He approached eagerly. Yes, it was Louis; but he did not stir.
Etienne dismounted and discovered the fact he had already
anticipated: his young companion was dead: an arrow, evidently shot
close at hand, had pierced his chest. The poor lad had but slight
defensive armour--a light cuirass thrown on at the first alarm.
He had fallen and been left for dead, but had evidently afterwards
dragged himself to the brook, in the agony of thirst, and had died
while attempting to drink.
They placed the body reverently on the moss at the foot of the
tree, and for a time were silent. The remembrance of his activity
and gaiety on the previous day, and of his sweet minstrelsy on the
very eve of his voice being hushed for ever, came sadly to their
minds. At length Etienne broke the silence.
"Draw forth the arrow," he said.
They drew it forth and gave it him, bloodstained as it was: he
looked closely upon it.
"This is an arrow from the same quiver as that which killed
Gislebert; it is of English make, such as those clumsy louts use."
It was indeed a heavy, broad shaft, quite unlike the slender,
tapering arrows of Norman workmanship, adapted for a long flight,
in days when a furlong was considered a boy's distance.
"Our own serfs turn upon us.
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