directing the defence at the northern boundary or even at the High
Bridge.

Slowly the day dragged on for the watchers in the "Flat-iron." It was
impossible to form any conjecture as to how the preliminary conflict was
proceeding; it was not even certain that it had begun. Piers Major had
undoubtedly forced the passage of the bridge, but apparently he had been
content with holding his advantage. He might not begin to move until
late in the day, and he would proceed slowly and cautiously.

From time to time a messenger galloped down the Palace Road. At once he
would be surrounded by an eager throng and escorted to the guard-room of
the White Tower, where Ulick had set up his headquarters. For it was
Ulick who had been left in command of the citadel garrison and intrusted
with the preparations for the impending siege. Twice Constans had caught
him fairly with his binoculars, and he could not be mistaken in the
features and carriage of his friend. His friend--one might say the only
friend that he had ever had--and Constans felt his heart heavy within
him, knowing that they must henceforth walk on diverging paths.

Constans found it difficult to keep his men under discipline. It was
all-important that their presence should be unsuspected by the enemy,
but it would have been betrayed a score of times had not his vigilance
intervened. Red Oxenford, in particular, grew more and more
unmanageable; he had neither eaten nor slept now for three days, and the
strain was telling on him. Finally he announced that he would wait no
longer. The north gate was open, and what should prevent his walking
straight up to the White Tower and sticking his boar-spear into the gray
wolf's hide? "And I will--by the seven thunders of God!" His voice rose
into a shriek.

It took half a dozen men to gag and bind him; he lay on a truss of
straw, his eyes fixed malevolently on Constans, whose orders had
prevented him from carrying out a plan so eminently practicable.

The shadows were growing long when Piers Minor pointed out a cloud of
dust far up the Palace Road. Later on they could distinguish the figures
of men and horses. Stragglers and wounded began to dribble away from the
fighting-line; they came running down the Palace Road, one by one, then
in bunches of two and three and four. Piers Major, with his greatly
superior force, was evidently driving the defenders back.

Half an hour later the conjecture became accomplished fact. The
Doomsme