“Not if you stand for the forest!” cried the page, whipping out his sword. “Come, draw, and defend yourself!”
He swung his blade valiantly; and Robin saw nothing for it but to draw likewise. The page thereupon engaged him quite fiercely, and Robin found that he had many pretty little tricks at fencing.
Nathless, Robin contented himself with parrying, and was loth to exert all his superior strength upon the lad. So the fight lasted for above a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the page was almost spent and the hot blood flushed his cheeks in a most charming manner.
The outlaw saw his distress, and to end the fight allowed himself to be pricked slightly on the wrist.
“Are you satisfied, fellow?” asked the page, wincing a little at sight of the blood.
“Aye, honestly,” replied Robin; “and now perhaps you will grant me the honor of knowing to whom I owe this scratch?”
“I am Richard Partington, page to Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor,” answered the lad with dignity; and again the sound of his voice troubled Robin sorely.
“Why come you to the greenwood alone, Master Partington?”
The lad considered his answer while wiping his sword with a small lace kerchief. The action brought a dim confused memory to Robin. The lad finally looked him again in the eye.
“Forester, whether or no you be a King’s man, know that I seek one Robin Hood, an outlaw, to whom I bring amnesty from the Queen. Can you tell me aught of him?” And while awaiting his answer, he replaced the kerchief in his shirt. As he did so, the gleam of a golden trophy caught the outlaw’s eye.