A man struck at them with a halbert, but the blow fell short, for he was afraid to come too near.  Grey Dick leapt forward, and in a moment was back again, leaving that man dead, smitten through from skull to chin.  For a while there was silence, since this sudden death gave them pause, and in it Hugh cried out: 

“Are blameless men to be murdered thus?  Have we no friends in Avignon?”

“Some,” answered a voice from the outer shadow, though who spoke they could not see.

“Save the protectors of the Jews!” cried the voice again.

Then came a rush and a counter-rush.  Fighting began around them in which they took no share.  When it had passed over them like a gust of wind, David Day was gone, killed or trodden down, as his companions thought.

“Now, master, we are alone,” said Grey Dick.  “Set your shoulders against mine and let us die a death that these dogs of Avignon will remember.”

“Ay, ay!” answered Hugh.  “But don’t overreach, Dick, ’tis ever the archer’s fault.”

The mob closed in on them, then rolled back like water from a rock, leaving some behind.  Again they closed in and again rolled back.

“Bring bows!” they cried, widening out.  “Bring bows and shoot them down.”

“Ah!” gasped Dick, “that is a game two can play, now that I have arm room.”

Almost before the words had left his lips the great black bow he bore was out and strung.  Next instant the shafts began to rush, piercing all before them, till at the third arrow those in front of him melted away, save such as would stir no more.  Only now missiles began to come in answer from this side and from that, although as yet none struck them.

“Unstring your bow, Dick, and let us charge,” said Hugh.  “We have no other chance save flight.  They’ll pelt us under.”

Dick did not seem to hear.  At least he shot on as one who was not minded to die unavenged.  An arrow whistled through Hugh’s cap, lifting it from his head, and another glanced from the mail on his shoulder.  He ground his teeth with rage, for now none would come within reach of his long sword.

“Good-bye, friend Dick,” he said.  “I die charging,” and with a cry of “A Cressi!  A Cressi!” he sprang forward.

One leap and Dick was at his side, who had only bided to sheath his bow.  The mob in front melted away before the flash of the white sword and the gleam of the grey axe.  Still they must have fallen, for their pursuers closed in behind them like hunting hounds when they view the quarry, and there were none to guard their backs.  But once more the shrill voice cried: 

“Help the friends of the Jews!  Save those who saved Rebecca and her children!”

Then again there came a rush of dark-browed men, who hissed and whistled as they fought.

So fierce was the rush that those who followed them were cut off, and Dick, glancing back over his shoulder, saw the mad-eyed priest, their leader, go down like an ox beneath the blow of a leaded bludgeon.  A score of strides and they were out of the range of the firelight; another score and they were hidden by the gloom in the mouth of one of the narrow streets.