There was a single tree in the little hollow, and to that tree Esclaramonde was bound, quite naked, with her hair about her face. The six bandits were huddled together a little way from her, kneeling on their leader's mantle which was spread upon the grass, and all were intently absorbed in playing at dice. Simon was an old battle-hand, and such ugly sights were familiar enough, yet he could not help raging to think of that beautiful evil being as the prey of those filthy fingers. The boy's fury was not to be restrained, and, drawing his dagger, he began to spring down the slope regardless of odds. In a moment Simon was after him, and the astonished robbers, looking up from their sport, beheld a giant and a lad come thundering towards them. As they scrambled to their feet and snatched at their weapons their foes were close at hand. Simon was first in the field, his long legs outstripping Bohemond, and he was upon the desperadoes with his great sword sweeping and swinging like the sails of a windmill. The caitiffs were six to one, or, at best, six to one and a quarter. For a lad with no more than a dagger was no match for the meanest of that gang, but for all their advantage they could make no head against the whirlwind assault of Simon. Two of the felons were headless before the band could rally, and now they were but four to two, for Bohemond had caught up a sword that had fallen from one of the dead scoundrels and showed that he knew how to handle it. Simon's mighty weapon rose and fell, and another of the rapscallions was despatched, while Bohemond wounded a fourth. Then, while the woman tied to the tree lifted her head and stared through her black hair at the battle, the three recreants turned and fled in different directions. Captain Fox as he ran made for where the prisoner was pinioned, and before Simon could reach him he passed his sword through her body. Then, with his weapon red with the woman's blood, he turned on Simon, his face all warped and white, hideous with lust and hate and fear, and he began to scream out something to the effect that Simon should not have her; but he never finished the sentence, for Simon sliced him like a pear, and the sword bit to the breastbone. Wrenching his weapon free, Simon turned to where Bohemond was being pressed by the two remaining rogues, who, finding only a lad at their heels, had turned to tackle him. Again they fled, but Simon was swifter than they and slew them as they ran. Thus in a little pinch of time there were six dead men and one dying woman in that dismal hollow, where still the white dice shone ironically, scattered over the black mantle on the grass.