“Nay, now, if we touch her ill will befall us, for either angel or elf-wife is she.”
Then one who was the leader of them replied: “Ye foolish fellows, neither elf nor angel is she—let not the woman bewitch thee with her brightness, a rich booty she will be, for she is not less than king’s daughter.”
He stepped forth and the others followed him. Then the maids screamed and the pages ran into the thicket, for their mistress was in the hands of the outlaws of Sherwood, whose deeds were ruthless.
“What want ye?” said Torfrida, steadily, but turning pale as she spoke.
“My lady must away with us, and thy father must pay us ransom.”
“I am the daughter of King Sigmund and heavy hands will he lay on thee if ill befall us. Thou mayst not hinder us.”
“That may and will we,” said the leader. “Whatsoever king thy father be, I am king of Sherwood,” and he placed a hand on her bridle.
All this the wild man had seen as he lay in a bush hard by, armed with Osbert’s sword of finest steel, but when the robber chief laid hand on Torfrida’s bridle he quickly uprose, and bounding to the side of the robber clove him to the chin. One of the others then lifted his horn to call his companions, but the wild man dashed the horn from his hand and crushed it underfoot, and then suddenly stooping, seized him by the middle and hurled him strongly from him, so that he lighted on his head and broke his neck and lay dead before them. The other twain, in sore affright at so sudden an onslaught and so mighty a foe, turned to flee, but quicker than thought was the sword of the wild man to bite the brain of the third robber, and so strongly he smote him that his body was clove in twain by the stroke, and so fleet of foot and long of stride was the giant that he that remained had got but a score yards before his foe was upon him and with a kick of the foot broke he his back. So there was none left to call their companions, and Feargus returned to Torfrida, and the pages came back also in great wonder, and the ladies opened their eyes wide to see what manner of man it was that had come among them, who could scatter their enemies in so brief a space.
“Great indeed is the pity and the loss,” said they, “that so mighty and true a man should have so little wit. Surely much sorrow hath made him mad. A king’s son at least will he be.” They rode homeward safely, followed at running speed by their mad man. Then they went to tell the king how he had slain four outlaws in the forest and saved Torfrida and her maidens. So the king sent for the wild man, but he would not go until only Torfrida bade him, when he followed and stood before the king; but he saw none, nor heard nor heeded any, save only Torfrida, and on her his gaze was ever fixed. When they saw this some of the maidens wept for very pity and sorrow, and they all praised him, admiring his savage strength. And no person had heard him speak or looked into his eyes, not even Torfrida, for when she looked at him, so heavily hung his brow in great knots under his matted hair that his eyes were hid. So the king thanked him, and Torfrida put his thanks into the Gaelic that the wild man might understand. And when she left the hall for her own bower he followed, and instead of sitting at the door she bade him enter, and then made her maidens bring water and a comb and shears. Then taking the towel she told him to kneel, saying in Gaelic: “A mighty man of thy hands art thou; surely never saw I mightier—save Penda or—; and if thou wilt, thou shalt stay and be my watch-hound for as long as I live, for right valiant and gentle withal hast thou shown thyself.”