Sir Mortimer Ferne and Robert Baldry at the head of threescore men, some mounted, some on foot, deemed themselves and this medley sufficient for Pedro Mexia.  Nor can it be said that their reckoning was at fault, since Mexia, deep in curses, had at last to make hasty way across the strip of plain between Nueva Cordoba and its fortress.  Too easily did the English repel an idle sortie, too eagerly did they follow Mexia in retreat, for suddenly Chance, leaving all neutrality, threw herself, a goddess armed, upon the Spanish side.  In the very shadow of the hill, the mounted English, well ahead of those on foot, Mexia’s disordered band making for the shelter of the tunal, a Spaniard turned, raised his harquebus and fired.  The great bay steed which bore Sir Mortimer Ferne reared, screamed, then fell, hurling its rider to earth, where he lay, senseless, stark in black armor, with a knot of rose-colored velvet in his crest.

No hawk like De Guardiola was Pedro Mexia, but when luck pinioned his prey his talons were strong to close upon it.  Now on the instant he wheeled, swooped with all his might upon the disordered vanguard of the English.  Baldry and those with him fought madly, the English on foot made all haste; the prostrate figure, pinned beneath the dying bay, became the centre of a wild melee, the hotly contested prize of friend and foe!  Then burst from the tunal, came at a run down the hill, re-enforcements for Mexia....

Erelong, Don Luiz de Guardiola sent to inform Sir John Nevil that he had for his prisoner one of the latter’s captains.  It appeared to the Governor of Nueva Cordoba that the English held the man in some esteem,—­perchance even that he was their leader’s close friend.  Sir John Nevil would understand that to a Spanish soldier and good son of the Church the prisoner was, inevitably, mere pirate and heretic, to be dealt with as such.

To this announcement John Nevil returned curt answer.  Nueva Cordoba lay in the hollow of his hand, and at his disposal were some Spanish lives perhaps not altogether valueless in the eyes of Don Luiz de Guardiola, since their kindred and friends and Spain herself might hold him responsible for their sudden and piteous taking off.

When an hour had dragged itself away the fortress spoke again, and its speech was of a piece with the Governor’s mind.  The peril of the town and the lives within it were ignored.  Bluntly, the price of Sir Mortimer Ferne’s life was this—­and this—­and this!

The Admiral made reply that Honor was too dear a price for the life of any English gentleman.  He and Sir Mortimer Ferne declined the terms of Don Luiz de Guardiola.  The safety of his friend should, however, ransom a city.  Deliver the captive sound in life and limb, and the English would withdraw from Nueva Cordoba, and proceed with their ships upon their way.  Reject this offer, let harm befall the prisoner, and Don Luiz de Guardiola should see how John Nevil mourned his friends!