There came a burst of distant cheering, an explosion of fierce cries at the gates, and a little mob of men-at-arms rushed into the bailey, followed by half a dozen sentinels with pikes in their hands.
In the middle of the crowd a man stood bound, dressed in a leathern jacket, and the soldiers were beating him over the head with the shafts of their pikes. His face ran with blood and there was an awful stare of horror in his eyes.
So Hyla came back to Hilgay.
At the gate of the castle they had halted him, with many oaths, and turned his head towards a tree, from one of whose branches hung the naked swollen corpse of Elgifu.
Dom Anselm lurched up from the side of the well and shouldered his way through the press. Here again was his dramatic opportunity. Face to face with the prisoner, he stopped short and spat venomously into his face. With that, Dom Anselm also passes out of the story.
They held Hyla and buffeted him, while the soldiers from all parts of the castle works ran towards the courtyard.
They came running down the slanting bridges leading from the walls, and their feet made a noise like thunder on the echoing boards. The cooks came out of the kitchens, the serfs from the stables, until there was a great bawling, shouting crowd, struggling and fighting to get a look at the captive.
None were louder in their menace than the serfs.
Some zealous soul, inspired by uncontrollable excitement, feeling the curious need of personal action that often comes to an excitable nature labouring under a sudden nerve stress, got him to the chamber at the foot of Outfangthef and fell to pulling lustily at the castle bell.
Suddenly, with the swiftness of a mechanical trick, a deep stillness of voice and gesture fell upon the tumult. It was as though some wizard had made his spell and turned them all to stone. Every eye turned towards Outfangthef and a lane opened among the people. Fulke was seen coming down the steps, and behind him was his sister, the Lady Alice de la Bourne.