Only the faintest light gleamed through the tunnel under the refectory. By lying on his chest upon the stones Antonio could just see the leaden sky. He could see, too, that the water was rising higher and higher, and that the space between the level of the water and the center of the tunnel vaulting was less than two feet.
The monk flung off his habit and jumped down into the torrent. It almost touched his arm-pits. The waters were icy cold; but this troubled him less than their headlong violence which threatened to sweep him away.
He entered the tunnel. As it was barely five feet from floor to keystone, the broad-shouldered giant had to hump his back and to work himself along in a frog-like posture. More than once stones, bowled along by the force of the flood, struck cruelly at his feet and ankles, and it was only by clutching with bleeding fingers at the sides of the vault that he could make the smallest headway. Even while he was escaping from it the water went on rising: and it was with dripping locks, and with eyes and ears full of muddy water, that he finally broke out into the free air.
The rain was pouring down so torrentially as he climbed up to the bank that he would have been as dry in the middle of the stream. As for his clothes, which he had rolled up as usual and laid behind a bush, he knew they must be wetter than his skin. Still, there was nothing for it but to scramble into them and dash for home. Antonio stooped to pick up the bundle.
It was gone.
In a flash he knew that Man as well as Nature had come to fight him. The instinct of danger made him spring back from the water and clench both fists to strike. And he had hardly a second to wait Like a beast from its lair, a black body sprang at him out of the pouring trees.
The staggering suddenness of its onslaught nearly flung Antonio to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, his assailant had dragged him to within a yard of the stream's edge and was making ready to shove him into the swirling water. But the monk got his grip just in time; and the stranger, fearful of meeting the end he had planned for Antonio, lurched back over the sodden grass.
Locked together, both men paused for breath. In one point Antonio had the advantage. He was at ease in thin cotton undergarments, while his adversary was encumbered by soaked garments of peasant stuff and cut. On the other hand, the stranger was fresh for the fray, whereas Antonio's battling against the flood in the tunnel had broken his wind. Meanwhile, to cool them for the second round, the stinging rain thrashed down impatiently upon them both.
With a tremendous rally of strength Antonio hurled the other away from him and then rushed in like lightning to get a better grip. He succeeded; and little by little he began to crush his foe down upon the sloppy ground. He had no relish for manslaughter even in self-defense; and, instead of thrusting him into the stream, he sought only to pin the stranger down with hands and knees and to make him give satisfaction for his murderous onrush. But the monk's strength began to fail him. His half-frozen feet were bleeding, his heart was thumping against his ribs, the veins on his forehead stood out like thick string, and his breath came and went in quick, thick gasps.
The stranger felt his opportunity; and, inch by inch, Antonio was dragged, pushed, shouldered, butted, elbowed, kneed back to the torrent's brim. But the ground was slippery: and both the wrestlers slithered and crashed down heavily.