iously.

In the narrow passage, with the walls close on either side and the roof
low over head, the fighting was hampered and awkward. De Lacy and De
Bury were in each other's way and neither could swing a heavy blow; yet
they pressed forward, sword and axe drawing fire as they rasped each
other or scraped against the rough stones of the arch.

Meanwhile the men-at-arms led by Raynor Royk had poured across the
bridge and were crowding close in the rear.

"Bear aside, my lords!" the veteran shouted high above the din of the
clashing steel. "We will sweep the way clean by a rush."

But neither Knight gave heed. Gradually De Lacy was driving his foe
before him. Step by step he forced him back, until presently they were
free of the wall and into the outer bailey. Then he first noticed
that, though his opponent bore no device upon shield or hauberk nor
crest upon helm, his armor was scarcely of the sort wont to be worn by
retainers or simple men-at-arms; it was far too handsome in its lines
and fashion and much too beautifully forged. And as he parried the
sword strokes, waiting for an opening when he could end the conflict by
a crashing blow, he tried to distinguish the face behind the bars of
the visor. At first he had thought it was some retainer masquerading
in one of Lord Darby's suits of mail, but the sword play was manifestly
that of no common soldier; it was too graceful and too skillful to have
been learned amid the turmoil of the camp and battle. And suddenly the
great hope came that it was Darby himself--who had eluded the King and,
following after, had passed him at Pontefract. Instantly the cool
method of his fighting vanished; his fingers took a fresh and tighter
grip; his battle-cry "Clare! Clare!" rang out vengefully; and with all
the fury of his wrongs and pent-up hate he sprang in close. And as he
swept his axe aloft its heavy head caught the other's sword and tore it
clean away, sending it far across the bailey where it fell with a clang.

To many, here would have been the conflict's end; yet even as the hilt
quit his fingers, the unknown plucked forth his heavy dagger and sprang
straight at De Lacy.

Aymer met the attack by facing on his right heel swiftly to the left,
and as the other, unable to recover himself, struck wildly at the air,
the axe caught him full upon the shoulder, biting through gorget and
gambeson and deep into the neck beneath.

Bending over his fallen foe, De Lacy cut