WE ARE HARD BESET
I CANNOT say 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 address could 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.