The eagle eye of Edward flashed ominously, and making one more step toward his unarmed prisoner, he struck him in the face with his iron gauntlet.  In a moment a dozen swords flashed from their scabbards.  It seemed as if the bloodthirsty nobles awaited but this signal for the ruthless attack upon the deposed monarch’s son which has left so dark a stain upon one page of history.

Paul, all unarmed as he was, would have sprung forward to die with his prince, but was impeded by the senseless burden now lying a dead weight in his arms.  At the king’s blow the page had uttered a faint cry; and as the first of those murderous weapons were plunged in the breast of her youthful lover, she fell to the earth like a stone, or would have done, but that Paul flung his arm about her, and she lay senseless on his breast.

For one awful moment the blackness returned upon him and swallowed him up, and he knew not what terrible thing had happened; but when a loud voice proclaimed the fact that the prince had ceased to live, a wild fury fell upon Paul, and he started to his feet to revenge that death by plunging his dagger into the breast of the haughty monarch as he stood there, calm and smiling, in his terrible wrath and power.

Had Paul attempted to carry out this wild act, a fateful murder would have been enacted in the tent that day; but even as he released himself from the clinging clasp of Anne’s unconscious arms, there came to him the memory of those last words spoken by his beloved prince.  The young bride must be his first care.  She must be carried to safe sanctuary; that done, he would stand forth to revenge his lord’s death.  But the prince’s charge must be fulfilled.

Lifting the unconscious form in his arms, he walked unchallenged from the tent.  The deed now done sent a thrill of horror through the camp, and men looked into each other’s eyes, and were ashamed that they had stood by to see it.

Not an attempt was made to oppose the passage of the faithful attendant, who carried in his arms the page boy, who had stood by his master to the last.  Room was made for them to pass through the crowd; and staggering blindly along, Paul reached a spot where, to his astonishment and relief, his own servant was waiting for him with a horse ready caparisoned.

“To the church, to the church,” he whispered as Paul mounted mechanically, holding his still unconscious burden in his arms.

And he made a mute sign of assent; for he knew that within the walls of the church he should find the wretched Margaret, who would have taken sanctuary there at first tidings of defeat.

Silently, and as in a dream, the horsemen passed along, and at last drew rein at the door of the little church, where stood a priest with the Host in his hand, ready, if need be, to stand betwixt the helpless victims of the battle and their fierce pursuers.

He knew Paul’s face, he recognized that of the inanimate form he carried in his arms, and he made way for him to pass with a mute sign of blessing.