“Suppose they come back while we tarry here?”

“We will set a watch to warn us in good time.”

Etienne stepped lightly to the door; it was actually unbarred, so secure did the English feel in this hitherto inaccessible retreat, and his hand was on the shoulder of his intended victim before he had taken the alarm.  He turned round and started violently as he recognised his ancient enemies, then made a vain attempt to gain the door, which was immediately and easily frustrated.

“Nay, thou young oaf, thou canst not escape.  Dost thou not know thy own lords?  Thou art a runaway thrall, and thy life is forfeited; but if thou wilt but use thy tongue, thou mayest perchance save it and escape lightly.  Tell me—­Who are the people who live here?  Who is their leader?  How many there be?  Where they are now?”

The young dweller in the woods had by this time recovered his self possession.  He was a mere lad, yet endued with manly courage which fitted him to endure nobly for the sake of those whom he loved.

“Thou art not my true lord, and never wast; neither will I answer thy questions, though thou slay me.”

“Then thou mayst prepare for death.”

“They live who may avenge me.”

“We will chance that.  Stand yonder, against the wall, stretch out thine arms, or they shall be stretched for thee.

“Tie him, my men, to that post—­” pointing, as he spoke, to one of the uprights which supported the roof, and which was partially detached from the wooden wall—­“and extend his arms to the posts on either side.”

Conscious that resistance was hopeless, Eadwin submitted quietly to be bound, listening nevertheless so eagerly for sounds from without that Ralph marked his strained attention; Etienne was intent upon his designed cruelty.

“Once more, wilt thou answer me?” he said.

“No,” said his victim, quietly and firmly.

“Then thou must suffer.  Thou shalt die as thy St. Edmund did—­fit death it was, too, for a beggarly English saint.  I ask thee for the last time.”

No reply.  Etienne bade the men stand aside, and then, taking his stand at the other end of the room, which may have been twenty feet long, took accurate aim and shot an arrow through the muscle of the right arm.

“Wilt thou speak?”

Beads of sweat stood upon the brow; but the lips found strength yet to answer—­once more the bolt flew, and the left arm was pierced in turn.

“Wilt thou answer my questions now?

“The rebels and fools, thy countrymen, have been amusing themselves by shooting at us all day; methinks the tables are turned now.”

He shot again and wounded his victim in the shoulder.  The whole frame trembled; the lips moved, as if in prayer.

“Let me shoot this time,” said Pierre, “if he will not answer.”

“Take the bow then; hit the other shoulder.”

Pierre took very accurate aim, and shot right through the heart.  One convulsive throb, and the body hang by the cords dead, and past the reach of suffering.