Young Pollard and the Okland Boar
Long ago, in the north of England, there stretched vast, dense forests where wild animals roamed—bears, badgers, and wild boars—and an encounter with such a beast boded no good for any traveler. One autumn, a fierce boar appeared near Auckland Castle in County Durham, spreading fear throughout the region.This boar was enormous and terrifying. Its face was covered in coarse black bristles, curved tusks protruded from its mouth, and its small, malicious eyes darted from side to side. It ran so swiftly that even a horse could not keep up with it.
The boar fed on grass, roots, and whatever the peasants grew in their fields, but it trampled more than it ate. It hated all other creatures, but most of all, it despised humans. In the evenings, it would hide in the bushes, waiting for a weary peasant returning from the fields. No one who encountered it ever survived.
The land in the area belonged to the wealthy and powerful Bishop of Durham, the owner of Auckland Castle. The boar had so terrified the local peasants that they could bear it no longer and wrote a letter to the bishop, pleading for help. Even during the day, there was no escape from the ferocious beast, and once the sun set, no one dared step outside their gates.
The bishop agreed that the situation was dire and promised a royal reward to anyone brave enough to kill the boar.
However, the young men merely shook their heads. Many brave knights from the southern counties had come to face the boar, and though they had slain dragons and other monsters, not one had returned from Eterley Dean, the forest where the boar made its lair. What good was a reward, the locals reasoned, if no one lived to claim it?
Yet, there was one young man who was tempted by the promised reward. He was the youngest son of an ancient family named Pollard, with no inheritance or ancestral castle to his name. He had only himself to rely on.
"Not a bad idea—to reward the brave with a royal prize," he said to himself. "But the dead have no use for rewards. The boar has killed not only peasants but also armed knights who fought it. Clearly, the boar is not only strong but cunning. So, I must first learn its habits and match it with cunning. If that fails, then I'll test my strength against it."
Young Pollard left his sword, horse, and armor at home, tucked a piece of bread and cheese into his pocket, and set off for Eterley Dean, where the boar was hiding. He walked carefully, listening to every rustle and scrutinizing the animal trails. Finally, he found the boar's tracks and spent many days following them. At night, the beast roamed the forests and fields, and during the day, it slept in its lair, never once sensing the presence of a human.
A month passed, and young Pollard had learned everything about the boar. The beast was enormous, ferocious, strong, and swift. It was also unusually voracious, eating everything in its path but especially fond of beech nuts, which covered the ground in the beech forests. Pollard discovered where the boar slept during the day—deep in the heart of the forest, among the mighty beech trees. After wandering the area all night, the boar would return to its thicket at dawn, feast on beech nuts, and then collapse into sleep.
Now, young Pollard knew what he had to do. He took his curved sword, saddled his horse, and rode to a lonely farmhouse near Eterley Dean. He left his horse at a neighboring farm and entered the forest. He knew the boar would not return until dawn, after roaming the area all night. It would gorge itself on beech nuts and then fall asleep in its lair. Pollard found a tall, spreading beech tree just a few steps from the boar's lair—he had noticed it earlier. He climbed the tree, shook down a pile of nuts, and waited for the boar to eat its fill and fall asleep.
As dawn approached, Pollard heard the boar approaching: snorting, grunting, and rooting through the fallen leaves with its snout. Suddenly, everything went quiet—the beast had caught the scent of Pollard's offering. Then came the sound of rapid chewing, as if the boar were in a great hurry. Pollard had thought he had shaken down enough nuts for an entire herd of boars, but this beast seemed to have a bottomless stomach—it kept eating and eating, never satisfied. Pollard's legs grew numb, and his sword hand stiffened, but he dared not move. The boar's senses were so sharp that the slightest rustle could ruin everything.
Finally, the last nut was eaten. The boar grunted with satisfaction and lumbered toward its lair, collapsing onto the ground with a heavy sigh. It rolled onto its side, closed its eyes, and dozed off, sated from its feast.
Once Pollard was sure the boar was sound asleep, he carefully climbed down from the tree and, holding his breath, crept toward the lair. He had to kill the boar while it slept. But it was not to be—even in its sleep, the beast sensed danger. With a terrifying roar, it leapt to its feet and charged at the young man, who barely managed to dodge aside. Though the boar was sluggish from its meal, it was still a cunning and dangerous opponent.
All day long, Pollard and the boar fought in Eterley Dean, neither gaining the upper hand. The sun set, the stars appeared one by one, and young Pollard began to tire—the boar was driving him deeper and deeper into the dense forest. The clock at Auckland Cathedral struck midnight. Summoning his last reserves of strength, Pollard began to gain the upper hand. The duel continued under the starlight. Only when the first ray of sunlight gilded the treetops did Pollard swing his sword with all his might and kill the boar.
Exhausted and bleeding from his wounds, Pollard bent over the dead beast and marveled once more at its size. Such a monster could have caused much more harm. Now, he needed to get to the farm, mount his horse, and ride with the good news to the bishop. But young Pollard could not move a muscle. With a heavy sigh, he pried open the boar's mouth, cut out its tongue, and hid it in his pocket. Then he staggered to a patch of ferns, burrowed into the withered greenery, curled up, and fell asleep at once.
He slept the entire day. His sleep was so deep that neither the birds singing in the trees above nor the rabbits rustling nearby could wake him. He did not hear the horseman who rode along the forest edge in the afternoon. Seeing the enormous boar lying motionless, the rider dismounted and approached.
"Well, well, isn't this the very boar the bishop promised a royal reward for?" he thought. He looked around—no one was in sight. Clearly, the boar had died in a fight with some other beast.
"Why shouldn't I claim the reward? Who will know I didn't kill it?" he said to himself.
He cut off the boar's head, tied it to his saddle, and rode off to Auckland Castle, delighted with his good fortune.
Soon after, young Pollard woke up, stretched, and jumped to his feet—it was time to go claim his reward. But first, he needed to wash up in the nearby stream. He took two steps and suddenly saw—oh, horror!—the boar was missing its head. Pollard almost fainted on the spot.
"If only I had gone straight to the bishop," he lamented. "But I could barely stand on my feet. Fighting a wild boar all day and night is no joke. Anyone would have fallen asleep. And now all my efforts, that deadly struggle—all for nothing. Some cunning trickster will take the reward instead of me. But maybe it's not too late? Maybe I can still reach the bishop and prove that I am the boar's true victor?"
And Pollard dashed to the farm where he had left his horse. He leaped into the saddle and raced like an arrow toward Oakland Castle.
"I must see the bishop!" he shouted to the guards blocking his path. "My name is Pollard. I killed the boar and have come for the promised reward."
"Maybe you did kill it," replied the guards, "but just now a stranger rode into the castle, and he has the boar's head tied to his saddle. So, it seems he is the true victor."
Young Pollard made such a commotion that the guards, for the sake of peace, let him into the castle, and the majordomo led him to the ceremonial hall, where the bishop, in all his regalia, was receiving visitors. At that very moment, a stranger stood before him, holding the boar's head, while the bishop's attendants and servants gathered around, gasping as they examined the fearsome tusks, admiring the victor and envying his fortune.
Just as young Pollard entered the hall, the bishop raised his hand, silencing the room, and, looking kindly at the stranger, said:
"Brave stranger, you have freed our land from a terrible scourge, and for your courage, you shall be rewarded royally."
"Wait, Your Grace!" exclaimed Pollard, pushing aside the servants who tried to stop him. "I killed the boar, not this foreigner."
And Pollard recounted how he had fought the beast all day and night, how he had collapsed in exhaustion and slept until evening.
"Perhaps, perhaps," the stranger sneered. "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," retorted young Pollard. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the boar's tongue, and threw it on the floor next to the head. "Here is the evidence that I am the true victor."
Slowly stroking his beard, the bishop looked at the tongue, then at the head, and then shifted his gaze from young Pollard to the stranger. He was a wise man and immediately understood who was telling the truth.
"Open the boar's mouth and see if it still has a tongue," he ordered.
The servants hurried to obey, and the stranger, knowing he had been caught, turned sharply and nearly ran out of the hall. He mounted his horse in the courtyard and galloped away, never to be seen again.
Then young Pollard began to tell how he had spent a month tracking the boar, learning its habits, and how he had devised a plan to kill it while it slept, exhausted from fatigue and its favorite meal.
"Remarkable!" the bishop exclaimed in admiration. "You truly deserve the greatest reward. Now listen to what it is. At this hour, I always go to dine. Return by the time I finish my meal. All the land you can ride around during that time will be yours."
And the bishop signaled for the servants to open the doors to the dining hall.
"How long does the bishop usually dine?" young Pollard asked the gatekeeper as he stepped into the courtyard.
"Usually about an hour," the gatekeeper replied, "but I saw the bishop's admiration, and I am sure he will extend his meal today."
"Excellent," young Pollard rejoiced. He saddled his mare and leisurely rode out of the castle gates.
The bishop, as the servant had thought, was in no hurry this time, and the meal stretched on for an hour and a half.
"So, has young Pollard returned yet?" asked the bishop.
"Returned? My lord, he has been waiting in the hall for a good three-quarters of an hour, if not longer."
"Is that so?" The bishop's face broke into a satisfied smile. "He is evidently as modest as he is brave. I thought as much as soon as I saw him. And, I must say, I am a connoisseur of the human heart."
With a stately gait, the bishop strode back into the ceremonial hall. At the sight of him, the young man dropped to one knee. The bishop smiled, graciously extended his hand, and Pollard kissed the diamond ring that sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow.
"I was told you have been waiting for me for quite some time. You could have covered twice as much land in the time I granted you," he said amiably.
"I know, my lord," replied Pollard with a faint smile.
"What an extraordinarily modest young man," the bishop marveled. "And how much land did you manage to cover?"
"Around your castle, Your Grace," said young Pollard.
The smile vanished from the bishop's face.
"Around my castle?" he repeated.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Around my castle..." the bishop repeated again.
Without taking his eyes off young Pollard, he slowly sank into a chair, leaned his head back, and suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. All the courtiers and servants glanced at one another and began to laugh as well, shaking their heads and then bursting into laughter again.
"But I should have realized," the bishop finally said, catching his breath and wiping the tears streaming down his cheeks, "that a man who could outwit a boar would prove to be too tough a nut for a simpleton like a bishop." Sighing, he fixed his gaze on young Pollard, trying to read his thoughts: "So, you are claiming my castle, then?" he said thoughtfully.
"Your Grace made a promise," young Pollard reminded him.
"True, true. But I think you don't quite understand what it means to own a castle. First of all, it's damp and cold all year round. You don't have rheumatism now, but live in the castle for a year or two, and your bones will ache like an old man's. And think of all the firewood you'd need to stockpile, how much I pay the servants..." The bishop sighed heavily. "No! It's best for the younger scion of a noble family to have his own land."
And the bishop ordered a servant to bring him a map. Unrolling the parchment, he surveyed his lands.
"Here," he said, pointing to the map, "you see, excellent land. There are hunting grounds and fields. And on this hill, you could build a small castle, comfortable and warm, in the modern style."
The bishop looked at young Pollard and laughed again. And everyone else laughed too, some even to the point of tears. And so, the bishop bought back his castle from young Pollard. And from that day on, the Pollard family crest bore the image of a hand clutching a curved, sickle-like sword.
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