“Play not longer with the lad, Guilbert,” quoth one behind, “or he will breathe thee.”  And at this cry shame stung him, and he waxed more dreadful fierce, and I within me seemed to hear a voice say “Keep cool, and all is well!” So, wonderful to tell, the more he raged the more cool was I, and little strange was it that he, sweeping the air with wild thrust and parry, met ere long in his heart the clean stroke of my sword, and I, quivering and half appalled as I drew it reeking forth, was forced in a moment to be on guard again, for another rogue was at me.  Yet, with a wild gladness, I saw the villain roll moaning at my feet, and the new rogue found himself involved at once in a battle with two—­myself and a stout farmer, who, seeing me in danger, had rushed in to my defence.  He, with sheer strength, beat down his sword, and sore wounded him, catching himself a scar meanwhile, and so I had time to glance and see how the battle went.

Still Hugo stood like a king of swordsmen, and around him lay those that he or others mustering to his defence had slain—­some five or six—­and now he was engaged with one that seemed the captain of that storming party—­as I believe, an Englishman, cold and resolute, and thereby the more dangerous.  And I dreaded, for I saw Hugo grow wilder in his stroke, and moreover weaker and weary withal with his great prowess.  And I seemed almost to see with my eyes what I dreaded—­that the Englishman should tire him out, and then take him where he would; so, careless of rule, I ran and struck forth at him on the left, and for a moment he kept us both in play.  And then Hugo, gathering himself now as for a final stroke, struck him below the tunic, and he too fell among the slain or wounded.

Then we looked round.  “It was done warily and bravely, lad,” he said.  “Maybe thine arm saved my life.  But see!  No longer they leap our wall, and but few are left to slay.”

“See, see!” I cried in exultation, “they rush back!  We have them now in the rear.”

And so we had in faith, for the scant dozen that were yet unharmed were easy prey as they fled, choosing to risk their bones as they dropped, or clung with a bare chance of life, to be cut to pieces by us; for it was clear that Le Grand Sarrasin had called off the attack at that quarter.  Two or three got off scot-free; but, thank Heaven, these gave such an account of us as monk-devils and witch-men, that all hope was given up of taking us by storm—­by day at least.

It was now towards evening.  No better success had been won by the Sarrasin at any point in the attack.  It but remained for him to sweep his forces back again to the chateau.  Our hearts leapt up to see them turn their faces towards the forest-land.  And before long, with a flag of truce, they were collecting the wounded and the bodies of the dead.  Those of the storming party we handed down the wall, or, if living still, led them through the gate.

Now we reckoned that the Moors that day, by sea, arrow, stone, and ball, and in storming, had lost at least a hundred men, while our loss was only nine men killed and twenty-six in hospital.  So nobly and well we faced that day of my first fighting.