Mob. A knight! a champion!
Voice. He’s not mortal man!
See how his eyes shine! ’Tis the archangel!
St. Michael come to the rescue! Ho! St. Michael!
[He lunges at Conrad. Gerard turns the lance aside, and throws his arms round Conrad.]
Ger. My master! my master! The chariot of Israel and the horses thereof!
Oh call down fire from Heaven!
[A peasant strikes down Gerard. Conrad, over the body.]
Alas! my son! This blood shall cry for vengeance
Before the throne of God!
Gent. And cry in vain!
Follow thy minion! Join Folquet in hell!
[Bears Conrad down on his lance-point.]
Con. I am the vicar of the Vicar of Christ:
Who touches me doth touch the Son of God.
[The mob close over him.]