stle, the pale blue unshaded eyes rolled
and glittered, they glittered like the blue steel of the sword Silence
that wavered above them. In that dread instant of expectancy Foy
remembered his vision of the morning. Lo! it was fulfilled, for before
him stood Martin, the peaceful, patient giant, transformed into a Red
Vengeance.

A man reached the head of the ladder, stepped upon one of the loose
cannon-balls and fell with an oath and a crash. But behind him came
others. Suddenly they turned the corner, suddenly they burst into view,
three or four of them together. Gallantly they rushed on. The first of
them caught his feet in the trap of the door and fell headlong across
it. Of him Martin took no heed, but Foy did, for before ever the soldier
could rise he had driven his pike down between the man's shoulders, so
that he died there upon the door. At the next Martin struck, and Foy
saw this one suddenly grow small and double up, which, if he had found
leisure to examine the nature of that wound, would have surprised him
very little. Another man followed so quickly that Martin could not lift
the sword to meet him. But he pointed with it, and next instant was
shaking his carcase off its blade.

After this Foy could keep no count. Martin slashed with the sword, and
when he found a chance Foy thrust with the pike, till at length there
were none to thrust at, for this was more than the Spaniards had
bargained. Two of them lay dead in the doorway, and others had been
dragged or had tumbled down the ladder, while from the onlookers at the
windows without, as they caught sight of them being brought forth slain
or sorely wounded, went up shout upon shout of joy.

"So far we have done very well," said Martin quietly, "but if they come
up again, we must be cooler and not waste our strength so much. Had I
not struck so hard, I might have killed another man."

But the Spaniards showed no sign of coming up any more; they had seen
enough of that narrow way and of the red swordsman who awaited them in
the doorway round the corner. Indeed it was a bad place for attackers,
since they could not shoot with arquebuses or arrows, but must pass in
to be slaughtered like sheep at the shambles in the dim room beyond. So,
being cautious men who loved their lives, they took a safer counsel.

The tank beneath the shot-tower, when it was not in use, was closed
with a stone cover, and around this they piled firewood and peats from
a stack in the c