“God curse you!—take it then.”
He swung his sword with a great downward sweep, a streak of steel that struck crackling fire from the burnished casque. Igraine’s arm dropped like a broken bough; for half a breath she sat straight in the saddle, swayed, sank slantwise, and slid down into the long grass. Her horse stood still at her side, looking at her with mild blue eyes.
Gorlois gave a queer short laugh. He looked frightened for the moment; the flush of anger had passed and left him pale. He dismounted, bent over Igraine, unstrapped her helmet. She was only dazed by the blow; blood trickled red amid her hair, and her blue eyes stared him in the face.
She lifted up a hand with a bitter cry of defiance.
“Strike, strike, and make an end.”
Gorlois’s grimness came back, and his eyes hardened.
“That were too good for you.”
“Devil!”
“By God, I shall tame you—never fear!”