Лучшие английские легенды / The Best English Legends - стр. 8
The boy rode along, rejoicing in his youth and strength, singing as he went, till he drew near the appointed place, and then he suddenly heard a man’s voice crying, “O grief! Alas!” and saw a venerable yeoman wringing his hands.[19]
“Good man,” said Gamelyn, “why are you in such distress? Can no one help you?”
“Alas!” said the yeoman. “Woe to the day on which I was born![20] The champion wrestler here has overthrown my two sons, and unless God help them they will die of their injuries. I would give ten pounds to find a man to avenge on him for my dear sons.”
“Good man, hold my horse while my groom takes my coat and shoes, and I will try my luck[21] and strength against this champion.”
“Thank God!” said the yeoman. “I will do it at once; I will guard thy coat and shoes and good horse safely – and may Jesus Christ help you!”
When Gamelyn entered the ring, barefooted and ready for wrestling, all men gazed curiously at the reckless youth who dared to challenge the best champion, and the great man himself, rising from the ground, went across to meet Gamelyn and said imperiously: “Who is your father, and what is your name? Truly you are a young fool to come here!”
Gamelyn answered equally imperiously: “You knew my father well while he lived: he was Sir John of the Marches, and I am his youngest son, Gamelyn.”
The champion replied: “Boy, I knew your father well in his lifetime, and I have heard of you, but nothing good: you have always been in mischief.”
“Now I am older and you shall know me better,” said Gamelyn.
The wrestling had lasted till late in the evening, and the moon was shining over the scene when Gamelyn and the champion began their fight. The wrestler tried many wily tricks, but the boy was ready for them all. Then, in his turn, he grasped his rival round the waist, and cast him so heavily to the ground that three ribs were broken, and his left arm. Then the winner said mockingly:
“Shall we count that, or not?”
“By heaven! No man will survive in your hands,” said the champion painfully.
The yeoman, who had watched the match with great anxiety, now broke out with blessings:[22]
“Be blessed, young sir, that ever you were born!” and, turning to the fallen champion, added: “It was young ‘Mischief’ who taught you this game!”
“He is master of us all,” said the champion. “In all my years of wrestling I have never been used so cruelly.”
Now the winner stood in the ring, ready for more wrestling, but no man would dare to compete with him, and the two judges who kept order and awarded the prizes asked him to retire, for no other competitor could be found to face him.