at his heels. between these two formidable assailants

the seamen were being slowly wedged more closely together, until

they stood back to back under the mast with the rovers raging

upon every side of them.

but help was close at hand. sir oliver buttesthorn with his

men-at-arms had swarmed down from the forecastle, while sir

nigel, with his three squires, black simon, aylward, hordle john,

and a score more, threw themselves from the poop and hurled

themselves into the thickest of the fight. alleyne, as in duty

bound, kept his eyes fixed ever on his lord and pressed forward

close at his heels. often had he heard of sir nigel's prowess

and skill with all knightly weapons, but all the tales that had

reached his ears fell far short of the real quickness and

coolness of the man. it was as if the devil was in him, for he

sprang here and sprang there, now thrusting and now cutting,

catching blows on his shield, turning them with his blade,

stooping under the swing of an axe, springing over the sweep of a

sword, so swift and so erratic that the man who braced himself

for a blow at him might find him six paces off ere he could bring

it down. three pirates had fallen before him, and he had wounded

spade-beard in the neck, when the norman giant sprang at him from

the side with a slashing blow from his deadly mace. sir nigel

stooped to avoid it, and at the same instant turned a thrust from

the genoese swordsman, but, his foot slipping in a pool of blood,

he fell heavily to the ground. alleyne sprang in front of the

norman, but his sword was shattered and he himself beaten to the

ground by a second blow from the ponderous weapon. ere the

pirate chief could repeat it, however, john's iron grip fell upon

his wrist, and he found that for once he was in the hands of a

stronger man than himself.

fiercely he strove to disengage his weapon, but hordle john bent

his arm slowly back until, with a sharp crack, like a breaking

stave, it turned limp in his grasp, and the mace dropped from the

nerveless fingers. in vain he tried to pluck it up with the

other hand. back and back still his foeman bent him, until, with

a roar of pain and of fury, the giant clanged his full length

upon the boards, while the glimmer of a knife before the bars of

his helmet warned him that short would be his shrift if he moved.

cowed and disheartened by the loss of their leader, the normans

had given back and were now streaming over the bulwarks on to

their own galley, dropping a dozen at a time on to her deck, but

the anchor still held them in its crooked claw, and sir oliver

with fifty men was hard upon their heels. now, too, the archers

had room to draw their bows once more, and great stones from the

yard of the cog came thundering and crashing among the flying

rovers. here and there they rushed with wild screams and curses,

diving under the sail, crouching behind booms, huddling into

corners like rabbits when the ferrets are upon them, as helpless

and as hopeless. they were stern days, and if the honest

soldier, too poor for a ransom, had no prospect of mercy upon the

battle-field, what ruth was there for sea robbers, the enemies of

humankind, taken in the very deed, with proofs of their crimes

still swinging upon their yard-arm.

but the fight had taken a new and a strange turn upon the other

side. spade-beard and his men had given slowly back, hard

pressed by sir nigel, aylward, black simon, and the poop-guard.

foot by foot the italian had retreated, his armor running blood

at every joint, his shield split, his crest shorn, his voice

fallen away to a mere gasping and croaking. yet he faced his

foemen with dauntless courage, dashing in, springing back, sure-

footed, steady-handed, with a point which seemed to menace three

at once. beaten back on to the deck of his own vessel, and

closely followed by a dozen englishmen, he disengaged himself

from them, ran swiftly down the deck, sprang back into the cog

once more, cut the rope which held the anchor, and was back in an

instant among his crossbow-men. at the same time the genoese

sailors thrust with their oars against the side of the cog, and a

rapidly widening rift appeared between the two vessels.

"by st. george!" cried ford, "we are cut off from sir nigel."

"he is lost," gasped terlake. "come, let us spring for it." the

two youths jumped with all their strength to reach the departing

galley. ford's feet reached the edge of the bulwarks, and his

hand clutching a rope he swung himself on board. terlake fell

short, crashed in among the oars, and bounded off into the sea.

alleyne, staggering to the side, was about to hurl himself after

him, but hordle john dragged him back by the girdle.

"you can scarce stand, lad, far less jump," said he. "see how

the blood rips from your bassinet."

"my place is by the flag