"On, comrades!" he cried hoarsely. "They must not bar the gate!"
"On!" croaked Matteo and Ralph behind him.
They slashed their way through the intervening ranks of fugitive Greeks, cut down the warders who were endeavouring hastily to swing the ponderous doors in place, and then rested on their arms for one precious minute. Within Galata all was disorder, and few knew that the enemy was actually across the threshold. Outside, the remaining Greeks were hotly engaged with the men of Hugh's company.
"Hugh," said Matteo. "This has been a brave venture. But we three cannot hope to stand for long by ourselves."
"Nay, then, Matteo, we will perish as must be."
"We need not perish," returned the jongleur. "Let us two bide here and hold the gate, whilst Ralph rides at speed to summon aid. Our people are fighting with the Greeks outside, unwitting where we are. But let them know, and we shall soon have aid in plenty."
"You speak sooth," agreed Hugh. "Ralph, off with you, and be swift, if you would see us alive again."
"But, Messer Hugh——"
"Off with you! 'Tis our one chance."
Ralph shot out of the archway like one of his own arrows from its bow. And the vaulted roof still resounded with the thunder of his departure when a flight of real arrows tinkled on the stones and the comrades' armour. Hugh looked along the arch of the gateway. At the farther end he saw a squad of Greeks, who dodged this way and that, seeking to get a good shot at him.