The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

point come out of the Abbot behind.

      The stricken giant bellowed like a bull, dropped his axe, and clutching Gerard's throat tremendously, shook him like a child. Then Denys with a fierce snarl drove his sword into the giant's back. “Stand firm now!” and he pushed the cold steel through and through the giant and out at his breast.

      Thus horribly spitted on both sides, the Abbot gave a violent shudder, and his heels hammered the ground convulsively. His lips, fast turning blue, opened wide and deep, and he cried, “LA MORT!-LA MORT!-LA MORT!!” the first time in a roar of despair, and then twice in a horror-stricken whisper, never to be forgotten.

      Just then the street door was forced.

      Suddenly the Abbot's arms whirled like windmills, and his huge body wrenched wildly and carried them to the doorway, twisting their wrists and nearly throwing them off their legs.

      “He'll win clear yet,” cried Denys: “out steel! and in again!”

      They tore out their smoking swords, but ere they could stab again, the Abbot leaped full five feet high, and fell with a tremendous crash against the door below, carrying it away with him like a sheet of paper, and through the aperture the glare of torches burst on the awe-struck faces above, half blinding them.

      The thieves at the first alarm had made for the back door, but driven thence by a strong guard ran back to the kitchen, just in time to see the lock forced out of the socket, and half-a-dozen mailed archers burst in upon them. On these in pure despair they drew their swords.

      But ere a blow was struck on either side, the staircase door behind them was battered into their midst with one ponderous blow, and with it the Abbot's body came flying, hurled as they thought by no mortal hand, and rolled on the floor spouting blood from back and bosom in two furious jets, and quivered, but breathed no more.

      The thieves smitten with dismay fell on their knees directly, and the archers bound them, while, above, the rescued ones still stood like statues rooted to the spot, their dripping swords extended in the red torchlight, expecting their indomitable enemy to leap back on them as wonderfully as he had gone.

      CHAPTER XXXIV

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      “Where be the true men?”

      “Here be we. God bless you all! God bless you!”

      There was a rush to the stairs, and half-a-dozen hard but friendly hands were held out and grasped them warmly.

      “Y'have saved our lives, lads,” cried Denys, “y'have saved our lives this night.”

      A wild sight met the eyes of the rescued pair. The room flaring with torches, the glittering breastplates of the archers, their bronzed faces, the white cheeks of the bound thieves, and the bleeding giant, whose dead body these hard men left lying there in its own gore.

      Gerard went round the archers and took them each by the hand with glistening eyes, and on this they all kissed him; and this time he kissed them in return. Then he said to one handsome archer of his own age, “Prithee, good soldier, have an eye to me. A strange drowsiness overcomes me. Let no one cut my throat while I sleep—for pity's sake.”

      The archer promised with a laugh; for he thought Gerard was jesting: and the latter went off into a deep sleep almost immediately.

      Denys was surprised at this: but did not interfere; for it suited his immediate purpose. A couple of archers were inspecting the Abbot's body, turning it half over with their feet, and inquiring, “Which of the two had flung this enormous rogue down from an upper storey like that; they would fain have the trick of his arm.”

      Denys at first pished and pshawed, but dared not play the braggart, for he said to himself, “That young vagabond will break in and say 'twas the finger of Heaven, and no mortal arm, or some such stuff, and make me look like a fool.” But now, seeing Gerard unconscious, he suddenly gave this required information.

      “Well, then, you see, comrades, I had run my sword through this one up to the hilt, and one or two more of 'em came buzzing about me; so it behoved me have my sword or die: so I just put my foot against his stomach, gave a tug with my hand and a spring with my foot, and sent him flying to kingdom come! He died in the air, and his carrion rolled in amongst you without ceremony: made you jump, I warrant me. But pikestaves and pillage! what avails prattling of, these trifles once they are gone by? buvons, camarades, buvons.”

      The archers remarked that it was easy to say “buvons” where no liquor was, but not so easy to do it.

      “Nay, I'll soon find you liquor. My nose hath a natural alacrity at scenting out the wine. You follow me: and I my nose: bring a torch!” And they left the room, and finding a short flight of stone steps, descended them and entered a large, low, damp cellar.

      It smelt close and dank: and the walls were encrusted here and there with what seemed cobwebs; but proved to be saltpetre that had oozed out of the damp stones and crystallized.

      “Oh! the fine mouldy smell,” said Denys; “in such places still lurks the good wine; advance thy torch. Diable! what is that in the corner? A pile of rags? No: 'tis a man.”

      They gathered round with the torch, and lo! a figure crouched on a heap in the corner, pale as ashes and shivering.

      “Why, it is the landlord,” said Denys.

      “Get up, thou craven heart!” shouted one of the archers.

      “Why, man, the thieves are bound, and we are dry that bound them. Up! and show us thy wine; for no bottles see here.”

      “What, be the rascals bound?” stammered the pale landlord; “good news. W-w-wine? that will I, honest sirs.”

      And he rose with unsure joints and offered to lead the way to the wine cellar. But Denys interposed. “You are all in the dark, comrades. He is in league with the thieves.”

      “Alack, good soldier, me in league with the accursed robbers! Is that reasonable?”

      “The girl said so anyway.”

      “The girl! What girl? Ah! Curse her, traitress!”

      “Well,” interposed the other archer; “the girl is not here, but gone on to the bailiff. So let the burghers settle whether this craven be guilty or no: for we caught him not in the act: and let him draw us our wine.”

      “One moment,” said Denys shrewdly. “Why cursed he the girl? If he be a true man, he should bless her as we do.”

      “Alas, sir!” said the landlord, “I have but my good name to live by, and I cursed her to you, because you said she had belied me.”

      “Humph! I trow thou art a thief, and where is the thief that cannot lie with a smooth face? Therefore hold him, comrades: a prisoner can draw wine an if his hands be not bound.”

      The landlord offered no objection; but on the contrary said he would with pleasure show them where his little stock of wine was, but hoped they would pay for what they should drink, for his rent was due this two months.

      The archers smiled grimly at his simplicity, as they thought it; one of them laid a hand quietly but firmly on his shoulder, the other led on with the torch.

      They had reached the threshold when Denys cried “Halt!”

      “What is't?”

      “Here be bottles in this corner; advance thy light.”

      The torch-bearer went towards him. He had just taken off his scabbard and was probing the heap the landlord had just been crouched upon.

      “Nay, nay,” cried the landlord, “the wine is in the next cellar. There is nothing there.”

      “Nothing is mighty hard, then,” said Denys, and drew out something with his hand from the heap.

      It