Things indeed looked dark for those within. Sir Percival, for one, had been grievously wounded in the last affray.
But the gates made to withstand against attack held well.
Yet it was now a mere question of time. This, both those within and without fully realized.
"Unless our two messengers find King Arthur," said Sir Tristram calmly and unhurriedly, "it matters but little whether we fight our way out now or later. Is it not so?"
"I have faith in the coming of the king," said Sir Launcelot. "For the boy Allan, I know to be tireless in the performance of such duty. And if I mistake not the other will try his utmost too, for he seeks to be dubbed a knight by our king."
So now down at the gates, now on the walls, sending death and destruction upon the attackers the two knights held their own, fighting hopefully, unyieldingly, hour after hour.
There was a cry of joy now, of exultation from Gouvernail. For his eagle eye espied in the distance a horse and rider, then other horses and other riders.
The faint notes of the slughorn came to their ears. The men on the outside ceased their attack for the moment watching wonderingly, not guessing as yet what all this meant.
From his bed of pain, not far off, Sir Percival called to the two knights.
"Is it Arthur who comes?"