Keep back, you curs! Michael, come and fight for her!"
If it were a three-cornered fight, I might yet bear my part. I turned
the key in the door and looked out.
CHAPTER 19
Face to Face in the Forest
For a moment I could see nothing, for the glare of lanterns and torches
caught me full in the eyes from the other side of the bridge. But soon
the scene grew clear: and it was a strange scene. The bridge was in its
place. At the far end of it stood a group of the duke's servants; two or
three carried the lights which had dazzled me, three or four held pikes
in rest. They were huddled together; their weapons were protruded before
them; their faces were pale and agitated. To put it plainly, they
looked in as arrant a fright as I have seen men look, and they gazed
apprehensively at a man who stood in the middle of the bridge, sword in
hand. Rupert Hentzau was in his trousers and shirt; the white linen
was stained with blood, but his easy, buoyant pose told me that he was
himself either not touched at all or merely scratched. There he stood,
holding the bridge against them, and daring them to come on; or, rather,
bidding them send Black Michael to him; and they, having no firearms,
cowered before the desperate man and dared not attack him. They
whispered to one another; and in the backmost rank, I saw my friend
Johann, leaning against the portal of the door and stanching with a
handkerchief the blood which flowed from a wound in his cheek.
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