The hangman turned and bowed in mock reverence to the spectators
beneath him. He had not yet learned in a land of puny archers how
sure and how strong is the English bow. Half a dozen men, old Wat
amongst them, had run forward toward the wall. They were too late
to save their comrades, but at least their deaths were speedily
avenged.
The man was in the act of pushing off the second prisoner when an
arrow crashed through his head, and he fell stone dead upon the
parapet. But even in falling he had given the fatal thrust and a
second russet figure swung beside the first against the dark
background of the castle wall.
There only remained the young lad, Johnny Alspaye, who stood
shaking with fear, an abyss below him, and the voices of those who
would hurl him over it behind. There was a long pause before
anyone would come forth to dare those deadly arrows. Then a
fellow, crouching double, ran forward from the shelter, keeping
the young archer's body as a shield between him and danger.
"Aside, John! Aside!" cried his comrades from below.
The youth sprang as far as the rope would allow him, and slipped
it half over his face in the effort. Three arrows flashed past
his side, and two of them buried themselves in the body of the man
behind. A howl of delight burst from the spectators as he dropped
first upon his knees and then upon his face.
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