There was little fine
sword-play about this desperate duel; the light was too low for it. They
struck and warded, that was all, while Grey Dick stood by and watched
grimly. Some more fugitives came up, but seeing that blows passed,
veered off to the left, for of blows they had known enough that day. The
swan knight missed a great stroke, for Hugh leapt aside; then, as the
Frenchman staggered forward, struck at him with all his strength.
The heavy sword, grasped in both hands, for Hugh had thrown aside his
shield, caught his foe where neck joins shoulder and sank through his
mail deep into the flesh beneath. Down he went. It was finished.
"Unlace his helm, Dick," grasped Hugh. "I would see his face for the
last time, and if he still lives----"
Dick obeyed, cutting the lashings of the helm.
"By the Saints!" he said presently in a startled voice, "if this be Sir
Edmund Acour he has strangely changed."
"I am not Acour, lord of Noyon," said the dying man in a hollow voice.
"Had you given me time I would have told you so."
"Then, in Christ's name, who are you?" asked Hugh, "that wear de Noyon's
cognizance?"
"I am Pierre de la Roche, one of his knights. You have seen me in
England. I was with him there, and you made me prisoner on Dunwich
heath. He bade me change arms with him before the battle, promising me
great reward, because he knew that if he were taken, Edward of England
would hang him as a traitor, whereas me they might ransom.
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