"Hark now all!" said Hugh. "I would shed no more blood if it may be so,
who have earned enough of penance. Therefore shoot at the horses, not
at the riders, who without them will be helpless. And let no man harm a
Clavering unless it be to save his own life."
"Poor sport!" grunted Grey Dick.
Nevertheless, when the Norman knight who led came within two hundred
yards, shouting to them in French to surrender, Dick lifted his great
bow, drew and loosed carelessly, as though he shot at hazard, the others
holding their bows till the Claverings were nearer. Yet there was little
of hazard when Grey Dick shot, save to that at which he aimed. Away
rushed the arrow, rising high and, as it seemed, bearing somewhat to the
left of the knight. Yet when it drew near to that knight the wind told
on it and bent it inward, as he knew it would. Fair and full it struck
upon the horse's chest, piercing through to the heart, so that down the
poor beast came, throwing its rider to the ground.
"A good shot enough," grumbled Grey Dick. "Still, it is a shame to slay
nags of such a breed and let the rogues who ride them go."
But his companions only stared at him almost in awe, while the other
Clavering men rode on. Before they had covered fifty paces, again the
great bow twanged, and again a horse was seen to rear itself up,
shaking the rider from its back, and then plunge away to die.
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