Carlo, William and Will Scarlet disappeared off to the left, circling round the thicket with the dogs. They would release the hounds from the other side of the hill, and follow slowly, cautiously, beating the earth with their spear shafts, blowing horns and shouting to each other to make sure that the hog charged away from them and in the direction of the nets.
It was a cold, grey day, the sun was already low in the sky, and our breath frosted into plumes in the still air. Robin, standing twenty yards to my right, looked bored. He was still thin from the poisoning but a dab of colour had returned to his cheeks now that he was in the field. He was humming softly under his breath and examining his nails minutely. In the distance we could hear the sound of the dogs, yapping excitedly, but it seemed very far away. Twenty yards beyond Robin, Little John was sitting on a rocky outcrop, sharpening the end of his spear with a spit-smeared stone. Robin wandered over towards John, clearly on the point of saying something to his old friend… when, with no warning at all, a giant boar burst out of the undergrowth of the thicket, moving at an incredible speed, a blur of low porcine fury and bunched muscle, heading straight down the hill towards us.
It was huge, far bigger than I had expected and it moved with a silent hurtling savagery that put my heart in my mouth. It was making for the gap between Robin and me, which was now much wider, as Robin had moved closer to John. I gripped my spear tightly; any moment now, I thought, any moment the great pig will hit the nets, become entangled and then we all move in. But it never happened. The great boar charged through the space where the net should have been and didn’t slow for an instant. It fixed its mad piggy glare on me, swerved from its line and came barrelling straight towards me, three hundred pounds of muscle driven by a manic rage at our threatening intrusion into its domain. All this happened in three heartbeats: from the pig erupting from the undergrowth until he was just a handful of yards from me. And, because of the pig’s surprising appearance, I reacted slowly — but just in time: I gripped the shaft hard, leant forward and I leveled my spear at the charging animal. The huge pig launched itself at me, and as if entirely careless of his own life, he leapt directly on to my wavering spear point. The blade plunged a foot deep into its shoulder, like a sharp knife cutting through a soft curd, and stopped fast at the cross-guard with a huge jolt. The shock, transmitted through the spear shaft, felt like I’d stopped the charge of a rampaging bull. The two-inch-thick spear shaft bent, but did not snap, and my knuckles were white on the shuddering brown wood, my arm and chest muscles creaking under the enormous strain. I was holding him away from me, but incredibly, the beast was moving forward, inch by inch, and pushing me backwards with its main strength, its thick forelegs churning the earth, and my own feet sliding in the rocks and shale beneath them. The beast snarled at me in its death-pain, eyes glinting with malice, ropes of saliva swinging from long yellow tusks, which curved upwards like twin daggers in the perfect shape to gut a man.
Then it gave a shrugging shake of its brawny shoulders, one immensely powerful writhe and the spear shaft was wrenched out of my hands. The long thick pole was whipped away laterally by the pig’s movement and then came crashing back into my shoulder with the force of a swung pick-axe handle. I was knocked sideways by the shock, off my feet, on hands and knees, and then the huge animal was on me. The spear shaft slid past my face and in two bounds the open snout of the great pig was at my chest. I just managed to grab one of its massive tusks with both hands but the strength of the animal, even mortally wounded, was unbelievable. I could smell its foul breath above me, and its rank saliva, mingled with blood, was dripping on my face as I struggled to keep its grunting, slavering snout and its yellow snapping teeth away from me. The eyes, blue-black and rimmed with red, were inches from my own. It writhed again, the heavy spear shaft smashing against my left forearm, nearly causing me to lose my grip
… and then a shadow appeared to my left and I heard a high-pitched cry of rage and I felt the impact of a spear thrust deep into the animal’s body. It was William, my loyal servant William, with his great spear jammed into the beast’s side, and he was trying with only his boyish strength to heave the blade further into the monstrous straining body. The dogs were with me, too, leaping about the massive animal, barking excitedly; Keelie took a hold of its flapping ear and began growling like a demon next to my cheek. Then Robin was there and Little John, too, and there were two more jolting impacts to the beast’s body, as they plunged their spears in deeply, and the pig coughed a huge gout of hot blood into my forearms and chest and I saw the rage fade and die in the animal’s eyes and, miraculously, all that was left was a colossal weight, and the sound of breathless, hysterical laughter from my so-called friends.
We camped out that night, in a hollow in the rocks, and feasted on roast wild boar. I was not badly hurt, just bruised on shoulder, arm and chest, and a little embarrassed to have so nearly lost a wrestling match with a pig. Little John put a slightly cruder interpretation on it. ‘God’s bulging loins,’ he said after he had hauled the limp, blood-smeared animal off me, an effort even for someone of his great strength. ‘I knew you were a horny young devil but I never thought you would get so desperate that you’d fuck a giant pig to death. Bless my sullied soul, what will you young people think of next…’
It hurt to laugh — the pig’s thick churning forefeet had badly scraped and bruised my ribs, and every muscle above my waist was shrieking in protest — but I did so; I was alive and relatively unhurt, and I thought I detected a brief light of genuine concern in Robin’s eye as he helped me to my feet and patted me down briskly to check for broken bones. I thanked William profusely: but for his timely intervention, I said, the beast would have got its tusks into me and I’d be dead. ‘He lo-lolooked as if he was going to ea-eat you whole,’ said William; he seemed, if anything, more shaken by the incident than me.
‘What happened to the nets,’ Robin asked Carlo. ‘The pig came straight through them as if they were cobwebs.’ The huntsman looked slightly abashed, but shrugged, ‘Maybe they fall down,’ he said. ‘Maybe they not strong enough for him.’ He shrugged again, and spread his hands, palms up. ‘Maybe God He decided to make a hunter’s test for this young one,’ he said and nodded at me. There seemed to be nothing more to say on the subject.
We made a jolly supper-party that night on the hillside; a thousand glittering stars made a bright canopy above us and, filled with sweet fatty pork seasoned with wild thyme and washed down with a skin of wine that Little John had had the foresight to bring, it felt as if I was back in Sherwood in the happy days at Robin’s Caves.
When we had all eaten and drunk our fill, and were dozing happily by the fire wrapped in warm cloaks, Little John stood up slowly, spread his massive arms wide and intoned in a slow, doleful voice: ‘On earth there’s a warrior of curious origin. He was created, gleaming, for the benefit of men. Foe bears him against foe to inflict harm. But women often fetter him, strong as he is. And if men care for him and feed him frequently, he’ll faithfully obey them and serve them well. But this warrior will savage anyone who permits him to become too proud. What is his name?’
Little John was famous for his riddles; he had told them in the Caves in Sherwood and in the hall at Kirkton Castle, and we had much enjoyed his skill in describing a common everyday object, but using a clever, often misleading play on words to describe it. This riddle, however, was too easy; I knew the answer immediately but decided to stay silent while the rest pondered John’s words.
‘Is — is it a dog?’ asked William. He had one-eyed Keelie at his feet and he was idly stroking her golden head.