Hardly had I done this than I encountered on the threshold of the tavern a number of citizens and soldiers whom the cries of the landlord had summoned.
“The robber is within,” I had the presence of mind to gasp breathlessly.
Thereupon they pressed forward into the inn without heeding the three horses.
Just as I was about to follow on their heels to see what aid I could render to my friends, the English giant fought his way out of the reeking interior. His chest was heaving, his sword was broken, and his face was dripping with blood and sweat. His great red eyes were as luminous as those of a tiger.
“The Count of Nullepart!” I cried. “Where is the Count of Nullepart?”
Before the Englishman could answer my question, the nimble form of our comrade had also emerged from the interior, which now was like a shambles. He too was covered in blood, and his face was as pale as a corpse.
It was an instant’s work to spring into our saddles. Yet quick as we were, we were hardly sharp enough. Soldiers and citizens were already thronging around us; their outstretched hands were striving to pull us down; and a most perilous hue and cry was arising in the streets of the city.
“In the name of the Virgin, let them not escape!” was a cry that was raised all about us.
For the moment, happily for us, none of this mob was mounted. Putting our horses at the press we clove a way through, still dealing fierce blows and receiving them; and at last, getting clear, we set off pell-mell down the street and through the narrow purlieus of the city. Under the cover of the darkness it began to seem that we had a reasonable prospect of escape.
Our fleet horses, a little recovered from the fatigues of the day, began to outstrip our pursuers; yet our danger was still very real, since in the labyrinth of ways and byways we were likely to be entrapped.