At last their patience was rewarded. Faint and far, through the tomb-like silence, came a dull, distant sound, growing ever louder and nearer, and shaping itself into the trample of hoofs, and the rattle of loose stones, and the ring of steel, and the hoarse voices of men, till a line of turbaned riders began to emerge like spectres from the ghostly dimness.
And now the hovering mists rolled away before the mounting sun like the smoke of a battle, revealing at last to the unseen watchers above the whole length of the Moorish train.
A sad and fearful sight it was, but only too common in that age of unceasing war. Every weapon was red with murder, and on many a spear-point was the head of some brave man who had vainly defended his home against a foe to whom pity was unknown. The spoils of the foray dangled at the saddles of the fierce Moslems, whose dark, lean faces glowed with savage triumph; and mingling with their exulting shouts came cruel taunts and ferocious curses, flung at the wretched captives who, with bound hands and bleeding feet, toiled wearily up the steep, stony path, goaded by the merciless spear-points of the ruffians who were dragging them away to hopeless slavery.
More than one of the unseen watchers above felt a pang of remorse at the thought of how often he had himself been guilty of the same outrages as the “heathen hounds” whom he abhorred; but this only inflamed the righteous wrath of these wild free-lances. Many a strong hand gripped its sword-hilt as if it would dint the metal, and many a stout archer drew his arrow to the head as he took sure aim at the savage throng below, who, with God’s name on their lips, were doing the devil’s work.
“Mash’ Allah!” (praise to God) cried a tall, gaunt, wild-looking Moor, evidently one of the leaders. “Yet one short league, and we are on our own ground once more, and then let the Christian dogs follow us if they will!”
“They will follow to their death, if they do!” said a second man, with a savage grin. “There is yet room on our spear-points for more of their unsainted heads, and the more the better!”
Just then their talk was interrupted by a scream of pain from a thin, pale, worn-looking woman amid the train of captives, who had gashed her bare foot deeply on one of the sharp stones that strewed the flinty path.
“Wilt thou be ever stumbling, mother of asses?” roared the fierce Moor, who held the cord that bound her bruised and bleeding wrists. “Get forward quickly, or thou shalt smart for it!”
And with his heavy spear-shaft he struck the poor creature savagely across the shoulders, forcing from her a fresh shriek of agony.
But hardly was the cowardly blow dealt, when a shaft, whizzing from the thicket above, pierced through steel and bone to the ruffian’s cruel heart; and, with a shout that made the air ring, the avengers came dashing down the hillside on their startled foes.