He had no good sword wherewith to defend himself were he attacked, no good, solid ground on which to take his stand.

If he were discovered, he was helpless, at their mercy, to shoot, or take, or beat to death as best they listed.

And so he waited, his pulses throbbing, his breath coming short and fast.

The cold water that had invigorated him some minutes ago was numbing him now, and seemed to be freezing his courage as it froze the blood in his veins, the very marrow in his bones.
Presently his ears caught a rush of feet, a sound of voices, and Fortunio's raised above the others.

Heavy steps rang on the bridge over his head, and the thud of their fall was like thunder to the man beneath.