It was now towards evening. No better success had been won by the Sarrasin at any point in the attack. It but remained for him to sweep his forces back again to the château. Our hearts leapt up to see them turn their faces towards the forest-land. And before long, with a flag of truce, they were collecting the wounded and the bodies of the dead. Those of the storming party we handed down the wall, or, if living still, led them through the gate.
Now we reckoned that the Moors that day, by sea, arrow, stone, and ball, and in storming, had lost at least a hundred men, while our loss was only nine men killed and twenty-six in hospital. So nobly and well we faced that day of my first fighting.
"Now, look you," said Hugo, "we shall have no more storming, unless they find greater forces."
"What then?" said I.
"Next will they come like Brother Mole," he said, "with his long tunnel under earth. And then, if that fail—as God grant it may—they will trust to a surer aide-de-camp that I fear the most. His step is heard already—"
"And who is he—this friend who will aid them best?"
"Hush! Whisper it not, Nigel, abroad to dishearten any; but we have but three weeks' provisions here for so many mouths, or a month's at the most, if we be wary in giving rations."
"Then their friend is——"
"Famine!" said Hugo, grimly.