Blanche lay back against the cliff and looked long into Tristan’s face.
“There is yet time,” she said to him suddenly.
He darted a look at her and threw back his head, his mouth firm, his eyes fearless.
“As for me,” he said, “I stay at the Gate. Take the rest with you and meet Lothaire on the road. Tell him and Didcart how I died.”
She spread out her arms against the cliffs, as though crucified by her own courage.
“Make no pleading with me, Tristan,” she said, “for my heart is fixed concerning this.”
“For your sake,” she answered, “I will not stir hence.”
They stood looking for full half a minute into each other’s eyes, as though Tristan sought to read the truth that was shining on him out of her soul. Unconscious of the gesture, he laid his right hand over his forehead, for he understood of a sudden in that hour that Blanche loved him, even to the death.
“Madame,” he cried hoarsely, “what can I say to you?”
“Nothing, Tristan,” she said, with a strange smile.
Tristan was almost fearful of looking in her face. What were mere words to her but mocking symbols? Did she not know of his full love for Rosamunde? It was only at death’s gate that she had betrayed the truth.
A shower of stones came rattling down the cliff, dancing like huge hailstones on the rugged road. A great rock crashed down upon the wall, slew five men there among those who held the Gate. The rest cowered back under the cliff, while the Saracen arrows sped from the pass, dealing out death in the crowded space.
Tristan saw that it would be but slow slaughter, and that twenty men were as good as a hundred, now that the platform was swept by the stones. He stood forward and shouted to the men.
“Brothers,” he said, “I crave but a score of you to stand beside me, to hold the Gate to the bitter end. Let the rest make for the road to Agravale and tell Lothaire of how we stand.”
The men crowding under the cliff heard him in silence, half ashamed of their own fears. First one stood out and then another, till twenty were mustered at Tristan’s side. He bade the rest make haste to depart lest they should be caught in the pass and cut off from Agravale. Thus he was left with but twenty swords to hold the Saint’s Gate against the Saracens.