As they entered these, however, to their dismay they saw, drawn up in front of them and right across the road, another band of rough-looking men, perhaps twelve in all.
"Trap!" said Peter.

"We must ride through them--it is our only chance," at the same time spurring his horse to the front and drawing his sword.
Choosing the spot where their line was weakest he dashed through it easily enough but next second heard a cry from Margaret, and pulled his horse round to see that her mare had fallen, and that she and Castell were in the hands of the thieves.

Indeed, already rough men had hold of her, and one of them was trying to tear the veil from her face.

With a shout of rage Peter charged them, and struck so fierce a blow that his sword cut through the fellow's helmet into his skull, so that he fell down, dying or dead, Margaret's veil still in his hand.
Then they rushed at him, five or six of them, and, although he wounded another man, dragged him from his horse, and, as he lay upon his back, sprang at him to finish him before he could rise.

Already their knives and swords were over him, and he was making his farewells to life, when he heard a voice command them to desist and bind his arms.