It was a long time ago, in the north of England there were then dense forests, wild animals roamed in them - bears, badgers, wild boars - and a meeting with such an animal did not promise anything good for the traveler. And then one autumn, in the vicinity of Oakland Castle, in County Durham, a ferocious boar appeared, which struck fear into the entire area.
This boar was huge and scary, black bristles bristled on its muzzle, curved fangs protruded from its mouth, small eyes scoured angrily from side to side, and it ran so fast - you couldn’t outrun it on a horse.
The boar ate grass, roots and what the peasants grew in the fields, but not so much ate as trampled. He hated all other creatures, but most of all he hated people; in the evenings he was buried in the bushes, waiting for a peasant wearily wandering from the field. No one left him alive.
The land in the area belonged to the rich and powerful Bishop of Durham, owner of Oakland Castle. The boar intimidated the surrounding peasants so much that they could not stand it and wrote a letter to the bishop, tearfully begging him to help them in trouble: even during the day there is no salvation from the fierce beast, and when the sun sets, you won’t be able to stick your nose out the gate.
The bishop agreed that the matter was bad, and promised to royally reward the brave man who kills the boar.
The young people, however, shook their heads. How many brave knights came from the southern counties to fight the boar, many killed dragons and other monsters were on their account. So what? Not a single one returned from the forest of Etherlidin, in which there was a boar's lair. What good is a reward, the local braves reasoned, if there is no one to receive it?
Finally, there was a young man who was seduced by the promised reward. This was the youngest son of an old family named Pollard; Neither money nor the family castle loomed for him; he could only rely on himself.
“It’s not a bad idea to reward a daredevil like a king,” he said to himself. — —— — But the dead don’t need a reward. The boar kills not only peasants, but also armed knights who died fighting him. Apparently, the boar is not only strong, but also cunning. So, we need to find out his habits. And first compete with him with cunning. But it won’t work out - to measure strength.”
Young Pollard left his sword, horse, and armor at home, put a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese in his pocket and walked into the forest of Etherlidin, where the boar was buried. He walks, listens to every rustle, peers into animal trails. Finally he picked up the boar's trail and spent many days following on its heels. At night the beast meandered through forests and fields, slept in its lair during the day and never sensed the proximity of a person.
A month passed, young Pollard found out everything about the boar - the beast is huge and ferocious, strong and agile. In addition, he is extremely gluttonous. He eats everything, but most of all he loves beech nuts • - they covered the ground in a thick layer in beech forests. Pollard found out where the boar sleeps during the day - in the very depths of the forest, in the thick of mighty beeches. Having wandered around the surrounding area to his heart's content, the boar returned to his thicket in the morning, feasted on beech nuts and fell asleep.
Now young Pollard knew what to do. He took a sword curved like a sickle, saddled his horse and rode in the evening to a lonely farm that stood near the Etherlidin forest; left the horse at a neighboring farm and went into the forest. He knew that the boar would not return until dawn, would scour the area and only in the morning would he come to Etherlidin, fill his belly with beech nuts and fall asleep in his den. Pollard found a tall, spreading beech tree that grew two steps from the boar’s lair; he had noticed it even earlier. He climbed onto it, shook a whole mountain of nuts so that the boar would eat his fill and quickly fall asleep.
As soon as it dawned in the east, the approach of a boar was heard: sniffling, grunting, digging up fallen leaves with its nose. Suddenly it became very quiet: the animal smelled the treat Pollard had prepared. And immediately a hasty chomping sound was heard, as if the boar was in a hurry somewhere. Pollard thought he had shaken the nuts out of a whole herd of wild boars, but apparently this boar had a bottomless belly - he ate and ate and could not get enough. Pollard's legs went numb, the hand holding the sword went numb, but he did not dare to move: the boar has such a sense that the slightest rustle could ruin the whole thing.
Finally the last nut is eaten. The animal grunted with pleasure and moved heavily toward the den, lay down on the ground with a noisy sigh, turned on its side and closed its eyes, tired of such a hearty meal.
Having waited until the boar was properly asleep, Pollard carefully descended from the tree and, without breathing, crawled to the den - he had to kill the boar while he was sleeping. But it was not to be, the beast and the sleeping man sensed danger: with a terrifying roar, he rose to his feet and rushed at the young man - he barely managed to jump to the side. Even though the boar was starving from food, it was still a cunning and dangerous opponent.
Pollard and the boar fought all day at Etherleydean, and neither one nor the other could gain the upper hand. Now the sun had already set, the stars lit up in the sky one after another, and young Pollard began to get tired - the boar pushed him further and further into the wilds of the dense forest. The clock at Oakland Cathedral struck midnight. Pollard strained himself, gathered all his strength, and now began to overcome the beast. The single combat lasted all night under the light of the stars. Only when the first ray of sun gilded the treetops did Pollard swing his sword as wide as his shoulder and kill the boar.
In complete exhaustion, with bleeding wounds, he bent over the dead beast and once again marveled at its enormity: yes, such a monster could cause many more troubles. Now hurry to the farm, jump into the saddle and ride with good news to the bishop. But young Pollard could not move his arm or leg. Sighing heavily, he opened the beast’s mouth, cut off its tongue and hid it in his pocket; then he hobbled to the thickets of ferns, buried himself in the withered greenery, curled up and immediately fell asleep.
He slept all day. His sleep was so sound that neither the singing of birds in the trees overhead, nor the rabbits rustling very close by, nor the fox sneaking past on its velvet cushions awakened him.
He did not even hear the horseman who galloped in the afternoon just along this edge. Seeing a huge boar lying motionless, he rode closer and dismounted.
“Hey, yes, no way, the same boar for which the bishop promised to reward him royally,” he thought. He looked around - no one: apparently the boar died fighting some other animal.
- Why shouldn’t I get rewards? Who will know that I didn’t kill him? - he said to himself.
He cut off the beast's head, tied it to the saddle and, rejoicing at such luck, rode to Oakland Castle.
Then young Pollard soon woke up, stretched, jumped to his feet - it was time to go for the reward. If only I could wash myself in a nearby stream. He took two steps, suddenly he saw - oh horror! - a boar without a head. Pollard almost dropped dead himself.
“If only I had gone to the bishop right away,” he lamented. “But I couldn’t stand on my feet, it’s no joke—fighting a wild boar all day and all night.” Anyone would fall asleep. And now all my efforts, mortal combat - everything, all in vain. The clever deceiver will receive the reward instead of me. But maybe it's not too late? Maybe I will still have time to get to the bishop and prove that I am the winner of the boar?
And Pollard rushed as fast as he could to the farm where he had left the horse. He jumped into the saddle and rushed like an arrow to Oakland Castle.
- I need to see the bishop! - he shouted to the guards who blocked his path. - My name is Pollard. I killed the boar and rode off for the promised reward.
“You may have killed,” the guard replies, “but a stranger has just galloped into the castle, and he has a boar’s head attached to his saddle.” So, he’s probably the winner after all.
Young Pollard made such a noise in response that the guards, for the sake of peace, let him into the castle, and the majordomo led him into the ceremonial hall, where the bishop, in all his vestments, received visitors. Just at that moment, a stranger appeared in front of him holding the head of a boar, and his associates and servants gathered around and, groaning, looked at the terrible fangs, admiring the winner and envying his happiness.
As soon as young Pollard entered the hall, the bishop, with a wave of his hand, reigned silence and, looking favorably at the stranger, said:
“Brave stranger, you freed our region from a terrible disaster and you will be rewarded royally for your courage.”
- Stop, Your Eminence! - Pollard exclaimed, throwing away the servants who were trying to detain him. “I killed the boar, not this stranger.”
And Pollard told how he fought with the monster all day and all night, how he fell to the ground in complete exhaustion and slept until the evening.
“Perhaps, perhaps,” the stranger said mockingly. “Nevertheless, I killed the boar.” And I have proof. “He raised the boar’s head high and threw it at the bishop’s feet.
“The head only proves that you cut it off,” young Pollard objected, reaching into his pocket, taking out the boar’s tongue and throwing it on the floor next to the head. “This is evidence that I am a real winner.”
Slowly stroking his beard, the bishop looked at the tongue, at the head, then turned his gaze from young Pollard to the visiting guest. He was a wise man and immediately understood which of the two was telling the truth.
“Open the boar’s mouth and see if it has a tongue,” he ordered.
The servants hastened to carry out the order, and the stranger, knowing who was right, turned abruptly and almost ran out of the hall. He jumped on his horse in the yard and rushed away, only he was seen.
And then young Pollard began to tell how he had been tracking the boar for a whole month, found out all its habits, how he came up with the idea of killing the boar when he fell asleep, overcome by fatigue and his favorite food.
- Amazing! - the bishop exclaimed admiringly. “You truly deserve the greatest reward.” Now listen to what it is. At this hour I always go to lunch. Come back at the end of my meal. All the land that you cover while I eat will be yours.
And the bishop signaled to the servants to open the doors to the dining room.
— How long does the bishop have lunch? - young Pollard asked the gatekeeper, going out into the yard.
“Usually about an hour,” he answered, “but I saw the bishop’s admiration and am sure that today he will extend the meal.”
“Excellent,” young Pollard rejoiced, saddled the mare and slowly rode out of the castle gates.
The bishop, as the servant had thought, was in no hurry this time, and lunch lasted for an hour and a half.
- Well, is young Pollard back yet? - asked the bishop.
— Back? My lord, he has been waiting in the hall for a good three quarters of an hour, if not more.
- Really? — The bishop’s face broke into a satisfied smile. “He is obviously as humble as he is brave.” I immediately thought this as soon as I saw him. And to say that, I am an expert in the human heart.
The bishop walked with a stately gait back to the ceremony hall. At the sight of him, the young man fell to one knee, the bishop smiled, graciously extended his hand, and Pollard kissed the diamond ring, playing with all the colors of the rainbow.
“They told me that you have been waiting for me for a long time.” But you could travel twice as much land in the time that I gave you,” he said kindly.
“I know, my lord,” Pollard replied with a thin smile.
“What an unusually modest young man,” the bishop was surprised. - And how much land have you traveled?
“Around your castle, Your Eminence,” said young Pollard.
The smile disappeared from the bishop's face.
- Around my castle? - he repeated.
- Yes, Your Eminence.
“Around my castle...” the bishop repeated again.
Without taking his eyes off young Pollard, he slowly sank into a chair and, throwing his head back, suddenly laughed uncontrollably. All the courtiers and servants looked at each other and started laughing too, shook their heads and rolled again.
“But I should have realized,” the bishop finally said, catching his breath and wiping the tears running down his cheeks, “that a man who managed to outwit a boar would be too hard a nut to crack for such a simpleton as the bishop.” - Sighing, he fixed his gaze on young Pollard, trying to read his thoughts: - So you are laying claim to my castle? - he said thoughtfully.
“His Eminence made a promise,” young Pollard reminded him.
- That's right, that's right. But I don't think you have a clear idea of what it means to own a castle. First of all, it is damp and cold all year round. Now you don’t have rheumatism, but if you live in the castle for a year or two, your bones will ache like an old man’s. How much firewood do I need to store, how much do I pay the servants... - The Bishop sighed heavily. - No! It is best for the youngest scion of a noble family to have his own land.
And the bishop ordered the servant to give him the card. Unfolding the parchment, he looked around his possessions.
“Here,” he said, pointing his finger at the map, “you see, it’s an excellent land.” There are hunting grounds and fields here. And on this hill you can build a small castle, comfortable and warm, in the modern style.
The bishop looked at young Pollard and laughed again. And everyone laughed too, some even shed tears. This is how the bishop bought his castle from young Pollard. And since then, on the Pollard family coat of arms, a hand has appeared, clutching a sword curved like a sickle.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru