“Farewell, friend,” answered Hugh, “be she quick or dead, thus Red Eve would wish that I should die. A Cressi! A Cressi!” he cried and drove his sword through the throat of a soldier who rushed at him.
They fought a very good fight, as doubtless the dead were telling each other while they passed from that red stair to such rest as they had won. They had fought a very good fight and it was hard to say which had done the best, Hugh’s white sword or Dick’s grey axe. And now, unwounded still save for a bruise or two, they stood there in the moonlight upon the stark edge of the tall tower, the foe in front and black space beneath. There they stood leaning on axe and sword and drawing their breath in great sobs, those two great harvestmen who that day had toiled so hard in the rich fields of death.
For a while the ever-gathering crowd of their assailants remained still staring at them. Then the leaders began to whisper to each other, for they scarcely seemed to dare to talk aloud.
“What shall we do?” asked one. “These are not men. No men could have fought as they have fought us for seven days and at last have slain us like sparrows in a net and themselves remained unhurt.”
“No,” answered another, “and no mortal archer could send his shaft through the bodies of three. Still it is finished now unless they find wings and fly away. So let us take them.”
“Yes, yes,” broke in Grey Dick with his hissing laugh, “come and take us, you curs of Avignon. Having our breath again, we are ready to be taken,” and he lifted his axe and shook it.
“Seize them,” shouted the leader of the French. “Seize them!” echoed those who poured up the stairs behind.
But there the matter ended, since none could find stomach to face that axe and sword. So at length they took another counsel.
“Bring bows and shoot them through the legs. Thus we shall bring them living to their trial,” commanded the captain of the men of Avignon. He was their fourth captain on that one day, for the other three lay upon the stairs or in the hall.
Now Hugh and Dick spoke together, few words and swift, as to whether they should charge or leap from the wall and have done with it. While they spoke a little cloud floated over the face of the moon, so that until it had gone the French could not see to shoot.