I heard a cry from one of the archers who were now coming up at a slower pace in the rear. He rose in his saddle and pointed down the road towards the bend. Just turning into full view we saw first the glint of the sun upon bright steel. There were four men riding towards us now—four, who, if they proved to be our foes, would settle the combat without the shadow of a doubt. The Abbot lowered his mace. As though it were hardly worth his effort to strike down the last of the three who was now turning towards him to defend himself alone, he pressed his knees against the horse, and with a courage which I considered nothing more than folly rode on to meet his new foes. You will understand, of course, that what I have been telling you happened in a very short time and with a swiftness that kept our eyes dancing from spot to spot. It was a whirlwind for speed and suddenness. Most of the time I was filled with marvel. Never once did I consider, now that I was free, that I ought to find a means of escape nor did Charles or the two captive archers, I am sure, have any other thought except their interest in the fight. The Abbot took his course down the road. The men who had attacked him at the very beginning (the archers of the King) drew up on the side to let him pass. Not one of them raised his bow. With all the ease in the world they could have shot down the horse from under him, but instead they let out a shout that rang with approval. It was their sense of fairness, I suppose, that caused them to do this, and their respect for the boldness of the man. His deliberation, his surpassing skill, his ease, but above all now his utter confidence against such odds stirred their hearts with admiration and regard. The battle was to be fought further down the road. Like a crowd of spectators at a tournament we saw we had no advantage where we were standing, so swept by the fervor and excitement of it all, the two captive archers, Charles and I ran along the bank at the side of the highway. We were within earshot when the four knights and the Abbot met. Indeed the latter was maneuvering his horse to dash into the fray when the foremost of his adversaries raised his hand as a signal that he was anxious for a parley. “You are not a servant of the King?” he demanded. “I am his enemy!” came the sturdy answer. “There are four of us here,” were the next words. “Are you anxious to die?” “I shall die when my time comes, not before,” replied the Abbot. “If there were a dozen, it would make little difference.” The knight made a gesture with his hand. “We will give you every advantage,” he said. “We will fight you one by one. Before we begin, will you let me see your face?” The Abbot hesitated and then laughed. “Agreed!” he replied. “Provided you let me see yours.”