"What is that to you? Go away—"
"You were struck by an assassin!" I exclaimed as I ran forward and picked up a sword still bloody, that my eyes just fell upon and that lay at a little distance. "This is the weapon that was used."
"I fought in loyal combat—leave me—Schanvoch—"
"You did not fight, and you did not wound yourself. Your sword lies beside you in its sheath. No, no! You fell under the blows of some cowardly assassin. Marion, let me examine your wound. Every soldier is something of a surgeon—if the flow of blood is staunched it may be enough to save your life—"
"Stop the flow of blood!" cried Marion casting at me an angry look. "Just you try to stop the flow of the blood from my wound, and you will see how I will receive you—"
"I shall endeavor to save you," I answered, "despite yourself."
As I spoke I approached Marion who lay flat upon his back. Just as I stooped over him he bent both his knees over his stomach and immediately struck out violently with his feet. The kick took me in the chest and threw me over upon the grass—so powerful was the expiring Hercules.
"Will you still bring me help despite myself?" asked Marion as I rose up, not angry but desolate over his brutality. If I should be overcome in this sad struggle, it was clear that I would be compelled to give up the hope of bringing help to the wounded man.
"Very well! Die!" I said to him, "since such is your wish. Die, since you forget that Gaul needs your services. But be sure of one thing—your death will be avenged—we shall discover the name of your assassin—"
"There has been no assassin—I gave myself the wound—"