several of the garrison, who had united their strength in
order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained to
them. The principal, and now the single remaining drawbridge, had been
lowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who
had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no
sooner saw the flames breaking out and the bridge lowered than they
thronged to the entrance. On the other hand, a party of the besiegers
who had entered by the postern on the opposite side were now issuing
into the court-yard and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders
in the rear.

Animated, however, by despair and the example of their gallant leader,
the remaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and,
being well armed, they succeeded in driving back the assailants.

Crying aloud, "Those who would save themselves, follow me!"
Bois-Guilbert pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who
would have stopped them. He was followed by the Saracen slaves and some
five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's
retreat was rendered perilous by the number of arrows shot at him and
his party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round to the
barbican, where he expected to find De Bracy.

"De Bracy!" he shouted, "art thou there?"

"I am here," answered De Bracy, "but a prisoner."

"Can I rescue thee?" cried Bois-Guilbert.

"No," said the other. "I have rendered myself."

Upon hearing this, the Templar galloped off with his followers, leaving
the besiegers in complete possession of the castle.

Fortunately, by this time all the prisoners had been rescued and stood
together without the castle, while the yeomen ran through the apartments
seeking to save from the devouring flames such valuables as might be
found. They were soon driven out by the fiery element. The towering
flames surmounted every obstruction and rose to the evening skies one
huge and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country.
Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter.

The victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder not unmixed
with fear upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced
dusky red. The voice of Locksley was at length heard, "Shout, yeomen!
the den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to the tree in
Hart-hill Walk, for there we will make just partition among ourselves,