whistling; it fell, and the nearest man dropped his lance,
clattering, and with a loud, inarticulate cry, grasped the mane
of his horse with both hands. Again the blade whistled in the
air, and this time it was stained with red. Again it fell, and
with another shrill cry the man toppled headlong beneath the
horse's feet. The next instant they were upon him, each striving
to strike at the one figure, to ride him down, or to thrust him
down with their lances. There was no room now to swing the long
blade, but holding the hilt in both hands, Baron Conrad thrust
with it as though it were a lance, stabbing at horse or man, it
mattered not. Crowded upon the narrow roadway of the bridge,
those who attacked had not only to guard themselves against the
dreadful strokes of that terrible sword, but to keep their
wounded horses (rearing and mad with fright) from toppling
bodily over with them into the water beneath.

Presently the cry was raised, "Back! back!" And those nearest
the Baron began reining in their horses. "Forward!" roared Baron
Henry, from the midst of the crowd; but in spite of his command,
and even the blows that he gave, those behind were borne back by
those in front, struggling and shouting, and the bridge was
cleared again excepting for three figures that lay motionless
upon the roadway, and that one who, with the brightness of his
armor dimmed and stained, leaned panting against the wall of the
bridge.

The Baron Henry raged like a madman. Gnashing his teeth
together, he rode back a little way; then turning and couching
his lance, he suddenly clapped spurs to his horse, and the next
instant came thundering down upon his solitary enemy.