“Here,” cried Denis; “this way, Sire!” And he made a snatch at the rein of the monarch’s horse and drew back his own for him to pass, closely followed by Leoni, who was just in time to rise in his stirrups and make a thrust at a tall halberdier who had suddenly stepped forward to seize the rein of Francis’s horse.
The man uttered no cry, only dropped his halberd and staggered back as Leoni passed on into the darkness, his horse running side by side with that of the King.
Meanwhile—it was almost momentary—Saint Simon, who was the next to pass through the narrow pier-bound way, cried out excitedly to his young friend:
“Come on, boy! It will be a ride for life.”
Denis knew it, as he sat there motionless as a statue upon his horse, with his sword pointed towards the advancing enemy, a full score of them dimly seen in the gloom, who, recovering from the terrible shock they had received, came running with their clumsy partisans levelled for their charge, to take revenge upon and capture the daring unknown party which had made this desperate attack.
There were men among them who were suffering from blows and from trampling hoofs, and other injuries they had received; but as they ran they recovered their well-trained formation, and with their leader dashed two and two through the narrow postern gate and along the darkened road for full a couple of hundred yards, before the stern command rang out for them to halt.
As the trampling of their feet ceased to beat upon the road they stood in the silence listening to the tramp of hoofs, which grew fainter and fainter, till the last sound died away and the silence was broken by a deep groan uttered by one of the men, who now dropped out and sank upon his knees.
“Who’s that?” cried the leader sharply.
“Staines Dick,” was the reply.
“Humph!” grunted the sergeant who had led the pursuit. “That’s two of us gone down. I saw the sentry had it as we passed out. Is there anyone among you as would like to be sergeant instead of me?”