"What was that?" he asked, as a hissing, sharp-drawn voice seemed
to whisper in his ear. The steersman smiled, and pointed with
his foot to where a short heavy cross-bow quarrel stuck quivering
in the boards. At the same instant the man stumbled forward upon
his knees, and lay lifeless upon the deck, a blood-stained
feather jutting out from his back. As Alleyne stooped to raise
him, the air seemed to be alive with the sharp zip-zip of the
bolts, and he could hear them pattering on the deck like apples
at a tree-shaking.
"Raise two more mantlets by the poop-lanthorn," said Sir Nigel
quietly.
"And another man to the tiller," cried the master-shipman.
"Keep them in play, Aylward, with ten of your men," the knight
continued. "And let ten of Sir Oliver's bowmen do as much for
the Genoese. I have no mind as yet to show them how much they
have to fear from us."
Ten picked shots under Aylward stood in line across the broad
deck, and it was a lesson to the young squires who had seen
nothing of war to note how orderly and how cool were these old
soldiers, how quick the command, and how prompt the carrying out,
ten moving like one.
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