"Sir John of Clavering, bid your people let my master go, or I will send
an arrow through your heart!" and he lifted the long bow and drew it.

Sir John muttered something, thinking that this was a poor way to die,
and again the men fell back, except one French knight, who, perhaps, did
not catch or understand his words.

This man stretched out his hand to seize Hugh, but before ever it fell
upon his shoulder the bow twanged and Acour's retainer was seen whirling
round and round, cursing with pain. In the palm of his hand was an arrow
that had sunk through it to the feathers.

"You are right; that knave shoots well," said the Count to Sir John, who
made no answer.

Now again all fell back, so that Hugh might have run for it if he would.
But his blood was up, and he did not stir.

"John Clavering," he said, addressing the young man, "just now, when
I lay hid in yonder hole, I heard you say that if you had five minutes
with me alone you'd beat me to a pulp and hang what was left of me on
the nearest tree. Well, here I stand, and there's a tree. Having first
tried to burn me and your sister, you have struck me in the face. Will
you make good your words, or shall I strike _you_ in the face and go my
way? Nay, keep your dogs off me! Grey Dick yonder has more arrows."

Now a tumult rose, some saying one thing and some another, but all
keeping an eye upon Grey Dick and his bent bow. At last Sir Edmund Acour
rode forward, and in his polished, stately way said to John: