ut Nigel and the
Frenchman had taken their places in an instant, and the ram thudded and
smashed with greater energy than ever. Another blow and another! the
lower part was staving inward, but the great central bar still held
firm. Surely another minute would beat it from its sockets.

But suddenly from above there came a great deluge of liquid. A hogshead
of it had been tilted from the battlement until soldiers, bridge, and
ram were equally drenched in yellow slime. Knolles rubbed his gauntlet
in it, held it to his visor, and smelled it.

"Back, back!" he cried. "Back before it is too late!"

There was a small barred window above their heads at the side of the
gate. A ruddy glare shone through it, and then a blazing torch was
tossed down upon them. In a moment the oil had caught and the whole
place was a sheet of flame. The fir-tree that they carried, the fagots
beneath them, their very weapons, were all in a blaze.

To right and left the men sprang down into the dry ditch, rolling with
screams upon the ground in their endeavor to extinguish the flames. The
knights and squires protected by their armor strove hard, stamping
and slapping, to help those who had but leather jacks to shield their
bodies. From above a ceaseless shower of darts and of stones were
poured down upon them, while on the other hand the archers, seeing the
greatness of the danger, ran up to the edge of the ditch, and shot fast
and true at every face which showed above the wall.

Scorched, wearied and bedraggled, the remains of the storming party
clambered out of the ditch as best they could, clutching at the friendly
hands held down to them, and so limped their way back amid the taunts
and howls of their enemies. A long pile of smoldering cinders was
all that remained of their bridge, and on it lay Astley and six other
red-hot men glowing in their armor.

Knolles clinched his hands as he looked back at the ruin that was
wrought, and then surveyed the group of men who stood or lay around him
nursing their burned limbs and scowling up at the exultant figures who
waved on the castle wall. Badly scorched himself, the young leader had
no thought for his own injuries in the rage and grief which racked
his soul. "We will build another bridge," he cried. "Set the peasants
binding fagots once more."

But a thought had flashed through Nigel's mind. "See, fair sir," said
he. "The nails of yonder door are red-hot and the wood as white as
ashes. Surely w