The Messenger of the Black PrinceMawhinney, Thomas A. H.
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The Messenger of the Black Prince
Mawhinney, Thomas A. H.
Edward, Prince of Wales, 1330-1376 -- Juvenile fiction
My mind was running in a hurry. I had no time to think of anything but a
safe way out of my predicament. But yet, withal, it occurred to me that
there were no more men vaulting over our defenses. I was sure that the
Dwarf was guarding us with his arrows in the trees.
I grew strong with a kind of hope. My fellow was gathering himself for a
fresh lunge. We were both on our feet. I waited until he came forward.
His lips drew back in a snarl. Then of a sudden he caught me by the
sleeve of my coat and dragged me towards him. I swung around on the one
side as far as I could. Then I gathered my hand into a fist. With a
swing that, I am sure, he did not expect I wheeled about and caught him
a stunning blow on the jaw.
He was hurt and not a little dazed. With a jerk I tore his grasp from my
coat. Then his face filled with fury. The blood shot into his eyes and
he gave me a look that had murder in it.
He saw that I was not to be caught, for I was quicker and more lithe
than he. As though he was groping for a missile he looked searchingly
around on the ground. He picked up a stone that was as large as my head
and smiled at me as though to tell me that I was facing my doom.
I stepped back, so that by chance I might dodge the stone if he happened
to have a good aim. He raised his arm. He placed one foot before the
other and measured me with his eye. But the stone, to my amazement,
never was thrown. The man stiffened up with a jerk. His face twisted in
intense pain. With a look on his face that I shall not soon forget, he
tottered forward and fell at my feet. In another second he was dead with
one of the Dwarf’s arrows sticking in his back, swaying and moving like
a warning sign.
I was shaking. My nerves were jumping like the cords of a whip. I gave a
glance at Charles and saw him struggling with his man on the ground. The
two were wrestling, with the one grasping the other’s wrist. As they
rolled over a dagger shot into the air and fell at Charles’ side. He
reached out and took it by the hasp. Then he bounded quickly to his
feet. His face was hot and covered with dirt where he had been rolling
in the earth. He made a jump towards his enemy with the dagger raised
above his head.
But fright won the victory. The fellow no sooner saw that Charles had
the upper hand when he leaped far to the one side. He never stopped but
kept on ahead. With a spring he bounded over our wall, and as fast as
ever a man ran he made for the shelter of the trees.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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