To many, here would have been the conflict's end; yet even as the hilt quit his fingers, the unknown plucked forth his heavy dagger and sprang straight at De Lacy.
Aymer met the attack by facing on his right heel swiftly to the left, and as the other, unable to recover himself, struck wildly at the air, the axe caught him full upon the shoulder, biting through gorget and gambeson and deep into the neck beneath.
Bending over his fallen foe, De Lacy cut the lacings of the helmet and drew it off—then started back in wonder.
Instead of the dark curls and face of Roxford's lord there were disclosed the tonsured head and pale features of the Abbot of Kirkstall.
"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, gazing down into the face already set in death… "You were my enemy, yet had I known whom this suit encased, methinks my arm had dealt an easier blow. Nathless, you were a better knight than churchman and, mayhap, it was a proper death for you to die."
Just then, De Bury's antagonist went by, running as easy as though his mail were silk and shouting:
"To the keep! To the keep!" to those upon the walls. And behind him came Sir John, and the squires, and Raynor Royk with all the troop.
Whirling about, De Lacy sprang after. But here had he and all the others met their match; for strain as they might, they gained not an inch; and when the foe reached the steps they were yet fifty feet away.
The door was open for him and rushing in he flung it shut, but with such force that it missed the catch and rebounded—and at that instant, De Lacy thrust in his axe and he and Dauvrey threw themselves against the door and slowly forced it back. Then of a sudden, it yielded and they were near to falling headlong.
Shouting his battle-cry, Aymer strode into the great hall and made for the wide stairway at the opposite end, where the remnants of the garrison were gathered for the final stand. There were but nine and of them only the three in front were garbed in steel; and in the centre was he who had held the gate against Sir John de Bury.