"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.
