I didn’t have to wait. He breathed one long breath. Without a sign of warning, he laid his weight on his hands. He leaped into the air. His huge body came at me like a mountain. He crossed the table without once touching it. I made to jump aside. I was too late for I never counted on such agility. He landed on his feet and grasped me, as I was turning away, by the arms. He drew them back and pinned them to my side. With a twist he threw me to the ground. He raised his heavy fist in the air. I looked up with an expression on my face of terror and despair. I was certain my end was come, when I heard a shout at the door. A flash of white like the wing of a bird passed between him and me. The fist never came down, for an arrow was sticking in the flesh of his upper arm shaking and swaying like a reed in the wind.
I scrambled to my feet. With much blinking I looked about. I saw the skirts of the nightgown of the old landlord pass through the kitchen door. On his heels followed Pierre with a glance back into the room. He was white from fear and pain. He was holding the arm that was wounded, in the other. But there was a look in his face that reminded me of an animal that is angry enough to devour alive its prey. I was sure that if he could have gotten his hands on me then, he would have torn me limb from limb.
I turned towards the door. On the threshold stood two archers clad in hunting costumes of light green. The one who had shot Pierre was drawing a fresh arrow from his quiver while the other was searching every nook and cranny for signs of a hidden foe.
“There were two of you who came here together?” he demanded.
I was more surprised than they for I noticed now that Charles and the man with whom he was fighting were gone. But before I could answer he came running from the trees that grew about the place and halted at the door. His face was drawn as tight as a drum and covered with dirt and sweat. In his hand he held the knife which I had first seen in the grasp of his foe.
“He drew me out into the woods,” he explained. “He was the toughest man I ever met.”
Then I bethought me of Pierre and the old landlord.
“They will escape!” I cried. “They will go and bring others of their kind. They’ll——”
The archer waved his hand.
“Let them go,” he said. “Let them bring twenty. There are a dozen of my followers already on the way here——”
“Are you of the party of the Black Prince?” I interrupted.
“We are,” he said. “He sent us out to scour the countryside. We have fallen in with a few stragglers of the King and beaten them. The country is as tame as you could wish.”
I uttered a gasp. I was on the verge of telling him all the preparation I saw while I passed down the valley of the Loire. But on second thought I was reminded that it were wisest not to take strangers too soon into your confidence.
“Where is the Black Prince now?” I asked with some caution.
“He’s to the northwest,” was the reply. “He has sacked and burned the castles and strongholds that lie over towards the sea. He’s going to march to the south in a few days—to Bordeaux to pass the winter.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. I was about to prod him more when a streak shot between us. It was an arrow from someone hiding in the woods.
We had no time for thought.
“Back!” cried the archer. And we dropped behind the open door as quickly as we could.
Another arrow sped past and fastened itself in the far wall. Then a second came and a third.
“That makes four all together,” said the first archer. “There are four men outside against the four of us here. If we can hold out for an hour, help will be on the way.”
“We must barricade the door,” said the second. “As it is, they have every advantage.”
He pointed to the table.
We lifted it up and stood it on its end. Then, with care lest we expose ourselves to another shot, we moved it slowly until it stood before the entrance. It was hardly wide enough for there was a space of half a foot on either side.
The first archer who seemed to be the leader touched the second on the arm.
“Do you hold the door, Raoul,” he said, “while I look closer at our defenses.”
With that he stepped back and began to examine the room. He sent a sharp glance at the windows and tossed his head when he saw the smallness of them. When he came to the door that led into the kitchen, a worried expression crossed his brow.
“Can you fight?” he demanded turning to me.
“I can try,” said I.
“Do you and your friend take your stand here,” he commanded. “If an attack comes, be on your guard and repel it.”
He left us and went back to the door. Charles picked up the chair with the broken legs while I, with my dagger in my hand, stood ready.
A sharp click echoed through the room. It was an arrow crashing against the table. Then three more followed in quick succession. By that I knew that our enemies were still in the front of us and for the moment we had nothing to fear from our end of the inn.
Then came a lull. The leader of the archers passed his hat across the opening between the table and the jamb of the door. Before he had time to breathe an arrow sung in the air. It passed into the room and caught with a snap in the plaster not far from my legs.
“They know how to shoot,” exclaimed the archer.
He walked back where the light was dim and raised his bow. He peered out for a moment, taking careful aim. The twang hummed in my ears and the arrow sped through the opening at the door.
A cry as of a man hurt came back to us, loud and penetrating.
“That’s one of them!” I shouted in glee.
The archer gave me a look.
“Don’t be deceived, lad,” he said with a frown. “I missed. My arrow is sticking there in a tree. It was only a trick of theirs.”
I was sure the leader was mistaken for in the next instant there came only three clicks against the surface of the table. But I held my own counsel and looked on while the archers, one at each opening, raised their bows and watched for a mark among the men in the woods across the road.
They shot at the same time. The arrows had scarcely left the bows when another yell louder than the first came over to us.
The leader lowered his bow in disgust.
“He got back too quickly,” he said. “Our only hope is to wait.”
There was another lull. For a long time we stood with our hearts thumping hard against our ribs. I listened for footsteps outside the kitchen door, but the whole place, even the road and the tree opposite were as silent as an empty church.
Then came a single arrow. It was not shot in a line but in a slow arching curve. It passed through the opening and landed sticking in the wood in the floor. Around the haft was tied a piece of white cloth.
I jumped towards it and raised it in my hand.
“A signal!” I cried.
The leader flashed his eyes on me.
“It’s a trick,” he answered. “Back! And watch your door!”
But it soon proved that I was right. Within a few minutes another piece of white cloth larger than the first fluttered among the trees. Regardless of the leader’s warning I walked to the middle of the floor. The old landlord came into view tottering and filled with fear. His jaw was twisting like a leaf spinning in the wind. He put one foot forward and then half turned as though he would draw back. When he got half across the road, he broke into a shifting run.
“A truce!” he cried holding the white cloth before him.
“What would you have?” asked the leader from behind the table.
“You’ve killed two of them already,” said the landlord. “They want to let you know that there’ll be a score of their comrades here within the hour.” He hesitated. The old crafty smile broke over his face. “If you give in, they’ll do you no hurt but send you back to Normandy where you belong.”
“Is that all?” demanded the leader.
“I’ve come to save my house,” was the next move.
“Well?”
“You see,” went on the old man, “if you don’t give in, they’ll burn it down about your ears.”
“Oh, ho!” replied the leader with a short laugh. “So that’s the tune now, is it? Well. Let them.” Here he held out his bow before the old man’s eyes. “Do you see this?” he demanded. “This bow has drawn the heart’s blood of half a hundred of their countrymen. It’s still athirst for more. Go back and ask them if they are willing to be the next.”
The landlord stood twisting the white rag between his skinny hands. He looked up sharply and saw me peering eagerly over the leader’s shoulder.
“That lad has eaten of my food,” he said with the old wheezing whistle in his voice. “I have treated him like a father. And he has brought all this trouble on me,—I’ll remember this when the time comes to settle our accounts.”
With a frown as black as pitch he turned and went wobbling and shaking across the road.
He had about disappeared among the trees when the leader called out, “Ready now for the brush!”
The words had scarcely left his lips when two arrows sped through the openings on either side of the table. On the heels of them a crash resounded against the kitchen-door. I ran back to where Charles had been pacing up and down the floor. The panels shook as though they were of straw. Another crash, and the door fell from its hinges with all the wood scattered into a thousand pieces.
Then there burst in on us two men. Charles swung the broken chair with all his force against the head of the first. I slipped in under his arm and thrust my dagger into the second’s ribs. I might just as well have tried to cut down a log of oak for the point stopped against something hard and by that there went through me the realization that he had on under his jerkin a coat of mail.
I jumped back to safety before he could lay hold of me. The fellow whom Charles had hit with the chair was down on one knee. The chair came up again and descended with great force. If it had struck, the man would have breathed his last. But with an effort he curled his body into a knot and covered his head in his arms. The chair glanced off his elbow and crashed against the floor. The back, which Charles had used as a hold, broke in two and the seat went flying and spinning across the room.
The fellow got to his feet. He was in pain but for all that was filled with wicked wrath. He reached out one hand and caught Charles by the coat. His dagger was over his head ready to descend when the leader of the archers turned and sent an arrow through his neck. He reeled and spun like a top. Then like a weight sank to the floor.
You will remember that all this happened almost in the twinkling of an eye. The man who was my opponent saw the danger that he faced. He had made for me to be sure with his knife ready to drive it into my body. I had taken two or three steps back towards the middle of the room. But when his companion fell, he gave one swift glance at the archer and turned his back. As fast as he could make it, he darted to the kitchen door. I heard his footsteps, as he ran along the wooden floor. He disappeared beyond, out among the trees to hide himself from death.
I breathed a sigh. The arrow of the archer had been our deliverer. I turned to the front of the inn and saw the men guarding the entrance stringing their bows and shooting time after time into the woods. The table was split in a dozen places showing the light in the cracks. By this I judged that while we had been busy with our foes, the enemy without had rained missile after missile at us with the intention of drawing us away while the two invaded the room.
Then came another lull. No doubt by this time the fellow who had escaped had gotten once more among his friends. That there was a council of war going on among them was as sure as fate. We waited a long time. There came no more arrows to crash with a click against the table nor to fly into the room.
A sound far off came to our ears. It was the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the hard road. For a time we listened. Then they died off as though the riders had stopped or had entered the woods. Hope rose in our breasts that it was friends who were coming to our aid. But in a short time it died, for we were to learn that it was the enemy now with a dozen men to where they had one before.
The clatter of hoofs started again irregularly as though the horses were cavorting in a circle. Then they came swiftly down the road. At each second they grew more and more distinct. At length they came into view—a whole troop of them. The chief wore a coat of shining mail and had a plume in his hat. His gauntlets flashed in the sun.
Without any ado they reined in their horses before the inn. The men dismounted as one, like drilled soldiers. They formed behind their captain and walked towards us. With his fist he knocked heavily against the surface of the upright table.
“Who are you?” demanded the archer.
“Servants of his Majesty, the King!” came the abrupt reply.
“—and what do you want?”
“You have a lad there who is a spy,” was the answer. “He is to be delivered into our hands.”
The archer waited a moment before he made reply.
“And if we refuse?” he said.
“We are not here to parley with you,” declared the captain. “If you do not deliver him forthwith, you are taking your life in your hands.”
The archer was as cool as the captain.
“I cannot give him up,” he said. “You will have to take him at your risk.”
There was no more said. The captain stepped aside as though he would leave. He uttered a word to his men. They rushed forward. Before we could put ourselves on guard, or before one of the archers could string his bow, the table was sent flying across the room. They came in. They covered us three or four to each one of us. To have shown resistance would have been the height of folly.
In less time than it takes to tell we were bound hand and foot and huddled along the wall at the far end of the room. When all was finished the captain stood before us twirling his mustache.
“You almost got through,” he said to me. “Well, my lad. In another day you’ll be at the end of your wanderings for a long, long time. For when you’ll get out of the fortress of my lord De Marsac, you’ll be an old man.”
With that he bade his men take us and tie us to the horses.
It was at the break of day when we came to the inn which we had mistaken for the Inn of The Cross-Roads. It was well after ten in the morning when we were led captives to the horses of the men who had taken us.
They tied us with long ropes—the one end around our waists, the other to the pommels of the saddles. We were to go on foot between the riders the whole distance of two or three days’ journey like the prisoners of chain gangs on their way to the galleys.
Fear and dread were strong within me. The September sun was shining down upon our heads. The road was rutted—full of holes and covered with sharp stones. I knew that we would get little enough to eat. As for water, they would let our tongues rot at the root before they would satisfy our thirst.
The country was wild and rugged. Hardly a house—or what you might call a house—was to be seen over vast stretches of it. Where the land was tillable there rooted in the weeds a few starved cattle, who gazed at us stupidly as we passed. Once in a while we came to a hut—a small place built of native rock with a low thatched roof hidden amidst a clump of scrawny trees and high straggling bushes. When a face appeared at the door, there was always a look of suspicion upon it as though we were surely enemies and to that the owner usually had a weapon of some kind in his hand, ready to defend himself in case he was attacked, or to drive us away if we invaded his land.
Shortly after noon we came to a halt to rest the horses and snatch a bite to eat. The men who had taken us seated us on a rock and drew a circle about us while one of their archers stood with his bow in his hand ready to shoot if any of us tried to escape.
Then we were up again and on our way. We plodded on and on over the hard surface of the road. Weariness began to show in our faces. In a little while I caught a small stone in my boot. It slipped down and rested under my heel. It bored and bored till I began to feel the pain of it. I stooped to loose the thong with the intention of easing myself. But the moment I halted the rope that tied me to the saddle grew taut. I was snatched along with a jerk and with a tightening about my waist that was so sudden that it caused me even more grief than the stone.
I limped along with my heel glowing like the heat of a fire. To make it worse the captain looked at me with a smile and laughed.
“If the rope were around your neck,” he said, “it would be more fitting.”
The others must have thought it was a fine jest for they, too, broke into mirth and clapped their hands on their thighs.
Towards the middle of the afternoon I could hardly drag one foot after the other. I was in despair with my head down. Suddenly it came up with a snap for the horses reared back on their hind legs. They neighed and lifted their noses in the air as though they were frightened. I had to jump from one side to the other to keep from being trodden underfoot. The shouts of the riders drew my attention to an object to the left of us on a huge rock not twenty paces from where we had halted.
It was a man. He was standing on his hands with his head down. His feet were in the air. And what made him so ridiculous—it was this that had frightened the horses—he was kicking with his legs with all the energy in his body. So great was his exertion that we expected to see him drop at any moment. But the longer he kept it up, the greater his strength seemed to grow. At length after several minutes he came to a sudden stop, tossed his body in the air with a lithe movement of his wrists and landed on the surface of the rock flat on his feet.
My nerves jumped and the men with us uttered a low exclamation of surprise. We all recognized him at once, for each of us, quite in the same breath, called out his name, “The Dwarf of Angers!”
The Dwarf was grinning from ear to ear. His long teeth were as sharp as the points of two rows of daggers. He placed one hand in the bosom of his shirt and threw his head back proudly. With the other he waved at the captain and his men.
“I warn you, sirs,” he said in his shrill voice, “that you are on your way to your deaths!” He waited a minute to let the words sink home. Then he pointed with sudden fierceness to the sun and called out, “If you go on, there will not be one of you who will see the light of another day!”
The captain started. His face paled. I heard him growl under his breath. Then in an instant he collected himself and barked out a command to his men. They raised their bows. A dozen arrows sped on their way. Some hit the rock. Some glanced over it. None struck for the Dwarf was quicker than they thought. With a leap he dropped down behind the rock and disappeared.
When the last arrow was shot he popped his head into view and let out a long savage laugh full of mockery and contempt. Then he was gone again.
The captain was by this time boiling with rage. He commanded three of his men to dismount. They searched the rock and the ground around it. They went up the side of the hill. With their bows strung ready to shoot at the first object that moved they peered cautiously behind every rock that was large enough to conceal a man. They came back again with blank faces and worried looks. The Dwarf seemed to have been swallowed up for no sign of him was to be found.
We started again, this time more slowly than before. The captain with his brow knotted kept his gaze straight down. It struck me that the Dwarf was like a phantom in the country, or like the visitation of a spirit. He had created a fear in the hearts of the people by the uncanny way in which he came and went and by the outlandish tricks he performed. But there was more than that too, for he struck with a certain fearlessness and accuracy that swept men off their feet. Besides he had a reputation for fulfilling every one of his predictions. It was this last that troubled the captain and buried him in gloom.
In another half hour the country to the sides of the road became more and more barren. What trees there were grew far apart and were hardly more than ragged stumps. Rocks abounded everywhere—boulders of all sizes, some as big as houses, others smaller, of every shape and form.
We had just turned a bend in the road. With no word of warning the man riding next to the captain threw his hands in the air. He uttered a short sobbing cry. His mouth fell agape and, although he struggled, he swung over to one side and toppled like a log from his horse. To the terror of the rest there in his chest stuck an arrow longer than your arm pointing upwards to the sky.
We turned instinctively to the road and the archers unslung their bows. No Dwarf appeared, but from in among the rocks there came to us a shrill penetrating laugh that echoed far and near and sent the shivers up and down my captors’ spines.
“That’s the first!” It was a cry like a prolonged wail. “Which of you will be the next?”
The men dismounted as they did before. They searched every speck of ground from the edge of the road far back to the ridge of the hill. They returned once again disappointed with doubt and anxiety impressed on their faces.
From then on we proceeded with utmost caution. The eyes of the men roved continually over the sides of the road. The archers sat with their bows slung across their saddles. Now and then, even when there was no sign of danger, a few of them dismounted and scoured among the rocks and rugged ground to either side of us.
For a quarter of an hour we went along peacefully enough. Then a white streak cut the air. The arrow did not come straight, but curved upwards in a long smooth arch. It struck point downward in the middle of the road where it trembled a little and then remained perfectly still.
Every man in that company reined in his horse. The archers raised their bows. They searched with their eyes every nook in the rocks where a man could have hidden. Not a sound came to us. Not a motion did we see. As far as appearances went the missile might have dropped from the sky.
One of the men rode on ahead and slid from his horse. He stooped to pick up the arrow. As his hand was about to touch the shaft, another arrow darted through the air like a flash of light. It cut the first in two, splitting it as cleanly as you would with a sharp knife. The man jumped back with his face the color of chalk and got once more upon his horse.
Our enemies were by this time thoroughly alarmed. There was no dismounting to hunt among the rocks. Fear was in every face and their nerves were keyed up as though they had been lashed with whips. A bird flying across the road or a dry leaf blown by the breeze would have started every one of them in his saddle.
Next we came to a clump of short stubby trees. Before he would risk passing it, the captain grouped his men together. He sent five of them to examine every tree, every bush and rock as far back from the road as they could venture. They returned. There was not a twig or branch which had escaped their eyes. A human soul was nowhere to be seen.
We started. The horses had scarcely taken ten steps when a long screeching laugh echoed to us through the trees. The captain and the rest of them drew in their reins. In the next second an arrow caught him in the chest and struck with terrific force against his coat of mail. It clicked and dropped to the ground but the power behind it jolted him so hard that it was within an ace of driving him from his saddle.
But that shot was enough. If their nerves were on edge before, they were broken now. The captain sank his spurs into his horse’s flanks. With a shout to save themselves he called to his men to follow. He dashed on ahead. A tug on the rope that bound my waist almost cut me in two. I was jerked forward, hobbling on my bruised foot, with a snap. I uttered a groan and tried to break into a run, with the sweat streaming down my face and my breath coming in painful gasps.
Then we suddenly stopped. My eyes were looking ahead. I saw an arrow dart in the direction of the captain. It cut one of the reins as cleanly as though it were of straw. The horse stumbled and the captain lost his hold. With the end of the rein in his hand he grasped into the air, spun around to the side and toppled heavily to the ground.
The archers were down beside him in a second. They raised him to his feet. For the moment they were forgetful of the Dwarf and of the danger they were in. In the midst of it all there came a weird mocking laugh—long and shrill. We turned. I saw the men recoil as though they were facing death itself.
The Dwarf was standing on a boulder half hidden by the stubby trees. He held his bow in his hands with an arrow in it ready to let it fly. Before any of us could have winked he could have killed the first he chose.
“Steady!” he cried. “Not a stir among you! I give you warning. Let the two lads and the two archers go free or at the next turning of the road there will not one of you be left alive!”
For a second there was only silence. The faces of the men were of the whiteness of death. Not one of them moved.
Then the captain gasped. He drew in a deep breath and in a voice that was shaking called back, “The next one of us to fall, they will fall, too! I shall drive my dagger into their hearts!”
The Dwarf only smiled. In tones like the heaviness of thunder he said, “I have warned you!” And he disappeared among the trees.
For what seemed a long while we went on ahead. A weight hung in the heart of every man of the small company. A sparrow could have frightened them. I was as weary of it all as I could be. Now and again I glanced at Charles who was tied to the horse on the opposite side of me. He did not speak, but by the look and nod he gave me, he stirred hope and courage in my breast and led me to believe that the worst of our journey had passed.
In a quarter of an hour we saw before us a sharp bend in the road. The words of the Dwarf still rang in our ears. The captain drew his sword and bade each of his archers to make ready his bow. The horses were lined up three abreast and in straight array. If we were about to enter on a field of battle the men could have been scarcely more carefully arranged.
The captain hardened his jaws. With a glint of determination in his eyes he urged his horse forward. We slowly entered the turn in the road. We made the bend. At any moment I expected to see an arrow come singing through the air and a man drop. In spite of myself my heart began to flutter like a bird’s. The soreness in my foot died out and the fact that I was a prisoner on my way to my doom faded from my mind like a passing cloud, for in one word the tenseness of the situation stirred every fibre and I was excited.
But the fall of the horses’ hoofs was all that broke the silence. With a grimness that surprised me the captain held doggedly on his way. He looked neither to the right or left but held his head high. In the face of what we all expected it was his courage that gave strength to his men and pulled them through.
We passed the bend in the road with no sign of the Dwarf or his deadly missiles. As far as we could see there was nothing ahead of us but a straight line. I looked along it in the hope that I would see some object or other that would give us hope.
My eye rested on a speck. It was small and far away and black. It came nearer little by little. The captain and the men noticed it too and kept their gaze upon it steadily. The rays of the sun glinted upon it for a second and then I was able to see that it was a man on horseback, fully equipped with armor that shone and glittered in its newness. The closer he came the more of the details we could distinguish. He had on his head a casque with the closed visor concealing his face, and gauntlets on his hands that were of the same blackness as his armour. He was quite small and rode with an ease that assured us of long years spent in the saddle. As for weapons he carried no spear or lance like most knights on their way to tournament or field of battle, but only a sword that hung from his belt in a scrolled scabbard and a mace of tough wood with the knots pointed with steel, that dangled loosely at his side.
He kept to the middle of the road. Not once did he urge his horse nor swerve to the right or the left. When he was finally abreast of us, he let the reins fall on the horse’s neck.
Then I was stirred by the strangest feeling that ever possessed me. I lost all interest in the man and his armor and in my captors. When the horse neighed I gave a sudden start. I examined him from his fetlock to his mane and from his head to his tail. At first a certain sense of familiarity shot through me. Then by degrees every suspicion of mine moulded itself into solid fact. Like a blast my brain told me that I had seen that horse before. It was the roan which I had brought with me from home—which I had ridden as far as the scrivener’s house in the woods—which was stolen from me by the two men whom De Marsac had set upon me. That horse, in one word, was mine!
The man in armor raised his hand. We had all come to a halt and for a second there was empty silence.
“You cannot pass,” he said in a voice that was strong and steady. “The prisoners which you have there must be given up.”
His hand dropped.
The captain thought before he spoke.
“And who are you?” he demanded.
“I am the ruler of all this waste land,” came the reply with a smoothness that went through us like a jar, “—of all these rocks and trees and the people, I am lord and master.”
The captain furrowed his brows.
“I never heard of you,” he answered.
The man in armor gave a little laugh.
“Have you never heard of the Abbot of Chalonnes?” he asked.
The captain gave a start. He stared a while at the man. A slow understanding smile curled at the corners of his mouth and he said, “There is no such person as the Abbot of Chalonnes. He is only a myth for the simple country folk to believe in. You are some one else.”
The Abbot raised his hand.
“The two archers, whom you have taken captive, are mine,” he said with great calm. “I have also an interest in the two lads. If you are wise, you will give them up.”
The captain stiffened himself.
“—and if I don’t?” he demanded.
For a second there was no answer. The Abbot sat on his horse as silent as a statue without a stir. Then, with a gesture that was more convincing than words, he said, “Did you not hear the warning of the Dwarf?”
A jar ran through us and even the captain recoiled. The Abbot had come to us straight down the road. The Dwarf, as far as we knew, was a mile or more behind us. How the two ever could have had an understanding was more than we could guess.
But the captain was not easily rebuffed.
“There are ten of us here, Sir Abbot,” he said pointing to his men. “You are but one. It is true you are clad in armor, but even at that you are taking a chance.”
The Abbot took the reins again in his hands.
“For the last time, I ask you,” he said, “will you give up your prisoners?”
The captain fairly roared.
“No!” he cried.
The Abbot clapped his spurs into the horse’s flanks. The archers raised their bows. As he came on an arrow or two struck against his armor and dropped like dead leaves to the road. He made straight for the captain. Within the space of a single breath the horses were side by side. The captain drew a dagger and leaned far forward, but the Abbot curled his fist and bent his arm. He caught his enemy alongside the jaw with a sweeping blow. The captain’s head went back with a snap. The light left his eyes and he dropped from his horse as though he had been felled with a mighty club.
That was the first stroke. The Abbot was now in the midst of us. The archers, seeing that their prisoners were only an encumbrance to their movements, loosed the ropes that bound us from their saddles. You may be sure that Charles and I, and the two captive archers made for the side of the road as fast as we were able so that we might not only be out of danger but might view a fight that promised enough of excitement.
The Abbot spun the horse about. One of the men who was nearest him realized that neither arrow nor dagger could wound a man who was so finely protected, raised himself in his stirrups. He then threw himself with all his weight at his opponent. It was his intention to thus overcome him and drag him to the earth. If they once could pounce upon him they could pummel him to death, or, what was just as good, could bind him and lead him off, their prisoner.
But this fellow had counted without a knowledge of the skill and adroitness of his foe. No sooner had he thrown himself forward when the Abbot bent his elbow into a kind of a crook. The sharp point of his armor was opposite the archer’s throat. With a jerk the Abbot drove it forward. It caught the man hard like the thrust of a pike or lance. He uttered a low moaning cry and toppled, like the captain, in a heap to the road.
From where we were standing we saw the Abbot wheel about. Once more he dug his spurs into the horse and rode back a dozen paces. Here he turned and faced the others who were left.
“He,” he cried pointing to the man who had just fallen, “is the second. Who of you will be the third?”
The men looked questioningly at each other. One of them growled and said something about their fallen captain. I heard the words “disgrace” and “punishment if we return.” They glanced at us and frowned and then, although I knew it was against their wills, they drew up once more in a kind of line and faced the Abbot.
Each of the archers drew taut his bow. The Abbot urged the horse forward with a touch of the spur. Eight arrows flew as straight as they could go. The eight of them crashed against the steel of the armor. A few were turned aside and sped on a little further but the most of them struck with a ring and dropped to the ground.
Like a flash the archers fastened each another arrow in his bow. Then of a sudden one of them sang out, “Kill the horse! We can get him when he is dismounted on the road!”
The Abbot was coming on. At the sound of the man’s voice he pulled in hard and rose in the saddle.
“Touch him if you dare!” he cried and his voice rang out like a trumpet. “For every drop of his blood that’s spilled, I’ll roast one of you alive!”
With that he went back to the starting place at a slow canter and then with all the deliberation in the world wheeled the horse once more about to face his foes.
I saw now that he was anxious to end the fray. He dug the spurs in deeper than before. The arrows of the archers rattled against his casque and armor and fell without injury at the horse’s feet. He came on, but this time he took the mace from the saddle at his side. He struck the first man he met a blow in the arm. It cracked with a noise like the snapping of a dry branch, so by that I knew he had broken the bone. Like a flash the Abbot swung in his saddle. He struck the second man in the chest with his mailed fist. Then he rode through the others and came out in their rear.
It was like mowing in a field of grain. The Abbot was the scythe and his enemies were standing stalks. At this second thrust the six of them, who had struck at him with what they had at their command, saw the futility of their attempts. They drew aside and lined themselves along the edge of the road. One of them began to unsling his quiver of arrows as a sign of submission when he glanced in an off-hand way down the road. Then he brightened up. He rose in his stirrups and uttered a loud cry to the others to follow him, sank his spurs into his horse and was off at a hard gallop.
The Abbot by this time had wheeled about to face them once again. But they rode past him with the speed of the wind. I shaded my eyes and peered in the direction they were going. To my surprise I saw riding to meet them three other men, each of them on horseback with armor that covered them from head to heel. And what troubled me most was that the foremost carried a long lance in rest that sparkled and shone in the afternoon sun.
A kind of fear ran through me for I realized that the odds were against us. It had been easy enough for the Abbot to tumble over men who were as open to attack as the archers. It would be a different thing to confront men who were armed equally as well as he, one of whom besides had a lance that could knock him from his seat before he could come at him with his shorter weapons like the sword and the mace.
I waited with my breath in my throat. As soon as the Abbot saw over his shoulder these new enemies riding towards him, he touched the horse in the side and cantered slowly down the road. The three in armor spurred on faster. When the Abbot was within a stone’s throw of them he cut over to the edge of the highway. Then he hastened his speed. His enemy swerved to meet him and as the first of them came on lowered his lance to strike him full in the chest.
It was this sudden turning that saved the day. As the knight with the lance drove into the Abbot he was forced to take his aim a little off the straight line. The point of the weapon struck the Abbot a hard blow on the mail under his arm. His horse veered, half staggering but continued on his course. The knight found himself in a sort of a knot, for the shaft of his lance was twisted by the swerving of the Abbot’s horse and was almost torn from his grasp. The butt of it drove back and took him on the shoulder with such force that it was within a hair of knocking him from the saddle.
Then the skill of the Abbot showed itself. As soon as his horse had steadied itself, he drove his spurs into its side. As fast as he could ride he made for the two knights who were coming up in the rear. He laid his hand upon his mace and held it in readiness by his side. The two knights, who had just witnessed the smoothness with which he had warded off the attack of the rider with the lance, now braced themselves to deliver him a blow that would end the fight once for all. They saw him coming down the middle of the road. They separated with a space between them wide enough to allow him to pass through. It was plain to be seen that they intended to let him into the trap so that they could attack him with one on each side.
The Abbot sped on. Little by little he verged to the edge of the road. The two knights verged with him but kept the opening between them as wide as before. They came on and on. They drove their spurs into their horses. But the Abbot never altered his pace until he was within a few feet of them. Then he drew his left rein, sharply and with great quickness. The horse under him was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. He crossed to the side of the two assailants. When he was abreast of them he swung his mace a crashing blow on the head and shoulders of the nearest rider that shook him to his heel. From where we were standing we saw the man try to shift his weapon from the one hand to the other. We heard the clang of the mace upon the ringing steel. The knight fell forward. In his helplessness he tried to hold on by grasping the horse’s mane. But his strength was gone. His fingers clutched into the empty air and he sprawled like a sack of meal to the earth.