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt.
Plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the
caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon
his ear. A little further off, another man lay slumbering, rolled
in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face. All
this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme
verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's carcase, hung
upon a flowering hawthorn.
Presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised
the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell
again to stirring and singing.
"'O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,'" he
croaked, taking up his song where he had left it.
"O, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do.
But if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into."
Still as he sang, he took from time to time, another spoonful of
the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an
experienced cook. At length, apparently, he judged the mess was
ready; for taking the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated
The other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly,
and looked about him.
"How now, brother?" he said. "Dinner?"
"Ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too,
with neither ale nor bread. But there is little pleasure in the
greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a
mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his
heart's desire both of ale and wine. But now are men's spirits
dead; and this John Amend-All, save us and guard us! but a stuffed
booby to scare crows withal."
"Nay," returned the other, "y' are too set on meat and drinking,
Lawless. Bide ye a bit; the good time cometh."
"Look ye," returned the cook, "I have even waited for this good
time sith that I was so high. I have been a grey friar; I have
been a king's archer; I have been a shipman, and sailed the salt
seas; and I have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot
the king's deer. What cometh of it? Naught! I were better to
have bided in the cloister. John Abbot availeth more than John
Amend-All. By 'r Lady! here they come."
One after another, tall, likely fellows began to stroll into the
lawn. Each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped
himself from the caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. They
were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and
with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of
forest gallantry, all in Lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with
dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a
sword and dagger at their sides. They came in the silence of
hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to
There were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound
of suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and
immediately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher
debauched upon the lawn. A tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled,
and as brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of
some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his
"Lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y'
have sung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease.
But what said I ever? Abide Fortune constantly; she turneth,
turneth swift. And lo! here is her little firstling--even that
good creature, ale!"
There was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the
stretcher and displayed a goodly cask.
"And now haste ye, boys," the man continued. "There is work
toward. A handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey
and blue is their wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste
arrows--no man of them shall struggle through this wood. For,
lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us most foully
wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some
they have been outlawed--all oppressed! Who, then, hath done this
evil? Sir Daniel, by the rood! Shall he then profit? shall he sit
snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the
bone he robbed us of? I trow not. He getteth him strength at law;
he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain--I have
a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him."
Lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of
ale. He raised it, as if to pledge the speaker.
"Master Ellis," he said, "y' are for vengeance--well it becometh
you!--but your poor brother o' the greenwood, that had never lands
to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor
part, to the profit of the thing. He had liever a gold noble and a
pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory."
"Lawless," replied the other, "to reach the Moat House, Sir Daniel
must pass the forest. We shall make that passage dearer, pardy,
than any battle. Then, when he hath got to earth with such ragged
handful as escapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away,
and none to give him aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about,
and great shall be the fall of him. 'Tis a fat buck; he will make
a dinner for us all."
"Ay," returned Lawless, "I have eaten many of these dinners
beforehand; but the cooking of them is hot work, good Master Ellis.
And meanwhile what do we? We make black arrows, we write rhymes,
and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink."
"Y' are untrue, Will Lawless. Ye still smell of the Grey Friars'
buttery; greed is your undoing," answered Ellis. "We took twenty
pounds from Appleyard. We took seven marks from the messenger last
night. A day ago we had fifty from the merchant."
"And to-day," said one of the men, "I stopped a fat pardoner riding
apace for Holywood. Here is his purse."
Ellis counted the contents.
"Five score shillings!" he grumbled. "Fool, he had more in his
sandal, or stitched into his tippet. Y' are but a child, Tom
Cuckow; ye have lost the fish."
But, for all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. He
stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest.
They, in various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage,
and liberally washed it down with ale. This was a good day; they
were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their
eating. The first-comers had by this time even despatched their
dinner. Some lay down upon the grass and fell instantly asleep,
like boa-constrictors; others talked together, or overhauled their
weapons: and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth
an ale-horn, began to sing:
"Here is no law in good green shaw,
Here is no lack of meat;
'Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet,
In summer, when all is sweet.
Come winter again, with wind and rain -
Come winter, with snow and sleet,
Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces,
And sit by the fire and eat."
All this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only
Richard had unslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the
windac, or grappling-iron that he used to bend it. Otherwise they
had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on
before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. But now there came
a strange interruption. The tall chimney which over-topped the
remainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding-place. There
came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the
fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears. Some one from
the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sentinel they saw
posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top.
Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly
stifled, and even Dick started with surprise, and dropped the
windac from his fingers. But to the fellows on the lawn, this
shaft was an expected signal. They were all afoot together,
tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword
and dagger in the sheath. Ellis held up his hand; his face had
suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of his eyes
shone in his sun-brown face.
"Lads," he said, "ye know your places. Let not one man's soul
escape you. Appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to
table. I have three men whom I will bitterly avenge--Harry
Shelton, Simon Malmesbury, and"--striking his broad bosom--"and
Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!"
Another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns.
"'Tis not Sir Daniel!" he panted. "They are but seven. Is the
"It struck but now," replied Ellis.
"A murrain!" cried the messenger. "Methought I heard it whistle.
And I go dinnerless!"
In the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply,
according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of
the Black Arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the
ruined house; and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning
low, and the dead deer's carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to
testify they had been there.