at I shall be no good to you when the pinch comes."

"Now I am sure that you are a brave man," answered Martin with a short
laugh, "for otherwise you would never have owned that you feel afraid.
Of course you feel afraid, and so do I. It is the waiting that does it;
but when once the first blow has been struck, why, you will be as happy
as a priest. Look you, master. So soon as they begin to rush the ladder,
do you get behind me, close behind, for I shall want all the room to
sweep with my sword, and if we stand side by side we shall only hinder
each other, while with a pike you can thrust past me, and be ready to
deal with any who win through."

"You mean that you want to shelter me with your big carcase," answered
Foy. "But you are captain here. At least I will do my best," and putting
his arms about the great man's middle, he hugged him affectionately.

"Look! look!" cried Martin. "The gate is down. Now, first shot to you,"
and he stepped to one side.

As he spoke the oaken doors burst open and the Spanish soldiers began
to stream through them. Suddenly Foy's nerve returned to him and he grew
steady as a rock. Lifting his crossbow he aimed and pulled the trigger.
The string twanged, the quarrel rushed forth with a whistling sound,
and the first soldier, pierced through breastplate and through breast,
sprang into the air and fell forward. Foy stepped to one side to string
his bow.

"Good shot," said Martin taking his place, while from the spectators in
the windows went up a sudden shout. Martin fired and another man fell.
Then Foy fired again and missed, but Martin's next bolt struck the last
soldier through the arm and pinned him to the timber of the broken gate.
After this they could shoot no more, for the Spaniards were beneath
them.

"To the doorway," said Martin, "and remember what I told you. Away with
the bows, cold steel must do the rest."

Now they stood by the open door, Martin, a helmet from the walls upon
his head, tied beneath his chin with a piece of rope because it was too
small for him, the great sword Silence lifted ready to strike, and
Foy behind gripping the long pike with both hands. Below them from the
gathered mob of soldiers came a confused clamour, then a voice called
out an order and they heard footsteps on the stair.

"Look out; they are coming," said Martin, turning his head so that Foy
caught sight of his face. It was transfigured, it was terrible. The
great red beard seemed to bri