Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- 13th century -- Juvenile fiction; Knights and knighthood -- Juvenile fiction
With one bound he vaulted to the saddle of the war horse. Scarcely
knowing what I did, I found myself on the mare’s back and spurring away
up the forest path. Cedric had no spurs, but he quickly urged his mount
to a gallop by blows of his heels; and we raced away at full speed. The
Carletonians raised a shout as they caught sight of us, and spurred
their horses in pursuit. Over our shoulders we saw them pause for a
moment by the body of Lionel; then resume the chase with a fury that
boded ill for us. I knew full well the fate in store should they
overtake us; and pressed the little mare for all the speed she had.
Cedric, on the tall war horse, quickly drew ahead, then, seeing me
losing ground, drew rein till I overtook him. Our pursuers were well
mounted, and were spurring and lashing their horses without mercy. The
thunder of hoofs along the forest road was like that at a tourney or a
great race-course.
If I had had but a better mount, we could soon have drawn away from
them, for the tall steed which Cedric bestrode was the best of the
Carleton stables, and our horses were more lightly burdened than those
of our pursuers. As it was, we had gone scarce half a mile when ’twas
plainly to be seen that my little mare was no match for the long-limbed
steeds of the Carletons. Yard by yard we lost ground; and now we could
hear the clashing of stirrups and scabbards as our enemies panted close
upon our trail.
[Illustration: _WE HAD GONE SCARCE HALF A MILE WHEN ’TWAS PLAINLY TO BE
SEEN THAT MY LITTLE MARE WAS NO MATCH FOR THE LONG-LIMBED STEEDS OF THE
CARLETONS_]
We were going up a slope where the path ran between groups of boulders
and great rocks. Suddenly Cedric drew rein and turned aside behind a
sheltering ledge. Clothilde was panting hard, and I gladly followed him,
though knowing naught of what he intended.
Throwing himself from the saddle, the forester quickly braced his
cross-bow and placed a bolt in groove. Resting the weapon on the corner
of the rock, he took quick aim, and let drive at the leading horseman.
Instantly the rider fell headlong to the ground, and his companions drew
rein in confusion. With a wondrous deftness, my companion loaded again
and let fly. This time one of the horses, struck in the breast by the
bolt, reared up and threw his rider.
Like a flash Cedric leaped again on his horse’s back, and signaling me
to follow rode straight away into the forest. The branches were so low
and the undergrowth so thick that it would seem that no rider could make
his way; but we were riding for our lives, and knew that the limbs would
hold back our enemies even more than ourselves. For five minutes we tore
wildly through the woods, half the time with our faces hidden in our
horses’ manes to save our eyes from being plucked out by the branches.
We could hear shouts and curses behind us; but these momently grew
fainter, and then could be heard no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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