On Outlaws and Aristocrats
Gentrification in Sherwood
Today I have a story about the way resistance against the rich and powerful can be co-opted by them, creating a watered-down, toothless version that soothes the masses while keeping the powerful in place.
Yes, this story is about Robin Hood. (Wait, did you think I meant something else?)
The version of Robin we all know and love—the disinherited knight and Lord of Loxley—is a far cry from the original hero. The medieval Robin Hood was just an ordinary man of ordinary means trying to fight an entrenched and impossibly corrupt system. But over time, his story was revised—and absorbed—by the very same class of people he had spent his life fighting.
Yeoman’s Work
Robin gestured grandly at the trees that surrounded them. “This is all the cellar I need, and my only castle, and you see here, good monk, my only pair of boots. Were I a thief, believe me you, I’d be better clad, for all my winnings.”
—The Traitor of Sherwood Forest
The original Robin Hood is not portrayed as a noble or a knight. Instead, other than being an outlaw, he’s best known as a yeoman. Although a medieval yeoman was better off than most peasants, he would still have to go to war when he was told, using his skills in hunting and forestry for another man’s household and at his bidding (even if he sometimes had a little land of his own). Robin and his men live as outlaws in the forest not because they have manors or castles that have been stolen from them, but because the alternative is to live in service to someone else.
A disinherited knight does appear in the medieval stories, but Robin is his helper and rescuer. In A Gest of Robyn Hode, Robin and his men feed and shelter Sir Richard, a knight who has lost his fortune. Robin, pointing out the class difference between them, asks Sir Richard to reimburse him for the meal:
“But pay or ye wende,” sayde Robyn,
“Me thynketh it is gode ryght;
It was never the maner, by dere worthi God,
A yoman to pay for a knyght” (ll. 145-8).
translation:
“But pay before you go,” said Robin,
I think it’s only right;
It has never been the custom, by noble God,
For a yeoman to pay for a knight.”
But when Sir Richard reveals that he has been forced to mortgage his lands to a cruel and corrupt abbot, Robin decides to foil the abbot and set things right.
Part of the joy of Robin’s adventures with Sir Richard is that a commoner like Robin can upend the social order, taking justice into his own hands. In a world where ordinary people felt powerless against the church and nobility, seeing these institutions attacked, subverted, and undone so excited medieval audiences that chroniclers even complained about it: Walter Bower, c. 1440, lamented that Robin Hood was a violent criminal who “the foolish populace are so inordinately fond of celebrating both in tragedies and comedies, and about whom they are delighted to hear the jesters and minstrels sing above all other ballads.”
The medieval Robin Hood does take a stab at social-climbing, though it doesn’t last. Towards the end of the Gest, he is lured away from forest life by King Edward’s overtures —yet he soon finds that maintaining an aristocratic lifestyle is far too expensive:
In every place where Robyn came
Ever more he layde downe,
Both for knyghtes and for squyres,
To gete hym grete renowne. (ll. 1733-6)
Robin spends a hundred pounds trying to win fame and favor in his year at court but discovers that his status only lasts as long as his coin. Once he runs out of money, just two men remain at his side: Little John and Wyll, who had been with him since the beginning. So Robin flees the king and court and returns to the greenwood, where the loyal men he abandoned warmly welcome him home—a stark contrast to the transactional, fickle nature of the rich and powerful.
Robin’s Renaissance Glow-up
“The rich are liars, Jane. They lie about what is right, and what is holy, all so they can stand on your back to lift themselves higher. They would have you serve yourself to them like a fatted goose upon their table, devour you, and call in more of your kind to clean up the bones.”
—The Traitor of Sherwood Forest
Given the way things are going nowadays, you won’t be surprised to learn that Robin was eventually co-opted by nobles who wanted to cosplay as outlaws—especially Henry VIII, who loved to dress up as his favorite criminal. But it wasn’t enough to play at being Robin Hood. They had to make Robin an aristocrat too, in order to explain why he was just so good at everything.
Sixteenth-century chronicler Richard Grafton claimed to have found “an olde and auncient Pamphlet” revealing that Robin was actually a fallen earl, nobly-born rather than of “base stocke and lineage”—which explained the outlaw’s “manhoode and chivalry.” Needless to say, this was a wildly popular story with the people who could afford to sponsor literature and theatre, and by the time Robin Hood hit the stage in Anthony Munday’s late sixteenth-century plays, Robin had become the Earl of Huntington, banished to the forest instead of choosing to live there as a rebel and a free man.
From this new aristocratic foundation, Robin’s legend moved from subverting and rejecting the social order to upholding it. He was given a noble girlfriend, Maid Marian (she’s another folklore character promoted to the aristocracy—more on that in a later post); his royal nemesis changed from King Edward to King John, who already had a bad reputation; and Sir Richard the humble knight was replaced with King Richard, allowing Robin to restore hierarchy on the largest possible scale: returning a king to his throne.
There were occasional attempts to bring Robin Hood back to his yeoman roots after the Middle Ages, but the story of the fallen nobleman—very appealing to the modern corporate imagination—is the one that stuck. The original, disruptive nature of Robin Hood’s story, in which commoners and outlaws could attack, subvert, and reject hierarchy itself, is all but lost.
I don’t mean to paint the medieval greenwood as a garden of sunshine and roses. The Robin Hood of medieval legend was dangerous, brash, violent, and not particularly altruistic. But he had his own brand of courtesy and law, rules to protect women and the poor—the people who were the most vulnerable in his world. And most importantly, he was effective in making the aristocracy look like fools, disrupting the whole idea that those who were born to wealth and status deserved their power.
The way Robin Hood’s legend went from subverting the aristocracy to joining it is a stark lesson in how resistance can be absorbed by power in order to make it less dangerous, something that can be sold as disruptive all the while keeping power in place.
As depressing as it is when this happens, maybe there’s a lesson we can take from the medieval Robin Hood’s story. In the Gest, Robin’s rebellion fails when he seeks celebrity and riches, when he abandons his people to advance himself. What he learns—and what we could also learn—is that real resistance is communal. It requires no special power or fortune or fame. Just people willing to band together, look out for each other, and reject the pretty lies and pageantry meant to soothe them into compliance.
News and Updates
In brighter news, I’m deeply grateful two have two very kind blurbs for The Traitor of Sherwood Forest from the authors of some of my favorite retellings!
Mary McMyne, author of the lush, wickedly gothic Rapunzel retelling The Book of Gothel and the new Shakespeare reimagining, A Rose By Any Other Name says of The Traitor of Sherwood Forest:
"A dazzling tapestry of history and legend, this is Sherwood Forest as you’ve never seen it: through a woman’s eyes. Kaufman delivers a medieval England so real, so full of light and shadows and nuanced characters, you can’t help but wonder if this is what really happened."
and from Liz Michalski, author of the dark, heart-racing Peter Pan retelling Darling Girl and the haunting Evenfall:
“Peasant girl Jane Crowe enters the dappled glades of Sherwood Forest seeking safety and freedom. Instead she stumbles upon a darkly woven web of danger, deceit, and violence with none other than Robin Hood at its center. Kaufman paints fresh shadows upon an ancient tale, entwining new characters with old history for a satisfying and compelling read.”
The Traitor of Sherwood Forest has also been featured in Penguin’s list of Historical Fiction for 2025! And we’re hosting another Goodreads giveaway in early February, so make sure to add Traitor to your list for entry!
And, as I will never stop reminding you, you can preorder here:
Finally, we’re just three months and a few days away from The Traitor of Sherwood Forest flying out into the world! I have lots of obscure medieval stories (and a few writing-related topics) planned for future newsletters, but if there’s anything in particular you want to hear about, feel free to drop a comment!
—Amy