There came a low groan from the darkness, and words that seemed made with labor:
“Strike then. I care not.”
“What say’st thou?” called Cedric, “seest thou not I can strike thee with bolt fairly in face?”
“Strike then. ’Tis better so.”
Cedric turned to me with blank amaze upon his face.
“Heard thou ever the like? The man defies us to the death.” Then, quickly thrusting his bow into my hands:
“Hold this against mischance. There’s more to this than we know. I will fetch this fellow forth.”
“Hold Cedric,” I cried, “beware lest he stab thee.”
But my comrade had already advanced into the darkened room. He sprang beneath the table, like a boar-hound on his prey, and in an instant emerged at deathly grips with a man as broad and heavy as himself who fought with tooth and nail and heel and with the fierceness of a cornered wolf. E’en in that moment I noted the iron collar on his neck, and knew we had to do with Egbert, the Gilroy thrall.
Round and round they whirled in desperate wrestling, the while I tried in vain to be of help. In a moment they were out of the room where the villein had lain hidden and fighting full madly in the lodge, the thrall striving to throw his captor from him and make his way out the door and into the woods beyond.