remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight’s armour of proof.
“Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!” said Locksley, “had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He then began to call out, “Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin fall.”
His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ears:—
“All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns.”
“Thou art mad to say so!” replied the knight.
“It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven in vain to extinguish it.”
With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intelligence, which was not so calmly received by his astonished comrade.
“Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to be done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold—”