It was a faint chance. A representative of the Church would undoubtedly have great influence with his flock. He would, more than likely, listen impartially to the story of the two condemned prisoners.
"A priest?" echoed one of the peasants mockingly. "Is it likely that Germans who have purposely shattered God's house can hope for absolution from a priest?"
"Besides, we have not a priest," added another. "Monsieur le curé was wounded early in the day. He was taken to Louvain."
"Hurry with the execution, camarades," said the Mayor. "Time is precious. At any moment a strong body of these Uhlans may be upon us. Prepared, we may bring down a few and sell our lives dearly—but this is not being prepared."
Kenneth shivered when he felt the contact of the rope round his neck. He glanced at his companion. Rollo's face was red with suppressed fury. He looked as if he were on the point of breaking loose and making a desperate bid for freedom. It was the injustice of the whole business, not the fear of death, that agitated him.
"Let's have a slap at them," said Rollo in a low tone. "If we get a dose of lead it will be better than a rope. Quickly, before they begin to tie our hands. Ready?"
"Aye," replied Kenneth calmly.
"One moment! You mark time with that fellow with the scar over his eye. We'll keep together as long as we can. I hardly feel my ankle——"
He stopped. His ready ear detected the clatter of horses' hoofs. The peasants heard it too. In evident alarm they gripped their antiquated fire-arms. The fellow with the rope let the noose fall from his hands and made a rush for his musket.
"It is well, camarades," shouted the Mayor. "They are our soldiers."