A few
long-range arrows pattered on the rocks, and then with a deep
booming sound a huge stone, hurled from a mangonel, sang over the
head of the two Squires and crushed into splinters amongst the
boulders behind them. The Frenchman seized Nigel's bridle and
forced him farther from the gateway.
"By the dear Virgin!" he cried, "I care not to have those pebbles
about my ears, yet I cannot go back alone, so it is very clear,
my crazy comrade, that you must come also. Now we are beyond
their reach! But see, my friend Nigel, who are those who crown
the height?"
The sun had sunk behind the western ridge, but the glowing sky was
fringed at its lower edge by a score of ruddy twinkling points. A
body of horsemen showed hard and black upon the bare hill. Then
they dipped down the slope into the valley, whilst a band of
footmen followed behind.
"They are my people," cried Nigel joyously. "Come, my friend,
hasten, that we may take counsel what we shall do."
Sir Robert Knolles rode a bowshot in front of his men, and his
brow was as black as night. Beside him, with crestfallen face,
his horse bleeding, his armor dinted and soiled, was the
hot-headed knight, Sir James Astley. A fierce discussion raged
between them.
"I have done my devoir as best I might," said Astley. "Alone I
had ten of them at my sword-point. I know not how I have lived to
tell it.
Pages:
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371