tranter, who was as active as he was strong, had
already recovered himself and turned it aside with a movement of
his heavy blade. again he whizzed in a blow which made the
spectators hold their breath, and again alleyne very quickly and
swiftly slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning
thrusts which the other could scarce parry. so close were they
to each other that alleyne had no time to spring back from the
next cut, which beat down his sword and grazed his forehead,
sending the blood streaming into his eyes and down his cheeks.
he sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood breathing
heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their applause.
"bravely struck on both sides!" cried roger harcomb. "you have
both won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame
to let it go further."
"you have done enough, edricson," said norbury.
"you have carried yourself well," cried several of the older
squires.
"for my part, i have no wish to slay this young man," said
tranter, wiping his heated brow.
"does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me
despitefully?" asked alleyne.
"nay, not i."
"then stand on your guard, sir!" with a clatter and dash the two
blades met once more, alleyne pressing in so as to keep within
the full sweep of the heavy blade, while tranter as continually
sprang back to have space for one of his fatal cuts. a three-
parts-parried blow drew blood from alleyne's left shoulder, but
at the same moment he wounded tranter slightly upon the thigh.
next instant, however, his blade had slipped into the fatal
notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling upon the
ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches
long was all that remained to him of his weapon.
"your life is in my hands!" cried tranter, with a bitter smile.
"nay, nay, he makes submission!" broke in several squires.
another sword!" cried ford.
"nay, sir," said harcomb, "that is not the custom."
"throw down your hilt, edricson," cried norbury.
"never!" said alleyne. "do you crave my pardon, sir?"
"you are mad to ask it."
"then on guard again!" cried the young squire, and sprang in with
a fire and a fury which more than made up for the shortness of
his weapon. it had not escaped him that his opponent was
breathing in short, hoarse gasps, like a man who is dizzy with
fatigue. now was the time for the purer living and the more
agile limb to show their value. back and back gave tranter, ever
seeking time for a last cut. on and on came alleyne, his jagged
point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now at his
chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel
which covered him. yet his experienced foeman knew well that
such efforts could not be long sustained. let him relax for one
instant, and his death-blow had come. relax he must! flesh and
blood could not stand the strain. already the thrusts were less
fierce, the foot less ready, although there was no abatement of
the spirit in the steady gray eyes. tranter, cunning and wary
from years of fighting, knew that his chance had come. he
brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him, whirled
up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and
vanished into the waters of the garonne.
so intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been
on the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and
swift still stream had gone from their minds. it was not until
tranter, giving back before the other's fiery rush, was upon the
very brink, that a general cry warned him of his danger. that
last spring, which he hoped would have brought the fight to a
bloody end, carried him clear of the edge, and he found himself
in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold stream. once and
twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up through the
still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the current.
in vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linked
together thrown out to him by his companions. alleyne had
dropped his shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every
limb, with his rage all changed in an instant to pity. for the
third time the drowning man came to the surface, his hands full
of green slimy water-plants, his eyes turned in despair to the
shore. their glance fell upon alleyne, and he could not
withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. in an instant
he, too, was in the garonne, striking out with powerful strokes
for his late foeman,
yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he
was, it was no easy task which alleyne had set himself. to
clutch at tranter and to seize him by the hair was the work of a
few seconds, but to hold his head above water and to make their
way out of the current was another matter. for a
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