Hardly had the golden toy touched the water when out flashed a long
dagger from his robes, and he flew on me, thinking, no doubt, that
I must needs turn my head to watch the fall of his sickle, and I
was ready for him. He was no warrior, and his hand was too high,
but he was a priest, and on him I would not use my weapon. I swung
aside from him, striking up his arm, and his blind rush carried him
against the menhir, so that the blow which was meant for me fell
thereon, scoring the stone deeply; and lo! his own hand ended with
that blow what I had begun, marking the cross-beam I had yet to
make, so that the holy sign was complete.
And I saw that in a flash, even as he reeled back from the menhir
and staggered. His foot splashed into the ooze of the bank and went
down; and with that he lost his footing altogether and fell
headlong into the pool, swaying as he went, across the front of the
menhir.
Now there was a shout and the sound of hurrying footsteps behind
me, but it was Howel's voice, and I did not turn. I leaned on the
menhir to try to catch the white robes that swirled below me, and
then I felt a heave and quaking in the turf on which I knelt as I
reached over the black water, and Howel cried out and dragged me
back roughly for a long fathom.
The menhir was falling.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341