“Lift your shield and fight,” said Hugh, advancing on him with raised sword. “I am Hugh de Cressi.”
“Then, sir, I yield myself your prisoner,” answered the knight, “seeing that you are two and I but one.”
“Not so. I take no prisoners, who seek vengeance, not ransom, and least of all from you. My companion shall not touch you unless I fall. Swift now, the light dies, and I would kill you fighting.”
The knight picked up his shield.
“I know you,” he said. “I am not he you think.”
“And I know you,” answered Hugh. “Now, no words, of them there have been enough between us,” and he smote at him.
For two minutes or more they fought, for the armour of both was good, and one was full of rage and the other of despair. There was little fine sword-play about this desperate duel; the light was too low for it. They struck and warded, that was all, while Grey Dick stood by and watched grimly. Some more fugitives came up, but seeing that blows passed, veered off to the left, for of blows they had known enough that day. The swan knight missed a great stroke, for Hugh leapt aside; then, as the Frenchman staggered forward, struck at him with all his strength. The heavy sword, grasped in both hands, for Hugh had thrown aside his shield, caught his foe where neck joins shoulder and sank through his mail deep into the flesh beneath. Down he went. It was finished.
“Unlace his helm, Dick,” grasped Hugh. “I would see his face for the last time, and if he still lives——”
Dick obeyed, cutting the lashings of the helm.
“By the Saints!” he said presently in a startled voice, “if this be Sir Edmund Acour he has strangely changed.”