“Treachery!” cried Von Dessauer and I together; “you are villains both.  He is wearing a shirt of mail!”

And the old man rushed forward with his sword bare in his hand and all a-tremble with indignation.

I heard the shrill “purl” of a silver call, and, turning me about, there was the gambler Cannstadt with a whistle at his lips.  I dared not turn my head, for I had still to guard myself against the traitor Von Reuss’s attack, but with the tail of my eye I could see two or three men rise from behind bushes and rocks, and come running as fast as they could towards us.  Then I knew that Dessauer and I were doomed men unless something turned up that we wotted not of.  For with an old man, and one so stiff as the High Councillor, for my only ally, it was impossible for me to hold my own against more than double our numbers.

Nevertheless, Von Dessauer attacked Cannstadt with surprising fury and determination, anger glittering in his eye, and resolution to punish treachery lending vigor to his thrust.  I had not time to observe his method save unconsciously, for I had to change my position momentarily that I might take the points of the two men who came down the hill at speed, sword in hand.

But all this foul play among high-born folk gave me a kind of mortal sickness.  To die in battle is one thing, but over against the very roofs of your home to find yourself brought to death’s door by murderous treachery is quite another.

At this moment there came news of a diversion.  From below was heard the crying of a stormy voice.

“Halt!  I command you!  Halt!”

And wheeling sufficiently to see, I observed through the twilight the figure of a stout man, who came leaping heavily up the hill towards us, waving a sword as he came.  Well, thought I, the more there are of them the quicker it will be over, and the more credit for us in keeping up our end so long.  Better die in a good fight than live with a bad conscience.

With which admirable reflection I sent my sword through Von Reuss’s sword-arm, in the fleshy part, severing the muscle and causing him to drop his blade.  I had him then at my mercy, and experienced a great desire to push my blade down his throat, for a treacherous cowardly hound as he had proved himself to me.  But instead of this I had to turn towards the other two who came at the charge down the hill and were now close upon us.

I had just time to leap aside from the first and let him overrun himself when he shot almost upon the sword of the thick-set man, who came up the hill shouting to us to stop.  The second man I engaged, and a stanch blade I found him, though fighting for as dirty a cause as ever man crossed swords in.

“Halt!” came the voice of command again—­the voice I knew so well—­“in the name of the State I bid you cease!”

It was the voice of Karl, Prince of Plassenburg.