“Where is the traitor?” cried Fitz-Urse, but not a voice replied; and the unwonted tones were vocal yet beneath the vaulted roof in lingering echoes, when he again exclaimed, “Where--where is the archbishop?” “Here stands he,” Becket answered, drawing his lofty person up to its full height, and spreading his arms forth with a gesture of perfect majesty. “Here stands he, but no traitor! What do ye in God’s house in such apparel? what is your will, or purpose?” “That you die, presently!” was the reply, enforced by the uplifted weapon and determined features of the savage baron. “I am resigned,” returned the prelate, the calm patience of the martyr blent with a noble daring that would have well become a warrior on the battle-field. “Ye shall not see me fly before your swords! But in the name of the all-powerful God, whom ye dishonor and defy, I do command ye injure no one of my companions, layman or priest.” His words were interrupted by a heavy blow across his shoulders, delivered, with the flat of his huge sword, by Reginald. “Fly!” he said, “fly, priest, or you are dead!” But the archbishop moved not a step, spoke not a syllable. “Drag him hence, comrades,” continued the last speaker; “away with him beyond the threshold--we may not smite him here!” “Here--here, or nowhere!” the archbishop answered--“here, in the very presence, and before the altar, and the image, of our God!” And, as he spoke, he seized the railings with both hands, set his feet firm, and, being of a muscular and powerful frame, sustained by daring courage and highly-wrought excitement, he succeeded in maintaining his position, in spite of the united efforts of the four Norman warriors. Meanwhile, all the companions of the prelate had escaped, by ways known only to themselves--all but one faithful follower--the Saxon, Edward Grim, his cross-bearer since his first elevation to the see of Canterbury--the same who had so boldly spoken out after the conference of Clarendon; and the conspirators began to be alarmed lest, if their purpose were not speedily accomplished, the rescue should arrive and frustrate their intentions. Their blood, moreover, was heated by the struggle; and their fierce natures, never much restrained by awe or reverence for things divine, burst through all bonds. “Here, then, if it so please you!--here!” cried William de Traci, striking, as he spoke, a blow with the full sweep of both his arms wielding his ponderous weapon, at the defenceless victim’s head. But the bold Saxon suddenly stretched out his arm to guard his beloved master. Down came the mighty blow--but not for that did the true servitor withdraw his naked limb--down came the mighty blow, and lopped the unflinching hand, sheer as the woodman’s bill severs the hazel-twig!