Folklore -- England; Robin Hood (Legendary character) -- Legends
Thus saying he strode merrily forward to the edge of the wood, and
paused there a moment, his agile form erect, his brown locks flowing
and his brown eyes watching the road; and a goodly sight he made, as the
wind blew the ruddy color into his cheeks.
The highway led clear in the direction of the town, and thither he
boldly directed his steps. But at a bend in the road he knew of a
by-path leading across a brook which made the way nearer and less open,
into which he turned. As he approached the stream he saw that it had
become swollen by recent rains into quite a pretty torrent. The log
foot-bridge was still there, but at this end of it a puddle intervened
which could be crossed only with a leap, if you would not get your feet
wet.
But Robin cared little for such a handicap. Taking a running start, his
nimble legs carried him easily over and balanced neatly upon the end of
the broad log. But he was no sooner started across than he saw a tall
stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon Robin quickened his pace,
and the stranger did likewise, each thinking to cross first. Midway they
met, and neither would yield an inch.
“Give way, fellow!” roared Robin, whose leadership of a band, I am
afraid, had not tended to mend his manners.
The stranger smiled. He was almost a head taller than the other.
“Nay,” he retorted, “fair and softly! I give way only to a better man
than myself.”
“Give way, I say”, repeated Robin, “or I shall have to show you a better
man.”
His opponent budged not an inch, but laughed loudly. “Now by my
halidom!” he said good-naturedly, “I would not move after hearing that
speech, even if minded to it before; for this better man I have sought
my life long. Therefore show him to me, an it please you.”
“That will I right soon,” quoth Robin. “Stay you here a little while,
till I cut me a cudgel like unto that you have been twiddling in your
fingers.” So saying he sought his own bank again with a leap, laid aside
his long bow and arrows, and cut him a stout staff of oak, straight,
knotless, and a good six feet in length. But still it was a full foot
shorter than his opponent’s. Then back came he boldly.
“I mind not telling you, fellow,” said he, “that a bout with archery
would have been an easier way with me. But there are other tunes in
England besides that the arrow sings.” Here he whirred the staff about
his head by way of practice. “So make you ready for the tune I am about
to play upon your ribs. Have at you! One, two--”
“Three!” roared the giant smiting at him instantly.
Well was it for Robin that he was quick and nimble of foot; for the blow
that grazed a hair’s breadth from his shoulder would have felled an ox.
Nevertheless while swerving to avoid this stroke, Robin was poising for
his own, and back came he forthwith--whack!
Whack! parried the other.
Whack! whack! whack! whack!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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