In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the YoungEverett-Green, Evelyn
History
In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the Young
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Great Britain -- History -- Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485 -- Juvenile fiction
His right arm was partially disabled, as he felt in a moment. He
could no longer swing the trusty little axe which had done good
service before; but there was the deadly guisarme at his side.
Sultan could be trusted to carry him straight to the foe without
any guidance beyond that of the pressure of knee and foot; and
grasping the weapon in both hands, he gallantly charged back upon
the men, who stood grimly awaiting his next movement with every
intention of unhorsing and slaying him.
The odds were heavy against him. The two ruffians who stood to bar
his way were stalwart, powerful fellows, well inured to this kind
of warfare; and the chief, who though wounded was not killed, had
struggled to his feet, and was plainly endeavouring, though with
difficulty, to reach the handgun and reload it. The girl was still
encumbered by the heavy cloak which had been knotted about her head
and hands, and was not at once thrown off. The traveller plainly
saw that there was no time to be lost if he was to escape with his
own life, or save the damsel from a fate perhaps worse than death.
"Forward, Sultan!" he cried.
And the good horse dashed back upon the enemy; and the youth,
holding his weapon in both hands, strove as he passed to deal a
deadly blow to one of his assailants. But the man was quick, and
his own strength impaired by the injury he had received. The
lance-like point of the weapon inflicted a deep gash upon the face
of one of his adversaries, causing him to yell with rage and pain,
but no vital injury had been inflicted upon either; whilst a savage
blow from the other upon the youth's left arm had broken the bone,
and he felt as if his last moment had surely come.
But it did not occur to him even then to save himself by flight, as
he could well have done, seeing that he was mounted and that the
robbers were on foot. Disabled as he was, he wheeled about once
more, and half maddened by pain and the desperation of his case,
rode furiously upon the only man who had not yet received some
injury. The robber awaited his charge with a smile of triumph upon
his face; but he triumphed a little too soon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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