A sharp stinging pain in his leg told him that it was time to make his effort; and checking his horse, he wheeled suddenly round.  The two Arabs with a yell rode at him with pointed lance.  With his right hand Cuthbert grasped the short heavy mace which hung at his saddlebow, and being well practiced in the hurling of this weapon—­which formed part of the education of a good knight—­he cast it with all his force at the chest of the Arab approaching on that side.  The point of the spear was within a few yards of his breast as he flung the mace; but his aim was true, for it smote the Saracen full on the chest, and hurled him from his horse as if struck with a thunderbolt.  At the same instant Cuthbert threw himself flat on the neck of his steed and the lance of the Arab who came up on the other side passed harmlessly between his shoulders, tearing his clothes as it went.  In an instant Cuthbert had wheeled his horse, and before the Arab could turn his steed Cuthbert, coming up from behind, had run him through the body.

Short as the delay had been, the main body of the pursuers were scarcely fifty yards away; but Cuthbert now continued his flight toward the knights, who were galloping forward at full speed; and a moment afterward glancing back, he saw that his pursuers had turned and were in full flight.

With a shout of joy he rode forward to the party who had viewed with astonishment this conflict between what appeared to be three of the infidels.  Even louder than his first shout of exultation was the cry of joy which he raised at seeing among the party to whom he rode up the Earl of Evesham, who reined in his horse in astonishment, and drew his sword as the supposed enemy galloped toward him.

“My lord, my lord!” Cuthbert said.  “Thank Heaven I am safe with you again.”

The earl lowered his sword in astonishment.

“Am I mad,” he said, “or dreaming, or is this really Sir Cuthbert?”

“It is I, sure enough,” Cuthbert exclaimed, “although truly I look more like a Bedouin soldier than a Christian knight.”

“My dear boy!” exclaimed the earl, galloping forward and throwing his arms around Cuthbert’s neck, “we thought you were dead.  But by what wonderful fortune have you succeeded in escaping?”

In a few words Cuthbert related the principal incidents of his adventures, and he was heartily congratulated by the assembled knights.

There was, however, no time for long explanations.  Large bodies of the Saracen horse were already sweeping down to capture, if possible, this small band of knights who had ventured so far from the camp; and as King Richard’s orders were that none should venture upon conflicts except by his orders, the party reluctantly turned their horses and galloped back to the camp.

Great as had been the earl’s joy, it was, if possible, exceeded by that of Cnut on discovering in the Arab chief who rode up alongside the earl the lad he loved so well.  Loud and hearty were the cheers which rang out from the earl’s camp as the news spread, and Cuthbert was compelled to shake hands with the whole party before entering the earl’s tent, to refresh himself and give the narrative of what had happened.