“Then came a free fight, a general commotion, with shouting and rushing about, and sword-blades in the air. A friend tried to pull me away, but the big man who held me laid his head open with a blow. A second later the big man himself received a cut from my uncle at the base of his neck, where it joins the shoulder, that made him stagger and turn half about: then he tumbled to the floor and held me all the tighter as he fell. As we landed I came on top, but he rolled over and lay across me with his head on my stomach. He was so heavy that he held me down and the blood poured from his neck over my white clothes.”
Molly had stopped working. With her hands in her lap and her eyes fixed eagerly on his face, she uttered an exclamation of horror. He said, with a smile:
“Not a cheerful story, is it?”
“It is awful! But what happened then?”
“Well, as I struggled to get from under I saw my uncle turn upon the first man, the leader, but he was too late. Someone gave him a thrust, and he staggered and came down beside us. I remember he lay so near that I reached out and touched his cheek with my finger. I spoke to him, but he never answered.”
There was a silence, she watching him, waiting for the rest of the story, while he gazed silently into the fire.
“And what happened next?”
“Oh, excuse me! That is about all. During the hubbub and slaughter my people hauled me from beneath the big chap and I was hurried away. I remember, as we ran through the chambers near the little court, I heard my friends still laughing at the monkeys.”
He seemed to consider the story finished. “May I fool with that fire?” he asked.
“Certainly, but what was all the fighting about?”