CHAPTER XXIIWE ARE HARD BESET
I cannotsay what happened next. I only know that the three of us sprang to our feet fighting for our lives.
I had never seen blood drawn before in a quarrel; but now I had no time to speculate upon this ghastly proceeding. The sharp and cruel noise of steel was in our ears; the hot breaths of our foes were on our cheeks; and horrid cries, writhing forms, and devilish faces were all about us.
So soon as the man with the cord was stretched on the floor, the first thing of which I was truly sensible was that Don Nicholas himself was down. He fell almost in the same instant and by the same hand, and he lay horridly in a huddle, with the blood staining him in his mortal anguish.
The Englishman was now on his feet with his back to the wall and his sword free. All the soldiers in the venta, and they were not less than eight in number, infuriated by the sudden murder of their captain and their comrade, were springing upon him like a pack of wolves.
Howbeit, it was a wonderful blade that the Englishman bore. He resisted their first onset so ably that they fell back before him. Only the most superb addresscould have saved him, but this was at his command. Yet no sooner had they been repulsed than they came at him again. They began to press him severely, but in the moment of his need the Count of Nullepart made an intervention. Knocking up one of their swords with his own blade, he drew the man off and engaged him brilliantly.
I followed the Count of Nullepart’s example, engaging a second fellow. And although my skill was as nothing beside that of my two comrades, my attack grew the more furious that it might supply its lack of science. At least, I know that hardly had I engaged the man I had chosen—a fellow who had crept forward to take the Englishman underneath while he dealt with the others—than I felt my father’s good blade pass right through his body, and he sank with a groan to his knees.
Scarce had I freed the weapon than I heard the voice of Sir Richard Pendragon in my ears.
“Forth, good Don! Do you creep through to the horses and get them into the street.”
Without waiting to look what happened further to my friends—for I knew their address to be great, and the only hope of saving their lives lay in getting out the horses at once—I contrived to force my way through the press of our foes, who paid me little attention. Running across the open passage-way to where our beasts were stabled, I proceeded to saddle them in the greatest haste. And this was not rendered less by the knowledge that the landlord had run out into the street and was bawling lustily. All too soon we should have half the city upon us.
Thirty yards away, within the precincts of the inn kitchen, the steel rang ever louder and louder, and it seemed that I should never be able to get the saddles and bridles on to the three horses. But at last they were furnished, and one by one I led them through the narrow doorway into the street.
Hardly had I done this than I encountered on the threshold of the tavern a number of citizens and soldiers whom the cries of the landlord had summoned.
“The robber is within,” I had the presence of mind to gasp breathlessly.
Thereupon they pressed forward into the inn without heeding the three horses.
Just as I was about to follow on their heels to see what aid I could render to my friends, the English giant fought his way out of the reeking interior. His chest was heaving, his sword was broken, and his face was dripping with blood and sweat. His great red eyes were as luminous as those of a tiger.
“The Count of Nullepart!” I cried. “Where is the Count of Nullepart?”
Before the Englishman could answer my question, the nimble form of our comrade had also emerged from the interior, which now was like a shambles. He too was covered in blood, and his face was as pale as a corpse.
It was an instant’s work to spring into our saddles. Yet quick as we were, we were hardly sharp enough. Soldiers and citizens were already thronging around us; their outstretched hands were striving to pull us down; and a most perilous hue and cry was arising in the streets of the city.
“In the name of the Virgin, let them not escape!” was a cry that was raised all about us.
For the moment, happily for us, none of this mob was mounted. Putting our horses at the press we clove a way through, still dealing fierce blows and receiving them; and at last, getting clear, we set off pell-mell down the street and through the narrow purlieus of the city. Under the cover of the darkness it began to seem that we had a reasonable prospect of escape.
Our fleet horses, a little recovered from the fatigues of the day, began to outstrip our pursuers; yet our danger was still very real, since in the labyrinth of ways and byways we were likely to be entrapped.
By a stroke of fortune Sir Richard Pendragon and the Count of Nullepart were familiar with Madrid, and were able to point a fair course to the southern gate of the city. However, no sooner had we come before it, with our pursuers well in the rear, than we had to encounter a new peril. The gate was locked for the night.
The urgency of our cries, and loud bawling of “In the name of the King!” drew the porter out of his hut. In one hand he bore a lanthorn and in the other a key, which was strapped to his girdle. He was an old man, very querulous and apparently very sleepy.
“Who are ye that ride forth at this hour?” he demanded. “Where are your passports signed by the constable of the city?”
“It is here, father,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, leaning a little forward from the saddle and knocking the old man senseless with the hilt of his sword.
Leaping down from his horse, Sir Richard tore the key from the porter’s girdle. In the next instant he had thrown back the gate, and our horses were through. Yet brief as this delay was, it was almost too much. Hardly had we crossed the boundary of the city ere the hue and cry was upon us.
The Englishman, however, was in nowise daunted by the necessity for haste. With that self mastery and high instinct for action which a little time before had saved his life, he pulled the gate after him, and turned the key almost against the very noses of our pursuers.
While some of them screamed oaths and shouted curses and administered to the senseless porter, and others attacked the staunch iron barrier, we rode into the darkness at a pace which was calculated not unduly to distress our already fatigued horses.
When we had made a league and the shouts of our foes were no longer in our ears, my excitement, which I confess had been very great, abated sufficiently to enable me to remember that my friends had suffered scathe in the inn. To my inquiry they returned the answer that they had never felt happier in any situation; and further, I received their commendation upon the part I had played.
“My young companion,” said the Englishman, “I make you my service. Your behaviour was so worthy in the hour of trial that I regret that I abused your nation. I never ask to see a young springald bear his sword better; and as for your five wits, they are those of a good boy. You have pleased me well, good Don; and I allow that your mother was an excellent person. And the same applies to your father.”
A speech of this flattering civility, which I was happy to feel was my desert, gave me such pleasure that for the time I forgot that he who made it was undoubtedly a desperate and bloodthirsty character. Yet, in serving one to whom I was under the pledge of loyalty, I was committed to the interest of this bold and ruthless foreigner; besides the events of the night had given me a taste for the life of a soldier, which had bred a high intoxication in my veins. And the effect of this delightful madness was singular. At this hour I seemed to care little for the righteousness of my cause or the integrity of my company. My soul was possessed with the knowledge that I had killed a fellow creature in an open quarrel; and now, riding in the summer darkness, it asked no more than the opportunity to kill another.
The Count of Nullepart also paid me a very civil compliment in his charming manner. But, as we rode knee to knee through the darkness, a strange silence fell upon our delightful friend. The path grew broken and uncertain, so that we were thrown about in our saddles; and the gay wisdom and laughter of our companion, which had done so much to lighten our journey, was no longer to be heard. Never had I known this gentle maker of harmony addict himself to so much silence.
And then, quite suddenly, without sign or word or exclamation, the Count of Nullepart fell from his horse.