Slowly the minute passed, while
Nigel breathed a prayer to his three soldier saints, not that they
should save his body in this life, but that they should have a
kindly care for his soul in the next. Some thought of a fierce
wildcat sally crossed his mind, but once out of his corner he was
lost indeed. Yet at the last he would have rushed among his
enemies, and his body was bent for the spring, when with a deep
sonorous hum, like a breaking harp-string, the cord of the bow was
cloven in twain, and the arrow tinkled upon the tiled floor. At
the same moment a young curly-headed bowman, whose broad shoulders
and deep chest told of immense strength, as clearly as his frank,
laughing face and honest hazel eyes did of good humor and courage,
sprang forward sword in hand and took his place by Nigel's side.
"Nay, comrades!" said he. "Samkin Aylward cannot stand by and see
a gallant man shot down like a bull at the end of a baiting. Five
against one is long odds; but two against four is better, and by
my finger-bones! Squire Nigel and I leave this room together, be
it on our feet or no."
The formidable appearance of this ally and his high reputation
among his fellows gave a further chill to the lukewarm ardor of
the attack. Aylward's left arm was passed through his strung bow,
and he was known from Woolmer Forest to the Weald as the quickest,
surest archer that ever dropped a running deer at tenscore paces.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93