"Upon him, and revenge your lord."
And with lowered lance the man-at-arms charged the Captain of the Wight,
while the two sturdy varlets sprang at Ralph. But the young esquire,
hearing the words and seeing the movement, with a touch of the spur
leaped his horse in front of his lord, and received the lance-thrust of
the man-at-arms on his shield, dealing his assailant a fierce buffet in
return.
"Ah, caitiff!" cried Ralph. "Vile traitor that thou art, thou shall rue
thy villainy!"
"Shall I, in sooth, sir upstart?" sneered a well-known voice. "Thou
hast escaped me once, but now I have thee. See, thy lord is falling to
the ground."
Ralph turned instinctively to look, and at the same moment received a
stunning blow on the side of his helmet which nearly knocked him out of
the saddle; but he quickly recovered himself, and flinging down his
lance, he seized his _martel de fer_, or mace, and reining his horse
backwards, he dealt the varlet who was attacking Lord Woodville a
terrific blow on the head, instantly felling the man to the ground. But
it was true, Lord Woodville had fallen to the ground, and the other
footman was upon him. Ralph, without a moment's hesitation, sprang from
his horse and struck wildly at the man, who was just wrenching off Lord
Woodville's helmet. The blow took only partial effect, but it drew the
attention of the man to him, and with an oath he turned savagely upon
the young esquire.
The odds were terribly against him.
"Have at the coxcomb, Dan; he's only good for tilting before ladies, and
only then when they bribe their lovers to spare his dainty youth,"
called out the man-at-arms, as he prepared to strike Ralph again with
his uplifted sword. But Ralph did not yet lose hope. The love of life
was strong in him. He closed with the half-armed varlet, and dealt him
a blow with his poignard, which he had now drawn. The man uttered a
fearful imprecation, and cut at Ralph with his axe; but the harness of
the young esquire was good, and the weapon only glanced aside. Seeing
how little use was his axe, the man dropped it, and drew his dagger
also, closing with Ralph, and trying to drive the point through the bars
of his visor. But the boy had been well taught, and he parried the
thrust on his steel gauntlet, dealing his foe a deep stab with his right
hand.
"Strike him, youngster, strike him!" shouted the man, in fierce rage.
"What art standing there for seeing him murdering me?"
"How can I strike him without doing thee a mischief, old stockfish? Get
thyself away, and I'll soon do for him."
But Ralph fully understood his advantage, and wrestled with the man
until they both fell to the ground over the prostrate body of Lord
Woodville.
The man-at-arms now got off his horse and came to the assistance of the
varlet who had fallen upon Ralph, but was severely wounded.
"Drive thy sword through his visor," gasped the man, whose arms were
held by Ralph, who was struggling to regain his feet.
The keen point played around the helmet of the esquire, who by twisting
and turning his head prevented the thrust from taking effect, but, held
as he was by the weight of the varlet above him, he could not hope to
avoid the blow much longer.
"Wrench off his helm, man!" cried the impatient man-at-arms.
"How can I? Don't you see he's got hold of my arms?" said the other, in
a gruff voice, which was growing fainter. "Stab him! why don't ye?
Stab him!"
[Illustration: "HE DROVE HIS DAGGER INTO THE CAITIFF ABOVE HIM."]
Ralph made one more desperate effort; he drove his dagger into the
caitiff above him, who with a deep groan ceased struggling and rolled
over, thus freeing Ralph, who sprang to his feet and turned upon the
man-at-arms.
The young esquire still had his mace hanging from the chain slung round
his right arm. Seizing it in his gauntleted hand, and transferring his
dagger to his left, he struck furiously at the steel-clad figure before
him, parrying at the same time with his dagger a dangerous thrust aimed
at his visor. The mace crashed on the helmet of his foe, and a
smothered exclamation of pain and rage came from out the barred morion.
Cutting wildly at the gorget of the young esquire, the man-at-arms
turned and made a dash for his horse.
"Stay, man-at-arms! Turn, caitiff that thou art!" called Ralph after
him. "Ah, recreant esquire, get thee gone, then, coward that thou art!"
and Ralph, who was thinking more of his lord than of the pursuit of his
cowardly assailant, turned back from following him to attend to his
prostrate chief.
As he bent over Lord Woodville, he noticed a dark patch on his shining
armour. There was a deep dent in the globular breast-plate, and the
broken end of a lance head was sticking in it.
Ralph was in despair; the Captain of the Wight lay motionless in his
harness; the silence was broken only by the cry of a sea-fowl as it
circled over head, and the distant thud of the sea as it rolled on the
shore below. Was Ralph the only living thing in that lonely valley
among the solemn hills?
He undid the buckle of his lord's helmet, and reverently removed the
cumbrous tilting-helm. As he did so he heard a faint sigh from the
stricken knight, and as the moonlight fell on his noble features he
opened his eyes.
"My lord, my lord, thou art not dead!" cried Ralph in joy. But no
answer came back, the eyes had closed again, and despair once more
seized on the young esquire.
What could he do? He looked round. What was it that flickered against
his face? The air was piercingly cold, and the moon had become obscured
by a thickening of the air. Ralph had opened his visor, that he might
attend his lord more easily. Again something flickered in his face,
cold and feathery. It was snowing.
Here was a fresh cause for anxiety. Alone in that sequestered valley,
who could bring them help? And he did not dare to leave his lord alone,
for fear that caitiff should return to finish the murderous work. As
Ralph looked round in despair at the dreary scene, his heart sank within
him. The landscape was fast becoming one grey indistinguishable blot,
and the feeble light of the hidden moon was turning to a sickly livid
hue. In a short time, too, he knew the moon would set.
A faint noise on the left caused Ralph to look round. The four bodies
lay still and stark; but there was something moving out of the grey
obscurity of the distance. Ralph closed his visor and handled his
sword. The dark object drew nearer, and a yellow spark seemed to be
coming with it. Ralph called out,--
"Whoever thou art, hasten thy steps; if foe, that I may handle thee, or
if friend, that thou mayest help my lord."
"'Tis a friend, my son, and I come apace as fast as my stiffening joints
will let me," cried a deep voice.
"Thank Heaven!" murmured the esquire. "Then my lord will not die."
By this time the dim shadow had come nearer, and Ralph saw that there
were two figures--one tall and burly, the other short and slight. Both
were draped in long cloaks, partially covered with the fast-falling
snow. The taller of the new comers carried a lantern.
Dim and ghostly the figures looked in their peaked hoods and long
mantles, entirely concealing face and form.
"Ah! we have come in time: no, no, too late!" and the slighter figure
uttered a shrill and bitter cry of pain, as it bent over the lifeless
mass of armour which held the unknown knight.
"Look to my lord first," said Ralph shortly.
"My son, 'tis the young child's father; my lord will wait," answered the
elder stranger mildly, as he went to help his childish companion.
But Ralph barred the way.
"Whoever thou art, thou shall see to my lord first," he cried, in a
resolute tone.