“The dragon sank towards him, opening its terrible jaws”
Towards daybreak, when feeling quite worn out and very sleepy, he became slowly aware of a great shadow coming to him westward from the sea. The shadow, as before, became a giant, who greeted him in a surly tone with, “This is a bad night.” “It will be worse yet for you,” said Cuchulain. The giant, as he had done with the other heroes, threw oaks, but just missed him; and when he tried to grapple with him the hero leaped up with drawn sword. In his anger the hero-light shone round him, and he sprang as high as the giant’s head, and gave him a stroke that brought him to his knees. “Life for life, Cuchulain,” said the giant, and vanished at once, leaving no trace.
Now Cuchulain would gladly have returned to the fort to rest, but there seemed no way of entrance, and the hero was vexed at his own helplessness, for he thought his comrades had jumped over the magic walls. Twice he boldly essayed to leap the lofty wall, and twice he failed; then in his wrath his great strength came upon him, the hero-light shone round him, and he took a little run and, leaning on his spear, leaped so high and so far that he alighted in the middle of the court, just before the door of the hall.
As he sighed heavily and wearily, Curoi’s wife said: “That is the sigh of a weary conqueror, not of a beaten man”; and Cuchulain went in and sat down to rest.
The next morning Curoi’s wife asked the champions: “Are you content that the Championship should go to Cuchulain? I know by my magic skill what he has endured in the past night, and you must see that you are not equal to him.”
“Nay, that we will not allow,” quoth they. “It was one of Cuchulain’s friends among the People of the Hills who came to conquer us and to give him the Championship. We are not content, and we will not give up our claim, for the fight was not fair.”
“Go home now to Armagh, is Curoi’s word, and wait there until he himself brings his decision,” said Curoi’s wife. So they bade her farewell, and went back to the Red Branch House in Armagh, with the dispute still unsettled; but they agreed to await peaceably Curoi’s decision, and abide by it when he should bring it.
Some time after this, when Curoi had made no sign of giving judgment, it happened that all the Ulster heroes were in their places in the Red Branch House, except Cuchulain and his cousin Conall. As they sat in order of rank in the hall they saw a terrible stranger coming into the room. He was gigantic in stature, hideous of aspect, with ravening yellow eyes. He wore a skin roughly sewn together, and a grey cloak over it, and he sheltered himself from the light with a spreading tree torn up by the roots. In his hand he bore an enormous axe, with keen and shining edge. This hideous apparition strode up the hall and leant against a carved pillar beside the fire.
“Who are you?” asked one chieftain in sport. “Are you come to be our candlestick, or would you burn the house down? Is this the place for such as you? Go farther down the hall!”
“My name is Uath, the Stranger, and for neither of those things am I come. I seek that which I cannot find in the whole world, and that is a man to keep the agreement he makes with me.”
“What is the agreement?” asked King Conor.
“Behold my axe!” quoth the stranger. “The man who will grasp it to-day may cut my head off with it, provided that I may, in like manner, cut off his head to-morrow. Now you men of Ulster, heroes of the Red Branch, have won the palm through the wide world for courage, honour, strength, truth, and generosity; do you, therefore, find me a man to keep this agreement. King Conor is excepted, because of his royal dignity, but no other. And if you have no champion who dare face me, I will say that Ulster has lost her courage and is dishonoured.”
“It is not right for a whole province to be disgraced for lack of a man to keep his word,” said King Conor, “but I fear we have no such champions here.”
“By my word,” said Laegaire, who had listened attentively to the whole conversation, “there will be a champion this very moment. Stoop down, fellow, and let me cut off your head, that you may take mine to-morrow.”
Then Uath chanted magic spells over the axe as he stroked the edge, and laid his neck on a block, and Laegaire hewed so hard that the axe severed the head from the body and struck deep into the block. Then the body of Uath arose, took up the head and the axe, and strode away down the hall, all people shrinking out of its way, and so it passed out into the night.
“The body of Uath arose”
“If this terrible stranger returns to-morrow he will slay us all,” they whispered, as they looked pityingly at Laegaire, who was trying in vain to show no signs of apprehension.
When the next evening came, and men sat in the Red Branch House, talking little and waiting for what would happen, in came Uath, the Stranger, as well and sound as before the terrible blow, bearing his axe, and eager to return the stroke. Alas! Laegaire’s heart had failed him and he did not come, and the stranger jeered at the men of Ulster because their great champion durst not keep his agreement, nor face the blow he should receive in return for one he gave.
The men of Ulster were utterly ashamed, but Conall Cearnach, the Victorious, was present that night, and he made a new agreement with Uath. Conall gave a blow which beheaded Uath, but again, when the stranger returned whole and sound on the following evening, the champion was not to be found: Conall would not face the blow.
When Uath found that a second hero of Ulster had failed him he again taunted them all with cowardice and promise-breaking.
“What! is there not one man of courage among you Ulstermen? You would fain have a great name, but have no courage to earn it! Great heroes are you all! Not one among you has bravery enough to face me! Where is that childish youth Cuchulain! A poor miserable fellow he is, but I would like to see if his word is better to be relied on than the word of these two great heroes.”
“A youth I may be,” said Cuchulain, “but I will keep my word without any agreement.”
Uath laughed aloud. “Yes! that is likely, is it not? And you with so great a fear of death!”
Thereupon the youth leapt up, caught the deadly axe, and severed the giant’s head as he stood with one stroke.
The next day the Red Branch heroes watched Cuchulain to see what he would do. They would not have been surprised if he had failed like the others, who now were present. The champion, however, showed no signs of failing or retreat. He sat sorrowfully in his place waiting for the certain death that must come, and regretting his rashness, but with no thought of breaking his word.
With a sigh he said to King Conor as they waited: “Do not leave this place till all is over. Death is coming to me very surely, but I must fulfil my agreement, for I would rather die than break my word.”
Towards the close of day Uath strode into the hall exultant.
“Where is Cuchulain?” he cried.
“Here I am,” was the reply.
“Ah, poor boy! your speech is sad to-night, and the fear of death lies heavy on you; but at least you have redeemed your word and have not failed me.”
The youth rose from his seat and went towards Uath, as he stood with the great axe ready, and knelt to receive the blow.
The hero of Ulster laid his head on the block; but Uath was not satisfied. “Stretch out your neck better,” said he.
“You are playing with me, to torment me,” said Cuchulain. “Slay me now speedily, for I did not keep you waiting last night.”
However, he stretched out his neck as Uath bade, and the stranger raised his axe till it crashed upwards through the rafters of the hall, like the crash of trees falling in a storm. When the axe came down with a terrific sound all men looked fearfully at Cuchulain. The descending axe had not even touched him; it had come down with the blunt side on the ground, and the youth knelt there unharmed. Smiling at him, and leaning on his axe, stood no terrible and hideous stranger, but Curoi of Kerry, come to give his decision at last.
“Rise up, Cuchulain,” said Curoi. “There is none among all the heroes of Ulster to equal you in courage and loyalty and truth. The Championship of the Heroes of Ireland is yours from this day forth, and the Champion’s Portion at all feasts; and to your wife I adjudge the first place among all the women of Ulster. Woe to him who dares to dispute this decision!” Thereupon Curoi vanished, and the Red Branch warriors gathered around Cuchulain, and all with one voice acclaimed him the Champion of the Heroes of all Ireland—a title which has clung to him until this day.
THE tale of “Gamelyn” is a variant of the old fairy-tale subject of the Wicked Elder Brothers, one of the oldest and most interesting versions of which may still be read in the Biblical story of Joseph and his brethren. Usually a father dies leaving three sons, of whom the two elder are worthless and the youngest rises to high honour, whereupon the elder brothers try to kill the youngest from envy at his good fortune. A similar root-idea is found in “Cinderella” and other fairy-tales of girls, but in these there may usually be found a cruel stepmother and two contemptuous stepsisters—a noteworthy variation which seems to point to some deep-rooted idea that the ties of blood are stronger among women than among men.
The story of “Gamelyn” has two great claims to our attention: it is, through Lodge’s “Euphues’ Golden Legacy,” the ultimate source of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, and it seems to be the earliest presentment in English literature of the figure of “the noble outlaw.” In fact, Gamelyn is probably the literary ancestor of “bold Robin Hood,” and stands for an English ideal of justice and equity, against legal oppression and wickedness in high places. He shows, too, the love of free life, of the merry greenwood and the open road, which reappears after so many centuries in the work of Robert Louis Stevenson.
In the reign of King Edward I. there dwelt in Lincolnshire, near the vast expanse of the Fens, a noble gentleman, Sir John of the Marches. He was now old, but was still a model of all courtesy and a “very perfect gentle knight.” He had three sons, of whom the youngest, Gamelyn, was born in his father’s old age, and was greatly beloved by the old man; the other two were much older than he, and John, the eldest, had already developed a vicious and malignant character. Gamelyn and his second brother, Otho, reverenced their father, but John had no respect or obedience for the good gentleman, and was the chief trouble of his declining years, as Gamelyn was his chief joy.
At last old age and weakness overcame the worthy old Sir John, and he was forced to take to his bed, where he lay sadly meditating on his children’s future, and wondering how to divide his possessions justly among the three. There was no difficulty of inheritance or primogeniture, for all the knight’s lands were held in fee-simple, and not in entail, so that he might bequeath them as he would. Sir John of the Marches, fearing lest he should commit an injustice, sent throughout the district for wise knights, begging them to come hastily, if they wished to see him alive, and help him. When the country squires and lords, his near neighbours, heard of his grave condition, they hurried to the castle, and gathered in the bedchamber, where the dying knight greeted them thus: “Lords and gentlemen, I warn you in truth that I may no longer live; by the will of God death lays his hand upon me.” When they heard this they tried to encourage him, by bidding him remember that God can provide a remedy for every disease, and the good knight received their kindly words without dispute. “That God can send remedy for an ill I will never deny; but I beseech you, for my sake, to divide my lands among my three sons. For the love of God deal justly, and forget not my youngest, Gamelyn. Seldom does any heir to an estate help his brothers after his father’s death.”
The friends whom Sir John had summoned deliberated long over the disposal of the estate. The majority wished to give all to the eldest son, but a strong minority urged the claims of the second, but all agreed that Gamelyn might wait till his eldest brother chose to give him a share of his father’s lands. At last it was decided to divide the inheritance between the two elder sons, and the knights returned to the chamber where the brave old knight lay dying, and told him their decision. He summoned up strength enough to protest against their plan of distribution, and said:
Then Sir John, satisfied with having proclaimed his will, died with Christian resignation, leaving his little son Gamelyn in the power of the cruel eldest brother, now, in his turn, Sir John.
Since the boy was a minor, the new knight, as natural guardian, assumed the control of Gamelyn’s land, vassals, education, and nurture; and full evilly he discharged his duties, for he clothed and fed him badly, and neglected his lands, so that his parks and houses, his farms and villages, fell into ruinous decay. The boy, when he grew older, noticed this and resented it, but did not realize the power in his own broad limbs and mighty sinews to redress his wrongs, though by the time he fully understood his injuries no man would dare to face him in fight when he was angry, so strong a youth had he become.
While Gamelyn, one day, walking in the hall, mused on the ruin of all his inheritance, Sir John came blustering in, and, seeing him, called out: “How now: is dinner ready?” Enraged at being addressed as if he were a mere servant, he replied angrily: “Go and do your own baking; I am not your cook.”
“Go and do your own baking!”
Sir John almost doubted the evidence of his ears. “What, my dear brother, is that the way to answer? Thou hast never addressed me so before!”
“No,” replied Gamelyn; “until now I have never considered all the wrong you have done me. My parks are broken open, my deer are driven off; you have deprived me of my armour and my steeds; all that my father bequeathed to me is falling into ruin and decay. God’s curse upon you, false brother!”
Sir John was now enraged beyond all measure, and shouted: “Stand still, vagabond, and hold thy peace! What right hast thou to speak of land or vassals? Thou shalt learn to be grateful for food and raiment.”
“A curse upon him that calls me vagabond! I am no worse than yourself; I am the son of a lady and a good knight.”
In spite of all his anger, Sir John was a cautious man, with a prudent regard for his own safety. He would not risk an encounter with Gamelyn, but summoned his servants and bade them beat him well, till he should learn better manners. But when the boy understood his brother’s intention he vowed that he would not be beaten alone—others should suffer too, and Sir John not the least. Thereupon, leaping on to the wall, he seized a pestle which lay there, and so boldly attacked the timid servants, though they were armed with staves, that he drove them in flight, and laid on furious strokes which quenched the small spark of courage in them. Sir John had not even that small amount of bravery: he fled to a loft and barred the door, while Gamelyn cleared the hall with his pestle, and scoffed at the cowardly grooms who fled so soon from the strife they had begun. When he sought for his brother he could not see him at first, but afterwards perceived his sorry countenance peeping from a window. “Brother,” said Gamelyn, “come a little nearer, and I will teach you how to play with staff and buckler.”
“Nay, by St. Richard, I will not descend till thou hast put down that pestle. Brother, be no more enraged, and I will make peace with thee. I swear it by the grace of God!”
“I was forced to defend myself,” said Gamelyn, “or your menials would have injured and degraded me: I could not let grooms beat a good knight’s son; but now grant me one boon, and we shall soon be reconciled.”
“Yes, certainly, brother; ask thy boon, and I will grant it readily. But indeed I was only testing thee, for thou art so young that I doubted thy strength and manliness. It was only a pretence of beating that I meant.”
“This is my request,” said the boy: “if there is to be peace between us you must surrender to me all that my father bequeathed me while he was alive.”
To this Sir John consented with apparent willingness, and even promised to repair the decayed mansions and restore the lands and farms to their former prosperity; but though he feigned content with the agreement and kissed his brother with outward affection yet he was inwardly meditating plans of treachery against the unsuspecting youth.
Shortly after this quarrel between the brothers a wrestling competition was announced, the winner of which would become the owner of a fine ram and a ring of gold, and Gamelyn determined to try his powers. Accordingly he begged the loan of “a little courser” from Sir John, who offered him his choice of all the steeds in the stable, and then curiously questioned him as to his errand. The lad explained that he wished to compete in the wrestling match, hoping to win honour by bearing away the prize; then, springing on the beautiful courser that was brought him ready saddled, he spurred his horse and rode away merrily, while the false Sir John locked the gate behind him, praying that he might get his neck broken in the contest. The boy rode along, rejoicing in his youth and strength, singing as he went, till he drew near the appointed place, and then he suddenly heard a man’s voice lamenting aloud and crying, “Wellaway! Alas!” and saw a venerable yeoman wringing his hands. “Good man,” said Gamelyn, “why art thou in such distress? Can no man help thee?”
“Alas!” said the yeoman. “Woe to the day on which I was born! The champion wrestler here has overthrown my two stalwart sons, and unless God help them they must die of their grievous hurts. I would give ten pounds to find a man to avenge on him the injuries done to my dear sons.”
“Good man, hold my horse while my groom takes my coat and shoes, and I will try my luck and strength against this doughty champion.”
“Thank God!” said the yeoman. “I will do it at once; I will guard thy coat and shoes and good steed safely—and may Jesus Christ speed thee well!”
When Gamelyn entered the ring, barefooted and stripped for wrestling, all men gazed curiously at the rash youth who dared to challenge the stalwart champion, and the great man himself, rising from the ground, strolled across to meet Gamelyn and said haughtily: “Who is thy father, and what is thy name? Thou art, forsooth, a young fool to come here!”
Gamelyn answered equally haughtily: “Thou knewest well my father while he lived: he was Sir John of the Marches, and I am his youngest son, Gamelyn.”
The champion replied: “Boy, I knew thy father well in his lifetime, and I have heard of thee, and nothing good: thou hast always been in mischief.”
“Now I am older thou shalt know me better,” said Gamelyn.
The wrestling had lasted till late in the evening, and the moon was shining on the scene when Gamelyn and the champion began their struggle. The wrestler tried many wily tricks, but the boy was ready for them all, and stood steady against all that his opponent could do. Then, in his turn, he took the offensive, grasped his adversary round the waist, and cast him so heavily to the ground that three ribs were broken, and his left arm. Then the victor said mockingly:
“Shall we count that a cast, or not reckon it?”
“By heaven! whether it be one or no, any man in thy hand will never thrive,” said the champion painfully.
The yeoman, who had watched the match with great anxiety, now broke out with blessings: “Blessed be thou, young sir, that ever thou wert born!” and now taunting the fallen champion, said: “It was young ‘Mischief’ who taught thee this game.”
“He is master of us all,” said the champion. “In all my years of wrestling I have never been mishandled so cruelly.”
Now the victor stood in the ring, ready for more wrestling, but no man would venture to compete with him, and the two judges who kept order and awarded the prizes bade him retire, for no other competitor could be found to face him.
But he was a little disappointed at this easy victory. “Is the fair over? Why, I have not half sold my wares,” he said.
The champion was still capable of grim jesting. “Now, as I value my life, any purchaser of your wares is a fool; you sell so dearly.”
“Not at all,” broke in the yeoman; “you have bought your share full cheap, and made a good bargain.”
While this short conversation had been going on the judges had returned to their seats, and formally awarded the prize to Gamelyn, and now came to him, bearing the ram and the ring for his acceptance.
Gamelyn took them gladly, and went home the next morning, followed by a cheering crowd of admirers; but when the cowardly Sir John saw the people he bolted the castle doors against his more favourite and successful brother.
The porter, obeying his master’s commands, refused Gamelyn entrance; and the youth, enraged at this insult, broke down the door with one blow, caught the fleeing porter, and flung him down the well in the courtyard. His brother’s servants fled from his anger, and the crowd that had accompanied him swarmed into courtyard and hall, while the knight took refuge in a little turret.
“Welcome to you all,” said Gamelyn. “We will be masters here and ask no man’s leave. Yesterday I left five tuns of wine in the cellar; we will drain them dry before you go. If my brother objects (as he well may, for he is a miser) I will be butler and caterer and manage the whole feast. Any person who dares to object may join the porter in the well.”
Naturally no objections were raised, and Gamelyn and his friends held high revel for a week, while Sir John lay hidden in his turret, terrified at the noise and revelry, and dreading what his brother might do to him now he had so great a following.
However, the guests departed quietly on the eighth day, leaving Gamelyn alone, and very sorrowful, in the hall where he had held high revel. As he stood there, musing sadly, he heard a timid footstep, and saw his brother creeping towards him. When he had attracted Gamelyn’s attention he spoke out loudly: “Who made thee so bold as to destroy all my household stores?”
“Nay, brother, be not wroth,” said the youth quietly. “If I have used anything I have paid for it fully beforehand. For these sixteen years you have had full use and profit of fifteen good ploughlands which my father left me; you have also the use and increase of all my cattle and horses; and now all this past profit I abandon to you, in return for the expense of this feast of mine.”
Then said the treacherous Sir John: “Hearken, my dear brother: I have no son, and thou shalt be my heir—I swear by the holy St. John.”
“In faith,” said Gamelyn, “if that be the case, and if this offer be made in all sincerity, may God reward you!” for it was impossible for his generous disposition to suspect his brother of treachery and to fathom the wiles of a crafty nature; hence it happened that he was so soon and easily beguiled.
Sir John hesitated a moment, and then said doubtfully: “There is one thing I must tell you, Gamelyn. When you threw my porter into the well I swore in my wrath that I would have you bound hand and foot. That is impossible now without your consent, and I must be forsworn unless you will let yourself be bound for a moment, as a mere form, just to save me from the sin of perjury.”
So sincere Sir John seemed, and so simple did the whole thing appear, that Gamelyn consented at once. “Why, certainly, brother, you shall not be forsworn for my sake.” So he sat down, and the servants bound him hand and foot; and then Sir John looked mockingly at him as he said: “So now, my fine brother, I have you caught at last.” Then he bade them bring fetters and rivet them on Gamelyn’s limbs, and chain him fast to a post in the centre of the hall. Then he was placed on his feet with his back to the post and his hands manacled behind him, and as he stood there the false brother told every person who entered that Gamelyn had suddenly gone mad, and was chained for safety’s sake, lest he should do himself or others some deadly hurt. For two long days and nights he stood there bound, with no food or drink, and grew faint with hunger and weariness, for his fetters were so tight that he could not sit or lie down; bitterly he lamented the carelessness which made him fall such an easy prey to his treacherous brother’s designs.
When all others had left the hall Gamelyn appealed to old Adam Spencer, the steward of the household, a loyal old servant who had known Sir John of the Marches, and had watched the boy grow up. “Adam Spencer,” quoth he, “unless my brother is minded to slay me, I am kept fasting too long. I beseech thee, for the great love my father bore thee, get the keys and release me from my bonds. I will share all my free land with thee if thou wilt help me in this distress.”
The poor old servant was greatly perplexed. He knew not how to reconcile his grateful loyalty to his dead master with the loyalty due to his present lord, and he said doubtfully: “I have served thy brother for sixteen years, and if I release thee now he will rightly call me a traitor.” “Ah, Adam! thou wilt find him a false rogue at the last, as I have done. Release me, dear friend Adam, and I will be true to my agreement, and will keep my covenant to share my land with thee.” By these earnest words the steward was persuaded, and, waiting till Sir John was safely in bed, managed to obtain possession of the keys and release Gamelyn, who stretched his arms and legs and thanked God for his liberty. “Now,” said he, “if I were but well fed no one in this house should bind me again to-night.” So Adam took him to a private room and set food before him; eagerly he ate and drank till his hunger was satisfied and he began to think of revenge. “What is your advice, Adam? Shall I go to my brother and strike off his head? He well merits it.”
“No,” answered Adam, “I know a better plan than that. Sir John is to give a great feast on Sunday to many Churchmen and prelates; there will be present a great number of abbots and priors and other holy men. Do you stand as if bound by your post in the hall, and beseech them to release you. If they will be surety for you, your liberty will be gained with no blame to me; if they all refuse, you shall cast aside the unlocked chains, and you and I, with two good staves, can soon win your freedom. Christ’s curse on him who fails his comrade!”
“Yes,” quoth Gamelyn, “evil may I thrive if I fail in my part of the bargain! But if we must needs help them to do penance for their sins, you must warn me, brother Adam, when to begin.”
“By St. Charity, master, I will give you good warning. When I wink at you be ready to cast away your fetters at once and come to me.”
“This is good advice of yours, Adam, and blessings on your head. If these haughty Churchmen refuse to be surety for me I will give them good strokes in payment.”
Sunday came, and after mass many guests thronged to the feast in the great hall; they all stared curiously at Gamelyn as he stood with his hands behind him, apparently chained to his post, and Sir John explained sadly that he, after slaying the porter and wasting the household stores, had gone mad, and was obliged to be chained, for his fury was dangerous. The servants carried dainty dishes round the table, and beakers of rich wines, but though Gamelyn cried aloud that he was fasting no food was brought to him. Then he spoke pitifully and humbly to the noble guests: “Lords, for Christ’s sake help a poor captive out of prison.” But the guests were hard-hearted, and answered cruelly, especially the abbots and priors, who had been deceived by Sir John’s false tales. So harshly did they reply to the youth’s humble petition that he grew angry. “Oh,” said he, “that is all the answer I am to have to my prayer! Now I see that I have no friends. Cursed be he that ever does good to abbot or prior!”
“Lords, for Christ’s sake help poor Gamelyn out of prison!”
Adam Spencer, busied about the removal of the cloth, looked anxiously at Gamelyn, and saw how angry he grew. He thought little more of his service, but, making a pretext to go to the pantry, brought two good oak staves, and stood them beside the hall door. Then he winked meaningly at Gamelyn, who with a sudden shout flung off his chains, rushed to the hall door, seized a staff, and began to lay about him lustily, whirling his weapon as lightly as if it had been a holy water sprinkler. There was a dreadful commotion in the hall, for the portly Churchmen tried to escape, but the mere laymen loved Gamelyn, and drew aside to give him free play, so that he was able to scatter the prelates. Now he had no pity on these cruel Churchmen, as they had been without pity for him; he knocked them over, battered them, broke their arms and legs, and wrought terrible havoc among them; and during this time Adam Spencer kept the door so that none might escape. He called aloud to Gamelyn to respect the sanctity of men of Holy Church and shed no blood, but if he should by chance break arms and legs there would be no sacrilege, because no blood need be shed.
Thus Gamelyn worked his will, laying hands on monks and friars, and sent them home wounded in carts and waggons, while some of them muttered: “We were better at home, with mere bread and water, than here where we have had such a sorry feast!” Then Gamelyn turned his attention to his false brother, who had been unable to escape, seized him by the neck, broke his backbone with one blow from his staff, and thrust him, sitting, into the fetters that yet hung from the post where Gamelyn had stood. “Sit there, brother, and cool thy blood,” said Gamelyn, as he and Adam sat down to a feast, at which the servants waited on them eagerly, partly from love and partly from fear.
Now the sheriff happened to be only five miles away, and soon heard the news of this disturbance, and how Gamelyn and Adam had broken the king’s peace; and, as his duty was, he determined to arrest the law-breakers. Twenty-four of his best men were sent to the castle to gain admittance and arrest Gamelyn and his steward; but the new porter, a devoted adherent of Gamelyn, denied them entrance till he knew their errand; when they refused to tell it, he sent a servant to rouse Gamelyn and warn him that the sheriff’s men stood before the gate.
As Gamelyn and Adam looked round for weapons the former saw a cart-staff, a stout post used for propping up the shafts; this he seized, and ran out at the little postern gate, followed by Adam with another staff. They caught the sheriff’s twenty-four bold men in the rear, and when Gamelyn had felled three, and Adam two, the rest took to their heels. “What!” said Adam as they fled. “Drink a draught of my good wine! I am steward here.” “Nay,” they shouted back; “such wine as yours scatters a man’s brains far too thoroughly.” Now this little fray was hardly ended before the sheriff came in person with a great troop. Gamelyn knew not what to do, but Adam again had a plan ready. “Let us stay no longer, but go to the greenwood: there we shall at least be at liberty.” The advice suited Gamelyn, and each drank a draught of wine, mounted his steed, and lightly rode away, leaving the empty nest for the sheriff, with no eggs therein. However, that officer dismounted, entered the hall, and found Sir John fettered and nearly dying. He released him, and summoned a leech, who healed his grievous wound, and enabled him to do more mischief.
Meanwhile Adam wandered with Gamelyn in the greenwood, and found it very hard work, with little food. He complained aloud to his young lord:
“Then cheer thee, Adam”
As they spoke sadly together Gamelyn heard men’s voices near by, and, looking through the bushes, saw seven score young men, sitting round a plentiful feast, spread on the green grass. He rejoiced greatly, bidding Adam remember that “Boot cometh after bale,” and pointing out to him the abundance of provisions near at hand. Adam longed for a good meal, for they had found little to eat since they came to the greenwood. At that moment the master-outlaw saw them in the underwood, and bade his young men bring to him these new guests whom God had sent: perchance, he said, there were others besides these two. The seven bold youths who started up to do his will cried to the two new-comers: “Yield and hand us your bows and arrows!” “Much sorrow may he have who yields to you,” cried Gamelyn. “Why, with five more ye would be only twelve, and I could fight you all.” When the outlaws saw how boldly he bore himself they changed their tone, and said mildly: “Come to our master, and tell him thy desire.” “Who is your master?” quoth Gamelyn. “He is the crowned king of the outlaws,” quoth they; and the two strangers were led away to the chief.
The master-outlaw, sitting on a rustic throne, with a crown of oak-leaves on his head, asked them their business, and Gamelyn replied: “He must needs walk in the wood who may not walk in the town. We are hungry and faint, and will only shoot the deer for food, for we are hard bestead and in great danger.”
The outlaw leader had pity on their distress, and gave them food; and as they ate ravenously the outlaws whispered one to another: “This is Gamelyn!” “This is Gamelyn!” Understanding all the evils that had befallen him, their leader soon made Gamelyn his second in command; and when after three weeks the outlaw king was pardoned and allowed to return home, Gamelyn was chosen to succeed him and was crowned king of the outlaws. So he dwelt merrily in the forest, and troubled not himself about the world outside.
Meanwhile the treacherous Sir John had recovered, and in due course had become sheriff, and indicted his brother for felony. As Gamelyn did not appear to answer the indictment he was proclaimed an outlaw and wolf’s-head, and a price was set upon his life. Now his bondmen and vassals were grieved at this, for they feared the cruelty of the wicked sheriff; they therefore sent messengers to Gamelyn to tell him the ill news, and deprecate his wrath. The youth’s anger rose at the tidings, and he promised to come and beard Sir John in his hall and protect his own tenants.
It was certainly a stroke of rash daring thus to venture into the county where his brother was sheriff, but he strode boldly into the moot-hall, with his hood thrown back, so that all might recognise him, and cried aloud: “God save all you lordings here present! But, thou broken-backed sheriff, evil mayst thou thrive! Why hast thou done me such wrong and disgrace as to have me indicted and proclaimed an outlaw?” Sir John did not hesitate to use his legal powers, but, seeing his brother was quite alone, had him arrested and cast into prison, whence it was his intention that only death should release him.
All these years the second brother, Otho, had lived quietly on his own lands and taken no heed of the quarrels of the two others; but now, when news came to him of Sir John’s deadly hatred to their youngest brother, and Gamelyn’s desperate plight, he was deeply grieved, roused himself from his peaceful life, and rode to see if he could help his brother. First he besought Sir John’s mercy for the prisoner, for the sake of brotherhood and family love; but he only replied that Gamelyn must stay imprisoned till the justice should hold the next assize. Then Otho offered to be bail, if only his young brother might be released from his bonds and brought from the dismal dungeon where he lay. To this Sir John finally consented, warning Otho that if the accused failed to appear before the justice he himself must suffer the penalty for the breach of bail. “I agree,” said Otho. “Have him released at once, and deliver him to me.” Then Gamelyn was set free on his brother’s surety, and the two rode home to Otho’s house, talking sadly of all that had befallen, and how Gamelyn had become king of the outlaws. The next morning Gamelyn asked Otho’s permission to go to the greenwood and see how his young men fared but Otho pointed out so clearly how dreadful would be the consequences to him if he did not return that the young man vowed: