"Nay, I cannot abide it," exclaimed Geoffrey resolutely, as the shrieks of the unfortunate Frenchmen began to ring in his ears. "E'en if my own life has to pay forfeit this knight must be protected."
Bidding Oswald support the tottering form of Sir Raoul, Geoffrey made his way to where lay the body of a slain English man-at-arms. Quickly he stripped the corpse of its white surcoat with the distinguishing Cross of St. George, and returning, began to place it over the body of his captive.
Feebly Sir Raoul tried to resist. This donning of the hated cognisance was repugnant to his sense of honour, but his strength was unequal to his resolution, and with a groan he swooned away.
"We are indeed in sore straits," exclaimed Geoffrey as he carried out his plan of disguising the Frenchman's appearance. "If we stay here perchance they will see through the trick; if we go on we shall fall into the hands of our enemies. Yet, by St. George, I'll see Sir Raoul to safety or perish."
By dint of great exertions the two squires dragged the mail-clad body of the helpless knight to the shelter of a thorn-bush. Here they waited, reluctantly compelled to witness the horrible scene as the archers went about their murderous business.
Presently three of the executioners, with reeking weapons in their hands and their white surcoats splashed with blood, approached.
"Whom hast thou here, sir squire?" demanded one, pointing with his blade at the unconscious Sir Raoul. "I' faith; I'll swear yon red cross covers no English carcase."
"'Tis a wounded knight," replied Geoffrey. "I thank thee for thy offer of assistance, but must needs decline it."
"Hark at him! Decline, forsooth? Nay, mine assistance is to help the rogue to Paradise, so stand aside, squire, in the King's name, for no man dare tell me that his harness was fashioned in England."
"Nay, 'tis no affair of thine, archer; yet if a gold piece or two will——"