As Myles looked at the motionless, bleeding figure, his breastswelled with pity. "My Lord," said he, "thou art sore wounded andthe fight is against thee; wilt thou not yield thee?"No one but that other heard the speech, and no one but Mylesheard the answer that came back, hollow, cavernous, "Never, thoudog! Never!"Then in an instant, as quick as a flash, his enemy spurredstraight upon Myles, and as he spurred he struck a lastdesperate, swinging blow, in which he threw in one final effortall the strength of hate, of fury, and of despair. Myles whirledhis horse backward, warding the blow with his shield as he didso. The blade glanced from the smooth face of the shield, and,whether by mistake or not, fell straight and true, and withalmost undiminished force, upon the neck of Myles's war-horse,and just behind the ears. The animal staggered forward, and thenfell upon its knees, and at the same instant the other, as thoughby the impetus of the rush, dashed full upon it with all themomentum lent by the weight of iron it carried. The shock wasirresistible, and the stunned and wounded horse was flung uponthe ground, rolling over and over. As his horse fell, Myleswrenched one of his feet out of the stirrup; the other caught foran instant, and he was flung headlong with stunning violence, hisarmor crashing as he fell. In the cloud of dust that arose no onecould see just what happened, but that what was done was donedeliberately no one doubted. The earl, at once checking andspurring his foaming charger, drove the iron-shod war-horsedirectly over Myles's prostrate body. Then, checking him fiercelywith the curb, reined him back, the hoofs clashing and crashing,over the figure beneath. So he had ridden over the father atYork, and so he rode over the son at Smithfield.
Myles, as he lay prostrate and half stunned by his fall, had seenhis enemy thus driving his rearing horse down upon him, but wasnot able to defend himself. A fallen knight in full armor wasutterly powerless to rise without assistance; Myles lay helplessin the clutch of the very iron that was his defence. He closedhis eyes involuntarily, and then horse and rider were upon him.
There was a deafening, sparkling crash, a glimmering faintness,then another crash as the horse was reined furiously back again,and then a humming stillness.
In a moment, upon the scaffolding all was a tumult of uproar andconfusion, shouting and gesticulation; only the King sat calm,sullen, impassive. The Earl wheeled his horse and sat for amoment or two as though to make quite sure that he knew theKing's mind. The blow that had been given was foul, unknightly,but the King gave no sign either of acquiescence or rebuke; hehad willed that Myles was to die.
Then the Earl turned again, and rode deliberately up to hisprostrate enemy.
When Myles opened his eyes after that moment of stunning silence,it was to see the other looming above him on his war-horse,swinging his gisarm for one last mortal blow--pitiless,merciless.
The sight of that looming peril brought back Myles's wanderingsenses like a flash of lightning. He flung up his shield, and metthe blow even as it descended, turning it aside. It onlyprotracted the end.
Once more the Earl of Alban raised the gisarm, swinging it twicearound his head before he struck. This time, though the shieldglanced it, the blow fell upon the shoulder-piece, biting throughthe steel plate and leathern jack beneath even to the bone. ThenMyles covered his head with his shield as a last protectingchance for life.
For the third time the Earl swung the blade flashing, and then itfell, straight and true, upon the defenceless body, just belowthe left arm, biting deep through the armor plates. For aninstant the blade stuck fast, and that instant was Myles'ssalvation. Under the agony of the blow he gave a muffled cry, andalmost instinctively grasped the shaft of the weapon with bothhands. Had the Earl let go his end of the weapon, he would havewon the battle at his leisure and most easily; as it was, hestruggled violently to wrench the gisarm away from Myles. In thatshort, fierce struggle Myles was dragged to his knees, and then,still holding the weapon with one hand, he clutched the trappingsof the Earl's horse with the other. The next moment he was uponhis feet. The other struggled to thrust him away, but Myles,letting go the gisarm, which he held with his left hand, clutchedhim tightly by the sword-belt in the intense, vise-like grip ofdespair. In vain the Earl strove to beat him loose with the shaftof the gisarm, in vain he spurred and reared his horse to shakehim off; Myles held him tight, in spite of all his struggles.
He felt neither the streaming blood nor the throbbing agony ofhis wounds; every faculty of soul, mind, body, every power oflife, was centered in one intense, burning effort. He neitherfelt, thought, nor reasoned, but clutching, with the blindness ofinstinct, the heavy, spiked, iron- headed mace that hung at theEarl's saddle-bow, he gave it one tremendous wrench that snappedthe plaited leathern thongs that held it as though they wereskeins of thread. Then, grinding his teeth as with a spasm, hestruck as he had never struck before--once, twice, thrice fullupon the front of the helmet. Crash! crash! And then, even as theEarl toppled sidelong, crash! And the iron plates split andcrackled under the third blow. Myles had one flashing glimpse ofan awful face, and then the saddle was empty.
