Against The Wall

The old man lifted his eyes from his task, and glanced through the
nearest window.

"It is long from noon to night," he said quietly, "and far from cup to
lip, my lord!"

"It would be if I had two legs," Tavannes answered, with a grimace, half-
snarl, half-smile. "As it is--where is that dagger? It leaves me every
minute."

It had slipped from the coverlid to the ground. Badelon took it up, and
set it on the bed within reach of his master's hand.

Bigot swore fiercely. "It would be farther still," he growled, "if you
would be guided by me, my lord. Give me leave to bar the door, and
'twill be long before these fisher clowns force it. Badelon and I--"

"Being in your full strength," Count Hannibal murmured cynically.

"Could hold it. We have strength enough for that," the Norman boasted,
though his livid face and his bandages gave the lie to his words. He
could not move without pain; and for Badelon, his knee was as big as two
with plaisters of his own placing.

Count Hannibal stared at the ceiling. "You could not strike two blows!"
he said. "Don't lie to me! And Badelon cannot walk two yards! Fine
fighters!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. "Fine bars
'twixt a man and death! No, it is time to turn the face to the wall.
And, since go I must, it shall not be said Count Hannibal dared not go
alone! Besides--"

Bigot stopped him with an oath that was in part a cry of pain.