I followed the Count of Nullepart’s example, engaging a second fellow. And although my skill was as nothing beside that of my two comrades, my attack grew the more furious that it might supply its lack of science. At least, I know that hardly had I engaged the man I had chosen--a fellow who had crept forward to take the Englishman underneath while he dealt with the others--than I felt my father’s good blade pass right through his body, and he sank with a groan to his knees. Scarce had I freed the weapon than I heard the voice of Sir Richard Pendragon in my ears. “Forth, good Don! Do you creep through to the horses and get them into the street.” Without waiting to look what happened further to my friends--for I knew their address to be great, and the only hope of saving their lives lay in getting out the horses at once--I contrived to force my way through the press of our foes, who paid me little attention. Running across the open passage-way to where our beasts were stabled, I proceeded to saddle them in the greatest haste. And this was not rendered less by the knowledge that the landlord had run out into the street and was bawling lustily. All too soon we should have half the city upon us. Thirty yards away, within the precincts of the inn kitchen, the steel rang ever louder and louder, and it seemed that I should never be able to get the saddles and bridles on to the three horses. But at last they were furnished, and one by one I led them through the narrow doorway into the street. Hardly had I done this than I encountered on the threshold of the tavern a number of citizens and soldiers whom the cries of the landlord had summoned. “The robber is within,” I had the presence of mind to gasp breathlessly. Thereupon they pressed forward into the inn without heeding the three horses. Just as I was about to follow on their heels to see what aid I could render to my friends, the English giant fought his way out of the reeking interior. His chest was heaving, his sword was broken, and his face was dripping with blood and sweat. His great red eyes were as luminous as those of a tiger. “The Count of Nullepart!” I cried. “Where is the Count of Nullepart?” Before the Englishman could answer my question, the nimble form of our comrade had also emerged from the interior, which now was like a shambles. He too was covered in blood, and his face was as pale as a corpse. It was an instant’s work to spring into our saddles. Yet quick as we were, we were hardly sharp enough. Soldiers and citizens were already thronging around us; their outstretched hands were striving to pull us down; and a most perilous hue and cry was arising in the streets of the city. “In the name of the Virgin, let them not escape!” was a cry that was raised all about us.