“That’s better, Master Richard, I’m a poor hand at understanding jargon of this kind, but I have an idea of how to deal with thieves and murderers.”

“Be careful, Seth,” Barrington whispered.

The attack was immediate and sharp, without ceremony, and determined.  Misunderstanding Barrington’s attitude they were perhaps a little careless, believing him a coward at heart.  Their methods, too, were rather those of the duelist than the fighter, and this gave Barrington and Seth some advantage.  The keen-eyed man was as ready with his sword as with his tongue.  He had been confident of saving his companions from soiling their blades had Richard consented to cross swords with him, and he advanced upon his enemy to bring the battle to a speedy conclusion.  He even waved his companions aside, and it was with him Barrington had first to deal.  Their blades were the first to speak, and in a moment the Frenchman knew that he had no mean swordsman to do with.

“This would have been keen pleasure had you been a gentleman,” he said.

Barrington did not answer.  He was armed for real warfare, his weapon was heavier than his opponent’s and he took advantage of the fact.  This was fighting, not dueling; and he beat the weapon down, snapping the blade near the hilt.  The next moment the other Frenchman had engaged him fiercely.

With Seth there was even greater advantage.  He was a servant and a lackey, and the punctilious gentlemen opposed to him were not inclined to cross swords with him.  They looked to see him show fear, the very last thing in the world he was likely to do.  Seth’s arm was long and his method of fighting more or less his own, the most unceremonious, possibly, that these gentlemen had ever had to do with.  Deeply cut in the wrist one man dropped his sword.  In a moment Seth’s foot was upon it, and as he turned to meet his other adversary he had taken a pistol from his pocket.

The Frenchman uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Seth laughed.

“If not the sword point, a bullet; either will serve,” he said.

Then Seth was conscious of two things, one a certainty, the other imagination perhaps.  Across his enemy’s shoulder he caught sight of the road which led up to Beauvais, and down it came two men running towards the wood.  After all, their opponents were to be six instead of four.  This was certain.  His master was separated from him by a few paces, and it seemed to Seth that he was being hard pressed.  At any rate, if it were not so, the two men running towards them must turn the scale.  Feigning a vigorous onslaught upon his opponent, who was already somewhat disconcerted, Seth deliberately fired at the man fighting his master, who fell backwards with a cry.

“Seth!” Richard exclaimed.

“Look! there are two more running to the attack.  This is a time to waive ceremony and be gone.  To horse, Master Richard!”

The keen-eyed man, who had been powerless being without a sword, now caught up the weapon which the fallen man had dropped.