“Let me see,” he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones—“let me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. Truss me them up.”
There were but five survivors of the attacking party. Archers seized them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each placed below a tree of suitable dimension; the rope was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead; and before a minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five men were swinging by the neck.
“And now,” cried the deformed leader, “back to your posts, and when I summon you next, be readier to attend.”
“My lord duke,” said one man, “beseech you, tarry not here alone. Keep but a handful of lances at your hand.”
“Fellow,” said the duke, “I have forborne to chide you for your slowness. Cross me not, therefore. I trust my hand and arm, for all that I be crooked. Ye were backwards when the trumpet sounded; and ye are now too forward with your counsels. But it is ever so; last with the lance and first with tongue. Let it be reversed.”
And with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he waved them off.
The footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different directions, under the cover of the forest.
The day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade. The first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young men, who now turned once more to face each other.
“Here,” said the duke, “ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. But I would not have you, for all Christendom, suppose me thankless. You that came to my aid with a good sword and a better courage—unless that ye recoil from my misshapeness—come to my heart.”
And so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace.