“Pretty shooting, master!” quoth he, “but ‘twill not save you from paying for the bad arrow. So walk up and take your medicine!”
“Nay, that may not be!” protested Robin. “The good friar belongs to my company and has no authority to lift hands against me. But you, Sir Knight, stand as it were for the King. I pray you, serve out my blow.”
“Not so!” said Friar Tuck. “My son, you forget I stand for the church, which is greater even than the King.”
“Not in merry England,” said the knight in a deep voice. Then rising to his feet, he added, “I stand ready to serve you, Master Hood.”
“Now out upon ye for an upstart knight!” cried Friar Tuck. “I told you last night, sirrah, that we should yet see who was the better man! So we will e’en prove it now, and thus settle who is to pay Robin Hood.”
“Good!” said Robin, “for I want not to start a dispute between church and state.”
“Good!” also said the knight. “‘Tis an easy way to end prattling. Come, friar, strike and ye dare. I will give you first blow.”
“You have the advantage of an iron pot on your head and gloves on your hands,” said the friar; “but have at ye! Down you shall go, if you were Goliath of Gath.”
Once more the priest’s brawny arm flashed through the air, and struck with a “whoof!” But to the amazement of all, the knight did not budge from his tracks, though the upper half of his body swerved slightly to ease the force of the blow. A loud shout burst from the yeomen at this, for the friar’s fist was proverbial, and few of those present had not felt the force of it in times past.
“Now ‘tis my turn,” said his antagonist coolly, casting aside his gauntlet. And with one blow of his fist the knight sent the friar spinning to the ground.