"He is a knight," said Dunstan, "for he wears his surcoat and sword-
belt under his mantle."
But Gilbert was gazing into the face, trying to see, while the dust
under the head grew slowly grey in the dawn, and the waxen features
seemed to rise up out of the earth before him. But then he started,
for, as he looked down, his own eyes were but a hand-breadth from an
arrow-head that stuck straight up out of the dead forehead, and the
broken shaft with its feathers darkly soiled lay half under the body.
Dunstan also looked, and a low sound of gladness came from his fierce
lips.
"It is Arnold de Curboil!" exclaimed Gilbert, in measureless surprise.
"And this is Alric's arrow," answered Dunstan, looking at the point,
and then handling the piece of the broken shaft. "This is the arrow
that was sticking in your cap on that day when we fought for sport in
Tuscany, and Alric picked it up and kept it. And often in battle he had
but that one left, and would not shoot, saying that it was only to be
shot to save his master's life. So now it has done its work, for though
the knight was shot from behind, he has his dagger in his dead hand
under his cloak, and he must have followed you to the door of the
church to kill you in the dark within. Well done, little Alric!"
Then Dunstan spat in the face of the dead man and cursed him; but
Gilbert took his man by the collar and pulled him aside roughly.
"It is unmanly to insult the dead," he said, in disgust.
But Dunstan laughed savagely.
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