helm, and his sword drop from his nerveless fingers as his lifeless body

rolled from the back of Sir Mortimer to the battle-tramped clay of the

highroad.

She slid quickly from her palfrey and ran fearlessly toward his prostrate

form, reckless of the tangled mass of snorting, trampling, steel-clad

horses, and surging fighting-men that surrounded him. And well it was for

Norman of Torn that this brave girl was there that day, for even as she

reached his side, the sword point of one of the soldiers was at his throat

for the coup de grace.

With a cry, Joan de Tany threw herself across the outlaw's body, shielding

him as best she could from the threatening sword.

Cursing loudly, the soldier grasped her roughly by the arm to drag her from

his prey, but at this juncture, a richly armored knight galloped up and

drew rein beside the party.

The newcomer was a man of about forty-five or fifty; tall, handsome,

black-mustached and with the haughty arrogance of pride most often seen

upon the faces of those who have been raised by unmerited favor to

positions of power and affluence.

He was John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, a foreigner by birth and for years

one of the King's favorites; the bitterest enemy of De Montfort and the

barons.

"What now ?" he cried. "What goes on here ?"

The soldiers fell back, and one of them replied:

"A party of the King's enemies attacked us, My Lord Earl, but we routed

them, taking these two prisoners."

"Who be ye ?" he said, turning toward Joan who was kneeling beside De

Conde, and as she raised her head, "My God ! The daughter of De Tany ! a

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