Now each man took his place and looked the other up and down, watching
warily for an opening. Only a moment stood they thus, for Eric, intent
on teaching this rash beggar a lesson and sweeping him speedily off the
stage, launched forth boldly and gave the other a sounding crack on the
shoulder. The beggar danced about, and made as though he would drop his
staff from very pain, while the crowd roared and Eric raised himself for
another crushing blow. But just then the awkward beggar came to life.
Straightening himself like a flash, he dealt Eric a back-handed blow,
the like of which he had never before seen. Down went the boaster to the
floor with a sounding thump, and the fickle people yelled and laughed
themselves purple; for it was a new sight to see Eric of Lincoln eating
dust.

But he was up again almost as soon as he had fallen, and right quickly
retreated to his own ringside to gather his wits and watch for an
opening. He saw instantly that he had no easy antagonist, and he came in
cautiously this time.

And now those who stood around saw the merriest game of quarter-staff
that was ever played inside the walls of Nottingham town. Both men
were on their guard and fenced with fine skill, being well matched in
prowess. Again and again did Eric seek to force an opening under the
other's guard, and just as often were his blows parried. The beggar
stood sturdily in his tracks contenting himself with beating off the
attack. For a long time their blows met like the steady crackling of
some huge forest fire, and Eric strove to be wary, for he now knew that
the other had no mean wits or mettle. But he grew right mad at last, and
began to send down blows so fierce and fast that you would have sworn
a great hail-storm was pounding on the shingles over your head. Yet he
never so much as entered the tall beggar's guard.