"
He paused, and made a gesture of raising a tankard to his lips. His
eyes were bright, his voice was firm. The memory of that old day
and its mortal strife had wrought upon him like wine.
"There was one amongst us," he said, "he was our captain, and it's
of him I am going to tell the story. Robin tapster, bring me no
more ale, but good mulled wine! It's cold and getting dark, and I
have to drink to a brave man besides" -
With the old bold laugh in his eyes, he raised himself, for the
moment as strong as I that held him. "Drink to that Englishman, all
of ye!" he cried, "and not in filthy ale, but in good, gentlemanly
sack! I'll pay the score. Here's to him, brave hearts! Here's to my
master!"
With his hand at his mouth, and his story untold, he fell back. I
held him in my arms until the brief struggle was over, and then
laid his body down upon the earth.
It might have been one of the clock. For a little while I sat beside
him, with my head bowed in my hands. Then I straightened his
limbs and crossed his hands upon his breast, and kissed him upon
the brow, and left him lying dead in the forest.
It was hard going through the blackness of the night-time woods.
Once I was nigh sucked under in a great swamp, and once I
stumbled into some hole or pit in the earth, and for a time thought
that I had broken my leg.
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