The mob rushed into the hall below, waving torches and swords and hunting it as dogs hunt a covert.
“The English wizards have hid themselves away,” cried a voice. “Let us burn the place, for so we are sure to catch them.”
“Nay, nay,” answered another voice, that of the mad friar. “We must have them beneath the torture, that we may learn how to lift the curse from Avignon, and the names of their accomplices on earth and in hell. Search, search, search!”
“Little need to search,” said Grey Dick, stepping out on to the landing. “Devil, go join your fellow-devils in that hell you talk of,” and he sent an arrow through his heart.
For a moment there followed the silence of consternation while the mob stood staring at their fallen leader. Then with a yell of rage they charged the stair and that fray began which was told of in Avignon for generations. Hugh and Dick shot their arrows, nor could they miss, seeing what was their target; indeed some of those from the great black bow pinned foe to foe beneath them. But so crowded were the assailants on the narrow stair that they could not shoot back. They advanced helpless, thrust to their doom by the weight of those who pressed behind.
Now they were near, the dead, still on their feet, being borne forward by the living, to whom they served as shields. Hugh and Dick ran to the head of the second flight and thence shot off the arrows that remained.
Dick loosed the last of them, and of this fearful shaft it was said that it slew three men, piercing through the body of one, the throat of the second and burying its barb in the skull of the third on the lowest step. Now Dick unstrung his bow, and thrust it into its case on his shoulder, for he was minded that they should go together at the last.
“Shafts have sung their song,” he said, with a fierce laugh; “now it is the turn of the axe and sword to make another music.”
Then he gripped Sir Hugh by the hand, saying:
“Farewell, master. Oh, I hold this a merry death, such as the Saints grant to few. Ay, and so would you were you as free as I am. Well, doubtless your lady has gone before. Or at worst soon she will follow after and greet you in the Gate of Death, where Murgh sits and keeps his count of passing souls.”