NEWCOMBE. Will Cromwell spare us, an we yield ourselves now? Will he spare us? Will he-- FENTON. 'Tis our one chance. NEWCOMBE. Give me that white rag! (_Crosses and snatches a bandage from chimneypiece._) FENTON (_drawing his ramrod_). Here's a staff! (_Together FENTON and NEWCOMBE make ready a flag of truce._) JOHN TALBOT (_struggling with_ BUTLER _and_ DRISCOLL). A black curse on you! BUTLER. We'll not be butchered like oxen in the shambles! JOHN TALBOT. Your oaths! BUTLER. We'll not fight longer to be knocked on the head at the last. NEWCOMBE. No! No! Not that! Out with the flag, Dick! FENTON. A light here at the grating! (NEWCOMBE _turns to take a candle, obedient to_ FENTON'S _order. At that moment, close at hand, a bugle sounds._) JOHN TALBOT. Hark! DRISCOLL. The bugle! They're upon us! BUTLER (_releasing his hold on_ JOHN TALBOT). What was that? JOHN TALBOT. You swore to hold the bridge. BUTLER. Swore to hold it one day. We've held it three days now. FENTON. And the half of us are slain. NEWCOMBE. And we've no water--and no food! JOHN TALBOT (_pointing to the powder-keg_). We have powder in plenty. DRISCOLL. We can't drink powder. Ah, for God's love, be swift, Dick Fenton! Be swift! JOHN TALBOT. You shall not show that white flag! (_Starts toward_ FENTON, _hand on sword._) BUTLER (_pinioning_ JOHN TALBOT). God's death! We shall! Help me here, Phelimy! JOHN TALBOT. A summons to parley. What see you, Fenton? FENTON (_at the shot-window_). Torches coming from the boreen, and a white flag beneath them. I can see the faces. (_With a cry_) Look, Jack! A'God's name! Look! (JOHN TALBOT _springs to the window._) DRISCOLL. What is it you're seeing? FENTON. It _is_-- JOHN TALBOT (_turning from the window_). 'Tis Hugh Talbot comes! 'Tis the Captain of the Gate! BUTLER. With them? A prisoner? JOHN TALBOT. No, no! No prisoner! He wears his sword. (BUTLER _snatches up his piece and resumes watch._) FENTON. Then he'll have made terms with them! Terms! NEWCOMBE (_embracing_ DRISCOLL). Terms for us! Terms for us! JOHN TALBOT. I told ye truth. He has come. Hugh Talbot has come. (_Goes to door._) HUGH TALBOT (_speaks outside_). Open! I come alone, and in peace. Open unto me! JOHN TALBOT. Who goes there? HUGH TALBOT (_outside_). The Captain of the Gate! (JOHN TALBOT _unbars the door, and bars it again upon the entrance of_ HUGH TALBOT. _The latter comes slowly into the room. He is a man in his late thirties, a tall, martial figure, clad in much-worn velvet and leather, with sword at side. The five salute him as he enters._) HUGH TALBOT (_halts and for a moment surveys his followers_). Well, lads? (_The five stand trembling on the edge of a nervous break, unable for the moment to speak._) NEWCOMBE. We thought--we thought--that you--that you-- (_Breaks into childish sobbing._) FENTON. What terms will they grant us, sir? JOHN TALBOT. Sir, we have held the bridge. HUGH TALBOT. You five--