Then the false villains shouted with laughter, and slew the armed men before the eyes of the helpless captives.

'Bring a torch!' shouted some.

'Drive them back into their kennel!' shouted others.
Then a cry went up, so terrible that on the light summer breeze it floated to the mainland, to where on the headland the noble father of that boy stood, like a statue of horror, as the flames shot up.

The wretched captives fought among themselves who should reach the door and die on the sword of the enemy rather than by the fire.

That boy saw his playmates tossed in sport on the swords of their murderers, and heard his sisters shriek to him--boy as he was--to slay them before a worse death befel.