Hitherto he had been striving to force his enemy backwards, but suddenly he changed his thrusting motion into a lift. In this he was aided by his antagonist's own efforts to resist the previous mode of attack, and with a mighty heave Geoffrey raised his foe from the floor.
With a dull crash the fellow's skull struck the deck-beams overhead, and a convulsive twitching of his limbs followed by an unmistakable limpness showed Geoffrey that he had stunned his adversary.
Breathless and well-nigh exhausted the English lad gained the deck, where he lay filling his lungs with the pure, salt-laden air.
Meanwhile Arnold had descended the hatchway and unceremoniously dragged the senseless body of the mysterious occupant of the cuddy into the light of day.
A cry of surprise burst from Geoffrey's lips; his late antagonist was a youth of about his own age.
"'Tis a Norman fisher-lad," exclaimed Gripwell. "He must have been hiding ever since we laid hands on this craft. But, what is to be done with him?"
"He is my prisoner by the right of conquest," replied Geoffrey. "'Tis not in my mind to do him further scath, for, certes, he hath held his own as manfully as any Englishman."
Ere long the young Norman recovered his senses, and finding that he was being kindly treated and that he was not to be thrown overboard—a common practice in mediæval days when vanquished shipmen were ruthlessly jettisoned—he became quite communicative.
He had, it appeared, stolen on board the boat to escape the wrath of his master, whose enmity he had roused. Overcome by sleep he had slumbered soundly throughout the night, undisturbed, even by the noise of the footsteps of Gripwell and his two youthful companions, till he felt Geoffrey's fingers at his throat.
"Have no fear," exclaimed Geoffrey kindly. "We bear thee no ill-will. But, willy-nilly, thou must come with us to England; then, on my honour, I vow that thou shalt be given a passage back to France."