Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE FRAY IN THE SHOT TOWER

  The door was opened by Hague Simon, the bald-headed, great-paunchedvillain who lived with Black Meg. In answer to his visitor's anxiousinquiries the Butcher said, searching Adrian's face with his pig-likeeyes the while, that he could not tell for certain whether Meg was orwas not at home. He rather thought that she was consulting the spiritswith the Master, but they might have passed out without his knowing it,"for they had great gifts--great gifts," and he wagged his fat head ashe showed Adrian into the accustomed room.

  It was an uncomfortable kind of chamber which, in some unexplainedway, always gave Adrian the impression that people, or presences, werestirring in it whom he could not see. Also in this place there happenedodd and unaccountable noises; creakings, and sighings which seemed toproceed from the walls and ceiling. Of course, such things were to beexpected in a house where sojourned one of the great magicians of theday. Still he was not altogether sorry when the door opened and BlackMeg entered, although some might have preferred the society of almostany ghost.

  "What is it, that you disturb me at such an hour?" she asked sharply.

  "What is it? What isn't it?" Adrian replied, his rage rising at thethought of his injuries. "That cursed philtre of yours has worked allwrong, that's what it is. Another man has got the benefit of it, don'tyou understand, you old hag? And, by Heaven! I believe he means toabduct her, yes, that's the meaning of all the packing and fuss, blindfool that I was not to guess it before. The Master--I will see theMaster. He must give me an antidote, another medicine----"

  "You certainly look as though you want it," interrupted Black Meg drily."Well, I doubt whether you can see him; it is not his hour for receivingvisitors; moreover, I don't think he's here, so I shall have to signalfor him."

  "I must see him. I will see him," shouted Adrian.

  "I daresay," replied Black Meg, squinting significantly at his pocket.

  Enraged as he was Adrian took the hint.

  "Woman, you seek gold," he said, quoting involuntarily from the lastromance he had read, and presenting her with a handful of small silver,which was all he had.

  Meg took the silver with a sniff, on the principle that somethingis better than nothing, and departed gloomily. Then followed moremysterious noises; voices whispered, doors opened and shut, furniturecreaked, after which came a period of exasperating and ratherdisagreeable silence. Adrian turned his face to the wall, for the onlywindow in the room was so far above his head that he was unable to lookout of it; indeed, it was more of a skylight than a window. Thus heremained a while gnawing at the ends of his moustache and cursing hisfortune, till presently he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

  "Who the devil is that?" he exclaimed, wheeling round to find himselfface to face with the draped and majestic form of the Master.

  "The devil! That is an ill word upon young lips, my friend," said thesage, shaking his head in reproof.

  "I daresay," replied Adrian, "but what the--I mean how did you get here?I never heard the door open."

  "How did I get here? Well, now you mention it, I wonder how I did. Thedoor--what have I to do with doors?"

  "I am sure I don't know," answered Adrian shortly, "but most people findthem useful."

  "Enough of such material talk," interrupted the sage with sternness."Your spirit cried to mine, and I _am_ here, let that suffice."

  "I suppose that Black Meg fetched you," went on Adrian, sticking to hispoint, for the philtre fiasco had made him suspicious.

  "Verily, friend Adrian, you can suppose what you will; and now, as Ihave little time to spare, be so good as to set out the matter.Nay, what need, I know all, for have I not--is this the case? Youadministered the philtre to the maid and neglected my instructions tooffer yourself to her at once. Another saw it and took advantage ofthe magic draught. While the spell was on her he proposed, he wasaccepted--yes, your brother Foy. Oh! fool, careless fool, what else didyou expect?"

  "At any rate I didn't expect that," replied Adrian in a fury. "And now,if you have all the power you pretend, tell me what I am to do."

  Something glinted ominously beneath the hood, it was the sage's one eye.

  "Young friend," he said, "your manner is brusque, yes, even rude. But Iunderstand and I forgive. Come, we will take counsel together. Tell mewhat has happened."

  Adrian told him with much emphasis, and the recital of his adventuresseemed to move the Master deeply, at any rate he turned away, hidinghis face in his hands, while his back trembled with the intensity of hisfeelings.

  "The matter is grave," he said solemnly, when at length the lovesickand angry swain had finished. "There is but one thing to be done. Yourtreacherous rival--oh! what fraud and deceit are hidden beneath thathomely countenance--has been well advised, by whom I know not, thoughI suspect one, a certain practitioner of the Black Magic, namedArentz----"

  "Ah!" ejaculated Adrian.

  "I see you know the man. Beware of him. He is, indeed, a wolf in sheep'sclothing, who wraps his devilish incantations in a cloak of seditiousdoctrine. Well, I have thwarted him before, for can Darkness standbefore Light? and, by the help of those who aid me, I may thwarthim again. Now, attend and answer my questions clearly, slowly andtruthfully. If the girl is to be saved to you, mark this, young friend,your cunning rival must be removed from Leyden for a while until thecharm works out its power."

  "You don't mean--" said Adrian, and stopped.

  "No, no. I mean the man no harm. I mean only that he must takea journey, which he will do fast enough, when he learns that hiswitchcrafts and other crimes are known. Now answer, or make an end, forI have more business to attend to than the love-makings of a foo--ofa headstrong youth. First: What you have told me of the attendances ofDirk van Goorl, your stepfather, and others of his household, namely,Red Martin and your half-brother Foy, at the tabernacle of your enemy,the wizard Arentz, is true, is it not?"

  "Yes," answered Adrian, "but I do not see what that has to do with thematter."

  "Silence!" thundered the Master. Then he paused a while, and Adrianseemed to hear certain strange squeakings proceeding from the walls.The sage remained lost in thought until the squeakings ceased. Again hespoke:

  "What you have told me of the part played by the said Foy and the saidMartin as to their sailing away with the treasure of the dead heretic,Hendrik Brant, and of the murders committed by them in the course of itshiding in the Haarlemer Meer, is true, is it not?"

  "Of course it is," answered Adrian, "but----"

  "Silence!" again thundered the sage, "or by my Lord Zoroaster, I throwup the case."

  Adrian collapsed, and there was another pause.

  "You believe," he went on again, "that the said Foy and the said Dirkvan Goorl, together with the said Martin, are making preparations toabduct that innocent and unhappy maid, the heiress, Elsa Brant, for evilpurposes of their own?"

  "I never told you so," said Adrian, "but I think it is a fact; at leastthere is a lot of packing going on."

  "You never told me! Do you not understand that there is no need for youto tell me anything?"

  "Then, in the name of your Lord Zoroaster, why do you ask?" exclaimedthe exasperated Adrian.

  "That you will know presently," he answered musing.

  Once more Adrian heard the strange squeaking as of young and hungryrats.

  "I think that I will not take up your time any more," he said, growingthoroughly alarmed, for really the proceedings were a little odd, and herose to go.

  The Master made no answer, only, which was curious conduct for a sage,he began to whistle a tune.

  "By your leave," said Adrian, for the magician's back was against thedoor. "I have business----"

  "And so have I," replied the sage, and went on whistling.

  Then suddenly the side of one of the walls seemed to fall out, andthrough the opening emerged a man wrapped in a priest's robe, and afterhim, Hague Simon, Black Meg, and another particularly evil-lookingfellow.

  "
Got it all down?" asked the Master in an easy, everyday kind of voice.

  The monk bowed, and producing several folios of manuscript, laid them onthe table together with an ink-horn and a pen.

  "Very well. And now, my young friend, be so good as to sign there, atthe foot of the writing."

  "Sign what?" gasped Adrian.

  "Explain to him," said the Master. "He is quite right; a man should knowwhat he puts his name to."

  Then a monk spoke in a low, business-like voice.

  "This is the information of Adrian, called Van Goorl, as taken down fromhis own lips, wherein, among other things, he deposes to certain crimesof heresy, murder of the king's subjects, an attempted escape fromthe king's dominions, committed by his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl, hishalf-brother, Foy van Goorl, and their servant, a Frisian known as RedMartin. Shall I read the papers? It will take some time."

  "If the witness so desires," said the Master.

  "What is that document for?" whispered Adrian in a hoarse voice.

  "To persuade your treacherous rival, Foy van Goorl, that it will bedesirable in the interests of his health that he should retire fromLeyden for a while," sneered his late mentor, while the Butcher andBlack Meg sniggered audibly. Only the monk stood silent, like a blackwatching fate.

  "I'll not sign!" shouted Adrian. "I have been tricked! There istreachery!" and he bent forward to spring for the door.

  Ramiro made a sign, and in another instant the Butcher's fat hands wereabout Adrian's throat, and his thick thumbs were digging viciously atthe victim's windpipe. Still Adrian kicked and struggled, whereon, at asecond sign, the villainous-looking man drew a great knife, and, comingup to him, pricked him gently on the nose.

  Then Ramiro spoke to him very suavely and quietly.

  "Young friend," he said, "where is that faith in me which you promised,and why, when I wish you to sign this quite harmless writing, do you soviolently refuse?"

  "Because I won't betray my stepfather and brother," gasped Adrian. "Iknow why you want my signature," and he looked at the man in a priest'srobe.

  "You won't betray them," sneered Ramiro. "Why, you young fool, you havealready betrayed them fifty times over, and what is more, which youdon't seem to remember, you have betrayed yourself. Now look here. Ifyou choose to sign that paper, or if you don't choose, makes littledifference to me, for, dear pupil, I would almost as soon have yourevidence by word of mouth."

  "I may be a fool," said Adrian, turning sullen; "yes, I see now that Ihave been a fool to trust in you and your sham arts, but I am not foolenough to give evidence against my own people in any of your courts.What I have said I said never thinking that it would do them harm."

  "Not caring whether it would do them harm or no," corrected Ramiro, "asyou had your own object to gain--the young lady whom, by the way, youwere quite ready to doctor with a love medicine."

  "Because love blinded me," said Adrian loftily.

  Ramiro put his hand upon his shoulder and shook him slightly as heanswered:

  "And has it not struck you, you vain puppy, that other things may blindyou also--hot irons, for instance?"

  "What do you mean?" gasped Adrian.

  "I mean that the rack is a wonderful persuader. Oh! it makes the mostsilent talk and the most solemn sing. Now take your choice. Will yousign or will you go to the torture chamber?"

  "What right have you to question me?" asked Adrian, striving to build uphis tottering courage with bold words.

  "Just this right--that I to whom you speak am the Captain and Governorof the Gevangenhuis in this town, an official who has certain powers."

  Adrian turned pale but said nothing.

  "Our young friend has gone to sleep," remarked Ramiro, reflectively."Here you, Simon, twist his arm a little. No, not the right arm; he maywant that to sign with, which will be awkward if it is out of joint: theother."

  With an ugly grin the Butcher, taking his fingers from Adrian's throat,gripped his captive's left wrist, and very slowly and deliberately beganto screw it round.

  Adrian groaned.

  "Painful, isn't it?" said Ramiro. "Well, I have no more time to waste,break his arm."

  Then Adrian gave in, for he was not fitted to bear torture; hisimagination was too lively.

  "I will sign," he whispered, the perspiration pouring from his paleface.

  "Are you quite sure you do it willingly?" queried his tormentor, adding,"another little half-turn, please, Simon; and you, Mistress Meg, if hebegins to faint, just prick him in the thigh with your knife."

  "Yes, yes," groaned Adrian.

  "Very good. Now here is the pen. Sign."

  So Adrian signed.

  "I congratulate you upon your discretion, pupil," remarked Ramiro, as hescattered sand on the writing and pocketed the paper. "To-day you havelearned a very useful lesson which life teaches to most of us, namely,that the inevitable must rule our little fancies. Let us see; I thinkthat by now the soldiers will have executed their task, so, as you havedone what I wished, you can go, for I shall know where to find you if Iwant you. But, if you will take my advice, which I offer as that of onefriend to another, you will hold your tongue about the events of thisafternoon. Unless you speak of it, nobody need ever know that you havefurnished certain useful information, for in the Gevangenhuis thenames of witnesses are not mentioned to the accused. Otherwise you maypossibly come into trouble with your heretical friends and relatives.Good afternoon. Brother, be so good as to open the door for thisgentleman."

  A minute later Adrian found himself in the street, towards which he hadbeen helped by the kick of a heavy boot. His first impulse was to run,and he ran for half a mile or more without stopping, till at length hepaused breathless in a deserted street, and, leaning against the wheelof an unharnessed waggon, tried to think. Think! How could he think? Hismind was one mad whirl; rage, shame, disappointed passion, all boiled init like bones in a knacker's cauldron. He had been fooled, he had losthis love, and, oh! infamy, he had betrayed his kindred to the hell ofthe Inquisition. They would be tortured and burnt. Yes, even his motherand Elsa might be burned, since those devils respected neither age norsex, and their blood would be upon his head. It was true that he hadsigned under compulsion, but who would believe that, for had they nottaken down his talk word for word? For once Adrian saw himself as hewas; the cloaks of vanity and self-love were stripped from his soul, andhe knew what others would think when they came to learn the story. Hethought of suicide; there was water, here was steel, the deed would notbe difficult. No, he could not; it was too horrible. Moreover, how daredhe enter the other world so unprepared, so steeped in every sort ofevil? What, then, could he do to save his character and those whom hisfolly had betrayed? He looked round him; there, not three hundred yardsaway, rose the tall chimney of the factory. Perhaps there was yet time;perhaps he could still warn Foy and Martin of the fate which awaitedthem.

  Acting on the impulse of the moment, Adrian started forward, runninglike a hare. As he approached the building he saw that the workmen hadleft, for the big doors were shut. He raced round to the small entrance;it was open--he was through it, and figures were moving in the office.God be praised! They were Foy and Martin. To them he sped, a white-facedcreature with gaping mouth and staring eyes, to look at more like aghost than a human being.

  Martin and Foy saw him and shrank back. Could this be Adrian, theythought, or was it an evil vision?

  "Fly!" he gasped. "Hide yourselves! The officers of the Inquisitionare after you!" Then another thought struck him, and he stammered, "Myfather and mother. I must warn them!" and before they could speak he hadturned and was gone, as he went crying, "Fly! Fly!"

  Foy stood astonished till Martin struck him on the shoulder, and saidroughly:

  "Come, let us get out of this. Either he is mad, or he knows something.Have you your sword and dagger? Quick, then."

  They passed through the door, which Martin paused to lock, and into thecourtyard. Foy reached the gate first, and looked through its open bars.Th
en very deliberately he shot the bolts and turned the great key.

  "Are you brain-sick," asked Martin, "that you lock the gate on us?"

  "I think not," replied Foy, as he came back to him. "It is too late toescape. Soldiers are marching down the street."

  Martin ran and looked through the bars. It was true enough. Therethey came, fifty men or more, a whole company, headed straight for thefactory, which it was thought might be garrisoned for defence.

  "Now I can see no help but to fight for it," Martin said cheerfully, ashe hid the keys in the bucket of the well, which he let run down to thewater.

  "What can two men do against fifty?" asked Foy, lifting his steel-linedcap to scratch his head.

  "Not much, still, with good luck, something. At least, as nothing but acat can climb the walls, and the gateway is stopped, I think we may aswell die fighting as in the torture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, forthat is where they mean to lodge us."

  "I think so too," answered Foy, taking courage. "Now how can we hurtthem most before they quiet us?"

  Martin looked round reflectively. In the centre of the courtyard stood abuilding not unlike a pigeon-house, or the shelter that is sometimes setup in the middle of a market beneath which merchants gather. In fact itwas a shot tower, where leaden bullets of different sizes were cast anddropped through an opening in the floor into a shallow tank below tocool, for this was part of the trade of the foundry.

  "That would be a good place to hold," he said; "and crossbows hang uponthe walls."

  Foy nodded, and they ran to the tower, but not without being seen, foras they set foot upon its stair, the officer in command of the soldierscalled upon them to surrender in the name of the King. They madeno answer, and as they passed through the doorway, a bullet from anarquebus struck its woodwork.

  The shot tower stood upon oaken piles, and the chamber above, which wasround, and about twenty feet in diameter, was reached by a broad ladderof fifteen steps, such as is often used in stables. This ladder endedin a little landing of about six feet square, and to the left of thelanding opened the door of the chamber where the shot were cast. Theywent up into the place.

  "What shall we do now?" said Foy, "barricade the door?"

  "I can see no use in that," answered Martin, "for then they would batterit down, or perhaps burn a way through it. No; let us take it off itshinges and lay it on blocks about eight inches high, so that they maycatch their shins against it when they try to rush us."

  "A good notion," said Foy, and they lifted off the narrow oaken door andpropped it up on four moulds of metal across the threshold, weightingit with other moulds. Also they strewed the floor of the landing withthree-pound shot, so that men in a hurry might step on them and fall.Another thing they did, and this was Foy's notion. At the end of thechamber were the iron baths in which the lead was melted, and beneaththem furnaces ready laid for the next day's founding. These Foy setalight, pulling out the dampers to make them burn quickly, and so meltthe leaden bars which lay in the troughs.

  "They may come underneath," he said, pointing to the trap through whichthe hot shot were dropped into the tank, "and then molten lead will beuseful."

  Martin smiled and nodded. Then he took down a crossbow from the walls,for in those days, when every dwelling and warehouse might have tobe used as a place of defence, it was common to keep a good store ofweapons hung somewhere ready to hand, and went to the narrow windowwhich overlooked the gate.

  "As I thought," he said. "They can't get in and don't like the look ofthe iron spikes, so they are fetching a smith to burst it open. We mustwait."

  Very soon Foy began to fidget, for this waiting to be butchered by anoverwhelming force told upon his nerves. He thought of Elsa and hisparents, whom he would never see again; he thought of death and all theterrors and wonders that might lie beyond it; death whose depths he mustso soon explore. He had looked to his crossbow, had tested the stringand laid a good store of quarrels on the floor beside him; he had takena pike from the walls and seen to its shaft and point; he had stirredthe fires beneath the leaden bars till they roared in the sharp draught.

  "Is there nothing more to do?" he asked.

  "Yes," replied Martin, "we might say our prayers; they will be thelast," and suiting his action to the word, the great man knelt down, anexample which Foy followed.

  "Do you speak," said Foy, "I can't think of anything."

  So Martin began a prayer which is perhaps worthy of record:--

  "O Lord," he said, "forgive me all my sins, which are too many to count,or at least I haven't the time to try, and especially for cutting offthe head of the executioner with his own sword, although I had no deathquarrel with him, and for killing a Spaniard in a boxing match. O Lord,I thank you very much because you have arranged for us to die fightinginstead of being tortured and burnt in the gaol, and I pray that wemay be able to kill enough Spaniards first to make them remember us foryears to come. O Lord, protect my dear master and mistress, and let theformer learn that we have made an end of which he would approve, but ifmay be, hide it from the Paster Arentz, who might think that we ought tosurrender. That is all I have to say. Amen."

  Then Foy did his own praying, and it was hearty enough, but we needscarcely stop to set down its substance.

  Meanwhile the Spaniards had found a blacksmith, who was getting to workupon the gate, for they could see him through the open upper bars.

  "Why don't you shoot?" asked Foy. "You might catch him with a bolt."

  "Because he is a poor Dutchman whom they have pressed for the job, whilethey stand upon one side. We must wait till they break down the gate.Also we must fight well when the time comes, Master Foy, for, see, folkare watching us, and they will expect it," and he pointed upwards.

  Foy looked. The foundry courtyard was surrounded by tall gabled houses,and of these the windows and balconies were already crowded withspectators. Word had gone round that the Inquisition had sent soldiersto seize one of the young Van Goorls and Red Martin--that they werebattering at the gates of the factory. Therefore the citizens, some ofthem their own workmen, gathered there, for they did not think that RedMartin and Foy van Goorl would be taken easily.

  The hammering at the gate went on, but it was very stout and would notgive.

  "Martin," said Foy presently, "I am frightened. I feel quite sick. Iknow that I shall be no good to you when the pinch comes."

  "Now I am sure that you are a brave man," answered Martin with a shortlaugh, "for otherwise you would never have owned that you feel afraid.Of course you feel afraid, and so do I. It is the waiting that does it;but when once the first blow has been struck, why, you will be as happyas a priest. Look you, master. So soon as they begin to rush the ladder,do you get behind me, close behind, for I shall want all the room tosweep with my sword, and if we stand side by side we shall only hindereach other, while with a pike you can thrust past me, and be ready todeal with any who win through."

  "You mean that you want to shelter me with your big carcase," answeredFoy. "But you are captain here. At least I will do my best," and puttinghis arms about the great man's middle, he hugged him affectionately.

  "Look! look!" cried Martin. "The gate is down. Now, first shot to you,"and he stepped to one side.

  As he spoke the oaken doors burst open and the Spanish soldiers beganto stream through them. Suddenly Foy's nerve returned to him and he grewsteady as a rock. Lifting his crossbow he aimed and pulled the trigger.The string twanged, the quarrel rushed forth with a whistling sound,and the first soldier, pierced through breastplate and through breast,sprang into the air and fell forward. Foy stepped to one side to stringhis bow.

  "Good shot," said Martin taking his place, while from the spectators inthe windows went up a sudden shout. Martin fired and another man fell.Then Foy fired again and missed, but Martin's next bolt struck the lastsoldier through the arm and pinned him to the timber of the broken gate.After this they could shoot no more, for the Spaniards were beneaththem.

  "To the doorway
," said Martin, "and remember what I told you. Away withthe bows, cold steel must do the rest."

  Now they stood by the open door, Martin, a helmet from the walls uponhis head, tied beneath his chin with a piece of rope because it was toosmall for him, the great sword Silence lifted ready to strike, andFoy behind gripping the long pike with both hands. Below them from thegathered mob of soldiers came a confused clamour, then a voice calledout an order and they heard footsteps on the stair.

  "Look out; they are coming," said Martin, turning his head so that Foycaught sight of his face. It was transfigured, it was terrible. Thegreat red beard seemed to bristle, the pale blue unshaded eyes rolledand glittered, they glittered like the blue steel of the sword Silencethat wavered above them. In that dread instant of expectancy Foyremembered his vision of the morning. Lo! it was fulfilled, for beforehim stood Martin, the peaceful, patient giant, transformed into a RedVengeance.

  A man reached the head of the ladder, stepped upon one of the loosecannon-balls and fell with an oath and a crash. But behind him cameothers. Suddenly they turned the corner, suddenly they burst into view,three or four of them together. Gallantly they rushed on. The first ofthem caught his feet in the trap of the door and fell headlong acrossit. Of him Martin took no heed, but Foy did, for before ever the soldiercould rise he had driven his pike down between the man's shoulders, sothat he died there upon the door. At the next Martin struck, and Foysaw this one suddenly grow small and double up, which, if he had foundleisure to examine the nature of that wound, would have surprised himvery little. Another man followed so quickly that Martin could not liftthe sword to meet him. But he pointed with it, and next instant wasshaking his carcase off its blade.

  After this Foy could keep no count. Martin slashed with the sword, andwhen he found a chance Foy thrust with the pike, till at length therewere none to thrust at, for this was more than the Spaniards hadbargained. Two of them lay dead in the doorway, and others had beendragged or had tumbled down the ladder, while from the onlookers at thewindows without, as they caught sight of them being brought forth slainor sorely wounded, went up shout upon shout of joy.

  "So far we have done very well," said Martin quietly, "but if they comeup again, we must be cooler and not waste our strength so much. Had Inot struck so hard, I might have killed another man."

  But the Spaniards showed no sign of coming up any more; they had seenenough of that narrow way and of the red swordsman who awaited them inthe doorway round the corner. Indeed it was a bad place for attackers,since they could not shoot with arquebuses or arrows, but must pass into be slaughtered like sheep at the shambles in the dim room beyond. So,being cautious men who loved their lives, they took a safer counsel.

  The tank beneath the shot-tower, when it was not in use, was closedwith a stone cover, and around this they piled firewood and peats froma stack in the corner of the yard, and standing in the centre out of thereach of arrows, set light to it. Martin lay down watching them througha crack in the floor. Then he signed to Foy, and whispered, and goingto the iron baths, Foy drew from them two large buckets of molten lead,each as much as a man could carry. Again Martin looked through thecrack, waiting till several of the burners were gathered beneath. Then,with a swift motion he lifted up the trap-door, and as those belowstared upwards wondering, full into their faces came the buckets ofmolten lead. Down went two of them never to speak more, while others ranout shrieking and aflame, tearing at their hair and garments.

  After this the Spaniards grew more wary, and built their fires roundthe oak piers till the flames eating up them fired the building, and theroom above grew full of little curling wreaths of smoke.

  "Now we must choose," said Martin, "whether we will be roasted likefowls in an oven, or go down and have our throats cut like pigs in theopen."

  "For my part, I prefer to die in the air," coughed Foy.

  "So say I, master. Listen. We can't get down the stair, for they arewatching for us there, so we must drop from the trap-door and chargethrough the fire. Then, if we are lucky, back to back and fight it out."

  Half a minute later two men bearing naked swords in their hands might beseen bursting through the barrier of flaming wood. Out they came safelyenough, and there in an open space not far from the gateway, haltedback to back, rubbing the water from their smarting eyes. On them, afew seconds later, like hounds on a wounded boar, dashed the mob ofsoldiers, while from every throat of the hundreds who were watching wentup shrill cries of encouragement, grief, and fear. Men fell before them,but others rushed in. They were down, they were up again, once more theywere down, and this time only one of them rose, the great man Martin. Hestaggered to his feet, shaking off the soldiers who tried to hold him,as a dog in the game-pit shakes off rats. He was up, he stood acrossthe body of his companion, and once more that fearful sword was sweepinground, bringing death to all it touched. They drew back, but a soldier,old in war, creeping behind him suddenly threw a cloak over his head.Then the end came, and slowly, very slowly, they overmatched hisstrength, and bore him down and bound him, while the watching mobgroaned and wept with grief.