“_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” “_A D’Arcy! A D’Arcy!_” came back Wulf’s answer from the bridge, and his voice echoed thin and hollow in the spaces of the gulf. Yet they rejoiced to hear it, for it told them that he was sound and strong. Wulf had no shield and Lozelle had no helm—the fight was even. They crouched opposite each other, the swords flashed aloft in the moonlight; from far away came the distant clank of steel, a soft, continual clamour of iron on iron. A blow fell on Wulf’s mail, who had nought wherewith to guard himself, and he staggered back. Another blow, another, and another, and back, still back he reeled—back to the edge of the bridge, back till he struck against the horse that stood behind him, and, resting there a moment, as it seemed, regained his balance. Then there was a change. Look, he rushed forward, wielding the great blade in both hands. The stroke lit upon Lozelle’s shield and seemed to shear it in two, for in that stillness all could hear the clang of its upper half as it fell upon the stones. Beneath the weight of it he staggered, sank to his knee, gained his feet again, and in his turn gave back. Yes, now it was Lozelle who rocked and reeled. Ay, by St. Chad! Lozelle who went down beneath that mighty blow which missed the head but fell upon his shoulder, and lay there like a log, till presently the moonlight shone upon his mailed hand stretched upward in a prayer for mercy. From house-top and terrace wall, from soaring gates and battlements, the multitude of the people of the Assassins gathered on either side the gulf broke into a roar that beat up the mountain sides like a voice of thunder. And the roar shaped itself to these words: “Kill him! kill him! _kill him!_” Sinan held up his hand, and a sudden silence fell. Then he, too, screamed in his thin voice: “Kill him! He is conquered!” But the great Wulf only leaned upon the cross-handle of his brand, and looked at the fallen foe. Presently he seemed to speak with him; then Lozelle lifted the blade that lay beside him and gave it to him in token of surrender. Wulf handled it awhile, shook it on high in triumph, and whirled it about his head till it shone in the moonlight. Next, with a shout he cast it from him far into the gulf, where it was seen for a moment, an arc of gleaming light, and the next was gone. Now, taking no more heed of the conquered knight, Wulf turned and began to walk towards his horse. Scarcely was his back towards him when Lozelle was on his feet again, a dagger in his hand. “Look behind you!” yelled Godwin; but the spectators, pleased that the fight was not yet done, broke into a roar of cheers. Wulf heard and swung round. As he faced Lozelle the dagger struck him on the breast, and well must it have been for him that his mail was good. To use his sword he had neither space nor time, but ere the next stroke could fall Wulf’s arms were about Lozelle, and the fight for life begun.