Cormac planted himself in front of his companion; he had thrown his cloak around her, to hide her dress. Now he forced her into the leaves and twigs of the fallen tree.
“Ay, and a Saxon woman, too!” screamed the snake-charmer, “a Saxon, a Saxon!”
There was a further howl of wrath from the crowd; and Cormac’s body would have been hewn down instantly, but that the slaying of a man at a Fair meant not only death, but a curse after death on the spirit of the slayer.
Cormac was parrying blow after blow; men were climbing towards the woman along the trunk of the hewn tree, and some were trying to set on fire the dried leaves and twigs.
“A Saxon! a Saxon!” they yelled. “If a man do but enter the airecht of the women he must die—let her die also! Let her die the death!”
Their enemies pressed closer upon them—still kept at bay by Cormac’s sword. Some of the wildest in the mob took up stones and began to stone them. Cormac and the girl retreated more and more under the thick foliage. Suddenly their retreat was cut off—they touched upon a great rock against which the felled trees had been massed.
For a minute they were left in peace.
Then Cormac saw a flame of fire run along a withered branch towards them. A stone struck him on the shoulder.
“Cravens!” he said, “they will stone or burn us!”
Elgiva was examining the surface of the rock against which they stood; drawing her hand over it through its veil of thick leaves. She gave a little cry of joy as she entered a crevice in the stone, and drew Cormac after her. The passage was so narrow he was forced to leave his shield behind him. They pressed onward for a few feet, hand in hand, until they felt they were in the heart of the rock.