But Christopher thought a moment, then cried-- "Stay a while, Sir Abbot; I have more to say to you." He took no heed who was also turning about.
"Stay!" thundered Christopher, "or I will kill that fine nag of yours;" then, as the Abbot still dragged upon the reins, he let the arrow fly.
The aim was true enough.

Right through the arch of the neck it sped, cutting the cord between the bones, so that the poor beast reared straight up and fell in a heap, tumbling its rider off into the snow.
"Now, Clement Maldon," cried Christopher, "will you listen, or will you bide with your horse and servant and hear no more till Judgment Day?
If you do not guess it, learn that I have practised archery from my youth.
Should you doubt, hold up your hand and I'll send a shaft between your fingers." The Abbot, who was shaken but unhurt, rose slowly and stood there, the dead horse on one side and the dead man on the other.
"Speak," he said in a muffled voice.
"My Lord Abbot," went on Christopher, "a minute ago you tried to murder me, and, had not my mail been good, would have succeeded.

Now your life is in my hand, for, as you have seen, I do not miss.

Those servants of yours are coming to your help.

Call to them to halt, or----" and he lifted the bow.
The Abbot obeyed, and the men, understanding, stayed where they were, at a distance, but within earshot.
"You have a crucifix upon your breast," continued Christopher.