y. For there before
them, skull-emblazoned, shield on arm, his long sword lifted, and
a terrible wrath burning in his eyes, stood the old knight, like
a wolf at bay, and by his side, bow in hand, the beauteous lady
Rosamund, clad in all her festal broideries.
"Yield you!" cried a voice. By way of answer the bowstring
twanged, and an arrow sped home to its feathers through the
throat of the speaker, so that he went down, grabbing at it, and
spoke no more for ever.
As he fell clattering to the floor, Sir Andrew cried in a great
voice:
"We yield not to pagan dogs and poisoners. A D'Arcy! A D'Arcy!
Meet D'Arcy, meet Death!"
Thus for the last time did old Sir Andrew utter the warcry of his
race, which he had feared would never pass his lips again. His
prayer had been heard, and he was to die as he had desired.
"Down with him! seize the Princess!" said a voice. It was that of
Georgios, no longer humble with a merchant's obsequious whine,
but speaking in tones of cold command and in Arabic. For a moment
the swarthy mob hung back, as well they might in face of that
glittering sword. Then with a cry of "Salah-ed-din!
Salah-ed-din!" on they surged, with flashing spears and
scimitars. The overthrown table was in front of them, and one
leapt upon its edge, but as he leapt, the old knight, all his
years and sickness forgotten now, sprang forward and struck
downwards, so heavy a blow that in the darkling mouth of the
passage the sparks streamed out, and where the Saracen's head had
been, appeared his heels. Back Sir Andrew stepped again to win
space for his sword-play, while round the ends of the table broke
two fierce-faced men. At one of them Rosamund shot with her bow,
and the arrow pierced his thigh, but as he fell he struck with
his keen scimitar and shore the end off the bow, so that it was
useless. The second man caught his foot in the bar of the oak
chair which he did not see, and went down prone, while Sir
Andrew, taking no heed of him, rushed with a shout at the crowd
who followed, and catching their blows upon his shield, rained
down others so desperate that, being hampered by their very
number, they gave before him, and staggered back along the
passage.
"Guard your right, father!" cried Rosamund. He sprang round, to
see the Saracen, who had fallen, on his feet again. At him he
went, nor did the man wait the onset, but turned to fly, only to
find his death, for the great sword caught him between neck and
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