The Brethren
by H. Rider Haggard
Dedication
R.M.S. Mongolia, 12th May, 1904 Mayhap, Ella, here too distance
lends its enchantment, and these gallant brethren would have
quarrelled over Rosamund, or even had their long swords at each
other's throat. Mayhap that Princess and heroine might have
failed in the hour of her trial and never earned her saintly
crown. Mayhap the good horse "Smoke" would have fallen on the
Narrow Way, leaving false Lozelle a victor, and Masouda, the
royal-hearted, would have offered up a strangely different
sacrifice upon the altars of her passionate desire.
Still, let us hold otherwise, though we grow grey and know the
world for what it is. Let us for a little time think as we
thought while we were young; when faith knew no fears for
anything and death had not knocked upon our doors; when you
opened also to my childish eyes that gate of ivory and pearl
which leads to the blessed kingdom of Romance.
At the least I am sure, and I believe that you, my sister, will
agree with me, that, above and beyond its terrors and its
pitfalls, Imagination has few finer qualities, and none, perhaps,
more helpful to our hearts, than those which enable us for an
hour to dream that men and women, their fortunes and their fate,
are as we would fashion them.
H. Rider Haggard. To Mrs. Maddison Green.
"Two lovers by the maiden sate, Without a glance of jealous
hate; The maid her lovers sat between, With open brow and equal
mien;-- It is a sight but rarely spied, Thanks to man's wrath and
woman's pride."
Scott
AUTHOR'S NOTE Standing a while ago upon the flower-clad plain
above Tiberius, by the Lake of Galilee, the writer gazed at the
double peaks of the Hill of Hattin. Here, or so tradition says,
Christ preached the Sermon on the Mount--that perfect rule of
gentleness and peace. Here, too-- and this is certain--after
nearly twelve centuries had gone by, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, whom we
know as the Sultan Saladin, crushed the Christian power in
Palestine in perhaps the most terrible battle which that land of
blood has known. Thus the Mount of the Beatitudes became the
Mount of Massacre.
Whilst musing on these strangely-contrasted scenes enacted in one
place there arose in his mind a desire to weave, as best he
might, a tale wherein any who are drawn to the romance of that
pregnant and mysterious epoch, when men by thousands were glad to
lay down their lives for visions and spiritual hopes, could find
a picture, however faint and broken, of the long war between
Cross and Crescent waged among the Syrian plains and deserts. Of
Christian knights and ladies also, and their loves and sufferings
in England and the East; of the fearful lord of the Assassins
whom the Franks called Old Man of the Mountain, and his fortress
city, Masyaf. Of the great-hearted, if at times cruel Saladin
and his fierce Saracens; of the rout at Hattin itself, on whose
rocky height the Holy Rood was set up as a standard and captured,
to be seen no more by Christian eyes; and of the Iast surrender,
whereby the Crusaders lost Jerusalem forever.
Of that desire this story is the fruit.
PROLOGUE
Salah-ed-din, Commander of the Faithful, the king Strong to Aid,
Sovereign of the East, sat at night in his palace at Damascus and
brooded on the wonderful ways of God, by Whom he had been lifted
to his high estate. He remembered how, when he was but small in
the eyes of men, Nour-ed-din, king of Syria, forced him to
accompany his uncle, Shirkuh, to Egypt, whither he went, "like
one driven to his death," and how, against his own will, there he
rose to greatness. He thought of his father, the wise Ayoub, and
the brethren with whom he was brought up, all of them dead now
save one; and of his sisters, whom he had cherished. Most of all
did he think of her, Zobeide, who had been stolen away by the
knight whom she loved even to the loss of her own soul--yes, by
the English friend of his youth, his father's prisoner, Sir
Andrew D'Arcy, who, led astray by passion, had done him and his
house this grievous wrong. He had sworn, he remembered, that he
would bring her back even from England, and already had planned
to kill her husband and capture her when he learned her death.
She had left a child, or so his spies told him, who, if she still
lived, must be a woman now--his own niece, though half of noble
English blood.
Then his mind wandered from this old, half-forgotten story to the
woe and blood in which his days were set, and to the last great
struggle between the followers of the prophets Jesus and Mahomet,
that Jihad [Holy War] for which he made ready--and he sighed. For
he was a merciful man, who loved not slaughter, although his
fierce faith drove him from war to war.
Salah-ed-din slept and dreamed of peace. In his dream a maiden
stood before him. Presently, when she lifted her veil, he saw
that she was beautiful, with features like his own, but fairer,
and knew her surely for the daughter of his sister who had fled
with the English knight. Now he wondered why she visited him
thus, and in his vision prayed Allah to make the matter clear.
Then of a sudden he saw this same woman standing before him on a
Syrian plain, and on either side of her a countless host of
Saracens and Franks, of whom thousands and tens of thousands were
appointed to death. Lo! he, Salah-ed-din, charged at the head of
his squadrons, scimitar aloft, but she held up her hand and
stayed him.
"What do you hear, my niece?" he asked.
"I am come to save the lives of men through you," she answered;
"therefore was I born of your blood, and therefore I am sent to
you. Put up your sword, King, and spare them."
"Say, maiden, what ransom do you bring to buy this multitude from
doom? What ransom, and what gift?"
"The ransom of my own blood freely offered, and Heaven's gift of
peace to your sinful soul, O King." And with that outstretched
hand she drew down his keen-edged scimitar until it rested on her
breast.
Salah-ed-din awoke, and marvelled on his dream, but said nothing
of it to any man. The next night it returned to him, and the
memory of it went with him all the daythat followed, but still he
said nothing.
When on the third night he dreamed it yet again, even more
vividly, then he was sure that this thing was from God, and
summoned his holy Imauns and his Diviners, and took counsel with
them. These, after they had listened, prayed and consulted,
spoke thus:
"O Sultan, Allah has warned you in shadows that the woman, your
niece, who dwells far away in England, shall by her own
nobleness and sacrifice, in some time to come, save you from
shedding a sea of blood, and bring rest upon the land. We charge
you, therefore, draw this lady to your court, and keep her ever
by your side, since if she escape you, her peace goes with her."
Salah-ed-din said that this interpretation was wise and true, for
thus also he had read his dream. Then he summoned a certain
false knight who bore the Cross upon his breast, but in secret
had accepted the Koran, a Frankish spy of his, who came from that
country where dwelt the maiden, his niece, and from him learned
about her, her father, and her home. With him and another spy
who passed as a Christian palmer, by the aid of Prince Hassan,
one of the greatest and most trusted of his Emirs, he made a
cunning plan for the capture of the maiden if she would not come
willingly, and for her bearing away to Syria.
Moreover--that in the eyes of all men her dignity might be worthy
of her high blood and fate--by his decree he created her, the
niece whom he had never seen, Princess of Baalbec, with great
possessions--a rule that her grandfather, Ayoub, and her uncle,
Izzeddin, had held before her. Also he purchased a stout galley
of war, manning it with proved sailors and with chosen
men-at-arms, under the command of the Prince Hassan, and wrote a
letter to the English lord, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, and to his
daughter, and prepared a royal gift of jewels, and sent them to
the lady, his niece, far away in England, and with it the Patent
of her rank. Her he commanded this company to win by peace, or
force, or fraud, as best they might, but that without her not
one of them should dare to look upon his face again. And with
these he sent the two Frankish spies, who knew the place where
the lady lived, one of whom, the false knight, was a skilled
mariner and the captain of the ship.
These things did Yusuf Salah-ed-din, and waited patiently till it
should please God to accomplish the vision with which God had
filled his soul in sleep.
Chapter One: By The Waters of Death Creek
>From the sea-wall on the coast of Essex, Rosamund looked out
across the ocean eastwards. To right and left, but a little
behind her, like guards attending the person of their sovereign,
stood her cousins, the twin brethren, Godwin and Wulf, tall and
shapely men. Godwin was still as a statue, his hands folded over
the hilt of the long, scabbarded sword, of which the point was
set on the ground before him, but Wulf, his brother, moved
restlessly, and at length yawned aloud. They were beautiful to
look at, all three of them, as they appeared in the splendour of
their youth and health. The imperial Rosamund, dark-haired and
eyed, ivory skinned and slender-waisted, a posy of marsh flowers
in her hand; the pale, stately Godwin, with his dreaming face;
and the bold-fronted, blue-eyed warrior, Wulf, Saxon to his
finger-tips, notwithstanding his father's Norman blood.
At the sound of that unstifled yawn, Rosamund turned her head
with the slow grace which marked her every movement.
"Would you sleep already, Wulf, and the sun not yet down?" she
asked in her rich, low voice, which, perhaps because of its
foreign accent, seemed quite different to that of any other
woman.
"I think so, Rosamund," he answered."It would serve to pass the
time, and now that you have finished gathering those yellow
flowers which we rode so far to seek, the time--is somewhat
long."
"Shame on you, Wulf," she said, smiling."Look upon yonder sea and
sky, at that sheet of bloom all gold and purple--"
"I have looked for hard on half an hour, Cousin Rosamund; also at
your back and at Godwin's left arm and side-face, till in truth I
thought myself kneeling in Stangate Priory staring at my father's
effigy upon his tomb, while Prior John pattered the Mass. Why,
if you stood it on its feet, it is Godwin, the same crossed hands
resting on the sword, the same cold, silent face staring at the
sky."
"Godwin as Godwin will no doubt one day be, or so he hopes-- that
is, if the saints give him grace to do such deeds as did our
sire," interrupted his brother.
Wulf looked at him, and a curious flash of inspiration shone in
his blue eyes.
"No, I think not," he answered; "the deeds you may do, and
greater, but surely you will lie wrapped not in a shirt of mail,
but with a monk's cowl at the last--unless a woman robs you of it
and the quickest road to heaven. Tell me now, what are you
thinking of, you two--for I have been wondering in my dull way,
and am curious to learn how far I stand from truth? Rosamund,
speak first. Nay, not all the truth--a maid's thoughts are her
own-- but just the cream of it, that which rises to the top and
should be skimmed."
Rosamund sighed. "I? I was thinking of the East, where the sun
shines ever and the seas are blue as my girdle stones, and men
are full of strange learning--"
"And women are men's slaves!" interrupted Wulf. "Still, it is
natural that you should think of the East who have that blood in
your veins, and high blood, if all tales be true. Say,
Princess"--and he bowed the knee to her with an affectation of
mockery which could not hide his earnest reverence--"say,
Princess, my cousin, granddaughter of Ayoub and niece of the
mighty monarch, Yusuf Salah-ed-din, do you wish to leave this
pale land and visit your dominions in Egypt and in Syria?"
She listened, and at his words her eyes seemed to take fire, the
stately form to erect itself, the breast to heave, and the thin
nostrils to grow wider as though they scented some sweet,
remembered perfume. Indeed, at that moment, standing there on
the promontory above the seas, Rosamund looked a very queen.
Presently she answered him with another question.
"And how would they greet me there, Wulf, who am a Norman D'Arcy
and a Christian maid?"
"The first they would forgive you, since that blood is none so
ill either, and for the second--why, faiths can be changed."
Then it was that Godwin spoke for the first time.
"Wulf, Wulf," he said sternly,"keep watch upon your tongue, for
there are things that should not be said even as a silly jest.
See you, I love my cousin here better than aught else upon the
earth--"
"There, at least, we agree," broke in Wulf.
"Better than aught else on the earth," repeated Godwin;"but, by
the Holy Blood and by St. Peter, at whose shrine we are, I would
kill her with my own hand before her lips kissed the book of the
false prophet."
"Or any of his followers," muttered Wulf to himself, but
fortunately, perhaps, too low for either of his companions to
hear. Aloud he said, "You understand, Rosamund, you must be
careful, for Godwin ever keeps his word, and that would be but a
poor end for so much birth and beauty and wisdom."
"Oh, cease mocking, Wulf," she answered, laying her hand lightly
on the tunic that hid his shirt of mail."Cease mocking, and pray
St. Chad, the builder of this church, that no such dreadful
choice may ever be forced upon you, or me, or your beloved
brother--who, indeed, in such a case would do right to slay me."
"Well, if it were," answered Wulf, and his fair face flushed as
he spoke, "I trust that we should know how to meet it. After
all, is it so very hard to choose between death and duty?"
"I know not," she replied; "but oft-times sacrifice seems easy
when seen from far away; also, things may be lost that are more
prized than life."
"What things? Do you mean place, or wealth, or--love?"
"Tell me," said Rosamund, changing her tone,"what is that boat
rowing round the river's mouth? A while ago it hung upon its oars
as though those within it watched us."
"Fisher-folk," answered Wulf carelessly."I saw their nets."
"Yes; but beneath them something gleamed bright, like swords."
"Fish," said Wulf;"we are at peace in Essex." Although Rosamund
did not look convinced, he went on:"Now for Godwin's thoughts--
what were they?"
"Brother, if you would know, of the East also--the East and its
wars."
"Which have brought us no great luck," answered Wulf,"seeing that
our sire was slain in them and naught of him came home again save
his heart, which lies at Stangate yonder."
"How better could he die," asked Godwin,"than fighting for the
Cross of Christ? Is not that death of his at Harenc told of to
this day? By our Lady, I pray for one but half as glorious!"
"Aye, he died well--he died well," said Wulf, his blue eyes
flashing and his hand creeping to his sword hilt."But, brother,
there is peace at Jerusalem, as in Essex."
"Peace? Yes; but soon there will be war again. The monk
Peter--he whom we saw at Stangate last Sunday, and who left Syria
but six months gone--told me that it was coming fast. Even now
the Sultan Saladin, sitting at Damascus, summons his hosts from
far and wide, while his priests preach battle amongst the tribes
and barons of the East. And when it comes, brother, shall we not
be there to share it, as were our grandfather, our father, our
uncle, and so many of our kin? Shall we rot here in this dull
land, as by our uncle's wish we have done these many years, yes,
ever since we were home from the Scottish war, and count the kine
and plough the fields like peasants, while our peers are charging
on the pagan, and the banners wave, and the blood runs red upon
the holy sands of Palestine?"
Now it was Wulf's turn to take fire.
"By our Lady in Heaven, and our lady here!"--and he Iooked at
Rosamund, who was watching the pair of them with her quiet
thoughtful eyes--"go when you will, Godwin, and I go with you,
and as our birth was one birth, so, if it is decreed, let our
death be one death." And suddenly his hand that had been playing
with the sword-hilt gripped it fast, and tore the long, lean
blade from its scabbard and cast it high into the air, flashing
in the sunlight, to catch it as it fell again, while in a voice
that caused the wild fowl to rise in thunder from the Saltings
beneath, Wulf shouted the old war-cry that had rung on so many a
field--"A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Meet D'Arcy, meet Death!" Then he
sheathed his sword again and added in a shamed voice,"Are we
children that we fight where no foe is? Still, brother, may we
find him soon!"
Godwin smiled grimly, but answered nothing; only Rosamund said:
"So, my cousins, you would be away, perhaps to return no more,
and that will part us. But"--and her voice broke
somewhat--"such is the woman's lot, since men like you ever love
the bare sword best of all, nor should I think well of you were
it otherwise. Yet, cousins, I know not why"--and she shivered a
little--"it comes into my heart that Heaven often answers such
prayers swiftly. Oh, Wulf! your sword looked very red in the
sunlight but now: I say that it looked very red in the sunlight.
I am afraid--of I know not what. Well, we must be going, for we
have nine miles to ride, and the dark is not so far away. But
first, my cousins, come with me into this shrine, and let us pray
St. Peter and St. Chad to guard us on our journey home.
"Our journey?" said Wulf anxiously."What is there for you to fear
in a nine-mile ride along the shores of the Blackwater?"
"I said our journey home Wulf; and home is not in the hall at
Steeple, but yonder," and she pointed to the quiet, brooding sky.
"Well answered," said Godwin,"in this ancient place, whence so
many have journeyed home; all the Romans who are dead, when it
was their fortress, and the Saxons who came after them, and
others without count."
Then they turned and entered the old church--one of the first
that ever was in Britain, rough-built of Roman stone by the very
hands of Chad, the Saxon saint, more than five hundred years
before their day. Here they knelt a while at the rude altar and
prayed, each of them in his or her own fashion, then crossed
themselves, and rose to seek their horses, which were tied in the
shed hard by.
Now there were two roads, or rather tracks, back to the Hall at
Steeple-- one a mile or so inland, that ran through the village
of Bradwell, and the other, the shorter way, along the edge of
the Saltings to the narrow water known as Death Creek, at the
head of which the traveller to Steeple must strike inland,
leaving the Priory of Stangate on his right. It was this latter
path they choose, since at low tide the going there is good for
horses--which, even in the summer, that of the inland track was
not. Also they wished to be at home by supper-time, lest the old
knight, Sir Andrew D'Arcy, the father of Rosamund and the uncle
of the orphan brethren, should grow anxious, and perhaps come out
to seek them.
For the half of an hour or more they rode along the edge of the
Saltings, for the most part in silence that was broken only by
the cry of curlew and the lap of the turning tide. No human
being did they see, indeed, for this place was very desolate and
unvisited, save now and again by fishermen. At length, just as
the sun began to sink, they approached the shore of Death
Creek--a sheet of tidal water which ran a mile or more inland,
growing ever narrower, but was here some three hundred yards in
breadth. They were well mounted, all three of them. Indeed,
Rosamund's horse, a great grey, her father's gift to her, was
famous in that country-side for its swiftness and power, also
because it was so docile that a child could ride it; while those
of the brethren were heavy-built but well-trained war steeds,
taught to stand where they were left, and to charge when they
were urged, without fear of shouting men or flashing steel.
Now the ground lay thus. Some seventy yards from the shore of
Death Creek and parallel to it, a tongue of land, covered with
scrub and a few oaks, ran down into the Saltings, its point
ending on their path, beyond which were a swamp and the broad
river. Between this tongue and the shore of the creek the track
wended its way to the uplands. It was an ancient track; indeed
the reason of its existence was that here the Romans or some
other long dead hands had built a narrow mole or quay of rough
stone, forty or fifty yards in length, out into the water of the
creek, doubtless to serve as a convenience for fisher boats,
which could lie alongside of it even at low tide. This mole had
been much destroyed by centuries of washing, so that the end of
it lay below water, although the landward part was still almost
sound and level.
Coming over the little rise at the top of the wooded tongue, the
quick eyes of Wulf, who rode first--for here the path along the
border of the swamp was so narrow that they must go in single
file--caught sight of a large, empty boat moored to an iron ring
set in the wall of the mole.
"Your fishermen have landed, Rosamund," he said,"and doubtless
gone up to Bradwell."
"That is strange," she answered anxiously,"since here no
fishermen ever come." And she checked her horse as though to
turn.
"Whether they come or not, certainly they have gone," said
Godwin, craning forward to look about him; so, as we have nothing
to fear from an empty boat, let us push on."
On they rode accordingly, until they came to the root of the
stone quay or pier, when a sound behind them caused them to look
back. Then they saw a sight that sent the blood to their hearts,
for there behind them, leaping down one by one on to that narrow
footway, were men armed with naked swords, six or eight of them,
all of whom, they noted, had strips of linen pierced with eyelet
holes tied beneath their helms or leather caps, so as to conceal
their faces.
"A snare! a snare!" cried Wulf, drawing his sword. "Swift!
follow me up the Bradwell path!" and he struck the spurs into his
horse. It bounded forward, to be dragged next second with all
the weight of his powerful arm almost to its haunches. "God's
mercy!" he cried, "there are more of them!" And more there were,
for another band of men armed and linen-hooded like the first,
had leapt down on to that Bradwell path, amongst them a stout
man, who seemed to be unarmed, except for a long, crooked knife
at his girdle and a coat of ringed mail, which showed through the
opening of his loose tunic.
"To the boat!" shouted Godwin, whereat the stout man laughed--a
light, penetrating laugh, which even then all three of them heard
and noted.
Along the quay they rode, since there was nowhere else that they
could go, with both paths barred, and swamp and water on one side
of them, and a steep, wooded bank upon the other. When they
reached it, they found why the man had laughed, for the boat was
made fast with a strong chain that could not be cut; more, her
sail and oars were gone.
"Get into it," mocked a voice; "or, at least, let the lady get
in; it will save us the trouble of carrying her there."
Now Rosamund turned very pale, while the face of Wulf went red
and white, and he gripped his sword-hilt. But Godwin, calm as
ever, rode forward a few paces, and said quietly:
"Of your courtesy, say what you need of us. If it be money, we
have none--nothing but our arms and horses, which I think may
cost you dear."
Now the man with the crooked knife advanced a little, accompanied
by another man, a tall, supple-looking knave, into whose ear he
whispered.
"My master says," answered the tall man, "that you have with you
that which is of more value than all the king's gold--a very fair
lady, of whom someone has urgent need. Give her up now, and go
your way with your arms and horses, for you are gallant young
men, whose blood we do not wish to shed."
At this it was the turn of the brethren to laugh, which both of
them did together.
"Give her up," answered Godwin, "and go our ways dishonoured?
Aye, with our breath, but not before. Who then has such urgent
need of the lady Rosamund?"
Again there was whispering between the pair.
"My master says," was the answer, "he thinks that all who see her
will have need of her, since such loveliness is rare. But if you
wish a name, well, one comes into his mind; the name of the
knight Lozelle."
"The knight Lozelle!" murmured Rosamund, turning even paler than
before, as well she might. For this Lozelle was a powerful man
and Essex-born. He owned ships of whose doings upon the seas and
in the East evil tales were told, and once had sought Rosamund's
hand in marriage, but being rejected, uttered threats for which
Godwin, as the elder of the twins, had fought and wounded him.
Then he vanished--none knew where.
"Is Sir Hugh Lozelle here then?" asked Godwin, "masked like you
common cowards? If so, I desire tomeet him, to finish the work I
began in the snow last Christmas twelvemonths."
"Find that out if you can," answered the tall man. But Wulf
said, speaking low between his clenched teeth:
"Brother, I see but one chance. We must place Rosamund between
us and charge them."
The captain of the band seemed to read their thoughts, for again
he whispered into the ear of his companion, who called out:
"My master says that if you try to charge, you will be fools,
since we shall stab and ham-string your horses, which are too
good to waste, and take you quite easily as you fall. Come then,
yield, as you can do without shame, seeing there is no escape,
and that two men, however brave, cannot stand against a crowd.
He gives you one minute to surrender."
Now Rosamund spoke for the first time.
"My cousins," she said, "I pray you not to let me fall living
into the hands of Sir Hugh Lozelle, or of yonder men, to be taken
to what fate I know not. Let Godwin kill me, then, to save my
honour, as but now he said he would to save my soul, and strive
to cut your way through, and live to avenge me."
The brethren made no answer, only they looked at the water and
then at one another, and nodded. It was Godwin who spoke again,
for now that it had come to this struggle for life and their
lady, Wulf, whose tongue was commonly so ready, had grown
strangely silent, and fierce-faced also.
"Listen, Rosamund, and do not turn your eyes," said Godwin.
"There is but one chance for you, and, poor as it is, you must
choose between it and capture, since we cannot kill you. The
grey horse you ride is strong and true. Turn him now, and spur
into the water of Death Creek and swim it. It is broad, but the
incoming tide will help you, and perchance you will not drown."
Rosamund listened and moved her head backwards towards the boat.
Then Wulf spoke--few words and sharp: "Begone, girl! we guard the
boat."
She heard, and her dark eyes filled with tears, and her stately
head sank for a moment almost to her horse's mane.
"Oh, my knights! my knights! And would you die for me? Well, if
God wills it, so it must be. But I swear that if you die, that
no man shall be aught to me who have your memory, and if you
live--" And she looked at them confusedly, then stopped.
"Bless us, and begone," said Godwin.
So she blessed them in words low and holy; then of a sudden
wheeled round the great grey horse, and striking the spur into
its flank, drove straight at the deep water. A moment the
stallion hung, then from the low quay-end sprang out wide and
clear. Deep it sank, but not for long, for presently its rider's
head rose above the water, and regaining the saddle, from which
she had floated, Rosamund sat firm and headed the horse straight
for the distant bank. Now a shout of wonderment went up from the
woman thieves, for this was a deed that they had never thought a
girl would dare. But the brethren laughed as they saw that the
grey swam well, and, leaping from their saddles, ran forward a
few paces--eight or ten--along the mole to where it was
narrowest, as they went tearing the cloaks from their shoulders,
and, since they had none, throwing them over their left arms to
serve as bucklers.
The band cursed sullenly, only their captain gave an order to his
spokesman, who cried aloud:
"Cut them down, and to the boat! We shall take her before she
reaches shore or drowns."
For a moment they wavered, for the tall twin warriors who barred
the way had eyes that told of wounds and death. Then with a rush
they came, scrambling over the rough stones. But here the
causeway was so narrow that while their strength lasted, two men
were as good as twenty, nor, because of the mud and water, could
they be got at from either side. So after all it was but two to
two, and the brethren were the better two. Their long swords
flashed and smote, and when Wulf's was lifted again, once more it
shone red as it had been when he tossed it high in the sunlight,
and a man fell with a heavy splash into the waters of the creek,
and wallowed there till he died. Godwin's foe was down also,
and, as it seemed, sped.
Then, at a muttered word, not waiting to be attacked by others,
the brethren sprang forward. The huddled mob in front of them
saw them come, and shrank back, but before they had gone a yard,
the swords were at work behind. They swore strange oaths, they
caught their feet among the rocks, and rolled upon their faces.
In their confusion three of them were pushed into the water,
where two sank in the mud and were drowned, the third only
dragging himself ashore, while the rest made good their escape
from the causeway. But two had been cut down, and three had
fallen, for whom there was no escape. They strove to rise and
fight, but the linen masks flapped about their eyes, so that
their blows went wide, while the long swords of the brothers
smote and smote again upon their helms and harness as the hammers
of smiths smite upon an anvil, until they rolled over silent and
stirless.
"Back!" said Godwin; "for here the road is wide; and they will
get behind us."
So back they moved slowly, with their faces to the foe, stopping
just in front of the first man whom Godwin had seemed to kill,
and who lay face upwards with arms outstretched.
"So far we have done well," said Wulf, with a short laugh. "Are
you hurt?"
"Nay," answered his brother, "but do not boast till the battle is
over, for many are left and they will come on thus no more. Pray
God they have no spears or bows."
Then he turned and looked behind him, and there, far from the
shore now, swam the grey horse steadily, and there upon its back
sat Rosamund. Yes, and she had seen, since the horse must swim
somewhat sideways with the tide, for look, she took the kerchief
from her throat and waved it to them. Then the brethren knew
that she was proud of their great deeds, and thanked the saints
that they had lived to do even so much as this for her dear sake
Godwin was right. Although their leader commanded them in a
stern voice, the band sank from the reach of those awful swords,
and, instead, sought for stones to hurl at them. But here lay
more mud than pebbles, and the rocks of which the causeway was
built were too heavy for them to lift, so that they found but
few, which when thrown either missed the brethren or did them
little hurt. Now, after some while, the man called "master"
spoke through his lieutenant, and certain of them ran into the
thorn thicket, and thence appeared again bearing the long oars of
the boat.
"Their counsel is to batter us down with the oars. What shall we
do now, brother?" asked Godwin.
"What we can," answered Wulf. "It matters little if Rosamund is
spared by the waters, for they will scarcely take her now, who
must loose the boat and man it after we are dead."
As he spoke Wulf heard a sound behind him, and of a sudden Godwin
threw up his arms and sank to his knees. Round he sprang, and
there upon his feet stood that man whom they had thought dead,
and in his hand a bloody sword. At him leapt Wulf, and so fierce
were the blows he smote that the first severed his sword arm and
the second shore through cloak and mail deep into the thief's
side; so that this time he fell, never to stir again. Then he
looked at his brother and saw that the blood was running down his
face and blinding him.
"Save yourself, Wulf, for I am sped," murmured Godwin.
"Nay, or you could not speak." And he cast his arm round him and
kissed him on the brow.
Then a thought came into his mind, and lifting Godwin as though
he were a child, he ran back to where the horses stood, and
heaved him onto the saddle
"Hold fast!" he cried, "by mane and pommel. Keep your mind, and
hold fast, and I will save you yet."
Passing the reins over his left arm, Wulf leapt upon the back of
his own horse, and turned it. Ten seconds more, and the pirates,
who were gathering with the oars where the paths joined at the
root of the causeway, saw the two great horses thundering down
upon them. On one a sore wounded man, his bright hair dabbled
with blood, his hands gripping mane and saddle, and on the other
the warrior Wulf, with starting eyes and a face like the face of
a flame, shaking his red sword, and for the second time that day
shouting aloud: "A D'Arcy! a D'Arcy! Contre D'Arcy, contre
Mort!"
They saw, they shouted, they massed themselves together and held
up the oars to meet them. But Wulf spurred fiercely, and, short
as was the way, the heavy horses, trained to tourney, gathered
their speed. Now they were on them. The oars were swept aside
like reeds; all round them flashed the swords, and Wulf felt that
he was hurt, he knew not where. But his sword flashed also, one
blow--there was no time for more--yet the man beneath it sank
like an empty sack.
By St. Peter! They were through, and Godwin still swayed upon
the saddle, and yonder, nearing the further shore, the grey horse
with its burden still battled in the tide. They were through!
they were through! while to Wulf's eyes the air swam red, and the
earth seemed as though it rose up to meet them, and everywhere
was flaming fire.
But the shouts had died away behind them, and the only sound was
the sound of the galloping of their horses' hoofs. Then that
also grew faint and died away, and silence and darkness fell upon
the mind of Wulf.
