“Hand and glove, I will not!” said Bois-Guilbert. “But haste thee, in the name of God!”
De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding all their leader’s efforts to stop them.
“Dogs!” said De Bracy, “will ye let TWO men win our only pass for safety?”
“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the blows of their sable antagonist.
“And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “would you fly from him into the mouth of hell?—the castle burns behind us, villains!—let despair give you courage, or let me forward! I will cope with this champion myself.”
And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passage to which the postern gave entrance, and in which these two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor.
“Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, stooping over him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was called the dagger of mercy,)—“yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man.”
“I will not yield,” replied De Bracy faintly, “to an unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me—it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl.”
The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the vanquished.
“I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen submission.