Zounds

Zounds

'Have at you,' bawled Roland the Puce.

'No thank you,' sneered Sir Dick the Highcart, expertly parrying the
thrust. 'I've just eaten.'

They circled each other warily, swords flickering under the light of
Roman Candles.

'Burnt cakes and ale, I presume.'

'No. A surfeit of lamphreys, if you must know. And the serving wench
for dessert.

'Thou liest varlet! Marion is a most chaste maid.'

'Chased and caught.'

'Huh! Who do you think you are - Quasimodo? Take that.'

Sparks flew riotously, outglinting the stars in their courses as the
rivals' weapons clashed and clanged along the walls of Castle
Camelhump. After two minutes, they seperated, exhausted.

'I telleth thee the what,' gasped Sir Dick. 'Let us settle this
vexatious matter over a throwing of pointies at Ye Old Bull and Bush. I
hear it has both a new ale and a new board.'

'Singlets - or doublets.?'

'Doubloons. I bags Robin of Nottyash.'

'Curses! Hmmm... Ha! I decree,
therefore, that my noble companion in arms shall then be none other
than that heroic apple cutter, Swizz Tell.'

'He can only hit middlings.'

'What mattereth that? Yon Robin only scores with a single arrow. The
others merely pierce the end of the one that precedeth.'
But, verily, is that not a three-in-the-bed?'

'Who told you of that?'

'Of what?'

'Nothing. Anyway, surely, sir, you are aware of the Marquee de
Queenfairy regulations - which, forsooth, declare that that which
striketh not, is counteth not.'

'Oh. Well if that happenstanth be the situation of the matter, Sire -
have at you again!'