Much stood his ground, both hands wrapped around a stick that was only slightly too large for him, a grim determination in his eyes. He was, from head to toe, adorable. Locksley was left standing alone, curiously more uncomfortable than he had any right to be. He shifted his own stick around in his hands, but did not adopt any fighting stance.

“Why don’t we use real swords?” Much challenged.

“Real swords are real dangerous,” Locksley said sternly, a tone that was too condescending for Elena’s taste. “We don’t want anybody to accidentally get stabbed now.”

“You can’t hurt anyone with a stick.”

“Oh, you certainly can!” John blurted out.

“I’ve got a couple of ribs that would agree with that,” Locksley admitted, patting his sides. “Do you want me to go over the numbers with you?”

Much proudly recited each of the numbers, swinging his stick in succession, though his two highest numbers were closer to Locksley’s navel than his head. But the display was impressive, and the others started chanting Much’s name, along with “Get him!” and “Duel to the death!”

Don’t humiliate him, Elena hoped. Much needed a win.

“Watch your stance now,” Locksley pointed at Much’s feet, “and remember to keep your foot back.”

“I’ve been in a fight before!” Much yelled. But still he shifted his feet.

“And I’m sure you were ferocious,” Locksley answered, and bent his posture into reluctant readiness. “One!” he yelled, and swung his stick slowly at Much’s right shoulder. The boy was ready to block it long before it got there. Locksley went at the other side just as slowly.

“Not like that!” Much complained. “You’re going too slow!”

Locksley raised his eyebrows to the crowd, but received little support. John Little egged him on, and they started calling Locksley a coward, too afraid to fight the mighty Much. Elena couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

“Alright then,” Locksley said. “I’m coming two, four, one, three. Got it?”

He moved immediately, and Much flinched in the wrong direction and only barely blocked the first attack, and then had to jump backward away from the remaining blows, but it didn’t shake his resolve. As soon as the four slashes were over, Much pushed forward on one foot and stabbed up at Locksley’s gut. But Locksley stepped away casually, he flicked the tip of Much’s stick up and slid his own to lay full across Much’s stomach and held it there. “Dead.”

Elena, and the rest of the crowd, booed.

“You cheated!” Much protested, trying in vain to pull away. “You didn’t say a number!”

“Neither did you,” Locksley held onto Much’s back with one hand as he pretended to saw him open with the sword at his belly. “And neither will they. So, brave Sir Much, how did I kill you?”