"Raymond," he gasped, "thou'rt but a lad, but thou hast a cool head. Take charge of the Tower, and yield to no man. If the saints bring ye out scatheless, tell my master, Sir John, that I did my duty.... And now, Pearce," he added, addressing another of the archers who crowded around, "thou hast a strong steady hand. Grasp the bolt, I pray thee, and pluck it out. It would ease and hasten my passing."
But the archer could not bring himself to hasten the end, in spite of the faint entreaties of the dying man. Then, by a supreme effort, Dick Wyatt struggled to his feet and tore out the deadly shaft. A rush of dark blood followed, and, with a loud cry of "St. George for England!" the old man-at-arms fell dead.
The little garrison was now in sore straits. Of the original two score men nine were killed and twelve grievously wounded, and of the survivors only eleven were left to guard the roof of the Tower and eight to man the oylets and windows of the lower storeys.
At Raymond's suggestion the steel caps of the killed and wounded were shown above the walls to deceive the enemy as to the strength of the garrison. Then, leaving two men to keep a sharp look-out, the remainder of the worn and famished warriors descended into a lower room to partake of a hasty yet plentiful meal.
"I would we had a sack or two of quicklime," remarked Raymond to Will Lightfoot, who had charge of the defence of the lowermost storey. "We would then give them a warm welcome such as my father did at Hamble."
Will was evidently thinking.
"There is very little that will burn," he said at last reflectively. "They threw in some flaming wood, but, methinks, they had a good exchange—molten lead is not much to the taste of these rogues!"
"True, the Tower cannot be fired, but why didst thou mention it?"
"Because in the cellar are several bundles of straw and hay. I would counsel that we set them alight and hurl them on the scaling ladders!"
"By St. George! A good device!"