“Then,” came from Sir George suddenly, “call to mind also how you cut him down with a single stroke, though you might have disarmed and spared him, for he could not have prevailed against you. His life’s blood dyed the marsh, and he was trampled under foot, a shapeless mass. Do you recall that?” The words were hurled at me with every look of hate.
“It was in a fair fight,” I said, somewhat sorry for the lad. “I had to save myself. It was give and take, no quarter asked or granted; no time to parry.”
“I saw the blow. I marked who gave it,” went on Sir George. “Had not my horse fallen under me then you would ne’er have dealt another. A sudden surge in the battle carried me from you, but I knew I could remember your face, your form; and I vowed----,” a strong emotion seized the man,--“I vowed your death when once more we should stand face to face. Now after many years that time has come. For--for----”
He seemed to choke with the words.
“Was he----?” I began softly.
“He was my only brother,” he replied, “and his death broke my mother’s heart, and sent my father to an early grave.”
“’Twas the fortune of war,” I answered, but I had no heart to mock his grief.
After a pause he went on.
“When the prisoners were taken,” he said, “I sought among them for you. One day, to my joy, I saw you penned in with others like the cattle you were. I hastened to the King to beg one boon: that you might be given or sold to me. But Lord Cordwaine, curse him, was before me, and he had chosen you among others that the King gave him. His Majesty dared not, for reasons of policy, offend Lord Cordwaine, by making the change.
“I begged and pleaded with the lord that he would give you to me, but he was short of purse, and had made a bargain to sell you as a slave. I had not money enough or I would have been the buyer.