"Speak, fellows! what would you with me?" he shouted, brandishing his sword on every side: "the first who advances, dies. If you be soldiers, say under whose orders you act, that I may know the traitor; and if there be a spark of honour in you, you will engage me singly, man to man. But if you are robbers and highwaymen, expect no booty from me. Bloody crowns are all you shall get, so long as I can wield my sword."
They answered not, but continued to press closer round him, none daring first to begin the attack; for Drost Peter, as weapon-master of the young king, was well known and generally feared for his skill with the sword. In the meanwhile, the horn of Skirmen continued to sound lustily, and was now answered by another from the direction of Rypen.
"Now, by Satan! quick! dead or alive!" cried a rough voice from among the disguised horsemen, three of whom at once rushed in upon the drost.
One instantly fell wounded, the two others, and as many more as could press forward, warmly continuing the assault. Drost Peter vigorously defended himself, and kept them at bay, the violent plunging and rearing of his steed preventing their blows from reaching him. The irritated assassins, perceiving this, wounded the noble animal, which rushed furiously into the midst of them, and fell.
Drost Peter lay for an instant on one knee, hemmed in on all sides by the troopers, who threatened to crush him beneath their horses' hoofs. He still retained his sword, although the blood streamed over his fingers from a wound in his arm. By a flourish of his weapon he succeeded in driving back the horses, and once more regained his feet.
At the same instant, Skirmen, who perceived the critical position of his master, darted his squire's sword from the bank above, and the leader of the gang rolled from his saddle, mortally wounded. The whole troop then sprang from their horses, to overpower the unaided knight by their united strength; but ere they could accomplish this, the blast of the horn, in answer to Skirmen's, sounded close at hand. The maskers, whom the fall of their leader seemed to have embarrassed, looked behind, and caught sight of a well-armed troop of horsemen, headed by a heavy knight on a white horse, who, with drawn sword, approached at full gallop.
"The count from Kiel!--the one-eyed count!" cried one of the cowls; and, as if by a thunderbolt, the whole band was scattered.
Abandoning the drost, and springing on their horses, in an instant they all disappeared, except the two who lay wounded on the road, and whose horses, with vacant saddles, followed the others.
Count Gerhard on his white steed, with Henner Friser and the Holstein troopers, came up while Skirmen, with much solicitude, was binding up his master's right arm.
"The fiend!" cried Count Gerhard, springing from his horse, "have we come too late?"