"We shall never live to see our friends," he exclaimed, leaping from his horse, "if we bide here in the open. We must have cover."
Matteo pointed to a doorway, scarce wide enough to permit of the horses' passage.
"Ay, that will do," said Hugh, and led in Beosund.
The scant light that straggled through the loopholes revealed the emptiness of the room, a chamber evidently reserved for the warders of the gate. The comrades stabled their horses, and then returned to the archway, in time to witness a shower of arrows, followed by an outburst of shrill Greek war-cries and the thudding of feet on the stone floor of the passage.
Hugh took a firmer hold on the hand-grips of his shield.
"There is more space for sword-play in the open. What say you, comrade?"
"Ay, Hugh. Back to back."
Side by side the comrades stepped out to meet the rush. Then, as the Greeks flowed around them, attacking from every angle, with sword and mace, axe and javelin, they set shoulders together and fought desperately to ward off the terrible pressure. Hugh, as of old, slew by sheer muscle and might, shattering helms and byrnies with his great sword. Matteo, hampered as he was by the press of foes, still contrived to swing his curved blade with all the trickery of the Saracens. They exacted a fearful toll, but despite themselves the comrades were obliged to give ground before this weight of men. They were forced backward, steadily, inexorably, toward the patch of sunshine that marked the outer exit of the gateway. There came a moment, when Matteo, who faced that way, saw that they might not retreat another step, else the enemy's purpose was achieved.
"Side by side again, Hugh," he gasped between thrusts. "Together—now! Ha! Christ and the Sepulchre!"
"St. James!" panted Hugh. "A Chesby for St. James!"