CHAPTER XXIII

THE FIGHT IN THE INN

I shall not forget that morning as long as I have life in my body. At the first sight of the three men I drew my dagger. Charles had nothing but his bare hands. But the fellows were scarcely across the threshold and were reaching out for us, when he caught the foremost of them a stinging blow on the point of the jaw. In the first moment we had an advantage, for their eyes were not yet grown accustomed to the dimness of the room. The man reeled, then gathered himself together. He had a knife in his hand. As he raised it Charles seized him by the wrist and the two stumbled and staggered over the pieces of the broken door like two men wrestling for an opportunity to drive home a telling blow.

My hands were then full, for I had the bigger and stronger man to face—Pierre who had been my captor during the days when we wandered along the highway with the army of the King. A flash of sullen hate came into his eyes as soon as he saw me. To make it all the worse the sight of his clothes upon me (which he recognized at once) stirred him as deeply as if I had flaunted him with open mockery.

He forgot the dagger which he had drawn from his shirt. With one hand he reached out to grasp me by the throat. I jumped to one side. He came lunging forward, swaying with his big shoulders like a log upon a stormy sea.

I knew him from my former experience. He was powerful. There was a savage twist to his mind that was hard to equal. But even at that I was more than a match for him in agility and speed. My one thought, then, was to keep out of his reach and to battle him till he was out of wind. I could last longer than he. If nothing else came between, I could wear him down and finally get the upper hand.

The faster he came at me, just so much the faster did I dodge. While Charles and his man were struggling at the door we had made our way almost to the middle of the room. I had a double care. I had to keep one eye on him. I had to watch my step in falling back lest I stumble over an object on the floor.

At length I had my back to the table, and was sliding slowly along the edge. Pierre made a grab once more at my coat. I sprang away. He missed. So hard did he come at me that he bumped his legs against the edge and in trying to steady himself knocked his elbows on the hard wood.

I saw him wince, and laughed. It was a laugh that cut him to the bone. He uttered a few words under his breath and gritted his teeth. He worked his hands, closing and opening them, as though he already felt my throat in his grip. He lowered at me with his brows drawn down and started at me, slowly measuring me with his eyes.

I backed off little by little, keeping step with him. I rounded the end of the table. I danced and sprang lightly now to one side now to the other. He never wavered nor took his eyes off me. He laid his hands flat on the table and worked his way after me around the edge. His steps were like a cat’s, stealthy and slow, but I knew he was getting ready for a leap.

Then it came. He had worked himself into a crouch. Like a snake uncoiling he straightened out. His body shot into the air. At the moment a shrill cackling back of me broke upon my ears and by instinct I half turned in the thought that the old landlord was threatening me from the rear.

I saw over my shoulder that he had the broken chair in his hand, ready to bring it down upon my head.

“Don’t kill him!” It was the deep growl of Pierre. “He is to be taken alive!”

The chair fell from the old man’s grasp to the floor. At the same time I jumped to the rear with the intention of avoiding Pierre’s outstretched claws. The chair was in my path. With a swoop I picked it up and with a swing I sent it crashing into my assailant’s face.

In the next instant the air was filled with a roar like the bellowing of a hundred bulls. Pierre clapped his hand over his wounded nose and forehead. Through his fingers I saw that I had drawn the blood. He was blinded for the moment. Then he shook with mounting rage. He shot one glance at me. I am sure that all the trouble which I had caused him during the past few days flashed through his brain at once.

He shifted his knife from the one hand to the other. He poised it for a second in the palm. Then with a dexterity that surprised me he sent it flying point outward towards my chest. It came like a small arrow and with the speed of a drop of rain. It was fortunate that I was bobbing from side to side for I should never have had the quickness to dodge out of harm’s way. As it was, it passed over my shoulder but the point of it nicked a little wound in my flesh that sent a tiny stream of warmth trickling down my arm.

We were now on more even terms. I had my dagger still, but he was without a weapon save the great strength of his huge body. But at that I think he would have risked his life against a dozen men for his fury had gathered like a brewing storm. He crooked his elbow over his face and came at me on the run. He groped with his outstretched hand hoping to gather me in, like a man feeling his way in the dark.

I yielded before him. I backed off once more around the table and had come so far that he was on one side and I on the other. He planted his big hands flat on the surface. The sweat was running off the end of his nose mingling with the blood and his breath came in pants from the strain of his exertions.

“Catch me if you can,” I called, laughing. At the same time I danced back on the balls of my feet to draw him on.

I didn’t have to wait. He breathed one long breath. Without a sign of warning, he laid his weight on his hands. He leaped into the air. His huge body came at me like a mountain. He crossed the table without once touching it. I made to jump aside. I was too late for I never counted on such agility. He landed on his feet and grasped me, as I was turning away, by the arms. He drew them back and pinned them to my side. With a twist he threw me to the ground. He raised his heavy fist in the air. I looked up with an expression on my face of terror and despair. I was certain my end was come, when I heard a shout at the door. A flash of white like the wing of a bird passed between him and me. The fist never came down, for an arrow was sticking in the flesh of his upper arm shaking and swaying like a reed in the wind.

I scrambled to my feet. With much blinking I looked about. I saw the skirts of the nightgown of the old landlord pass through the kitchen door. On his heels followed Pierre with a glance back into the room. He was white from fear and pain. He was holding the arm that was wounded, in the other. But there was a look in his face that reminded me of an animal that is angry enough to devour alive its prey. I was sure that if he could have gotten his hands on me then, he would have torn me limb from limb.

I turned towards the door. On the threshold stood two archers clad in hunting costumes of light green. The one who had shot Pierre was drawing a fresh arrow from his quiver while the other was searching every nook and cranny for signs of a hidden foe.

“There were two of you who came here together?” he demanded.

I was more surprised than they for I noticed now that Charles and the man with whom he was fighting were gone. But before I could answer he came running from the trees that grew about the place and halted at the door. His face was drawn as tight as a drum and covered with dirt and sweat. In his hand he held the knife which I had first seen in the grasp of his foe.

“He drew me out into the woods,” he explained. “He was the toughest man I ever met.”

Then I bethought me of Pierre and the old landlord.

“They will escape!” I cried. “They will go and bring others of their kind. They’ll——”

The archer waved his hand.

“Let them go,” he said. “Let them bring twenty. There are a dozen of my followers already on the way here——”

“Are you of the party of the Black Prince?” I interrupted.

“We are,” he said. “He sent us out to scour the countryside. We have fallen in with a few stragglers of the King and beaten them. The country is as tame as you could wish.”

I uttered a gasp. I was on the verge of telling him all the preparation I saw while I passed down the valley of the Loire. But on second thought I was reminded that it were wisest not to take strangers too soon into your confidence.

“Where is the Black Prince now?” I asked with some caution.

“He’s to the northwest,” was the reply. “He has sacked and burned the castles and strongholds that lie over towards the sea. He’s going to march to the south in a few days—to Bordeaux to pass the winter.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. I was about to prod him more when a streak shot between us. It was an arrow from someone hiding in the woods.